BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA 
 
 SAINT PIERRE 
 
 CHICAGO AND NEW YORK 
 THE HENNEBERRY COMPANY
 
 URL 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In introducing to the Public the present 
 edition of this well-known and affecting Tale, 
 the chef-d'oeuvre of its gifted author, the 
 publishers take occasion to say, that it affords 
 them no little gratification to apprise the nu- 
 merous admirers of "Paul and Virginia," that 
 the entire work of St. Pierre is now presented 
 to them. All the previous editions have been 
 disfigured by interpolations, and mutilated by 
 numerous omissions and alterations, which 
 have had the effect of reducing it from the 
 rank of a Philosophical Tale to the level of a 
 mere story for children. 
 
 Of the merits of "Paul and Virginia," it is 
 hardly necessary to utter a word ; it tells its 
 own story eloquently and impressively, and in 
 a language simple, natural and true, it touches 
 the common heart of the world. There are 
 but few works that have obtained a greater 
 degree of popularity, none are more deserv- 
 ing it; and the publishers cannot, therefore, 
 refrain from expressing a hope that their 
 3
 
 4 PREFACE. 
 
 efforts in thus giving a faithful transcript of 
 the work, an acknowledged classic by the 
 European world, may be, in some degree, 
 instrumental in awakening here, at home, a 
 taste for those higher works of Fancy, which, 
 while they seek to elevate and strengthen the 
 understanding, instruct and purify the heart 
 It is in this character that the Tale of "Paul 
 and Virginia" ranks pre-eminent
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 OP 
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 
 
 Love of Nature, that strong feeling of 
 enthusiasm which leads to profound admira- 
 tion of the whole works of creation, belongs, it 
 may be presumed, to a certain peculiarity of 
 organization, and has, no doubt, existed in 
 different individuals from the beginning of 
 the world. The old poets and philosophers, 
 romance writers and troubadours had all looked 
 upon Nature with observing and admiring eyes. 
 They have most of them given incidentally 
 charming pictures of spring, of the setting sun, 
 of particular spots, and of favorite flowers. 
 
 There are few writers of note, of any country 
 or of any age, from whom quotations might not 
 be made in proof of the love with which they 
 regarded Nature. And this remark applies as 
 much to religious and philosophic writers as 
 to poets, equally to Plato, St. Francois de 
 5
 
 6 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Sales, Bacon and Fenelon, as to Shakespeare, 
 Racine, Calderon, or Burns; for from no 
 really philosophic or religious doctrine can the 
 love of the works of Nature be excluded. 
 
 But before the days of Jean Jacques Rous- 
 seau, Buffon, and Bernardin de St. Pierre, this 
 love of Nature had not been expressed in all 
 its intensity. Until their day, it had not been 
 written on exclusively. The lovers of Nature 
 were not, till then, as they may perhaps since 
 be considered, a sect apart. Though perfectly 
 sincere in all the adoration they offered, they 
 were less entirely, and certainly less diligently 
 and constantly, her adorers. 
 
 It is the great praise of Bernardin de St. 
 Pierre, that coming immediately after Rous- 
 seau and Buffon and being one of the most 
 proficient writers of the same school, he was in 
 no degree their imitator, but perfectly original 
 and new. He intuitively perceived the 
 immensity of the subject he intended to 
 explore, and has told us that no day of his life 
 passed without his collecting some valuable 
 materials for his writings. In the divine works 
 of Nature, he diligently sought to discover her 
 laws. It was his early intention not to begin 
 to write until he had ceased to observe ; but he 
 found observation endless, and that he was
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 7 
 
 "like a child, who with a shell digs a hole in 
 the sand to receive the waters of the ocean. ' ' 
 He elsewhere humbly says, that not only the 
 general history of Nature, but even that of the 
 smallest plant, was far beyond his ability. 
 Before, however, speaking further of him as 
 an author, it will be necessary to recapitulate 
 the chief events of his life. 
 
 Henri-Jacques Bernardin de St. Pierre was 
 born at Havre in 1737. He always considered 
 himself descended from Eustache de St. Pierre, 
 who is said by Froissart (and I believe by 
 Froissart only) to have so generously offered 
 himself as a victim to appease the wrath of 
 Edward the Third against Calais. He, with 
 his companions in virtue, it is also said, was 
 saved by the intercession of Queen Philippa. 
 In one of his smaller works, Bernardin asserts 
 this descent, and it was certainly one of which 
 he might be proud. Many anecdotes are 
 related of his childhood, indicative of the youth- 
 ful author, of his strong love of Nature, and 
 his humanity to animals. 
 
 That "the child is father of the man," has 
 been seldom more strongly illustrated. There 
 is a story of a cat, which, when related by him 
 many years afterward to Rousseau, caused that 
 philosopher to shed tears. At eight years of
 
 8 MEMOIR OF 
 
 age, he took the greatest pleasure in the reg- 
 ular culture of his garden ; and possibly then 
 stored up some of the ideas which afterward 
 appeared in the ' ' Fraisier. ' ' His sympathy with 
 all living things was extreme. 
 
 In "Paul and Virginia," he praises, with 
 evident satisfaction, their meal of milk and 
 eggs, which had not cost any animal its life. 
 It has been remarked, and possibly with truth, 
 that every tenderly disposed heart, deeply 
 imbued with a love of Nature, is at times some- 
 what Braminical. St. Pierre's certainly was. 
 
 When quite young, he advanced with a 
 clenched fist toward a carter who was ill-treat- 
 ing a horse. And when taken for the first 
 time, by his father, to Rouen, having the 
 towers of the cathedral pointed out to him, he 
 exclaimed, "My God! how high they fly." 
 Every one present naturally laughed. Ber- 
 nardin had only noticed the flight of some 
 swallows who had built their nests there. He 
 thus early revealed those instincts which after- 
 ward became the guidance of his life: the 
 strength of which possibly occasioned his too 
 great indifference to all monuments of art. 
 The love of study and of solitude were also 
 characteristics of his childhood. His temper 
 is said to have been moody, impetuous, and
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 9 
 
 intractable. Whether this faulty temper may 
 not have been produced or rendered worse by 
 mismanagement, cannot now be ascertained. 
 It undoubtedly became afterward, to St. 
 Pierre, a fruitful source of misfortune and of 
 woe. 
 
 The reading of voyages was with him, even 
 in childhood, almost a passion. At twelve 
 years of age, his whole soul was occupied by 
 Robinson Crusoe and his island. His romantic 
 love of adventure seeming to his parents to 
 announce a predilection in favor of the sea, he 
 was sent by them with one of his uncles to 
 Martinique. But St. Pierre had not sufficiently 
 practiced the virtue of obedience to submit, as 
 was necessary to the discipline of a ship. He 
 was afterward placed with the Jesuits at Caen, 
 with whom he made immense progress in his 
 studies. But, it is to be feared, he did not 
 conform too well to the regulations of the col- 
 lege, for he conceived, from that time, the 
 greatest detestation for places of public educa- 
 tion. And this aversion he has frequently 
 testified in his writings. While devoted to his 
 books of travels, he in turn anticipated being a 
 Jesuit, a missionary or a martyr ; but his family 
 at length succeeded in establishing him at 
 Rouen, where he completed his studies with
 
 10 MEMOIR OF 
 
 brilliant success, in 1757. He soon after 
 obtained a commission as an engineer, with a 
 salary of one hundred louis. In this capacity 
 he was sent (1760) to Dusseldorf, under the 
 command of Count St. Germain. This was a 
 career in which he might have acquired both 
 honor and fortune ; but, most unhappily for St. 
 Pierre, he looked upon the useful and neces- 
 sary etiquettes of life of as many unworthy 
 prejudices. Instead of conforming to them, 
 he sought to trample on them. In addition, 
 he evinced some disposition to rebel against 
 his commander, and was unsocial with his 
 equals. It is not, therefore, to be wondered 
 at, that at this unfortunate period of his exist- 
 ence, he made himself enemies ; or that, not- 
 withstanding his great talents, or the coolness 
 he had exhibited in moments of danger, he 
 should have been sent back to France. Unwel- 
 come, under these circumstances, to his fam- 
 ily, he was ill received by all. 
 
 It is a lesson yet to be learned, that genius 
 gives no charter for the indulgence of error, 
 a truth yet to be remembered, that only a 
 small portion of the world will look with len- 
 iency on the failings of the highly gifted ; and, 
 that from themselves, the consequences of their 
 own actions can never be averted. It is yet,
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 11 
 
 alas ! to be added to the convictions of the ar- 
 dent in mind, that no. degree of excellence in 
 science or literature, not even the immortality 
 of a name, can exempt its possessor from obe- 
 dience to moral discipline ; or give him happi- 
 ness, unless "temper's image" be stamped on 
 his daily words and actions. St. Pierre's life 
 was sadly embittered by his own conduct. 
 The adventurous life he led after his return 
 from Dusseldorf, some of the circumstances of 
 which exhibited him in an unfavorable light 
 to others, tended, perhaps, to tinge his imag- 
 ination with that wild and tender melancholy 
 so prevalent in his writings. A prize in the 
 lottery had just doubled his very slender means 
 of existence, when he obtained the appoint- 
 ment of geographical engineer, and was sent 
 to Malta. The Knights of the Order were at 
 this time expecting to be attacked by the 
 Turks. Having already been in the service, it 
 was singular that St. Pierre should have had 
 the imprudence to sail without his commis- 
 sion. He thus subjected himself to a thousand 
 disagreeables, for the officers would not recog- 
 nize him as one of themselves. The effects of 
 their neglect on his mind were tremendous; 
 his reason for a time seemed almost disturbed 
 by the mortifications he suffered. After receiv-
 
 12 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ing an insufficient indemnity for the expenses 
 of his voyage, St. Pierre returned to France, 
 there to endure fresh misfortunes. 
 
 Not being able to obtain any assistance from 
 the ministry or his family, he resolved on giv- 
 ing lessons in the mathematics. But St. Pierre 
 was less adapted than most others for succeed- 
 ing in the apparently easy, but really ingeni- 
 ous and difficult, art of teaching. When edu- 
 cation is better understood, it will be more gen- 
 erally acknowledged, that, to impart instruction 
 with success, a teacher must possess deeper in- 
 telligence than is implied by the profoundest 
 skill in any one branch of science or of art. 
 All minds, even to the youngest, require, while 
 being taught, the utmost compliance and con- 
 sideration ; and these qualities can scarcely be 
 properly exercised without a true knowledge 
 of the human heart, united to much practical 
 patience. St. Pierre, at this period of his life, 
 certainly did not possess them. It is probable 
 that Rousseau, when he attempted in his youth 
 to give lessons in music, not knowing anything 
 whatever of music, was scarcely less fitted for 
 the task of instruction than St. Pierre with all 
 his mathematical knowledge. The pressure of 
 poverty drove him to Holland. He was well 
 received at Amsterdam, by a French refugee
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 13 
 
 named Mustel, who edited a popular journal 
 there, and who procured him employment, with 
 handsome remuneration. St. Pierre did not, 
 however, remain long satisfied with this quiet 
 mode of existence. Allured by the encourag- 
 ing reception given by Catherine II. to foreign- 
 ers, he set out for St. Petersburg. Here, until 
 he obtained the protection of the Marechai de 
 Munich, and the friendship of Duval, he had 
 again to contend with poverty. The latter 
 generously opened to him his purse, and by the 
 Marechai he was introduced to Villebois the 
 Grand Master of Artillery, and by him pre- 
 sented to the Empress. St. Pierre was so 
 handsome, that by some of his friends it was 
 supposed, perhaps, too, hoped, that he would 
 supersede Orloff in the favor of Catherine. But 
 more honorable illusions, though they were 
 but illusions, occupied his own mind. He nei- 
 ther sought nor wished to captivate the Em- 
 press. His ambition was to establish a repub- 
 lic on the shores of the lake Aral, of which, in 
 imitation of Plato or Rousseau, he was to be 
 the legislator. Preoccupied with the reforma- 
 tion of despotism, he did not sufficiently look 
 into his own heart, or seek to avoid a repeti- 
 tion of the same errors that had already 
 changed friends into enemies, and been such a
 
 14 MEMOIR OF 
 
 terrible barrier to his success in life. His mind 
 was already morbid, and in fancying that 
 others did not understand him, he forgot that 
 he did not understand others. The Empress, 
 with the rank of captain, bestowed on him a 
 grant of fifteen hundred francs \ but when 
 General Dubosquet proposed to take him with 
 him to examine the military position of 
 Finland, his only anxiety seemed to be to 
 return to France; still he went to Finland; 
 and his own notes of his occupations and 
 experiments on that expedition prove, that he 
 gave himself up in all diligence to considera- 
 tions of attack and defense. He, who loved 
 Nature so intently, seems only to have seen in 
 the extensive and majestic forests of the north, 
 a theater of war. In this instance, he appears 
 to have stifled every emotion of admiration, 
 and to. have beheld, alike, cities and countries 
 in his character of military surveyor. 
 
 On his return to St. Petersburg, he found 
 his protector, Villebois, disgraced. St. Pierre 
 then resolved on espousing the cause of the 
 Poles. He went into Poland with a high repu- 
 tation, that of having refused the favors of 
 despotism, to aid the cause of liberty. But it 
 was his private life, rather than his public ca- 
 reer, that was affected by his residence in Po-
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 15 
 
 land. The Princess Mary fell in love with him, 
 and, forgetful of all considerations, quitted her 
 family to reside with him. Yielding, however, 
 at length, to the entreaties of her mother, she 
 returned to her home. St. Pierre, filled with 
 regret, resorted to Vienna ; but, unable to sup- 
 port the sadness which oppressed him, and im- 
 agining that sadness to be shared by the Prin- 
 cess, he soon went back to Poland. His return 
 was still more sad than his departure ; for he 
 found himself regarded by her who had once 
 loved him, as an intruder. It is to this attach- 
 ment he alludes so touchingly in one of his let- 
 ters. "Adieu! friends dearer than the treas- 
 ures of India ! Adieu ! forests of the North, 
 that I shall never see again ! tender friend- 
 ship, and the still dearer sentiments which 
 surpassed it ! days of intoxication and of hap- 
 piness! adieu! adieu! We live but for a day, 
 to die during a whole life!" 
 
 This letter appears to one of St. Pierre's 
 most partial biographers, as if steeped in tears ; 
 and he speaks of his romantic and unfortunate 
 adventure in Poland, as the ideal of a poet's 
 love. 
 
 /'To be," says M. Sainte-Beuve, "a great 
 poet, and loved before he had thought of glory ! 
 To exhale the first perfume of a soul of genius,
 
 16 MEMOIR OF 
 
 believing himself only a lover ! To reveal him- 
 self, for the first time, entirely, but in mys- 
 tery!" 
 
 In his enthusiasm, M. Sainte-Beuve loses 
 sight of the melancholy sequel, which must 
 have left so sad a remembrance in St. Pierre's 
 own mind. His suffering, from this circum- 
 stance may perhaps have conduced to his mak- 
 ing Virginia so good and true, and so incapable 
 of giving pain. 
 
 In 1766, he returned to Havre; but his rela- 
 tion, were by this time dead or dispersed, and 
 after six years of exile, he found himself once 
 more in his own country, without employment 
 and destitute of pecuniary resources. 
 
 The Baron de Breteuil at length obtained for 
 him a commission as Engineer to the Isle of 
 France, whence he returned in 1771. In this 
 interval, his heart and imagination doubtless 
 received the germs of his immortal works. 
 Many of the events, indeed, of the "Voyage a 
 1'Ile de France," are to be found modified by 
 imagined circumstances in "Paul and Vir- 
 ginia. ' ' He returned to Paris poor in purse, 
 but rich in observation and mental resources, 
 and resolved to devote himself to literature. By 
 the Baron de Breteuil he was recommended to 
 D'Alembert, who procured a publisher for his
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 17 
 
 "Voyage," and also introduced him to Mile, 
 de 1'Espinasse. 
 
 But no one, in spite of his great beauty, was 
 so ill calculated to shine or please in society 
 as St. Pierre. His manners were timid and 
 embarrassed, and, unless to those with whom 
 he was very intimate, he scarcely appeared 
 intelligent. 
 
 It is sad to think, that misunderstanding 
 should prevail to such an extent, and heart so 
 seldom really speak to heart, in the intercourse 
 of the world, that the most humane may appear 
 cruel, and the sympathizing indifferent. Judg- 
 ing of Mile, de 1'Espinasse from her letters, 
 and the testimony of her contemporaries, it 
 seems quite impossible that she could have 
 given pain to any one, more particularly to a 
 man possessing St. Pierre's extraordinary and 
 profound sensibility. Both she and D'Alem- 
 bert were capable of appreciating him ; but the 
 society in which they moved laughed at his 
 timidity, and the tone of raillery in which they 
 often indulged was not understood by him. It 
 is certain that he withdrew from their circle 
 with wounded and mortified feelings, and, in 
 spite of an explanatory letter from D'Alem- 
 bfert, did not return to it. The inflictors of all 
 this pain, in the meantime, were possibly as 
 
 a Paul and Virginia
 
 18 MEMOIR OF 
 
 unconscious of the meaning attached to their 
 words, as were the birds of old of the augury 
 drawn from their flight. 
 
 St. Pierre, in his " Preambule de 1'Arcadie," 
 has pathetically and eloquently described the 
 deplorable state of his health and feelings, 
 after frequent humiliating disputes and disap- 
 pointments had driven him from society; or, 
 rather, when, like Rousseau, he was "self-ban- 
 ished" from it. 
 
 "I was struck," he says, "with an extraordi- 
 nary malady. Streams of fire, like lightning, 
 flashed before my eyes; every object appeared 
 to me double, or in motion; like CEdipus, I 
 saw two suns. * * In the finest day of summer, 
 I eould not cross the Seine in a boat without 
 experiencing intolerable anxiety. If, in a pub- 
 lic garden, I merely passed by a piece of water, 
 I suffered from spasms and a feeling of horror. 
 I could not cross a garden in which many peo- 
 ple were collected : if they looked at me, I im- 
 mediately imagined they were speaking ill of 
 me." It was during this state of suffering that 
 he devoted himself with ardor to collecting and 
 making use of materials for that work which 
 was to give glory to his name. 
 
 It was only by perseverance, and disregard- 
 ing many rough and discouraging receptions,
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 19 
 
 that he succeeded in making acquaintance with 
 Rousseau, whom he so much resembled. St. 
 Pierre devoted himself to his society with en- 
 thusiasm, visiting him frequently and con- 
 stantly, till Rousseau departed for Ermenon- 
 ville. It is not unworthy of remark, that both 
 these men, such enthusiastic admirers of Na- 
 ture and the natural in all things, should have 
 possessed factitious rather than practical vir- 
 tue, and a wisdom wholly unfitted for the 
 world. St. Pierre aske<3 Rousseau, in one of 
 their frequent rambles, if in delineating St. 
 Preux, he had not intended to represent him- 
 self. "No," replied Rousseau, "St. Preux is 
 not what I have been, but what I wish to be. ' ' 
 St. Pierre would most likely have given the 
 same answer, had a similar question been put 
 to him with regard to the Colonel in "Paul 
 and Virginia. ' ' This, at least, appears the sort 
 of old age he loved to contemplate, and wished 
 to realize. 
 
 For six years, he worked at his " Etudes, * 
 and with some difficulty found a publisher for 
 them. M. Didot, a celebrated typographer, 
 whose daughter St. Pierre afterwards married, 
 consented to print a manuscript which had been 
 declined by many others. He was well re- 
 warded for the undertaking. The success of
 
 20 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the "Etudes de la Nature" surpassed the most 
 sanguine expectation, even of the author. 
 Four years after its publication, St. Pierre gave 
 to the world "Paul and Virginia," which had 
 for some time been lying in his portfolio. He 
 had tried its effect, in manuscript, on persons 
 of different characters and pursuits. They 
 had given it no applause, but all had shed 
 tears at its perusal ; and perhaps few works of 
 a decidedly romantic character have ever been 
 so generally read, or so much approved. 
 Among the great names whose admiration of 
 it is on record, may be mentioned Napoleon 
 and Humboldt. 
 
 In 1789, he published "Les Vceux d'un Soli- 
 taire," and "La Suite des Vceux." By the 
 "Moniteur" of the day, these works were com- 
 pared to the celebrated pamphlet of Sieyes, 
 "Qu'est-ce que le tiers etat?" which then ab- 
 sorbed all the public favor. In 1791, "La 
 Chaumiere Indienne" was published; and in 
 the following year, about thirteen days before 
 the celebrated icth of August, Louis XVI. 
 appointed St. Pierre superintendent of the 
 "Jardin des Plantes. " Soon afterwards, the 
 King, on seeing him, complimented him on 
 his writings, and told him he was happy to 
 have found a worthy successor to Buffon.
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 21 
 
 Although deficient in the exact knowledge of 
 the sciences, and knowing little of the world, 
 St. Pierre was, by his simplicity, and the re- 
 tirement in which he lived, well suited, at that 
 epoch, to the situation. About this time, and 
 when in his fifty-seventh year, he married Mile. 
 Didot. 
 
 In 1795, ne became a member of the French 
 Assembly, and, as was just> after his accept- 
 ance of this honor, he wrote no more against 
 literary societies. On the suppression of this 
 place, he retired to Essome It is delightful 
 to follow him there, and to contemplate his 
 quiet existence. His days flowed on peace- 
 ably, occupied in the publication of "Les Har- 
 monies de la Nature," the republication of his 
 earlier works, and the composition of some 
 lesser pieces. He himself affectingly regrets 
 an interruption to these occupations. On be- 
 ing appointed Instructor to the Normal School, 
 he says, "I am obliged to hang my harp on 
 the willows of my river, and to accept an em- 
 ployment useful to my family and my country. 
 I am afflicted at having to suspend an occupa- 
 tion which has given me so much happiness." 
 ., He enjoyed in his old age a degree of opu- 
 lence which, as much as glory, had perhaps 
 been the object of his ambition. In any case,
 
 22 MEMOIR OF 
 
 it is gratifying to reflect, that after a life so full 
 of chance and change, he was, in his latter 
 years, surrounded by much that should accom- 
 pany old age. His day of storms and tempests 
 was closed by an evening of repose and beauty. 
 
 Amid many other blessings, the elasticity of 
 his mind was preserved to the last. He died 
 at Eragny sur 1'Oise, on the 2ist of January, 
 1814. The stirring events which then occu- 
 pied France, or rather the whole world, caused 
 his death to be little noticed at the time. The 
 Academy did not, however, neglect to give him 
 the honor due to its members. Mons. Parseval 
 Grand Maison pronounced a deserved eulogium 
 on his talents, and Mons. Aignan, also, the 
 customary tribute, taking his seat as his suc- 
 cessor. 
 
 Having himself contracted the habit of con- 
 fiding his griefs and sorrows to the public, the 
 sanctuary of his private life was open alike to 
 the discussion of friends and enemies. The 
 biographer, who wishes to be exact, and yet 
 set down naught in malice, is forced to the con- 
 templation of his errors. The secret of many 
 of these, as well as of his miseries, seems re- 
 vealed by himself in this sentence: "I experi- 
 ence more pain from a single thorn, than pleas- 
 ure from a thousand roses." And elsewhere,
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 23 
 
 "The best society seems to me bad, if I find in 
 it one troublesome, wicked, slanderous, envi- 
 ous, or perfidious person." Now, taking into 
 consideration that St. Pierre sometimes imag- 
 ined persons who were really good, to be de- 
 serving of these strong and very contumacious 
 epithets, it would have been diffcult indeed to 
 find a society in which he could have been 
 happy. He was therefoere wise in seeking re- 
 tiremnent, and indulging in solitude. His mis- 
 takes, for they were mistakes, arose from a 
 too quick perception of evil, united to an ex- 
 quisite and diffuse sensibility. When he felt 
 wounded by a thorn, he forgot the beauty and 
 perfume of the rose to which it belonged, and 
 from which perhaps it could not be separated, 
 And he was exposed (as often happens) to the 
 very description of trials that were least in har- 
 mony with his defects. Few dispositions could 
 have run a career like his, and have remained 
 unscathed. But one less tender than his own 
 would have been less soured by it. For many 
 years, he bore about with him the conscious- 
 ness of unacknowledged talent. The world 
 cannot be blamed for not appreciating that 
 which had never been revealed. But we know 
 not what the jostling and elbowing of that 
 world, in the meantime, may have been to him
 
 24 MEMOIR OF 
 
 how often he may have felt himself unwor- 
 thily treated or how far that treatment may 
 have preyed upon and corroded his heart. Who 
 shall say that with this consciousness there did 
 not mingle a quick and instinctive perception 
 of the hidden motives of action, that he did 
 not sometimes detect, where others might have 
 been blind, the under-shuffling of the hands, in 
 the by-play of the world? 
 
 Through all his writings, and throughout his 
 correspondence, there are beautiful proofs of 
 the tenderness of his feelings, the most essen- 
 tial quality, perhaps, in any writer. It is at 
 least one that if not possessed, can never be 
 attained. The familiarity of his imagination 
 with natural objects, when he was living far 
 removed from them, is remarkable, and often 
 affecting. 
 
 "I have arranged," he says to Mr. Henin, 
 his friend and patron, "very interesting mate- 
 rials, but it is only with the light of Heaven 
 over me that I can recover my strength. Ob- 
 tain for me a rabbit's hole, in which I may pass 
 the summer in the country." And again, 
 "With the first violet, I shall come to see you." 
 It is soothing to find, in passages like these, 
 such pleasing and convincing evidence that 
 
 "Nature never did betray 
 The heart that loved her."
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 25 
 
 In the noise of a great city, in the midst of 
 annoyances of many kinds, these images, 
 impressed with quietness and beauty, came 
 back to the mind of St. Pierre, to cheer and 
 animate him. 
 
 In alluding to his miseries, it is but fair to 
 quote a passage from his "Voyage," which 
 reveals his fond remembrance of his native 
 land. "I should ever prefer my own country 
 to every other," he says, "not because it was 
 more beautiful, but because I was brought up 
 in it. Happy he, who sees again the places 
 where all was loved, and all was lovely ! the 
 meadows in which he played, and the orchard 
 that he robbed!" 
 
 He returned to this country, so fondly loved 
 and deeply cherished in absence, to experience 
 only trouble and difficulty. Away from it, he 
 had yearned to behold it, to fold it, as it were, 
 once more to his bosom. He returned to feel 
 as if neglected by It, and all his rapturous emo- 
 tions were changed to bitterness and gall. His 
 hopes had proved delusions his expectations, 
 mockeries. Oh! who but must look with 
 charity and mercy on all discontent and irrita- 
 tion consequent on such a depth of disappoint- 
 ment: on what must have then appeared to him 
 such unmitigable woe. Under the influence of
 
 26 MEMOIR OF 
 
 these saddened feelings, his thoughts flew back 
 to the island he had left, to place all beauty, 
 as well as all happiness there ! 
 
 One great proof that he did beautify the dis- 
 tant, may be found in the contrast of some of 
 the descriptions in the "Voyage a 1'Ile de 
 France," and those in "Paul and Virginia." 
 That spot, which, when peopled by the cher- 
 ished creatures of his imagination, he described 
 as an enchanting and delightful Eden, he had 
 previously spoken of as a "rugged country 
 covered with rocks," "aland of Cyclops black- 
 ened by fire." Truth, probably, lies between 
 the two representations; the sadness of exile 
 having darkened the one, and the exhubeiance 
 of his imagination embellished the other. 
 
 St. Pierre's merit as an author has been too 
 long and too universally acknowledged, to make 
 it needful that it should be dwelt on here. A 
 careful review of the circumstances of his life 
 induces the belief, that his writings grew (if it 
 may be permitted so to speak) out of his life. 
 In the most imaginative passages, to whatever 1 
 height his fancy soared, the starting point seems 
 ever from a fact. The past appears to have 
 been always spread out before him when he 
 wrote, like a beautiful landscape, on which his 
 eye rested with complacency, and from which
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 27 
 
 his mind transferred and idealized some objects, 
 without a servile imitation of any. When at 
 Berlin, he had had it in his power to marry 
 Virginia Tabenheim ; and in Russia, Mile, de la 
 Tour, the niece of General Dubosquet, would 
 have accepted his hand. He was too poor to 
 marry either. A grateful recollection caused 
 him to bestow the names of the two on his most 
 beloved creation. Paul was the name of a 
 friar, with whom he had associated in his child- 
 hood, and whose life he wished to imitate. 
 How little had the owners of these names 
 anticipated that they were to become the bap- 
 tismal appellations of half a generation in 
 France, and to be re-echoed through the world 
 to the end of time ! 
 
 It was St. Pierre who first discovered the 
 poverty of language with regard to picturesque 
 descriptions. In his earliest work, the often- 
 quoted "Voyage," he complains that the terms 
 for describing nature are not yet invented. 
 "Endeavor," he says, "to describe a mountain 
 in such a manner that it may be recognized. 
 When you have spoken of its base, its sides, its 
 summits, you will have said all ! But what 
 ., variety there is to be found in those swelling, 
 lengthened, flattened, or cavernous forms! It 
 is only by periphrasis that all this can be
 
 28 MEMOIR OF 
 
 expressed. The same difficulty exists for 
 plains and valleys. But if you have a palace to 
 describe, there is no longer any difficulty. 
 Every molding has its appropriate name. 
 
 It was St. Pierre's glory, in some degree, to 
 triumph over this dearth of expression. Few 
 authors ever introduced more new terms into 
 descriptive writing: yet are his innovations 
 ever chastened, and in good taste. His style, 
 in its elegant simplicity, is, indeed, perfection. 
 It is at once sonorous and sweet, and always 
 in harmony with the sentiment he would 
 express, or the subject he would discuss. 
 Chenier might well arm himself with I 4 Paul 
 and Virginia, " and the "Chaumiere Indienne," 
 in opposition to those writers, who, as he said, 
 made prose unnatural, by seeking to elevate it 
 into verse. 
 
 The "Etudes de la Nature' embraced a 
 thousand different subjects, and contained 
 some new ideas on all. It is to the honor of 
 human nature, that after the uptearing of so 
 many sacred opinions, a production like this 
 revealing the chain of connection through the 
 works of Creation, and the Creator in his 
 works, should have been hailed, as it was, with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 His motto, from his favorite poet Virgil,
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 29 
 
 "Taught by calamity, I pity the unhappy," 
 won for him, perhaps, many readers. And in 
 its touching illusions, the unhappy may have 
 found suspension from the realities of life, as 
 well as encouragement to support its trials. 
 For, throughout, it infuses admiration of the 
 arrangements of Providence, and a desire for 
 virtue. More than one modern poet may be 
 supposed to have drawn a portion of his inspi- 
 ration, from the "Etudes." As a work of 
 science it contains many errors. These, par- 
 ticularly his theory of the tides,* St. Pierre 
 maintained to the last, and so eloquently, that 
 it w?.s said at the time, to be impossible to unite 
 less reason with more logic. 
 
 In "Paul and Virginia," he was supremely 
 fortunate in his subject. It was an entirely 
 new creation, uninspired by any previous work ; 
 but which gave birth to many others, having 
 furnished the plot to six theatrical pieces. It 
 was a subject to which the author could bring 
 all his excellences as a writer and man, while 
 his deficiencies and defects were necessarily 
 excluded. In no manner could he incorporate 
 politics, science, or misapprehension of persons, 
 while his sensibility, morals, and wonderful 
 
 Occasioned, according to St. Pierre, by the melting 
 of the ice at the Poles.
 
