PAUL AND VIRGINIA

Situated on the eastern side of the mountain which rises above Port

Louis, in the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the marks of

former cultivation, are seen the ruins of two small cottages. These

ruins are not far from the centre of a valley, formed by immense rocks,

and which opens only towards the north. On the left rises the mountain

called the Height of Discovery, whence the eye marks the 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 Shaddock 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 extending to the furthest bounds of the island. The front view

presents the bay, denominated the Bay of the Tomb; a little on the right

is seen the Cape of Misfortune; and beyond rolls the expanded ocean,

on the surface of which appear a few uninhabited islands; and, among

others, the Point of Endeavour, which resembles a bastion built upon the

flood.

At the entrance of the valley which presents these various objects,

the echoes of the mountain incessantly repeat the hollow murmurs of the

winds that shake the neighbouring forests, and the tumultuous dashing of

the waves which break at a distance upon the cliffs; but near the ruined

cottages all is calm and still, and the only objects which there meet

the eye are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding rampart.

Large clumps of trees grow at their base, on 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 colours

of the rainbow on their green and brown declivities, and swell the

sources of the little river which flows at their feet, called the river

of Fan-Palms. 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 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 the break of day, the rays of light are thrown on

the surrounding rocks; and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadows

of the mountain, appear like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon the

azure sky.

To this scene I loved to resort, as I could here enjoy at once the

richness of an unbounded landscape, and the charm of uninterrupted

solitude. One day, when I was seated at the foot of the cottages, and

contemplating their ruins, a man, advanced in years, passed near the

spot. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the island, his feet were

bare, and he leaned upon a staff of ebony; his hair was white, and the

expression of his countenance was dignified and interesting. I bowed to

him with respect; he returned the salutation; and, after looking at me

with some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the hillock on which

I was seated. Encouraged by this mark of confidence I thus

addressed him: "Father, can you tell me to whom those cottages once

belonged?"--"My son," replied the old man, "those heaps of rubbish,

and that untilled land, were, twenty years ago, the property of two

families, who then found happiness in this solitude. Their history is

affecting; but what European, pursuing his way to the Indies, will pause

one moment to interest himself in the fate of a few obscure individuals?

What European can picture happiness to his 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 acquired much experience of human

life. If you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the history of

the ancient inhabitants of this desert; and be assured, that even

the men who are most perverted by the prejudices of the world, find

a soothing pleasure in contemplating that happiness which belongs to

simplicity and virtue." The old man, after a short silence, during which

he leaned his face upon his hands, as if he were trying to recall the

images of the past, thus began his narration:--

Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was a native of Normandy, after

having in vain solicited a commission in the French army, or some

support from his own family, at length determined to seek his fortune in

this island, where he arrived in 1726. He brought hither a young woman,

whom he loved tenderly, and by whom he was no less tenderly beloved. She

belonged to a rich and ancient family of the same province: but he had

married her secretly and without fortune, and in opposition to the will

of her relations, who refused their consent because he was found guilty

of being descended from parents who had no claims to nobility. Monsieur

de la Tour, leaving his wife at Port Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in

order to purchase a few slaves, to assist him in forming a plantation on

this island. He landed at Madagascar during that unhealthy season which

commences about the middle of October; and soon after his arrival died

of the pestilential fever, which prevails in that island six months of

the year, and which will forever 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 one negro woman. Too delicate

to solicit protection or relief from any one else after the death of

him whom alone she loved, misfortune armed 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

favorable to commerce: seeking some nook of the mountain, some secret

asylum where she might live solitary and unknown, she bent her way

from the town towards these rocks, where she might conceal herself

from observation. All sensitive and suffering creatures, from a sort of

common instinct, fly for refuge amidst their pains to haunts the

most wild and desolate; as if rocks could form a rampart against

misfortune--as if the calm of Nature could hush the tumults of the soul.

That Providence, which lends its support when we ask but the supply of

our necessary wants, had a blessing in reserve for Madame de la Tour,

which neither riches nor greatness can purchase:--this blessing was a

friend.

The spot to which Madame de la Tour had fled had already been inhabited

for a year by a young woman of a lively, good-natured and affectionate

disposition. Margaret (for that was her name) was born in Brittany, of a

family of peasants, by whom she was cherished and beloved, and with

whom she might have passed through life in simple rustic happiness, if,

misled by the weakness of a tender heart, she had not listened to the

passion of a gentleman in the neighbourhood, who promised her marriage.

He soon abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to 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 might be concealed, to some colony distant from that country

where she had lost the only portion of a poor peasant girl--her

reputation. With some borrowed money she purchased an old negro slave,

with whom she cultivated a little corner of this district.

Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro woman, came to this spot, where

she found Margaret engaged in suckling her child. Soothed and charmed by

the sight of a person in a situation somewhat similar to her own, Madame

de la Tour related, in a few words, her past condition and her present

wants. Margaret was deeply affected by the recital; and more anxious to

merit confidence than to create esteem, she confessed without disguise,

the errors of which she had been guilty. "As for me," said she,

"I deserve my fate: but you, madam--you! at once virtuous and

unhappy"--and, sobbing, she offered Madame de la Tour both her hut and

her friendship. That lady, affected by this tender 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, although my habitation is a league

and a half from hence, in the woods behind that sloping mountain, I

considered myself as her neighbour. In the cities of Europe, a street,

even a simple wall, frequently prevents members of the same family from

meeting for years; but in new colonies we consider those persons as

neighbours from whom we are divided only by woods and mountains; and

above all at that period, when this island had little intercourse with

the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim to friendship, and hospitality

towards strangers seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No sooner was I

informed that Margaret had found a companion, than I hastened to her, in

the hope of being useful to my neighbour and her guest. I found Madame

de la Tour possessed of all those melancholy graces which, by

blending sympathy with admiration give to beauty additional power.

Her countenance was interesting, expressive at once of dignity and

dejection. She appeared to be in the last stage of her pregnancy. I told

the two friends that for the future interests of their children, and

to prevent the intrusion of any other settler, they had better divide

between them the property of this wild, sequestered valley, which is

nearly twenty acres in extent. They confided that task to me, and I

marked out two equal portions of land. One included the higher part of

this enclosure, from the cloudy pinnacle of that rock, whence springs

the river of Fan-Palms, to that precipitous cleft which you see on the

summit of the mountain, and which, from its resemblance in form to the

battlement of a fortress, is called the Embrasure. It is difficult to

find a path along this wild portion of the enclosure, the soil of which

is encumbered with fragments of rock, or worn into channels formed

by torrents; yet it produces noble trees, and innumerable springs and

rivulets. The other portion of land comprised the plain extending along

the banks of the river of Fan-Palms, to the opening where we are now

seated, whence the river takes its course between these two hills, until

it falls into the sea. You may still trace the vestiges of some meadow

land; and this part of the common is less rugged, but not more valuable

than the other; since in the rainy season it becomes marshy, and in dry

weather is so hard and unyielding, that it will almost resist the stroke

of the pickaxe. When I had thus divided the property, I persuaded my

neighbours to draw lots for their respective possessions. The higher

portion of land, containing the source of the river of Fan-Palms, became

the property of Madame de la Tour; the lower, comprising the plain

on the banks of the river, was allotted to Margaret; and each seemed

satisfied with her share. They entreated me to place their habitations

together, that they might at all times enjoy the soothing intercourse

of friendship, and the consolation of mutual kind offices. Margaret's

cottage was situated near the centre of the valley, and just on the

boundary of her own plantation. Close to that spot I built another

cottage for the residence of Madame de la Tour; and thus the two

friends, while they possessed all the advantages of neighbourhood lived

on their own property. I myself cut palisades from the mountain, and

brought leaves of fan-palms from the sea-shore in order to construct

those two cottages, of which you can now discern neither the entrance

nor the roof. Yet, alas! there still remains 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 virtuous," cried

Margaret, "and she will be happy. I have only known misfortune by

wandering from virtue."

About the time Madame de la Tour recovered, these two little estates had

already begun to yield some produce, perhaps in a small degree owing

to the care which I occasionally bestowed on their improvement, but far

more to the indefatigable labours of the two slaves. Margaret's slave,

who was called Domingo, was still healthy and robust, though advanced in

years: he possessed some knowledge, and a good natural understanding.

He cultivated indiscriminately, on both plantations, the spots of ground

that seemed most fertile, and sowed whatever grain he thought most

congenial to each particular soil. Where the ground was poor, he strewed

maize; where it was most fruitful, he planted wheat; and rice in such

spots as were marshy. He threw the seeds of gourds and cucumbers at the

foot of the rocks, which they loved to climb and decorate with their

luxuriant foliage. In dry spots he cultivated the sweet potatoe; the

cotton-tree flourished 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 enclosure, in order to level the paths.

