 Introduction of Paul and Virginia by Bernard Yandusien-Pierre This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Alice Kristoff. Paul and Virginia by Bernard Yandusien-Pierre Preface In introducing to the public the present edition of this well-known and affecting tale, the shade over of its gifted author, the publishers take occasion to say that it affords them no little gratification to apprise the numerous admirers of Paul and Virginia that the entire work of Saint-Pierre is now presented to them. All the previous editions have been disfigured by interpolations and mutilated by numerous omissions and alterations, which have had the effect of reducing it from the rank of a philosophical tale to the level of a mere story for children. Of the merits of Paul and Virginia it is hardly necessary to utter a word. It tells its own story eloquently and impressively and in a language simple, natural and true, it touches the common heart of the world. There are but few works that have obtained a greater degree of popularity and none are more deserving it. And the publishers cannot therefore refrain from expressing a hope that their efforts in thus giving a faithful transcript of the work, unacknowledged classic by the European world, may be in some degree instrumental in awakening here, at home, a taste for those higher works of fancy which, while they seek to elevate and strengthen the understanding, instruct and purify the heart. It is in this character that the tale of Paul and Virginia ranks preeminent. Prepared from an edition published by Porter & Coates, Philadelphia, the United States of America. Memoir of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. Love of Nature. That strong feeling of enthusiasm which leads to profound admiration of the whole works of creation belongs, it may be presumed, to a certain peculiarity of organization and has no doubt existed in different individuals from the beginning of the world. The old poets and philosophers, romance writers and troubadours had all looked upon nature with observing and admiring eyes. They have most of them given incidentally charming pictures of spring, of the setting sun, of particular spots and of favorite flowers. There are few writers of note of any country or of any age from whom quotations might not be made in proof of the love with which they regarded nature. And this remark applies as much to religious and philosophic writers as to poets. Equally to Plato, Saint-François de Sales, Bacon and Fenelon, has to Shakespeare, Racine, Calderon or Burns. For from no really philosophic or religious doctrine can the love of the works of nature be excluded. But before the days of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Buffon and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, this love of nature had not been expressed in all its intensity, until their day it had not been written on exclusively. The lovers of nature were not, till then, as they may perhaps since be considered a sect apart. Though perfectly sincere in all the adorations they offered, they were less entirely and certainly less diligently and constantly her adorers. It is the great praise of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre that coming immediately after Rousseau and Buffon and being one of the most proficient writers of the same school, he was in no degree their imitator, but perfectly original and new. He intuitively perceived the immensity of the subject he intended to explore and has told us that no day of his life passed without his collecting some valuable materials for his writings. In the divine works of nature, he diligently sought to discover her laws. It was his early intention not to begin to write until he had ceased to observe. But he found observation endless, and that he was like a child who with a shell digs a hole in the sand to receive the waters of the ocean. He elsewhere humbly says that not only the general history of nature, but even that of the smallest plant was far beyond his ability. Before, however, speaking further of him as an author, it will be necessary to recapitulate the chief events of his life. Henri-Jacques Bernardin du Saint-Pierre was born at Havre in 1737. He always considered himself descended from that yestache du Saint-Pierre, who is said by Freud-Sa, and believed by Freud-Sa only, to have so generously offered himself as a victim to appease the wrath of Edward III against Calais. He, with his companions in virtue, it is also said, was saved by the intercession of Queen Philippa. In one of his smarter works, Bernardin asserts this descent, and it was certainly one of which he might be proud. Many anecdotes are related of his childhood, indicative of the youthful author, of his strong love of nature, and his humanity to animals. That the child his father of the man has been seldom more strongly illustrated. There is a story of a cat, which, when related by him many years afterwards to Rousseau, caused that philosopher to shed tears. At eight years of age, he took the greatest pleasure in the regular culture of his garden, and possibly then stored up some of the ideas which afterwards appeared in the Frazier. His sympathy with all living things was extreme. In Paul and Virginia he praises with evident satisfaction their meal of milk and eggs, which had not cost any animal its life. It has been remarked, and possibly with truth, that every tenderly disposed heart deeply imbued with the love of nature is at times somewhat Brahminical. St. Pierre certainly was. When quite young, he advanced with a clenched fist towards a carter who was ill-treating a horse, and when taken for the first time by his father to Rouen, having the towers of the cathedral pointed out to him, he exclaimed, My God, how high they fly! Everyone present naturally laughed. Bernardin had only noticed the flight of some swallows who had built their nets there. He thus early revealed those instincts which afterwards became the guidance of his life, the strength of which possibly occasioned his too great indifference to all monuments of art. The love of study and of solitude were also characteristics of his childhood. His temper is said to have been moody, impetuous and intractable. Whether this faulty temper may not have been produced or rendered worse by mismanagement cannot be ascertained. It undoubtedly became afterwards to St. Pierre a fruitful source of misfortune and of woe. The reading of voyages was with him even in childhood almost a passion. At 12 years of age, his whole soul was occupied by Robinson Crusoe and his island. His romantic love of adventure seeming to his parents to announce a predilection in favour of the sea, he was sent by them with one of his uncles to Martinique. But St. Pierre had not successfully practised the virtue of obedience to submit, as was necessary, to the discipline of a ship. He was afterwards placed with a jesuary dot com, with whom he made immense progress in his studies. But it is to be feared he did not conform too well to the regulations of the college, for he conceived from that time the greatest detestation for places of public education. And this aversion he has frequently testified in his writings. While devoted to his books of travels, he in turn anticipated being a jesuit, a missionary or a martyr. But his family at length succeeded in establishing him at Rouen, where he completed his studies with brilliant success in 1757. He soon after obtained a commission as an engineer with a salary of 100 Louis. In this capacity he was sent 1760 to Düsseldorf under the command of Count Saint-Germain. This was a career in which he might have acquired both honour and fortune. But most unhappily for St. Pierre, he looked upon the useful and necessary etiquettes of life as so many unworthy prejudices. Instead of comforting to them, he sought to trample on them. In addition, he winced some disposition to rebel against his commander and was unsocial