 30 MEMOIR OF 
 
 talent for description, were in perfect accord- 
 ance with, and ornaments to it. Lemontey and 
 Sainte-Beuve both consider success to be insep- 
 arable from the happy selection of a story so 
 entirely in harmony with the character of the 
 author; and that the most successful writers 
 might envy him so fortunate a choice. Bona- 
 parte was in the habit of saying, whenever he 
 saw St. Pierre, "M. Bernardin, when do you 
 mean to give us more Pauls and Virginias, and 
 Indian Cottages? You ought to give us some 
 every six months. " 
 
 The "Indian Cottage," if not quite equal in 
 interest to "Paul and Virginia," is still a 
 charming production, and does great honor 
 to the genius of its author. It abounds in 
 antique and Eastern gems of thought. Strik- 
 ing and excellent comparisons are scattered 
 through its pages; and it is delightful to 
 reflect, that the following beautiful and solemn 
 answer of the Paria was, with St. Pierre, the 
 result of his own experience: "Misfortune 
 resembles the Black Mountain of Bember, 
 situated at the extremity of the burning king- 
 dom of Lahore ; while you are climbing it, you 
 .only see before you barren rocks; but when 
 you have reached its summit, you see heaven
 
 BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE. 31 
 
 above your head, and at your feet the kingdom 
 of Cachemere." 
 
 When this passage was written, the rugged 
 and sterile rock had been climbed by its gifted 
 author. He had reached the summit, his 
 genius had been rewarded, and he himself 
 saw the heaven he wished to point out to others. 
 
 SARAH JONES. 
 
 %* For the facts contained in this brief Memoir, I am 
 indeted to St Pierre's own works, to the "Biographic 
 Universelle," to the "Essai sur la Vie et les Ouvrages 
 de Bernardin de St. Pierre," by M. Aime Martin, and to 
 the very excellent and interesting "Notice Historique 
 et Litteraire," of M. Sainte Beuve.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Situate on the eastern side of the mountain 
 which rises above Port Louis, in the Mauritius, 
 upon a Apiece of land bearing the marks of 
 former cultivation, are_seen~thg^ruingjofjbwo 
 slnall cottages. These ruins are not far from 
 the center of a valley, formed by immense 
 rocks, and which opens only towards the 
 north. On the left rises the mountain called 
 the Height of Discovery, whence the eye 
 marks the distant sail when it first touches the 
 verge of the horizon, and whence the signal is 
 given when a vessel approaches the island. 
 At the foot of this mountain stands the town of 
 Port Louis. On the right is formed the road 
 which stretches from Port Louis to the Shad- 
 dock Grove, where the church bearing that 
 name lifts its head, surrounded by its avenues 
 of bamboo, in the middle of a spacious plain ; 
 and the prospect terminates in a forest extend- 
 ing to the furthest bounds of the island. The 
 front view presents the bay, denominated the 
 
 I Paul and Virginia ;>>:;
 
 34 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Bay of the Tomb ; a little on the right is seen 
 the Cape of Misfortune ; and beyond rolls the 
 expanded ocean, on the surface of which ap- 
 pears a few uninhabited islands ; and, among 
 others, the Point of Endeavor, which resem- 
 bles a bastion built upon the flood. 
 
 At the entrance of the valley which presents 
 these 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 surround- 
 ing rampart. Large clumps of trees grow at 
 their base, on their rifted sides, and even on 
 their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to 
 repose. The showers, which their bold points 
 attract, often paint the vivid colors of the rain- 
 bow on their green and brown declivities, and 
 swell the sources of the little river which flows 
 at their feet, called the river of Fan-Palms. 
 Within this inclosure reigns the most profound 
 silence. The waters, the air, all the elements 
 are at peace. Scarcely does the echo repeat 
 the whispers of the palm-trees, spreading their 
 broad leaves, the long points of which are
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 35 
 
 gently agitated by the winds. A soft light 
 illumines the bottom of this deep valley, on 
 which the sun shines only at noon. But, even 
 at break of day, the rays of light are thrown 
 on the surrounding rocks; and their sharp 
 peaks, rising above the shadows of the moun- 
 tains, appear like tints of gold and purple 
 gleaming upon the azure sky. 
 
 To this scene I loved to resort, as I could 
 here enjoy at once the richness of an un- 
 bounded landscape, and the charm of uninter- 
 rupted solitude. One day, when I was seated 
 at the foot of the cottages, and contemplating 
 their ruins, a man, advanced in years, passed 
 near the spot. He was dressed in the ancient 
 garb of the island, his feet_were bare, and he 
 leaned upon a~StafF of ebony; his iEair was 
 white, and the expression of his countenance 
 was dignified and interesting. I bowed to him 
 with respect ; he returned the salutation ; and, 
 after looking at me with some earnestness, 
 came and placed himself upon the hillock on 
 which I was seated. Encouraged by this 
 mark of confidence, I thus addressed him: 
 "Father, can you tell me to whom those cot- 
 tages once belonged?" "My son," replied the 
 old man, "those heaps of rubbish, and that un- 
 tilled land, were, twenty years ago, the prop-
 
 36 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 erty of two families, who then found happi- 
 ness in this solitude. Their history is affect- 
 ing; but what European, pursuing his way to 
 the Indies, will pause one moment to interest 
 himself in the fate of a few obscure individu- 
 als? What European can picture happiness to 
 his imagination amidst poverty and neglect? 
 The curiosity of mankind is only attracted by 
 the history of the great, and yet from that 
 knowledge little use can be . derived. ' ' 
 "Father," I rejoined, "from your manner and 
 your observations, I perceive that you have ac- 
 quired much experience of human life. If you 
 have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the 
 history of the ancient inhabitants of this desert ; 
 and be assured, that even the men who are 
 most perverted by the prejudices of the world, 
 find a soothing pleasure in contemplatingjthat 
 
 happiness wViirVi .:hf4<wg^ fn ^rmplioity arn^ 
 
 virtue." The old man, after a short silence, 
 during which he leaned his face upon his 
 hands, as if he were trying to recall the images 
 
 of the past, thus began his narration : 
 
 Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was 
 a native of Normandy, after having in vain 
 solicited a commission in the French army, or 
 some support from his own family, at length 
 determined to seek his fortune in this island,
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 37 
 
 where he arrived in 1726. He brought hither 
 a young woman, whom he loved tenderly, and 
 by whom he was no less tenderly beloved. She 
 belonged to a rich and ancient family of the 
 same province : but he had married her secretly 
 and without fortune, and in opposition to the 
 will of her relations, who refused their consent 
 because he was found guilty of being descended 
 from parents who had no claims to nobility. 
 Monsieur de la Tour, leaving his wife at Port 
 Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in order to_ 
 purchase a fejw_jla^e^^AS^stJhim - jnjEorming' 
 a plantation on this island^ He landed at 
 Madagascar during that unhealthy_..season 
 which con^enc^^tKJTittRe mlddlejQf October^ 
 and soon after his arrival died of the pestilen- 
 tial fever, which prevails in that island six 
 monthlPof the year, and which will forever 
 baffle the attempts of the European nations to 
 form establishments on that fatal soil. His 
 effects were seized upon by the rapacity of 
 strangers, as commonly happens to persons 
 dying in foreign parts ; and his wife, who was 
 pregnant, found herself a widow in a country 
 where she had neither credit nor acquaintance, 
 and no earthly possession, or rather support, 
 but oneSiegro woman. Too delicate to solicit 
 protection or relief from any one else after the
 
 88 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 death of him whom alone she loved, misfortune 
 armed her with courage, and she resolved to 
 cultivate, with her slave, a little spot of 
 ground, and procure for herself the means of 
 subsistence. 
 
 Desert as was the island, and the ground left 
 to the choice of the settler, she avoided those 
 spots which were most fertile and most favor- 
 able to commerce : seeking some nook of the 
 mountain, some secret asylum where she might 
 live solitary and unknown, she bent her way 
 from the town towards these rocks, where she 
 might conceal herself from observation. All 
 sensitive and suffering creatures, from a sort 
 of common instinct, fly for refuge amidst the 
 pains to haunts the most wild and desolate ; as 
 if rocks could form a rampart against misfor- 
 tune as if the calm of Nature could hush the 
 tumults of the soul. That Providence, which 
 lends its support when we ask but the supply 
 of our necessary wants, had a blessing in re- 
 serve for Madame de la Tour, which neither 
 riches nor greatness can purchase: this bless- 
 ing was a friend. 
 
 The spot to which Madame de la Tour had 
 fled had already been inhabited for a year by 
 a young woman of a lively, good-natured and 
 affectionate disposition. Margaret (for that
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 39 
 
 Was her name) was born in Brittany, of a fam- 
 ily of peasants, by whom she was cherished 
 and beloved, and with whom she might have 
 passed through life in simple rustic happiness, 
 if, misled by the weakness of a tender heart, 
 she had not listened to the passion of a gentle- 
 man in the neighborhood, who promised her 
 marriage. He soon abandoned her, and add- 
 ing inhumanity to seduction, refused to insure 
 a provision for the child of which she was 
 pregnant. Margaret then determined to leave 
 forever her native village, and retire, where 
 her fault mightjbe concealed, to some colony 
 distant from thalTcounTry where shgJiadToSt 
 the only portion of a poor peasant girl her 
 reputation. With some borrowed money she 
 purchased an old negro slave, with whom she 
 cultivated a little corner of this district. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro 
 woman, came to this spot, where she found 
 Margaret engaged in suckling her child. 
 Soothed and charmed by the sight of a person 
 in a situation somewhat similar to her own, 
 Madame de la Tour related, in a few words, 
 her past condition and her present wants. Mar- 
 garet was deeply affected by the recital ; and 
 more anxious to merit confidence than to create 
 esteem, she confessed without disguise, the
 
 40 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 errors of which she had been guilty. "As for 
 me," said she, "I deserve my fate: but you, 
 madam you ! at once virtuous and unhappy, ' ' 
 and, sobbing, she offered Madame de la Tour 
 both her hut and her friendship. That lady, 
 affected by this tender reception, pressed her 
 in her arms, and exclaimed, "Ah, surely 
 Heaven has put an end to my misfortunes, 
 since it inspires you, to whom I am a stranger, 
 with more goodness towards me than I have 
 ever experienced from my own relations!" 
 
 I was acquainted with Margaret: and, al- 
 though my habitation is a league and a half 
 from hence, in the woods behind that sloping 
 mountain, I considered myself as her neighbor. 
 In the cities of Europe, a street, even a simple 
 wall, frequently prevents members-jof the same 
 family from meeting for years ; but in new col- 
 onies we consider those persons as neighbors 
 from whom we are divided only by woods and 
 mountains; and, above all, at that period, 
 when this island had little intercourse with 
 the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim to 
 friendship, and hospitality towards strangers 
 seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No sooner 
 was I informed that Margaret had found a com- 
 panion, than I hastened to her, in the hope of 
 being useful to my neighbor and her guest. I
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 41 
 
 found Madame de la Tour possessed of all 
 those melancholy graces which, by blending 
 smypathy with admiration gave to beauty ad- 
 ditional power. Her countenance was interest- 
 ing, expressive at once of dignity and dejection. 
 She appeared to be in the last stage of her 
 pregnancy. I told the two friends that for the 
 future interest of their children, and to prevent 
 the intrusion of any other settler, they had 
 better divide between them the property of this 
 wild, sequestered valley, which is nearly 
 twenty acres in extent. They confided that 
 task to me, and I marked out two equal por- 
 tions of land. One included the higher part of 
 this inclosure, from the cloudy pinnacle of that 
 rock, whence springs the river of Fan-Palms, 
 to that precipitous cleft which you see on the 
 summit of the mountain, and which, from its 
 resemblance in form to the battlement of a 
 fortress, is called the Embrasure. It is diffi- 
 cult to find a path along this wild portion of 
 the inclosure, the soil of which is encumbered 
 with fragments of rock, or worn into channels 
 formed by torrents; yet it produces noble 
 trees, and innumerable springs and rivulets. 
 The other portion of land comprised the plain 
 extending along the banks of the river of Fan- 
 Palms, to the opening where we are now
 
 42 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 seated, whence the river takes its course be- 
 tween those two hills, until it falls into the sea. 
 You may still trace the vestiges of some mea- 
 dow land ; and this part of the common is less 
 rugged, but not more valuable than the other ; 
 since in the rainy season it becomes marshy, 
 and in dry weather is so hard and unyielding, 
 that it will almost resist the stroke of a pickax. 
 When I had thus divided the property, I per- 
 suaded my neighbors to draw lots for their re- 
 spective possessions. The higher portion of 
 land, containing the source of the river of 
 Fan-Palms, became the property of .Madame 
 de la Tour ; the lower, comprising the plain on 
 the banks of the river, was allotted to Marga- 
 ret ; and each seemed satisfied with her share. 
 They entreated me to place their habitations 
 together, that they might at all times enjoy 
 the soothing intercourse of friendship, and the 
 consolation of mutual kind offices. Margaret's 
 cottage was situated near the center of the val- 
 ley, and just on the boundary of her own plan- 
 tation. Close to that spot I built another cot- 
 tage for the residence of Madame de la Tour ; 
 and thus the two friends, while they possessed 
 all the advantages of neighborhood, lived on 
 their own property. I myself cut palisades 
 from the mountain, and brought leaves of fan-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 43 
 
 palms from the sea-shore in order to construct 
 those two cottages, of which you can now dis- 
 cern 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 perpetuate my regrets to the last hour 
 of my existence. 
 
 As soon as the second cottage was finished, 
 Madame de la Tour was delivered of a girl. I 
 had been the godfather of Margaret's child, 
 who was christened by the name of Paul. 
 Madame de la Tour desired me to perform the 
 same office for her child also, together with her 
 friend, who gave her the name of Virginia. 
 "She will be__virjLUOUs r ? > cried Margaret, "and 
 she-w3F-be happy. I have only known misfor- 
 une by wandering from virtue. ' ' 
 
 About the time Madame de la Tour recov- 
 ered, these two little estates had already begun 
 to yield some produce, perhaps in a small de- 
 gree owing to the care which I occasionally be- 
 stowed on their improvement, but far more to 
 the indefatigable labors of the two slaves. 
 Margaret's slave, who v/as called Domingo, 
 was still healthy and robust, though advanced 
 in years: he possessed some knowledge, and a
 
 44 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 good natural understanding. He cultivated 
 indiscriminately, on both plantations, the spots 
 of ground that seemed most fertile, and sowed 
 whatever grain he thought most congenial to 
 each particular soil. Where the ground was 
 poor, he strewed maize; where it was most 
 fruitful, he planted wheat; and rice in such 
 spots as were marshy. He threw the seeds of 
 gourds and cucumbers at the foot of the rocks, 
 which they loved to climb and decorate with 
 their luxuriant foliage. In dry spots he culti- 
 vated the sweet potato ; the cotton-tree flour- 
 ished upon the heights, and the sugar-cane 
 grew in the clayey soil. He reared some 
 plants of coffee on the hills, where the grain, 
 although small, is excellent. His plantain- 
 trees, which spread their grateful shade on the 
 banks of the river, and encircled the cottages, 
 yielded fruit throughout the year. And, lastly, 
 Domingo, to soothe his cares, cultivated a few 
 plants of tobacco. Sometimes he was employed 
 in cutting wood for firing from the mountain, 
 sometimes in hewing pieces of rock within the 
 inclosure, in order to level the paths. The zeal 
 which inspired him enabled him to perform all 
 these labors with intelligence and activity. 
 He was much attached to Margaret, and not 
 less to Madame de la Tour, whose negro
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 45 
 
 woman, Mary, he had married on the birth of 
 Virginia ; and he was passionately fond of his 
 wife. Mary was born at Madagascar, and had 
 there acquired the knowledge of some useful 
 arts. She could weave baskets, and a sort of 
 stuff, with long grass that grows in the woods. 
 She was active, cleanly, and, above all, faith- 
 ful. It was her care to prepare their meals, to 
 rear the poultry, and go sometimes to Port 
 Louis, to sell the superfluous produce of these 
 little plantations, which was not, however, very 
 considerable. If you add to the personages 
 already mentioned two goats, which were 
 brought up with the children, and a great dog, 
 which kept watch at night, you will have a 
 complete idea of the household, as well as of 
 the productions of these two little farms. 
 Madame de la Tour and her friend were con- 
 stantly employed in spinning cotton for the use 
 of their families. Destitute of everything 
 which their own industry could not supply, at 
 home they went barefooted; shoes were a con- 
 enience reserved for Sunday, on which day, at 
 early hour, they attended mass at the church 
 of the Shaddock Grove, which you see yonder. 
 That church was more distant from their homes 
 than Port Louis; but they seldom visited the 
 town, lest they should be treated with con-
 
 46 
 
 tempt on account of their dress, which con- 
 sisted simply of the coarse blue linen of Ben- 
 gal, usually worn by slaves. But is there, in 
 that external deference which fortune com- 
 mands, a compensation for domestic happi- 
 ness? If these interesting women had some- 
 thing to suffer from the world, their homes on 
 that very account became more dear to them. 
 No sooner did Mary and Domingo, from this 
 elevated spot, perceive their mistresses on the 
 road of the Shaddock Grove, than they flew to 
 the foot of the mountain in order to help them 
 to ascend. They discerned in the looks of their 
 domestics the joy which their return excited. 
 They found in their retreat neatness, independ- 
 ence, all the blessings which are the recom- 
 pense of toil, and they received the zealous 
 services which spring from affection. United 
 by the tie of similar wants, and the sympathy 
 of similar misfortunes, they gave each other the 
 tender names of companion, friend, sister. 
 They had but one will, one interest, one table. 
 All their possessions were in common. And if 
 sometimes a passion more ardent than friend- 
 ship awakened in their hearts the pang of una- 
 vailing anguish, a pure religion, united with 
 chaste manners, drew their affections towards 
 anothei life : as the trembling flame rises to-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 47 
 
 wards heaven, when it no longer finds any ali- 
 ment on earth. 
 
 The duties of maternity became a source of 
 additional happiness to these affectionate 
 mothers, whose mutual friendship gained new 
 strength at the sight of their children, equally 
 the offspring of an ill-fated attachment. They 
 delighted in washing their infants together in 
 the same bath, in putting them to rest in the 
 same cradle, and in changing the maternal 
 bosom at which they received nourishment. 
 "My friend," cried Madame de la Tour, "we 
 shall each of us have two children, and each of 
 our children will have two mothers. " As two 
 buds which remain on different trees of the 
 same kind, after the tempest has broken all 
 their branches, produce more delicious fruit, if 
 each, separated from the maternal stem, be 
 grafted on the neighboring tree, so these tw,o 
 infants, deprived of all their other relations, 
 when thus exchanged for nourishmnt by those 
 who had given them birth, imbibed feelings of 
 affection still more tender than those of son 
 and daughter, brother and sister. While they 
 were yet in their cradles, their mothers talked 
 of their marriage. They soothed their own 
 ares by looking forward to the future happi- 
 ess of their children ; but this contemplation
 
 48 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 often drew forth their tears. The misfortunes 
 of one mother had arisen from having neg- 
 lected marriage ; those of the other for having 
 submitted to its laws. One had suffered by 
 aiming to rise above her condition, the other 
 by descending from her rank. But they found 
 consolation in reflecting that their more fortu- 
 /iiate children, far from the. cruel ^prejudices of 
 Europe, would enjoy" at once the pleasures of 
 love and the blessings of equality. 
 
 Rarelyfindeed, has such an attachment been 
 seen as that which the two children already 
 testified for each other. If Paul complained of 
 anything, his mother pointed to Virginia ; at 
 her sight he smiled, and was appeased. If any 
 accident befell Virginia, the cries of Paul gave 
 notice of the disaster; but the dear little crea- 
 ture would suppress her complaints if she found 
 that he was unhappy. When I came hither, I 
 usually found them quite naked, as is the cus- 
 tom of the country, tottering in their walks, and 
 holding each other by the hands and under the 
 arms, as we see represented the constellation 
 of the Twins. At night these infants often re- 
 fused to be separated, and were found lying in 
 the same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms 
 pressed close together, their hands thrown
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 49 
 
 round each other's neck, and sleeping, locked 
 in one another's arms. 
 
 When they began to speak, the first name 
 they learned to give each other were those of 
 brother and sister, and childhood knows no 
 softer appellation. Their education, by direct- 
 ing them ever to consider each other's wants, 
 tended greatly to increase their affection. In 
 a short time, all the household economy, the 
 care of preparing their rural repasts, became 
 the task of Virginia, whose labors were always 
 crowned with the praises and kisses of her 
 brother. As for Paul, always in motion, he 
 dug the garden with Domingo, or followed him 
 with a little hatchet into the woods ; and if in 
 his rambles he espied a beautiful flower, any 
 delicious fruit, or a nest of birds, even at the 
 top of the tree, he would climb up and bring 
 the spoil to his sister. When you met one of 
 these children, you might be sure the other was 
 not far off. 
 
 One day as I was coming down that mount- 
 ain, I saw Virginia at the end of the garden 
 /running towards the house with her petticoat 
 \ I thrown over her head, in order to screen her- 
 j self from a shower of rain. At a distance, I 
 | thought she was alone ; but as I hastened to- 
 wards her in order to help her on, I perceived 
 
 4 Paul and Virginia
 
 50 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 she held Paul by the arm, almost entirely en- 
 veloped in the same canopy, and both were 
 laughing heartily at their being sheltered to- 
 gether under an umbrella of their own inven- 
 tion. Those two charming faces in the middle 
 
 /of a swelling petticoat, recalled to my mind 
 A the children of Leda, inclosed in the same 
 
 /shell. Their sole study was how they could 
 please and assist one another ; for of all other 
 things they were ignorant, and, indeed, could 
 neither read nor write. They were never dis- 
 turbed by inquiries about past times, nor did 
 their curiosity extend beyond the bounds of 
 their mountain. They believed the world 
 ended at the shores of their own island, and all 
 their ideas and all their affections were confined 
 within its limits. Their mutual tenderness, 
 and that of their mothers, employed all the 
 energies of their minds. Their tears had never 
 been called forth by tedious application to use- 
 less sciences. Their minds had never been 
 wearied by lessons of morality, superfluous to 
 bosoms unconscious of ill. They had never 
 been taught not to steal, because everything 
 with them was in common ; or not to be intem- 
 perate, because their simple food was left to 
 their own discretion; or not to lie, because 
 they had nothing to conceal. Their young
 
 "Under an umbrella of their own invention/ 1 Page 50. 
 
 Paul and Virginia,
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 51 
 
 - 
 
 imaginations had never been terrified by the 
 Jidea that God has punishment in store for un- 
 grateful children, since with them, filial affec- 
 I tion arose naturally from maternal tenderness. 
 All they had been taught of religion was to 
 love it, and if they did not offer up long prayers 
 in the church, wherever they were, in the 
 house, in the fields, in the woods, they raised 
 towards heaven their innocent hands, and 
 hearts purified by virtuous affections. 
 
 All their early childhood passed thus, like a 
 beautiful dawn, the prelude . of a bright day. 
 Already they assisted their mothers in the 
 duties of the household. As soon as the crow- 
 ing of the wakeful cock announced the first 
 beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and has- 
 tened to draw water from a neighboring spring : 
 then returning to the house, she prepared the 
 breakfast. When the rising sun gilded the 
 points of the rocks which overhang the inclos- 
 ure in which they lived, Margaret and her child 
 repaired to the dwelling of Madame de la Tour, 
 where they offered up their morning prayer 
 ' together. This sacrifice of thanksgiving 
 always preceded their first repast, which they 
 often took before the door of the cottage, 
 seated upon the grass, under a canopy of plan- 
 tain : and while the branches of that delicious
 
 52 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 tree afforded a grateful shade, its fruit fur- 
 nished a substantial food ready prepared for 
 them by nature, and its long glossy leaves, 
 spread upon the table, supplied the place of 
 linen. Plentiful and wholesome nourishment 
 gave early growth and vigor to the persons of 
 these children, and their countenances ex- 
 pressed the purity and peace of their souls. At 
 twelve years of age the figure of Virginia was 
 in some degree formed ; a profusion of light 
 hair shaded her face, to which her blue eyes 
 and coral lips gave the most charming brilli- 
 ancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when 
 she spoke ; but when she was silent they were 
 habitually turned upwards with an expression 
 of extreme sensibility, or rather of tender mel- 
 ancholy. The figure of Paul began already to 
 display the graces of youthful beauty. He was 
 taller than Virginia; his skin was a darker tint; 
 his nose more aquiline, and his black eyes 
 would have been too piercing, if the long eye- 
 lashes by which they were shaded had not im- 
 parted to them an expression of softness. 
 He was constantly in motion, except when his 
 sister appeared, and then, seated by her side, 
 he became still. Their meals often passed with- 
 out a word being spoken, and from their 
 silence, the simple elegance of their attitudes
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 53 
 
 and the beauty of their naked feet, you might 
 have fancied you beheld an antique group of 
 white marble, representing some of the chil- 
 dren of Niobe, but for the glances of their eyes, 
 which were constantly seeking to meet, and 
 their mutual soft and tender smiles, which sug- 
 gested rather the idea of happy celestial spirits, 
 whose nature is love, and who are not obliged 
 to have recourse to words for the expression of 
 their feelings. 
 
 In the meantime, Madame de la Tour, per- 
 ceiving every day some unfolding grace, some 
 new beauty, in her daughter, felt her maternal 
 anxiety increase with her tenderness. She 
 often said to me, 'If I were to die, what will 
 become of Virginia without fortune? 
 
 Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, 
 who was a woman of quality, rich, old, and a 
 complete devotee. She had behaved with so 
 much cruelty towards her niece upon her mar- 
 riage, that Madame de la Tour had determined 
 no extremity of distress should ever compel 
 her to have recourse to her hard-hearted rela- 
 tion. But when she became a mother, the 
 pride of resentment was overcome by the 
 stronger feelings of maternal tenderness. She 
 wrote to her aunt, informing her of the sudden 
 death of her husband, and the birth of her
 
 54 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 daughter, and the difficulties in which she was 
 involved, burdened as she was with an infant, 
 and without means of support. She received 
 no answer ; but notwithstanding the high spirit 
 natural to her character, she no longer feared 
 exposing herself to mortification ; and, although 
 she knew her aunt would never pardon her for 
 having married a man who was not of noble 
 birth, however estimable, she continued to 
 write to her, with the hope of awakening her 
 compassion for Virginia. Many years, how- 
 ever, passed without receiving any token of her 
 remembrance. 
 
 At length, in 1 738, 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 from her 
 aunt. She flew to Port Louis, maternal joy 
 raised her mind above all trifling considera- 
 tions, and she was careless on this occasion of 
 appearing in her homely attire. Monsieur de 
 la Bourdonnais gave her a letter from her aunt, 
 In which she informed her, that she deserved 
 her fate for marrying an adventurer and a lib- 
 ertine; that the passions brought with them 
 their own punishment; that the premature 
 death of her husband was a just visitation from 
 Heaven, that she had done well in going to a
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 65 
 
 distant island, rather than dishonor her family 
 by remaining in France ; and that, after all, in 
 the colony where she had taken refuge, none 
 but the idle failed to grow rich. Having thus 
 censured her niece, she concluded by eulogiz- 
 ing herself. To avoid, she said, the almost 
 inevitable evils of marriage, she had deter- 
 mined to remain single. In fact, as she was 
 of a very ambitious disposition, she had re- 
 solved to marry none but a man of high rank, 
 but although she was very rich, her fortune 
 was not found a sufficient bribe, even at court, 
 to counterbalance the malignant dispositions of 
 her mind, and the disagreeable qualities of her 
 nature. 
 
 After mature deliberations, she added, in a 
 postscript, that she had strongly lecommended 
 her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This 
 she had, indeed, done, but in a manner of late 
 too common, which renders a patron perhaps 
 even more to be feared than a declared enemy, 
 for, in order to justify herself for her harsh- 
 ness, she had cruelly slandered her niece, 
 while she affected to pity her misfortunes. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced 
 person could have seen without feelings of 
 sympathy and respect, was received with the 
 utmost Coolness by Monsieur de la Bourdon-
 
 56 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 nais, biased as he was against her. When she 
 painted to him her own situation and that of her 
 child, he replied in abrupt sentences, "We 
 will see what can be done there are so many 
 to relieve all in good time why did you dis- 
 please your aunt? you have been much to 
 blame." 
 
 Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, 
 her heart torn with grief, and filled with all 
 the bitterness of disappointment. When she 
 arrived she threw her aunt's letter on the 
 table, and exclaimed to her friend, "There is 
 the fruit of eleven years of patient expecta- 
 tion!" Madame de la Tour being the only per- 
 son in the little circle who could read, she again 
 took up the letter, and read it aloud. Scarcely 
 had she finished, when Margaret exclaimed, 
 "What have we to do with your relations? Has 
 God then forsaken us? He only is our Father! 
 Have we not hitherto been happy? Why then 
 this regret? You have no courage." Seeing 
 Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw herself 
 upon her neck, and pressing her in her arms, 
 "My dear friend?" cried she, "my dear 
 friend!" but her emotion choked her utter- 
 ance. At this sight Virginia burst into tears, 
 and pressed her mother's and Margaret's hand 
 alternately to her lips and heart; while Paul,
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 57 
 
 his eyes inflamed with anger, cried, clasping 
 his hands together, and stamping with his foot, 
 not knowing whom to blame for this scene of 
 misery. The noise soon brought Domingo and 
 Mary to the spot, and the little habitation re- 
 sounded with cries of distress, "Ah, madam! 
 My good mistress! My dear mother! Do 
 not weep!" These tender proofs of affection 
 at length dispelled the grief of Madame de la 
 Tour. She took Paul and Virginia in her arms, 
 and, embracing them, said, "You are the cause 
 of my affliction, my children, but you are also 
 my only source of delight.' Yes, my dear chil- 
 dren, misfortune has reached me, but only 
 (from a distance; here I am surrounded with 
 [happiness. ' ' Paul and Virginia did not under- 
 ^tand this reflection ; but when they saw that 
 she was calm, they smiled, and continued to 
 caress her. Tranquillity was thus restored in 
 this happy famliy, and all that had passed was 
 but as a storm in the midst of fine weather, 
 which disturbs the serenity of the atmosphere 
 but for a short time, and then passes away. 
 
 The amiable disposition of these children 
 unfolded itself daily. One Sunday, at day- 
 break, their mothers having gone to mass at 
 the church of the Shaddock Grove, the children 
 perceived a negro woman beneath the plan-
 
 5& PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 tains which surrounded their habitation, She 
 appeared almost wasted to a skeleton, and had 
 no other garment than a piece of coarse cloth 
 thrown around her. She threw herself at the 
 feet of Virginia, who was preparing the family 
 breakfast, and said, "My good young lady, 
 have pity on a poor runaway slave. For a 
 whole month I have wandered among these 
 mountains, half-dead with hunger, and often 
 pursued by the hunters and their dogs. I fled 
 from my master, a rich planter of the Black 
 : River, who has used me as you see;" and she 
 ' showed her body marked with scars from the 
 lashes she had received. She added, "I was 
 going to drown myself, but hearing you lived 
 here, I said to myself, Since there are still 
 some good white people in this country, I need 
 not die yet." Virginia answered with emo- 
 tion, "Take courage, unfortunate creature! 
 here is something to eat;" and she gave her 
 the breakfast she had been preparing, which 
 the slave in few minutes devoured. When her 
 hunger was appeased, Virginia said to her, 
 "Poor woman! I should like to go and ask for- 
 giveness for you of your master. Surely, the 
 sight of you will touch him with pity. Will 
 you show me the way?" "Angel of heaven!" 
 answered the poor negro woman, "I will follow
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 59 
 
 you where you please !" Virginia called her 
 brother and begged him to accompany her. 
 The slave led the way, by winding and difficult 
 paths, ^hrough the woods, over mountains, 
 which they climbed with difficulty, and across 
 rivers, through which they were obliged to 
 wade. At length, about the middle of the day, 
 they reached the foot of a steep descent upon 
 the borders of the Black River. There they 
 perceived a well-built house, surrounded by 
 extensive plantations, and a number of slaves 
 employed in their various labors. Their mas- 
 ter was walking among them with a pipe in his 
 mouth, and a switch in his hand. He was a 
 tall, thin man, of a brown complexion; his 
 eyes were sunk in his head, and his dark eye- 
 brows were joined in one. Virginia, holding 
 Paul by the hand, drew near, and with much 
 emotion begged him, for the love of God, to 
 pardon his poor slave, who stood trembling a 
 few paces behind. The planter at first paid 
 little attention to the children, who he saw, 
 were meanly dressed. But when he observed 
 the elegance of Virginia's form, and the pro- 
 fusion of her beautiful light tresses which had 
 escaped from beneath her blue cap ; when he 
 heard the soft tone of her voice, which trem- 
 bled, as well as her whole frame, while she im-
 
 60 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 plored his compassion ; he took his 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 
 her forgiveness. Virginia made a sign to the 
 slave to approach her master ; and instantly 
 sprang away followed by Paul. 
 