The zeal which inspired him enabled him to perform all these labours

with intelligence and activity. He was much attached to Margaret, and

not less to Madame de la Tour, whose negro woman, Mary, he had married

on the birth of Virginia; and he was passionately fond of his wife. Mary

was born at Madagascar, and had there acquired the knowledge of some

useful arts. She could weave baskets, and a sort of stuff, with long

grass that grows in the woods. She was active, cleanly, and, above all,

faithful. It was her care to prepare their meals, to rear the poultry,

and go sometimes to Port Louis, to sell the superfluous produce of these

little 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 constantly employed in spinning

cotton for the use of their families. Destitute of everything which

their own industry could not supply, at home they went bare-footed:

shoes were a convenience reserved for Sunday, on which day, at an early

hour, they attended mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, which

you see yonder. That church was more distant from their homes than Port

Louis; but they seldom visited the town, lest they should be treated

with contempt on account of their dress, which consisted simply of the

coarse blue linen of Bengal, usually worn by slaves. But is there,

in that external deference which fortune commands, a compensation for

domestic happiness? If these interesting women had something to suffer

from the world, their homes on that very account became more dear to

them. No sooner did Mary and Domingo, from this elevated spot, perceive

their mistresses on the road of the Shaddock Grove, than they flew to

the foot of the mountain in order to help them to ascend. They discerned

in the looks of their domestics the joy which their return excited. They

found in their retreat neatness, independence, all the blessings which

are the recompense of toil, and they received the zealous services

which spring from affection. United by the tie of similar wants, and the

sympathy of similar misfortunes, they gave each other the tender names

of companion, friend, sister. They had but one will, one interest, one

table. All their possessions were in common. And if sometimes a passion

more ardent than friendship awakened in their hearts the pang of

unavailing anguish, a pure religion, united with chaste manners, drew

their affections towards another life: as the trembling flame rises

towards heaven, when it no longer finds any ailment 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 neighbouring tree, so these two

infants, deprived of all their other relations, when thus exchanged

for nourishment by those who had given them birth, imbibed feelings of

affection still more tender than those of son and daughter, brother and

sister. While they were yet in their cradles, their mothers talked of

their marriage. They soothed their own cares by looking forward to the

future happiness of their children; but this contemplation often drew

forth their tears. The misfortunes of one mother had arisen from having

neglected marriage; those of the other from having submitted to its

laws. One had suffered by aiming to rise above her condition, the other

by descending from her rank. But they found consolation in reflecting

that their more fortunate children, far from the cruel prejudices of

Europe, would enjoy at once the pleasures of love and the blessings of

equality.

Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment been seen as that which the

two children already testified for each other. If Paul complained of

anything, his mother pointed to Virginia: at her sight he smiled, and

was appeased. If any accident befel Virginia, the cries of Paul gave

notice of the disaster; but the dear little creature would suppress

her complaints if she found that he was unhappy. When I came hither,

I usually found them quite naked, as is the custom of the country,

tottering in their walk, and holding each other by the hands and under

the arms, as we see represented in the constellation of the Twins. At

night these infants often refused to be separated, and were found lying

in the same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms pressed close together,

their hands thrown round each other's neck, and sleeping, locked in one

another's arms.

When they first 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 directing them ever to consider each

other's wants, tended greatly to increase their affection. In a short

time, all the household economy, the care of preparing their rural

repasts, became the task of Virginia, whose labours 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 mountain, I saw Virginia at the end of

the garden running towards the house with her petticoat thrown over her

head, in order to screen herself from a shower of rain. At a distance,

I thought she was alone; but as I hastened towards her in order to help

her on, I perceived she held Paul by the arm, almost entirely enveloped

in the same canopy, and both were laughing heartily at their being

sheltered together under an umbrella of their own invention. Those two

charming faces in the middle of a swelling petticoat, recalled to my

mind the children of Leda, enclosed in the same shell.

Their sole study was how they could please and assist one another; for

of all other things they were ignorant, and indeed could neither read

nor write. They were never disturbed by inquiries about past times, nor

did their curiosity extend beyond the bounds of their mountain. They

believed the world ended at the shores of their own island, and all

their ideas and all their affections were confined within its limits.

Their mutual tenderness, and that of their mothers, employed all the

energies of their minds. Their tears had never been called forth by

tedious application to useless sciences. Their minds had never been

wearied by lessons of morality, superfluous to bosoms unconscious of

ill. They had never been taught not to steal, because every thing with

them was in common: or not to be intemperate, because their simple

food was left to their own discretion; or not to lie, because they had

nothing to conceal. Their young imaginations had never been terrified

by the idea that God has punishment in store for ungrateful children,

since, with them, filial affection arose naturally from maternal

tenderness. All they had been taught of religion was to love it, and if

they did not offer up long prayers in the church, wherever they were, in

the house, in the fields, in the woods, they raised towards heaven their

innocent hands, and hearts purified by virtuous affections.

All their early childhood passed thus, like a beautiful dawn, the

prelude of a bright day. Already they assisted their mothers in the

duties of the household. As soon as the crowing of the wakeful cock

announced the first beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and hastened to

draw water from a neighbouring spring: then returning to the house she

prepared the breakfast. When the rising sun gilded the points of the

rocks which overhang the enclosure 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 plantain: and

while the branches of that delicious tree afforded a grateful shade, its

fruit furnished a substantial food ready prepared for them by nature,

and its long glossy leaves, spread upon the table, supplied the place of

linen. Plentiful and wholesome nourishment gave early growth and vigour

to the persons of these children, and their countenances expressed the

purity and the peace of their souls. At twelve years of age the figure

of Virginia was in some degree formed: a profusion of light hair shaded

her face, to which her blue eyes and coral lips gave the most charming

brilliancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when she spoke; but when she

was silent they were habitually turned upwards, with an expression of

extreme sensibility, or rather of tender melancholy. The figure of Paul

began already to display the graces of youthful beauty. He was taller

than Virginia: his skin was of a darker tint; his nose more aquiline;

and his black eyes would have been too piercing, if the long eye-lashes

by which they were shaded, had not imparted 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

without a word being spoken; and from their silence, the simple elegance

of their attitudes, and the beauty of their naked feet, you might have

fancied you beheld an antique group of white marble, representing some

of the children of Niobe, but for the glances of their eyes, which were

constantly seeking to meet, and their mutual soft and tender smiles,

which suggested 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, perceiving every day some unfolding

grace, some new beauty, in her daughter, felt her maternal anxiety

increase with her tenderness. She often said to me, "If I were to die,

what would 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 marriage, that Madame de la Tour

had determined no extremity of distress should ever compel her to have

recourse to her hard-hearted relation. But when she became a mother, the

pride of resentment was overcome by the stronger feelings of maternal

tenderness. She wrote to her aunt, informing her of the sudden death of

her husband, the birth of her daughter, and the difficulties in which

she was involved, burthened as she was with an infant, and without means

of support. She received no answer; but notwithstanding the high spirit

natural to her character, she no longer feared exposing herself to

mortification; and, although she knew her aunt would never pardon her

for having married a man who was not of noble birth, however estimable,

she continued to write to her, with the hope of awakening her compassion

for Virginia. Many years, however passed without receiving any token of

her remembrance.

At length, in 1738, three years after the arrival of Monsieur de la

Bourdonnais in this island, Madame de la Tour was informed that the

Governor had a letter to give her from her aunt. She flew to Port Louis;

maternal joy raised her mind above all trifling considerations, and

she was careless on this occasion of appearing in her homely attire.

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais gave her a letter from her aunt, in which she

informed her, that she deserved her fate for marrying an adventurer and

a libertine: that the passions brought with them their own punishment;

that the premature death of her husband was a just visitation from

Heaven; that she had done well in going to a distant island, rather than

dishonour her family by remaining in France; and that, after all, in

the colony where she had taken refuge, none but the idle failed to

grow rich. Having thus censured her niece, she concluded by eulogizing

herself. To avoid, she said, the almost inevitable evils of marriage,

she had determined to remain single. In fact, as she was of a very

ambitious disposition she had resolved to marry none but a man of

high rank; but although she was very rich, her fortune was not found

a sufficient bribe, even at court, to counterbalance the malignant

dispositions of her mind, and the disagreeable qualities of her person.

After mature deliberations, she added, in a postscript, that she had

strongly recommended her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This she

had indeed done, but in a manner of late too common which renders a

patron perhaps even more to be feared than a declared enemy; for, in

order to justify herself for her harshness, she had cruelly slandered

her niece, while she affected to pity her misfortunes.

Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced person could have seen without

feelings of sympathy and respect, was received with the utmost coolness

by Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, 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 shall see what can be done--there are so many to

relieve--all in good time--why did you displease your aunt?--you have

been much to blame."

Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her heart torn with grief,

and filled with all the bitterness of disappointment. When she

arrived, she threw her aunt's letter on the table, and exclaimed to her

friend,--"There is the fruit of eleven years of patient expectation!"

