Paul and Virginia from the French of J.B.H. de Saint Pierre Part 5

"The 24th of December, 1774, at break of day, Paul, when he arose, perceived a white flag hoisted upon the Mountain of Discovery, which was the signal of a vessel descried at sea. He flew to the town, in order to learn if this vessel brought any tidings of Virginia, and waited till the return of the pilot, who had gone as usual to visit the ship. The pilot brought the governor information that the vessel was the Saint Geran, of seven hundred tons, commanded by a captain of the name of Aubin; that the ship was now four leagues out at sea, and would anchor at Port Louis the following afternoon, if the wind was favourable: at present there was a calm. The pilot then remitted to the governor a number of letters from France, amongst which was one addressed to Madame de la Tour in the hand-writing of Virginia. Paul seized upon the letter, kissed it with transport, placed it in his bosom, and flew to the plantation. No sooner did he perceive from a distance the family, who were waiting his return upon the Farewell Rock, than he waved the letter in the air, without having the power to speak; and instantly the whole family crowded round Madame de la Tour to hear it read. Virginia informed her mother that she had suffered much ill treatment from her aunt, who, after having in vain urged her to marry against her inclination, had disinherited her; and at length sent her back at such a season of the year, that she must probably reach the Mauritius at the very period of the hurricanes. In vain, she added, she had endeavoured to soften her aunt, by representing what she owed to her mother, and to the habits of her early years: she had been treated as a romantic girl, whose head was turned by novels. At present she said she could think of nothing but the transport of again seeing and embracing her beloved family, and that she would have satisfied this dearest wish of her heart that very day, if the captain would have permitted her to embark in the pilot's boat; but that he had opposed her going, on account of the distance from the sh.o.r.e, and of a swell in the ocean, notwithstanding it was a calm.

"Scarcely was the letter finished, when the whole family, transported with joy repeated, 'Virginia is arrived!' and mistresses and servants embraced each other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul, 'My son, go and inform our neighbour of Virginia's arrival.' Domingo immediately lighted a torch, and he and Paul bent their way towards my plantation.

"It was about ten at night, and I was going to extinguish my lamp, when I perceived through the palisades of my hut a light in the woods. I arose, and had just dressed myself when Paul, half wild, and panting for breath, sprung on my neck, crying, 'Come along, come along. Virginia is arrived!

Let us go to the Port: the vessel will anchor at break of day.'

"We instantly set off. As we were traversing the woods of the Sloping Mountain, and were already on the road which leads from the Shaddock Grove to the Port, I heard some one walking behind us. When the person, who was a negro, and who advanced with hasty steps, had reached us, I inquired from whence he came, and whither he was going with such expedition. He answered, 'I come from that part of the island called Golden Dust, and am sent to the Port, to inform the governor, that a ship from France has anch.o.r.ed upon the island of Amber, and fires guns of distress, for the sea is very stormy.'

Having said this, the man left us, and pursued his journey.

"'Let us go,' said I to Paul, 'towards that part of the island, and meet Virginia. It is only three leagues from hence.' Accordingly we bent our course thither. The heat was suffocating. The moon had risen, and it was encompa.s.sed by three large black circles. A dismal darkness shrouded the sky; but the frequent flakes of lightning discovered long chains of thick clouds, gloomy, low hung, and heaped together over the middle of the island, after having rolled with great rapidity from the ocean, although we felt not a breath of wind upon the land. As we walked along we thought we heard peals of thunder; but, after listening more attentively, we found they were the sound of distant cannon repeated by the echoes. Those sounds, joined to the tempestuous aspect of the heavens, made me shudder. I had little doubt that they were signals of distress from a ship in danger. In half an hour the firing ceased, and I felt the silence more appalling than the dismal sounds which had preceded.

"We hastened on without uttering a word, or daring to communicate our apprehensions. At midnight we arrived on the sea sh.o.r.e at that part of the island. The billows broke against the beach with a horrible noise, covering the rocks and the strand with their foam of a dazzling whiteness, and blended with sparks of fire. By their phosphoric gleams we distinguished, notwithstanding the darkness, the canoes of the fishermen, which they had drawn far upon the sand.