 They climbed up the steep they had des- 
 cended ; and having gained the summit, seated 
 themselves at the foot of a tree, overcome with 
 fatigue, hunger and thirst. They had left 
 their home fasting, and walked five leagues 
 since sunrise. Paul said to Virginia, "My 
 dear sister, it is past noon, and I am sure you 
 are thirsty and hungry ; we shall find no dinner 
 here ; let us go down the mountain again, and 
 ask the master of the poor slave for some 
 food." "Oh, no," answered Virginia, "he 
 frightens me too much. Remember what 
 mamma sometimes says, 'The bread of the 
 wicked is like stones in the mouth. ' " "What 
 shall we do then?" said Paul; "these trees pro- 
 duce no fruit fit to eat ; and I shall not be able 
 to find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh 
 you." "God will take care of us," replied 
 Virginia; "he listens to the cry even of the 
 little birds when they ask him for food." 
 Scarcely had she pronounced these words when
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 61 
 
 they heard the noise of water falling from a 
 neighboring rock. They ran thither, and hav- 
 ing quenched their thirst at this crystal spring, 
 they gathered and ate a few cresses which grew 
 on the border of the stream. Soon afterward, 
 while they were wandering backwards and for- 
 wards, in search of more solid nourishment, 
 Virginia perceived in the thickest part of the 
 forest, a young palm-tree. The kind of cab- 
 bage which is found at the top of the palm, 
 enfolded within its leaves, is well adapted for 
 food ; but, although the stock of the tree is not 
 thicker than a man's leg, it grows to above 
 sixty feet in height. The wood of the tree, 
 indeed, is composed only of very fine filaments ; 
 but the bark is so hard that it turns the edge 
 of the hatchet, and Paul was not furnished 
 even with a knife. At length he thought of 
 setting fire to the palm-tree ; but a new diffi- 
 culty occurred : he had no steel with which to 
 strike fire; and although the whole island is 
 covered with rocks, I do not believe it is pos- 
 sible to find a single flint. Necessity, how- 
 ever, is fertile in expedients, and the most 
 useful inventions have arisen from men placed 
 in the most destitute situations. Paul deter- 
 mined to kindle a fire after the manner of the 
 negroes. With the sharp end of a stone he
 
 62 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 made a small hole in the branch of a tree that 
 was quite dry, and which he held between his 
 feet : he then, with the edge of the same stone, 
 brought to a point another dry branch of a 
 different sort of wood, and, afterwards, placing 
 the piece of pointed wood in the small hole of 
 the branch which he held with his feet and 
 turning it rapidly between his hands, in a few 
 minutes smoke and sparks of fire issued from 
 the point of contact. Paul then heaped 
 together dried gress and branches, and set fire 
 to the foot of the palm-tree, which soon fell to 
 the ground with a tremendous crash. The fire 
 was further useful to him in stripping off the 
 long, thick, and pointed leaves, within which 
 the cabbage was inclosed. Having thus suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining this fruit, they ate part of 
 it raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, which 
 they found equally palatable. They made this 
 frugal repast with delight, from the remem- 
 brance of the benevolent action they had per- 
 formed in the morning: yet their joy was 
 embittered by the thoughts of the uneasiness 
 which their long absence from home would 
 occasion their mothers. Virginia often 
 recurred to this subject; but Paul, who felt 
 his strength renewed by their meal, assured 
 her that it would not be long before they
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 63 
 
 reached home, and, by the assurance of their 
 safety, tranquilized the minds of their parents. 
 After dinner they were much embarrassed 
 by the recollection that they had now no guide, 
 and that they were ignorant of the way. Paul, 
 whose spirit was not subdued by difficulties, 
 said to Virginia, "The sun shines full upon 
 our huts at noon : we must pass, as we did this 
 morning, over that mountain with its three 
 points, which you see yonder. Come, let us be 
 moving." This mountain was that of the 
 Three Breasts, so called from the form of its 
 three peaks. They then descended the steep 
 bank of the Black River, on the northern side ; 
 and arrived, after an hour's walk, on the banks 
 of a large river, which stopped their further pro- 
 gress. This large portion of the island, covered 
 as it is with forests, is even now so little known 
 that many of its rivers and mountains have not 
 yet received a name. The stream, on the 
 banks of which Paul and Virginia were now 
 standing, rolls foaming over a bed of rocks. 
 The noise of the water frightened Virginia, 
 and she was afraid to wade through the cur- 
 rent : 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
 
 64 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 be afraid," cried he to Virginia; "I feel very 
 strong with you. If that planter at the Black 
 River had refused you the pardon of his slave, 
 I would have fought with him." "What?" 
 answered Virginia, "with that great wicked 
 man? To what have I exposed you! Gracious 
 heaven ! how difficult it is to do good ! and yet 
 it is so easy to do wrong. " 
 
 When Paul had crossed the river, he wished 
 to continue the journey carrying his sister: 
 and he flattered himself that he could ascend 
 in that way the mountain of the Three Breasts, 
 which was still at the 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. Virginia then said to him, "My dear 
 brother, the sun is going down ; you have still 
 some strength left, but mine has quite failed : 
 do leave me here, and return home alone to 
 ease the fears of our mothers. ' ' ' ' Oh no, ' ' said 
 Paul, "I will not leave you; if night overtakes 
 us in this wood I will light a fire, and bring 
 down another palm-tree; you shall eat the 
 cabbage, and I will form a covering of the 
 leaves to shelter you. ' ' In the meantime, Vir- 
 ginia being a little rested, she gathered from 
 the trunk of an old tree, which overhung the 
 bank of the river, some long leaves of the
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 65 
 
 plant called hart's tongue, which grew near its 
 root. Of these leaves she made a sort of 
 buskin, with which she covered her feet, that 
 were bleeding from the sharpness of the stony 
 paths ; for in her eager desire to do good, she 
 had forgotten to put on her shoes. Feeling 
 her feet cooled by the freshness of the leaves, 
 she broke off a branch of bamboo, and contin- 
 ued her walk, leaning with one hand on the 
 staff, and with the other on Paul. 
 
 They walked on in this manner slowly 
 through the woods; but from the height of the 
 trees, and the thickness of their foliage, they 
 soon lost sight of the mountain of the Three 
 Breasts, by which they had hitherto directed 
 their course, and also of the sun, which was now 
 setting. At length they wandered, without 
 perceiving it, from the beaten path in which 
 they had hitherto walked, and found themselves 
 in a labyrinth of trees, underwood, and rocks, 
 whence there appeared to be no outlet. Paul 
 made Virginia sit down, while he ran back- 
 wards and forwards, half frantic, in search of 
 a path which might lead them out of this thick 
 wood ; but he fatigued himself to no purpose. 
 He then climbed to the top of a lofty tree, 
 whence he hoped at least to perceive the 
 mountain of the Three Breasts : but he could 
 
 5 Paul and Virginia
 
 66 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 discern nothing around him but the tops of 
 trees, some of which were gilded with the 
 last beams of the setting sun. Already the 
 shadows of the mountains were spreading over 
 the forests in the valleys. The wind lulled, 
 as is usually the case at sunset. The most 
 profound silence reigned in those awful soli- 
 tudes, which was only interrupted by the cry 
 of the deer, who came to their lairs in that 
 unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope that 
 some hunter would hear his voice, called out 
 as loud as he was able, "Come, come, to the 
 help of Virginia." But the echoes of the 
 forest alone answered his call, and repeated 
 again and again, "Virginia Virginia." 
 
 Paul at length descended from the tree, over- 
 come with fatigue and vexation. He looked 
 around in order to make some arrangement for 
 passing the night in that desert ; but he could 
 find neither fountain, nor palm-tree, nor even 
 a branch of dry wood fit for kindling a fire. 
 He was then impressed, by experience, with 
 the sense of his own weakness, and began to 
 weep. Virginia said to him, "Do not weep, 
 my dear brother, or I shall be overwhelmed 
 with grief. I am the cause of all your sorrow, 
 and of all that our mothers are suffering at this 
 moment. I find we ought to do nothing, not
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 67 
 
 even good, without consulting our parents. 
 Oh, I have been very imprudent!" and she 
 began to shed tears. "Let us pray to God, 
 my dear brother," she again said, "and he will 
 hear us." They had scarcely finished their 
 prayer, when they heard the barking of a dog. 
 "It must be the dog of some hunter," said 
 Paul, who "comes here at night, to lie in wait 
 for the deer. " Soon after, the dog began bark- 
 ing again with increased violence. "Surely," 
 said Virginia, "it is Fidele, our own dog: yes, 
 now I know his bark. Are we then so near 
 home? at the foot of our own mountain?" A 
 moment after Fidele was at their feet, barking, 
 howling, moaning, and devouring them with 
 caresses. Before they could recover from their 
 surprise, they saw Domingo running towards 
 them. At the sight of the good old negro, 
 who wept for joy, they began to weep too, but 
 had not the power to utter a syllable. When 
 Domingo had recovered himself a little, "Oh, 
 
 yiny dear children," said he, "how miserable 
 have you made your mothers ! How astonished 
 
 ' they were when they returned with me from 
 mass, on not finding you at home. Mary, who 
 was at work at a little distance, could not tell us 
 where you were gone. I ran backwards and 
 forwards in the plantation, not knowing where
 
 68 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 to look for you. At last I took some of your 
 old clothes, and showing them to Fidele, the 
 poor animal, as if he understood me, immedi- 
 ately began to scent your path ; and conducted 
 me, wagging his tail all the while, to the Black 
 River. I there saw a planter, who told me 
 you had brought back a Maroon negro woman, 
 his slave, and that he had pardoned her at your 
 request. But what a pardon ! he showed her 
 to me with her feet chained to a block of wood, 
 and an iron collar with three hooks fastened 
 round her neck ! After that, Fidele, still on 
 the scent, led me up the steep bank of the 
 Black River, where he again stopped, and 
 barked with all his might. This was on the 
 brink of a spring, near which was a fallen 
 palm-tree, and a fire, still smoking. At last 
 he led me to this very spot. We are now at 
 the foot of the mountain of the Three Breasts, 
 and still four good leagues from home. Come 
 eat, and recover your strength." Domingo 
 then presented them with a cake, some fruit, 
 and a large gourd full of beverage composed of 
 wine, water, lemon- juice, sugar, and nutmeg, 
 which their mothers had prepared to invigorate 
 and refresh them. Virginia sighed at the 
 recollection of the poor slave, and at the 
 uneasiness they had given their mothers. She
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 69 
 
 repeated several times. "Oh, how difficult it 
 is to do good!" While she and Paul were tak- 
 ing refreshment, it being already night, Do- 
 mingo kindled a fire : and having found among 
 the rocks a particular kind of twisted wood, 
 called bois de ronde, which burns when quite 
 green, and throws out a great blaze, he made 
 a torch of it, which he lighted. But when 
 they prepared to continue their journey, a new 
 difficulty occurred ; Paul and Virginia could no 
 longer walk, their feet being violently swollen 
 and inflamed. Domingo knew not what to do ; 
 whether to leave them and go in search of help, 
 or remain and pass the night with them on that 
 spot. "There was a time," said he, "when I 
 could carry you both together in my arms! 
 But now you are grown big, and I am grown 
 old. " While he was in this perplexity, a troop 
 of Maroon negroes appeared at a short distance 
 from them. The chief of the band, approach- 
 ing Paul and Virginia, said to them, "Good 
 little white people, do not be afraid. We saw 
 you pass this morning, with a negro woman of 
 the Black River. You went to ask pardon for 
 her of her wicked master; and we, in return 
 for this, will carry you home upon our shoul- 
 ders. " He then made a sign, and four of the 
 strongest negroes immediately formed a sort of
 
 70 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 litter with the branches of trees and lianas, 
 and having seated Paul and Virginia on it, 
 carried them upon their shoulders. Domingo 
 marched in front with his lighted torch, and 
 they proceeded amidst the rejoicings of the 
 whole troop, who overwhelmed them with their 
 benedictions. Virginia, affected by this scene, 
 said to Paul, with emotion, "Oh, my dear 
 brother ! God never leaves a good action unre- 
 warded. ' ' 
 
 It was midnight when they arrived at the foot 
 of their mountain, on the ridges of which sev- 
 eral fires were lighted. As soon as they began 
 to ascend, they heard voices exclaiming "Is it 
 you, my children?" They answered immedi- 
 ately, and the negroes also, "Yes, yes, it is." 
 A moment after they could distinguish their 
 mothers and Mary coming towards them with 
 lighted sticks in their hands. "Unhappy chil- 
 dren," cried Madame de la Tour, "where have 
 you been? what agonies you have made us 
 suffer!" "We have been," said Virginia, "to 
 the Black River, where we went to ask pardon 
 for a poor Maroon slave, to whom I gave our 
 breakfast this morning, because she seemed 
 dying of hunger; and these Maroon negroes 
 have brought us home. " Madame de la Tour 
 embraced her daughter, without being able to
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. W 
 
 speak; and Virginia, who felt her face wet 
 with her mother's tears, exclaimed, "Now I 
 am repaid for all the hardships I have suffered. ' ' 
 Margaret, in a transport of delight, pressed 
 Paul in her arms, exclaiming, "And you also, 
 my dear child, you have done a good action. " 
 When they reached the cottages with their 
 children they entertained all the negroes with 
 a plentiful repast, after which the latter re- 
 turned to the woods praying Heaven to shower 
 down every description of blessing on those 
 good white people. 
 
 Every day was to these families a day of hap- 
 piness and tranquillity. Neither ambition nor 
 envy disturbed their repose. They did not 
 seek to obtain a useless reputation out of doors, 
 which may be procured by artifice and lost by 
 calumny; but were contented to be the sole 
 witnesses and judges of their own actions. In 
 this island, where, as is the case in most colo- 
 nies, scandal forms the principal topic of con- 
 versation, their virtues, and even their names, 
 were unknown. The passer-by on the road to 
 the Shaddock Grove, indeed, would sometimes 
 ask the inhabitants of the plain, who lived in 
 the cottages up there? and was always told, 
 even by those who did not know them, "They 
 are good people." The modest violet thus,
 
 72 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 concealed in thorny places, sheds all unseen its 
 delightful fragrance around. 
 
 Slander, which, under an appearance of jus- 
 tice, naturally inclines the heart to falsehood 
 or to hatred, was entirely banished from their 
 conversation ; for it is impossible not to hate 
 men if we believe them to be wicked, or to live 
 with the wicked without concealing that hatred 
 under a false pretence of good feeling. Slander 
 thus puts us all ill at ease with others and with 
 ourselves. In this little circle, therefore, the 
 conduct of individuals was not discussed, but 
 the best manner of doing good to all; and 
 although they had but little in their power, 
 their unceasing good-will and kindness of heart 
 made them constantly ready to do what they 
 could for others. Solitude, far from having 
 blunted these benevolent feelings, had ren- 
 dered their dispositions even more kindly. 
 Although the petty scandals of the day fur- 
 nished no subject of conversation to them, 
 yet their contemplation of nature filled their 
 minds with enthusiastic delight. They adored 
 the bounty of that Providence, which, by their 
 instrumentality, had spread abundance and 
 beauty about these barren rocks, and had en- 
 abled them to enjoy those pure and simple
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 73 
 
 pleasures, which are ever grateful and ever 
 new. 
 
 Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger 
 and more intelligent than most European 
 youths are at fifteen; and the plantations, 
 which Domingo merely cultivated, were embell- 
 ished by him. He would go with the old negro 
 into the neighboring woods, where he would 
 root up the young plants of lemon, orange, and 
 tamarind trees, the round heads of which are 
 so fresh and green, together with date-palm 
 trees, which produce fruit filled with a sweet 
 cream, possessing the fine perfume of the 
 orange flower. These trees, which had already 
 attained to a considerable size, he planted 
 round their little enclosure. He had also sown 
 the seed of many trees which the second year 
 bear flowers or fruit ; such as the agathis, en- 
 circled with long clusters of white flowers 
 which hang from it like the crystal pendants 
 of a chandelier; the Persian lilac, which lifts 
 high in air its gray flax-colored branches ; the 
 pawpaw tree, the branchless trunk of which 
 forms a column studded with green melons, 
 surmounted by a capital of broad leaves similar 
 to those of the fig-tree. 
 
 The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, ter- 
 minalia, mango, alligator pear, the guava, the
 
 74 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 bread-fruit tree, and the narrow-leaved rose- 
 apple, were also planted by him with profu- 
 sion ; and the greater number of these trees 
 already afforded the young cultivator both 
 shade and fruit. His industrious hands diffused 
 the riches of nature over even the most barren 
 parts of the plantation. Several species of 
 aloes, the Indian fig, adorned with yellow flow- 
 ers spotted with red, and the thorny torch 
 thistle, grew upon the dark summits of the 
 rocks, and seemed to aim at reaching the long 
 lianas, which, laden with blue or scarlet flow- 
 ers, hung scattered over the steepest parts of 
 the mountain. 
 
 I loved to trace the ingenuity he had exer- 
 cised in the arrangement of these trees. He 
 had so disposed them that the whole could be 
 seen at a single glance. In the middle of the 
 hollow he had planted shrubs of the lowest 
 growth ; behind grew the more lofty sorts ; 
 then trees of the ordinary height ; and beyond 
 and above all, the venerable and lofty groves 
 which bordered the circumference. Thus this 
 extensive inclosure appeared, from its cen- 
 ter, like a verdant amphitheater, decorated 
 with fruits and flowers, containing a variety of 
 vegetables, some strips of meadow land, and 
 fields of rice and corn. But, in arranging
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 75 
 
 these vegetable productions to his own taste, 
 he wandered not too far from the designs of 
 Nature. Guided by her suggestions, he had 
 thrown upon the elevated spots such seeds as 
 the winds would scatter about, and near the 
 borders of the springs those which float upon 
 the water. Every plant thus grew in its proper 
 soil, and every spot seemed decorated by 
 Nature's own hand. The st^ej^nT^jwiiicJi. .fell 
 Ehe rocks formed in some 
 parts of the valley sparkling cascades, and in 
 others were spread into broad mirrors, in 
 which were reflected, set in verdure, the flower- 
 ing trees, the overhanging rocks, and the azure 
 heavens. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the 
 ground, these plantations were, for the most 
 part, easy of access. We had, indeed, all given 
 him our advice and assistance, in order to ac- 
 complish this end. He had conducted one 
 path entirely round the valley and various 
 branches from it led from the circumference 
 to the center. He had drawn some advantage 
 from the most rugged spots, and had blended, 
 in harmonious union, level walks with the in- 
 equalities of the soil, and trees which grow 
 wild with the cultivated varieties. With that 
 immense quantity of large pebbles which now
 
 "76 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 block up these paths, and which are scattered 
 over most of the ground of this island, he 
 formed pyramidal heaps here and there, at the 
 base of which he laid mold, and planted rose- 
 bushes, the Barbadoes flower-fence, and other 
 shrubs which love to climb the rocks. In a 
 short time the dark and shapeless heaps of 
 stones he had constructed were covered with 
 verdure, or with the glowing tints of the most 
 beautiful flowers. Hollow recesses on the bor- 
 ders of the streams shaded by the overhanging 
 boughs of aged trees, formed rural grottoes, 
 impervious to the rays of the sun, in which 
 you might enjoy a refreshing coolness during 
 the mid-day heats. One path led to a clump 
 of forest trees, in the center of which, sheltered 
 from the wind, you found a fruit-tree, laden 
 with produce. Here was a corn-field ; there, 
 an orchard ; from one avenue you had a view 
 of the cottages ; from another, of the inaccess- 
 ible summit of the mountain. Beneath one 
 tufted bower of gum-trees, interwoven with 
 lianas, no object whatever could be perceived: 
 while the point of the adjoining rock, jutting 
 out from the mountain, commanded a view of 
 the whole inclosure, and of the distant ocean, 
 where, occasionally, we could discern the dis- 
 tant sail, arriving from Europe, or bound
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 77 
 
 thither. On this rock the two families fre- 
 quently met in the evening, and enjoyed in 
 silence the freshness of the flowers, the gentle 
 murmurs of the fountain, and the last blended 
 harmonies of light and shade. 
 
 Nothing could be more charming than the 
 names which were bestowed upon some of the 
 delightful retreats of the labyrinth. The rock 
 of which I have been speaking, whence they 
 could discern my approach at a considerable 
 distance, was called the Discovery of Friend- 
 ship. Paul and Virginia had amused them- 
 selves by planting a bamboo on that spot ; and 
 whenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a 
 little white handkerchief, by way of signal at 
 my approach, as they had seen a flag hoisted 
 on the neighboring mountain on the sight of a 
 vessel at sea. The idea struck me of engrav- 
 ing an inscription on the stalk of this reed ; for 
 I never, in the course of my travels, experi- 
 enced anything like the pleasure in seeing a 
 
 ^statue or other monument of ancient art, as in 
 reading a well-written inscription. It seems 
 
 " to me as if a human voice issued from the 
 stone, and, making itself heard after the lapse 
 of ages, addressed man in the midst of a desert, 
 to tell him that he is not alone, and that other 
 men, on that very spot, had felt, and thought,
 
 78 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 and suffered like himself. If the inscription 
 belongs to an ancient nation, which no longer 
 exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, 
 and strengthens the consciousness of its immor- 
 tality, by demonstrating that a thought has 
 survived the ruins of an empire. 
 
 I inscribed then, on the little staff of Paul 
 and Virginia's flag the following lines of 
 
 Horace : 
 
 Fratres Helenas, lucida sidera, 
 Ventorumque re gat pater, 
 Obstrictis, aliis, praeter lapaiga. 
 "May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, 
 and the Father of the winds, guide you ; and may you 
 feel only the breath of the zephyr." 
 
 There was a gum-tree, under the shadow of 
 which Paul was accustomed to sit, to contem- 
 plate the sea when agitated by storms. On 
 the bark of this tree, I engraved the following 
 lines from Virgil : 
 
 Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes ! 
 
 "Happy art thou, my son, in knowing only the pas- 
 toral divinities." 
 
 And over the door of Madame de la Tour's cot- 
 age, where the families so frequently met, I 
 placed this line : 
 
 At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita. 
 "Here dwells a calm conscience, and a life that knows 
 not deceit"
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 79 
 
 But Virginia did not approve of my Latin ; 
 she said, that what I had placed at the foot of 
 her flag-staff was too long and too learned. 
 "I should have liked better," added she, "to 
 have seen inscribed, Ever agitated, yet con- 
 stant. " "Such a motto," I answered, "would 
 have been still more applicable to virtue." 
 My reflection made her blush. 
 
 The delicacy of sentiment of these happy 
 families was manifested in everything around 
 them. They gave the tenderest names to ob- 
 jects in appearance the most indifferent. A 
 border of orange, plantain, and rose-apple 
 trees, planted round a green sward where Vir- 
 ginia and Paul sometimes danced, received the 
 name of Concord. An old tree, beneath the 
 shade of which Madame de la Tour and Mar- 
 garet used to recount their misfortunes, was 
 called the Burial-place of Tears. They be- 
 stowed the names of Brittany and Normandy 
 on two little plots of ground, where they had 
 sown corn, strawberries, and peas. Domingo 
 and Mary, wishing, in imitation of their mis- 
 tresses, to recall to mind Angola and Foulle- 
 pointe, the places of their birth in Africa, gave 
 those names to the little fields where the grass 
 was sown with which they wove their baskets, 
 and where they had planted a calabash-tree.
 
 80 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Thus by cultivating the productions of their 
 respective climates, these exiled families cher- 
 ished the dear illusions which bind us to our 
 native country, and softened their regrets in a 
 foreign land. Alas! I have seen these trees, 
 these fountains, these heap?, of stones, which 
 are now so completely overthrown, which 
 now, like the desolated plains of Greece, pre- 
 sent nothing but masses of ruin and affecting 
 remembrances, all but called into life by the 
 many charming appellations thus bestowed 
 upon them ! 
 
 But perhaps the most delightful spot of this 
 inclosure was that called Virginia's resting- 
 place. At the foot of the rock which bore the 
 name of the Discovery of Friendship, is a small 
 crevice, whence issues a fountain, forming, 
 near its source, a little spot of marshy soil in 
 the middle of a field of rich grass. At the time 
 of Paul's birth I had made Margaret a present 
 of an Indian cocoa which had been given 
 me, and which she planted on the border of 
 this fenny ground, in order that the tree might 
 one day serve to mark the epoch of her son's 
 birth. Madame de la Tour planted another 
 cocoa with the same view, at the birth of Vir- 
 ginia. These nuts produced two cocoa-trees, 
 which formed the only records of the two fam-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 81 
 
 ilies; one was called Paul's tree, the other, 
 Virginia's. Their growth was in the same 
 proportion as that of the two young persons, 
 not exactly equal but they rose, at the end of 
 twelve years, above the roofs of the cottages. 
 Already their tender stalks were interwoven, 
 and clusters of young cocoas hung from them 
 over the basin of the fountain. With the 
 exception of these two trees, this nook of the 
 rock was left as it had been decorated by 
 nature. On its embrowned and moist sides 
 broad plants of maiden-hair glistened with their 
 green and dark stars ; and tufts of wave-leaved 
 hart's tongue, suspended like long ribbons of 
 purpled green, floated on the wind. Near 
 this grew a chain of the Madagascar periwinkle, 
 the flowers of which resemble the red gili- 
 flower; and the long-podded capsicum, the 
 seed-vessels of which are of the color of blood, 
 and more resplendent than coral. Near them, 
 the herb balm, with its heart-shaped leaves, 
 and the sweet basil, which has the odor of the 
 clove, exhaled the most delicious perfumes. 
 From the precipitous side of the mountain 
 hung the graceful lianas, like floating draper- 
 ies, forming magnificent canopies of vendure 
 on the face of the rocks. The sea-birds, allured 
 by the stillness of these retreats, resorted here 
 
 Paul and Virginia
 
 82 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 to pass the night. At the hour of sunset we 
 could perceive the curlew and the stint skim- 
 ming along the sea-shore; the frigate-bird 
 poised high in air; and the white bird of the 
 tropic, which abandons, with the star of day, 
 the solitudes of the Indian ocean. Virginia 
 took pleasure in resting herself upon the border 
 of this fountain, decorated with wild and 
 sublime magnificence. She often went thither 
 to wash the linen of the family beneath the 
 shade of the two cocoa-trees, and thither too 
 she sometimes led her goats to graze. While 
 she was making cheeses of their milk, she loved 
 to see them browse on the maiden-hair fern 
 which clothed the steep sides of the rock, and 
 hung suspended by one of its cornices, as on a 
 pedestal. Paul, observing that Virginia was 
 fond of this spot, brought thither, from the 
 neighboring forest, a great variety of birds' 
 nests. The old birds following their young, 
 soon established themselves in this new colony. 
 Virginia, at stated times, distributed amongst 
 them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As 
 soon as she appeared, the whistling blackbird, 
 the amadavid bird, whose note is so soft, the 
 cardinal, with its flame-colored plumage, for- 
 sook their bushes ; the paroquet, green as an 
 emerald, descended from the neighboring fan-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 83 
 
 palms, the partridge ran along the grass; all 
 advanced promiscuously towards her, like a 
 brood of chickens : and she and Paul found an 
 exhaustless source of amusement in observing 
 their sports, their repasts, and their loves, 
 si Amiable children ! thus passed your earlier 
 Mays in innocence, and in obeying the impulses 
 Ijof kindness. How many times, on this very 
 ' spot, have your mothers, pressing you in their 
 arms, blessed Heaven for the consolation your 
 unfolding virtues prepared for their declining 
 years, while they at the same time enjoyed the 
 satisfaction of seeing you begin life under the 
 happiest auspices! How many times, beneath 
 the shade of those rocks, have I partaken with 
 them of your rural repasts, which never cost 
 any anmial its life ! Gourds full of milk, fresh 
 eggs, cakes of rice served up on plantain leaves, 
 with baskets of mangoes, oranges, dates, 
 pomegranates, pine-apples, furnished a whole- 
 some repast, the most agreeable to the eye, as 
 well as delicious to the taste, that can possibly 
 be imagined. 
 
 Like the repast, the conversation was mild, 
 and free from everything having a tendency to 
 do harm. Paul often talked of the labors of 
 the day and of the morrow. He was contin- 
 ually planning something for the accommoda-
 
 84 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 tion of their little society. Here he discovered 
 that the paths were rugged; there, that the 
 seats were uncomfortable, sometimes the 
 young arbors did not afford sufficient shade, and 
 Virginia might be better pleased elsewhere. 
 
 During the rainy season the two families met 
 together in the cottage, and employed them- 
 selves in weaving mats of grass, and baskets of 
 bamboo. Rakes, spades, and hatchets were 
 ranged along the walls in the most perfect 
 order; and near these instruments of agricul- 
 ture were heaped its products, bags of rice, 
 sheaves of corn, and baskets of plantains. 
 Some degree of luxury usually accompanies 
 abundance; and Virginia was taught by her 
 mother and Margaret to prepare sherbet and 
 cordials from the juice of the sugar-cane, the 
 lemon and the citron. 
 
 When night came, they all supped together 
 by the light of a lamp ; after which Madame de 
 la Tour or Margaret related some story of trav- 
 elers benighted in those woods of Europe that 
 are still infested by banditti ; or told a dismal 
 tale of some ship-wrecked vessel, thrown by 
 the tempest upon the rocks of a desert island. 
 To these recitals the children listened with 
 eager attention, and earnestly hoped that 
 Heaven would one day grant them the joy of
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 85 
 
 performing the rites of hospitality towards 
 such unfortunate persons When the time for 
 repose arrived, the two families separated and 
 retired for the night, eager to meet again the 
 following morning. Sometimes they were 
 lulled to repose by the beating of the rains, 
 which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their 
 cottages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, 
 which brought to their ear the distant roar of 
 the waves breaking upon the shore. They 
 blessed God for their own safety, the feeling 
 of which was brought home more forcibly to 
 their minds by the sound of remote danger. 
 
 Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud 
 some affecting history of the Old or New Testa- 
 ment. Her auditors reasoned but little upon 
 these sacred volumes, for their theology cen- 
 tered in a feeling of devotion towards the 
 Supreme Being, like that of nature ; and their 
 morality was an active principle, like that of 
 the Gospel. These families had no particular 
 
 "* days devoted to pleasure, and others to sadness. 
 
 . . Every day was to them a holiday, and all 
 that surrounded them one holy temple, in which 
 they ever adored the Infinite Intelligence, the 
 Almighty God, the friend of human kind. A 
 feeling of confidence in his supreme power 
 filled their minds with consolation for the past,
 
 86 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 with fortitude under present trials, and with 
 hope in the future. Compelled by misfortune 
 to return almost to a state of nature, these 
 excellent women had thus developed in their 
 own and their children's bosoms the feelings 
 most natural to the human mind, and its best 
 support under affliction. 
 
