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 befell 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 the constellation of the Twins. At night
these infants often refused to be separated, and were found lying in the
same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms pressed close together, their
hands thrown round each other's neck, and sleeping, locked in one
another's arms.
When they began to speak, the first 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 everything 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 toward 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 inclosure 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 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 a darker tint; his nose more aquiline; and
his black eyes would have been too piercing, if the long eyelashes 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 mean time 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 will become of Virginia without fortune?"
Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, who was a woman of quality,
rich, old, and a complete devotee. She had behaved with so much cruelty
towards her niece upon her 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, and the birth of her daughter, and the difficulties in
which she was involved, burdened as she was with an infant, and without
means of support. She received no answer; but notwithstanding the high
spirit natural to her character, she no longer feared exposing herself
to mortification; and, although she knew her aunt would never pardon her
for having married a man who was not of noble birth, however estimable,
she continued to write to her, with the hope of awakening her compassion
for Virginia. Many years, 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 post-script, 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 will see what can be done--there are so many to
relieve--all in good time--why did you displease your aunt?--you have
been much to blame."
Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her heart torn with grief,
and filled with all the bitterness of 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, clasping his
hands together, and stamping with his foot, not knowing whom to blame
for this scene of misery. The noise soon brought Domingo and Mary to the
spot, and the little habitation resounded with cries of distress,--"Ah,
madam!--My good mistress!--My dear mother!--Do not weep!" These tender
proofs of affection at length dispelled the grief of Madame de la Tour.
She took Paul and Virginia in her arms, and, embracing them, said, "You
are the cause of my affliction, my children, but you are also my only
source of delight! Yes, my dear 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 as a
storm in the midst of fine weather, which disturbs the serenity of the
atmosphere but for a short time, and then passes away.
The amiable disposition of these children unfolded itself daily. One
Sunday, at daybreak, their mothers having gone to mass at the church of
the 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 remembrance of the benevolent action they had performed in the
morning: yet their joy was embittered by the thoughts of the uneasiness
which their long absence from home would occasion their mothers.
Virginia often recurred to this subject; but Paul, who 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 burden, and to rest himself by her side.
Virginia then said to him, "My dear brother the sun is going down; you
have still some strength left, but mine has quite failed: do leave me
here, and return home alone to ease the fears of our mothers."--"Oh no,"
said Paul, "I will not leave you; if night overtakes us in this wood I
will light a fire, and bring down another palm-tree: you shall eat the
cabbage, and I will form a covering of the leaves to shelter you." In
the mean time, 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 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 four good leagues from home. Come eat, and recover your strength."
Domingo then presented them with a cake, some fruit, and a large gourd
full of beverage composed of wine, water, lemon-juice, sugar, and
nutmeg, which their mothers had prepared to invigorate and refresh them.
Virginia sighed at the recollection of the poor slave, and at the
uneasiness they had given their mothers. She repeated several times,
"Oh, how difficult it is to do good!" While she and Paul were taking
refreshments, 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." While 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 the Shaddock Grove, indeed, would sometimes ask
the inhabitants of the plain, who lived in the cottages up there? and
was always told, even by those who did not know them, "They are good
people." The modest violet thus, 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 and green, together with date-palm trees, which produce
fruit filled with a sweet cream, possessing the fine perfume of the
orange flower. These trees, which had already attained to a considerable
size, he planted round their little enclosure. He had also sown the seed
of many trees which the second year bear flowers or fruit; such as the
agathis, 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 the air its grey 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 bordered the circumference. Thus this extensive inclosure
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 over-hanging 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 mold, and planted rose-bushes, the Barbadoes
flower-fence, and other shrubs which love to climb the rocks. In a short
time the dark and shapeless heaps of stones he had constructed were
covered with verdure, or with the glowing tints of the most beautiful
flowers. Hollow recesses on the 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 heat. 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 inclosure, 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 at 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 anything like the pleasure in
seeing a statue or other monument of ancient art, as in reading a
well-written inscription. It seems to me as if a human voice issued from
the stone, and, making itself heard after the lapse of ages, addressed
man in the midst of a desert, to tell him that he is not alone, and that
other men, on that very spot, had felt, and thought, 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 Helenæ, lucida sidera,
Ventorumque regat pater,
Obstrictis, aliis, præter 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 art thou, my son, in knowing only the pastoral divinities."
And over the door of Madame de la Tour's cottage, where the families so
frequently met, I placed this line:--
At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita.
"Here dwell a calm conscience, and a life that knows not deceit."
But Virginia did not approve of my Latin: she said, that what I had
placed at the foot of her flagstaff was too long and 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
everything 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
Foullepointe, 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 but called
into life by the many charming appellations thus bestowed upon them!
But perhaps the most delightful spot of this inclosure was that called
Virginia's resting-place. At the foot of the rock which bore the name of
the Discovery of Friendship, is a small crevice, whence issues a
fountain, forming, near its source, a little spot of marshy soil in the
middle of a field of rich grass. At the time of Paul's birth I had made
Margaret a present of an Indian cocoa which had been given me, and which
she planted on the border of this fenny ground, in order that the tree
might one day serve to mark the epoch of her son's birth. Madame de la
Tour planted another cocoa with the same view, at the birth of 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
ribbons 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 color of blood, and more resplendent than coral. Near them, the
herb balm, with its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet basil, which has
the 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 clothed the steep sides of the rock, and hung suspended by
one of its cornices, as on a pedestal. Paul, observing that Virginia was
fond of this spot, brought thither, from the neighbouring forest, a
great variety of birds' nests. The old birds following their young, soon
established themselves in this new colony. Virginia, at stated times,
distributed amongst them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As soon as
she appeared, the whistling blackbird, the amadavid bird, whose note is
so soft, the cardinal, with its flame-coloured plumage, forsook their
bushes; the paroquet, 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 costs any animal its life! Gourds full of milk, fresh eggs, cakes
of rice served up on plantain leaves, with baskets of mangoes, oranges,
dates, pomegranates, pine-apples, furnished a wholesome repast, the most
agreeable to the eye, as well as delicious to the taste, that can
possibly be imagined.
