Paul and Virginia from the French of J.B.H. de Saint Pierre · Chapter 8Paul and Virginia. (6)
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"At the foot of this papaw I was always sure to meet with Paul when he came into our neighbourhood. One day, when I found him absorbed in melancholy, we had a conversation, which I will relate to you, if I do not weary you by my long digressions; perhaps pardonable to my age and my last friendships.
"Paul said to me, 'I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle de la Tour has now been gone two years and two months; and we have heard no tidings of her for eight months and two weeks. She is rich, and I am poor. She has forgotten me. I have a great mind to follow her. I will go to France; I will serve the king; make a fortune; and then Mademoiselle de la Tour's aunt will bestow her niece upon me when I shall have become a great lord.
"'But, my dear friend,' I answered, 'have you not told me that you are not of noble birth?'
"'My mother has told me so,' said Paul. 'As for myself I know not what noble birth means.'
"'Obscure birth,' I replied, 'in France shuts out all access to great employments; nor can you even be received among any distinguished body of men.'
"'How unfortunate I am!' resumed Paul; 'every thing repulses me. I am condemned to waste my wretched life in labour, far from Virginia.' And he heaved a deep sigh.
"'Since her relation,' he added, 'will only give her in marriage to some one with a great name, by the aid of study we become wise and celebrated. I will fly then to study; I will acquire sciences; I will serve my country usefully by my attainments; I shall be independent; I shall become renowned; and my glory will belong only to myself.'
"'My son! talents are still more rare than birth or riches, and are undoubtedly an inestimable good, of which nothing can deprive us, and which every where conciliate public esteem. But they cost dear: they are generally allied to exquisite sensibility, which renders their possessor miserable. But you tell me that you would serve mankind. He who, from the soil which he cultivates, draws forth one additional sheaf of corn, serves mankind more than he who presents them with a book.'
"'Oh! she then,' exclaimed Paul, 'who planted this papaw tree, made a present to the inhabitants of the forest more dear and more useful than if she had given them a library.' And seizing the tree in his arms, he kissed it with transport.
"'Ah! I desire glory only,' he resumed, 'to confer it upon Virginia, and render her dear to the whole universe. But you, who know so much, tell me if we shall ever be married. I wish I was at least learned enough to look into futurity. Virginia must come back. What need has she of a rich relation? she was so happy in those huts, so beautiful, and so well dressed, with a red handkerchief or flowers round her head! Return, Virginia! Leave your palaces, your splendour! Return to these rocks, to the shade of our woods and our cocoa trees! Alas! you are, perhaps, unhappy!' And he began to weep. 'My father! conceal nothing from me. If you cannot tell me whether I shall marry Virginia or no, tell me, at least, if she still loves me amidst those great lords who speak to the king, and go to see her.'
"'Oh! my dear friend,' I answered, 'I am sure that she loves you, for several reasons; but, above all, because she is virtuous.' At those words he threw himself upon my neck in a transport of joy.
"'But what,' said he, 'do you understand by virtue?'
"'My son! to you, who support your family by your labour, it need not be defined. Virtue is an effort which we make for the good of others, and with the intention of pleasing God.'
"'Oh! how virtuous then,' cried he, 'is Virginia! Virtue made her seek for riches, that she might practise benevolence. Virtue led her to forsake this island, and virtue will bring her back.' The idea of her near return fired his imagination, and his inquietudes suddenly vanished. Virginia, he was persuaded, had not written, because she would soon arrive. It took so little time to come from Europe with a fair wind! Then he enumerated the vessels which had made a passage of four thousand five hundred leagues in less than three months; and perhaps the vessel in which Virginia had embarked might not be longer than two. Ship builders were now so ingenious, and sailors so expert! He then told me of the arrangements he would make for her reception, of the new habitation he would build for her, of the pleasures and surprises which each day should bring along with it when she was his wife? His wife! That hope was ecstasy. 'At least, my dear father,' said he, 'you shall then do nothing more than you please. Virginia being rich, we shall have a number of negroes, who will labour for you. You shall always live with us, and have no other care than to amuse and rejoice yourself:' and, his heart throbbing with delight, he flew to communicate those exquisite sensations to his family.
"In a short time, however, the most cruel apprehensions succeeded those enchanting hopes. Violent passions ever throw the soul into opposite extremes. Paul returned to my dwelling absorbed in melancholy, and said to me, 'I hear nothing from Virginia. Had she left Europe she would have informed me of her departure. Ah! the reports which I have heard concerning her are but too well founded. Her aunt has married her to some great lord. She, like others, has been undone by the love of riches. In those books which paint women so well, virtue is but a subject of romance. Had Virginia been virtuous, she would not have forsaken her mother and me, and, while I pass life in thinking of her, forgotten me. While I am wretched, she is happy. Ah! that thought distracts me: labour becomes painful, and society irksome. Would to heaven that war were declared in India! I would go there and die.'