with his equals. It is not therefore to be wondered at that at this unfortunate period of his existence, he made himself enemies. Or that, notwithstanding his great talents or the coolness he had exhibited in moments of danger, he should have been sent back to France. Unwelcome, under these circumstances to his family, he was ill-received by all. It is a lesson yet to be learned that genius gives no charter for the indulgence of error, a truth yet to be remembered, that only a small portion of the world will look with leniency on the failings of the highly gifted, and that from themselves the consequences of their own actions can never be averted. It is yet alas to be added to the convictions of the ardent in mind that no degree of excellence in science or literature, not even the immortality of a name, can exempt its possessor from obedience to moral discipline, or give him happiness unless tempersimage be stamped on his daily words and actions. St. Pierre's life was sadly embittered by his own conduct. The adventurous life he led after his return from Düsseldorf, some of the circumstances of which exhibited him in an unfavorable light to others, tended, perhaps, to tinge his imagination with that wild and tender melancholy soul prevalent in his writings. A price to the lottery had just doubled his very slender means of existence when he obtained the appointment of geographical engineer and was sent to Malta. The knights of the Order were at this time expecting to be attacked by the Turks. Having already been in the service, it was singular that St. Pierre should have had the imprudence to sail without his commission. He thus subjected himself to a thousand disagreeables, for the officers would not recognize him as one of themselves. The effects of their neglect on his mind were tremendous. His reason for a time seemed almost disturbed by the modifications he suffered. After receiving an insufficient indemnity for the expenses of his voyage, St. Pierre returned to France, there to endure fresh misfortunes. Not being able to obtain any assistance from the ministry or his family, he resolved on giving lessons in the mathematics. But St. Pierre was less adapted than most others for succeeding in the apparently easy, but really ingenious and difficult art of teaching. When education is better understood, it will be more generally acknowledged that to impart instruction with success, a teacher must possess deeper intelligence than is implied by the profoundest skill in any one branch of science or of art. All minds, even to the youngest, require, while being taught, the utmost compliance and consideration. And these qualities can scarcely be properly exercised without a true knowledge of the human heart, united to much practical patience. St. Pierre, at this period of his life, certainly did not possess them. It is probable that Rousseau, when he attempted in his youth to give lessons in music, not knowing anything whatever of music, was scarcely less fitted for the task of instruction than St. Pierre with all his mathematical knowledge. The pressure of poverty drove him to Holland. He was well received in Amsterdam by a French refugee named Mastel, who edited a popular journal there, and who procured him with handsome remuneration. St. Pierre did not, however, remain long satisfied with this quiet mode of existence. Allured by the encouraging reception given by Catherine II to foreigners, he set out for St. Petersburg. Here, until he obtained the protection of the Marshal de Munich and the friendship of Duval, he had again to contend with poverty. The latter generously opened to him his purse, and by the Marshal he was introduced to Villabois, the Grandmaster of artillery, and by him presented to the Empress. St. Pierre was so handsome that by some of his friends it was supposed, perhaps, to hoped that he would supersede Orlov in the favour of Catherine. But more honourable illusions, though they were but illusions, occupied his own mind. He neither sought nor wished to captivate the Empress. His ambition was to establish a republic on the shores of the leaked Oral, of which in imitation of Plato or Rousseau he was to be the legislator. Preoccupied with the reformation of despotism, he did not sufficiently look into his own heart or seek to avoid a repetition of the same errors that had already changed friends into enemies and being such a terrible barrier to his success in life. His mind was already morbid, and in fancying that others did not understand him, he forgot that he did not understand others. The Empress, with a rank of captain, bestowed on him a grant of 1500 francs. But when General Dubu Square proposed to take him with him to examine the military position of Finland, his only anxiety seemed to be to return to France. Still, he went to Finland, and his own notes of his occupations and experiments on that expedition prove that he gave himself up in all diligence to considerations of attack and defence. He, who loved nature so intently, seems only to have seen in the extensive and majestic forests of the north a theatre of war. In this instance, he appears to have stifled every emotion of admiration and to have beheld alike cities and countries in his character of military surveyor. On his return to St. Petersburg, he found his protector Villabouard disgraced. Sampier then resolved on espousing the cause of the Poles. He went into Poland with a high reputation that of having refused the favours of despotism to aid the cause of liberty. But it was his private life, rather than his public career, that was affected by his residence in Poland. The Princess Mary fell in love with him, and, forgetful of all considerations, quitted her family to reside with him. Yielding, however, at length to the entreaties of her mother, she returned to her home. Sampier, billed with regret, resorted to Vienna. But unable to support the sadness which oppressed him and imagining that sadness to be shared by the Princess, he soon went back to Poland. His return was still more sad than his departure, for he found himself regarded by her, who had once loved him, as an intruder. It is to this attachment he eludes so touchingly in one of his letters. Adieu, friends dearer than the treasures of India. Adieu, forests of the North, that I shall never see again. Tender friendship and a still dearer sentiment which surpassed it. Days of intoxication and of happiness. Adieu. We live but for a day, to die during a whole life. This letter appears to one of Sampier's most partial biographers, as if steeped in tears, and he speaks of his romantic and unfortunate adventure in Poland as the ideal of a poet's love. To be, says M. Sampier, a great poet and loved before he had thought of glory, to exhale the first perfume of a soul of genius believing himself only a lover, to reveal himself for the first time entirely, but in mystery. In his enthusiasm, M. Sampier loses sight of the melancholy sequel which must have left so sad a remembrance in Sampier's own mind. His suffering, from this circumstance, may perhaps have conduced to his making Virginia so good and true and so incapable of giving pain. In 1766 he returned to Harvard, but his relations were by this time dead or dispersed, and after six years of exile he found himself once more in his own country, without employment and destitute of pecuniary resources. The Baron de Bretui at length obtained for him a commission as engineer to the Isle of France, whence he returned in 1771. In this interval his heart and imagination doubtless received the germs of his immortal works. Many of the events, indeed, of the voyage Alile de France, are to be found modified by imagined circumstances in Paul and Virginia. He returned to Paris poor in purse, but rich in observation and mental resources, and resolved to devote himself to literature. By the Baron de Bretui, he was recommended to de Lambeau, who procured a publisher for his voyage and also