"Near the sh.o.r.e, at the entrance of a wood, we saw a fire, round which several of the inhabitants were a.s.sembled. Thither we repaired, in order to repose ourselves till morning. One of the circle related, that in the afternoon he had seen a vessel driven towards the island by the currents; that the night had hid it from his view; and that two hours after sun-set he had heard the firing of guns in distress; but that the sea was so tempestuous, no boat could venture out; that a short time after, he thought he perceived the glimmering of the watch-lights on board the vessel, which he feared, by its having approached so near the coast, had steered between the main land and the little island of Amber, mistaking it for the point of Endeavour, near which the vessels pa.s.s in order to gain Port Louis. If this was the case, which, however, he could not affirm, the ship he apprehended was in great danger. Another islander then informed us, that he had frequently crossed the channel which separates the isle of Amber from the coast, and which he had sounded; that the anchorage was good, and that the ship would there be in as great security as if it were in harbour. A third islander declared it was impossible for the ship to enter that channel, which was scarcely navigable for a boat. He a.s.serted that he had seen the vessel at anchor beyond the isle of Amber; so that if the wind arose in the morning, it could either put to sea or gain the harbour. Different opinions were stated upon this subject, which, while those indolent Creoles calmly discussed, Paul and I observed a profound silence. We remained on this spot till break of day, when the weather was too hazy to admit of our distinguishing any object at sea, which was covered with fog. All we could descry was a dark cloud, which they told us was the isle of Amber, at the distance of a quarter of a league from the coast. We could only discern on this gloomy day the point of the beach where we stood, and the peaks of some mountains in the interior part of the island, rising occasionally from amidst the clouds which hung around them.

"At seven in the morning we heard the beat of drums in the woods; and soon after the governor, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, arrived on horseback, followed by a detachment of soldiers armed with muskets, and a great number of islanders and blacks. He ranged his soldiers upon the beach, and ordered them to make a general discharge, which was no sooner done, than we perceived a glimmering light upon the water, which was instantly succeeded by the sound of a gun. We judged that the ship was at no great distance, and ran towards that part where we had seen the light. We now discerned through the fog the hull and tackling of a large vessel; and notwithstanding the noise of the waves, we were near enough to hear the whistle of the boatswain at the helm, and the shouts of the mariners. As soon as the Saint Geran perceived that we were enough to give her succour, she continued to fire guns regularly at the interval of three minutes.

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais caused great fires to be lighted at certain distances upon the strand, and sent to all the inhabitants of that neighbourhood, in search of provisions, planks, cables, and empty barrels.

A crowd of people soon arrived, accompanied by their negroes, loaded with provisions and rigging. One of the most aged of the planters approaching the governor, said to him, 'We have heard all night hoa.r.s.e noises in the mountain, and in the forests: the leaves of the trees are shaken, although there is no wind: the sea birds seek refuge upon the land: it is certain that all those signs announce a hurricane.' 'Well, my friends,' answered the governor, 'we are prepared for it: and no doubt the vessel is also.'

"Every thing, indeed, presaged the near approach of the hurricane. The centre of the clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, while their skirts were fringed with a copper hue. The air resounded with the cries of the frigate bird, the cur water, and a mult.i.tude of other sea birds, who, notwithstanding the obscurity of the atmosphere, hastened from all points of the horizon to seek for shelter in the island.