"'My son,' I answered, 'that courage which, prompts us to court death is but the courage of a moment, and is often excited by the vain hopes of posthumous fame. There is a species of courage more necessary, and more rare, which makes us support, without witness, and without applause, the various vexations of life; and that is, patience. Leaning not upon the opinions of others, but upon the will of God, patience is the courage of virtue.'
"'Ah!' cried he,' I am then without virtue! Every thing overwhelms and distracts me.'
"'Equal, constant, and invariable virtue,' I replied, 'belongs not to man.' In the midst of so many passions, by which we are agitated, our reason is disordered and obscured: but there is an ever-burning lamp, at which we can rekindle its flame; and that is, literature.
"'Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Heaven; a ray of that wisdom which governs the universe; and which man, inspired by celestial intelligence, has drawn down to earth. Like the sun, it enlightens, it rejoices, it warms with a divine flame, and seems, in some sort, like the element of fire, to bend all nature to our use. By the aid of literature, we bring around us all things, all places, men, and times. By its aid we calm the passions, suppress vice, and excite virtue. Literature is the daughter of heaven, who has descended upon earth to soften and to charm all human evils.
"'Have recourse to your books, then, my son. The sages who have written before our days, are travellers who have preceded us in the paths of misfortune; who stretch out a friendly hand towards us, and invite us to join their society, when every thing else abandons us. A good book is a good friend.'
"'Ah!' cried Paul, 'I stood in no need of books when Virginia was here, and she had studied as little as me: but when she looked at me, and called me her friend, it was impossible for me to be unhappy.'
"'Undoubtedly,' said I, 'there is no friend so agreeable as a mistress by whom we are beloved. There is in the gay graces of a woman a charm that dispels the dark phantoms of reflection. Upon her face sits soft attraction and tender confidence. What joy is not heightened in which she shares? What brow is not unbent by her smiles? What anger can resist her tears? Virginia will return with more philosophy than you, and will be surprised not to find the garden finished: she who thought of its establishments amidst the persecutions of her aunt, and far from her mother and from you.'
"The idea of Virginia's speedy return reanimated her lover's courage, and he resumed his pastoral occupations; happy amidst his toils, in the reflection that they would find a termination so dear to the wishes of his heart.
"The 24th of December, 1774, at break of day, Paul, when he arose, perceived a white flag hoisted upon the Mountain of Discovery, which was the signal of a vessel descried at sea. He flew to the town, in order to learn if this vessel brought any tidings of Virginia, and waited till the return of the pilot, who had gone as usual to visit the ship. The pilot brought the governor information that the vessel was the Saint Geran, of seven hundred tons, commanded by a captain of the name of Aubin; that the ship was now four leagues out at sea, and would anchor at Port Louis the following afternoon, if the wind was favourable: at present there was a calm. The pilot then remitted to the governor a number of letters from France, amongst which was one addressed to Madame de la Tour in the hand-writing of Virginia. Paul seized upon the letter, kissed it with transport, placed it in his bosom, and flew to the plantation. No sooner did he perceive from a distance the family, who were waiting his return upon the Farewell Rock, than he waved the letter in the air, without having the power to speak; and instantly the whole family crowded round Madame de la Tour to hear it read. Virginia informed her mother that she had suffered much ill treatment from her aunt, who, after having in vain urged her to marry against her inclination, had disinherited her; and at length sent her back at such a season of the year, that she must probably reach the Mauritius at the very period of the hurricanes. In vain, she added, she had endeavoured to soften her aunt, by representing what she owed to her mother, and to the habits of her early years: she had been treated as a romantic girl, whose head was turned by novels. At present she said she could think of nothing but the transport of again seeing and embracing her beloved family, and that she would have satisfied this dearest wish of her heart that very day, if the captain would have permitted her to embark in the pilot's boat; but that he had opposed her going, on account of the distance from the shore, and of a swell in the ocean, notwithstanding it was a calm.
"Scarcely was the letter finished, when the whole family, transported with joy repeated, 'Virginia is arrived!' and mistresses and servants embraced each other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul, 'My son, go and inform our neighbour of Virginia's arrival.' Domingo immediately lighted a torch, and he and Paul bent their way towards my plantation.
