Paul and Virginia from the French of J.B.H. de Saint Pierre Part 3

"After breakfast, he took Madame de la Tour aside, and informed her that an opportunity presented itself of sending her daughter to France in a ship which was going to sail in a short time; that he would recommend her to a lady a relation of his own, who would be a pa.s.senger; and that she must not think of renouncing an immense fortune on account of bring separated from her daughter a few years. 'Your aunt,'he added, 'cannot live more than two years; of this I am a.s.sured by her friends. Think of it seriously. Fortune does not visit us every day. Consult your friends. Every person of good sense will be of my opinion.' She answered, 'that, desiring no other happiness henceforth in the world than that of her daughter, she would leave her departure for France entirely to her own inclination.

"Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an opportunity of separating Paul and Virginia for a short time, and provide, by this means, for their mutual felicity at a future period. She took her daughter aside, and said to her, 'My dear child, our servants are now old. Paul is still very young; Margaret is advanced in years, and I am already infirm. If I should die, what will become of you, without fortune, in the midst of these deserts?

You will then be left alone without any person who can afford you much succour, and forced to labour without ceasing, in order to support your wretched existence. This idea fills my soul with sorrow.' Virginia answered, 'G.o.d has appointed us to labour. You have taught me to labour, and to bless him every day. He never has forsaken us, he never will forsake us. His providence peculiarly watches the unfortunate. You have told me this often my dear mother! I cannot resolve to leave you.' Madame de la Tour replied, with much emotion, 'I have no other aim than to render you happy, and to marry you one day to Paul, who is not your brother. Reflect at present that his fortune depends upon you.'

"A young girl who loves believes that all the world is ignorant of her pa.s.sion; she throws over her eyes the veil which she has thrown over her heart; but when it is lifted up by some cherishing hand, the secret inquietudes of pa.s.sion suddenly burst their bounds, and the soothing overflowings of confidence succeed that reserve and mystery with which the oppressed heart had enveloped its feelings. Virginia, deeply affected by this new proof of her mother's tenderness, related to her how cruel had been those struggles which Heaven alone had witnessed; declared that she saw the succour of Providence in that of an affectionate mother, who approved of her attachment, and would guide her by her counsels; that, being now strengthened by such support, every consideration led her to remain with her mother, without anxiety for the present, and without apprehensions 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 will not any more constrain your inclination: deliberate at leisure, but conceal your feelings from Paul.'

"Towards evening, when Madame de la Tour and Virginia were again together, their confessor, who was a missionary in the island, entered the room, having been sent by the governor. 'My children,' he exclaimed, as he entered, 'G.o.d be praised!' you are now rich. You can now listen to the kind suggestion of your excellent hearts, and do good to the poor. I know what Monsieur de la Bourdonnais has said to you, and what you have answered.

Your health, dear Madam, obliges you to remain here: but you, young lady, are without excuse. We must obey the will of Providence; and we must also obey our aged relations, even when they are unjust. A sacrifice is required of you; but it is the order of G.o.d. He devoted himself for you: and you, in imitation of his example, must devote yourself for the welfare of your family. Your voyage to France will have a happy termination. You will surely consent to go, my dear young lady.'

"Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, trembling, 'If it be the command of G.o.d, I will not presume to oppose it. Let the will of G.o.d be done!' said she, weeping.

"The priest went away, and informed the governor of the success of his mission. In the meantime Madame de la Tour sent Domingo to desire I would come hither, that she might consult me upon Virginia's departure. I was of opinion that she ought not to go. I 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 in our own bosoms. But what could be expected from my moderate counsels, opposed to the illusions of a splendid fortune; and my simple reasoning, contradicted by the prejudices of the world, and an authority which Madame de la Tour held sacred? This lady had only consulted me from a sentiment of respect, and had, in reality, ceased to deliberate since she had heard the decision of her confessor. Margaret herself, who, notwithstanding the advantages she hoped for her son, from the possession of Virginia's fortune, had hitherto opposed her departure, made no further objections. As for Paul, ignorant of what was decided, and alarmed at the secret conversation which Madame de la Tour held with her daughter, he abandoned himself to deep melancholy. 'They are plotting something against my peace,'

cried he, 'since they are so careful of concealment.'