 But, as clouds sometimes arise, and cast a 
 gloom over the best regulated tempers, so 
 whenever any member of this little society 
 appeared to be laboring under dejection, the 
 rest assembled around, and endeavored to ban- 
 ish her painful thoughts by amusing the mind 
 rather than by grave arguments against them. 
 Each performed this kind office in their own 
 appropriate manner : Margaret, by her gayety ; 
 Madame de la Tour, by the gentle consolations 
 of religion ; Virginia, by her tender caresses ; 
 Paul, by his frank and engaging cordiality. 
 Even Mary and Domingo hastened to offer 
 their succor, and to weep with those that wept. 
 Thus do weak plants interweave themselves 
 with each other, in order to withstand the fury 
 of the tempest. 
 
 During the fine season, they went every Sun- 
 day to the church of the Shaddock Grove, the 
 steeple of which you see yonder upon the plain. 
 Many wealthy members of the congregation,
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. $7 
 
 who came to church in palanquins, sought the 
 acquaintance of these united families, and 
 invited them to parties of pleasure. But they 
 always repelled these overtures with respectful 
 politeness, as they were persuaded that the rich 
 and powerful seek the society of persons in an 
 inferior station only for the sake of surround- 
 ing themselves with flatterers, and that every 
 flatterer must applaud alike all the actions of 
 his patron, whether good or bad. On the other 
 hand, they avoided, with equal care, too inti- 
 mate an acquaintance with the lower class, who 
 are ordinarily jealous, calumniating, and gross. 
 They thus acquired, with some, the character 
 of being timid, and with others, of pride : but 
 their reserve was accompanied with so much 
 obliging politeness, above all towards the 
 unfortunate and the unhappy, that they 
 insensibly acquired the respect of the rich and 
 the confidence of the poor. 
 
 After service, some kind office was often 
 ^required at their hands by their poor neigh- 
 bors. Sometimes a person troubled in mind 
 sought their advice ; sometimes a child begged 
 them to visit its sick mother, in one of the ad- 
 joining hamlets. They always took with them 
 a few remedies for the ordinary diseases of the 
 country, which they administered in that sooth-
 
 88 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ing manner which stamps a value upon the 
 smallest favors. Above all, they met with 
 singular success in administering to the dis- 
 orders of the mind, so intolerable in solitude, 
 and under the infirmities of a weakened frame. 
 Madame de la Tour spoke with such sublime 
 confidence of the Divinity, that the sick, while 
 listening to her, almost believed him present. 
 Virginia often returned home with her eyes 
 full of tears, and her heart overflowing with 
 delight, at having had an opportunity of doing 
 good ; for to her generally was confided the 
 task of preparing and administering the medi- 
 cines, a task which she fulfilled with angelic 
 sweetness. After these visits of charity, they 
 sometimes extended their walk by the Sloping 
 Mountain, till they reached my dwelling, 
 where I used to prepare dinner for them on 
 the banks of the little rivulet which glides near 
 my cottage. I procured for these occasions a 
 few bottles of old wine, in order to heighten 
 the relish of our Oriental repast by the more 
 genial productions of Europe. At other times 
 we met on the seashore at the mouth of some 
 little river, or rather mere brook. We brought 
 from home the provisions furnished us by our 
 gardens, to which we added those supplied us 
 by the sea in abundant variety. We caught
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 89 
 
 on these shores the mullet, the roach, and the 
 sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, 
 and all other kinds of shell-fish. In this way, 
 we often enjoyed the most tranquil pleasures in 
 situations the most terrific. Sometimes, seated 
 upon a rock, under the shade of the velvet sun- 
 flower-tree, we saw the enormous waves of the 
 Indian Ocean break beneath our feet with a 
 tremendous noise. Paul, who could swim like 
 a fish, would advance on the reefs to meet the 
 coming billows; then, at their near approach, 
 would run back to the beach, closely pursued 
 by the foaming breakers, which threw them- 
 selves, with a roaring noise, far on the sands. 
 But Virginia, at this sight, uttered piercing 
 cries, and said that such sports frightened her 
 too much. 
 
 Other amusements were not wanting on 
 these festive occasions. Our repasts were gen- 
 erally followed by the songs and dances of the 
 two young people. Virginia sang the happi- 
 
 r- ness of pastoral life, and the misery of those 
 who were impelled by avarice to cross the rag- 
 
 ' ing ocean, rather than cultivate the earth, 
 and enjoy its bounties in peace. Sometimes 
 she performed a pantomime with Paul, after 
 the manner of the negroes. The first language 
 of man is pantomime : it is known to all na-
 
 90 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 tions, and is so natural and expressive, that 
 the children of the European inhabitants catch 
 it with facility from the negroes. Virginia, 
 recalling, from among the histories which her 
 mother had read to her, those which had 
 affected her most, represented the principal 
 events in them with beautiful simplicity. 
 Sometimes at the sound of Domingo's tantam 
 she appeared upon the green sward, bearing a 
 pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a 
 timid step towards the source of a neighbor- 
 r ing fountain to draw water. Domingo and 
 Mary, personating the shepherds of Midian, 
 forbade her to approach, and repulsed her 
 sternly. Upon this Paul flew to her succor, 
 beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia's 
 pitcher, and placing it upon her head, bound 
 her brows at the same time with a wreath of 
 the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, 
 which served to heighten the delicacy of her 
 complexion. Then joining in their sports, I 
 took upon myself the part of Raguel, and be- 
 stowed upon Paul, my daughter Zephora in 
 marriage. 
 
 Another time Virginia would represent the 
 unhappy Ruth, returning poor and widowed 
 with her mother-in-law, who, after so pro- 
 longed an absence, found herself as unknown
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 91 
 
 as in a foreign land. Domingo and Mary per- 
 sonated the reapers. The supposed daughter 
 of Naomi followed their steps, gleaming here 
 and there a few ears of corn. When inter- 
 rogated by Paul, a part which he performed 
 with the gravity of a patriarch, she answered 
 his questions with a faltering voice. He then, 
 touched with compassion, granted an asylum 
 to innocence, and hospitality to misfortune. 
 He filled her lap with plenty ; and, leading her 
 towards us as before the elders of the city, 
 declared his purpose to take her in marriage. 
 At this scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling 
 the desolate situation in which she had been 
 left by her relations, her widowhood, and the 
 kind reception she had met with from Mar- 
 garet, succeeded now by the soothing hope of 
 a happy union between their children, could 
 not forbear weeping ; and these mixed recollec- 
 tions of good and evil caused us all to unite 
 with her in shedding tears of sorrow and of 
 joy. 
 
 These dramas were performed with such an 
 air of reality that you might have fancied your- 
 self transported to the plains of Syria or of 
 Palestine. We were not unfurnished with 
 decorations, lights, or an orchestra, suitable 
 to the representation. The scene was gener-
 
 92 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 ally placed in an open space of the forest, the 
 diverging paths from which formed around us 
 numerous arcades of foliage, under which we 
 were sheltered from the heat all the middle of 
 the day; but when the sun descended towards 
 the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of 
 the trees, darted amongst the shadows of the 
 forest in long lines of light, producing the most 
 magnificent effect. Sometimes its broad disk 
 appeared at the end of an avenue, lighting it 
 up with insufferable brightness. The foliage 
 of the trees, illuminated from beneath by its 
 saffron beams, glowed with the luster of the 
 topaz and the emerald. Their brown and 
 mossy trunks appeared transformed into 
 columns of antique bronze; and the birds, 
 which had retired in silence to their leafy 
 shades to pass the night, surprised to see the 
 radiance of the second morning, hailed the star 
 of day all together with innumerable carols. 
 
 Night often overtook us during these rural 
 entertainments ; but the purity of the air and the 
 warmth of the climate, admitted of our sleep- 
 ing in the woods, without incurring any danger 
 by exposure to the weather, and no less secure 
 from the molestation of robbers. On our re- 
 turn the following day to our respective habita- 
 tions, we found them in exactly the same state
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 93 
 
 in which they had been left. In this island, 
 then unsophisticated by the pursuits of com- 
 merce, such were the honesty and primitive 
 manners of the population, that the doors of 
 many houses were without a key, and even a 
 lock'itself was an object of curiosity to not a 
 few of the native inhabitants. 
 
 There were, however, some days in the years 
 celebrated by Paul and Virginia in a more 
 peculiar manner ; these were the birthdays of 
 their mothers. Virginia never failed the day 
 before to prepare some wheaten cakes, which 
 she distributed among a few poor white fam- 
 ilies, born in the island, who had never eaten 
 European bread. These unfortunate people, 
 uncared for by the blacks, were reduced to live 
 on tapioca in the woods; and as they had 
 neither the insensibility which is the result of 
 slavery, nor the fortitude which spring from a 
 liberal education, to enable them to support 
 their poverty, their situation was deplorable 
 These cakes were all that Virginia had it in 
 her power to give away, but she conferred the 
 gift in so delicate a manner as to add tenfold 
 to its value. In the first place, Paul was com- 
 missioned to take the cakes himself to these 
 families, and get their promise to come and 
 spend the next day at Madame de la Tour's.
 
 94 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Accordingly, mothers of families, with two or 
 three thin, yellow, miserable-looking daughters, 
 so timid that they dared not look up, made 
 their appearance. Virginia soon put them at 
 their ease ; she waited upon them with refresh- 
 ments, the excellence of which she endeavored 
 to heighten by relating some particular circum- 
 stance which, in her own estimation, vastly 
 improved them. One beverage had been 
 prepared by Margaret; another, by her 
 mother ; her brother himself had climed some 
 lofty tree for the very fruit she was presenting. 
 She would then get Paul to dance with them, 
 nor would she leave them till she saw that they 
 were happy. She wished them to partake of 
 the joy of her own family. "It is only," she 
 said, "by promoting the happiness of others, 
 that we can secure our own." When they 
 left, she generally presented them with some 
 little article they seemed to fancy, enforcing 
 their acceptance of it by some delicate pretext, 
 that she might not appear to know they were 
 in want. If she remarked that their clothes 
 were much tattered, she obtained her mother's 
 permission to give them some of her own, and 
 then sent Paul to leave them secretly at their 
 cottage doors. She thus followed the divine
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 95 
 
 precept, concealing the benefactor, and re- 
 vealing only the benefit. 
 
 Your Europeans, whose minds are imbued 
 from infancy with prejudices at variance with 
 happiness, cannot imagine all the instruction 
 and pleasure to be derived from nature. Your 
 souls, confined to a small sphere of intelligence, 
 soon reaches the limit of its artificial enjoy- 
 ments : but nature and the heart are inexhaust- 
 f- ible. Paul and Virginia had neither clock, nor 
 > almanack, nor books of chronology, history or 
 philosophy. The periods of their lives were 
 regulated by those of the operations of nature, 
 and their familiar conversation had a reference 
 to the changes of the seasons. They knew the 
 time of day by the shadows of the trees; the 
 seasons, by the times when those trees bore 
 flowers or fruit ; and the years, by the number 
 of their harvests. These soothing images 
 diffused an inexpressible charm over their con- 
 versation. "It is time to dine," said Virginia, 
 - "the shadows of the plan tain- trees are at their 
 roots:" or, "Night approaches, the tamarinds 
 are closing their leaves." "When will you 
 come and see us?" inquired some of her com- 
 panions in the neighborhood. "At the time 
 of the sugar-canes," answered Virginia. 
 "Your visit will be then still more delightful,"
 
 96 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 resumed her young acquaintances. When she 
 was asked what was her own age and that of 
 Paul, "My brother," said she, "is as old as 
 the great cocoa- tree of the fountain ; and I am 
 old as the little one: the mangoes have 
 borne fruit twelve times, and the orange-trees 
 have flowered four-and-twenty times, since I 
 came into the world." Their lives seemed 
 linked to that of the trees, like those of Fauns 
 or Dryads. They knew no other historical 
 epochs than those of the lives of their mothers, 
 / no other chronology than that of their orchards, 
 and no other philosophy than that of doing 
 good, and resigning themselves to the will of 
 Heaven. 
 
 What need, indeed, had these young people 
 of riches or learning such as ours? Rather 
 their necessities and their ignorance increased 
 their happiness. No day passed in which they 
 were not of some service to one another, or in 
 in which they did not mutually impart some 
 instruction. Yes, instruction; for if errors 
 mingled with it, they were, at least, not of a 
 dangerous character. A pure-minded being has 
 none of that description to fear. Thus grew 
 these children of nature. No care had troubled 
 their peace, no intemperance had corrupted 
 their blood, no misplaced passion had depraved
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 97 
 
 their hearts. Love, innocence, and piety 
 possessed their souls; and those intellectual 
 graces were unfolding daily in their features, 
 their attitudes, and their movements. Still in 
 the morning of life, they had all its blooming 
 freshness: and surely such in the garden of 
 Eden appeared our first parents, when coming 
 from the hands of God, they first saw, and 
 approached each other, and conversed together, 
 like brother and sister. Virginia was gentle, 
 modest, and confiding as Eve; and Paul, like 
 Adam, united the stature of manhood with 
 the simplicity of a child. 
 
 Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has a 
 thousand times told me, he used to say to her, 
 on his return from labor, "When I am 
 wearied, the sight of you refreshes me. If 
 from the summit of the mountain I perceive 
 you below in the valley, you appear to me in 
 the midst of our orchard like a blooming rose- 
 bud. If you go towards our mother's house, 
 the partridge, when it runs to meet its young, 
 has a shape less beautiful, and a step less light. 
 When I lose sight of you through the trees, I 
 have no need to see you in order to find you 
 again. Something of you, I know not how, 
 remains for me in the air through which you 
 have been passed, on the grass whereon you 
 
 7 Paul and Virginia
 
 98 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 have been seated. When I come near you, 
 you delight all my senses. The azure of the 
 sky is less charming than the blue of your eyes, 
 and the song of the amadavid bird less soft 
 than the sound of your voice. If I only touch 
 you with the tip of my finger, my whole frame 
 trembles with pleasure. Do you remember 
 the day when we crossed over the great stones 
 of the river of the Three Breasts? I was very 
 tired before we reached the bank : but, as soon 
 as I had taken you in my arms, I seemed to 
 have wings like a bird. Tell me by what 
 charm you have thus enchanted me? Is it by 
 your wisdom? Our mothers have more than 
 either of us. Is it by your caresses? They 
 embrace me much oftener than you. I think 
 it must be by your goodness. I shall never 
 forget how you walked barefooted to the Black 
 River, to ask pardon for the poor runaway slave. 
 Here, my beloved, take this flowering branch 
 of a lemon-tree, which I have gathered in the 
 forest: you will let it remain at night near 
 your bed. Eat this honeycomb too, which I 
 have taken for you from the top of a rock. 
 But first lean on my bosom, and I shall be 
 refreshed." 
 
 Virginia would answer him, "Oh, my dear 
 brother, the ra3 7 s of the sun in the morning on
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 99 
 
 the tops of the rocks give me less joy than the 
 sight of you. I love my mother, I love 
 yours ; but when they call you their son, I love 
 them a thousand times more. When they 
 caress you, I feel it more sensibly than when 
 I am caressed myself. You ask me what 
 makes you love me. Why, all creatures that 
 are brought up together love one another. 
 Look at our birds ; reared up in the same nests, 
 they love each other as we do ; they are always 
 together like us. Hark! how they call and 
 answer from one tree to another. So when the 
 echoes bring to my ears the air which you play 
 on your flute on the top of the mountain, I 
 repeat the words at the bottom of the valley. 
 You are dear to me more especially since the 
 day when you wanted to fight the master of the 
 slave for me. Since that time how often have 
 I said to myself, 'Ah, my brother has a good 
 heart; but for him, I should have died of 
 terror.' I pray to God every day for my 
 ^mother and for yours, and for our poor serv- 
 ants; 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? Have we not enough in 
 our garden already? How much you are
 
 100 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 fatigued, you look so warm!" and with her 
 little white handkerchief she would wipe the 
 damps from his face, and then imprint a tender 
 kiss on his forehead. 
 
 For sometime past, however, Virginia had 
 felt her heart agitated by new sensations. Her 
 beautiful blue eyes lost their luster, her cheek 
 its freshness, and her frame was overpowered 
 with a universal languor. Serenity no longer 
 sat upon her brow, nor smiles played upon her 
 lips. She would become all at once gay without 
 cause for joy, and melancholy without any 
 subject for grief. She fled her innocent amuse- 
 ments, her gentle toils, and even the society 
 of her beloved family; wandering about the 
 most unfrequented parts of the plantations, 
 and seeking everywhere the rest which she 
 could nowhere find. Sometimes, at the sight 
 of Paul, she advanced sportively to meet him ; 
 but, when about to accost him, was overcome 
 by a sudden confusion; her pale cheeks were 
 covered with blushes, and her eyes no longer 
 dared to meet those of her brother. Paul said 
 to her, "The rocks are covered with verdure, 
 our birds begin to sing when you approach, 
 everything around you is gay, and you only 
 are unhappy. ' ' He then endeavored to soothe 
 her by his embraces, but she turned away her
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 101 
 
 head, and fled, trembling, towards her mother. 
 The caresses of her brother excited too much 
 emotion in her agitated heart, and she sought, 
 in the arms of her mother, refuge from her- 
 self. Paul, unused to the secret windings of 
 the female heart, vexed himself in vain in 
 endeavoring to comprehend the meaning of 
 these new and strange caprices. Misfortunes 
 seldom come alone, and a serious calamity now 
 impended over these families. 
 
 One of those summers, which sometimes 
 desolate the countries situated between the 
 tropics, now began to spread its ravages over 
 this island. It was near the end of December, 
 when the sun, in Capricorn, darts over the 
 Mauritius, during the space of three weeks, its 
 vertical fires. The southeast wind, which pre- 
 vails throughout almost the whole year, no 
 longer blew. Vast columns of dust arose from 
 the highways, and hung suspended in the air; 
 the ground was everywhere broken into clefts ; 
 * the grass was burnt up ; hot exhalations issued 
 from the sides of the mountains, and their riv- 
 ulets, for the most part, became dry. No 
 refreshing cloud ever arose from the sea: fiery 
 vapors, only, during the day, ascended from the 
 plains, and appeared, at sunset, like the reflec- 
 tion of a vast conflagration. Night brought no
 
 102 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 coolness to the heated atmosphere; and the 
 red moon rising in the misty horizon, appeared 
 of supernatural magnitude. The drooping 
 cattle, on the sides of the hills, stretching out 
 their necks towards heaven, and panting for 
 breath, made the valleys re-echo with their 
 melancholy lowings: even the Caff re by whom 
 they were led, threw himself upon the earth, 
 in search of some cooling moisture: but his 
 hopes were vain ; the scorching sun had pene- 
 trated the whole soil, and the stifling atmos- 
 phere everywhere resounded with the buzzing 
 noise of insects, seeking to allay their thirst 
 with the blood of men and of animals. 
 
 During this sultry season, Virginia's restless- 
 ness and disquietude were much increased. 
 One night, in particular, being unable to 
 sleep, she arose from her bed, sat down, and 
 returned to rest again ; but could find in no at- 
 titude either slumber or repose. At length she 
 bent her way, by the light of the moon, towards 
 her fountain, and gazed at its spring, which, 
 notwithstanding the drought, still trickled, in 
 silver threads down the brown sides of the 
 rock. She flung herself into the basin: its 
 coolness reanimated her spirits, and a thousand 
 soothing remembrances came to her mind. 
 She recollected that in her infancy her mother
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 103 
 
 and Margaret had amused themselves by bath- 
 ing her with Paul in this very spot ; that he 
 afterwards reserving this bath for her sole use, 
 had hollowed out its bed, covered the bottom 
 with sand, and sown aromatic herbs around its 
 borders. She saw in the water, upon her naked 
 arms and bosom, the reflection of the two cocoa 
 trees which were planted at her own and her 
 brother's birth, and which interwove above her 
 head their green branches and young fruit. 
 She thought of Paul's friendship, sweeter than 
 the odor of the blossoms, purer than the waters 
 of the fountain, stronger than the interwining 
 palm-tree, and she sighed. Reflecting on the 
 hour of the night, and the profound solitude, 
 her imagination became disturbed. Suddenly 
 she flew, affrighted, from those dangerous 
 shades, and those waters which seemed to her 
 hotter than the tropical sunbeam, and ran to 
 her mother for refuge. More than once, wish- 
 ing to reveal her sufferings, she pressed her 
 mother's hand within her own; more than 
 once she was ready to pronounce the name of 
 Paul : but her oppressed heart left her lips no 
 power of utterance, and, leaning her head on 
 her mother's bosom, she bathed it with her 
 tears. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, though she easily dis-
 
 104 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 cerned the source of her daughter's uneasiness, 
 did not think proper to speak to her on the sub- 
 ject. "My dear child," said she, "offer up 
 your supplications to God, who disposes at his 
 will of health and of life. He subjects you to 
 trial now, in order to recompense you here- 
 after. Remember that we are only placed 
 upon earth for the exercise of virtue." 
 
 The excessive heat in the meantime raised 
 vast masses of vapor from the ocean, which 
 hung over the island like an immense parasol, 
 and gathered round the summits of the moun- 
 tains. Long flakes of fire issued from time to 
 time from these mist-embosomed peaks. 
 The most awful thunder soon after re-echoed 
 through the woods, the plains, and the valleys ; 
 the rains fell from the skies in cataracts ; foam- 
 ing torrents rushed down the sides of this 
 mountain ; the bottom of the valley became a 
 sea, and the elevated platform on which the cot- 
 tages were built, a little island. The accumu- 
 lated waters, having no other outlet, rushed 
 with violence through the narrow gorge which 
 leads into the valley, tossing and roaring, and 
 bearing along with them a mingled wreck of 
 soil, trees, and rocks. 
 
 The trembling families meantime addressed 
 their prayers to God all together in the cottage
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 105 
 
 of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which 
 cracked fearfully from the force of the winds. 
 So incessant and vivid were the lightnings, 
 that although the doors and window-shutters 
 were securely fastened, every object without 
 could be distinctly seen through the joints in 
 the woodwork! Paul, followed by Domingo, 
 went with intrepidity from one cottage to 
 another, notwithstanding the fury of the 
 tempest; here supporting a partition with a 
 buttress, there driving in a stake; and only 
 returning to the family to calm their fears, by 
 the expression of a hope that the storm was 
 passing away. Accordingly, in the evening the 
 rains ceased, the trade-winds of the south-east 
 pursued their ordinary course, the tempestuous 
 clouds were driven away to the northward, and 
 the setting sun appeared in the horizon. 
 
 Virginia's first wish was to visit the spot 
 called her Resting-place. Paul approached 
 her with a timid air, and offered her the assist- 
 * ance of his arm ; she accepted it with a smile, 
 and they left the cottage together. The air 
 was clear and fresh ; white vapors arose from 
 the ridges of the mountain, which was fur- 
 rowed here and there by the courses of tor- 
 rents, marked in foam, and now beginning to 
 dry up on all sides. As for the garden, it was
 
 106 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 completely torn to pieces by deep water-courses, 
 the roots of most of the fruit-trees were laid 
 bare, and vast heaps of sand covered the bor- 
 ders of the meadows, and had choked up Vir- 
 ginia's bath. The two cocoa trees, however, 
 were still erect, and still retained their fresh- 
 ness; but they were no longer surrounded by 
 turf, or arbors, or birds, except a few amadavid 
 birds, which, upon the points of the neighbor- 
 ing rocks, were lamenting, 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 destroyed. 
 Everything then upon earth perishes, and it 
 is only Heaven that is not subject to change. " 
 "Why," answered Paul, "cannot I give you 
 something that belongs to heaven? but I have 
 nothing of my own, even upon the earth." 
 Virginia with a blush replied, "You have the 
 picture of St. Paul." As soon as she had ut- 
 tered the words, he flew in quest of it to his 
 mother's cottage. This picture was a minia- 
 ture of Paul the Hermit, which Margaret, who 
 viewed it with feelings of great devotion, had 
 worn at her neck while a girl, and which, after 
 she became a mother, she had placed round
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 10? 
 
 her child's. It had even happened, that being, 
 while pregnant, abandoned by all the world, 
 and constantly occupied in contemplating the 
 image of this benevolent recluse, her offspring 
 had contracted some semblance to this revered 
 object. She, therefore, bestowed upon him 
 the name of Paul, giving him for his patron a 
 saint who had passed his life far from mankind 
 by whom he had been first deceived and then 
 forsaken. Virginia, on receiving this little 
 present from the hands of Paul, said to him, 
 with emotion, "My dear brother, I will never 
 part with his while I live ; nor will I ever for- 
 get that you have given me the only thing you 
 have in this world. ' ' At this tone of friend- 
 ship, this unhoped-for return of familiarity 
 and tenderness, Paul attempted to embrace 
 her ; but, light as a bird, she escaped him, and 
 fled away, leaving him astonished, and unable 
 to account for conduct so extraordinary. 
 
 Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la 
 * Tour, "Why do we not unite our children by 
 marriage? They have a strong attachment for 
 each other, and though my son hardly under- 
 stands the real nature of his feelings, yet great 
 care and watchfulness will be necessary. Un- 
 der such circumstances, it will be as well not to 
 leave them too much together." Madame de
 
 108 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 la Tour replied, "They are too young, and too 
 poor. What grief would it occasion us to see 
 Virginia bring into the world unfortunate chil- 
 dren, whom she would not perhaps have suffi- 
 cient strength to rear! Your negro, Domingo, 
 is almost too old to labor ; Mary is infirm. As 
 for myself, my dear friend, at the end of fifteen 
 years, I find my strength greatly decreased; 
 the feebleness of age advances rapidly in hot 
 climates, and, above all, under the pressure of 
 misfortune, Paul is our only hope : let us wait 
 till he comes to maturity, and his increased 
 strength enables him to support us by his la- 
 bor, at present you well know that we have 
 only sufficient to supply the wants of the day; 
 but were we to send Paul for a short time to 
 the Indies, he might acquire, by commerce, the 
 means of purchasing some slaves; and at his 
 return we could unite him to Virginia; for I 
 am persuaded no one on earth would render 
 her so happy as your son. We will consult our 
 neighbor on this subject. '' 
 
 They accordingly asked my advice, which was 
 in accordance with Madame de la Tour's opin- 
 ion. "The Indian seas," I observed to them, 
 "are calm, and, in choosing a favorable time of 
 the year, the voyage out is seldom longer than 
 six weeks; and the same time may be allowed
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 109 
 
 for the return home. We will furnish Paul with 
 a little venture from my neighborhood, where 
 he is much beloved. If we were only to sup- 
 ply him with some raw cotton, of which we 
 make no use for want of mills to work it, some 
 ebony which is here so common that it serves 
 us for firing, and some rosin, which is found in 
 our woods, he would be able to sell those arti- 
 cles, though useless here, to good advantage 
 in the Indies." 
 
 I took upon myself to obtain permission from 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to undertake this 
 voyage; and I determined previously to men- 
 tion the affair to Paul. But what was my sur- 
 prise, when this young man said to me, with a 
 degree of good sense above his age, "And why 
 do you wish me to leave my family for this 
 precarious pursuit of fortune? Is there any 
 commerce in the world more advantageous than 
 the culture of the ground, which yields some- 
 times fifty or a hundred- fold? If we wish to 
 engage in commerce, can we not do so by car- 
 rying 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,
 
 110 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 above all to Virginia, who already suffers Oh, 
 no no! I cannot resolve to leave them." 
 
 So decided an answer threw me into great 
 perplexity, for Madame de la Tour had not 
 concealed from me the cause of Virginia's ill- 
 ness and want of spirits, and her desire of sep- 
 arating these young people till they were a few 
 years older. I took care, however, not to drop 
 anything which could lead Paul to suspect the 
 existence of these motives. 
 
 About this period a ship from France brought 
 Madame de la Tour a letter from her aunt. 
 The fear of death, without which hearts as in- 
 sensible as hers would never feel, had alarmed 
 her into compassion. When she wrote she was 
 recovering from a dangerous illness, which 
 had, however, left her incurably languid and 
 weak. She desired her niece to return to 
 France; or, if her health forbade her to under- 
 take so long a voyage, she begged her to send 
 Virginia, on whom she promised to bestow a 
 good education, to procure for her a splendid 
 marriage and to leave her heiress of her whole 
 fortune. She concluded by enjoining strict 
 obedience to her will, in gratitude, she said, 
 for her great kindness. 
 
 At the perusal of ( this letter general conster- 
 nation spread itself through the whole assem-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. Ill 
 
 bled party. Domingo and Mary began to 
 weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, ap- 
 peared almost ready to burst with indignation ; 
 while Virginia, fixing her eyes anxiously upon 
 her mother, had not power to utter a single 
 word. "And can you now leave us?" cried 
 Margaret to Madame de la Tour. "No, my 
 dear friend, no, my beloved children, ' ' replied 
 Madame de la Tour. "I will never leave you 
 I have lived with you, and- with you I will die. 
 I have known no happiness but in your affec- 
 tion. If my health be deranged, my past mis- 
 fortunes are the cause. My heart has been 
 deeply wounded by the cruelty of my relations, 
 and by the loss of my beloved husband. But 
 I have since found more consolation and more 
 real happiness with you in these humble huts, 
 than all the wealth of my family could now lead 
 me to expect in my own country. ' ' 
 
 At this soothing language every eye over- 
 flowed with tears of delight. Paul, pressing 
 5 Madame de la Tour in his arms, exclaimed, 
 . . "Neither will I leave you! I will not go to the 
 Indies. We will all labor for you, dear mam- 
 ma, and you shall never feel any want with 
 us." But of the whole society, the person who 
 displayed the least transport, and who probably 
 felt the most, was Virginia; and during the
 
 112 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 remainder of the day, the gentle gayety which 
 flowed from her heart, and proved that her 
 peace of mind was restored, completed the gen- 
 eral satisfaction. 
 
 At sunrise the next day, just as they had 
 concluded offering up, as usual, their morning 
 prayer before breakfast, Domingo came to in- 
 form them that a gentleman on horseback, fol- 
 lowed by two slaves, was coming towards the 
 plantation. It was Monsieur de la Bourdon- 
 nais. He entered the cottage, where he found 
 the family at breakfast. Virginia had pre- 
 pared, according to the custom of the country, 
 coffee, and rice boiled in water. To these she 
 had added hot yams, and fresh plantains. The 
 leaves of the plantain-tree supplied the want of 
 table linen ; and calabash shells, split in two, 
 served for cups. The Governor exhibited, at 
 first, some astonishment at the homeliness of 
 the dwelling; then, addressing himself to 
 Madame de la Tour, he observed, that although 
 public affairs drew his attention too much from 
 the concerns of individuals, she had many 
 claims on his good offices. "You have an aunt 
 at Paris, madam," he added, **a woman of 
 quality, and immensely rich, who expects that 
 you will hasten to see her, and who means to 
 bestow upon you her whole fortune. ' ' Madame
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 113 
 
 de la Tour replied that the state of her health 
 would not permit her to undertake so long a 
 voyage. "At least,*' resumed Monsieur de la 
 Bourdonnais, "you cannot without injustice, 
 deprive this amiable young lady, your daughter, 
 of so noble an inheritance. I will not conceal 
 from you, that your aunt has made use of her 
 influence to secure your daughter being sent 
 to her; and that I have received official letters, 
 in which I am ordered to exert my authority, if 
 necessary, to that effect But as I only wish 
 to employ my power for the purpose of render- 
 ing the inhabitants of this country happy, I ex- 
 pect from your good sense the voluntary sacri- 
 fice of a few years, upon which your daughter's 
 establishment in the world, and the welfare of 
 your whole life depends. Wherefore do we 
 come to these islands? Is it not to acquire a 
 fortune? And will it not be more agreeable to 
 return and find it in your own country?*' 
 
 He then took a large bag of piastres from 
 one of his slaves, and placed it upon the table. 
 "This sum," he continued, <4 is allotted by your 
 aunt to defray the outlay necessary for the 
 equipment of the young lady for her voyage. " 
 Gently reproaching Madame de la Tour for not 
 having had recourse to him in her difficulties, 
 he extolled at the same time her noble forti- 
 
 8 Paul and Virginia
 
 114 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 tude. Upon this Paul said to the Governor, 
 "My mother did apply to you, sir, and you re- 
 ceived her ill." "Have you another child, 
 madam," said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to 
 Madame de la Tour. "No, sir," she replied, 
 "this is the son of my friend; but he and Vir- 
 ginia are equally dear to us, and we mutually 
 consider them both as our own children." 
 "Young man," said the Governor to Paul, 
 "when you have acquired a little more experi- 
 ence of the world, you will know that it is the 
 misfortune of people in place to be deceived, 
 and bestow, in consequence, upon intriguing 
 vice, that which they would wish to give to 
 modest merit. " 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request 
 of Madame de la Tour, placed himself next to 
 her at the table, and breakfasted after the 
 manner of the Creoles, upon coffee, mixed with 
 rice boiled in water. He was delighted with 
 the order and cleanliness which prevailed in 
 the little cottage, the harmony of the two inter- 
 esting families, and the zeal of their old serv- 
 ants. "Here," he exclaimed, "I discern only 
 wooden furniture: but I find serene counte- 
 nances and hearts of gold. ' ' Paul, enchanted 
 with the affability of the Governor, said to 
 him, "I wish to be your friend, for you are
 
 It was'Monsieur de la Bourdonnais." Page 112. 
 
