Paul and Virginia from the French of J.B.H. de Saint Pierre · Chapter 4Paul and Virginia. (2)
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"Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced person could have seen without feeling sympathy and respect, was received with the utmost coolness by Monsieur de la Bourdonnais; and when she painted to him her own situation, and that of her child, he replied, 'We will see what can be done—there are so many to relieve—why did you affront so respectable a relation?—You have been much to blame.'
"Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her bosom throbbing with all the bitterness of disappointment. When she arrived, she threw herself on a chair, and then flinging her aunt's letter on the table, exclaimed to her friend, 'This is the recompense of eleven years of patient expectation!' As Madame de la Tour was the only person in the little circle who could read, she again took up the letter, which she read aloud. Scarcely had she finished, when Margaret exclaimed, 'What have we to do with your relations? Has God then forsaken us? He only is our father! Have we not hitherto been happy? Why then this regret? You have no courage.' Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw herself upon her neck, and pressing her in her arms, 'My dear friend!' cried she, 'my dear friend!' But her emotion choked her utterance.
"At this sight Virginia burst into tears, and pressed her mother's hand and Margaret's alternately to her lips and to her heart: while Paul, with his eyes inflamed with anger, cried, clasped his hands together, and stamped with his feet, not knowing whom to blame for this scene of misery. The noise soon led Domingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habitation resounded with the cries of distress. Ah, Madame!—My good mistress!—My dear mother!—Do not weep!'
"Those tender proofs of affection at length dispelled Madame de la Tour's sorrow. She took Paul and Virginia in her arms, and, embracing them, cried, 'You are the cause of my affliction, and yet my only source of delight! Yes, my dear children, misfortune has reached me from a distance, but surely I am surrounded by happiness.' Paul and Virginia did not understand this reflection; but, when they saw that she was calm, they smiled, and continued to caress her. Thus tranquillity was restored, and what had passed proved but a transient storm, which serves to give fresh verdure to a beautiful spring.
"Although Madame de la Tour appeared calm in the presence of her family, she sometimes communicated to me the feelings that preyed upon her mind, and soon after this period gave me the following sonnet:—
SONNET TO DISAPPOINTMENT.
Pale Disappointment! at thy freezing name Chill fears in every shivering vein I prove; My sinking pulse almost forgets to move, And life almost forsakes my languid frame: Yet thee, relentless nymph! no more I blame: Why do my thoughts 'midst vain illusions rove? Why gild the charms of friendship and of love With the warm glow of fancy's purple flame? When ruffling winds have some bright fane o'erthrown, Which shone on painted clouds, or seem'd to shine, Shall the fond gazer dream for him alone Those clouds were stable, and at fate repine? I feel alas! the fault is all my own, And, ah! the cruel punishment is mine!
"The amiable disposition of those children unfolded itself daily. On a Sunday, their mothers having gone at break of day to mass, at the church of the Shaddock Grove, the children perceived a negro woman beneath the plantains which shaded their habitation. She appeared almost wasted to a skeleton, and had no other garment than a shred of coarse cloth thrown across her loins. She flung herself at Virginia's feet, who was preparing the family breakfast, and cried, 'My good young lady, have pity on a poor slave. For a whole month I have wandered amongst 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 by deep scars from the lashes she had received. She added, 'I was going to drown myself; but hearing you lived here, I said to myself, since there are still some good white people in this country, I need not die yet.'
"Virginia answered with emotion, 'Take courage, Unfortunate creature! here is food,' and she gave her the breakfast she had prepared, which the poor slave in a few minutes devoured. When her hunger was appeased, Virginia said to her, 'Unhappy woman! will you let me go and ask forgiveness for you of your master? Surely the sight of you will touch him with pity.—Will you show me the way?'—'Angel of heaven!' answered the poor negro woman, 'I will follow you where you please.' Virginia called her brother, and begged him to accompany her. The slave led the way, by winding and difficult paths, through the woods, over mountains which they climbed with difficulty, and across rivers, through which they were obliged to wade. At length they reached the foot of a precipice upon the borders of the Black River. There they perceived a well-built house, surrounded by extensive plantations, and a great number of slaves employed at their various labours. Their master was walking amongst them with a pipe in his mouth, and a switch in his hand. He was a tall thin figure, of a brown complexion; his eyes were sunk in his head, and his dark eyebrows were joined together. 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 man at first paid little attention to the children, who, he saw, were meanly dressed. But when he observed the elegance of Virginia's form, and the profusion of her beautiful light tresses, which had escaped from beneath her blue cap; when he heard the soft tone of her voice, which trembled, as well as her own frame, while she implored his compassion; he took the 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 sprung away, followed by Paul.