"A report having in the meantime been spread over the island, that fortune had visited those rocks, we beheld merchants of all kinds climbing their steep ascent, and displaying in those humble huts the richest stuffs of India. The fine dimity of Gondelore; the handkerchiefs of Pellicate and Mussulapatan; the plain, striped, and embroidered muslins of Decca, clear as the day. Those merchants unrolled the gorgeous silks of China, white satin damasks, others of gra.s.s-green, and bright red; rose-coloured taffetas, a profusion of satins, pelongs, and gauze of Tonquin, some plain, and some beautifully decorated with flowers; the soft pekins, downy like cloth; white and yellow nankeens, and the calicoes of Madagascar.

"Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to purchase every thing she liked; and Virginia made choice of whatever she believed would be agreeable to her mother, Margaret, and her son. 'This,' said she, 'will serve for furniture, and that will be useful to Mary and Domingo.' In short, the bag of piastres was emptied before she had considered her own wants; and she was obliged to receive a share of the presents which she had distributed to the family circle.

"Paul, penetrated with sorrow at the sight of those gifts of fortune, which he felt were the presage of Virginia's departure, came a few days after to my dwelling. With an air of despondency he said to me, 'My sister is going; they are already making preparations for her voyage. I conjure you to come and exert your influence over her mother and mine, in order to detain her here.' I could not refuse the young man's solicitations, although well convinced that my representations would be unavailing.

"If Virginia had appeared to me charming when clad in the blue cloth of Bengal, with a red handkerchief tied round her head, how much was her beauty improved, when decorated with the graceful ornaments worn by the ladies of this country! She was dressed in white muslin, lined with rose-coloured taffeta. Her small and elegant shape was displayed to advantage by her corset, and the lavish profusion of her light tresses were carelessly blended with her simple head-dress. Her fine blue eyes were filled with an expression of melancholy: and the struggles of pa.s.sion, with which her heart was agitated, flushed her cheek, and gave her voice a tone of emotion. The contrast between her pensive look and her gay habiliments rendered her more interesting than ever, nor was it possible to see or hear her unmoved. Paul became more and more melancholy; at length Margaret, distressed by the situation of her son, took him aside, and said to him, 'Why, my dear son, will you cherish vain hopes, which will only render your disappointment more bitter! It is time that I should make known to you the secret of your life and of mine. Mademoiselle de la Tour belongs, by her mother, to a rich and n.o.ble family, while you are but the son of a poor peasant girl; and, what is worse, you are a natural child.'

"Paul, who had never before heard this last expression, inquired with eagerness its meaning. His mother replied, 'You had no legitimate father.

When I was a girl, seduced by love, I was guilty of a weakness of which you are the offspring. My fault deprived you of the protection of a father's family, and my flight from home, of that of a mother's family. Unfortunate child! you have no relation in the world but me!' And she shed a flood of tears. Paul, pressing her in his arms, exclaimed, 'Oh, my dear mother!

since I have no relation in the world but you, I will love you still more!

But what a secret have you disclosed to me! I now see the reason why Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged herself from me for two months past, and why she has determined to go. Ah! I perceive too well that she despises me!'

"'The hour of supper being arrived, we placed ourselves at table; but the different sensations with which we were all agitated left us little inclination to eat, and the meal pa.s.sed in silence. Virginia first went out, and seated herself on the very spot where we now are placed. Paul hastened after her, and seated himself by her side. It was one of those delicious nights which are so common between the tropics, and the beauty of which no pencil can trace. The moon appeared in the midst of the firmament, curtained in clouds which her beams gradually dispelled. Her light insensibly spread itself over the mountains of the island, and their peaks glistened with a silvered green. The winds were perfectly still. We heard along the woods, at the bottom of the valleys, and on the summits of the rocks, the weak cry and the soft murmurs of the birds, exulting in the brightness of the night, and the serenity of the atmosphere. The hum of insects was heard in the gra.s.s. The stars sparkled in the heavens, and their trembling and lucid orbs were reflected upon the bosom of the ocean.

Virginia's eyes wandered over its vast and gloomy horizon, distinguishable from the bay of the island by the red fires in the fishing boat. She perceived at the entrance of the harbour a light and a shadow: these were the watch-light and the body of the vessel in which she was to embark for Europe, and which, ready to set sail, lay at anchor, waiting for the wind.

Affected at this sight, she turned away her head, in order to hide her tears from Paul.

"Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and myself were seated at a little distance beneath the plantain trees; and amidst the stillness of the night we distinctly heard their conversation, which I have not forgotten.

"Paul said to her, 'You are going, they tell me, in three days. You do not fear, then, to encounter the danger of the sea, at which you are so much terrified!' 'I must fulfil 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 my whole life here, but my mother would not have it so. My confessor told me that it was the will of G.o.d I should go, and that life was a trial!'

"'What,' exclaimed Paul, 'you have found so many reasons then for going, and not one for remaining here! Ah! there is one reason for your departure, which you have not 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 will 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 will you go in order to be happier? On what sh.o.r.e will you land which will be dearer to you than the spot which gave you birth? Where will you find a society more interesting to you than this by which you are so beloved? How will you bear to live without your mother's caresses, to which you are so accustomed?

What will become of her, already advanced in years, when she will no longer see you at her 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! I speak not to you of myself; but what will become of me, when in the morning I shall no more see you: when the evening will come and will not reunite us? When I shall gaze on the two palm trees, planted at our birth, and so long the witnesses of our mutual friendship? Ah; since a new destiny attracts you, since you seek in a country, distant from your own, other possessions than those which were the fruits of my labour, let me accompany you in the vessel in which you are going to embark. I will animate your courage in the midst of those tempests at which you are so terrified even on sh.o.r.e. I will lay your head on my bosom. I will warm your heart upon my own; and in France, where you go in search of fortune and of grandeur, I will attend you as your slave. Happy only in your happiness, you will find me in those palaces where I shall see you cherished and adored, at least sufficiently n.o.ble to make for you the greatest of all sacrifices, by dying at your feet.'

"The violence of his emotion stifled his voice, and we then heard that of Virginia, which, broken by sobs, uttered these words: 'It is for you I go: for you, whom I see every day bent beneath the labour of sustaining two infirm families. If I have accepted this opportunity of becoming rich, it is only to return you a thousandfold the good which you have done us. Is there any fortune worthy of your friendship? Why do you talk to me of your birth? Ah! if it were again possible to give me a brother, should I make choice of any other than you? Oh, Paul! Paul! you are far dearer to me than a brother! How much has it cost me to avoid you! Help me to tear myself from what I value more than existence, till Heaven can bless our union. But I will stay or go: I will live or die; dispose of me as you will. Unhappy, that I am! I could resist your caresses, but I am unable to support your affliction.'

"At these words Paul seized her in his arms, and, holding her pressed fast to his bosom, cried, in a piercing tone, 'I will go with her; nothing shall divide us.' We ran towards him, and Madame de la Tour said to him, 'My son, if you go, what will become of us?'

"He, trembling, repeated the words, 'My son:--My son'--You my mother,'

cried he; 'you, who would separate the brother from the sister! We have both been nourished at your bosom; we have both been reared upon your knees; we have learnt of you to love each other; we have said so a thousand times; and now you would separate her from me! You send her to Europe, that barbarous country which refused you an asylum, and to relations by whom you were abandoned. You will tell me that I have no right over her, and that she is not my sister. She is everything to me, riches, birth, family, my sole good; I know no other. We have had but one roof, one cradle, and we will have but one grave. If she goes, I will follow her. The governor will prevent me! Will he prevent me from flinging myself into the sea? Will he 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 compa.s.sion! May the ocean, to which you trust her, restore her to you no more! May the waves, rolling back our corpses amidst the stones of the 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 flashed fire, big drops of sweat hung upon his face, his knees trembled, and I felt his heart beat violently against his burning bosom.

"Virginia, affrighted, said to him, 'Oh, my friend, I call to witness the pleasures of our early age, your sorrow and my own, and every thing that can forever bind two unfortunate beings to each other, that if I remain, I will live but for you; that if I go, I will one day return to be yours. I call you all to witness, you who have reared my infancy, who dispose of my life, who see my tears. I swear by that Heaven which hears me, by the sea which I am going to pa.s.s, by the air I breathe, and which I never sullied by a falsehood.'

"As the sun softens and dissolves an icy rock upon the summit of the Apennines, so the impetuous pa.s.sions of the young man were subdued by the voice of her he loved. He bent his head, and a flood of tears fell from his eyes. His mother, mingling her tears with his, held him in her arms, but was unable to speak. Madame de la Tour, half distracted, said to me, 'I can bear this no longer. My heart is broken. This unfortunate Voyage shall not take place. Do take my son home with you. It is eight days since any one here has slept.'