introduced him to Mademoiselle de l'Espinaise, but no one, in spite of his great beauty, was so ill-calculated to shine or please in society as Saint-Pierre. His manners were timid and embarrassed, and unless to those with whom he was very intimate, he scarcely appeared intelligent. It is sad to think that misunderstanding should prevail to such an extent and had so seldom really speak to heart in the intercourse of the world that the most humane may appear cruel and the sympathizing indifferent. Judging of Mademoiselle de l'Espinaise from her letters and the testimony of her contemporaries, it seems quite impossible that she could have given pain to anyone, more particularly to a man, possessing Saint-Pierre's extraordinary talent and profound sensibility. Both she and de Lambeau were capable of appreciating him, but the society in which they moved laughed at his timidity and the tone of railery in which they often indulged was not understood by him. It is certain that he withdrew from their circle with wounded and mortified feelings, and in spite of an explanatory letter from de Lambeau did not return to it. The inflictors of all this pain in the meantime were possibly as unconscious of the meaning attached to their words as were the birds of old of the augury drawn from their flight. Saint-Pierre, in his préambule de l'Arcadie, has pathetically and eloquently described the deplorable state of his health and feelings after frequent humiliating disputes and disappointments had driven him from society, or rather, when, like Rousseau, he was self-banished from it. I was struck, he says, with an extraordinary melody, streams of fire, like lightning flashed before my eyes. Every object appeared to me double or in motion. Like Idipus, I saw two suns. In the finest day of summer, I could not cross the Seine in a boat without experiencing intolerable anxiety. If in a public garden I merely passed by a piece of water, I suffered from spasms and a feeling of horror. I could not cross a garden in which many people were collected. If they looked at me, I immediately imagined they were speaking ill of me. It was during this state of suffering that he devoted himself with ardour to collecting and making use of materials for that work which was to give glory to his name. It was only by perseverance and disregarding many rough and discouraging receptions that he succeeded in making acquaintance with Rousseau, whom he so much resembled. Saint-Pierre devoted himself to his society with enthusiasm, visiting him frequently and constantly, till Rousseau departed for Armenonville. It is not unworthy of remark, but both these men, such enthusiastic admirers of nature and the natural in all things, should have possessed factitious rather than practical virtue and a wisdom wholly unfitted for the world. Saint-Pierre asked Rousseau in one of their frequent rambles if in delineating Saint-Pierre he had not intended to represent himself. No, replied Rousseau, Saint-Pierre is not what I have been, but what I wished to be. Saint-Pierre would most likely have given the same answer, had a similar question been put to him with regard to the kernel in Paul and Virginia. This at least appears the sort of old age he loved to contemplate and wished to realize. For six years he worked at his etudes and with some difficulty found a publisher for them. Monsieur D'Ido, a celebrated typographer whose daughter Saint-Pierre afterwards married, consented to print a manuscript which had been declined by many others. He was well rewarded for the undertaking. The success of the etudes de la nature surpassed the most sanguine expectation even of the author. Four years after his publication Saint-Pierre gave to the world Paul and Virginia, which had for some time been lying in his portfolio. He had tried its effect in manuscript on persons of different characters and pursuits. They had given it no applause, but all had shed tears at its perusal. And perhaps few works of a decidedly romantic character have ever been so generally read or so much approved. Among the great names whose admiration of it is on record may be mentioned Napoleon and Humboldt. In 1789 he published L'Hurx d'en Solitaire and La Suite d'Hurx. By the monitor of the day these works were compared to the celebrated pamphlet of Sier, Qu'est-ce que l'utilisateur, which then absorbed all the public favour. In 1791 La Chemière indienne was published, and in the following year, about 13 days before the celebrated 10th of August, Louis XVI appointed Saint-Pierre superintendent of Desjardins de Plante. Soon afterwards the king on seeing him complimented him on his writings and taught him he was happy to have found a worthy successor to Buffon. Although deficient in the exact knowledge of the sciences, and knowing little of the world, Saint-Pierre was by his simplicity and the retirement in which he lived well suited at that epoch to the situation. About this time, and when in his 57th year he married Maude Marseille-Didot. In 1795 he became a member of the French Academy and, as was just after his acceptance of this honour, he wrote no more against literary societies. On the suppression of his place, he retired to Esson. It is delightful to follow him there and to contemplate his quiet existence. His days flowed on peaceably, occupied in the publication of Les Armonies du la Nature, the republication of his earlier works, and the composition of some lesser pieces. He himself effectively regrets an interruption to these occupations. On being appointed instructor to the normal school, he says, I am obliged to hang my harp on the willows of my river and to accept an employment useful to my family and my country. I am afflicted at having to suspend an occupation which has given me so much happiness. He enjoyed in his old age a degree of opulence which, as much as glory, had perhaps been the object of his ambition. In any case, it is gratifying to reflect that after a life so full of chance and change, he was, in his latter years, surrounded by much that should accompany old age. His day of storms and tempests was closed by an evening of repose and beauty. Amid many other blessings, the elasticity of his mind was preserved to the last. He died at Eranie-Suloise on the 21st of January, 1814. The stirring events which then occupied France, or rather the whole world, caused his death to be little noticed at the time. The academy did not, however, neglect to give him the honour due to its members. Monsignor Passeval Grant-Messon pronounced a deserved eulogium on his talents and Monsignor Aignet, also, the customary tribute, taking his seat as his successor. Having himself contracted the habit of confiding his griefs and sorrows to the public, the sanctuary of his private life was open alike to the discussion of friends and enemies. The biographer who wishes to be exact and yet sat down nought in Malice, is forced to the contemplation of his errors. The secret of many of these, as well as of his miseries, seemed revealed by himself in this sentence. I experience more pain from a single thorn than pleasure from a thousand roses. And elsewhere, the best society seems to me bad if I find in it one troublesome, wicked, slanderous, envious or perfidious person. Now, taking into consideration that St. Pierre sometimes imagined persons who were really good to be deserving of these strong and very contumacious epithets, it would have been difficult indeed to find a society in which he would have been happy. He was therefore wise in seeking retirement and indulging in solitude. His mistakes, for there were mistakes, arose from a too quick perception of evil united to an exquisite and diffuse sensibility. When he felt wounded by a thorn, he forgot the beauty and perfume of the rose to which it belonged, and from which perhaps it could not be separated. And he was exposed, as often happens, to the very description of trials that were leased in harmony with his