Madame de la Tour being the only person in the little circle who could

read, she again took up the letter, and read it aloud. Scarcely had

she finished, when Margaret exclaimed, "What have we to do with your

relations? Has God then 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 utterance. At this sight Virginia

burst into tears, and pressed her mother's and Margaret's hand

alternately to her lips and heart; while Paul, his eyes inflamed with

anger, cried, clasped his hands together, and stamped his foot, not

knowing whom to blame for this scene of misery. The noise soon brought

Domingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habitation resounded with

cries of distress,--"Ah, madame!--My good mistress!--My dear mother!--Do

not weep!" These tender proofs of affections 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 children,

misfortune has reached me, but only from a distance: here, I am

surrounded with happiness." Paul and Virginia did not understand this

reflection; but, when they saw that she was calm, they smiled, and

continued to caress her. Tranquillity was thus restored in this happy

family, and all that had passed was but 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 Shaddock Grove, the children perceived a negro woman beneath the

plantains 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 emotion,--"Take courage, unfortunate creature!

here is something to eat;" and she gave her the breakfast she had been

preparing, which the slave in a few minutes devoured. When her hunger

was appeased, Virginia said to her,--"Poor woman! I should like to go

and ask forgiveness for you of your master. Surely the sight of you

will touch him with pity. Will you show me the way?"--"Angel of heaven!"

answered the poor negro woman, "I will follow you where you please!"

Virginia called her brother, and begged him to accompany her. The slave

led the way, by winding and difficult paths, through the woods, over

mountains, which they climbed with difficulty, and across rivers,

through which they were obliged to wade. At length, about the middle of

the day, they reached the foot of a steep 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

labours. Their master was walking among them with a pipe in his mouth,

and a switch in his hand. He was a tall thin man, of a brown complexion;

his eyes were sunk in his head, and his dark eyebrows were joined

in one. Virginia, holding Paul by the hand, drew near, and with much

emotion begged him, for the love of God, to pardon his poor slave, who

stood trembling a few paces behind. The planter at first paid little

attention to the children, who, he saw, were meanly dressed. But when

he observed the elegance of Virginia's form, and the profusion of her

beautiful light tresses which had escaped from beneath her blue cap;

when he heard the soft tone of her voice, which trembled, as well as her

whole frame, while she implored his compassion; he took 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

his 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 descended; and having gained the

summit, seated themselves at the foot of a tree, overcome with fatigue,

hunger and thirst. They had left their home fasting, and 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 produce no fruit fit to eat; and I shall not be

able to find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh you."--"God will take

care of us," replied Virginia; "he listens to the cry even of the little

birds when they ask him for food." Scarcely had she pronounced these

words when they heard the noise of water falling from a neighbouring

rock. They ran thither and having quenched their thirst at this crystal

spring, they gathered and ate a few cresses which grew on the border

of the stream. Soon afterwards while they were wandering backwards and

forwards in search of more solid nourishment, Virginia perceived in

the thickest part of the forest, a young palm-tree. The kind of cabbage

which is found at the top of the palm, enfolded within its leaves,

is well adapted for food; but, although the 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 difficulty occurred: he had no steel with which

to strike fire; and although the whole island is covered with rocks,

I do not believe it is possible to find a single flint. Necessity,

however, is fertile in expedients, and the most useful inventions have

arisen from men placed in the most destitute situations. Paul determined

to kindle a fire after the manner of the negroes. With the sharp end of

a stone he made a small hole in the branch of a tree that was quite dry,

and which he held between his feet: he then, with the edge of the same

stone, brought to a point another dry branch of a different sort of

wood, and, afterwards, placing the piece of pointed wood in the small

hole of the branch which he held with his feet and turning it rapidly

between his hands, in a few minutes smoke and sparks of fire issued

from the point of contact. Paul then heaped together dried grass and

branches, and set fire to the foot of the palm-tree, which soon fell to

the ground with a tremendous crash. The fire was further useful to him

in stripping off the long, thick, and pointed leaves, within which the

cabbage was inclosed. Having thus succeeded in obtaining this fruit,

they ate part of it raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, which they

found equally palatable. They made this frugal repast with delight,

from the remembrances of the benevolent action they had performed in the

morning: yet their joy was embittered by the thoughts of the uneasiness

which their long absence from home would occasion their mothers.

Virginia often recurred to this subject; but Paul, who felt his strength

renewed by their meal, assured her, that it would not be long before

they reached home, and, by the assurance of their safety, tranquillized

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

progress. This large portion of the island, covered as it is with

forests, is even now so little known that many of its rivers and

mountains have not yet received a name. The stream, on the banks of

which Paul and Virginia were now standing, rolls foaming over a bed of

rocks. The noise of the water frightened Virginia, and she was afraid

to wade through the current: Paul therefore took her up in his arms, and

went thus loaded over the slippery rocks, which formed the bed of

the river, careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters. "Do not be

afraid," cried he to 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 burthen, and to rest himself by her side.

Virginia then said to him, "My dear brother, the sun is going down; you

have still some strength left, but mine has quite failed: do leave me

here, and return home alone to ease the fears of our mothers."--"Oh no,"

said Paul, "I will not leave you if night overtakes us in this wood, I

will light a fire, and bring down another palm-tree: you shall eat the

cabbage, and I will form a covering of the leaves to shelter you." In

the meantime, Virginia 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 plant called hart's tongue, which grew near its root. Of

these leaves she made a sort of buskin, with which she covered her feet,

that were bleeding from the sharpness of the stony paths; for in her

eager desire to do good, she had forgotten to put on her shoes. Feeling

her feet cooled by the freshness of the leaves, she broke off a branch

of bamboo, and continued her walk, leaning with one hand on the staff,

and with the other on Paul.

They walked on in this manner slowly through the woods; but from the

height of the trees, and the thickness of their foliage, they soon lost

sight of the mountain of the Three Breasts, by which they had hitherto

directed their course, and also of the sun, which was now setting. At

length they wandered, without perceiving it, from the beaten path in

which they had hitherto walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth of

trees, underwood, and rocks, whence there appeared to be no outlet.

Paul made Virginia sit down, while he ran backwards and forwards, half

frantic, in search of a path which might lead them out of this thick

wood; but he fatigued himself to no purpose. He then climbed to the top

of a lofty tree, whence he hoped at least to perceive the mountain of

the Three Breasts: but he could discern nothing around him but the tops

of trees, some of which were gilded with the last beams of the setting

sun. Already the shadows of the mountains were spreading over the

forests in the valleys. The wind lulled, as is usually the case at

sunset. The most profound silence reigned in those awful solitudes,

which was only interrupted by the cry of the deer, who came to their

lairs in that unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope that some hunter

would hear his voice, called out as loud as he was able,--"Come, come to

the help of Virginia." But the echoes of the forest alone answered his

call, and repeated again and again, "Virginia--Virginia."

Paul at length descended from the tree, overcome with fatigue and

vexation. He looked around in order to make some arrangement for passing

the night in that desert; but he could find neither 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 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 barking

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 his caresses. Before

they could recover from their surprise, they saw Domingo running towards

them. At the sight of the good old negro, who wept for joy, they began

to weep too, but had not the power to utter a syllable. When Domingo

had recovered himself a little,--"Oh, my dear children," said he, "how

miserable have you made your mothers! How astonished they were when they

returned with me from mass, on not finding you at home. Mary, who was at

work at a little distance, could not tell us where you were gone. I ran

backwards and forwards in the plantation, not knowing where 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, immediately began to

scent your path; and conducted me, wagging his tail all the while, to

the Black River. I there saw a planter, who told me you had brought back

a Maroon negro woman, his slave, and that he had pardoned her at your

request. But what a 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 a good four 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 repeated several

times--"Oh, how difficult it is to do good!" While she and Paul were

taking refreshment, it being already night, Domingo kindled a fire: and

having found among the rocks a particular kind of twisted wood, called

bois de ronde, which burns when quite green, and throws out a great

blaze, he made a torch of it, which he lighted. But when they prepared

to continue their journey, a new difficulty occurred; Paul and Virginia

could no longer walk, 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." When he was in this

perplexity, a troop of Maroon negroes appeared at a short distance from

them. The chief of the band, approaching Paul and Virginia, said to

them,--"Good little white people, do not be afraid. We saw you pass this

morning, with a negro woman of the Black River. You went to ask pardon

for her of her wicked master; and we, in return for this, will carry you

home upon our shoulders." He then made a sign, and four of the strongest

negroes immediately formed a sort of litter with the branches of trees

and lianas, and having seated Paul and Virginia on it, 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 unrewarded."