"I said to Paul, 'My dear friend, your sister will remain. To-morrow we will speak to the governor; leave your family, to take some rest, and come and pa.s.s the night with me.'

"He suffered himself to be led away in silence; and, after a night of great agitation, he arose at break of day, and returned home.

"But why should I continue any longer the recital of this history? There is never but one aspect of human life which we can contemplate with pleasure.

Like the globe upon which we revolve, our fleeting course is but a day: and if one part of that day be visited by light, the other is thrown into darkness."

"Father," I answered, "finish, I conjure you, the history which you have begun in a manner so interesting. If the images of happiness are most pleasing, those of misfortune are more instructive. Tell me what became of the unhappy young man."

"The first object which Paul beheld in his way home was Mary, who, mounted upon a rock, was earnestly looking towards the sea. As soon as he perceived her, he called to her from a distance, 'Where is Virginia?' Mary turned her head towards her young master, and began to weep. Paul, distracted, and treading back his steps, ran to the harbour. He was there informed, that Virginia had embarked at break of day, that the vessel had immediately after set sail, and could no longer be discerned. He instantly returned to the plantation, which he crossed without uttering a word.

"Although the pile of rocks behind us appears almost perpendicular, those green platforms which separate their summits are so many stages by means of which you may reach, through some difficult paths, that cone of hanging and inaccessible rocks, called the Thumb. At the foot of that cone is a stretching slope of ground, covered with lofty trees, and which is so high and steep that it appears like a forest in air, surrounded by tremendous precipices. The clouds, which are attracted round the summit of those rocks, supply innumerable rivulets, which rush from so immense a height into that deep valley situated behind the mountain, that from this elevated point we do not hear the sound of their fall. On that spot you can discern a considerable part of the island with its precipices crowned with their majestic peaks; and, amongst others, Peterbath, and the three Peaks, with their valley filled with woods. You also command an extensive view of the ocean, and even perceive the Isle of Bourbon forty leagues towards the west. From the summit of that stupendous pile of rocks Paul gazed upon the vessel which had borne away Virginia, and which, now ten leagues out at sea, appeared like a black spot in the midst of the ocean. He remained a great part of the day with his eyes fixed upon this object: when it had disappeared, he still fancied he beheld it: and when, at length, the traces which clung to his imagination were lost amidst the gathering mists of the horizon, he seated himself on that wild point, for ever beaten by the winds, which never cease to agitate the tops of the cabbage and gum trees, and the hoa.r.s.e and moaning murmurs of which, similar to the distant sound of organs, inspire a deep melancholy. On that spot. I found Paul, with his head reclined on the rock, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. I had followed him since break of day, and after much importunity, I prevailed with him to descend from the heights, and return to his family. I conducted him to the plantation, where the first impulse of his mind, upon seeing Madame de la Tour, was to reproach her bitterly for having deceived him.

Madame de la Tour told us, that a favourable wind having arose at three o'clock in the morning, and the vessel being ready to set sail, the governor, attended by his general officers, and the missionary, had come with a palanquin in search of Virginia, and that, notwithstanding her own objections, her tears, and those of Margaret, all the while exclaiming that it was for the general welfare they had carried away Virginia almost dying.

'At least,' cried Paul, 'if I had bid her farewell, I should now be more calm. I would have said to her, Virginia, if, during the time we have lived together, one word may have escaped me which has offended you, before you leave me for ever, tell me that you forgive me. I would have said to her, since I am destined to see you no more, farewell, my dear Virginia, farewell! Live far from me, contented and happy!'

"When he saw that his mother and Madame de la Tour were weeping, 'You must now,' said he, 'seek some other than me to wipe away your tears;' and then, rushing out of the house, he wandered up and down the plantation. He flew eagerly to those spots which had been most dear to Virginia. He said to the goats and their kids which followed him, bleating, 'What do you ask of me?

You will see her no more who used to feed you with her own hand.' He went to the bower called the Repose of Virginia; and, as the birds flew around him, exclaimed, 'Poor little birds! you will fly no more to meet her who cherished you!' and observing Fidele running backwards and forwards in search of her, he heaved a deep sigh, and cried, 'Ah! you will never find her again.' At length he went and seated himself upon the rock where he had conversed with her the preceding evening; and at the view of the ocean, upon which he had seen the vessel disappear, which bore her away, he wept bitterly.