defects. Few dispositions could have run a career like his and have remained unscathed. But one less tender than his own would have been less soured by it. For many years, he bore about with him the consciousness of unacknowledged talent. The world cannot be blamed for not appreciating that which had never been revealed. But we know not what the jostling and elbowing of that world in the meantime may have been to him. How often he may have felt himself unworthily treated, or how far that treatment may have prayed upon and corroded his heart. Who shall say that with this consciousness there did not mingle a quick and instinctive perception of the hidden motives of action, that he did not sometimes detect where others might have been blind, the under-shuffling of the hands in the bi-play of the world? Through all his writings and throughout his correspondence there are beautiful proofs of the tenderness of his feelings, the most essential quality perhaps in any writer. It is at least one that if not possessed can never be attained. The familiarity of his imagination with natural objects when he was living far removed from them is remarkable and often affecting. I have arranged, he says to Mr. Hanon, his friend and patron, very interesting materials, but it is only with the light of heaven over me that I can recover my strength, obtain for me a rabbit's hole in which I may pass the summer in the country, and again. With the first violet I shall come to see you. It is soothing to find in passages like these such pleasing and convincing evidence that nature never did betray the heart that loved her. In the noise of a great city, in the midst of annoyances of many kinds, these images, impressed with quietness and beauty, came back to the mind of Saint Pierre to cheer and animate him. In alluding to his miseries, it is but fair to quote a passage from his voyage which reveals his fond remembrance of his native land. I should ever prefer my own country to every other, he says, not because it were more beautiful, but because I was brought up in it. Happy he, who sees again the places where all was loved and all was lovely, the meadows in which he played, and the orchard that he robbed. He returned to his country so fondly loved and deeply cherished in absence to experience only trouble and difficulty. Away from it, he had yearned to behold it, to fold it as it were once more to his bosom. He returned to feel as if neglected by it, and all his rapturous emotions were changed to bitterness and gull. His hopes had proved delusions, his expectations mockeries. Oh, Hubert must look with charity and mercy on all discontent and irritation consequent on such a depth of disappointment. On what must have then appeared to him such unmitigable woe? Under the influence of these saddened feelings, his thoughts flew back to the island he had left to place all beauty as well as happiness there. One great proof that he did beautify the distant may be found in a contrast of some of the descriptions in the Voyage à l'Île de France and those in Paul and Virginia. That spot, which when peopled by the cherished creatures of his imagination he described as an enchanting and delightful Eden he had previously spoken of as a rugged country covered with rocks, a land of cyclops blackened by fire. Truth probably lies between the two representations, the sadness of exile having darkened the one and the exuberance of his imagination embellished the other. St. Pierre's merit as an author has been too long and too universally acknowledged to make it needful that it should be dwelt on here. A careful review of the circumstances of his life induced the belief that his writings grew, if it may be permitted so to speak, out of his life. In his most imaginative passages to whatever hide his fancy sword, a starting point seems ever from a fact. The past appears to have been always spread out before him when he wrote like a beautiful landscape on which his eye rested with complacency and from which his mind transferred and idealized some objects without a servile imitation of any. When at Berlin, he had had in his power to marry Virginia Tabenheim and in Russia, Mademoiselle du Latour, the niece of General du Borsquet would have accepted his hand. He was too poor to marry either. A grateful recollection caused him to bestow the names of the two on his most beloved creation. Paul was the name of a friar with whom he had associated in his childhood and whose life he wished to imitate. How little had the owners of these names anticipated that they were to become the baptismal appellations of half a generation in France and to be re-echoed through the world to the end of time. It was Saint-Pierre who first discovered the poverty of language with regard to picturesque descriptions. In his earlier work, the often quoted voyages, he complains that the terms for describing nature are not yet invented. Endeavour, he says, to describe a mountain in such a manner that it may be recognized. When you have spoken of its base, its sides, its summit, you will have said all. But what variety there is to be found in those swelling, lengthened, flattened, or cavernous forms? It is only by peripheries that all this can be expressed. The same difficulty exists for plains and valleys. But if you have a palace to describe, there is no longer any difficulty. Every molding has its appropriate name. It was Saint-Pierre's glory, in some degree, to triumph over this doth of expression. Few authors ever introduced more new terms into descriptive writing, yet are his innovations ever chastened and in good taste. His style, in its elegant simplicity, is indeed perfection. It is at once sonorous and sweet, and always in harmony with the sentiment he would express or the subject he would discuss. Chanière might well arms himself with Paul and Virginia and the Chamière indian in opposition to those writers who, as he said, made prose unnatural by seeking to elevate it into verse. The etudes de la nature embraced a thousand different subjects and contained some new ideas on all. It is to the honour of human nature that after the uptearing of so many sacred opinions, a production like this, revealing the chain of connection through the works of creation and the creator in his works, should have been hailed as it was with enthusiasm. His motto, from his favourite poet Virgil, taught by Calamity, I pity the unhappy. One for him perhaps many readers, and in its touching illusions, the unhappy may have found suspension from the realities of life as well as encouragement to support its trials. For, throughout, it infuses admiration of the arrangements of providence and a desire for virtue. More than one modern poet may be supposed to have drawn a portion of his inspiration from the etude. As a work of science, it contains many errors. These, particularly his theory of the tides, Sampierre maintained to the last, and so eloquently that it was said at the time to be impossible to unite less reason with more logic. In Paul and Virginia, he was supremely fortunate in his subject. It was an entirely new creation, uninspired by any previous work, but which gave birth to many others, having furnished the plot to six theatrical pieces. It was a subject to which the author could bring all his excellences as a writer and a man, while his deficiencies and defects were necessarily excluded. In no manner could he incorporate politics, science, or misapprehension of persons, while his sensibility, morals, and wonderful talent for description were in perfect accordance with and ornaments to it. La Monte and Saint-Beuf both considered success to be inseparable from the happy selection of a story so entirely in harmony with the character of its author, and that the most successful writers might envy him so fortunate a choice. Bonaparte was in the habit of saying whenever he saw Sampierre, Monsieur Bernardin, when do you mean to give us more Pauls and Virginias and Indian cottages? And to give us some every six months. The Indian cottage, if not quite equal in interest to Paul and Virginia, is still a charm in production and does great honour to the genius of its author. It abounds in antique and eastern gems of thought. Striking and excellent comparisons are scattered through its pages. And it is delightful to reflect that the following beautiful and solemn answer of the pariah was, with Sampierre, the result of his own experience. Misfortune resembles the black mountain of Bambére, situated at the extremity of the burning kingdom of Lahore. While you are climbing it, you only see before you barren rocks. But when you have reached its summit, you see heaven above your head and at your feet a kingdom of Kashmir. When this passage was written, the rugged, sterile rock had been climbed by its gifted author. He had reached the summit. His genius had been rewarded. And he himself saw the heaven he wished to point out to others. Sarah Jones End of introduction, part one of Paul and Virginia. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alice Kristof. Paul and Virginia. By Bernardin de Sampierre. Part one. Situated on the eastern side of the mountain which rises above Port Louis, in the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the marks of former civilization, are seen the ruins of two small cottages. These ruins are not far from the center of a valley, formed by immense rocks, and which opens only towards the north. On the left rises the mountain called the height of discovery, whence the eye marks the distant sail when it first touches the verge of the horizon, and whence the signal is given when a vessel approaches the island. At the foot of this mountain stands the town of Port Louis. On the right is formed the road which stretches from Port Louis to the Shaddock Grove, where the church bearing the name lift its head, surrounded by its avenues of bamboo, in the middle of a spacious plain. And the prospect terminates in a forest extending to the furthest bounds of the island. The front view presents the bay, denominated the bay of the tomb. A little on the right is seen the Cape of Misfortune, and beyond rolls the expanded ocean on the service of which appear a few uninhabited islands. And among others, the Point of Endeavour, a humble Sebastian built upon the flood. At the entrance of the valley which presents these various objects, the echoes of the mountain incessantly repeat the hollow murmurs of the winds that shake the neighbouring forests, and the tumultuous dashing of the waves which break at a distance upon the cliffs. But near the ruined cottages all is calm and still, and the only objects which there meet the eye are rude steep rocks that rise like a surrounding rampart. Large clumps of trees grow at their base, on their rifted sides, and even on their majestic tops where the clouds seem to repose. The showers, which their bold points attract, often paint the vivid colours of the rainbow on their green and brown declivities and swell the sources of the little river which flows at their feet, the river of fan palms. Within this enclosure reigns the most profound silence. The waters, the air, all the elements are at peace. Scarcely does the echo repeat the whispers of the palm trees, spreading their broad leaves, the long points of which are gently agitated by the winds. A soft light illumines the bottom of this deep valley, on which the sun shines only at noon. But even at the break of day, the rays of light are thrown on the surrounding rocks, and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadows of the mountain, appear like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon the azure sky. To this scene I loved to resort, as I could here enjoy at once the richness of an unbounded landscape and the charm of uninterrupted solitude. One day, when I was seated at the food of the cottages and contemplating their ruins, a man advanced in years passed near the spot. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the island, his feet were bare, and he leaned upon a staff of ebony. His hair was white, and the expression of his countenance was dignified and interesting. I bowed to him with respect. He returned the salutation. And after looking at me with some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the hillocoon which I was seated. Encouraged by this mark of confidence, I thus addressed him. Father, can you tell me to whom those cottages once belonged? My son, replied the old man. Those heaps of rubbish and that entilled land were, twenty years ago, the property of two families, who then found happiness in this solitude. Their history is affecting. But what European pursuing his way to the Indies will pause one moment to interest himself in the fate of a few obscure individuals? What European can picture happiness to his imagination amidst poverty and neglect? The curiosity of mankind is only attracted by the history of the great, and yet from that knowledge little use can be derived. Father, I rejoined. From your manner and your observations I perceive that you have acquired much experience of human life. If you have the leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the history of the ancient inhabitants of this desert, and be assured that even the men who are most perverted by the prejudices of the world find a soothing pleasure in contemplating that happiness which belongs to simplicity and virtue. The old man, after a short silence during which he leaned his face upon his hands as if he were trying to recall the images of the past, thus began his narration. Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was a native of Normandy, after having in vain solicited a commission in the French army or some support from his own family, at length determined to seek his fortune in this island, where he arrived in 1726. He brought hither a young woman, whom he loved tenderly and by whom he was no less tenderly beloved. She belonged to a rich and ancient family of the same province. But he had married her secretly and without fortune and in opposition to the will of her relations who refused their consent because he was found guilty of being descended from parents who had no claims to nobility. Monsieur de la Tour, leaving his wife at Port Louis, embarked for Madagascar in order to purchase a few slaves to assist him in forming a plantation on this island. He landed at Madagascar during that unhealthy season which commences about the middle of October and soon after his arrival died of the pestilential fever, which prevails in that island six months of the year and which will forever baffle the attempts of the European nations to form establishments on that fatal soil. His effects were seized upon by the capacity of strangers as commonly happens to persons dying in foreign parts and his wife, who was pregnant, found herself a widow in a country where she had neither credit nor acquaintance and no earthly possession or other support but one negro woman. Too delicate to solicit protection or relief from anyone else after the death of him whom alone she loved misfortune armed her with courage and she resolved to cultivate with her slave a little spot of ground and procure for herself the means of subsistence. Desert as was the island and the ground left to the choice of the settler she avoided those spots which were most fertile and most favorable to commerce seeking some nuke of the mountain some secret asylum where she might live solitary she bent her way from the town towards these rocks where she might conceal herself from observation all sensitive and suffering creatures from a sort of common instinct life or refuge amidst their pains to haunt the most wild and desolate as if rocks could form a rampart against misfortune as if the calm of nature could hash the tumults of the soul that providence which lends its support when we ask but the supply for unnecessary