 Paul and Virginia.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 115 
 
 a good man." Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
 received with pleasure this insular compli- 
 ment, and, taking Paul by the hand, assured 
 him he might rely upon his friendship. 
 
 After breakfast, he took Madame de la Tour 
 aside and informed her that an opportunity 
 would soon offer itself of sending her daughter 
 to France, in a ship which was going to sail in 
 a short time; that he would put her under 
 the charge of a lady, one of the passengers, 
 who was a relation of his own ; and that she 
 must not think of renouncing an immense for- 
 tune, on account of the pain of being separated 
 from her daughter for a brief interval. "Your 
 aunt," he added, "cannot live more than two 
 years; of this I am assured by her friends. 
 Think of it seriously. Fortune does not visit 
 us every day. Consult your friends. I am 
 sure that every person of good sense will be of 
 my opinion. " She answered, "that, as she de- 
 sired no other happiness henceforth in the 
 world than in promoting that of her daughter, 
 she hoped to be allowed to leave her departure 
 for France entirely to her own inclination. ' ' 
 
 Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an 
 opportunity of separating Paul and Virginia for 
 a short time, and provide, by this means, for 
 their mutual felicity at a future period. She
 
 116 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 took her daughter aside, and said to her, "My 
 dear child, our servants are now old. Paul is 
 still very young, Margaret is advanced in 
 years, and I am already infirm. If I should 
 die what would become of you, without for- 
 tune, in the midst of these deserts? You 
 would then be left alone, without any person 
 who could afford you much assistance, and 
 would be obliged to labor without ceasing, as a 
 hired servant, in order to support your 
 wretched existence. This idea overcomes me 
 with sorrow. ' ' Virginia answered, ' ' God has 
 appointed us to labor, and to bless him every 
 day. Up to this time he has never forsaken 
 us, and he never will forsake us in time to 
 come. His providence watches most espe- 
 cially over the unfortunate You have told me 
 this very often, my dear mother ! I cannot 
 resolve to leave you. " Madame de la Tour 
 replied, with much emotion, "I have no other 
 aim than to render you happy, and to marry 
 you one day to Paul, who is not really your 
 brother. Remember, then, that his fortune 
 depends upon you." 
 
 A young girl who is in love believes that 
 every one else is ignorant of her passion ; she 
 throws over her eyes the veil with which she 
 covers the feelings of her heart ; but when it
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 117 
 
 is once lifted by a friendly hand, the hidden 
 sorrows of her attachment escape as through a 
 newly-opened barrier, and the sweet outpour- 
 ings of unrestrained confidence succeed to her 
 former mystery and reserve. Virginia, deeply 
 affected by this new proof of her mother's ten- 
 derness, related to her the cruel struggles she 
 had undergone, of which heaven alone had 
 been witness; she saw, she said, the hand of 
 Providence in the assistance of an affectionate 
 mother, who approved of her attachment ; and 
 would guide her by her counsels ; and as she 
 was now strengthened by such support, every 
 consideration led her to remain with her 
 mother, without anxiety for the present, and 
 without apprehension for the future. 
 
 Madame" de la Tour, perceiving that this 
 confidential conversation had produced an 
 effect altogether different from that which she 
 expected, said, "My dear child, I do not wish 
 to constrain you ; think over it at leisure, but 
 conceal your affection from Paul. It is better 
 . not to let a man know that the heart of his mis- 
 tress is gained." 
 
 Virginia and her mother were sitting to- 
 gether by themselves the same evening, when 
 a tall man, dressed in a blue cassock, entered 
 their cottage. He was a missionary priest and
 
 118 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 the confessor of Madame de la Tour and her 
 daughter, who had now been sent them by the 
 Governor. "My children," he exclaimed as 
 he entered, "God be praised ! you are now rich. 
 You can now attend to the kind suggestions of 
 your benevolent hearts, and do good to the 
 poor. I know what Monsieur de la Bourdon- 
 nais has said to you, and what you have said in 
 reply. Your health, dear madam, obliges you 
 to remain here ; but you, young lady, are 
 without excuse. We must obey the directions 
 of Providence : and we must also obey our aged 
 relations, even when they are unjust. A sacri- 
 fice is required of you ; but it is the will of God. 
 Our Lord devoted himself for you; and you 
 in imitation of his example, must give up 
 something for the welfare of your family. 
 Your voyage to France will end happily. You 
 will surely consent to go, my dear young 
 lady." 
 
 Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, 
 trembling, "If it is the command of God, I will 
 not presume to oppose it. Let the will of God 
 be done!" As she uttered these words, she 
 wept. 
 
 The priest went away, in order to inform the 
 Governor of the success of his mission. In the 
 meantime Madame de la Tour sent Domingo
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 119 
 
 to request me to come to her, that she might 
 consult me respecting Virginia's departure. I 
 was not at all of opinion that she ought to go. 
 I consider it as a fixed principle of happiness, 
 that we ought to prefer the advantages of 
 nature to those of fortune, and never go in 
 search of that at a distance, which we may 
 find at home, in our own bosoms. But what 
 could be expected from my advice, in opposi- 
 tion to the illusions of a splendid fortune? or 
 from my simple reasoning, when in competi- 
 tion with the prejudices of the world, and an 
 authority held sacred by Madame de la Tour? 
 This lady indeed had only consulted me out of 
 politeness; she had ceased to deliberate since 
 she had heard the decision of her confessor. 
 Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the 
 advantages she expected for her son from the 
 possession of Virginia's fortune, had hitherto 
 opposed her departure, made no further objec- 
 tions. As for Paul, in ignorance of what had 
 teen determined, but alarmed at the secret 
 conversations which Virginia had been holding 
 with her mother, he abandoned himself to 
 melancholy. "They are plotting something 
 against me," cried he, "for they conceal every- 
 thing from me. ' ' 
 A report having in the meantime been
 
 120 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 spread in the island that fortune had visited 
 these rocks, merchants of every description 
 were seen climbing their steep ascent. Now, 
 for the first time, were seen displayed in these 
 humble huts the richest stuffs of India; the 
 fine dimity of Gondelore; the handkerchiefs of 
 Pellicate and Masulipatan; the plain, striped, 
 and embroidered muslins of Dacca, so beauti- 
 fully transparent ; the delicate white cottons of 
 Surat, and linens of all colors. They also 
 brought with them the gorgeous silks of China, 
 satin damasks, some white, and others grass- 
 green and bright red; pink taffetas, with a 
 profusion of satins and gauze of Tonquin, both 
 plain and decorated with flowers ; soft pekins, 
 downy as cloth ; with white and yellow nan- 
 keens, and the calicofes of Madagascar. 
 
 Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to 
 purchase whatever she liked; she only ex- 
 amined the goods, and inquired the price, to 
 take care that the dealers did not cheat her. 
 Virginia made choice of everything she 
 thought would be useful or agreeable to her 
 mother, or to Margaret and her son. "This," 
 said she, "will be wanted for furnishing the 
 cottage, and that will be very useful to Mary 
 and Domingo." In short, the bag of piastres 
 was almost emptied before she even began to
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 121 
 
 consider her own wants; and she was obliged 
 to receive back for her own use a share of the 
 presents which she had distributed among the 
 family circle. 
 
 Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight of 
 these gifts of fortune, which he felt were a 
 presage of Virginia's departure, came a few 
 days after to my dwelling. With an air of 
 deep despondency he said to me, "My sister 
 is going away ; she is already making prepara- 
 tions for her voyage. I conjure you to come 
 and exert your influence over her mother and 
 mine, in order to detain her here.'' I could 
 not refuse the young man's solicitations, 
 although well convinced that my representa- 
 tions would be unavailing. 
 
 Virginia had ever appeared to me charming 
 when clad in the coarse cloth of Bengal, with a 
 red handkerchief tied around her head : you 
 may therefore imagine how much her beauty 
 was increased when she was attired in the 
 graceful and elegant costume worn by the ladies 
 of this country! She had on a white muslin 
 dress, lined with pink taffeta. Her somewhat 
 tall and slender figure was shown to advantage 
 in her new attire, and the simple arrangement 
 of her hair accorded admirably with the form 
 of her head. Her fine blue eyes were filled
 
 122 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 with an expression of melancholy; and the 
 struggles of passion, with which her heart was 
 agitated, imparted a flush to her cheek, and to 
 her voice a tone of deep emotion. The con- 
 trast between her pensive look and her gay 
 habiliments rendered her more interesting than 
 ever, nor was it possible to see or hear her un- 
 moved. Paul became more and more melan- 
 choly; and at length Margaret, distressed at 
 the situation of her son, took him aside, and 
 said to him, "Why, my dear child, will you 
 cherish vain hopes, which will only render 
 your disappointment more bitter? It is time 
 for me to make known to you the secret of your 
 life and of mine- Mademoiselle de la Tour be- 
 longs, by her mother's side, to a rich and noble 
 family, while you are but the son of a poor 
 peasant girl ; and what is worse, you are illegi- 
 timate." 
 
 Paul, who had never heard this last expres- 
 sion before, inquired with eagerness its mean- 
 ing. His mother replied, "I was not married 
 to your father. When I was a girl, seduced 
 by love, I was guilty of a weakness of which 
 you are the offspring. The consequence of 
 my fault is, that you are deprived of the pro- 
 tection of a father's family, and by my flight 
 from home you have also lost that of your
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 123 
 
 mother's. Unfortunate child! you have no re- 
 lation in the world but me ! ' ' and she shed a 
 flood of tears. Paul, pressing her in his arms, 
 exclaimed, "Oh, my dear mother! since I 
 have no relation in the world but you, I will 
 love you all the more. But what a secret have 
 you just disclosed to me ! I now see the reason 
 why Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged 
 herself so much from me for the last two 
 months, and why she has determined to go to 
 France. Ah ! I perceive too well that she de- 
 spises me!" 
 
 The hour of supper being arrived, we gath- 
 ered round the table ; but the different sensa- 
 tions with which we were agitated left us little 
 inclination to eat, and the meal, if such it may 
 be called, passed in silence. Virginia was the 
 first to rise ; she went out, and seated herself 
 on the very spot where we now are. Paul has- 
 tened after her, and sat down by her side. 
 Both of them, for some time, kept a profound 
 silence. It was one of those delicious nights 
 which are so common between the tropics, and 
 to the beauty of which no pencil can do justice. 
 The moon appeared in the midst of the firma- 
 ment, surrounded by a curtain of clouds, which 
 was gradually unfolded by her beams. Her 
 light insensibly spread itself over the moun-
 
 124 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 tains of the island, and their distant peaks glis- 
 tened with a silvery green. The winds were 
 perfectly still. We heard among the woods, at 
 the bottom of the valleys, and on the summits 
 of the rocks, the piping cries and the soft 
 notes of the birds, wantoning in their nests, 
 and rejoicing in the brightness of the night and 
 the serenity of the atmosphere. The hum of 
 insects was heard in the grass. The stars 
 sparkled in the heavens, and their lucid orbs 
 were reflected, in trembling sparkles, from the 
 tranquil bosom of the ocean. Virginia's eye 
 wandered distractedly over its vast and gloomy 
 horizon, distinguishable from the shore of the 
 island only by the red fires in the fishing 
 boats. She perceived at the entrance of the 
 harbor a light and a shadow ; these were the 
 watch-light and the hull of the vessel in 
 which she was to embark for Europe, and 
 which, all ready for sea, lay at anchor, waiting 
 for a breeze. Affected at this sight, she turned 
 away her head, in order to hide her tears from 
 Paul. 
 
 Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I, were 
 seated at a little distance, beneath the plantain 
 trees; and, owing to the stillness of the night, 
 we distinctly heard their conversation, which I 
 have not forgotten.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 125 
 
 Paul said to her, "You are going away from 
 us, they tell me, in three days. You do not 
 fear then to encounter the danger of the sea, 
 at the sight of which you are so much terri- 
 fied?" "I must perform my duty," answered 
 Virginia, "by obeying my parent." "You 
 leave us," resumed Paul, "for a distant rela- 
 tion, whom you have never seen." "Alas!" 
 cried Virginia, "I would have remained here 
 my whole life, but my mother would not have 
 it so. My confessor, too, told me it was the 
 will of God that I should go, and that life was 
 a scene of trials ! and oh ! this is indeed a se- 
 vere one." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Paul, "you could find so 
 many reasons for going, and not one for re- 
 maining here! Ah! there is one reason for 
 your departure that you have not mentioned. 
 Riches have great attractions. You will soon 
 find in the new world to which you are going, 
 another, to whom you will give the name of 
 brother, which you bestow on me no more. 
 You will choose that brother from amongst 
 persons who are worthy of you by their birth, 
 and by a fortune which I have not to offer. 
 But where can you go to be happier? On what 
 shore will you land, and find it dearer to you 
 than the spot which gave you birth? and
 
 126 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 where will you form around you a society more 
 delightful to you than this, by which you are 
 so much beloved? How will you bear to live 
 without your mother's caresses, to which you 
 are so much accustomed? What will become 
 of her, already advanced in years, when she 
 no longer sees you at her side at table, in the 
 house, in the walks, where she used to lean 
 upon you? What will become of my mother, 
 who loves you with the same affection? What 
 shall I say to comfort them when I see them 
 weeping for your absence? Cruel Virginia! I 
 say nothing to you of myself ; but what will 
 become of me, when in the morning I shall no 
 more see you ; when the evening will come, 
 and not reunite us? when I shall gaze on these 
 two palm trees, planted at our birth, and so 
 long the witnesses of our mutual friendship? 
 Ah! since your lot is changed, since you seek 
 in a far country other possessions than the 
 fruits of my labor, let me go with you in the 
 vessel in which you are about to embark. I 
 will sustain your spirits in the midst of those 
 tempests which terrify you so much even on 
 shore. I will lay my head upon your bosom ; 
 I will warm your heart ,upon my own , and in 
 France, where you are going in search of for- 
 tune and of grandeur, I will wait upon you as
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 127 
 
 your slave. Happy only in your happiness, 
 you will find me, in those palaces where I shall 
 see you receiving the homage and adoration of 
 all, rich and noble enough to make you the 
 greatest of all sacrifices, by dying at your feet. ' ' 
 
 The violence of his emotions stopped his ut- 
 terance, and we then heard Virginia, who, in a 
 voice broken by sobs, uttered these words: 
 "It is for you that I go, for you whom I see 
 tired to death every day by the labor of sus- 
 taining two helpless families. If I have ac- 
 cepted this opportunity of becoming rich, it is 
 only to return a thousand-fold the good which 
 you have done us. Can any fortune be equal 
 to your friendship? Why do you talk about 
 your birth? Ah ! it if were possible for me still 
 to have a brother, should I make choice of any 
 other than you? Oh, Paul, Paul! you are far 
 dearer to me than a brother! How much has 
 it cost me to repulse you from me! Help me 
 to tear myself from what I value more than 
 existence, till Heaven shall bless our union. 
 But I will stay or go, I will live or die, dis- 
 pose of me as you will. Unhappy that I am! 
 I could have repelled your caresses; but I can- 
 not support your affliction. ' ' 
 
 At these words, Paul seized her in his arms, 
 and, holding her pressed close to his bosom,
 
 128 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 said, in a piercing tone, "I will go with her, 
 nothing shall ever part us." We all ran to- 
 wards him ; and Madame de la Tour said to 
 him, "My son, if you go, what will become of 
 us!" 
 
 He, trembling, repeated after her the words, 
 "My son my son! You my mother!" cried 
 he: "you, who would separate the brother 
 from the sister ! We have both been nourished 
 at your bosom; we have both been reared 
 upon your knees; we have learnt of you to 
 love one another; we have said so a thousand 
 times; and now you would separate her from 
 me ' you would send her to Europe, that in- 
 hospitable country which refused you an asy- 
 lum and to relations by whom you yourself 
 were abandoned. You will tell me that I have 
 no right over her, and that she is not my sis- 
 ter. She is everything to me ; my riches, my 
 birth, my family, all that I have! I know 
 no other. We have had but one roof, one 
 cradle, and we will have but one grave ! If 
 she goes, I will follow her. The Governor 
 will prevent me! Will he prevent me from 
 flinging myself into the sea? will he prevent 
 me from following her by swimming? The sea 
 cannot be more fatal to me than the land. 
 Since I cannot live with her, at least I will die
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 129 
 
 before her eyes, far from you. Inhuman 
 mother! woman without compassion! may 
 the ocean to which you trust her, restore her to 
 you no more! May the waves, rolling back 
 our bodies amid the shingles of this beach, 
 give you, in the loss of your two children, an 
 eternal subject of remorse!" 
 
 At these words, I seized him in my arms, 
 for despair had deprived him of reason. His 
 eyes sparkled with fire, the perspiration fell in 
 great drops from his face ; his knees trembled, 
 and I felt his heart beat violently against his 
 burning bosom. 
 
 Virginia, alarmed, said to him, ''Oh, my 
 dear PauU I call to witness the pleasures of our 
 early age, your griefs and my own, and every- 
 thing that can forever bind two unfortunate 
 beings to each other, that if I remain at home, 
 I will live but for you ; that if I go, I will one 
 day return to be yours. I call you all to wit- 
 ness ; you who have reared me, from my in- 
 fancy, who dispose of my life, and who see my 
 tears. I swear by that Heaven which hears 
 me, by the sea which I am going to pass, by 
 the air I breathe, and which I never sullied by 
 a falsehood." 
 
 As the sun softens and precipitates an icy 
 rock from the summit of one of the Apen- 
 
 9 Paul and Virginia
 
 130 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 nines, so the impetuous passions of the young 
 man were subdued by the voice of her he 
 loved. He bent his head, and a torrent of 
 tears fell from his eyes. His mother, ming- 
 ling her tears with his, held him in her arms, 
 but was unable to speak. Madame de la Tour, 
 half-distracted, said to me, "I can bear this no 
 longer. My heart is quite broken. This un- 
 fortunate voyage shall not take place. Do take 
 my son home with you. Not one of us has 
 had any rest the whole week. ' ' 
 
 I said to Paul, "My dear friend, your sister 
 shall remain here. To-morrow we will talk to 
 the Governor about it; leave your family to 
 take some rest, and come and pass the night 
 with me. It is late ; it is midnight ; the south- 
 ern cross is just above the horizon. " 
 
 He suffered himself to be led away in silence ; 
 and, after a night of great agitation, he arose 
 at break of day, and returned home. 
 
 But why should I continue any longer to you 
 the recital of this history? There is but one 
 aspect of human existence which we can ever 
 contemplate with pleasure. Like the globe 
 upon which we revolve, the fleeting course of 
 life is but a day ; and if one part of that day 
 be visited by light, the other is thrown into 
 darkness.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 131 
 
 "My father," I answered, "finish, I conjure 
 you, the history which you have begun in a 
 manner so interesting. If the images of hap- 
 piness are the most pleasing, those of misfor- 
 tune are the more instructive. Tell me what 
 became of the unhappy young man. ' ' 
 
 The first object beheld by Paul in his way 
 home was the negro woman Mary, who, 
 mounted on a rock, was earnestly looking 
 towards the sea. As soon as he perceived 
 her. he called to her from a distance, "Where 
 is Virginia?" Mary turned her head towards 
 her young master, and began to weep. Paul, 
 distracted, retracing his steps, ran to the bar- 
 bor. He was informed that Virginia had 
 embarked at the break of day, and that the 
 vessel had immediately set sail, and was now 
 out of sight. He instantly returned to the 
 plantation, which he crossed without uttering 
 a word. 
 
 Quite perpendicular as appears the walls of 
 Crocks behind us, those green platforms which 
 separate their summits are so many stages, by 
 -means of which you may reach through some 
 difficult paths, that cone of sloping and inac- 
 cessible rocks, which is called The Thumb. 
 At the foot of that cone is an extended slope 
 of ground, covered with lofty trees, and so steep
 
 132 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 and elevated that it looks like a forest in the 
 air, surrounded by tremendous precipices. 
 The clouds, which are constantly attracted 
 round the summit of The Thumb, supply 
 innumerable rivulets, which fall to so great a 
 depth in the valley situated on the other side 
 of the mountain, that from this elevated point 
 the sound of their cataracts cannot be heard. 
 From that spot you can discern a considerable 
 part of the island, diversified by precipices and 
 mountain peaks, and amongst others, Peter- 
 Booth, and the Three Breasts, with their val- 
 leys full of woods. You also command an 
 extensive view of the ocean, and can even per- 
 ceive the Isle of Bourbon, forty leagues to the 
 westward. From the summit of that stupend- 
 ous pile of rocks Paul caught sight of the vessel 
 which was bearing away Virginia, and which 
 now, ten leagues out at sea, appeared like a 
 black spot in the midst of the ocean. He 
 remained a great part of the day with his eyes 
 fixed upon this object: when it disappeared, 
 he still fancied he beheld it; and when, at 
 length, the traces which clung to his imagina- 
 tion were lost in the mists of the horizon, he 
 seated himself on that wild point, forever 
 beaten by the winds, which never cease to 
 agitate the tops of the cabbage and gum-trees,
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 133 
 
 and the hoarse and moaning murmurs of 
 which, similar to the distant sound of organs, 
 inspire a profound melancholy. On this spot 
 I found him, his head reclining on the rock, 
 and his eyes fixed upon the ground. I had fol- 
 lowed him from the earliest dawn, and, after 
 much importunity, I prevailed on him to 
 descend from the heights, and return to his 
 family. I went home with him, where the 
 first impulse of his mind, on seeing Madame de 
 la Tour, was to reproach her bitterly for having 
 deceived him. She told us that a favorable 
 wind having sprung up at three o'clock in the 
 morning, and the vessel being ready to sail, 
 the Governor, attended by some of his staff and 
 the missionary, had come with a palanquin to 
 fetch her daughter ; and that, notwithstanding 
 Virginia's objections, her own tears and 
 entreaties, and the lamentations of Margaret, 
 everybody exclaiming all the time that it was 
 for the general welfare, they had carried her 
 away almost dying. "At least," cried Paul, 
 "if I had bid her farewell, I should now be 
 more calm. I would have said to her, 'Vir- 
 ginia, if, during the time we have lived 
 together, one word may have escaped me 
 which has offended you, before you leave me 
 forever, tell me that you forgive me. ' I would
 
 134 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 have said to her, 'Since I am destined to see 
 you no more, farewell, my dear Virginia, fare- 
 well ! Live far from me contented and happy!' ' 
 When he saw that his mother and Madame de 
 la Tour were weeping, "You must now," said 
 he, "seek some other hand to wipe away your 
 tears;" and then, rushing out of the house, 
 and groaning aloud, he wandered up and down 
 the plantation. He hovered in particular 
 about those spots which had been most endear- 
 ing to Virginia. He said to the goats, and 
 their little ones, which followed him bleating, 
 "What do you want of me? You will see 
 with me no more her who used to feed you 
 with her own hand." He went to the bower 
 called Virginia's Resting-place and, as the 
 birds flew around him, exclaimed, "Poor birds! 
 you will fly no more to meet her who cherished 
 you!" and observing Fidele running back- 
 wards and forwards in search of her, he heaved 
 a deep sigh, and cried, "Ah! you will never 
 find her again. ' ' At length he went and seated 
 himself upon a rock where he had conversed 
 with her the preceding evening; and at the 
 sight of the ocean upon which he had seen the 
 vessel disappear which had borne her away, his 
 heart overflowed with anguish, and he wept 
 bitterly.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 135 
 
 We continually watched his movements, 
 apprehensive of some fatal consequence from 
 the violent agitation of his mind. His mother 
 and Madame de la Tour conjured him, in the 
 most tender manner, not to increase their 
 affliction by his despair. At length the latter 
 soothed his mind by lavishing upon him epithets 
 calculated to awaken his hopes, calling him 
 her son, her dear son, her son-in-law, whom 
 she destined for her daughter. She persuaded 
 him to return home, and to take some food. 
 He seated himself next to the place which used 
 to be occupied by the companion of his child- 
 hood; and, as if she had still been present, he 
 spoke to her, and made as though he would 
 offer her whatever he knew was most agreeable 
 to her taste: then, starting from this dream 
 of fancy, he began to weep. For some days 
 he employed himself in gathering every thing 
 which had belonged to Virginia, the last nose- 
 gays she had worn, the cocoa- shell from which 
 she used to drink ; and after kissing a thousand 
 times these relics of his beloved, to him the 
 most precious treasures which the world con- 
 tained, he hid them in his bosom. Amber does 
 not shed so sweet a perfume as the veriest trifles 
 touched by those we love. At length, perceiv- 
 ing that the indulgence of his grief increased
 
 136 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 that of his mother and Madame de la Tour, and 
 that the wants of the family demanded contin- 
 ual labor, he began, with the assistance of Do- 
 mingo, to repair the damage done to the 
 garden. 
 
 But, soon after, this young man, hitherto 
 indifferent as a Creole to everything that was 
 passing in the world, begged of me to teach 
 him to read and write, in order that he might 
 correspond with Virginia. He afterwards 
 wished to obtain a knowledge of geography, 
 that he might form some idea of the country 
 where she would disembark; and of history, 
 that he might know something of the manners 
 of the society in which she would be placed. 
 The powerful sentiment of love, which directed 
 his present studies, had already instructed him 
 in agriculture, and in the art of laying out 
 grounds with advantage and beauty. It must 
 be admitted, that to the fond dreams of this 
 restless and ardent passion, mankind are 
 indebted for most of the arts and sciences, 
 while its disappointments have given birth to 
 philosophy, which teaches us to bear up under 
 misfortune. Love, thus, the general link of all 
 beings, becomes the great spring of society, by 
 inciting us to knowledge as well as to pleasure. 
 
 Paul found little satisfaction in the study of
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 131 
 
 geography, which, instead of describing the 
 natural history of each country, gave only a 
 view of its political divisions and boundaries. 
 History, and especially modern history, inter- 
 ested him little more. He there saw only gen- 
 eral and periodical evils, the causes of which 
 he could not discover; wars without either 
 motive or reason; uninteresting intrigues; 
 with nations destitute of principle, and princes 
 void of humanity. To this branch of reading 
 he preferred romances, which, being chiefly 
 occupied by the feelings and concerns of men, 
 sometimes represented situations similar to his 
 own. Thus, no book gave him so much pleas- 
 ure as Telemachus, from the pictures it draws 
 of pastoral life, and of the passions which are 
 most natural to the human breast. He read 
 aloud to his mother and Madame de la Tour 
 those parts which affected him most sensibly; 
 but sometimes, touched by the most tender 
 remembrances, his emotion would choke his 
 utterance, and his eyes be filled with tears. 
 He fancied he had found in Virginia the dig- 
 nity and wisdom of Antiope, united to the 
 misfortunes and the tenderness of Eucharis. 
 With very different sensations he perused our 
 fashionable novels, filled with licentious morals 
 and maxims, and when he was informed that
 
 138 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 these works drew a tolerably faithful picture of 
 European society, he trembled, and not without 
 some appearance of reason, lest Virginia should 
 become corrupted by it, and forget him. 
 
 More than a year and a half, indeed, passed 
 away before Madame de la Tour received any 
 tidings of her aunt or her daughter. During 
 that period she only accidentally heard that 
 Virginia had safely arrived in France. At 
 length, however, a vessel which stopped here 
 on its way to the Indies brought a packet to 
 Madame de la Tour, and a letter written by 
 Virginia's own hand. Although this amiable 
 and considerate girl had written in a guarded 
 manner that she might not wound her mother's 
 feelings, it appeared evident enough that she 
 was unhappy. The letter painted so naturally 
 her situation and her character, that I have re- 
 tained it almost word for word. 
 
 "My dear and beloved Mother, 
 
 "I have already sent you several letters, 
 written by my own hand, but having received 
 no answer, I am afraid they have not reached 
 you. I have better hopes for this, from the 
 means I have now gained of sending you tid- 
 ings of myself, and of hearing from you. 
 
 "I have shed many tears since our separa- 
 tion, I who never used to weep, but for the
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 139 
 
 misfortunes of others! My aunt was much 
 astonished, when, having, upon my arrival, in- 
 quired what accomplishments I possessed, I 
 told her that I could neither read nor write. 
 She asked me what then I had learnt, since I 
 came into the world; and when I answered 
 that I had been taught to take care of the 
 household affairs, and to obey your will, she 
 told me that I had received the education of a 
 servant. The next day she placed me as a 
 boarder in a great abbey near Paris, where I 
 have masters of all kinds, who teach me among 
 other things, history, geography, grammar, 
 mathematics, and riding on horseback. But I 
 have so little capacity for all these sciences, 
 that I fear I shall make but small progress 
 with my masters. I feel that I am a very poor 
 creature, with very little ability to learn what 
 they teach. My aunt's kindness, however, does 
 not decrease. She gives me new dresses every 
 season; and she has placed two waiting women 
 with me, who are dressed like fine ladies. She 
 has made me take the title of countess; but has 
 obliged me to renounce the name of La Tour, 
 which is as dear to me as it is to you, from all 
 you have told me of the sufferings my father 
 endured in order to marry you. She has given 
 me in place of your name that of vour family,
 
 140 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 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 something to assist you. But how shall I 
 repeat her. answer ! Yet you have desired me 
 always to tell you the truth. She told me then 
 that a little would be of no use to you, and 
 that a great deal would only encumber you in 
 the simple life you led. As you know I could 
 not write, I endeavored upon my arrival, to 
 send you tidings of myself by another hand ; 
 but, finding no person here in whom I could 
 place confidence, I applied night and day to 
 learn to read and write, and Heaven, who saw 
 my motive for learning, no doubt assisted my 
 endeavors, for I succeeded in both for a short 
 time. I entrusted my first letters to some of 
 the ladies here, who, I have reason to think, 
 carried them to my aunt. This time I have 
 recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I 
 send you her direction, by means of which I 
 shall receive your answer. My aunt has forbid 
 me holding any correspondence whatever, with 
 any one, lest, she says, it should occasion an 
 obstacle 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
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 141 
 
 pleased with me. I am sure I am not at all so 
 with him, nor should I, even if it were possible 
 for me to be pleased with any one at present. 
 "I live in all the splendor of affluence, and 
 have not a sou at my disposal. They say I 
 might make an improper use of money. Even 
 my clothes belong to my femmes de chambre, 
 who quarrel about them before I have left them 
 off. In the midst of riches I am poorer than 
 when I lived with you ; for I have nothing to 
 give away. When I found that the great ac- 
 complishments they taught me would not pro- 
 cure me the power of doing the smallest good, 
 I had recourse to my needle, of which happily 
 you had taught me the use. I send several 
 pairs of stockings of my own making for you 
 and my mamma Margaret, a cap for Domingo, 
 and one of my red handkerchiefs for Mary. I 
 also send with this packet some kernels, and 
 seeds of various kinds of fruits which I gath- 
 ered in the abbey park during my hours of rec- 
 reation. I have also sent a few seeds of violets, 
 daisies, buttercups, poppies and scabious, 
 which I picked up in the fields. There are 
 much more beautiful flowers in the meadows of 
 this country than in ours, but nobody cares for 
 them. I am sure that you and my mamma 
 Margaret will be better pleased with this bag
 
 142 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of seeds, than you were with the bag of pias- 
 tres, which was the cause of our separation and 
 of my tears. It will give me great delight if 
 you should one day see apple-trees growing by 
 the side of our plantains, and elms blending 
 their foliage with that of our cocoa-trees. You 
 will fancy yourself in Normandy, which you 
 love so much. 
 