"We continually watched his steps, apprehending some fatal consequence from the violent agitation of his mind. His mother and Madame de la Tour conjured him, in the most tender manner, not to increase their affliction by his despair. At length Madame de la Tour soothed his mind by lavishing upon him such epithets as were best calculated to revive his hopes. She called him her son, her dear son, whom she destined for her daughter. She prevailed with him to return to the house, and receive a little nourishment. He seated himself with us at table, next to the place which used to be occupied by the companion of his childhood, and, as if she had still been present, he spoke to her, and offered whatever he knew was most agreeable to her taste; and then, starting from this dream of fancy, he began to weep. For some days he employed himself in gathering together every thing which had belonged to Virginia; the last nosegays she had worn, the cocoa sh.e.l.l in which she used to drink; and after kissing a thousand times those relics of his friend, to him the most precious treasures which the world contained, he hid them in his bosom. The spreading perfumes of the amber are not so sweet as the objects which have belonged to those we love. At length, perceiving that his anguish increased that of his mother and Madame de la Tour, and that the wants of the family required continual labour, he began, with the a.s.sistance of Domingo, to repair the garden.

"Soon after, this young man, till now indifferent as a Creole with respect to what was pa.s.sing in the world, desired I would teach him to read and write, that he might carry on a correspondence with Virginia. He then wished to be instructed in geography, in order that he might form a just idea of the country where she had disembarked; and in history, that he might know the manners of the society in which she was placed. The powerful sentiment of love, which directed his present studies, had already taught him the arts of agriculture, and the manner of laying out the most irregular grounds with advantage and beauty. It must be admitted, that to the fond dreams of this restless and ardent pa.s.sion, mankind are indebted for a great number of arts and sciences, while its disappointments have given birth to philosophy, which teaches us to bear the evils of life with resignation. Thus, nature having made love the general link which binds all beings, has rendered it the first spring of society, the first incitement of knowledge as well as pleasure.

"Paul found little satisfaction in the study of geography, which, instead of describing the natural history of each country, only gave a view of its political boundaries. History, and especially modern history, interested him little more. He there saw only general and periodical evils of which he did not discern the cause; wars for which there was no reason and no object; nations without principle, and princes without humanity. He preferred the reading of romances, which being filled with the particular feelings and interests of men, represented situations similar to his own.

No book gave him so much pleasure as Telemachus, from the pictures which it draws of pastoral life, and of those pa.s.sions which are natural to the human heart. He read aloud to his mother and Madame de la Tour those parts which affected him most sensibly, when, sometimes, touched by the most tender remembrances, his emotion choked his utterance, and his eyes were bathed in tears. He fancied he had found in Virginia the wisdom of Antiope, with the misfortunes and the tenderness of Eurcharis. With very different sensations he perused our fashionable novels, filled with licentious maxims and manners. And when he was informed that those romances drew a just picture of European society, he trembled, not without reason, lest Virginia should become corrupted, and should forget him.

"More than a year and a half had indeed pa.s.sed away before Madame de la Tour received any tidings of her daughter. During that period she had only accidentally heard that Virginia had arrived safely in France. At length a vessel, which stopped in its way to the Indies, conveyed to Madame de la Tour a packet, and a letter written with her own hand. Although this amiable young woman had written in a guarded manner, in order to avoid wounding the feelings of a mother, it was easy to discern that she was unhappy. Her letter paints so naturally her situation and her character, that I have retained it almost word for word.

"'My dear and beloved mother, I have already sent you several letters, written with my own hand but having received no answer, I fear they have not reached you. I have better hopes for this, from the means I have now taken of sending you tidings of myself, and of hearing from you. I have shed many tears since our separation; I, who never used to weep, but for the misfortunes of others! My aunt was much astonished, when, having, upon my arrival, inquired what accomplishments I possessed, I told her that I could neither read nor write. She asked me what then I had learnt since I came into the world; and, when I answered that I had been taught to take care of the household affairs, and obey your will, she told me that I had received the education of a servant. The next day she placed me as a boarder in a great abbey near Paris, where I have masters of all kinds, who teach me, among other things, history, geography, grammar, mathematics and riding. But I have so little capacity for all those sciences, that I make but small progress with my masters.