It was midnight when they arrived at the foot of their mountain, on the

ridges of which several fires were lighted. As soon as they began to

ascend, they heard voices exclaiming--"Is it you, my children?" They

answered immediately, and the negroes also,--"Yes, yes, it is." A moment

after they could distinguish their mothers and Mary coming towards them

with lighted sticks in their hands. "Unhappy children," cried Madame

de la Tour, "where have you been? What agonies you have made us

suffer!"--"We have been," said Virginia, "to the Black River, where we

went to ask pardon for a poor Maroon slave, to whom I gave our breakfast

this morning, because she seemed dying of hunger; and these Maroon

negroes have brought us home." Madame de la Tour embraced her daughter,

without being able to speak; and Virginia, who felt her face wet with

her mother's tears, exclaimed, "Now I am repaid for all the hardships I

have suffered." Margaret, in a transport of delight, pressed Paul in

her arms, exclaiming, "And you also, my dear child, you have done a

good action." When they reached the cottages with their children, they

entertained all the negroes with a plentiful repast, after which the

latter returned 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 happiness 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 colonies, scandal forms the principal topic of

conversation, their virtues, and even their names were unknown. The

passer-by on the road to 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, concealed in thorny places sheds all

unseen its delightful fragrance around.

Slander, which, under an appearance of justice, naturally inclines

the heart to falsehood or to hatred, 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 ill at ease

with others and with ourselves. In this little circle, therefore, the

conduct of individuals was not discussed, but the best manner of doing

good to all; and although they had but little in their power, their

unceasing good-will and kindness of heart made them constantly ready to

do what they could for others. Solitude, far from having blunted these

benevolent feelings, had rendered their dispositions even more

kindly. Although the petty scandals of the day furnished no subject of

conversation to them, yet the 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 amid

these barren rocks, and had enabled them to enjoy those pure and simple

pleasures, which are ever grateful and ever new.

Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger and more intelligent than

most European youths are at fifteen; and the plantations, which Domingo

merely cultivated, were embellished by him. He would go with the old

negro into the neighbouring woods, where he would root up the young

plants of lemon, orange, and tamarind trees, the round heads of which

are so fresh a green, together with date-palm trees, which produce fruit

filled with a sweet cream, possessing the fine perfume of the orange

flower. These trees, which had already attained to 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, encircled with long clusters of white flowers which hang from

it like the crystal pendants of a chandelier; the Persian lilac, which

lifts high in air its gray flax-coloured branches; the pappaw tree,

the branchless trunk of which forms a column studded with green

melons, surmounted by a capital of broad leaves similar to those of the

fig-tree.

The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, terminalia, mango, alligator

pear, the guava, the bread-fruit tree, and the narrow-leaved rose-apple,

were also planted by him with profusion: and the greater number of these

trees already afforded their young cultivator both shade and fruit.

His industrious hands diffused the riches of nature over even the most

barren parts of the plantation. Several species of aloes, the Indian

fig, adorned with yellow flowers spotted with red, and the thorny torch

thistle, grew upon the dark summits of the rocks, and seemed to aim at

reaching the long lianas, which, laden with blue or scarlet flowers,

hung scattered over the steepest parts of the mountain.

I loved to trace the ingenuity he had exercised in the arrangement of

these trees. He had so disposed them that the whole could be seen at a

single glance. In the middle of the hollow he had planted shrubs of

the lowest growth; behind grew the more lofty sorts; then trees of

the ordinary height; and beyond and above all, the venerable and lofty

groves which border the circumference. Thus this extensive enclosure

appeared, from its centre, like a verdant amphitheatre decorated with

fruits and flowers, containing a variety of vegetables, some strips

of meadow land, and fields of rice and corn. But, in arranging these

vegetable productions to his own taste, he wandered not too far from

the designs of Nature. Guided by her suggestions, he had thrown upon the

elevated spots such seeds as the winds would scatter about, and near

the borders of the springs those which float upon the water. Every

plant thus grew in its proper soil, and every spot seemed decorated by

Nature's own hand. The streams which fell from the summits of the rocks

formed in some parts of the valley sparkling cascades, and in others

were spread into broad mirrors, in which were reflected, set in verdure,

the flowering trees, the overhanging rocks, and the azure heavens.

Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the ground, these plantations

were, for the most part, easy of access. We had, indeed, all given

him our advice and assistance, in order to accomplish this end. He had

conducted one path entirely round the valley, and various branches from

it led from the circumference to the centre. He had drawn some advantage

from the most rugged spots, and had blended, in harmonious union, level

walks with the inequalities of the soil, and trees which grow wild with

the cultivated varieties. With that immense quantity of large pebbles

which now block up these paths, and which are scattered over most of the

ground of this island, he formed pyramidal heaps here and there, at

the base of which he laid mould, and planted rose-bushes, the Barbadoes

flower-fence, and other shrubs which love to climb the rocks. In a short

time the dark and shapeless heaps of stones he had constructed were

covered with verdure, or with the glowing tints of the most beautiful

flowers. Hollow recesses on the borders of the streams shaded by the

overhanging boughs of aged trees, formed rural grottoes, impervious

to the rays of the sun, in which you might enjoy a refreshing coolness

during the mid-day heats. One path led to a clump of forest trees, in

the centre of which sheltered from the wind, you found a fruit-tree,

laden with produce. Here was a corn-field; there, an orchard; from one

avenue you had a view of the cottages; from another, of the inaccessible

summit of the mountain. Beneath one tufted bower of gum trees,

interwoven with lianas, no object whatever could be perceived: while the

point of the adjoining rock, jutting out from the mountain, commanded

a view of the whole enclosure, and of the distant ocean, where,

occasionally, we could discern the distant sail, arriving from Europe,

or bound thither. On this rock the two families frequently met in the

evening, and enjoyed in silence the freshness of the flowers, the gentle

murmurs of the 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 this labyrinth. The rock of which

I have been speaking, whence they could discern my approach at a

considerable distance, was called the Discovery of Friendship. Paul and

Virginia had amused themselves by planting a bamboo on that spot; and

whenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a little white handkerchief,

by way of signal of my approach, as they had seen a flag hoisted on the

neighbouring mountain on the sight of a vessel at sea. The idea struck

me of engraving an inscription on the stalk of this reed; for I never,

in the course of my travels, experienced any thing like the pleasure

in seeing a statue or other monument of ancient art, as in reading a

well-written inscription. It seems to me as if a human voice issued from

the stone, and, making itself heard after the lapse of ages, addressed

man in the midst of a desert, to tell him that he is not alone, and that

other men, on that very spot, had felt, and thought, and suffered like

himself. If the inscription belongs to an ancient nation, which no

longer exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, and strengthens

the consciousness of its immortality, by demonstrating that a thought

has survived the ruins of an empire.

I inscribed then, on the little staff of Paul and Virginia's flag, the

following lines of Horace:--

Fratres Helenae, lucida sidera,

Ventorumque regat pater,

Obstrictis, aliis, praeter Iapiga.

"May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, and the Father of the

winds, guide you; and may you feel only the breath of the zephyr."

There was a gum-tree, under the shade of which Paul was accustomed to

sit, to contemplate the sea when agitated by storms. On the bark of this

tree, I engraved the following lines from Virgil:--

Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes!

"Happy are thou, my son, in knowing only the pastoral divinities."

And over the door of Madame de la Tour's cottage where the families so

frequently met, I placed this line:--

At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita.

"Here dwell a calm conscience, and a life that knows not deceit."

But Virginia did not approve of my Latin: she said, that what I had

placed at the foot of her flagstaff was too long and too learned. "I

should have liked better," added she, "to have seen inscribed, EVER

AGITATED, YET CONSTANT."--"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

every thing around them. They gave the tenderest names to objects

in appearance the most indifferent. A border of orange, plantain and

rose-apple trees, planted round a green sward where Virginia and Paul

sometimes danced, received the name of Concord. An old tree, beneath

the shade of which Madame de la Tour and Margaret used to recount their

misfortunes, was called the Burial-place of Tears. They bestowed the

names of Brittany and Normandy on two little plots of ground, where they

had sown corn, strawberries, and peas. Domingo and Mary, wishing, in

imitation of their mistresses, to recall to mind Angola and Foullepoint,

the places of their birth in Africa, gave those names to the little

fields where the grass was sown with which they wove their baskets,

and where they had planted a calabash-tree. Thus, by cultivating

the productions of their respective climates, these exiled families

cherished the dear illusions which bind us to our native country, and

softened their regrets in a foreign land. Alas! I have seen these trees,

these fountains, these heaps of stones, which are now so completely

overthrown,--which now, like the desolated plains of Greece, present

nothing but masses of ruin and affecting remembrances, all called into

life by the many charming appellations thus bestowed upon them!

But perhaps the most delightful spot of this enclosure was that called

Virginia's resting-place. At the foot of the rock which bore the name

of The Discovery of Friendship, is a small crevice, whence issues a

fountain, forming, near its source, a little spot of marshy soil in the

middle of a field of rich grass. At the time of Paul's birth I had made

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 Virginia.

These nuts produced two cocoa-trees, which formed the only records of

the two families; one was called Paul's tree, the other, Virginia's.