Like the repast, the conversation was mild, and free from everything
having a tendency to do harm. Paul often talked of the 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 sherbet and cordials from the
juice of the sugar-cane, the lemon and the citron.
When night came, they all supped together by the light of a lamp; after
which Madame de la Tour or Margaret related some story of 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 centered in a feeling of devotion towards
the Supreme Being, like that of nature; and their morality was an active
principle, like that of the Gospel. These families had no particular
days devoted to pleasure, and others to sadness. Every day was to them a
holiday, and all that surrounded them one holy temple, in which they
ever adored the Infinite Intelligence, the Almighty God, the friend of
human kind. A feeling of confidence in his supreme power filled their
minds with consolation for the past, 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 gayety; Madame de la Tour, by the
gentle consolations of religion; Virginia, by her tender caresses; Paul,
by his frank and engaging cordiality. Even Mary and Domingo hastened to
offer their 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 visit 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 administering 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 seashore
at the mouth of some little river, or rather mere brook. We brought from
home the provisions furnished us by our gardens, to which we added those
supplied us by the sea in abundant variety. We caught 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 tan-tam 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 head, bound her brows at the same time with a wreath of the
red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle, which served to heighten the
delicacy of her complexion. Then joining in their sports, I took upon
myself the part of Raguel, and 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 the second morning, hailed
the star of day all together with innumerable carols.
Night often overtook us during these rural entertainments; but the
purity of the air and the warmth of the climate, admitted of our
sleeping in the woods, without incurring any danger by exposure to the
weather, and no less secure from the molestation of robbers. On our
return the following day to our respective habitations, we found them in
exactly the same state in which they had been left. In this island, then
unsophisticated by the pursuits of commerce, such were the honesty and
primitive manners of the population, that the doors of many houses were
without a key, and even a lock itself was an object of curiosity to not
a few of the native inhabitants.
There were, however, some days in the years celebrated by Paul and
Virginia in a more peculiar manner; these were the birthdays of their
mothers. Virginia never failed the day before to prepare some wheaten
cakes, which she distributed among a few poor white 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.
Your Europeans, whose minds are imbued from infancy with prejudices at
variance with happiness, cannot imagine all the instruction and pleasure
to be derived from nature. Your souls, confined to a small sphere of
intelligence, soon 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 borne
fruit twelve times, and the orange-trees have flowered four-and-twenty
times, since I came into the world." Their lives seemed linked to that
of the trees, like those of Fauns or Dryads. They knew no other
historical epochs than those of the lives of their mothers, no other
chronology than that of their orchards, and no other philosophy than
that of doing good, and resigning themselves to the will of Heaven.
What need, indeed, had these young people of riches or learning such as
ours? 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 labor,--"When I am wearied, the
sight of you refreshes me. If from the summit of the mountain I perceive
you below in the valley, you appear to me in the midst of our orchard
like a blooming rosebud. 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 whereon 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 barefooted to the Black River, to ask pardon for the poor
runaway slave. Here, my beloved, take this flowering branch of a
lemon-tree, which I have gathered in the forest: you will let it remain
at night near your bed. Eat this honeycomb too, which I have taken for
you from the top of a rock. But first lean on my bosom, and I shall be
refreshed."
Virginia would answer him,--"Oh, my dear brother, the 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, 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 damp 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 languor.
Serenity no longer sat upon her brow, nor smiles played upon her lips.
She would become all at once gay without cause for joy, and melancholy
without any subject for grief. She fled her innocent amusements, her
gentle toils, and even the society of her beloved family; wandering
about the most unfrequented parts of the plantations, and seeking
everywhere the rest which she could nowhere find. Sometimes, at the
sight of Paul, she advanced sportively to meet him; but, when about to
accost him, was overcome by a sudden confusion; her pale cheeks were
covered with blushes, and her eyes no longer dared to meet those of her
brother. Paul said to her,--"The rocks are covered with verdure, our
birds begin to sing when you approach, everything around you is gay, and
you only are unhappy." He then 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 everywhere broken into clefts; the
grass was burnt up; hot exhalations issued from the sides of the
mountains, and their rivulets, for the most part, became dry. No
refreshing cloud ever arose from the sea: fiery vapours, only, during
the day, ascended from 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 mean time raised vast masses of vapor 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 woodwork! Paul, followed by Domingo, went with intrepidity
from one cottage to another, notwithstanding the fury of the tempest;
here supporting a partition with a buttress, there driving in a stake;
and only returning to the family to calm their fears, by the expression
of a hope that the storm was passing away. Accordingly, in the evening
the rains ceased, the trade-winds of the 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. Everything then upon earth
perishes, and it is only Heaven that is not subject to change."--"Why,"
answered Paul, "cannot I give you something that belongs to heaven? but
I have nothing of my own, even upon the earth." Virginia with a blush
replied, "You have the picture of St. Paul." As soon as she had 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 this 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.