"'My aunt's kindness, however, does not abate towards me. She gives me new dresses for each season; and she has placed two waiting women with me, who are both dressed like fine ladies. She has made me take the t.i.tle of countess, but has obliged me to renounce the name of La Tour, which is as dear to me as it is to you, from all you have told me of the sufferings my father endured in order to marry you. She has replaced your name by that of your family, which is also dear to me, because it was your name when a girl. Seeing myself in so splendid a situation, I implored her to let me send you some a.s.sistance. But how shall I repeat her answer? Yet you have desired me always to tell you the truth. She told me then, that a little would be of no use to you, and that a great deal would only enc.u.mber you in the simple life you led.

"'I endeavoured, upon my arrival, to send you tidings of myself by another hand, but finding no person here in whom I could place confidence, I applied night and day to reading and writing; and Heaven, who saw my motive for learning, no doubt a.s.sisted my endeavours, for I acquired both in a short time. I entrusted my first letters to some of the ladies here, who, I have reason to think, carried them to my aunt. This time I have had recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I send you her direction, by means of which I shall receive your answer. My aunt has forbid my holding any correspondence whatever, which might, she says, be come an obstacle to the great views she has for my advantage. No person is allowed to see me at the grate but herself, and an old n.o.bleman, one of her friends, who, she says, is much pleased with me. I am sure I am not at all so with him; nor should I, even if it were possible for me to be pleased with any one at present.

"'I live in the midst of affluence, and have not a livre at my disposal.

They say I might make an improper use of money. Even my clothes belong to my waiting women who quarrel about them before I have left them off. In the bosom of riches, I am poorer than when I lived with you; for I have nothing to give. When I found that the great accomplishments they taught me would not procure me the power of doing the smallest good, I had recourse to my needle, of which happily you had learnt me the use. I send several pair of stockings of my own making for you and my mamma Margaret, a cap for Domingo, and one of my red handkerchiefs for Mary. I also send with this packet some kernels and seeds of various kinds of fruits, which I gathered in the fields. There are much more beautiful flowers in the meadows of this country than in ours, but n.o.body cares for them. I am sure that you and my mamma Margaret will be better pleased with this bag of seeds, than you were with the bag of piastres, which was the cause of our separation and of my tears. It will give me great delight if you should one day see apple-trees growing at the side of the plantain, and elms blending their foliage with our cocoa-trees. You will fancy yourself in Normandy, which you love so much.

"'You desired me to relate to you my joys and my griefs. I have no joys far from you. As for my griefs, I endeavour to soothe them by reflecting that I am in the situation in which you placed me by the will of G.o.d. But my greatest affliction is, that no one here speaks to me of you, and that I must speak of you to no one. My waiting women, or rather those of my aunt, for they belong more to her than to me, told me the other day, when I wished to turn the conversation upon the objects most dear to me, 'Remember, madam, that you are a Frenchwoman, and must forget that country of savages.' Ah! sooner will I forget myself than forget the spot on which I was born, and which you inhabit! It is this country which is to me a land of savages; for I live alone, having no one to whom I can impart, those feelings of tenderness for you which I shall bear with me to the grave.

'I am, 'My dearest and beloved mother, 'Your affectionate and dutiful daughter, 'VIRGINIA DE LA TOUR."

"'I recommend to your goodness Mary and Domingo, who took so much care of my infancy. Caress Fidele for me who found me in the wood.'

"Paul was astonished that Virginia had not said one word of him, she who had not forgotten even the house dog. But Paul was not aware that, however long may be a woman's letter, she always puts the sentiments most dear to her at the end.

"In a postscript, Virginia recommended particularly to Paul's care two kinds of seed, those of the violet and scabious. She gave him some instructions upon the nature of those plants, and the spots most proper for their cultivation. 'The first,' said she, 'produces a little flower of a deep violet, which loves to hide itself beneath the bushes, but is soon discovered by its delightful odours.' She desired those seeds might be sown along the borders of the fountain, at the foot of her cocoa tree. 'The scabious,' she added, 'produces a beautiful flower of a pale blue, and a black ground, spotted with white. You might fancy it was in mourning; and for this reason, it is called the widow's flower. It delights in bleak spots beaten by the winds.' She begged this might be sown upon the rock where she had spoken to him for the last time, and that, for her sake, he would henceforth give it the name of the Farewell Rock.