"Towards nine in the morning we heard on the side of the ocean the most terrific noise, as if torrents of water, mingled with thunder, were rolling down the steeps of the mountains. A general cry was heard of, 'There is the hurricane!' and in one moment a frightful whirlwind scattered the fog which had covered the Isle of Amber and its channel. The Saint Geran then presented itself to our view, her gallery crowded with people, her yards and main topmast laid upon the deck, her flag shivered, with four cables at her head, and one by which she was held at the stern. She had anch.o.r.ed between the Isle of Amber and the main land, within that chain of breakers which encircles the island, and which bar she had pa.s.sed over, in a place where no vessel had ever gone before. She presented her head to the waves which rolled from the open sea; and as each billow rushed into the straits, the ship heaved, so that her keel was in air; and at the same moment her stern, plunging into the water, disappeared altogether, as if it were swallowed up by the surges. In this position, driven by the winds and waves towards the sh.o.r.e, it was equally impossible for her to return by the pa.s.sage through which she had made her way; or, by cutting her cables, to throw herself upon the beach, from which she was separated by sand banks, mingled with breakers. Every billow which broke upon the coast advanced roaring to the bottom of the bay, and threw planks to the distance of fifty feet upon the land; then rushing back, laid bare its sandy bed, from which it rolled immense stones, with a hoa.r.s.e dismal noise. The sea, swelled by the violence of the wind, rose higher every moment; and the channel between this island the Isle of Amber was but one vast sheet of white foam, with yawning pits of black deep billows. The foam boiling in the gulf was more than six feet high: and the winds which swept its surface, bore it over the steep coast more than half a league upon the land. Those innumerable white flakes, driven horizontally as far as the foot of the mountain, appeared like snow issuing from the ocean, which was now confounded with the sky.

Thick clouds, of a horrible form, swept along the zenith with the swiftness of birds, while others appeared motionless as rocks. No spot of azure could be discerned in the firmament; only a pale yellow gleam displayed the objects of earth sea, and skies.

"From the violent efforts of the ship, what we dreaded happened. The cables at the head of the vessel were torn away; it was then held by one anchor only, and was instantly dashed upon the rocks, at the distance of half a cable's length from the sh.o.r.e. A general cry of horror issued from the spectators. Paul rushed towards the sea, when, seizing him by the arm, I exclaimed, 'Would you perish?'--'Let me go to save her,' cried he, 'or die!' Seeing that despair deprived him of reason, Domingo and I, in order to preserve him, fastened a long cord round his waist, and seized hold of each end. Paul then precipitated himself towards the ship, now swimming, and now walking upon the breakers. Sometimes he had the hope of reaching the vessel, which the sea, in its irregular movements, had left almost dry, so that you could have made its circuit on foot; but suddenly the waves advancing with new fury, shrouded it beneath mountains of water, which then lifted it upright upon its keel. The billows at the same moment threw the unfortunate Paul far upon the beach, his legs bathed in blood, his bosom wounded, and himself half dead. The moment he had recovered his senses, he arose, and returned with new ardour towards the vessel, the planks of which now yawned asunder from the violent strokes of the billows. The crew, then despairing of their safety, threw themselves in crowds into the sea, upon yards, planks, hencoops, tables, and barrels. At this moment we beheld an object fitted to excite eternal sympathy; a young lady in the gallery of the stern of the Saint Geran, stretching out her arms towards him who made so many efforts to join her. It was Virginia. She had discovered her lover by his intrepidity. The sight of this amiable young woman, exposed to such horrible danger, filled us with unutterable despair. As for Virginia, with a firm and dignified mien, she waved her hand, as if bidding us an eternal farewell. All the sailors had flung themselves into the sea, except one, who still remained upon the deck, and who was naked, and strong as Hercules. This man approached Virginia with respect, and, kneeling at her feet attempted to force her to throw off her clothes; but she repulsed him with modesty, and turned away her head. Then was heard redoubled cries from the spectators, 'Save her! Save her! Do not leave her!' But at that moment a mountain billow, of enormous magnitude, ingulfed itself between the Isle of Amber and the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, towards which it rolled bellowing, with its black sides and foaming head. At this terrible sight the sailor flung himself into the sea; and Virginia seeing death inevitable, placed one hand upon her clothes, the other on her heart, and lifting up her lovely eyes, seemed an angel prepared to take her flight to heaven.

"Oh, day of horror! Alas! every thing was swallowed up by the relentless billows. The surge threw some of the spectators far upon the beach, whom an impulse of humanity prompted to advance towards Virginia, and also the sailor who had endeavoured to save her life. This man, who had escaped from almost certain death, kneeling on the sand, exclaimed, 'Oh, my G.o.d! thou hast saved my life, but I would have given it willingly for that poor young woman!'