Their growth was in the same proportion as that of the two young

persons, not exactly equal: but they rose, at the end of twelve years,

above the roofs of the cottages. Already their tender stalks were

interwoven, and clusters of young cocoas hung from them over the basin

of the fountain. With the exception of these two trees, this nook of the

rock was left as it had been decorated by nature. On its embrowned and

moist sides broad plants of maiden-hair glistened with their green and

dark stars; and tufts of wave-leaved hart's tongue, suspended like long

ribands of purpled green, floated on the wind. Near this grew a chain

of the Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of which resemble the red

gilliflower; and the long-podded capsicum, the seed-vessels of which are

of the colour of blood, and more resplendent than coral. Near them, the

herb balm, with its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet basil, which has

the odour of the clove, exhaled the most delicious perfumes. From the

precipitous side of the mountain hung the graceful lianas, like floating

draperies, forming magnificent canopies of verdure on the face of

the rocks. The sea-birds, allured by the stillness of these retreats,

resorted here to pass the night. At the hour of sunset we could perceive

the curlew and the stint skimming along the seashore; the frigate-bird

poised high in air; and the white bird of the tropic, which abandons,

with the star of day, the solitudes of the Indian ocean. Virginia took

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 clothes 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 neighbouring forest, a

great variety of bird's 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 coloured plumage, forsook

their bushes; the parroquet, green as an emerald, descended from the

neighbouring fan-palms, the partridge ran along the grass; all advanced

promiscuously towards her, like a brood of chickens: and she and Paul

found an exhaustless source of amusement in observing their sports,

their repasts, and their loves.

Amiable children! thus passed your earlier days in innocence, and in

obeying the impulses of kindness. How many times, on this very spot,

have your mothers, pressing you in their arms, blessed Heaven for the

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 animal its life! Gourds full of milk, fresh eggs, cakes

of rice served up on plantain leaves, with baskets of mangoes, oranges,

dates, pomegranates, pineapples, furnished a wholesome 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 every thing

having a tendency to do harm. Paul often talked of the labours of the

day and of the morrow. He was continually planning something for the

accommodation of their little society. Here he discovered that the paths

were rugged; there, that the seats were uncomfortable: sometimes the

young arbours did not afford sufficient shade, and Virginia might be

better pleased elsewhere.

During the rainy season the two families met together in the cottage,

and employed themselves in weaving mats of grass, and baskets of bamboo.

Rakes, spades, and hatchets, were ranged along the walls in the most

perfect order; and near these instruments of agriculture were heaped its

products,--bags of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of plantains. Some

degree of luxury usually accompanies abundance; and Virginia was taught

by her mother and Margaret to prepare sherbert 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 travellers

benighted in those woods of Europe that are still infested by banditti;

or told a dismal tale of some shipwrecked vessel, thrown by the tempest

upon the rocks of a desert island. To these recitals the children

listened with eager attention, and earnestly hoped that Heaven would one

day grant them the joy of performing the rites of hospitality towards

such unfortunate persons. When the time for repose arrived, the two

families separated and retired for the night, eager to meet again the

following morning. Sometimes they were lulled to repose by the beating

of the rains, which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their cottages,

and sometimes by the hollow winds, which brought to their ear the

distant roar of the waves breaking upon the shore. They blessed God for

their own safety, the feeling of which was brought home more forcibly to

their minds by the sound of remote danger.

Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud some affecting history of the

Old or New Testament. Her auditors reasoned but little upon these sacred

volumes, for their theology centred in a feeling of devotion towards

the Supreme Being, like that of nature: and their morality was an active

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 holyday, 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, 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

labouring under dejection, the rest assembled around, and endeavoured

to banish her painful thoughts by amusing the mind rather than by grave

arguments against them. Each performed this kind office in their own

appropriate manner: Margaret, by her gaiety; Madame de la Tour, by the

gentle consolations of religion; Virginia, by her tender caresses; Paul,

by his frank and engaging cordiality. Even Mary and Domingo hastened

to offer their succour, and to weep with those that wept. Thus do weak

plants interweave themselves with each other, in order to withstand the

fury of the tempest.

During the fine season, they went every Sunday to the church of the

Shaddock Grove, the steeple of which you see yonder upon the plain. Many

wealthy members of the congregation, who came to church in palanquins,

sought the acquaintance of these united families, and 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

surrounding themselves with flatterers, and that every flatterer must

applaud alike all the actions of his patron, whether good or bad. On the

other hand, they avoided, with equal care, too intimate an 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 neighbours. Sometimes a person troubled in mind sought their

advice; sometimes a child begged them to its sick mother, in one of the

adjoining hamlets. They always took with them a few remedies for the

ordinary diseases of the country, which they administered in that

soothing manner which stamps a value upon the smallest favours. Above

all, they met with singular success in administrating to the disorders

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 medicines,--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

sea-shore, at the mouth of some little river, or rather mere brook. We

brought from home the provisions furnished us by our gardens, to which

we added those supplied us by the sea in abundant variety. We caught

on these shores the mullet, the roach, and the sea-urchin, lobsters,

shrimps, crabs, oysters, and all other kinds of shell-fish. In this

way, we often enjoyed the most tranquil pleasures in situations the most

terrific. Sometimes, seated upon a rock, under the shade of the velvet

sunflower-tree, we saw the enormous waves of the Indian Ocean break

beneath our feet with a tremendous noise. Paul, who could swim like a

fish, would advance on the reefs to meet the coming billows; then, at

their near approach, would run back to the beach, closely pursued by the

foaming breakers, which threw themselves, with a roaring noise, far on

the sands. But Virginia, at this sight, uttered piercing cries, and said

that such sports frightened her too much.

Other amusements were not wanting on these festive occasions. Our

repasts were generally followed by the songs and dances of the two young

people. Virginia sang the happiness of pastoral life, and the misery

of those who were impelled by avarice to cross the raging ocean, rather

than cultivate the earth, and enjoy its bounties in peace. Sometimes she

performed a pantomime with Paul, after the manner of the negroes. The

first language of man is pantomime: it is known to all nations, and is

so natural and expressive, that the children of the European inhabitants

catch it with facility from the negroes. Virginia, 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 neighbouring fountain, to draw water.

Domingo and Mary, personating the shepherds of Midian forbade her to

approach, and repulsed her sternly. Upon this Paul flew to her succour,

beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia's pitcher, and placing it upon

her heard, bound her brows at the same time with a wreath of the red

flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, which served to heighten the

delicacy of her complexion. Then joining in their sports, I took upon

myself the part of Raguel, and bestowed upon Paul, my daughter Zephora

in marriage.

Another time Virginia would represent the unhappy Ruth, returning poor

and widowed with her mother-in-law, who, after so prolonged an absence,

found herself as unknown as in a foreign land. Domingo and Mary

personated the reapers. The supposed daughter of Naomi followed their

steps, gleaning here and there a few ears of corn. When interrogated by

Paul,--a part which he performed with the gravity of a patriarch,--she

answered his questions with a faltering voice. He then, touched

with compassion, granted an asylum to innocence, and hospitality to

misfortune. He filled her lap with plenty; and, leading her towards us

as before the elders of the city, declared his purpose to take her

in marriage. At this scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling the desolate

situation in which she had been left by her relations, her widowhood,

and the kind reception she had met with from Margaret, succeeded now

by the soothing hope of a happy union between their children, could not

forbear weeping; and these mixed recollections of good and evil caused

us all to unite with her in shedding tears of sorrow and of joy.

These dramas were performed with such an air of reality that you

might have fancied yourself transported to the plains of Syria or of

Palestine. We were not unfurnished with decorations, lights, or an

orchestra, suitable to the representation. The scene was generally

placed in an open space of the forest, the diverging paths from which

formed around us numerous arcades of foliage, under which we were

sheltered from the heat all the middle of the day; but when the sun

descended towards the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of the

trees, darted amongst the 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 lustre of the topaz and the emerald. Their brown and

mossy trunks appeared transformed into columns of antique bronze; and

the birds, which had retired in silence to their leafy shades to pass

the night, surprised to see the radiance of a second morning, hailed the

star of day all together with innumerable carols.

Night often overtook us during these rural entertainments; but the

purity of the air and the warmth of the climate, admitted of our

sleeping in the woods, without incurring any danger by exposure to the

weather, and no less secure from the molestations of robbers. On our

return the following day to our respective habitations, we found them in

exactly the same state in which they had been left. In this island, then

unsophisticated by the pursuits of commerce, such were the honesty and

primitive manners of the population, that the doors of many houses were

without a key, and even a lock itself was an object of curiosity to not

a few of the native inhabitants.

There were, however, some days in the year celebrated by Paul and

Virginia in a more peculiar manner; these were the birth-days of their

mothers. Virginia never failed the day before to prepare some wheaten

cakes, which she distributed among a few poor white families, born

in the island, who had never eaten European bread. These unfortunate

people, uncared for by the blacks, were reduced to live on tapioca in

the woods; and as they had neither the insensibility which is the result

of slavery, nor the fortitude which springs from a liberal education,

to enable them to support their poverty, their situation was deplorable.