 "You desired me to relate to you my joys 
 and my griefs. I have no joys far from you. 
 As for my griefs, I endeavor to soothe them 
 by reflecting that I am in the situation in which 
 it was the will of God that you should place 
 me. But my greatest affliction is, that no one 
 here speaks to me of you, and that I cannot 
 speak of you to any one. My femmes de 
 chambre, or rather those of my aunt, for they 
 belong more to her than to me, told me the 
 other day, when I wished to turn the conver- 
 sation upon the objects most dear to me: 'Re- 
 member, mademoiselle, that you are a French 
 woman, and must forget that land of savages. ' 
 Ah! sooner will I forget myself, than forget 
 the spot on which I was born and where you 
 dwell ! It is this country which is to me a land 
 of savages, for I live alone, having no one to 
 whom I can impart those feelings, of tenderness
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 143 
 
 for you which I shall bear with me to the grave. 
 I am, 
 
 "My dearest and beloved mother, 
 "Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 
 
 "Virginie de la Tour. " 
 
 "I recommend to your goodness Mary and 
 Domingo, who took so much care of my in- 
 fancy ; 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 for- 
 gotten even the house-dog. But he was not 
 aware that, however long a woman's letter 
 may be, she never fails to leave her dearest 
 sentiments for the end. 
 
 In a postscript, Virginia particularly recom- 
 mended to Paul's attention two kinds of seed, 
 those of the violet and the scabious. She 
 gave him some instructions upon the natural 
 characters of these flowers, and the spots most 
 proper for their cultivation. "The violet," she 
 Said, "produces a little flower of a dark purple 
 color, which delights to conceal itself beneath 
 the bushes; but it is soon discovered by its 
 wide-spreading perfume." She desired that 
 these seeds might be sown by the border of 
 the fountain, at the foot of her cocoa- tree. 
 "The scabious," she added, "produces a beau-
 
 144 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 tiful flower of a pale blue, and a black ground 
 spotted with white. You might fancy it was 
 in mourning; and for this reason it is also 
 called the widow's flower. It grows best in 
 bleak spots, beaten by the winds. ' ' She beg- 
 ged him to sow this upon the rock where she 
 had spoken to him at night for the last time, 
 and that, in remembrance of her, he would 
 henceforth give it the name of the Rock of 
 Adieus. 
 
 She had put these seeds into a little purse, 
 the tissue of which was exceedingly simple; 
 but which appeared above all price to Paul, 
 when he saw on it a P and a V entwined to- 
 gether, and knew that the beautiful hair which 
 formed the cypher was the hair of Virginia. 
 
 The whole family listened with tears to the 
 reading of the letter of this amiable and virtu- 
 ous girl. Her mother answered it in the name 
 of the little society, desiring her to remain or 
 return as she thought proper: and assuring 
 her, that happiness had left their dwelling since 
 her departure, and that, for herself, she was 
 inconsolable. 
 
 Paul also sent her a very long letter, in which 
 he assured her that he would arrange the garden 
 in a manner agreeable to her taste, and mingle 
 together in it the plants of Europe with those
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 145 
 
 of Africa, as she had blended their initials to- 
 gether in her work. He sent her some fruit 
 from the cocoa-trees of the fountain, now ar- 
 rived at maturity ; telling her, that he would 
 not add any of the other productions of the 
 island, that the desire of seeing them again 
 might hasten her return. He conjured her to 
 comply as soon as possible with the ardent 
 wishes of her family, and, above all, with his 
 own, since he could never hereafter taste hap- 
 piness away from her. 
 
 Paul sowed with a careful hand the Euro- 
 pean seeds, particularly the violet and the sca- 
 bious, the flowers of which seemed to bear 
 some analogy to the character and present sit- 
 uation of Virginia, by whom they had been so 
 especially recommended ; but either they were 
 dried up in the voyage, or the climate of this 
 part of the world is unfavorable to their 
 growth, for a very small number of them even 
 came up, and not one arrived at full perfection. 
 
 In the meantime, envy, which ever comes to 
 embitter human happiness, particularly in the 
 "French colonies, spread some reports in the 
 island which gave Paul much uneasiness. The 
 passengers in the vessel which brought Vir- 
 ginia's letter, asserted that she was upon the 
 point of being married, and named the noble- 
 
 10 Paul and Virginia
 
 146 PAUL AND VIRGINIA, 
 
 man of the court to whom she was engaged. 
 Some even went so far as to declare that the 
 union had already taken place, and that they 
 themselves had witnessed the ceremony. Paul 
 at first despised the report, brought by a mer- 
 chant vessel, as he knew that they often spread 
 erroneous intelligence in their passage; but 
 some of the inhabitants of the island, with 
 malignant pity, affecting to bewail the event, 
 he was soon led to attach some degree of belief 
 to this cruel intelligence. Besides, in some of 
 the novels he had lately read, he had seen that 
 perfidy was treated as a subject of pleasantry ; 
 and knowing that these books contained pretty 
 faithful representations of European manners, 
 he feared that the heart of Virginia was cor- 
 rupted, and had forgotten its former engage- 
 ments. Thus his new acquirements had already 
 only served to render him more miserable ; and 
 his apprehensions were much increased by the 
 circumstance, that though several ships touched 
 here from Europe, within the six months im- 
 mediately following the arrival of her letter, 
 not one of them brought any tidings of Vir- 
 ginia. 
 
 This unfortunate young man, with a heart 
 torn by the most cruel agitation, often came to 
 visit me, in the hope of confirming or banishing
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 147 
 
 his uneasiness, by my experience of the 
 world. 
 
 I live, as I have already told you, a league 
 and a half from this point, upon the banks of 
 a little river which glides along the Sloping 
 Mountain : there I lead a solitary life, without 
 wife, children, or slaves. 
 
 After having enjoyed, and lost the rare 
 felicity of living with a congenial mind, the 
 state of life which appears the least wretched 
 is doubtless that of solitude. Every man who 
 has much cause of complaint against his fellow- 
 creatures seeks to be alone. It is also remarkable 
 that all those nations which have been brought 
 to wretchedness by their opinions, their man- 
 ners, or their forms of government, have pro- 
 duced numerous classes of citizens altogether 
 devoted to solitude and celibacy. Such were 
 the Egyptians in their decline, and the Greeks 
 of the Lower Empire ; and such in our days 
 are the Indians, the Chinese, the modern 
 Greeks, the Italians, and the greater part of 
 the eastern and southern nations of Europe. 
 Solitude, by removing men from the miseries 
 which follow in the train of social intercourse, 
 brings them in some degree back to the unso- 
 phisticated enjoyment of nature. In the midst 
 of modern society, broken up by innumerable
 
 148 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 prejudices, the mind is in a constant turmoil of 
 agitation. It is incessantly revolving in itself 
 a thousand tumultuous and contradictory opin- 
 ions, by which the members of an ambitious 
 and miserable circle seek to raise themselves 
 above each other. But in solitude the soul lays 
 aside the morbid illusions which troubled her, 
 and resumes the pure consciousness of herself, 
 of nature, and of its Author, as the muddy 
 water of a torrent which has ravaged the 
 plains, coming to rest, and diffusing itself over 
 some low grounds out of its course, deposits 
 there the slime it has taken up, and resuming 
 its wonted transparency, reflects, with its own 
 shores, the verdure of the earth and the light 
 of heaven. Thus does solitude recruit the 
 powers of the body as well as those of the mind. 
 It is among hermits that are found the men 
 who carry human existence to its extreme 
 limits; such are the Bramins of India. In 
 brief, I consider solitude so necessary to happi- 
 ness, even in the world itself, that it appears 
 to me impossible to derive lasting pleasure 
 from any pursuit whatever, or to regulate our 
 conduct by any stable principle, if we do not 
 create for ourselves a mental void, whence our 
 own views rarely emerge, and into which the 
 opinions of others never enter. I do not mean
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 149 
 
 to say that man ought to live absolutely alone ; 
 he is connected by his necessities with all man- 
 kind ; his labors are due to man : and he owes 
 something too.to the rest of nature. But, as God 
 has given to each of us organs perfectly adapted 
 to the elements of the globe on which we 
 live, feet for the soil, lungs for the air, eyes 
 for the light, without power of changing the 
 use of any of these faculties, he has reserved 
 for himself, as the Author of life, that which 
 is its chief organ, the heart. 
 
 I thus passed my days far from mankind, 
 whom I wished to serve, and by whom I have 
 been persecuted. After having traveled over 
 many countries of Europe, and some parts of 
 America and Africa, I at length pitched my 
 tent in this thinly peopled island, allured by its 
 mild climate and its solitudes. A cottage 
 which I built in the woods, at the foot of a 
 tree, a little field which I cleared with my own 
 hands, a river which glides before my door, 
 ^suffice for my wants and for my pleasures. I 
 blend with these enjoyments the perusal of 
 some chosen books, which teach me to become 
 better. They make that world, which I have 
 abandoned, still contribute something to my 
 happiness. They lay before me pictures of 
 those passions which render its inhabitants so
 
 150 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 miserable ; and in the comparison I am thus led 
 to make between their lot and my own, I feel a 
 kind of negative enjoyment. Like a man saved 
 from a shipwreck, and thrown upon a rock, I 
 contemplate, from my solitude, the storms 
 which rage through the rest of the world; and 
 my repose seems more profound from the dis- 
 tant sound of the tempest. As men have 
 ceased to fall in my way; I no longer view 
 them with aversion; I only pity them. If 
 I sometimes fall in with an unfortunate 
 being, I try to help him by my counsels, as a 
 passer-by on the brink of a torrent extends his 
 hand to save a wretch from drowning. But I 
 have hardly ever found but the innocent 
 attentive to my voice. Nature calls the major- 
 ity of men to her in vain. Each of them forms 
 an image of her for himself, and invests her 
 with his own passions. He pursues during 
 the whole of his life this vain phantom, which 
 leads him astray; and he afterwards complains 
 to Heaven of the misfortunes which he has 
 thus created for himself. Among the many 
 children of misfortune whom I have endeav- 
 ored to lead back to the enjoyments of nature, 
 I have not found one but was intoxicated with 
 his own miseries. They have listened to me at 
 first with attention, in the hope that I could
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 151 
 
 teach them how to acquire glory or fortune, 
 but when they found that I only wished to 
 instruct them how to dispense with these chi- 
 meras, their attention has been converted into 
 pity, because I did not prize their miserable 
 happiness. They blamed my solitary life ; they 
 alleged that they alone were useful to men, and 
 they endeavored to draw me into their vortex. 
 But if I communicate with all, I lay myself 
 open to none. It is often sufficient for me to 
 serve as a lesson to myself. In my present 
 tranquility, I pass in review the agitating pur- 
 suits of my past life, to which I formerly 
 attached so much value, patronage, fortune, 
 reputation, pleasure, and the opinions which 
 are ever at strife over all the earth. I com- 
 pare the men whom I have seen disputing furi- 
 ously over these vanities, and who are no more, 
 to the tiny waves of my rivulet, which break 
 in foam against its rocky bed, and disappear, 
 never to return. As for me, I suffer myself to 
 float calmly down the stream of time to the 
 shoreless ocean of futurity ; while, in the con- 
 templation of the present harmony of nature, 
 I elevate my soul towards its supreme Author, 
 and hope for a more happy lot in another state 
 of existence. 
 
 Although you cannot descry from my her-
 
 152 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mitage, situated in the midst of a forest, that 
 immense variety of objects which this elevated 
 spot presents, the grounds are disposed with 
 peculiar beauty, at least to one who, like me, 
 prefers the seclusion of a home scene to great 
 and extensive prospects. The river which 
 glides before my door passes in a straight line 
 across the woods, looking like a long canal 
 shaded by all kinds of trees. Among them are 
 the gum tree, the ebony tree, and that which 
 is here called bois de pomme, with olive and 
 cinnamon-wood trees; while in some parts the 
 cabbage-palm trees raise their naked stems 
 more than a hundred feet high, their summits 
 crowned with a cluster of leaves, and towering 
 above the woods like one forest piled upon 
 another. Lianas, of various foliage, intertwin- 
 ing themselves among the trees, form, here, 
 arcades of foliage, there, long canopies of 
 verdure. Most of these trees shed aromatic 
 odors so powerful, that the garments of a 
 traveler, who has passed through the forest, 
 often retain for hours the most delicious 
 fragrance. In the season when they produce 
 their lavish blossoms, they appear as if half- 
 covered with snow. Towards the end of sum- 
 mer, various kinds of foreign birds hasten, 
 impelled by some inexplicable instinct, from
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 153 
 
 unknown regions on the other side of immense 
 oceans, to feed upon the grain and other veg- 
 etable productions of the island ; and the bril- 
 liancy of their plumage forms a striking con- 
 trast to the more somber tints of the foliage, 
 embrowned by the sun. Among these are var- 
 ious kinds of paroquets, and the blue pigeon, 
 called here the pigeon of Holland. Monkeys, 
 the domestic inhabitants of our forests, sport 
 upon the dark branches of the trees, from 
 which they are easily distinguished by their 
 gray and greenish skin, and their black visages. 
 Some hang, suspended by the tail, and swing 
 themselves in air; others leap from branch to 
 branch, bearing their young in their arms. 
 The murderous gun has never affrighted these 
 peaceful children of nature. You hear noth- 
 ing but sounds of joy, the warblings and 
 unknown notes of birds from the countries of 
 the south, repeated from a distance by the 
 echoes of the forest. The river, which pours, 
 in foaming eddies, over a bed of rocks, through 
 the midst of the woods, reflects here and there 
 upon its limpid waters their venerable masses 
 of verdure and of shade, along with the sports 
 of their happy inhabitants. About a thousand 
 paces from thence it forms several cascades, 
 clear as crystal in their fall, but broken at the
 
 154 1>AUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 bottom into frothy surges. Innumerable con- 
 fused sounds issue from these watery tumults, 
 which, borne by the winds across the forest, 
 now sink in distance, now all at once swell out, 
 booming on the ear like the bells of a cathe- 
 dral. The air, kept ever in motion by the run- 
 ning water, preserves upon the banks of the 
 river, amid all the summer heats, a freshness 
 and verdure rarely found in this island, even 
 on the summits of the mountains. 
 
 At some distance from this place is a rock, 
 placed far enough from the cascade to prevent 
 the ear from being deafened with the noise of 
 its waters, and sufficiently near for the enjoy- 
 ment of seeing it, of feeling its coolness, and 
 hearing its gentle murmurs. Thither, amidst 
 the heats of summer, Madame de la Tour, 
 Margaret, Virginia, Paul and myself, some- 
 times repaired, to dine beneath the shadow of 
 this rock. Virginia, who always, in her most 
 ordinary actions, was mindful of the good of 
 others, never ate of any fruit in the fields with- 
 out planting the seed or kernel in the ground. 
 "From this," said she, "trees will come, which 
 will yield their fruit to some traveler, or at 
 least to some bird." One day, having eaten of 
 the papaw fruit at the foot of that rock, she 
 planted the seeds on the spot. Soon after, sev-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 155 
 
 eral papaw trees sprang up, among which was 
 one with female blossoms, that is to say, a 
 fruit-bearing tree. This tree at the time of 
 Virginia's departure, was scarcely as high as 
 her knee ; but, as it is a plant of rapid growth 
 in the course of two years it had gained the 
 height of twenty feet, and the upper part of 
 its stem was encircled by several rows of ripe 
 fruit. Paul, wandering accidentally to the 
 spot, was struck with delight at seeing this 
 lofty tree, which had been planted by his 
 beloved; but the emotion was transient, and 
 instantly gave place to a deep melancholy, at 
 this evidence of her long absence. The objects 
 which are habitually before us do not bring to 
 our minds an adequate idea of the rapidity of 
 life; they decline insensibly with ourselves: 
 but it is those we behold again, after having 
 for some years lost sight of them, that most 
 powerfully impress us with a feeling of the 
 swiftness with which the tide of life flows on. 
 Paul was no less overwhelmed and affected at 
 the sight of this great papaw tree, loaded with 
 fruit, than is the traveler when, after a long 
 absence from his own country, he finds his con- 
 temporaries no more, but their children, whom 
 he left at the breast, themselves now become 
 fathers of families. Paul sometimes thought
 
 156 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of cutting down the tree, which recalled to 
 sensibility the distracting remembrance of Vir- 
 ginia's prolonged absence. At other times, 
 contemplating it as a monument of her benev- 
 olence, he kissed its trunk, and apostrophized 
 it in terms of the most passionate regret. 
 Indeed, I have myself gazed upon it with more 
 emotion and more veneration than upon the 
 triumphal arches of Rome. May nature, 
 which every day destroys the monuments of 
 kingly ambition, multiply in our forests those 
 which testify the beneficence of a poor young 
 girl! 
 
 At the foot of this papaw tree I was always 
 sure to meet with Paul when he came into our 
 neighborhood. One day, I found him there 
 absorbed in melancholy, and a conversation 
 took place between us, which I will relate to 
 you, if I do not weary you too much by my 
 long digressions ; they are perhaps pardonable 
 to my age and to my last friendships. I will 
 relate it to you in the form of a dialogue, that 
 you may form some idea of the natural good 
 sense of this young man. You will easily dis- 
 tinguish the speaker, from the character of his 
 questions and of my answers. 
 
 Paul. I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle 
 de la Tour has now been gone two years and
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 15? 
 
 eight months, and we have heard no tidings 
 of her for eight months and a half. She is rich, 
 and I am poor ; she has forgotten me. I have 
 a great mind to follow her. I will go to France ; 
 I will serve the king ; I will make my fortune ; 
 and, then, Mademoiselle de la Tour's aunt will 
 bestow her niece upon me when I shall have 
 become a great lord. 
 
 The Old Man. But, my dear friend, have 
 not you told me that you are not of noble 
 birth? 
 
 Paul. My mother has told me so; but, as 
 for myself, I know not what noble birth means. 
 I never perceived that I had less than others, 
 or that others had more than I. 
 
 The Old Man. Obscure birth, in France, 
 shuts every door of access to great employ- 
 ments; nor can you even be received among 
 any distinguished body of men, if you labor 
 under this disadvantage. 
 
 Paul. You have often told me that it was 
 one source of the greatness of France that her 
 humblest subject might attain the highest 
 honors; and you have cited to me many in- 
 stances of celebrated men who, born in a mean 
 condition, had conferred honor upon their 
 country. It was your wish, then, by conceal- 
 ing the truth, to stimulate my ardor?
 
 158 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 The Old Man. Never, my son, would I 
 lower it. I told you the truth with regard to 
 the past ; but now, everything has undergone 
 a great change. Everything in France is now 
 to be obtained by interest alone ; every place 
 and employment is now become as it were the 
 patrimony of a small number of families, or is 
 divided among public bodies. The king is a 
 sun, and the nobles and great corporate bodies 
 surround him like so many clouds ; it is almost 
 impossible for any of his rays to reach you. 
 Formerly, under less exclusive administrations 
 such phenomena have been seen. Then, talents 
 and merit showed themselves everywhere, as 
 newly cleared lands are always loaded with 
 abundance. But great kings, who can really 
 form a just estimate of men, and choose them 
 with judgment, are rare. The ordinary race of 
 monarchs allow themselves to be guided by the 
 nobles and people who surround them. 
 
 Paul. But perhaps I shall find one of these 
 nobles to protect me. 
 
 The Old Man. To gain the protection of the 
 great you must lend yourself to their ambition, 
 and administer to their pleasures. You would 
 never succeed ; for, in addition to your obscure 
 birth, you have too much integrity. 
 
 Paul. But I will perform such courageous
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 159 
 
 actions, I will be so faithful to my word, so ex- 
 act in the performance of my duties, so zealous 
 and so constant in my friendships, that I will 
 render myself worthy to be adopted by some 
 one of them. In the ancient histories, you 
 have made me read, I have seen many exam- 
 ples of such adoptions. 
 
 The Old Man. Oh, my young friend ! 
 among the Greeks and Romans, even in their 
 decline, the nobles had some respect for vir- 
 tue; but out of all the immense number of 
 men, sprung from the mass of the people, in' 
 France, who have signalized themselves in 
 every possible manner, I do not recollect a sin- 
 gle instance of one being adopted by any great 
 family. If it were not for our kings, virtue, 
 in our country would be eternally condemned 
 as plebeian. As I said before, the monarch 
 sometimes, when he perceives it, renders to it 
 due honor ; but in the present day, the distinc- 
 tions which should be bestowed on merit are 
 generally to be obtained by money alone. 
 
 Paul. If I cannot find a nobleman to adopt 
 me, I will seek to please some public body. I 
 will espouse its interests and its opinions: I will 
 make myself beloved by it. 
 
 The Old Man. You will act then like other
 
 160 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 men? you will renounce your conscience to 
 obtain a fortune? 
 
 Paul. Oh, no! I will never lend myself to 
 anything but the truth. 
 
 The Old Man. Instead of making yourself 
 beloved, you would become an object of dislike. 
 Besides, public bodies have never taken much 
 interest in the discovery of truth. All opin- 
 ions are nearly alike to ambitious men, pro- 
 vided only that they themselves can gain their 
 ends. 
 
 Paul. How unfortunate I am! Everything 
 bars my progress. I am condemned to pass 
 my life in ignoble toil, far from Virginia. 
 
 As he said this he sighed deeply. 
 
 The Old Man. Let God be your patron, and 
 mankind the public body you would serve. 
 Be constantly attached to them both. Fam- 
 ilies, corporations, nations and kings have, all 
 of them, their prejudices and their passions ; it 
 is often necessary to serve them by the practice 
 of vice : God and mankind at large require only 
 the exercise of the virtues. 
 
 But why do you wish to be distinguished from 
 other men? It is hardly a natural sentiment, 
 for if all men possessed it, every one would be 
 at constant strife with his neighbor. Be satis- 
 fied with fulfilling your duty in the station in
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 161 
 
 which Providence has placed you ; be grateful 
 for your lot, which permits you to enjoy the 
 blessing of a quiet conscience, and which does 
 not compel you, like the great, to let your hap- 
 piness rest on the opinion of the little, or, like 
 the little, to cringe to the great, in order to 
 obtain the means of existence. You are now 
 placed in a country and a condition in which 
 you are not reduced to deceive or flatter any- 
 one, or debase yourself, as the greater part of 
 those who seek their fortune in Europe are 
 obliged to do ; in which the exercise of no vir- 
 tue is forbidden you ; in which you may be, 
 with impunity, good, sincere, well-informed, 
 patient, temperate, chaste, indulgent to others' 
 faults, pious, and no shaft of ridicule be aimed 
 at you to destroy your wisdom, as yet only in 
 its bud. Heaven has given you liberty, health, 
 a good conscience, and friends; kings them- 
 selves, whose favor you desire, are not so happy. 
 Paul. Ah! I only want to have Virginia 
 with me: without her I have nothing, with 
 her, I should possess all my desire. She alone 
 is to me birth, glory, and fortune. But, since 
 her relation will only give her to some one with 
 a great name, I will study. By the aid of 
 study and of books, learning and celebrity are 
 to be attained. I will become a man of science : 
 
 11 Paul and Virginia
 
 162 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 I will render my knowledge useful to the ser- 
 vice of my country, without injuring any one, 
 or owning dependence on any one. I will be- 
 come celebrated, and my glory shall be achieved 
 only by myself. 
 
 The Old Man. My son, talents are a gift yet 
 more rare than either birth or riches, and un- 
 doubtedly they are a greater good than either, 
 since they can never be taken away from us, 
 and that they obtain for us everywhere public 
 esteem. But they may be said to be worth all 
 that they cost us. They are seldom acquired 
 but by every species of privation, by the pos- 
 session of exquisite sensibility, which often 
 produces inward unhappiness, and which ex- 
 poses us without to the malice and persecutions 
 of our contemporaries. The lawyer envies 
 not, in France, the glory of the soldier, nor 
 does the soldier envy that of the naval officer ; 
 but they will all oppose you, and bar your 
 progress to distinction, because your assump- 
 tion of superior ability will wound the self-love 
 of them all. You say that you will do good to 
 men; but recollect, that he who makes the 
 earth produce a single ear of corn more, ren- 
 ders them a greater service than he who writes 
 a book. 
 
 Paul. Oh! she, then, who planted this pa.
 
 11 1 was always sure to meet with Paul." Page 156, 
 
 l '.in l and Virginia.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 163 
 
 paw tree, has made a more useful and more 
 grateful present to the inhabitants of these 
 forests than if she had given them a whole 
 library. 
 
 So saying, he threw his arms around the tree, 
 and kissed it with transport. 
 
 The Old Man. The best of books, that 
 which preaches nothing but equality, brotherly 
 love, charity, and peace, the Gospel, has 
 served as a pretext, during many centuries, 
 for Europeans to let loose all their fury. How 
 many tyrannies, both public and private, are 
 still practised in its name on the face of the 
 earth ! After this, who will dare to flatter him- 
 self that anything he can write will be of ser- 
 vice to his fellow-men? Remember the fate of 
 most of the philosophers who have preached to 
 them wisdom. Homer, who clothed it in such 
 noble verse, asked for alms all his life. Soc- 
 rates, whose conversation and example gave 
 such admirable lessons to the Athenians, was 
 sentenced by them to be poisoned. His sub- 
 lime disciple, Plato, was delivered over to slav- 
 ery by the order of the very prince who pro- 
 tected him; and, before them, Pythagoras, 
 whose humanity extended even to animals, was 
 burned alive by the Crotoniates. What do I 
 say? many even of these illustrious names
 
 161 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 have descended to us disfigured by some traits 
 of satire by which they became characterized, 
 human ingratitude taking pleasure in thus rec- 
 ognizing them ; and if, in the crowd, the glory 
 of some names is come down to us without spot 
 or blemish, we shall find that they who have 
 borne them have lived far from the society of 
 their contemporaries ; like those statues which 
 are found entire beneath the soil in Greece and 
 Italy, and which, by being hidden in the 
 bosom of the earth, have escaped uninjured, 
 from the fury of the barbarians. 
 
 You see, then, that to acquire the glory 
 which a turbulent literary career can give you, 
 you must not only be virtuous, but ready, if 
 necessary, to sacrifice life itself. But, after 
 all, do not fancy that the great in France 
 trouble themselves about such glory as this. 
 Little do they care for literary men, whose 
 knowledge brings them neither honors, nor 
 power, nor even admission at court. Persecu- 
 tion, it is true, is rarely practised in this age, 
 because it is habitually indifferent to every- 
 thing except wealth and luxury ; but knowledge 
 and virtue no longer lead to distinction, since 
 everything in the state is to be purchased with 
 money. Formerly, men of letters were certain 
 of reward by some place in the church, the
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA 165 
 
 magistracy, or the administration; now they 
 are considered good for nothing but to write 
 books. But this fruit of their minds, little 
 valued by the world at large, is still worthy of 
 its celestial origin. For these books is reserved 
 -^the privilege of shedding luster on obscure 
 virtue, of consoling the unhappy, of enlighten- 
 ing nations, and of telling the truth even to 
 kings. This is, unquestionably, the most 
 august commission with which Heaven can 
 honor a mortal upon this earth. Where is the 
 author who would not be consoled for the in- 
 justice or contempt of those who are the dis- 
 pensers of the ordinary gifts of fortune, when 
 he reflects that his work may pass from age to 
 age, from nation to nation, opposing a barrier 
 to error and to tyranny ; and that, from amidst 
 the obscurity in which he has lived, there will 
 shine forth a glory which will efface that of the 
 common herd of monarchs, the monuments of 
 whose deeds perish in oblivion, notwithstand- 
 ing the flatterers who erect and magnify them? 
 Paul. Ah! I am only covetous of glory to 
 bestow it on Virginia, and render her dear to 
 the whole world. But can you, who know so 
 much, tell me whether we shall ever be mar- 
 ried? I should like to be a very learned man,
 
 166 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 if only for the sake of knowing what will come 
 to pass. 
 
 The Old Man. Who would live, my son, if 
 the future were revealed to him? when a, 
 single anticipated misfortune gives us so much 
 useless uneasiness when the foreknowledge 
 of one certain calamity is enough to embitter 
 every day that precedes it ! It is better not to 
 pry too curiously, even into the things which 
 surround us. Heaven, which has given us the 
 power of reflection to foresee our necessities, 
 gave us also those very necessities to set limits 
 to its exercise. 
 
 Paul. You tell me that with money people 
 in Europe acquire dignities and honors. I will 
 go, then, to enrich myself in Bengal, and after- 
 wards proceed to Paris, and marry Virginia. 
 I will embark at once. 
 
 The Old Man. What! would you leave her 
 mother and yours? 
 
 Paul. Why, you yourself have advised my 
 going to the Indies. 
 
 The Old Man. Virginia was then here; but 
 you are now the only means of support both 
 of her mother and of your own. 
 
 Paul. Virginia will assist them by means of 
 her rich relation. 
 
 The Old Man. The rich care little for those
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 167 
 
 from whom no honor is reflected upon them- 
 selves in the world. Many of them have rela- 
 tions much more to be pitied than Madame de 
 I la Tour, who, for want of their assistance, sac- 
 rifice their liberty for bread, and pass their 
 lives immured within the walls of a convent. 
 
 Paul. Oh, what a country is Europe! Vir- 
 ginia must come back here. What need has 
 she of a rich relation? She was so happy in 
 these huts; she looked so beautiful and so well- 
 dressed with a red handkerchief or a few flow- 
 ers around her head ! Return, Virginia! leave 
 your sumptuous mansions and your grandeur, 
 and come back to these rocks, to the shade of 
 these woods and of our cocoa trees. Alas ! you 
 are perhaps even now unhappy! and he began 
 to shed tears. My father, continued he, 
 hide nothing from me ; if you cannot tell me 
 whether I shall marry Virginia, tell me at 
 least if she loves me still, surrounded as she is 
 by noblemen who speak to the king, and who 
 go to see her. 
 
 The Old Man. Oh, my dear friend! I am 
 sure, for many reasons that she loves you ; but 
 above all, because she is virtuous. At these 
 words he threw himself on my neck in a trans- 
 port of joy. 
 
 Paul. But do you think that the women of
 
 168 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Europe are false, as they are represented in 
 the comedies and books which you have lent 
 me? 
 
 The Old Man. Women are false in those 
 I countries where men are tyrants. Violence 
 V^always engenders a disposition to deceive. 
 
 Paul. In what way can men tyranize over 
 women? 
 
 The Old Man. In giving them in marriage 
 without consulting their inclinations ; in unit- 
 ing a young girl to an old man or a woman of 
 sensibility to a frigid and indifferent husband. 
 
 Paul. Why not join together those who are 
 suited to each other, the young to the young 
 and lovers to those they love? 
 