"Domingo and myself drew Paul senseless to the sh.o.r.e, the blood flowing from his mouth and ears. The governor put him into the hands of a surgeon, while we sought along the beach for the corpse of Virginia. But the wind having suddenly changed, which frequently happens during hurricanes, our search was in vain; and we lamented that we could not even pay this unfortunate young woman the last sad sepulchral duties.

"We retired from the spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our minds wholly occupied by one cruel loss, although numbers had perished in the wreck.

Some of the spectators seemed tempted, from the fatal destiny of this virtuous young woman, to doubt the existence of Providence. Alas! there are in life such terrible, such unmerited evils, that even the hope of the wise is sometimes shaken.

"In the meantime, Paul, who began to recover his senses, was taken to a house in the neighbourhood, till he was able to be removed to his own habitation. Thither I bent my way with Domingo, and undertook the sad task of preparing Virginia's mother and her friend for the melancholy event which had happened. When we reached the entrance of the valley of the river of Fan-Palms, some negroes informed us that the sea had thrown many pieces of the wreck into the opposite bay. We descended towards it; and one of the first objects which struck my sight upon the beach was the corpse of Virginia. The body was half covered with sand, and in the att.i.tude in which we had seen her perish. Her features were not changed; her eyes were closed, her countenance was still serene; but the pale violets of death were blended on her cheek with the blush of virgin modesty. One of her hands was placed upon her clothes: and the other, which she held on her heart, was fast closed, and so stiffened, that it was with difficulty I took from its grasp a small box. How great was my emotion, when I saw it contained the picture of Paul; which she had promised him never to part with while she lived! At the sight of this last mark of the fidelity and tenderness of the unfortunate girl, I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he beat his breast, and pierced the air with his cries. We carried the body of Virginia to a fisher's hut, and gave it in charge to some poor Malabar women, who carefully washed away the sand.

"While they were employed in this melancholy office, we ascended with trembling steps to the plantation. We found Madame de la Tour and Margaret at prayer, while waiting for tidings from the ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me coming, she eagerly cried, 'Where is my child, my dear child?'

My silence and my tears apprised her of her misfortune. She was seized with convulsive stiflings, with agonizing pains, and her voice was only heard in groans. Margaret cried, 'Where is my son? I do not see my son!' and fainted. We ran to her a.s.sistance. In a short time she recovered, and being a.s.sured that her son was safe, and under the care of the governor, she only thought of succouring her friend, who had long successive faintings. Madame de la Tour pa.s.sed the night in sufferings so exquisite, that I became convinced there was no sorrow like a mother's sorrow. When she recovered her senses, she cast her languid and steadfast looks on heaven. In vain her friend and myself pressed her hands in ours: in vain we called upon her by the most tender names; she appeared wholly insensible; and her oppressed bosom heaved deep and hollow moans.

"In the morning Paul was brought home in a palanquin. He was now restored to reason but unable to utter a word. His interview with his mother and Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded, produced a better effect than all my cares. A ray of consolation gleamed upon the countenances of those unfortunate mothers. They flew to meet him, clasped him in their arms, and bathed him with tears, which excess of anguish had till now forbidden to flow. Paul mixed his tears with theirs; and nature having thus found relief, a long stupor succeeded the convulsive pangs they had suffered, and gave them a lethargic repose like that of death.

"Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprise me secretly that the corpse of Virginia had been borne to the town by his order, from whence it was to be transferred to the church of the Shaddock Grove. I hastened to Port Louis, and found a mult.i.tude a.s.sembled from all parts, in order to be present at the funeral solemnity, as if the whole island had lost its fairest ornament. The vessels in the harbour had their yards crossed, their flags hoisted, and fired guns at intervals. The grenadiers led the funeral procession, with their muskets reversed, their drums m.u.f.fled, and sending forth slow dismal sounds. Eight young ladies of the most considerable families of the island, dressed in white, and bearing palms in their hands, supported the pall of their amiable companion, which was strewed with flowers. They were followed by a band of children chanting hymns, and by the governor, his field officers, all the princ.i.p.al inhabitants of the island, and an immense crowd of people.