"They climbed up the precipice 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 cottage fasting, and had walked five leagues since break of day. Paul said to Virginia, 'My dear sister, it is past noon, and I am sure you are thirsty and hungry; we shall find no dinner here; let us go down the mountain again, and ask the master of the poor slave for some food.'—'Oh no,' answered Virginia; 'he frightens me too much. Remember what mamma sometimes says, the bread of the wicked is like stones in the mouth.'—'What shall we do then?' said Paul: 'these trees produce no fruit; and I shall not be able to find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh you.' Scarcely had he pronounced these words, when they heard the dashing of waters which fell from a neighbouring rock. They ran thither, and having quenched their thirst at this crystal spring, they gathered a few cresses which grew on the border of the stream. While they were wandering in the woods in search of more solid nourishment, Virginia spied a young palm tree. The kind of cabbage which is found at the top of this tree, enfolded within its leaves, forms an excellent sustenance; but, although the stalk of the tree was not thicker than a man's leg, it was above sixty feet in height. The wood of this tree is composed of fine filaments; but the bark is so hard that it turns the edge of the hatchet, and Paul was not even furnished 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 flint. Necessity, however, is fertile in expedients, and the most useful inventions have arisen from men placed in the most destitute situations. Paul determined to kindle a fire in 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, which he held between his feet; he then sharpened 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 points of contact. Paul then heaped together dried grass and branches, and set fire to the palm tree, which soon fell to the ground. The fire was useful to him in stripping off the long, thick and pointed leaves, within which the cabbage was enclosed.
"Paul and Virginia ate part of the cabbage raw, and part dressed upon the ashes, which they found equally palatable. They made this frugal repast with delight, from the remembrance of the benevolent action they had performed in the morning: yet their joy was embittered by the thoughts of that uneasiness which their long absence would give 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.
"After dinner they recollected that they had no guide, and that they were ignorant of the way. Paul, whose spirit was not subdued by difficulties, said to Virginia, 'The sun shines full upon our huts at noon: we must pass as we did this morning, over that mountain with its three points, which you see yonder. Come, let us go.' This mountain is called the Three Peaks. Paul and Virginia descended the precipice of the Black River, on the northern side; and arrived, after an hour's walk, on the banks of a large stream.
"Great part of this island is so little known, even now, that many of its rivers and mountains have not yet received a name. The river, on the banks of which our travellers stood, rolls foaming over a bed of rocks. The noise of the water frightened Virginia, and she durst not wade through the stream: 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 the inhabitant 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 it is so easy to do wrong.'
"When Paul had crossed the river, he wished to continue his journey, carrying his sister, and believed he was able to climb in that way the mountain of the Three Peaks, which was still at the distance of half a league; but his strength soon failed, and he was obliged to set down his burden, and to rest himself by her side. Virginia then said to him, 'My dear brother the sun is going down: you have still some strength left, but mine has quite failed: do leave me here, and return home alone to ease the fears of our mothers.'—'Oh, no,' said Paul, 'I will not leave you. If night surprises us in this wood, I will light a fire, and bring down another palm-tree: you shall eat the cabbage; and I will form a covering of the leaves to shelter you.' In the mean time, Virginia being a little rested, pulled from the trunk of an old tree, which hung over the bank of the river, some long leaves of hart's tongue, which grew near its root. With those 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 forgot to put on her shoes. Feeling her feet cooled by the freshness of the leaves, she broke off a branch of bamboo, and continued her walk leaning with one hand on the staff, and with the other on Paul.