 The Old Man. Because few young men in 
 France have property enough to support them 
 when they are married, and cannot acquire it 
 till the greater part of their life is passed. 
 While young, they seduce the wives of others, 
 and when they are old, they cannot secure the 
 affections of their own. At first, they them- 
 selves are deceivers: and afterwards, they are 
 deceived in their turn. This is one of the re- 
 actions of that eternal justice, by which the 
 world is governed; an excess on one side is 
 sure to be balanced by one on the other. Thus, 
 the greater part of Europeans pass their lives
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 169 
 
 in this two-fold irregularity, which increases 
 everywhere in the same proportion that wealth 
 is accumulated in the hands of a few individu- 
 als. Society is like a garden, where shrubs 
 cannot grow if they are overshadowed by lofty 
 trees ; but there is this wide difference between 
 them, that the beauty of a garden may re- 
 sult from the admixture of a small number of 
 forest trees, while the prosperity of a state de- 
 pends on the multitude and equality of its 
 citizens, and not on the small number of very 
 rich men. 
 
 Paul. But where is the necessity of being 
 rich in order to marry? 
 
 The Old Man. In order to pass through life 
 in abundance, without being obliged to work. 
 
 Paul. But why not work? I am sure I work 
 hard enough. 
 
 The Old Man. In Europe, working with 
 your hands is considered a degradation ; it is 
 compared to the labor performed by a machine. 
 The occupation of cultivating the earth is the 
 most despised of all. Even an artisan is held 
 in more estimation than a peasant. 
 
 Paul. What! do you mean to say that the 
 art which furnishes food for mankind is de- 
 spised in Europe? I hardly understand you. 
 
 The Old Man. Oh! it is impossible for a
 
 ItO PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 person educated according to nature to form an 
 idea of the depraved state of society. It is 
 easy to form a precise notion of order, but not 
 of disorder. Beauty, virtue, happiness, have 
 all their defined proportions; deformity, vice, 
 and misery have none. 
 
 Paul. The rich then are always very happy ! 
 They meet with no obstacles to the fulfillment 
 of their wishes, and they can lavish happiness 
 on those whom they love. 
 
 The Old Man. Far from it, my son! They 
 are, for the most part satiated with pleasure, 
 for this very reason, that it costs them no 
 trouble. Have you never yourself experienced 
 how much the pleasure of repose is increased 
 by fatigue; that of eating, by hunger; that of 
 drinking, by thirst? The pleasure also of lov- 
 ing and being loved is only to be acquired by 
 innumerable privations and sacrifices. Wealth, 
 by anticipating all their necessities, deprives 
 its possessors of all these pleasures. To this 
 ennui, consequent upon satiety, may also be 
 added the pride which springs from their opu- 
 lence, and which is wounded by the most trifling 
 privation, when the greatest enjoyments have 
 ceased to charm. The perfume of a thousand 
 roses gives pleasure but for a moment ; but the 
 pain occasioned by a single thorn endures long
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 171 
 
 after the infliction of the wound. A single evil 
 in the midst of their pleasures is to the rich man 
 like a thorn among flowers ; to the poor, on the 
 contrary, one pleasure amidst all their troubles 
 is a flower among a wilderness of thorns ; they 
 have a most lively enjoyment of it. The effect 
 of everything is increased by contrast ; nature 
 has balanced all things. Which condition, 
 after all, do you consider preferable, to have 
 scarcely anything to hope, and everything to 
 fear, or to have everything to hope and nothing 
 to fear? The former condition is that of the 
 rich, the latter, that of the poor. But either 
 of these extremities is with difficulty supported 
 by man, whose happiness consists in a middle 
 station of life, in union with virtue. 
 
 Paul. What do you understand by virtue? 
 
 The Old Man. To you, my son, who sup- 
 port your family by your labor, it need hardly 
 be defined. Virtue consists in endeavoring to 
 do all the good we can to others, with an ulti- 
 mate intention of pleasing God alone. 
 
 Paul. Oh ! how virtuous, then, is Virginia ! 
 Virtue led her to seek for riches, that she might 
 practice benevolence. Virtue induced her to 
 quit this island, and virtue will bring her back 
 to it. 
 
 The idea of her speedy return firing the ima-
 
 172 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 gination of this young man, all his anxieties 
 suddenly vanished. Virginia, he was persuaded, 
 had not written, because she would soon arrive. 
 It took so little time to come from Europe with 
 a fair wind ! Then he enumerated the vessels 
 which had made this passage of four thousand 
 five hundred leagues in less than three months; 
 and perhaps the vessel in which Virginia had 
 embarked might not be more than two. Ship- 
 builders were now so ingenious, and sailors 
 were so expert ! He then talked to me of the 
 arrangements he intended to make for her 
 reception, of the new house he would build for 
 her, and of the pleasures and surprises which 
 he would contrive for her every day, when she 
 was his wife. His wife ! The idea filled him 
 with ecstasy. "At least, my dear father," 
 said he, "you shall then do no more work than 
 you please. As Virginia will be rich, we shall 
 have plenty of negroes, and they shall work 
 for you. You shall always live with us, and 
 have no other care than to amuse yourself and 
 be happy;" and, his heart throbbing with 
 joy, he flew to communicate these exquisite 
 anticipations to his family. 
 
 In a short time, however, these enchanting 
 hopes were succeeded by the most cruel appre- 
 hensions. It is always the effect of violent
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 173 
 
 passions to throw the soul into opposite ex- 
 tremes. Paul returned the next day to my 
 dwelling, overwhelmed with melancholy, and 
 said to me, "I hear nothing from Virginia. 
 Had she left Europe she would have written 
 me word of her departure. Ah ! the reports 
 which I have heard concerning her are but too 
 well founded. Her aunt has married her to 
 some great lord. She, like others, has been 
 undone by the love of riches. In those books 
 which paint women so well, virtue is treated 
 but as a subject of romance. If Virginia had 
 been virtuous, she would never have forsaken 
 her mother and me. I do nothing but think of 
 her, and she has forgotten me. I am wretched 
 and she is diverting herself. The thought dis- 
 tracts me; I cannot bear myself! Would to 
 Heaven that war were declared in India! I 
 would go there and die. ' ' 
 
 "My son," I answered, "that courage which 
 prompts us on to court death is but the cour- 
 age of a moment, and is often excited only by 
 the vain applause of men, or by the hope of 
 posthumous renown. There is another descrip- 
 tion of courage rarer and more necessary, 
 which enables us to support, without witness 
 and without applause, the vexations of life; 
 this virtue is patience. Relying for support.
 
 174 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 not upon the opinions of others, or the impulse 
 of the passions, but upon the will of God, 
 patience is the courage of virtue. ' ' 
 
 "Ah!" cried he, "I am then without virtue ! 
 Everything overwhelms me and drives me to 
 despair." "Equal, constant, and invariable 
 virtue," I replied, "belongs not toman. In 
 the midst of the many passions which agitate 
 us, our reason is disordered and obscure : but 
 there is an ever-burning lamp, at which we 
 can rekindle its flame ; and that is, literature. 
 
 "Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Heav- 
 en, a ray of that wisdom by which the uni- 
 verse is governed, and which man, inspired by 
 a celestial intelligence, has drawn down to 
 earth. Like the rays of the sun, it enlightens 
 us, it rejoices us, it warms us with a heavenly 
 flame, and seems, in some sort, like the element 
 of fire, to bend all nature to our use. By its 
 means we are enabled to bring around us all 
 things, all places, all men, and all times. It 
 assists us to regulate our manners and our life. 
 By its aid, too, our passions are calmed, vice is 
 suppressed, and virtue encouraged by the mem- 
 orable examples of great and good men which 
 it has handed down to us, and whose time-hon- 
 ored images it ever brings before our eyes. 
 Literature is a daughter of Heaven who has
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 175 
 
 descended upon earth to soften and to charm 
 away all the evils of the human race. The 
 greatest writers have ever appeared in the 
 worst times, in times in which society can 
 hardly be held together, the times of barba- 
 rism and every species of depravity. My son, 
 literature has consoled an infinite number of 
 men more unhappy than yourself : Xenophon, 
 banished from his country after having saved 
 to her ten thousand of her sons; Scipio Afri- 
 canus, wearied to death by the calumnies of the 
 Romans ; Lucullus, tormented by their cabals ; 
 and Catinat, by the ingratitude of a court. 
 The Greeks, with their never-failing ingenuity, 
 assigned to each of the Muses a portion of the 
 great circle of human intelligence for her espe- 
 cial superintendence; we ought in the same 
 manner, to give up to them the regulation of 
 our passions, to bring them under proper re- 
 straint. Literature in this imaginative guise, 
 would thus fulfill, in relation to the powers of 
 the soul, the same functions as the Hours, who 
 yoked and conducted the chariot of the Sun. 
 
 "Have recourse to your books, then, my son. 
 The wise men who have written before our 
 days are travelers who have preceded us in the 
 paths of misfortune, and who stretch out a 
 friendly hand towards us, and invite us to join
 
 176 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 their society, when we are abandoned by 
 everything else. A good book is a good 
 friend. ' ' 
 
 "Ah!" cried Paul, "I stood in no need of 
 books when Virginia was here, and she had 
 studied as little as myself; but when she looked 
 at me, and called me her friend, I could not 
 feel unhappy. ' ' 
 
 "Undoubtedly," said I, "there is no friend 
 so agreeable as a mistress by whom we are be- 
 loved. There is, moreover, in woman a liveli- 
 ness and gayety, which powerfully tend to dis- 
 sipate the melancholy feelings of a man ; her 
 presence drives away the dark phantoms of 
 imagination produced by over-reflection. Upon 
 her countenance sit soft attractions and tender 
 confidence. What joy is not heightened when 
 it is shared by her? What brow is not unbent 
 by her smiles? What anger can resist her tears? 
 Virginia will return with more philosophy than 
 you, and will be quite surprised to find the 
 garden so unfinished ; she who could think of 
 its embellishments in spite of all the persecu- 
 tions of her aunt, and when far from her 
 mother and from you. ' ' 
 
 The idea of Virginia's speedy return reani- 
 mated the drooping spirits of her lover, and he 
 resumed his rural occupations, happy amidst
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 177 
 
 his toils, in the reflection that they would soon 
 find a termination so dear to the wishes of his 
 heart. 
 
 One morning, at break of day (it was the 
 24th of December, 1744), Paul, when he arose, 
 perceived a white flag hoisted upon the Moun- 
 tain of Discovery. This flag he knew to be the 
 signal of a vessel descried at sea. He instantly 
 flew to the town to learn if this vessel brought 
 any tidings of Virginia, and waited there till 
 the return of the pilot, who was gone, accord- 
 ing to custom, to board the ship. The pilot 
 did not return till the evening, when he 
 brought the Governor information that the sig- 
 naled vessel was the Saint- Geran, of seven 
 hundred tons burden, and commanded by a 
 captain of the name of Aubin; that she was 
 now four leagues out at sea, but would prob- 
 ably anchor at Port Louis the following after- 
 noon, if the wind became fair ; at present there 
 was a calm. The pilot then handed to the 
 Governor a number of letters which the Saint- 
 Geran had brought from France, among which 
 was one addressed to Madame de la Tour, in 
 the handwriting of Virginia. Paul seized upon 
 the letter, kissed it with transports, and plac- 
 ing it in his bosom, flew to the plantation. No 
 sooner did he perceive from a distance the 
 
 12 Paul and Virginia
 
 178 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 family, who were awaiting his return upon the 
 Rock of Adieus, than he waved the letter aloft 
 in the air, without being able to utter a word. 
 No sooner was the seal broken, than they all 
 crowded round Madame de la Tour, to hear 
 the letter read. Virginia informed her mother 
 that she had experienced much ill-usage from 
 her aunt, who, after having in vain, urged her 
 to a marriage against her inclination, had dis- 
 inherited her, and had sent her back at a time 
 when she would probably reach the Mauritius 
 during the hurricane season. In vain, she 
 added, had she endeavored to soften her aunt, 
 by representing what she owed to her mother, 
 and to her early habits; she was treated as a 
 romantic girl, whose head had been turned by 
 novels. She could now only think of the joy 
 of again seeing and embracing her beloved 
 family, and would have gratified her ardent 
 desire at once, by landing in the pilot's boat, 
 if the captain had allowed her ; but that he had 
 objected, on account of the distance, and of a 
 heavy swell, which, notwithstanding the calm, 
 reigned in the open sea. 
 
 As soon as the letter was finished, the whole 
 of the family, transported with joy, repeatedly 
 exclaimed, "Virginia is arrived!" and mis- 
 tresses and servants embraced each other.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 179 
 
 Madame de la Tour said to Paul, "My son, go 
 and inform our neighbor of Virginia's arri- 
 val. ' ' Domingo immediately lighted a torch 
 of bois de ronde, and he and Paul bent their 
 way towards my dwelling. 
 
 It was about ten o'clock at night, and I was 
 just going to extinguish my lamp, and retire to 
 rest, when I perceived, through the palisades 
 round my cottage, a light in the woods. Soon 
 after I heard the voice of Paul calling me. I 
 instantly arose, and had hardly dressed myself, 
 when Paul, almost beside himself, and panting 
 for breath, sprang on my neck, crying, "Come 
 along, come along, Virginia is arrived. Let us 
 go to the port; the vessel will anchor at break 
 of day. ' ' 
 
 Scarcely had he uttered the words, when we 
 set off. As we were passing through the woods 
 of the Sloping Mountain, and were already on 
 the road which leads from the Shaddock Grove 
 to the port, I heard some one walking behind 
 us. It proved to be a negro, and he was ad- 
 vancing with hasty steps. When he had 
 reached us, I asked him whence he came, and 
 whither he was going with such expedition. 
 He answered, "I come from that part of the 
 island called Golden Dust ; and am sent to the 
 port, to inform the Governor that a ship from
 
 180 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 France has anchored under the Isle of Amber. 
 She is firing guns of distress, for the sea is 
 very rough." Having said this, the man left 
 us, and pursued his journey without any fur- 
 ther delay. 
 
 I then said to Paul, "Let us go towards the 
 quarter of the Golden Dust, and meet Virginia 
 there. It is not more than three leagues from 
 hence. ' ' We accordingly bent our course to- 
 wards the northern part of the island. The 
 heat was suffocating. The moon had risen, 
 and was surrounded by three large black cir- 
 cles. A frightful darkness shrouded the sky; 
 but the frequent flashes of lightning discovered 
 to us long rows of thick and gloomy clouds, 
 hanging very low, and heaped together over 
 the center of the island, being driven in with 
 great rapidity from the ocean, although not a 
 breath of air was perceptible upon the land. 
 As we walked along, we thought we heard 
 peals of thunder; but, on listening more at- 
 tentively, we perceived that it was the sound 
 of cannon at a distance, repeated by the echoes. 
 These ominous sounds, joined to the tempest- 
 uous aspect of the heavens, made me shudder. 
 I had little doubt of their being signals of dis- 
 tress from a ship in danger. In about half and 
 hour the firing ceased, and I found the silence
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 181 
 
 still more appalling than the dismal sounds 
 which had preceded it. 
 
 We hastened on without uttering a word, or 
 daring to communicate to each other our mu- 
 tual apprehensions. At midnight, by great ex- 
 ertion, we arrived at the sea-shore, in that part 
 of the island called Golden Dust. The billows 
 were breaking against the beach with a horri- 
 ble noise, covering the rocks and the strand 
 with foam of a dazzling whiteness, blended 
 with sparks of fire. By these phosphoric 
 gleams we distinguished, notwithstanding the 
 darkness, a number of fishing canoes, drawn 
 up high upon the beach. 
 
 At the entrance of a wood, a short distance 
 from us, we saw a fire, round which a party 
 of the inhabitants were assembled. We re- 
 paired thither, in order to rest ourselves till 
 the morning. While we were seated near this 
 fire, one of the standers-by related, that late in 
 the afternoon he had seen a vessel in the open 
 sea, driven towards the island by the currents ; 
 that the night had hidden it from his view ; 
 and that two hours after sunset he had heard 
 the firing of signal guns of distress, but that 
 the surf was so high, that it was impossible to 
 launch a boat to go off to her ; that a short time 
 after, he thought he perceived the glimmering
 
 182 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of the watch-lights on board the vessel, which, 
 he feared, by its having approached so near the 
 coast, had steered between the main land and 
 the little island of Amber, mistaking the latter 
 for the Point of Endeavor, near which vessels 
 pass in order to gain Port Louis; and that, if 
 this were the case, which, however, he would 
 not take upon himself to be certain of, the ship, 
 he thought, was in very great danger. An- 
 other islander then informed us, that he had 
 frequently crossed the channel which separates 
 the isle of Amber from the coast, and had 
 'sounded it ; that the anchorage was very good, 
 and that the ship would there lie as safely as 
 in the best harbor. "I would stake all I am 
 worth upon it," said he, "and if I were on 
 board, I should sleep as sound as on shore." 
 A third bystander declared that it was impos- 
 sible for the ship to enter the channel, which 
 was scarcely navigable for a boat. He was 
 certain, he said, that he had seen the vessel at 
 anchor beyond the isle of Amber; so that, if 
 the wind arose in the morning, she could either 
 put to sea, or gain the harbor. Other inhab- 
 itants gave different opinions upon this subject, 
 'which they continued to discuss in the usual 
 desultory manner of the indolent Creoles. Paul 
 and I observed a profound silence. We re-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 183 
 
 mained on this spot till break of day, but the 
 weather was too hazy to admit of our distin- 
 guishing any object at sea, everything being 
 covered with fog. All we could descry to sea- 
 ward was a dark cloud, which they told us was 
 the isle of Amber, at the distance of a quarter 
 of a league from the coast. On this gloomy 
 day we could only discern the point of land on 
 which we were standing, and the peaks of some 
 inland mountains, which started out occasionally 
 from the midst of the clouds that hung around 
 them. 
 
 At about seven in the morning we heard the 
 sound of drums in the woods : it announced the 
 approach of the Governor, Monsieur de la Bour- 
 donnais, who soon after arrived on horseback, 
 at the head of a detachment of soldiers armed 
 with muskets, and a crowd of islanders and 
 negroes. He drew up his soldiers upon the 
 beach, and ordered them to make a general 
 discharge. This was no sooner done, than we 
 perceived a glimmering light upon the water 
 which was instantly followed by the report of 
 a cannon. We judged that the ship was at no 
 great distance and all ran towards that part 
 whence the light and sound proceeded. We 
 now discerned through the fog the hull and 
 yards of a large vessel. We were so near to
 
 184 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 her, that notwithstanding the tumult of the 
 waves, we could distinctly hear the whistle of 
 the boatswain, and the shouts of the sailors, who 
 cried out three times, Vive le Roi! this being 
 the cry of the French in extreme danger, as 
 well as in exuberant joy; as though they 
 wished to call their prince to their aid. or to 
 testify to him that they are prepared to lay 
 down their lives in his service. 
 
 As soon as the Saint-Geran perceived that we 
 were near enough to render her assistance, she 
 continued to fire guns regularly at intervals of 
 three minutes. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais 
 caused great fires to be lighted at certain dis- 
 tances upon the strand, and sent to all the 
 inhabitants of the neighborhood, in search of 
 provisions, planks, cables, and empty barrels. 
 A number of people soon arrived, accompanied 
 by their negroes loaded with provisions and 
 cordage, which they had brought from the 
 plantations of Golden Dust, from the district of 
 La Plaque, and from the river of the Rampart. 
 One of the most aged of these planters, 
 approaching the Governor, said to him, "We 
 have heard all night hollow noises in the 
 mountain ; in the woods, the leaves of the trees 
 are shaken, although there is no wind; the 
 sea-birds seek refuge upon the land: it is cer-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 185 
 
 tain that all these signs announce a hurricane. " 
 "Well, my friends," answered the Governor, 
 "we are prepared for it, and no doubt the 
 vessel is also. ' ' 
 
 Everything, indeed, presaged the near 
 approach of the hurricane. The center of the 
 clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, 
 while their skirts were tinged with a copper- 
 colored hue. The air resounded with the 
 cries of the tropic-birds, petrels, frigate-birds, 
 and innumerable other sea-fowl, which not- 
 withstanding the obscurity of the atmosphere, 
 were seen coming from every point of the 
 horizon, to seek for shelter in the island. 
 
 Towards nine in the morning we heard in 
 the direction of the ocean the most terrific 
 noise, like the sound of thunder mingled with 
 that of torrents rushing down the steeps of lofty 
 mountains. A general cry was heard of, 
 "There is the hurricane!" and the next 
 moment a frightful gust of wind dispelled the 
 fog which covered the isle of Amber and its 
 channel. The Saint-Geran then presented her- 
 self to our view, her deck crowded with people, 
 her yards and topmasts lowered down, and her 
 flag half-mast high, moored by four cables at 
 her bow and one at her stern. She had 
 anchored between the isle of Amber and the
 
 186 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 mainland, inside the chain of reefs which 
 encircles the island, and which she had passed 
 through in a place where no vessel had ever 
 passed before. She presented her head to the 
 waves that rolled in from the open sea, and as 
 each billow rushed into the narrow strait where 
 she lay, her bow lifted to such a degree as to 
 show her keel ; and at the same moment her 
 stern, plunging into the water disappeared 
 altogether from our sight, as if it were swal- 
 lowed up by the surges. In this position, 
 driven by the winds and waves towards the 
 shore, it was equally impossible for her to 
 return by the passage through which she had 
 made her way; or, by cutting her cables, to 
 strand herself upon the beach, from which she 
 was separated by sandbanks and reefs of rocks. 
 Every billow which broke upon the coast 
 advanced roaring to the bottom of the bay, 
 throwing up heaps of shingle to the distance of 
 fifty feet upon the land; then^ rushing back, 
 laid bare its sandy bed, from which it rolled 
 immense stones, with a hoarse and dismal 
 noise. The sea, swelled by the violence of the 
 wind, rose higher every moment; and the 
 whole channel between this island and the isle 
 of Amber was soon one vast sheet of white 
 foam, full of yawning pits of black and deep
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 187 
 
 billows. Heaps of this foam, more than six 
 feet high, were piled up at the bottom of the 
 bay; and the winds which swept its surface 
 carried masses of it over the steep sea-bank, 
 scattering it upon the land to the distance of 
 half a league. These innumerable white 
 flakes, driven horizontally even to the very 
 foot of the mountains, looked like snow issuing 
 from the bosom of the ocean. The appearance 
 of the horizon portended a lasting tempest ; the 
 sky and the water seemed blended together. 
 Thick masses of clouds, of a frightful form, 
 swept across the zenith with the swiftness of 
 birds, while others appeared motionless as 
 rocks. Not a single spot of blue sky could be 
 discerned in the whole firmament ; and a pale 
 yellow gleam only lightened up all the objects 
 of the earth, the sea, and the skies. 
 
 From the violent rolling of the ship, what we 
 all dreaded happened at last. The cables 
 which held her bow were torn away: she then 
 swung to a single hawser, and was instantly 
 dashed upon the rocks, at the distance of half 
 a cable's length from the shore. A general 
 cry of horror issued from the spectators. Paul 
 rushed forward to throw himself into the sea, 
 when, seizing him by the arm, "My son, " I 
 exclaimed, "would you perish?" "Let me go
 
 188 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 to save her," he cried, "or let me die!" See- 
 ing that despair had deprived him of reason, 
 Domingo and I, in order to preserve him, 
 fastened a long cord around his waist, and held 
 it fast by the end. Paul then precipitated him- 
 self towards the Saint-Geran, now swimming, 
 and now walking upon the rocks. Sometimes 
 he had hopes of reaching the vessel, which the 
 sea, by the reflux of its waves, had left almost 
 dry, so that you could have walked round it on 
 foot ; but suddenly the billows, returning with 
 fresh fury, shrouded it beneath mountains of 
 water, which then lifted it upright upon its 
 keel. The breakers at the same moment threw 
 the unfortunate Paul far upon the beach, his 
 legs bathed in blood, his bosom wounded, and 
 himself half dead. The moment he had recov- 
 ered the use of his senses, he arose, and 
 returned with new ardor towards the vessel, 
 the parts of which now yawned asunder from 
 the violent strokes of the billows. The crew 
 then, despairing of their safety, threw them- 
 selves in crowds into the sea, upon yards, 
 planks, hen-coops, tables, and barrels. At 
 this moment we beheld an object which wrung 
 our hearts with grief and pity ; a young lady 
 appeared in the stern-gallery of the Saint- 
 Geran, stretching out her arms towards him
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 189 
 
 who was making so many efforts to join her. 
 It was Virginia, She had discovered her lover 
 by his intrepidity. The sight of this amiable 
 girl, exposed to such horrible danger, filled 
 us with unutterable despair. As for Virginia, 
 with a firm and dignified mien, she waved her 
 hand, as if bidding us an eternal farewell. 
 All the sailors had flung themselves into the 
 sea, except one, who still remained upon the 
 deck, and who was naked and strong as Her- 
 cules. This man approached Virginia with 
 respect, and, kneeling at her feet attempted 
 to force her to throw off her clothes; but 
 she repulsed him with modesty, and turned 
 away her head. Then were heard redoubled 
 cries from the spectators, "Save her! save 
 her! do not leave her!" But at that moment a 
 mountain billow, of enormous magnitude, 
 ingulfed itself between the isle of Amber and 
 the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, 
 towards which it rolled bellowing, with its 
 black sides and foaming head. At this terrible 
 sight the sailor flung himself into the sea ; and 
 Virginia, seeing death .inevitable, crossed her 
 hands upon her breast, and raising upwards 
 her serene and beauteous eyes, seemed an 
 angel prepared to take her flight to Heaven. 
 Oh, day of horror! Alas, everything was
 
 190 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 swallowed up by the relentless billows. The 
 surge threw some of the spectators, whom an 
 impulse of humanity had prompted to advance 
 towards Virginia, far upon the beach, and also 
 the sailor who had endeavored to save her life. 
 This man, who had escaped from almost cer- 
 tain death, kneeling on the sand, exclaimed, 
 "Oh, my God! thou hast saved my life, but I 
 would have given it willingly for that excel- 
 lent young lady, who had persevered in not 
 undressing herself as I had done. " Domingo 
 and I drew the unfortunate Paul to the shore. 
 He was senseless, and blood was flowing from 
 his mouth and ears. The Governor ordered 
 him to be put into the hands of a surgeon, 
 while we, on our part, wandered along the 
 beach, in hopes that the sea would throw up 
 the corpse of Virginia. But the wind having 
 suddenly changed, as it frequently happens 
 during hurricanes, our search was in vain : and 
 we had the grief of thinking that we should not 
 be able to bestow on this sweet and unfortu- 
 nate girl the last sad duties. We retired from 
 the spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our 
 minds wholly occupied by one cruel loss, 
 although numbers had perished in the wreck. 
 Some of the spectators seemed tempted, from 
 the fatal destiny of this virtuous girl, to doubt
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 191 
 
 the existence of Providence : for there are in 
 life such terrible, such unmerited evils, that 
 even the hope of the wise is sometimes shaken. 
 In the meantime Paul, who began to recover 
 his senses, was taken to a house in the neigh- 
 borhood, till he was in a fit state to be removed to 
 his own home. Thither I bent my way with Do- 
 mingo to discharge the melancholy duty of pre- 
 paring Virginia's mother and her friend for the 
 disastrous event which had happened. When 
 we had reached the entrance of the valley of 
 the river of Fan-Palms, some negroes informed 
 us that the sea had thrown up many pieces of 
 the wreck in the opposite bay. We descended 
 towards it and one of the first objects that 
 struck my sight upon the beach was the corpse 
 of Virginia. The body was half covered with 
 sand, and preserved the attitude in which we 
 had seen her perish. Her features were not 
 sensibly changed, her eyes were closed, and 
 her countenance was still serene ; but the pale 
 purple hues of death were blended on her 
 cheek with the blush of virgin modesty. One 
 of her hands was placed upon her clothes ; and 
 the other, which she held on her heart, was fast 
 closed, and so stiffened, that it was with diffi- 
 culty that I took from its grasp a small box. 
 How great was my emotion when I saw that
 
 192 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 it contained the picture of Paul, which she 
 had promised him never to part with while she 
 lived ! At the sight of this last mark of the 
 fidelity and tenderness of the unfortunate girl, 
 I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he beat his 
 breast, and pierced the air with his shrieks. 
 With heavy hearts we then carried the body of 
 Virginia to a fisherman's hut, and gave it in 
 charge of some poor Malabar women, who 
 carefully washed away the sand. 
 
 While they were employed in this melan- 
 choly office, we ascended the hill with trem- 
 bling steps to the plantation. We found 
 Madame de la Tour and Margaret at prayer ; 
 hourly expecting to have tidings from the, 
 ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me 
 coming, she eagerly cried, "Where is my 
 daughter my dear daughter, my child?" My 
 silence and my tears apprised her of her mis- 
 fortune. She wa's instantly seized with con- 
 vulsive stopping of the breath and agonizing 
 pains, and her voice was only heard in sighs 
 and groans. Margaret cried, "Where is my 
 son? I do not see my son !" and fainted. We 
 ran to her assistance. In a short time she 
 recovered, and being assured that Paul was 
 safe, and under the care of the Governor, she 
 thought of nothing but of succoring her friend,
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 193 
 
 who recovered from one fainting fit only to 
 fall into another. Madame de la Tour passed 
 the whole night in these cruel sufferings, and 
 I became convinced that there was no sorrow 
 like that of a mother. When she recovered 
 her senses, she cast a fixed, unconscious look 
 towards heaven. In vain her friend and myself 
 pressed her hands in ours; in vain we called 
 upon her by the most tender names; she 
 appeared wholly insensible to these testimo- 
 nials of our affection, and no sound issued from 
 her oppressed bosom, but deep and hollow 
 moans. 
 
 During the morning Paul was carried home 
 in a palanquin. He had now recovered the 
 use of his reason, but was unable to utter a 
 word. His interview with his mother and 
 Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded, 
 produced a better effect than all my cares. A 
 ray of consolation gleamed on the countenance 
 of the two unfortunate mothers. They pressed 
 close to him, clasped him in their arms, and 
 kissed him : their tears, which excess of anguish 
 had till now dried up at the source, began to 
 flow. Paul mixed his tears with theirs; and 
 nature having thus found relief, a long stupor 
 succeeded the convulsive pangs they had 
 
 13 Paul and Virginia
 
 194 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 suffered, and afforded them a lethargic repose, 
 which was in truth, like that of death. 
 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprise 
 me secretly that the corpse of Virginia had been 
 borne to the town by his order, from whence 
 it was to be transferred to the church of the 
 Shaddock Grove. I immediately went down 
 to Port Louis, where I found a multitude assem- 
 bled from all parts of the island, in order to be 
 present at the funeral solemnity, as if the isle 
 had lost that which was nearest and dearest to 
 it. The vessels in the harbor had their yards 
 crossed, their flags halfmast, and fired guns at 
 long intervals. A body of grenadiers led the 
 funeral procession, with their muskets re- 
 versed, their muffled drums sending forth slow 
 and dismal sounds. Dejection was depicted in 
 the countenance of these warriors, who had so 
 often braved death in battle without changing 
 color. Eight young ladies of considerable fam- 
 ilies of the island, dressed in white, and bear- 
 ing palm-branches in their hands, carried the 
 corpse of their amiable companion, which was 
 covered with flowers. They were followed by 
 a chorus of children, chanting hymns, and by 
 the Governor, his field officer, all the principal 
 inhabitants of the island, and an immense 
 crowd of people.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 195 
 
 This imposing funeral solemnity had been 
 ordered by the administration of the country, 
 which was desirous of doing honor to the vir- 
 tues of Virginia. But when the mournful pro- 
 cession arrived at the foot of this mountain 
 within sight of those cottages of which she had 
 been so long an inmate and an ornament, 
 diffusing happiness all around them, and which 
 her loss had now filled with despair, the funeral 
 pomp was interrupted, the hymns and anthems 
 ceased, and the whole plain resounded with 
 sighs and lamentations. Numbers of young 
 girls ran from the neighboring plantations, to 
 touch the coffin of Virginia with their handker- 
 chiefs, and with chaplets and crowns of flow- 
 ers, invoking her as a saint. Mothers asked of 
 Heaven a child like Virginia ; lovers, a heart 
 as faithful ; the poor, as tender a friend ; and 
 the slaves as kind a mistress. 
 