"This funeral solemnity had been ordered by the administration of the country, who were desirous of rendering honours to the virtue of Virginia.

But when the progression arrived at the foot of this mountain, at the sight of those cottages, of which she had long been the ornament and happiness, and which her loss now filled with despair, the funeral pomp was interrupted, the hymns and anthems ceased, and the plain resounded with sighs and lamentations. Companies of young girls ran from the neighbouring plantations to touch the coffin of Virginia with their scarfs, chaplets, and crowns of flowers, invoking her as a saint. Mothers asked of heaven a child like Virginia; lovers, a heart as faithful; the poor, as tender a friend; and the slaves, as kind a mistress.

"When the procession had reached the place of interment, the negresses of Madagascar, and the caffres of Mosambiac, placed baskets of fruit around the corpse, and hung pieces of stuff upon the neighbouring trees, according to the custom of their country. The Indians of Bengal, and of the coast of Malabar, brought cages filled with birds, which they set at liberty upon her coffin. Thus did the loss of this amiable object affect the natives of different countries, and thus was the ritual of various religions breathed over the tomb of unfortunate virtue.

"She was interred near the church of the Shaddock Grove, upon the western side, at the foot of a copse of bamboos, where, in coming from ma.s.s with her mother and Margaret, she loved to repose herself, seated by him whom she called her brother.

"On his return from the funeral solemnity, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais came hither, followed by part of his numerous train. He offered Madame de la Tour and her friend all the a.s.sistance which it was in his power to bestow.

After expressing his indignation at the conduct of her unnatural aunt, he advanced to Paul, and said every thing which he thought most likely to soothe and console him. 'Heaven is my witness,' said he, 'that I wished to ensure your happiness, and that of your family. My dear friend, you must go to France: I will obtain a commission for you, and during your absence will take the same care of your mother as if she were my own.' He then offered him his hand; but Paul drew away, and turned his head, unable to bear his sight.

"I remained at the plantation of my unfortunate friends, that I might render to them and Paul those offices of friendship which soften, though they cannot cure, calamity. At the end of three weeks Paul was able to walk, yet his mind seemed to droop in proportion as his frame gathered strength. He was insensible to every thing; his look was vacant; and when spoken to, he made no reply. Madame de la Tour, who was dying, said to him often, 'My son, while I look at you, I think I see Virginia.' At the name of Virginia he shuddered, and hastened from her, notwithstanding the entreaties of his mother, who called him back to her friend. He used to wander into the garden, and seat himself at the foot of Virginia's cocoa tree, with his eyes fixed upon the fountain. The surgeon to the governor, who had shown the most humane attention to Paul, and the whole family, told us that, in order to cure that deep melancholy which had taken possession of his mind, we must allow him to do whatever he pleased, without contradiction, as the only means of conquering his inflexible silence.

"I resolved to follow this advice. The first use which Paul made of his returning strength was to absent himself from the plantation. Being determined not to lose sight of him, I set out immediately, and desired Domingo to take some provisions and accompany us. Paul's strength and spirits seemed renewed as he descended the mountain. He took the road of the Shaddock Grove; and when he was near the church, in the Alley of Bamboos, he walked directly to the spot where he saw some new-laid earth, and there kneeling down, and raising up his eyes to heaven, he offered up a long prayer, which appeared to me a symptom of returning reason; since this mark of confidence in the Supreme Being showed that his mind began to resume its natural functions. Domingo and I followed his example, fell upon our knees, and mingled our prayers with his. When he arose, he bent his way, paying little attention to us, towards the northern part of the island. As we knew that he was not only ignorant of the spot where the body of Virginia was laid, but even whether it had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from the waves, I asked him why he had offered up his prayer at the foot of those bamboos.