These cakes were all that Virginia had it in her power to give away, but

she conferred the gift in so delicate a manner as to add tenfold to

its value. In the first place, Paul was commissioned to take the cakes

himself to these families, and get their promise to come and spend the

next day at Madame de la Tour's. 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 refreshments, the excellence

of which she endeavoured to heighten by relating some particular

circumstance which in her own estimation, vastly improved them. One

beverage had been prepared by Margaret; another, by her mother: her

brother himself had climbed some lofty tree for the very fruit she was

presenting. She would then get Paul to dance with them, nor would she

leave them till she saw that they were happy. She wished them to partake

of the joy of her own family. "It is only," she said, "by promoting the

happiness of others, that we can secure our own." When they left, she

generally presented them with some little article they seemed to fancy,

enforcing their acceptance of it by some delicate pretext, that she

might not appear to know they were in want. If she remarked that their

clothes were much tattered, she obtained her mother's permission to

give them some of her own, and then sent Paul to leave them, secretly at

their cottage doors. She thus followed the divine precept,--concealing

the benefactor, and revealing only the benefit.

You Europeans, whose minds are imbued from infancy with prejudices at

variance with happiness, cannot imagine all the instruction and pleasure

to be derived from nature. Your souls, confined to a small sphere of

intelligence, soon reach the limit of its artificial enjoyments: but

nature and the heart are inexhaustible. Paul and Virginia had neither

clock, 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 conversation. "It is time to

dine," said Virginia, "the shadows of the plantain-trees are at their

roots:" or, "Night approaches, the tamarinds are closing their leaves."

"When will you come and see us?" inquired some of her companions in

the neighbourhood. "At the time of the sugar-canes," answered Virginia.

"Your visit will be then still more delightful," resumed her young

acquaintances. When she was asked what was her own age and that of

Paul,--"My brother," said she, "is as old as the great cocoa-tree of the

fountain; and I am as old as the little one: the mangoes have bore 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 doing good, and resigning themselves to the will of Heaven.

What need, indeed, had these young people of riches or learning such

as ours? Even their necessities and their ignorance increased their

happiness. No day passed in which they were not of some service to one

another, or in which they did not mutually impart some instruction. Yes,

instruction; for if errors mingled with it, they were, at least, not of

a dangerous character. A pure-minded being has none of that description

to fear. Thus grew these children of nature. No care had troubled their

peace, no intemperance had corrupted their blood, no misplaced passion

had depraved their hearts. Love, innocence, and piety, possessed their

souls; and those intellectual graces were unfolding daily in their

features, their attitudes, and their movements. Still in the morning of

life, they had all its blooming freshness: and surely such in the garden

of Eden appeared our first parents, when coming from the hands of God,

they first saw, and approached each other, and conversed together, like

brother and sister. 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 labour,--"When I am wearied, the

sight of you refreshes me. If from the summit of the mountain I perceive

you below in the valley, you appear to me in the midst of our orchard

like a blooming rose-bud. If you go towards our mother's house, the

partridge, when it runs to meet its young, has a shape less beautiful,

and a step less light. When I lose sight of you through the trees, I

have no need to see you in order to find you again. Something of you, I

know not how, remains for me in the air through which you have passed,

on the grass where you have been seated. When I come near you, you

delight all my senses. The azure of the sky is less charming than the

blue of your eyes, and the song of the amadavid bird less soft than the

sound of your voice. If I only touch you with the tip of my finger,

my whole frame trembles with pleasure. Do you remember the day when we

crossed over the great stones of the river of the Three Breasts? I was

very tired before we reached the bank: but, as soon as I had taken you

in my arms, I seemed to have wings like a bird. Tell me by what charm

you have thus enchanted me! Is it by your wisdom?--Our mothers have more

than either of us. Is it by your caresses?--They embrace me much oftener

than you. I think it must be by your goodness. I shall never forget how

you walked bare-footed to the Black River, to ask pardon for the poor

run-away 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 honey-comb too, which I have taken for

you from the top of a rock. But first lean on my bosom, and I shall be

refreshed."

Virginia would answer him,--"Oh, my dear brother, the rays of the sun in

the morning on the tops of the rocks give me less joy than the sight of

you. I love my mother,--I love yours; but when they call you their son,

I love them a thousand times more. When they caress you, I feel it more

sensibly than 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; for you, and for our

poor servants; but when I pronounce your name, my devotion seems to

increase;--I ask so earnestly of God that no harm may befall you! Why

do you go so far, and climb so high, to seek fruits and flowers for

me? Have we not enough in our garden already? How much you are

fatigued,--you look so warm!"--and with her little white handkerchief

she would wipe the damps from his face, and then imprint a tender kiss

on his forehead.

For some time past, however, Virginia had felt her heart agitated by

new sensations. Her beautiful blue eyes lost their lustre, her cheek

its freshness, and her frame was overpowered with a universal langour.

Serenity no longer sat upon her brow, nor smiles played upon her lips.

She would become all at once gay without cause for joy, and melancholy

without any subject for grief. She fled her innocent amusements, her

gentle toils, and even the society of her beloved family; wandering

about the most unfrequented parts of the plantations, and seeking every

where the rest which she could no where 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 endeavoured to soothe her by his embraces, but

she turned away her head, and fled, trembling towards her mother. The

caresses of her brother excited too much emotion in her agitated heart,

and she sought, in the arms of her mother, refuge from herself. Paul,

unused to the secret windings of the female heart, vexed himself in

vain in endeavouring to comprehend the meaning of these new and strange

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 prevails throughout almost the whole year,

no longer blew. Vast columns of dust arose from the highways, and hung

suspended in the air; the ground was every where broken into clefts;

the grass was burnt up; hot exhalations issued from the sides of

the mountains, and their rivulets, for the most part, became dry. No

refreshing cloud ever arose from the sea: fiery vapours, only, during

the day, ascended from the plains, and appeared, at sunset, like the

reflection of a vast conflagration. Night brought no coolness to

the heated atmosphere; and the red moon rising in the misty horizon,

appeared of supernatural magnitude. The drooping cattle, on the sides

of the hills, stretching out their necks towards heaven, and panting for

breath, made the valleys re-echo with their melancholy lowings: even the

Caffre by whom they were led threw himself upon the earth, in search of

some cooling moisture: but his hopes were vain; the scorching sun

had penetrated the whole soil, and the stifling atmosphere everywhere

resounded with the buzzing noise of insects, seeking to allay their

thirst with the blood of men and of animals.

During this sultry season, Virginia's restlessness and disquietude were

much increased. One night, in particular, being unable to sleep, she

arose from her bed, sat down, and returned to rest again; but could find

in no attitude either slumber or repose. At length she bent her way, by

the light of the moon, towards her fountain, and gazed at its spring,

which, notwithstanding the drought, still trickled, in silver threads

down the brown sides of the rock. She flung herself into the basin: its

coolness reanimated her spirits, and a thousand soothing remembrances

came to her mind. She recollected that in her infancy her mother and

Margaret had amused themselves by bathing her with Paul in this very

spot; that he afterwards, reserving this bath for her sole use, had

hollowed out its bed, covered the bottom with sand, and sown aromatic

herbs around its borders. She saw in the water, upon her naked arms and

bosom, the reflection of the two cocoa trees which were planted at her

own and her brother's birth, and which interwove above her head their

green branches and young fruit. She thought of Paul's friendship,

sweeter than the odour of the blossoms, purer than the waters of the

fountain, stronger than the intertwining 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,

wishing to reveal her sufferings, she pressed her mother's hand within

her own; more than once she was ready to pronounce the name of Paul: but

her oppressed heart left her lips no power of utterance, and, leaning

her head on her mother's bosom, she bathed it with her tears.

Madame de la Tour, though she easily discerned the source of her

daughter's uneasiness, did not think proper to speak to her on the

subject. "My dear child," said she, "offer up your supplications to God,

who disposes at his will of health and of life. He subjects you to trial

now, in order to recompense you hereafter. Remember that we are only

placed upon earth for the exercise of virtue."