 When the procession had reached the place 
 of interment, some negresses of Madagascar 
 and Caff res of Mozambique placed a number of 
 baskets of fruit around the corpse, and hung 
 pieces of stuff upon the adjoining trees, accord- 
 ing to the custom of their several countries. 
 Some Indian women from Bengal also, and 
 from the coast of Malabar, brought cages full 
 of small birds, which they set at liberty upon
 
 196 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 her coffin. Thus deeply did the loss of this 
 amiable being affect the natives of different 
 countries, and thus was the ritual of various 
 religions performed over the tomb of unfortu- 
 nate virtue. 
 
 It became necessary to place guards round 
 her grave, and to employ gentle force in re- 
 moving some of the daughters of the neighbor- 
 ing villages, who endeavored to throw them- 
 selves into it, saying that they had no longer 
 any consolation to hope for in this world, and 
 that nothing remained for them but to die with 
 their benefactress. 
 
 On the western side of the church of the 
 Shaddock Grove is a small copse of bamboos, 
 where, in returning from mass with her mother 
 and Margaret, Virginia loved to rest herself, 
 seated by the side of him whom she then called 
 brother. This was the spot selected for her 
 interment. 
 
 At his return from the funeral solemnity, 
 Monsieur de la Bourdonnais came up here, fol- 
 lowed by part of his numerous retinue. He 
 offered Madame de la Tour and her friend all 
 the assistance it was in his power to bestow. 
 After briefly expressing his indignation at the 
 conduct of her unnatural aunt, he advanced to 
 Paul, and said everything which he thought
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 197 
 
 most likely to soothe and console him. 
 *' Heaven is my witness," said he, "that I 
 wished to insure your happiness, and that of 
 your family. My dear friend, you must go to 
 France; I will obtain a commission for you, 
 and during your absence I will take the same 
 care of your mother as if she were my own. ' ' 
 He then offered him his hand; but Paul drew 
 away and turned his head aside, unable to bear 
 his sight. 
 
 I remained for some time at the plantation 
 of my unfortunate friends, that I might render 
 to them and Paul those offices of friendship 
 that were in my power, and which might alle- 
 viate, though they could not heal the wounds 
 of calamity. At the end of three weeks, Paul 
 was able to walk ; but his mind seemed to droop 
 in proportion as his body gathered strength. 
 He was insensible to everything; his look was 
 vacant ; and when asked a question, he made 
 no reply. . Madame de la Tour, who was 
 dying, said to him often, "My son, while I 
 look at you, I think I see my dear Virginia. ' ' 
 At the name of Virginia he shuddered, and 
 hastened away from her, notwithstanding the 
 entreaties of his mother, who begged him to 
 come back to her friend. He used to go alone 
 into the garden, and seat himself at the foot
 
 198 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 of Virginia's cocoa-tree, with his eyes fixed 
 upon the fountain. The Governor's surgeon, 
 who had shown the most humane attention to 
 Paul and the whole family, told us that in 
 order to cure the deep melancholy which had 
 taken possession of his mind, we must allow 
 him to do whatever he pleased, without contra- 
 diction : this, he said, afforded the only chance 
 of overcoming the silence in which he perse- 
 vered. 
 
 I resolved to follow this advice. The first 
 use which Paul made of his returning strength 
 was to absent himself from the plantation. 
 Being determined not to lose sight of him I set 
 out immediately, and desired Domingo to take 
 some provisions and accompany us. The 
 young man's strength and spirits seemed re- 
 newed as he descended the mountain. He fh.,t 
 took the road to the Shaddock Grove, and when 
 he was near the church, in the Alley of Bam- 
 boos, he walked directly to the spot where he 
 saw some earth fresh turned up; kneeling 
 down there, and raising his eyes to heaven, he 
 offered up a long prayer. This appeared to me 
 a favorable symptom of the return of his 
 reason ; since this mark of confidence in the 
 Supreme Being showed that his mind was 
 beginning to resume its natural functions.
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 199 
 
 Domingo and I, following his example, fell 
 upon our knees, and mingled our prayers with 
 his. When he arose, he bent his way, paying 
 little attention to us, towards the northern 
 part of the island. As I knew that he was not 
 only ignorant of the spot where the body of 
 Virginia had been deposited, but even of the 
 fact that it had been recovered from the waves, 
 I asked him why he had offered up his prayer 
 at the foot of those bamboos. He answered, 
 "We have been there so often." 
 
 He continued his course until we reached the 
 borders of the forest, when night came on. I 
 set him the example of taking some nourish- 
 ment, and prevailed on him to do the same; 
 and we slept upon the grass, at the foot of a 
 tree. The next day I thought he seemed dis- 
 posed to retrace his steps; for, after having 
 gazed a considerable time from the plain upon 
 the church of the Shaddock Grove, with its 
 long avenues of bamboos, he made a move- 
 ment as if to return home; but suddenly 
 plunging into the forest, he directed his course 
 towards the north. I guessed what was his 
 design, and I endeavored, but in vain, to dis- 
 suade him from it. About noon we arrived at 
 the quarter of Golden Dust. He rushed down 
 to the sea-shore, opposite to the spot where the
 
 200 
 
 Saint-Geran had been wrecked. At the sight 
 of the isle of Amber, and its channel, then 
 smooth as a mirror, he exclaimed, "Virginia! 
 oh, my dear Virginia!" and fell senseless. 
 Domingo and I carried him into the woods, 
 where we had some difficulty in recovering 
 him. As soon as he regained his senses, he 
 wished to return to the sea-shore ; but we con- 
 jured him not to renew his own anguish and 
 ours by such cruel remembrances, and he took 
 another direction. During a whole week he 
 sought every spot where he had once wandered 
 with the companion of his childhood. He 
 traced the path by which she had gone to in- 
 tercede for the slave of the Black River. He 
 gazed again upon the banks of the river of the 
 Three Breasts, where she had rested herself 
 when unable to walk further, and upon the 
 part of the v/ood where they had lost their way. 
 All the haunts, which recalled to his memory 
 the anxieties, the sports, the repasts, the be- 
 nevolence of her he loved, the river of the 
 Sloping Mountain, my house, the neighboring 
 cascade, the papaw tree she had planted, the 
 grassy fields in which she loved to run, the 
 openings of the forest where she used to sing, 
 all in succession called forth his tears; and 
 those very echoes which had so often resounded
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 201 
 
 with their mutual shouts of joy, now repeated 
 only these accents of despair, "Virginia! oh, 
 my dear Virginia!" 
 
 During this savage and wandering life, his 
 eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin assumed 
 a yellow tint, and his health rapidly declined. 
 Convinced that our present sufferings are ren- 
 dered more acute by the bitter recollection of 
 bygone pleasures, and that the passions gather 
 strength in solitude, I resolved to remove my 
 unfortunate friend from those scenes which re- 
 called the remembrance of his loss, and to lead 
 him to a more busy part of the island. With 
 this view, I conducted him to the inhabited 
 part of the elevated quarter of Williams, which 
 he had never visited, and where the busy pur- 
 suits of agriculture and commerce ever occa- 
 sioned much bustle and variety. Numbers of 
 carpenters were employed in hewing down and 
 squaring trees, while others were sawing them 
 into planks ; carriages were continually passing 
 and repassing on the roads; numerous herds 
 of oxen and troops of horses were feeding on 
 those widespread meadows, and the whole 
 country was dotted with the dwellings of man. 
 On some spots the elevation of the soil per- 
 mitted the culture of many of the plants of 
 Europe : the yellow ears of ripe corn waved
 
 202 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 upon the plains ; strawberry plants grew in the 
 openings of the woods, and the roads were bor- 
 dered by hedges of rose-trees. The freshness 
 of the air, too, giving tension to the nerves, 
 was favorable to the health of Europeans. 
 From those heights, situated near the middle 
 of the island, and surrounded by extensive 
 forests, neither the sea, nor Port Louis, nor the 
 church of the Shaddock Grove, nor any other 
 object associated with the remembrance of Vir- 
 ginia could be discerned. Even the moun- 
 tains, which present various shapes on the side 
 of Port Louis, appear from hence like a long 
 promontory, in a straight and perpendicular 
 line, from which arise lofty pyramids of rock, 
 whose summits are enveloped in the clouds. 
 
 Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept him 
 continually in action, walking with him in rain 
 and sunshine, by day and by night. I sometimes 
 wandered with him into the depths of the for- 
 ests, or led him over untilled grounds, hoping 
 that change of scene and fatigue might divert 
 his mind from its gloomy meditations. But 
 the soul of a lover finds everywhere the traces 
 of the beloved object. Night and day, the 
 calm of solitude and the tumult of the crowds, 
 are to him the same; time itself, which casts 
 the shade of oblivion over so many other re-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 203 
 
 membrances, in vain would tear that tender 
 jnd sacred recollection from the heart. The 
 needle, when touched by the loadstone, how- 
 ever it may have been moved from its position, 
 is no sooner left to repose, than it returns to 
 the pole of its attraction. So, when I inquired 
 of Paul, as we wandered amidst the plains of 
 Williams, "Where shall we now go?" he 
 pointed to the north, and said, "Yonder are our 
 mountains; let us return home." 
 
 I now saw that all the means I took to divert 
 him from his melancholy were fruitless, and 
 that no resource was left but an attempt to 
 combat his passion by the arguments which 
 reason suggested. I answered him, "Yes, 
 there are the mountains where once dwelt your 
 beloved Virginia ; and here is the picture you 
 gave her, and which she held, when dying, to 
 her heart that heart, which even in its last 
 moments only beat for you. ' ' I then presented 
 to Paul the little portrait which he had given 
 to Virginia on the borders of the cocoa-tree 
 fountain. At this sight a gloomy joy over- 
 spread his countenance. He eagerly seized the 
 picture with his feeble hands, and held it to his 
 lips. His oppressed bosom seemed ready to 
 burst with emotion, and his eyes were filled 
 with tears which had no power to flow.
 
 204 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. . 
 
 "My son," said I, "listen to one who is youi 
 friend, who was the friend of Virginia, and 
 who, in the bloom of your hopes, has often en- 
 deavored to fortify your mind against the un- 
 foreseen accidents of life. What do you deplore 
 with so much bitterness? Is it your own mis- 
 fortunes, or those of Virginia, which affect you 
 so deeply? 
 
 "Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. 
 You have lost the most amiable of girls, who 
 would have grown up to womanhood a pattern 
 to her sex, one who sacrificed her own inter- 
 ests to yours; who preferred you to all that 
 fortune could bestow, and considered you as 
 the only recompense worthy of her virtues. 
 
 "But might not this very object, from whom 
 you expected the purest happiness, have proved 
 to you a source of the most cruel distress? 
 She had returned poor and disinherited; all 
 you could henceforth have partaken with her 
 was your labor. Rendered more delicate by 
 her education, and more courageous by her 
 misfortunes, you might have beheld her every 
 day sinking beneath her efforts to share and 
 lighten your fatigues. Had she brought you 
 children, they would only have served to in- 
 crease her anxieties and your own, from the
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 205 
 
 difficulty of sustaining at once your aged pat- 
 ents and your infant family. 
 
 "Very likely you will tell me that the Gov- 
 ernor would have helped you ; but how do you 
 know that in a colony whose governors are so 
 frequently changed, you would have had others 
 like Monsieur de la Bourdonnais? that one 
 might not have been sent destitute of good 
 feeling and of morality? that your young wife, 
 in order to procure some miserable pittance, 
 might not have been obliged to seek his favor? 
 Had she been weak you would have been to be 
 pitied ; and if she had remained virtuous, you 
 would have continued poor ; forced even to con- 
 sider yourself fortunate if, on account of the 
 beauty and virtue of your wife, you had not to 
 endure persecution from those who had prom- 
 ised you protection. 
 
 "It would still have remained to you, you 
 may say, to have enjoyed a pleasure independ- 
 ent of fortune, that of protecting a beloved be- 
 ing, who, in proportion to her own helplessness, 
 had more attached herself to you. You may 
 fancy that your pains and sufferings would 
 have served to endear you to each other, and 
 that your passion would have gathered 
 strength from your mutual misfortunes. Un- 
 doubtedly virtuous love does find consolation
 
 206 PAUL AND VIRGINIA 
 
 even in such melancholy retrospects. But Vir- 
 ginia is no more ; yet those persons still live, 
 whom, next to yourself, she held most dear; 
 her mother, and your own: your inconsolable 
 affliction is bringing them both to the grave. 
 Place your happiness as she did hers, in afford- 
 ing them succor. My son, beneficence is the 
 happiness of the virtuous : there is no greater 
 or more certain enjoyment on the earth. 
 Schemes of pleasure, repose, luxuries, wealth 
 and glory are not suited to man, weak, wan- 
 dering, and transitory as he is. See how 
 rapidly one step towards the acquisition of for- 
 tune has precipitated us all to the lowest abyss 
 of misery ! You were opposed to it, it is true ; 
 but who would not have thought that Virgin- 
 ia's voyage would terminate in her happiness 
 and your own? an invitation from a rich and 
 aged relation, the .advice of a wise governor, 
 the approbation of the whole colony, and the 
 well-advised authority of her confessor, de- 
 cided the lot of Virginia. Thus do we run to 
 our ruin, deceived even by the prudence of 
 those who watch over us : it would be better, 
 no doubt, not to believe them, nor even to lis- 
 ten to the voice or lean on the hopes of a de- 
 ceitful world. But all men, those you see 
 occupied in these plains, those who go abroad
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 207 
 
 to seek their fortunes, and those in Europe 
 who enjoy repose from the labors of others, are 
 liable to reverses ! not one is secure from los- 
 ing, at some period, all that he most values, 
 greatness, wealth, wife, children, and friends. 
 Most of these would have their sorrow in- 
 creased by the remembrance of their own im- 
 prudence. But you have nothing with which 
 you can reproach yourself. You have been 
 faithful in your love. In the bloom of youth, 
 by not departing from the dictates of nature, 
 you evinced the wisdom of a sage. Your views 
 were just, because they were pure, simple, and 
 disinterested. You had, besides, on Virginia, 
 sacred claims which nothing could countervail. 
 You have lost her : but it is neither your own 
 imprudence, nor your avarice, nor your false 
 wisdom which has occasioned this misfortune, 
 but the will of God, who has employed the 
 passions of others to snatch from you the ob- 
 ject of your love ; God, from whom you derive 
 everything, who knows what is most fitting 
 for you, and whose wisdom has not left you 
 any cause for the repentance and despair 
 which succeed the calamities that are brought 
 upon us by ourselves. 
 
 "Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say to 
 yourself, ' I have not deserved them. ' Is it
 
 208 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 then the calamity of Virginia her death and 
 her present condition that you deplore? She 
 has undergone the fate allotted to all, to 
 high birth, to beauty, and even to empires 
 themselves. The life of man, with all its pro- 
 ject, may be compared to a tower, at whose 
 summit is death. When your Virginia was 
 born, she was condemned to die; happily for 
 herself, she is released from life before losing 
 her mother, or yours, or you; saved, thus, 
 from undergoing pangs worse than those of 
 death itself. 
 
 "Learn, then, my son. that death is a ben- 
 efit to all men ; it is the night of that restless 
 day we call by the name of life. The diseases, 
 the griefs, the vexations, and the fears, which 
 perpetually embitter our life as long as we 
 possess it, molest us no more in the sleep of 
 death. If you inquire into the history of those 
 men who appear to have been the happiest, 
 you will find that they have bought their ap- 
 parent felicity very dear ; public consideration, 
 perhaps, by domestic evils ; the rare happiness 
 of being beloved, by continual sacrifices; and 
 often, at the expiration of a life devoted to the 
 good of others, they see themselves surrounded 
 only by false friends, and ungrateful relations. 
 But Virginia was happy to her very last mo-
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 209 
 
 ment. When with us, she was happy in par- 
 taking of the gifts of nature ; when far from 
 us, she found enjoyment in the practice of vir- 
 tue ; and even at the terrible moment in which 
 we saw her perish, she still had cause for self- 
 gratulation. For, whether she cas- her eyes 
 on the assembled colony, made miserable by 
 her expected loss, or on you, my son, who, 
 with so much intrepidity, were endeavoring to 
 save her, she must have seen how dear she was 
 to all. Her mind was fortified against the fu- 
 ture by the remembrance of her innocent life ; 
 and at that moment she received the reward 
 which Heaven reserves for virtue, a courage 
 superior to danger. She met death with a 
 serene countenance. 
 
 "My son! God gives all the trials of life to 
 virtue, in order to show that virtue alone can 
 support them, and even find in them happiness 
 and glory. When he designs for it an illustri- 
 ous reputation, he exhibits it on a wide the- 
 ater, and contending with death. Then does 
 the courage of virtue shine forth as an exam- 
 ple, and the misfortunes to which it has been 
 exposed receive forever, from posterity, the 
 tribute of their tears. This is the immortal 
 monument reserved for virtue in a world where 
 everything else passes away, and where the 
 
 14 Paul and Virginia
 
 210 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 names, even of the greater number of kings 
 themselves, are soon buried in eternal obliv- 
 ion. 
 
 "Meanwhile, Virginia still exists. My son, 
 you see that everything changes on this earth, 
 but that nothing is ever lost. No art of man 
 can annihilate the smallest particle of matter; 
 can , then, that which has possessed reason, 
 sensibility, affection, virtue and religion be 
 supposed capable of destruction, when the very 
 elements with which it is clothed are imper- 
 ishable? Ah! however happy Virginia may 
 have been with us, she is now much more so. 
 There is a God, my son ; it is unnecessary for 
 me to prove it to you, for the voice of all na- 
 ture loudly proclaims it. The wickedness of 
 mankind lead them to deny the existence of a 
 Being, whose justice they fear. But your 
 mind is fully convinced of his existence, while 
 his works are ever before your eyes. Do you 
 then believe that he would leave Virginia with- 
 out recompense? Do you think that the same 
 Power which inclosed her noble soul in a form 
 so beautiful, so like an emanation from 
 itself, could not have saved her from the waves? 
 that he who has ordained the happiness of 
 man here, by laws unknown to you, cannot 
 prepare a still higher degree of felicity for
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 211 
 
 Virginia by other laws, of which you are 
 equally ignorant? Before we were born into 
 this world, could we, do you imagine, even if 
 we were capable of thinking at all, have 
 formed any idea of our existence here? And 
 now that we are in the . midst of this gloomy 
 and transitory life, can we foresee what is be- 
 yond the tomb, or in what manner we shall be 
 emancipated from it? Does God, like man, 
 need this little globe, the earth, as a theater 
 for the display of his intelligence and his good- 
 ness? and can he only dispose of human life 
 in the territory of death ? There is not, in the 
 entire ocean, a single drop of water which is 
 not peopled with living beings appertaining to 
 man ; and does there exist nothing for him in 
 the heavens above his head? What! is there 
 no supreme intelligence, no divine goodness, 
 except on this little spot where we are placed? 
 In those innumerable glowing fires, in those 
 infinite fields of light which surround them, 
 and which neither storms nor darkness can ex- 
 tinguish, is there nothing but empty space and 
 an eternal void? If we, weak and ignorant as 
 we are, might dare to assign limits to that 
 Power from whom we, have received every- 
 thing, we might possibly imagine that we were 
 placed on the very confines of his empire,
 
 212 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 where life is perpetually struggling with death, 
 and innocence forever in danger from the 
 power of tyranny ! 
 
 "Somewhere, then, without doubt, there is 
 another world, where virtue will receive its 
 reward. Virginia is now happy. Ah! if from 
 the abode of angels she could hold communica- 
 tion with you, she would tell you as she did 
 when she bade you her last adieus, 'O, Paul! 
 life is but a scene of trial. I have been obedi- 
 ent to the laws of nature, love and virtue. I 
 crossed the seas to obey the will of my rela- 
 tions ; I sacrificed wealth in order to keep my 
 faith ; and I preferred the loss of life to diso- 
 beying the dictates of modesty., Heaven found 
 that I had fulfilled my duties, and has snatched 
 me forever from all the miseries I might have 
 endured myself, and all I might have felt for 
 the miseries of others. I am placed far above 
 the reach of all human evils, and you pity me ! 
 I am become pure and unchangeable as a par- 
 ticle of light, and you would recall me to the 
 darkness of human life ! O, Paul ! O, my be- 
 loved friend ! recollect those days of happiness, 
 when in the morning we felt the delightful 
 sensations excited by the unfolding beauties of 
 nature ; when we seemed to rise with the sun 
 to the peaks of those rocks, and then to spread
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 213 
 
 with his rays over the bosom of the forests. 
 We experienced a delight, the cause of which 
 we could not comprehend. In the innocence 
 of our desires, we wished to be all sight, to en- 
 joy the rich colors of the early dawn ; all smell, 
 to taste a thousand perfumes at once ; all hear- 
 ing, to listen to the singing of our birds ; and 
 all hearts, to be capable of gratitude for those 
 mingled blessings. Now, at the source of the 
 beauty whence flows all that is delightful upon 
 earth, my soul intuitively sees, tastes, hears, 
 touches, what before she could only be made 
 sensible of through the medium of our weak 
 organs. Ah ! what language can describe these 
 shores of eternal bliss, which I inhabit forever ! 
 All that infinite power and heavenly goodness 
 could create to console the unhappy: all that 
 the friendship of numberless beings exulting 
 in the same facility can impart, we enjoy in 
 unmixed perfection. Support, then, the trial 
 which is now allotted to you, that you may 
 heighten the happiness of your Virginia by 
 love which will know no termination, by a 
 union which will be eternal. There I will 
 calm your regrets, I will wipe away your tears. 
 Oh, my beloved friend ! my youthful husband ! 
 raise your thoughts toward the infinite, to en- 
 able you to support the evils of a moment' "
 
 214 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 My own emotion choked my utterance. 
 Paul, looking at me steadfastly, cried, "She 
 is no more! she is no more!" and a long faint- 
 ing fit succeeded these words of woe. When 
 restored to himself, he said, "Since death is a 
 good, and since Virgina is happy, I will die, 
 too, and be united to Virginia." Thus the 
 motives of consolation I had offered, only 
 served to nourish his despair. I was in the 
 situation of a man who attempts to save a 
 friend sinking in the midst of a flood, and who 
 obstinately refuses to swim. Sorrow had com- 
 pletely overwhelmed his soul. Alas ! the trials 
 of early years prepare man 1 for the afflictions 
 of after-life ; but Paul had never experienced 
 any. 
 
 I took him back to his own dwelling, where 
 I found his mother and Madame de la Tour in 
 a state of increased languor and exhaustion, 
 but Margaret seemed to droop the most. 
 Lively characters, upon whom petty troubles 
 have but little effect, sink the soonest under 
 great calamities. 
 
 "O my good friend," said Margaret, "I 
 thought last night I saw Virginia, dressed in 
 white, in the midst of groves and delicious gar- 
 dens. She said to me, ' I enjoy the most per- 
 fect happiness:' and then approaching Paul
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 215 
 
 with a smiling air, she bore him away with 
 her. While I was struggling to retain my son, 
 I felt that I myself too was quitting the earth, 
 and that I followed with inexpressible delight. 
 I then wished to bid my friend farewell, when 
 I saw that she was hastening after me, accom- 
 panied by Mary and Domingo. But the strang- 
 est circumstance remains yet to be told; 
 Madame de la Tour has this very night had a 
 dream exactly like mine in every possible re- 
 spect." 
 
 "My dear friend," I replied, "nothing, I 
 firmly believe, happens in this world without 
 the permission of God. Future events, too, 
 are sometimes revealed in dreams." 
 
 Madame de la Tour then related to me her 
 dream, which was exactly the same as Mar- 
 garet's in every particular; and as I had never 
 observed in either of these ladies any propen- 
 sity to superstition, I was struck with the singu- 
 lar coincidence of their dreams, and I felt con- 
 vinced that they would soon be realized. The 
 belief that future events are sometimes revealed 
 to us during sleep, is one that is widely 
 diffused among the nations of the earth. The 
 greatest men of antiquity have had faith in it; 
 among whom may be mentioned Alexander 
 the Great, Julius Caesar, the Scipios, the two
 
 216 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 Catos, and Brutus, none of whom were weak- 
 minded persons. Both the Old and the New 
 Testament furnish us with numerous instances 
 of dreams that came to pass. As for myself, I 
 need only, on this subject, appeal to my expe- 
 rience, as I have more than once had good 
 reason to believe that superior intelligences, 
 who interest themselves in our welfare, com- 
 municate with us in these visions of the night. 
 Things which surpass the light of human 
 reason, cannot be proved by arguments derived 
 from that reason ; but still, if the mind of man 
 is an image of that of God, since man can 
 make known his will to the ends of the earth 
 by secret missives, may not the Supreme Intel- 
 ligence which governs the universe employ 
 similar means to attain alike end? One friend 
 consoles another by a letter, which, after pass- 
 ing through many kingdoms, and being in the 
 hands of various individuals at enmity with 
 each other, brings at last joy and hope to the 
 breast of a single human being. May not in 
 like manner the Sovereign Protector of inno- 
 cence come in some secret way, to the help of 
 a virtuous soul, which puts its trust in Him 
 alone? Has he occasions to employ visible 
 means to effect his purpose in this, whose 
 ways are hidden in all his ordinary works?
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 217 
 
 Why should we doubt the evidence of 
 dreams? for what is our life, occupied as it is 
 with vain and fleeting imaginations, other than 
 a prolonged vision of the night? 
 
 Whatever may be thought of this in general, 
 on the present occasion the dreams of my 
 friends were soon realized. Paul expired two 
 months after the death of Virginia, whose 
 name dwelt on his lips in his expiring mo- 
 ments. About a week after the death of her 
 son, Margaret saw her last hour approach with 
 that serenity which virtue only can feel. She 
 bade Madame de la Tour a most tender fare- 
 well, "in the certain hope," she said, "of a de- 
 lightful and eternal re-union. Death is the 
 greatest of blessings to us," added she, "and 
 we ought to desire it. If life be a punishment, 
 we should wish for its termination ; if it be a 
 trial, we should be thankful that it is short." 
 
 The Governor took care of Domingo and 
 Mary, who were no longer able to labor, and 
 who survived their mistresses but a short time. 
 
 As for poor Fidele, he pined to death soon 
 after he had lost his master. 
 
 I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to 
 Madame de la Tour, who bore up under her cala- 
 mities with incredible elevation of mind. She 
 had endeavored to console Paul and Margaret
 
 218 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 till their last moments, as if she herself had no 
 misfortunes of her own to bear. When they 
 were no more, she used to talk to me every 
 day of them as of beloved friends, who were 
 still living near her. She survived them how- 
 ever, but one month. Far from reproaching 
 her aunt for the afflictions she had caused, her 
 benign spirit prayed to God to pardon her, 
 and to appease that remorse which we heard 
 began to torment her, as soon as she had sent 
 Virginia away with so much inhumanity. 
 
 Conscience, that certain punishment of the 
 guilty, visited with all its terrors the mind of 
 this unnatural relation. So great was her tor- 
 ment, that life and death became equally un- 
 supportable to her. Sometimes she reproached 
 herself with the untimely fate of her lovely 
 niece, and with the death of her mother, which 
 had immediately followed it. At other times 
 she congratulated herself for having repulsed 
 far from her her two wretched creatures, who, 
 she said, had both dishonored their family by 
 their groveling inclinations. Sometimes, at 
 the sight of the many miserable objects with 
 which Paris abounds, she would fly into a rage, 
 and exclaim, "Why are not these idle people 
 sent off to the colonies?" As for the notions 
 of humanity, virtue, and religion, adopted by
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 219 
 
 all nations, she said, they were only the inven- 
 tions of their rulers, to serve political pur- 
 poses. Then, flying all at once to the other 
 extreme, she abandoned herself to superstitious 
 terrors, which filled her with mortal fears. 
 She would then give abundant alms to the 
 wealthy ecclesiastics who governed her, be- 
 seeching them to appease the wrath of God by 
 the sacrifice of her fortune, as if the offering 
 to Him of the wealth she had withheld from 
 the miserable could please her Heavenly 
 Father! In her imagination she often beheld 
 fields of fire, with burning mountains, wherein 
 hideous specters wandered about, loudly call- 
 ing on her by name. She threw herself at her 
 confessor's feet, imagining every description 
 of agony and torture; for Heaven just 
 Heaven always sends to the cruel the most 
 frightful views of religion and a future state. 
 Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, holding 
 both life and death in equal horror, she lived 
 on for several years. But what completed the 
 torments of her miserable existence, was that 
 very object to which she had sacrificed every 
 natural affection. She was deeply annoyed at 
 perceiving that her fortune must go, at her 
 death, to relations whom she hated, and she de- 
 termined to alienate as much of it as she could.
 
 220 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 They, however, taking advantage of her fre- 
 quent attacks of low spirits, caused her to be 
 secluded as a lunatic, and her affairs to be put 
 into the hands of trustees. Her wealth thus 
 completed her ruin ; and, as the possession of 
 it had hardened her own heart, so did its antici- 
 pation corrupt the hearts of those who coveted 
 it from her. At length she died ; and, to crown 
 her misery, she retained reason enough at last 
 to be sensible that she was plundered and de- 
 spised by the very persons whose opinions had 
 been her rule of conduct during her whole life. 
 On the same spot, and at the foot of the 
 same shrubs as his Virginia, was deposited the 
 body of Paul ; and round about them lie the 
 remains of their tender mothers and their faith- 
 ful servants. No marble marks the spot of 
 their humble graves, no inscription records 
 their virtues ; but their memory is engraven 
 upon the hearts of those whom they have be- 
 friended, in indelible characters. Their spirits 
 have no need of the pomp, which they shunned 
 during their life ; but if they still take an inter- 
 est in what passes upon earth, they no doubt 
 love to wander beneath the roofs of these 
 humble dwellings, inhabited by industrious 
 virtue, to console poverty discontented with its 
 lot, to cherish in the hearts of lovers the sacred
 
 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 221 
 
 flame of fidelity, and to inspire a taste for the 
 blessings of nature, a love of honest labor, and 
 a dread of the allurements of riches. The voice 
 of the people, which is often silent with regard 
 to the monuments raised to kings, has given to 
 some parts of this island names which will im- 
 mortalize the loss of Virginia. Near the isle 
 of Amber, in the midst of sandbanks, is a spot 
 called The Pass of the Saint-Geran, from the 
 name of the vessel which was there lost. The 
 extremity of that point of land which you see 
 yonder, three leagues off, half covered with 
 water, and which the Saint-Geran could not 
 double the night before the hurricane, is called 
 the Cape of Misfortune ; and before us, at the 
 end of the valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, 
 where Virginia was found buried in the sand; 
 as if the waves had sought to restore her corpse 
 to her family, that they might render it the last 
 sad duties on those shores where so many 
 years of her innocent life had been passed. 
 
 Joined thus in death, ye faithful lovers, who 
 were so tenderly united ! unfortunate mothers ! 
 beloved family! these woods which sheltered 
 you with their foliage, these fountains which 
 flowed for you, these hillsides upon which 
 you reposed, still deplore your loss! No one 
 has since presumed to cultivate that desolate
 
 222 PAUL AND VIRGINIA. 
 
 spot of land, or to rebuild those humble cot- 
 tages. Your goats are become wild; your 
 orchards are destroyed ; your birds are all fled, 
 and nothing is heard but the cry of the spar- 
 row-hawk, as it skims in quest of prey around 
 this rocky basin. As for myself, since I have 
 ceased to behold you, I have felt friendless and 
 alone, like a father bereft of his children, or a 
 traveler who wanders by himself over the face 
 of the earth." 
 
 Ending with these words, the good old man 
 retired, bathed in tears ; and my own, too, had 
 flowed more than once during this melancholy 
 recital. 
 
 THE END.
 
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