He answered, 'We have been there so often!' He continued his course until we reached the borders of the forest, when night came on. I prevailed with him to take some nourishment; and we slept upon the gra.s.s, at the foot of a tree. The next day I thought he seemed disposed to trace back his steps; for, after having gazed a considerable time upon the church of the Shaddock Grove with its avenues of bamboo stretching along the plain, he made a motion as if he would return; but, suddenly plunging into the forest, he directed his course to the north. I judged what was his design, from which I endeavoured to dissuade him in vain. At noon he arrived at that part of the island called the Gold Dust. He rushed to the seash.o.r.e, opposite to the spot where the Saint Geran perished. At the sight of the Isle of Amber and its channel, then smooth as a mirror, he cried, 'Virginia! Oh, my dear Virginia!' and fell senseless. Domingo and myself carried him into the woods, where we recovered him with some difficulty. He made an effort to return to the seash.o.r.e; but, having conjured him not to renew his own anguish and ours by those cruel remembrances, he took another direction.

During eight days he sought every spot where he had once wandered with the companion of his childhood. He traced the path by which she had gone to intercede for the slave of the Black River. He gazed again upon the banks of the Three Peaks, where she had reposed herself when unable to walk further, and upon that part of the wood where they lost their way. All those haunts, which recalled the inquietudes, the sports, the repasts, the benevolence of her he loved, the river of the Sloping Mountain, my house, the neighbouring cascade, the papaw tree she had planted, the mossy downs where she loved to run, the openings of the forest where she used to sing, called forth successively the tears of hopeless pa.s.sion; and those very echoes which had so often resounded their mutual shouts of joy, now only repeated those accents of despair, 'Virginia! Oh, my dear Virginia!'

"While he led this savage and wandering life, his eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin a.s.sumed a yellow tint, and his health rapidly decayed.

Convinced that present sufferings are rendered more acute by the bitter recollection of past pleasures, and that the pa.s.sions gather strength in solitude, I resolved to tear my unfortunate friend from those scenes which recalled the remembrance of his loss, and to lead him to a more busy part of the island. With this view, I conducted him to the inhabited heights of Williams, which he had never visited, and where agriculture and commerce ever occasioned much bustle and variety. A crowd of carpenters were employed in hewing down the trees, while others were sawing planks.

Carriages were pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing on the roads. Numerous herds of oxen and troops of horses were feeding on those ample meadows, over which a number of habitations were scattered. On many spots the elevation of the soil was favourable to the culture of European trees: ripe corn waved its yellow sheaves upon the plains: strawberry plants flourished in the openings of the woods, and hedges of rose bushes along the roads. The freshness of the air, by giving a tension to the nerves, was favourable to the Europeans. From those heights, situated near the middle of the island, and surrounded by extensive forests, you could neither discern Port Louis, the church of the Shaddock Grove, nor any other object which could recall to Paul the remembrance of Virginia. Even the mountains, which appear of various shapes on the side of Port Louis, present nothing to the eye from those plains but a long promontory, stretching itself in a straight and perpendicular line, from whence arise lofty pyramids of rocks, on the summits of which the clouds repose.

"To those scenes I conducted Paul, and kept him continually in action, walking with him in rain and sunshine, night and day, and contriving that he should lose himself in the depths of forests, leading him over untilled grounds, and endeavouring, by violent fatigue, to divert his mind from its gloomy meditations, and change the course of his reflections, by his ignorance of the paths where we wandered. But the soul of a lover finds everywhere the traces of the object beloved. The night and the day, the calm of solitude, and the tumult of crowds, time itself, while it casts the shade of oblivion over so many other remembrances, in vain would tear that tender and sacred recollection from the heart, which, like the needle, when touched by the loadstone, however it may have been forced into agitation, it is no sooner left to repose, than it turns to the pole by which it is attracted. When I inquired of Paul, while we wandered amidst the plains of Williams, 'Where are we now going?' he pointed to the north and said, 'Yonder are our mountains; let us return.'

"Upon the whole, I found that every means I took to divert his melancholy was fruitless, and that no resource was left but an attempt to combat his pa.s.sion by the arguments which reason suggested. I answered him, 'Yes, there are the mountains where once dwelt your beloved Virginia; and this is the picture you gave her, and which she held, when dying, to her heart; that heart, which even in her last moments only beat for you.' I then gave Paul the little picture which he had given Virginia at the borders of the cocoa tree fountain. At this sight a gloomy joy overspread his looks. He eagerly seized the picture with his feeble hands, and held it to his lips.