The excessive heat in the meantime raised vast masses of vapour from the

ocean, which hung over the island like an immense parasol, and gathered

round the summits of the mountains. Long flakes of fire issued from time

to time from these mist-embosomed peaks. The most awful thunder soon

after re-echoed through the woods, the plains, and the valleys: the

rains fell from the skies in cataracts; foaming torrents rushed down the

sides of this mountain; the bottom of the valley became a sea, and the

elevated platform on which the cottages were built, a little island. The

accumulated waters, having no other outlet, rushed with violence through

the narrow gorge which leads into the valley, tossing and 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 of Madame de la Tour, the roof of which cracked

fearfully from the force of the winds. So incessant and vivid were the

lightnings, that although the doors and window-shutters were securely

fastened, every object without could be distinctly seen through

the joints in the wood-work! Paul, followed by Domingo, went with

intrepidity from one cottage to 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 southeast 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 assistance

of his arm; she accepted it with a smile, and they left the cottage

together. The air was clear and fresh: white vapours arose from the

ridges of the mountain, which was furrowed here and there by the courses

of torrents, marked in foam, and now beginning to dry up on all

sides. As for the garden, it was completely torn to pieces by deep

water-courses, the roots of most of the fruit trees were laid bare, and

vast heaps of sand covered the borders of the meadows, and had choked

up Virginia's bath. The two cocoa trees, however, were still erect, and

still retained their freshness; but they were no longer surrounded by

turf, or arbours, or birds, except a few amadavid birds, which, upon the

points of the neighbouring rocks, were lamenting, in plaintive notes,

the loss of their young.

At the sight of this general desolation, Virginia exclaimed to

Paul,--"You brought birds hither, and the hurricane has killed them.

You planted this garden, and it is now destroyed. Every thing 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 Saint Paul."

As soon as she had uttered the words, he flew in quest of it to his

mother's cottage. This picture was a miniature of Paul the Hermit, which

Margaret, who viewed it with feelings of great devotion, had worn at her

neck while a girl, and which, after she became a mother, she had placed

round her child's. It had even happened, that being, while pregnant,

abandoned by all the world, and constantly occupied in contemplating

the image of this benevolent recluse, her offspring had contracted some

resemblance to this revered object. She therefore bestowed upon him the

name of Paul, giving him for his patron a saint who had passed his life

far from mankind by whom he had been first deceived and then forsaken.

Virginia, on receiving this little present from the hands of Paul, said

to him, with emotion, "My dear brother, I will never part with this

while I live; nor will I ever forget that you have given me the only

thing you have in the world." At this tone of friendship,--this unhoped

for return of familiarity 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 understands the real nature of his feelings, yet

great care and watchfulness will be necessary. Under such circumstances,

it will be as well not to leave them too much together." Madame de la

Tour replied, "They are too young and too poor. What grief would it

occasion us to see Virginia bring into the world unfortunate children,

whom she would not perhaps have sufficient strength to 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 labour: at present you well know that we have

only sufficient to supply the wants of the day: but were we to send Paul

for a short time to the Indies, he might acquire, by commerce, the

means of purchasing some slaves; and at his return we could unite him to

Virginia; for I am persuaded no one on earth would render her so happy

as your son. We will consult our neighbour on this subject."

They accordingly asked my advice, which was in accordance with Madame

de la Tour's opinion. "The Indian seas," I observed to them, "are calm,

and, in choosing a favourable time of the year, the voyage out is seldom

longer than six weeks; and the same time may be allowed for the return

home. We will furnish Paul with a little venture from my neighbourhood,

where he is much beloved. If we were only to supply him with some raw

cotton, of which we make no use for want of mills to work it, some

ebony, which is here so common that it serves us for firing, and some

rosin, which is found in our woods, he would be able to sell those

articles, though 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 mention the

affair to Paul. But what was my surprise, when this young man said to

me, with a degree of good sense above his age, "And why do you wish me

to leave my family for this precarious pursuit of fortune? Is there any

commerce in the world more advantageous than the culture of the ground,

which yields sometimes fifty or a hundred-fold? If we wish to engage

in commerce, can we not do so by carrying our superfluities to the town

without my wandering to the Indies? Our mothers tell me, that Domingo

is old and feeble; but I am young, and gather strength every day. If

any accident should happen during my absence, above all to Virginia, who

already suffers--Oh, no, no!--I cannot resolve to leave them."

So decided an answer threw me into great perplexity, for Madame de la

Tour had not concealed from me the cause of Virginia's illness and want

of spirits, and her desire of separating these young people till they

were a few years older. I took care, however, not to drop any thing

which could lead Paul to suspect the existence of these motives.

About this period a ship from France brought Madame de la Tour a letter

from her aunt. The fear of death, without which hearts as insensible as

hers would never feel, had alarmed her into compassion. When she wrote

she was recovering from a dangerous illness, which had, however, left

her incurably languid and weak. She desired her niece to return to

France: or, if her health forbade her to undertake so long a voyage,

she begged her to send Virginia, on whom she promised to bestow a good

education, to procure for her a splendid marriage, and to leave

her heiress of her whole fortune. She concluded by enjoining strict

obedience to her will, in gratitude, she said, for her great kindness.

At the perusal of this letter general consternation spread itself

through the whole assembled party. Domingo and Mary began to weep.

Paul, motionless with surprise, appeared almost ready to burst with

indignation; while Virginia, fixing her eyes anxiously upon her mother,

had not power to utter a single word. "And can you now leave us?" cried

Margaret to Madame de la Tour. "No, my dear friend, no, my beloved

children," replied Madame de la Tour; "I will never leave you. I have

lived with you, and with you I will die. I have known no happiness but

in your affection. If my health be deranged, my past misfortunes are the

cause. My heart has been deeply wounded by the cruelty of my relations,

and by the loss of my beloved husband. But I have since found more

consolation and more real happiness with you in these humble huts, than

all the wealth of my family could now lead me to expect in my country."

At this soothing language every eye overflowed with tears of delight.

Paul, pressing Madame de la Tour in his arms, exclaimed,--"Neither will

I leave you! I will not go to the Indies. We will all labour for you,

dear mamma; and you shall never feel any want with us." But of the whole

society, the person who displayed the least transport, and who probably

felt the most, was Virginia; and during the remainder of the day, the

gentle gaiety which flowed from her heart, and proved that her peace of

mind was restored, completed the general satisfaction.

At sun-rise the next day, just as they had concluded offering up, as

usual, their morning prayer before breakfast, Domingo came to inform

them that a gentleman on horseback, followed by two slaves, was coming

towards the plantation. It was Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. He entered

the cottage, where he found the family at breakfast. Virginia had

prepared, according to the custom of the country, coffee, and rice

boiled in water. To these she had added hot yams, and fresh plantains.

The leaves of the plantain-tree, supplied the want of table-linen; and

calabash shells, split in two, served for cups. The governor exhibited,

at first, some astonishment at the homeliness of the dwelling; then,

addressing himself to Madame de la Tour, he observed, that although

public affairs drew his attention too much from the concerns of

individuals, she had many claims on his good offices. "You have an aunt

at Paris, madam," he added, "a woman of quality, and immensely rich, who

expects that you will hasten to see her, and who means to bestow upon

you her whole fortune." Madame de la Tour replied, that the state of her

health would not permit her to 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 rendering the inhabitants of this country happy, I expect

from your good sense the voluntary sacrifice of a few years, upon which

your daughter's establishment in the world, and the welfare of your

whole life 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, "is allotted by your aunt

to defray the outlay necessary for the equipment of the young lady for

her voyage." Gently reproaching Madame de la Tour for not having had

recourse to him in her difficulties, he extolled at the same time her

noble fortitude. Upon this Paul said to the governor,--"My mother did

apply to you, sir, and you received her ill."--"Have you another child,

madam?" said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to Madame de la Tour. "No, Sir,"

she replied; "this is the son of my friend; but he and Virginia are

equally dear to us, and we mutually consider them both as our own

children." "Young man," said the governor to Paul, "when you have

acquired a little more experience of the world, you will know that it

is the misfortune of people in place to be deceived, and 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 table, and breakfasted after the manner of the

Creoles, upon coffee, mixed with rice boiled in water. He was delighted

with the order and cleanliness which prevailed in the little cottage,

the harmony of the two interesting families, and the zeal of their old

servants. "Here," he exclaimed, "I discern only wooden furniture; but I

find serene countenances and hearts of gold." Paul, enchanted with the

affability of the governor, said to him,--"I wish to be your friend: for

you are a good man." Monsieur de la Bourdonnais received with pleasure

this insular compliment, 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 fortune, on account of the pain of being separated from her

daughter for a brief interval. "Your aunt," he added, "cannot live

more than two years; of this I am assured by her friends. Think of it

seriously. Fortune does not visit us every day. Consult your friends.

I am sure that every person of good sense will be of my opinion." She

answered, "that, as she desired no other happiness henceforth in the

world than in promoting that of her daughter, she hoped to be allowed to

leave her departure for France 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 took her daughter aside, and

said to her,--"My dear child, our servants are now old. Paul is still

very young, Margaret is advanced in years, and I am already infirm. If

I should die what would become of you, without fortune, in the midst

of these deserts? You would then be left alone, without any person who

could afford you much assistance, and would be obliged to labour

without ceasing, as a hired servant, in order to support your wretched

existence. This idea overcomes me with sorrow." Virginia answered,--"God

has appointed us to labour, 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 especially over the unfortunate. You have

told me this very often, my dear mother! I cannot resolve to leave you."