wants had a blessing in reserve for Madame du Latour which neither riches nor greatness can purchase this blessing was a friend the spot to which Madame du Latour had fled had already been inhabited for a year by a young woman of a lively, good-natured and affectionate disposition Margaret, for that was her name was born in Brittany of a family of peasants by whom she was cherished and beloved and with whom she might have passed through life in simple, rustic happiness if, misled by the weakness of a tender heart she had not listened to the passion of a gentleman in the neighborhood who promised her marriage he soon abandoned her and, adding in humanity to seduction refused to ensure a provision for the child of which she was pregnant Margaret then determined to live forever her native village and retire where her fault might be concealed to some colony distant from that country where she had lost the only portion of a poor peasant girl her reputation with some borrowed money she purchased an old negro slave with whom she cultivated a little corner of this district Madame du Latour, followed by her negro woman came to this spot where she found Margaret engaged in suckling her child soothed and charmed by the sight of a person in a situation somewhat similar to her own Madame du Latour related, in a few words her past condition and her present wants Margaret was deeply affected by the recital and more anxious to merit confidence than to create esteem she confessed without disguise the errors of which she had been guilty As for me, said she I deserve my fate but you madam, you at once virtuous and unhappy and sobbing, she offered Madame du Latour both her hut and her friendship that lady, affected by this tender reception pressed her in her arms and exclaimed Ah, surely heaven has put an end to my misfortune since it inspires you to whom I am a stranger with more goodness towards me than I have ever experienced from my own relations I was acquainted with Margaret and although my habitation is a league and a half from hence in the woods behind that sloping mountain I considered myself as her neighbour in the cities of Europe, a street even a simple wall frequently prevents members of the same family from meeting for years but in new colonies we consider those persons as neighbours from whom we are divided only by woods and mountains and above all at that period when this island had a little intercourse with the Indies vicinity alone gave a claim to friendship and hospitality towards strangers seemed lesser duty than a pleasure no sooner was I informed that Margaret had found a companion than I hastened to her in the hope of being useful to my neighbour and her guest I found Madame du Latour possessed of all those melancholy graces which by blending sympathy with admiration give to beauty additional power her countenance was interesting expressive at once of dignity and dejection she appeared to be in the last stage of her pregnancy I told the two friends that for the future interests of their children and to prevent the intrusion of any other settler they had better divide between them the property of this wild sequestered valley which is nearly 20 acres in extent they confided that task to me and I marked out two equal portions of land one included the higher part of this enclosure from the cloudy pinnacle of that rock when springs the river of fan palms to that precipitous cleft which you see on the summit of the mountain and which from its resemblance in form to the battlement of a fortress is called the Embrasure it is difficult to find a path along this wild portion of the enclosure the soil of which is encumbered with fragments of rock or worn into channels formed by torrents yet it produces noble trees and innumerable springs and rivulets the other portion of land comprise the plain extending along the banks of the river of fan palms to the opening where we are now seated whence the river takes its course between these two hills until it falls into the sea you may still trace the vestiges of some meadow land and this part of the common is less ragged but not more valuable than the other since in the rainy season it becomes marshy and in dry weather is so hard and unyielding that it will almost resist the stroke of the pickaxe when I had thus divided the property I persuaded my neighbors to draw lots for their respective positions the higher portion of land containing the source of the river of fan palms became the property of Madame de la Tour the lower comprising the plain on the banks of the river was allotted to Margaret and each seemed satisfied with her share they entreated me to place their habitations together that they might at all times enjoy the soothing intercourse of friendship and the consolation of mutual kind offices Margaret's cottage was situated near the center of the valley and just on the boundary of her own plantation close to that spot I built another cottage for the residence of Madame de la Tour and thus the two friends while they possessed all the advantages of neighborhood lived on their own property I myself cut palaces from the mountain and brought leaves of fan palms from the seashore in order to construct those two cottages of which you can now discern neither the entrance nor the roof yet alas there still remains but too many traces for my remembrance time which so rapidly destroys the proud monuments of empires seems in this desert to spare those of friendship as if to perpetuate my regrets to the last hour of my existence as soon as the second cottage was finished Madame de la Tour was delivered of a girl I had been the godfather of Margaret's child who was christened by the name of Paul Madame de la Tour desired me to perform the same office for her child also together with her friend who gave her the name of Virginia she will be virtuous, cried Margaret and she will be happy I have only known misfortune by wandering from virtue about the time Madame de la Tour recovered these two little estates had already begun to yield some produce perhaps in a small degree owing to the care which I occasionally bestowed on their improvement but far more to the indefatigable labours of the two slaves Margaret's slave who was called Domingo was still healthy and robust though advanced in years he possessed some knowledge and a good natural understanding he cultivated indiscriminately on both plantations the spots of ground that seemed most fertile and sowed whatever grain he thought most congenial to each particular soil where the ground was poor, he strewed maize where it was most fruitful, he planted wheat and rice in such spots as were marshy he threw the seeds of goods and cucumbers at the foot of the rocks which they loved to climb and decorate with their luxuriant foliage in dry spots he cultivated the sweet potato the cotton tree flourished upon the heights and the sugarcane grew in the clay soil he reared some plants of coffee on the hills where the grain, although small, is excellent his plantain trees which spread their grateful shade on the banks of the river and encircled the cottages yielded fruit throughout the year and lastly Domingo to soothe his cares cultivated a few plants of tobacco sometimes he was employed in cutting wood for firing from the mountain sometimes in hewing pieces of rock within the enclosure in order to level the paths the zeal which inspired him enabled him to perform all these labours with intelligence and activity he was much attached to Margaret and not less to Madame de la Tour whose new grown woman Mary he had married on the birth of Virginia and he was passionately fond of his wife Mary was born at Madagascar and had there acquired the knowledge of some useful arts she could weave baskets and a sort of stuff with long grass that grows in the woods she was active, cleanly and, above all, faithful it was her care to prepare their meals to rear the poultry, to go sometimes to Port Louis to sell