His oppressed bosom seemed ready to burst with emotion, and his eyes were filled with tears which had no power to flow.

"'My son,' said I, 'listen to him who is your friend, who was the friend of Virginia, and who, in the bloom of your hopes, endeavoured to fortify your mind against the unforeseen accidents of life. What do you deplore with so much bitterness? Your own misfortunes, or those of Virginia? Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. You have lost the most amiable of women: she who sacrificed her own interests to yours, who preferred you to all that fortune could bestow, and considered you as the only recompense worthy of her virtues. But might not this very object, from whom you expected the purest happiness, have proved to you a source of the most cruel distress?

She had returned poor, disinherited; and all you could henceforth have partaken with her was your labours: while rendered more delicate by her education, and more courageous by her misfortunes, you would have beheld her every day sinking beneath her efforts to share and soften your fatigues. Had she brought you children, this would only have served to increase her inquietudes and your own, from the difficulty of sustaining your aged parents and your infant family. You will tell me, there would have been reserved to you a happiness independent of fortune, that of protecting a beloved object, which attaches itself to us in proportion to its helplessness; that your pains and sufferings would have served to endear you to each other, and that your pa.s.sion would have gathered strength from your mutual misfortunes. Undoubtedly virtuous love can shed a charm over pleasures which are thus mingled with bitterness. But Virginia is no more; yet those persons still live, whom, next to yourself, she held most dear; her mother, and your own, whom your inconsolable affliction is bending with sorrow to the grave. Place your happiness, as she did hers, in affording them succour. And why deplore the fate of Virginia? Virginia still exists. There is he a.s.sured, a region in which virtue receives its reward. Virginia now is happy. Ah! if, from the abode of angels, she could tell you, as she did when she bid you farewell. 'O, Paul! life is but a trial. I was faithful to the laws of nature, love, and virtue. Heaven found I had fulfilled my duties, and has s.n.a.t.c.hed me for ever from all the miseries I might have endured myself, and all I might have felt for the miseries of others. I am placed above the reach of all human evils, and you pity me! I am become pure and unchangeable as a particle of light, and you would recall me to the darkness of human life! O, Paul! O, my beloved friend! recollect those days of happiness, when in the morning we felt the delightful sensations excited by the unfolding beauties of nature; when we gazed upon the sun, gilding the peaks of those rocks, and then spreading his rays over the bosom of the forests.

"'How exquisite were our emotions while we enjoyed the glowing colours of the opening day, the odours of our shrubs, the concerts of our birds! Now, at the source of beauty, from which flows all that is delightful upon earth, my soul intuitively sees, tastes, hears, touches, what before she could only be made sensible of through the medium of our weak organs. Ah!

what language can describe those sh.o.r.es of eternal bliss which I inhabit for ever? All that infinite power and celestial bounty can confer, that harmony which results from friendship with numberless beings, exulting in the same felicity, we enjoy in unmixed perfection. Support, then the trial which is allotted you, that you may heighten the happiness of your Virginia by love which will know no termination, by hymeneals which will be immortal. There I will calm your regrets, I will wipe away your tears. Oh, my beloved friend! my husband! raise your thoughts towards infinite duration, and bear the evils of a moment.'

"My own emotion choked my utterance. Paul, looking's at me stedfastly, cried, 'She is no more! She is no more!' and a long fainting fit succeeded that melancholy exclamation. When restored to himself, he said, 'Since death is a good, and since Virginia is happy, I would die too, and be united to Virginia.' Thus the motives of consolation I had offered, only served to nourish his despair. I was like a man who attempts to save a friend sinking in the midst of a flood, and refusing to swim. Sorrow had overwhelmed his soul. Alas! the misfortunes of early years prepare man for the struggles of life: but Paul had never known adversity.

"I led him back to his own dwelling, where I found his mother and Madame de la Tour in a state of increased languor, but Margaret drooped most. Those lively characters upon which light afflictions make a small impression, are least capable of resisting great calamities.