Madame de la Tour replied, with much emotion,--"I have no other aim than

to render you happy, and to marry you one day to Paul, who is not really

your brother. Remember then that his fortune depends upon you."

A young girl who is in love believes that every one else is ignorant of

her passion; she throws over her eyes the veil with which she covers the

feelings of her heart; but when it is once lifted by a friendly hand,

the hidden sorrows of her attachment escape as through a newly-opened

barrier, and the sweet outpourings of unrestrained confidence succeed

to her former mystery and reserve. Virginia, deeply affected by this new

proof of her mother's tenderness, related to her the cruel struggles

she had undergone, of which heaven alone had been witness; she saw,

she said, the hand of Providence in the assistance of an affectionate

mother, who approved of her 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 mistress is gained."

Virginia and her mother were sitting together by themselves the same

evening, when a tall man, dressed in a blue cassock, entered their

cottage. He was a missionary priest and the confessor of Madame de la

Tour and her daughter, who had now been sent to them by the governor.

"My children," he 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 Bourdonnais

has said to you, and what you have said in reply. Your health, dear

madam, obliges you to remain here; but you, young lady, are without

excuse. We must obey our aged relations, even when they are unjust.

A sacrifice is required of you; but it is the will of God. Our Lord

devoted himself for you; and you in imitation of his example, must give

up something for the welfare of your family. Your voyage to France will

end happily. You will surely consent to go, my dear young lady."

Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, 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 to request

me to come to her, that she might consult me respecting Virginia's

departure. I was not at all of opinion that she ought to go. I consider

it as a fixed principle of happiness, that we ought to prefer the

advantages of nature to those of fortune, and never go in search of that

at a distance, which we may find at home,--in our own bosoms. But what

could be expected from my advice, in opposition to the illusions of a

splendid fortune?--or from my simple reasoning, when in competition with

the prejudices of the world, and an authority held sacred by Madame de

la Tour? This lady indeed only consulted me out of politeness; she had

ceased to deliberate since she had heard the decision of her confessor.

Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the advantages she expected for

her son from the possession of Virginia's fortune, had hitherto opposed

her departure, made no further objections. As for Paul, in ignorance of

what had been determined, but alarmed at the secret conversations which

Virginia had been holding with her mother, he abandoned himself to

melancholy. "They are plotting something against me," cried he, "for

they conceal every thing from me."

A report having in the meantime been spread in the island that fortune

had visited these rocks, merchants of every description were seen

climbing their steep ascent. Now, for the first time, were seen

displayed in these humble huts the richest stuffs of India; the fine

dimity of Gondelore; the handkerchiefs of Pellicate and Masulipatan;

the plain, striped, and embroidered muslins of Dacca, so beautifully

transparent: the delicately white cottons of Surat, and linens of all

colours. They also brought with them the gorgeous silks of China,

satin damasks, some white, and others grass-green and bright red; pink

taffetas, with the profusion of satins and gauze of Tonquin, both plain

and decorated with flowers; soft pekins, downy as cloth; and white and

yellow nankeens, and the calicoes of Madagascar.

Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to purchase whatever she liked;

she only examined the goods, and inquired the price, to take care that

the dealers did not cheat her. Virginia made choice of everything she

thought would be useful or agreeable to her mother, or to Margaret and

her son. "This," said she, "will be wanted for furnishing the cottage,

and that will be very useful to Mary and Domingo." In short, the bag of

piastres was almost emptied before she even began to consider her own

wants; and she was obliged to receive back for her own use a share of

the presents which she had distributed among the family circle.

Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight of these gifts of fortune, which

he felt were a presage of Virginia's departure, came a few days after to

my dwelling. With an air of deep despondency he said to me--"My sister

is going away; she is already making preparations for her voyage. I

conjure you to come and exert your influence over her mother and

mine, in order to detain her here." I could not refuse the young man's

solicitations, although well convinced that my representations would be

unavailing.

Virginia had ever appeared to me charming when clad in the coarse

cloth of Bengal, with a red handkerchief tied round her head: you

may therefore imagine how much her beauty was increased, when she was

attired in the 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 with an expression

of melancholy; and the struggles of passion, with which her heart was

agitated, imparted a flush to her cheek, and to her voice a tone of deep

emotion. The contrast between her pensive look and her gay habiliments

rendered her more interesting than ever, nor was it possible to see or

hear her unmoved. Paul became more and more melancholy; and at length

Margaret, distressed at the situation of her son, took him aside and

said to him,--"Why, my dear child, will you cherish vain hopes, which

will only render your disappointment more bitter? It is time for me to

make known to you the secret of your life and of mine. Mademoiselle de

la Tour belongs, by her mother's side, to a rich and noble family, while

you are but the son of a poor peasant girl; and what is worse you are

illegitimate."

Paul, who had never heard this last expression before, inquired with

eagerness its meaning. His mother replied, "I was not married to your

father. When I was a girl, seduced by love, I was guilty of a weakness

of which you are the offspring. The consequence of my fault is, that you

are deprived of the protection of a father's family, and by my flight

from home you have also lost that of your mother's. Unfortunate child!

you have no relations 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 despises me!"

The hour of supper being arrived, we gathered round the table; but

the different sensations with which we were agitated left us little

inclination to eat, and the meal, if such it may be called, passed

in silence. Virginia was the first to rise; she went out, and seated

herself on the very spot where we now are. Paul hastened after her,

and sat down by her side. Both of them, for some time, kept a profound

silence. It was one of those delicious nights which are so common

between the tropics, and to the beauty of which no pencil can do

justice. The moon appeared in the midst of the firmament, surrounded

by a curtain of clouds, which was gradually unfolded by her beams. Her

light insensibly spread itself over the mountains of the island, and

their distant peaks glistened with a silvery green. The winds were

perfectly still. We heard among the woods, at the bottom of the valleys,

and on the summits of the rocks, the piping cries and the soft notes of

the birds, wantoning in their nests, and rejoicing in the 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 lurid

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 harbour

a light and a shadow; these were the watchlight and the hull of the

vessel in which she was to embark for Europe, and which, all ready for

sea, lay at anchor, waiting for a breeze. Affected at this sight, she

turned away her head, in order to hide her tears from Paul.

Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I, were seated at a little distance,

beneath the plantain-trees; and, owing to the stillness of the night, we

distinctly heard their conversation, which I have not forgotten.

Paul said to her,--"You are going away from us, they tell me, in three

days. You do not fear then to encounter the danger of the sea, at the

sight of which you are so much terrified?" "I must perform my duty,"

answered Virginia, "by obeying my parent." "You leave us," resumed

Paul, "for a distant relation, whom you have never seen." "Alas!" cried

Virginia, "I would have remained here my whole life, but my mother would

not have it so. My 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 severe one."

"What!" exclaimed Paul, "you could find so many reasons for going, and

not one for remaining here! Ah! there is one reason for your departure

that you have not mentioned. Riches have great attractions. You will

soon find in the new world to which you are going, 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 where will you form around you

a society more delightful to you than this, by 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 labour, let me go with you in the vessel in which you

are about to embark. I will sustain your spirits in the midst of those

tempests which terrify you so much even on shore. I will lay my head

upon your bosom: I will warm your heart upon my own; and in France,

where you are going in search of fortune and of grandeur, I will wait

upon you as your slave. Happy only in your happiness, you will find

me, in those palaces where I shall see you receiving the homage and

adoration of all, rich and noble enough to make you the greatest of all

sacrifices, by dying at your feet."

The violence of his emotions stopped his utterance, and we then heard

Virginia, who, in a voice broken by sobs, uttered these words:--"It is

for you that I go,--for you whom I see tired to death every day by the

labour of sustaining two helpless families. If I have accepted 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! if it were possible

for me still to have a brother, should I make choice of any other than

you? Oh, Paul, Paul! you are far dearer to me than a brother! How much

has it cost me to repulse you from me! Help me to tear myself from what

I value more than existence, till Heaven shall bless our union. But

I will stay or go,--I will live or die,--dispose of me as you will.

Unhappy that I am! I could have repelled your caresses; but I cannot

support your affliction."

At these words Paul seized her in his arms, and, holding her pressed

close to his bosom, cried, in a piercing tone, "I will go with

her,--nothing shall ever part us." We all ran towards him; and 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 another; we have said so a

thousand times; and now you would separate her from me!--you would send

her to Europe, that inhospitable country which refused you an asylum,

and to relations by whom you yourself were abandoned. You will tell me

that I have no right over her, and that she is not my sister. She is

everything to me;--my riches, my birth, my family,--all that I have! I

know no other. We have had but one roof,--one cradle,--and we will have

but one grave! If she goes, I will follow her. The governor will prevent

me! Will he prevent me from flinging myself into the sea?--will he

prevent me from following her by swimming? The sea cannot be more fatal

to me than the land. Since I cannot live with her, at least I will

die before her eyes, far from 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.