"They walked on 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 Tree Peaks, by which they had directed their course, and even of the sun, which was now setting. At length they wandered without perceiving it, from the beaten path in which they had hitherto walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth of trees and rocks, which appeared to have no opening. Paul made Virginia sit down, while he ran backwards and forwards, half frantic, in search of a path which might lead them out of this thick wood; but all his researches were in vain. He climbed to the top of a tree, from whence he hoped at least to discern the mountain of the Three Peaks; but all he could perceive around him were the tops of trees, some of which were gilded by the last beams of the setting sun. Already the shadows of the mountains were spread over the forests in the valleys. The wind ceased, as it usually does, at the evening hour. The most profound silence reigned in those awful solitudes, which was only interrupted by the cry of the stags, who came to repose 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 forests alone answered his call, and repeated again and again, 'Virginia—Virginia.' Paul at length descended from the tree, overcome with fatigue and vexation, and reflected how they might best contrive to pass the night in that desert. But he could find neither a fountain, a palm-tree, nor even a branch of dry wood to kindle a fire. He then felt, by experience, the sense of his own weakness, and began to weep. Virginia said to him, 'Do not weep, my dear brother, or I shall die with grief. I am the cause of all your sorrow, and of all that our mothers suffer 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. She then said to Paul, 'Let us pray to God, my dear brother, and he will hear us.'
"Scarcely had they finished their prayer, when they heard the barking of a dog. 'It is the dog of some hunter,' said Paul, 'who comes here at night to lay in wait for the stags.'
"Soon after the dog barked again with more violence. 'Surely,' said Virginia, 'it is Fidele, our own dog; yes, I know his voice. Are we then so near home? at the foot of our own mountain? a moment after Fidele was at their feet, barking, howling, crying, and devouring them with his caresses. Before they had recovered their surprise, they saw Domingo running towards them. At the sight of this good old negro, who wept with joy, they began to weep too, without being able to utter one word. When Domingo had recovered himself a little, 'Oh, my dear children,' cried he, 'how miserable have you made your mothers! How much were they astonished when they returned from mass, where I went with them, and not finding you! Mary, who was at work at a little distance, could not tell us where you were gone. I ran backwards and forwards about the plantation, not knowing where to look for you. At last I took some of your old clothes, and showing them to Fidele, the poor animal, as if he understood me, immediately began to scent your path; and conducted me, continually wagging his tail, to the Black River. It was there a planter told me that you had brought back a negro woman, his slave, and that he had granted you her pardon. But what 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.
"'From thence Fidele, still on the scent, led me up the precipice of the Black River, where he again stopped and barked with all his might. This was on the brink of a spring, near a fallen palm tree, and close to a fire which was still smoking. At last he led me to this very spot. We are at the foot of the mountains of the Three Peaks, and still four leagues from home. Come, eat, and gather strength.' He then presented them with cakes, fruits, and a very large gourd filled with a liquor composed of wine, water, lemon juice sugar, and nutmeg, which their mothers had prepared. Virginia sighed at the recollection of the poor slave, and at the uneasiness which they had given their mothers. She repeated several times, 'Oh, how difficult it is to do good.'
"While she and Paul were taking refreshment, Domingo kindled a fire, and having sought among the rocks for a particular kind of crooked wood, which burns when quite green, throwing out a great blaze, he made a torch, which he lighted, it being already night. But when they prepared to continue their journey, a new difficulty occurred; Paul and Virginia could no longer walk, their feet being violently swelled and inflamed. Domingo knew not whether it were best to leave them, and go in search of help, or remain and pass the night with them on that spot. 'What is become of the time,' said he, 'when I used to carry you both together in my arms? But now you are grown big, and I am grown old.' While he was in this perplexity, a troop of Maroon negroes appeared at the distance of twenty paces. 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, in which, having seated Paul and Virginia, they placed it upon their shoulders. Domingo marched in front, carrying his lighted torch, and they proceeded amidst the rejoicings of the whole troop, and overwhelmed with their benedictions. Virginia, affected by this scene, said to Paul, with emotion, 'O, my dear brother! God never leaves a good action without reward.'