the superfluous produce of these little plantations which was not, however, very considerable if you add to the personages already mentioned two goats which were brought up with the children and a great dog which kept watch at night you will have a complete idea of the household as well as of the productions of these two little farms Madame de la Tour and her friend were constantly employed in spinning cotton for the use of their families destitute of everything which their own industry could not supply at home they went barefooted shoes were a convenience reserved for Sunday on which day at an early hour they attended Mass at the church of the Shadow Grove which you see yonder that church was more distant from their homes than Port Louis but they seldom visited the town lest they should be treated with contempt on account of their dress which consisted simply of the coarse blue linen of Bengal usually worn by slaves but is there in that external deference which fortune commands a compensation for domestic happiness if these interesting women had something to suffer from the world their homes on that very account became more dear to them no sooner did Mary and Domingo from this elevated spot perceive their mistresses on the road of the Shadow Grove than they flew to the foot of the mountain in order to help them to ascend they discerned in the looks of their domestics the joy which their return excited they found in their retreat neatness, independence all the blessings which are the recompense of toil and they received the zealous services which spring from affection united by the tie of similar wants and the sympathy of similar misfortunes they gave each other the tender names of companion, friend, sister they had but one will, one interest, one table all their possessions were in common and if sometimes a passion more ardent than friendship awakened in their hearts the pang of unavailing anguish a pure religion united with chaste manners drew their affections towards another life as the trembling flame rises towards heaven when it no longer finds any ailment on earth the duties of maternity became a source of additional happiness to these affectionate mothers whose mutual friendship gained new strength at the sight of their children equally the offspring of an ill-fated attachment they delighted in washing their infants together in the same bath in putting them to rest in the same cradle and in changing the maternal bosom at which they received nourishment my friend cried Madame de la Tour we shall each of us have two children and each of our children will have two mothers as two buds which remain on different trees of the same kind after the tempest has broken all their branches produce more delicious fruit if each separated from the maternal stem be grafted on the neighboring tree so these two infants deprived of all their other relations when thus exchanged for nourishment by those who had given them birth imbibed feelings of affection still more tender than those of son and daughter brother and sister while they were yet in their cradles their mothers talked of their marriage they soothed their own cares by looking forward to the future happiness of their children but this contemplation often drew forth their tears the misfortunes of one mother had arisen from having neglected marriage those of the other from having submitted to its laws one had suffered by aiming to rise above her condition the other by descending from her rank but they found consolation in reflecting that their more fortunate children far from the cruel prejudices of Europe would enjoy at once the pleasures of love and the blessings of equality rarely indeed has such an attachment been seen as that which the two children already testified for each other if Paul complained of anything his mother pointed to Virginia at her side 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 in the constellation of the twins at night these infants often refused to be separated and were found lying in the same cradle their cheeks, their bosoms pressed close together their hands thrown round each other's neck sleeping locked in one another's arms when they first began to speak the first name they learned to give each other were those of brother and sister and childhood knows no softer appellation their education by directing them ever to consider each other's wants tended greatly to increase their affection in a short time all the household economy of preparing their rural repasts became the task of Virginia whose labours were always crowned with appraises 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 spied 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 Lida enclosed in the same shell their soul 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 and conscience 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 raced towards heaven their innocent hands and hearts purified by virtuous affections all their early childhood passed thus like a beautiful dawn the prelude of a bright day already they assisted their mothers in the duties of the household as soon as the crowning of the wakeful cock announced the first beam of the morning Virginia arose and hastened to draw water from a neighbouring spring then returning to the house she prepared the breakfast when the rising sun gilded the points of the rocks which overhang the enclosure in which they lived Margaret and her child repaired to the dwelling of Madame de la Tour where they offered up their morning prayer together this sacrifice of thanksgiving always preceded their first repast which they often took before the door of the cottage seated upon the grass under a canopy of plantain and while the branches of that delicious tree afforded a grateful shade its fruit furnished a substantial food ready prepared for them by nature and its long glossy leaves spread upon the table supplied the place of linen plentiful and wholesome nourishment gave early growth and vigor to the persons of these children and their countenance is expressed the purity and the peace of their souls at twelve years of age the figure of Virginia was in some degree formed a profusion of light hair shaded her face to which her blue eyes and coral lips gave the most charming brilliancy her eyes sparkled with vivacity when she spoke but when she was silent they were habitually turned upwards with an expression of extreme sensibility or rather of tender melancholy the figure of Paul began already to display the graces of youthful beauty he was taller than Virginia his skin was of a darker tint his nose more aquiline and his black eyes would have been tool 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 Nairobi 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 and the expression of their feelings End of Part 1 Part 2 of Paul and Virginia This LibriVox recording is in a public domain Recording by Alice Christoff Paul and Virginia by Bernadine Dussier-Pierre Part 2 In the meantime, Madame de la Tour perceiving every day some unfolding grace some new beauty in her daughter maternal anxiety increase with her tenderness she often said to me if I were to die what would become of Virginia without fortune? Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France who was a woman of quality, rich, old and a complete devotee she had behaved with so much cruelty towards her niece upon her marriage that Madame de la Tour had determined no extremity of distress and should ever compel her to have recourse to her hard-hearted relation but when she became a mother the pride of resentment was overcome by the stronger feelings of maternal tenderness she wrote to her aunt informing her of the sudden death of her husband the birth of her daughter and the difficulties in which she was involved burdened as she was with an infant and without means of support she received no answer but not withstanding 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 M. de la Bourdonnet 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 M. de la Bourdonnet 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 and that she had done well in going to a distant island rather than dishonor her family by remaining in France and that after all in the colony where she had taken refuge none but the idol failed to grow rich having thus censured her niece she concluded by eulogising 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 Bourdonnet 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 or 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 Bourdonnet biased as he was against her when she painted to him her own situation and that of her child he replied in abrupt sentences we shall see what can be done there are so many to relieve all in good time why did you displease your aunt? you have been much to blame Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage her heart torn with grief and filled with all the bitterness of disappointment when she arrived she threw her aunt's letter on the table and exclaimed to her friend there is the fruit of eleven years of patient expectation Madame de la Tour being the only person in the little circle who could read she again took up the letter and read it aloud scarcely had she finished when Margaret exclaimed what have we to do with your relations? has got them forsaken us the 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 Poe his eyes inflamed with anger cried clasped his hands together and stamped his foot not knowing whom to blame for this scene of misery the noise soon brought Domingo and Mary to the spot and the little habitation resounded with cries of distress ah Madame my good mistress my dear mother do not weep these tender proofs of affection at length dispelled the grief of Madame de la Tour she took Poe 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 Poe and Virginia did not understand this reflection but when they saw that she was calm they smiled and continued to caress her tranquility was thus restored in this happy family and all that had passed was but a storm in the midst of fine weather which disturbs the serenity of the atmosphere but for a short time and then passes away the amiable disposition of these children unfolded itself daily one Sunday at daybreak their mothers having gone to mass at the church of Shaddock Grove the children perceived a negro woman beneath the plantains which surrounded their habitation she appeared almost wasted to a skeleton and had no other garment than a piece of Coors clothes thrown around her she threw herself at the feet of Virginia 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 did 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 he 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 wait 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 warmly 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 Mama 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 neighboring rock they ran thither and having quenched their thirst at this crystal spring they gathered and ate a few creases 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 infolded within its leaves is well adapted for food but although the stalk of the tree is not thicker than a man's leg it grows to above 60 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 inexpedience 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 enclosed having thus succeeded in obtaining this fruit they add part of it raw and part dressed upon the ashes which they found equally palatable they made this frugal repast with delight from the remembrances of the benevolent action they had performed in the morning yet their joy was embittered by the thoughts of the uneasiness which their long absence from home would occasion their mothers Virginia often recurred to this subject but Paul, who felt his strength renewed by their meal assured her that it would not be long before they reached home and by the assurance of their safety tranquilized the minds of their parents after dinner they were much embarrassed by the recollection that they had now no guide and that they were ignorant of the way Paul, whose spirit was not subdued by difficulties, said to Virginia the sun shines full upon our hearts 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 of 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 there is still some strength left but mine has quite failed do leave me here and return home alone to ease the fears of our mothers oh no said Paul I will not leave you if night overtakes us in this wood I will light a fire and bring down another palm tree you shall eat the cabbage and I will form a covering of the leaves to shelter you in the meantime Virginia being a little rested she gathered from the trunk of an old tree which overhung the bank of the river some long leaves of the plant called heart'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 meaning 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 hithered to directed their cause and also of the sun which was now setting at length they wandered without perceiving it from the beaten path in which they had hithered to 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 a 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 on 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 Fidel 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 Fidel was at their feet barking howling moaning and devouring them with his caresses before they could recover from their surprise they saw Domingo running towards them at the sight of the good old Negro who wept for joy they began to weep too but had not the power to utter a syllable when Domingo had recovered himself a little oh my dear children said he how miserable have you made your mothers how astonished they were when they returned with me from Mass on not finding you at home Mary who was at work at a little distance could not tell us where you were gone I ran backwards and forwards in the plantation not knowing where to look for you at last I took some of your old clothes and showing them to Fidel the poor animal as if he understood me immediately began to send 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 Fidel, still on the scent led me up the steep bank of the Black River where he again stopped and parked with all his might this was on the brink of a spring near which was a fallen palm tree and a fire still smoking but last he led me to this very spot we are now at the foot of the mountain of the three breasts and still a good four leagues from home come, eat and recover your strength Domingo then presented them with a cake some fruit and a large gourd pool of beverage composed of wine, water lemon juice, sugar and nutmeg which their mothers had prepared to invigorate and refresh them Virginia sighed at the recollection of the poor slave and at the uneasiness they had given their mothers she repeated several times oh, how difficult it is to do good while she and Paul were taking refreshment it being already night Domingo kindled a fire and having found among the rocks a particular kind of twisted wood called Boir de Ronde which burns when quite green and throws out a great blaze he made a torch of it which he lighted but when they prepared to continue their journey a new difficulty occurred Paul and Virginia could no longer walk their feet being violently swollen and inflamed Domingo knew not what to do whether to leave them and go in search of help or remain and pass the night with them on that spot there was a time, said he when I could carry you both together in my arms but now you are grown big and I am grown old when he was in this perplexity a troop of maroon negroes appeared at a shorter 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 rejoicing 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 du Latour 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 du Latour 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 End of Part 2