"'O, my good friend,' said Margaret, 'me-thought, last night, I saw Virginia dressed in white, amidst delicious bowers and gardens. She said to me, 'I enjoy the most perfect happiness;' and then approaching Paul, with a smiling air, she bore him away. While I struggled to retain my son, I felt that I myself was quitting the earth, and that I followed him with inexpressible delight. I then wished to bid my friend farewell, when I saw she was hastening after me with Mary and Domingo. But what seems most strange is, that Madame de la Tour has this very night had a dream attended with the same circ.u.mstances.'

"'My dear friend,' I replied, 'nothing, I believe, happens in this world without the permission of G.o.d. Dreams sometimes foretell the truth.'

"Madame de la Tour related to me her dream, which was exactly similar; and, as I had never observed in either of those persons any propensity to superst.i.tion, I was struck with the singular coincidence of their dreams, which, I had little doubt, would soon be realized.

"What I expected took place. Paul died two months after the death of Virginia, whose name dwelt upon his lips even in his expiring moments.

Eight days after the death of her son, Margaret saw her last hour approach with that serenity which virtue only can feel. She bade Madame de la Tour the most tender farewell, 'in the hope,' she said, 'of a sweet and eternal reunion. Death is the most precious good,' added she, 'and we ought to desire it. If life be a punishment we should wish for its termination; if it be a trial, we should be thankful that it is short.'

"The governor took care of Domingo and Mary, who were no longer able to labour, and who survived their mistresses but a short time. As for poor Fidele, he pined to death, at the period he lost his master.

"I conducted Madame de la Tour to my dwelling, and she bore her calamities with elevated fort.i.tude. She had endeavoured to comfort Paul and Margaret till their last moments, as if she herself had no agonies to bear. When they were no more, she used to talk of them as of beloved friends, from whom she was not distant. She survived them but one month. Far from reproaching her aunt for those afflictions she had caused, her benign spirit prayed to G.o.d to pardon her, and to appease that remorse which the consequences of her cruelty would probably awaken in her breast.

"I heard, by successive vessels which arrived from Europe, that this unnatural relation, haunted by a troubled conscience, accused herself continually of the untimely fate of her lovely niece, and the death of her mother, and became at intervals bereft of her reason. Her relations, whom she hated, took the direction of her fortune, after shutting her up as a lunatic, though she possessed sufficient use of her reason to feel all the pangs of her dreadful situation, and died at length in agonies of despair.

"The body of Paul was placed by the side of his Virginia, at the foot of the same shrubs; and on that hallowed spot the remains of their tender mothers, and their faithful servants, are laid. No marble covers the turf, no inscription records their virtues; but their memory is engraven upon our hearts, in characters, which are indelible; and surely, if those pure spirits still take an interest in what pa.s.ses upon earth, they love to wander beneath the roofs of these dwellings, which are inhabited by industrious virtue, to console the poor who complain of their destiny, to cherish in the hearts of lovers the sacred flame of fidelity, to inspire a taste for the blessing of nature, the love of labour, and the dread of riches.

"The voice of the people, which is often silent with regard to those monuments raised to flatter the pride of kings, has given to some parts of this island names which will immortalize the loss of Virginia. Near the Isle of Amber, in the midst of sandbanks, is a spot called the Pa.s.s of Saint Geran, from the name of the vessel which there perished. The extremity of that point of land, which is three leagues distant, and half covered by the waves, and which the Saint Geran could not double on the night preceding the huricane, is called the Cape of Misfortune; and before us, at the end of the valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, where Virginia was found buried in the sand; as if the waves had sought to restore her corpse to her family, that they might render it the last sad duties on those sh.o.r.es of which her innocence had been the ornament.

"Ye faithful lovers, who were so tenderly united! unfortunate mothers!

beloved family! those woods which sheltered you with their foliage, those fountains which flowed for you, those hillocks upon which you reposed, still deplore your loss! No one has since presumed to cultivate that desolated ground, or repair those fallen huts. Your goats are become wild, your orchards are destroyed, your birds are fled, and nothing is heard but the cry of the sparrowhawk, who skims around the valley of rocks. As for myself, since I behold you no more, I am like a father bereft of his children, like a traveller who wanders over the earth, desolate and alone."