"It was midnight when they arrived at the foot of the mountain, on the ridges of which several fires were lighted. Scarcely had they begun to ascend, when they heard voices crying out, 'Is it you, my children?' They answered together with the negroes, 'Yes, it is us;' and soon after perceived their mothers and Mary coming towards them with lighted sticks in their hands. 'Unhappy children!' cried Madame de la Tour, 'from whence do you come? What agonies you have made us suffer!' 'We come, said Virginia, 'from the Black River, where we went to ask pardon for a poor Maroon slave, to whom I gave our breakfast this morning, because she was dying of hunger; and these Maroon negroes have brought us home.'—Madame de la Tour embraced her daughter without being able to speak; and Virginia, who felt her face wet with her mother's tears, exclaimed, 'You repay me for all the hardships I have suffered.' Margaret, in a transport of delight, pressed Paul in her arms, crying, 'And you also, my dear child! you have done a good action.' When they reached the hut with their children, they gave plenty of food to the negroes, who returned to their woods, after praying the blessing of heaven might descend on those good white people.
"Every day was to those families a day of tranquillity and of happiness. Neither ambition nor envy disturbed their repose. In this island, where, as in all the European colonies, every malignant anecdote is circulated with avidity, their virtues, and even their names, were unknown. Only when a traveller on the road of the Shaddock Grove inquired of any of the inhabitants of the plain, 'Who lives in those two cottages above?' he was always answered, even by those who did not know them, 'They are good people.' Thus the modest violet, concealed beneath the thorny bushes, sheds its fragrance, while itself remains unseen.
"Doing good appeared to those amiable families to be the chief purpose of life. Solitude, far from having blunted their benevolent feelings, or rendered their dispositions morose, had left their hearts open to every tender affection. The contemplation of nature filled their minds with enthusiastic delight. They adored the bounty of that Providence which had enabled them to spread abundance and beauty amidst those barren rocks, and to enjoy those pure and simple pleasures which are ever grateful and ever new. It was, probably, in those dispositions of mind that Madame de la Tour composed the following sonnet.
SONNET TO SIMPLICITY.
Nymph of the desert! on this lonely shore, Simplicity, thy blessings still are mine, And all thou canst not give I pleased resign, For all beside can soothe my soul no more. I ask no lavish heaps to swell my store, And purchase pleasures far remote from thine. Ye joys, for which the race of Europe pine, Ah! not for me your studied grandeur pour, Let me where yon tall cliffs are rudely piled, Where towers the palm amidst the mountain trees, Where pendant from the steep, with graces wild, The blue liana floats upon the breeze, Still haunt those bold recesses, Nature's child, Where thy majestic charms my spirit seize!
"Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger and more intelligent than Europeans are at fifteen, and had embellished the plantations which Domingo had only cultivated. He had gone with him to the neighbouring woods, and rooted up young plants of lemon trees, oranges, and tamarinds, the round heads of which are of so fresh a green, together with date palm trees, producing fruit filled with a sweet cream, which has the fine perfume of the orange flower. Those trees, which were already of a considerable size, he planted round this little enclosure. He had also sown the seeds of many trees which the second year bear flowers or fruits. The agathis, encircled with long clusters of white flowers, which hang upon it like the crystal pendants of a lustre. The Persian lilac, which lifts high in air its gay flax-coloured branches. The pappaw tree, the trunk of which, without branches, forms a column set round with green melons, bearing on their heads large leaves like those of the fig tree.
"The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, terminalia, mangoes, alligator pears, the guava, the bread tree, and the narrow-leaved eugenia, were planted with profusion; and the greater number of those trees already afforded to their young cultivator both shade and fruit. His industrious hands had diffused the riches of nature even on the most barren parts of the plantation. Several kinds of aloes, the common Indian fig, adorned with yellow flowers, spotted with red, and the thorny five-angled touch thistle, grew upon the dark summits of the rocks, and seemed to aim at reaching the long lianas, which, loaded with blue or crimson flowers, hung scattered over the steepest part of the mountain. Those trees were disposed in such a manner that you could command the whole at one view. He had placed in the middle of this hollow the plants of the lowest growth: behind grew the shrubs; then trees of an ordinary height: above which rose majestically the venerable lofty groves which border the circumference. Thus from its centre this extensive enclosure appeared like a verdant amphitheatre spread with fruits and flowers, containing a variety of vegetables, a chain of meadow land, and fields of rice and corn. In blending those vegetable productions to his own taste, he followed the designs of Nature. Guided by her suggestions, he had thrown upon the rising grounds such seeds as the winds might scatter over the heights, and near the borders of the springs such grains as float upon the waters. Every plant grew in its proper soil, and every spot seemed decorated by her hands. The waters, which rushed from the summits of the rocks, formed in some parts of the valley limpid fountains, and in other parts were spread into large clear mirrors, which reflected the bright verdure, the trees in blossom, the bending rocks, and the azure heavens.
"Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the ground, most of these plantations were easy of access. We had, indeed, all given him our advice and assistance, in order to accomplish this end. He had formed a path which wound round the valley, and of which various ramifications led from the circumference to the centre. He had drawn some advantage from the most rugged spots; and had blended, in harmonious variety, smooth walks with the asperities of the soil, and wild with domestic productions. With that immense quantity of rolling stones which now block up those paths, and which are scattered over most of the ground of this island, he formed here and there pyramids; and at their base he laid earth, and planted the roots of rose bushes, the Barbadoes flower fence, and other shrubs which love to climb the rocks. In a short time those gloomy shapeless pyramids were covered with verdure, or with the glowing tints of the most beautiful flowers. The hollow recesses of aged trees, which bent over the borders of the stream, formed vaulted caves impenetrable to the sun, and where you might enjoy coolness during the heats of the day. That path led to a clump of forest trees, in the centre of which grew a cultivated tree, loaded with fruit. Here was a field ripe with corn, there an orchard. From that avenue you had a view of the cottages; from this, of the inaccessible summit of the mountain. Beneath that tufted bower of gum trees, interwoven with lianas, no object could be discerned even at noon, while the point of the neighbouring rock, which projects from the mountain commanded a few of the whole enclosure, and of the distant ocean, where sometimes we spied a vessel coming from Europe, or returning thither. On this rock the two families assembled in the evening, and enjoyed, in silence, the freshness of the air, the fragrance of the flowers, the murmurs of the fountains, and the last blended harmonies of light and shade.
"Nothing could be more agreeable than the names which were bestowed upon some of the charming retreats of this labyrinth. That rock, of which I was speaking, and from which my approach was discerned at a considerable distance, was called the Discovery of Friendship. Paul and Virginia, amidst their sports, had planted a bamboo on that spot; and whenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a little white handkerchief, by way of signal of my approach, as they had seen a flag hoisted on the neighbouring mountain at the sight of a vessel at sea. The idea struck me of engraving an inscription upon the stalk of this reed. Whatever pleasure I have felt, during my travels, at the sight of a statue or monument of antiquity, I have felt still more in reading of well written inscription. It seems to me as if a human voice issued from the stone and making itself heard through the lapse of ages, addressed man in the midst of a desert, and told him that I was not alone; that other men, on that very spot, have felt, and thought, and suffered like himself. If the inscription belongs to an ancient nation which no longer exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, and inspires the feeling of its immortality, by showing that a thought has survived the ruins of an impire.
"I inscribed then, on the little mast of Paul and Virginia's flag, those lines of Horace:
Fratres Helenae, lucida sidera, Ventorumque regat pater, Obstrictis alils, praeter Iapyga.
'May the brothers of Helen, lucid stars like you, and the Father of the winds, guide you; and may you only feel the breath of the zephyr.'
"I engraved this line of Virgil upon the bark of a gum tree, under the shade of which Paul sometimes seated himself, in order to contemplate the agitated sea:—
Fortunatue et ille deos qui novit agrestes!
'Happy art thou, my son, to know only the pastoral divinities.'
"And above the door of Madame de la Tour's cottage, where the families used to assemble, I placed this line:
At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita.
'Here is a calm conscience, and a life ignorant of deceit.'
"But Virginia did not approve of my Latin; she said, that what I had placed at the foot of her weather flag was too long and too learned. 'I should have liked better,' added she, 'to have seen inscribed, Always agitated, yet ever constant.'