"It was about ten at night, and I was going to extinguish my lamp, when I perceived through the palisades of my hut a light in the woods. I arose, and had just dressed myself when Paul, half wild, and panting for breath, sprung on my neck, crying, 'Come along, come along. Virginia is arrived! Let us go to the Port: the vessel will anchor at break of day.'
"We instantly set off. As we were traversing the woods of the Sloping Mountain, and were already on the road which leads from the Shaddock Grove to the Port, I heard some one walking behind us. When the person, who was a negro, and who advanced with hasty steps, had reached us, I inquired from whence he came, and whither he was going with such expedition. He answered, 'I come from that part of the island called Golden Dust, and am sent to the Port, to inform the governor, that a ship from France has anchored upon the island of Amber, and fires guns of distress, for the sea is very stormy.' Having said this, the man left us, and pursued his journey.
"'Let us go,' said I to Paul, 'towards that part of the island, and meet Virginia. It is only three leagues from hence.' Accordingly we bent our course thither. The heat was suffocating. The moon had risen, and it was encompassed by three large black circles. A dismal darkness shrouded the sky; but the frequent flakes of lightning discovered long chains of thick clouds, gloomy, low hung, and heaped together over the middle of the island, after having rolled with great rapidity from the ocean, although we felt not a breath of wind upon the land. As we walked along we thought we heard peals of thunder; but, after listening more attentively, we found they were the sound of distant cannon repeated by the echoes. Those sounds, joined to the tempestuous aspect of the heavens, made me shudder. I had little doubt that they were signals of distress from a ship in danger. In half an hour the firing ceased, and I felt the silence more appalling than the dismal sounds which had preceded.
"We hastened on without uttering a word, or daring to communicate our apprehensions. At midnight we arrived on the sea shore at that part of the island. The billows broke against the beach with a horrible noise, covering the rocks and the strand with their foam of a dazzling whiteness, and blended with sparks of fire. By their phosphoric gleams we distinguished, notwithstanding the darkness, the canoes of the fishermen, which they had drawn far upon the sand.
"Near the shore, at the entrance of a wood, we saw a fire, round which several of the inhabitants were assembled. Thither we repaired, in order to repose ourselves till morning. One of the circle related, that in the afternoon he had seen a vessel driven towards the island by the currents; that the night had hid it from his view; and that two hours after sun-set he had heard the firing of guns in distress; but that the sea was so tempestuous, no boat could venture out; that a short time after, he thought he perceived the glimmering of the watch-lights on board the vessel, which he feared, by its having approached so near the coast, had steered between the main land and the little island of Amber, mistaking it for the point of Endeavour, near which the vessels pass in order to gain Port Louis. If this was the case, which, however, he could not affirm, the ship he apprehended was in great danger. Another islander then informed us, that he had frequently crossed the channel which separates the isle of Amber from the coast, and which he had sounded; that the anchorage was good, and that the ship would there be in as great security as if it were in harbour. A third islander declared it was impossible for the ship to enter that channel, which was scarcely navigable for a boat. He asserted that he had seen the vessel at anchor beyond the isle of Amber; so that if the wind arose in the morning, it could either put to sea or gain the harbour. Different opinions were stated upon this subject, which, while those indolent Creoles calmly discussed, Paul and I observed a profound silence. We remained on this spot till break of day, when the weather was too hazy to admit of our distinguishing any object at sea, which was covered with fog. All we could descry was a dark cloud, which they told us was the isle of Amber, at the distance of a quarter of a league from the coast. We could only discern on this gloomy day the point of the beach where we stood, and the peaks of some mountains in the interior part of the island, rising occasionally from amidst the clouds which hung around them.
"At seven in the morning we heard the beat of drums in the woods; and soon after the governor, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, arrived on horseback, followed by a detachment of soldiers armed with muskets, and a great number of islanders and blacks. He ranged his soldiers upon the beach, and ordered them to make a general discharge, which was no sooner done, than we perceived a glimmering light upon the water, which was instantly succeeded by the sound of a gun. We judged that the ship was at no great distance, and ran towards that part where we had seen the light. We now discerned through the fog the hull and tackling of a large vessel; and notwithstanding the noise of the waves, we were near enough to hear the whistle of the boatswain at the helm, and the shouts of the mariners. As soon as the Saint Geran perceived that we were enough to give her succour, she continued to fire guns regularly at the interval of three minutes. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais caused great fires to be lighted at certain distances upon the strand, and sent to all the inhabitants of that neighbourhood, in search of provisions, planks, cables, and empty barrels. A crowd of people soon arrived, accompanied by their negroes, loaded with provisions and rigging. One of the most aged of the planters approaching the governor, said to him, 'We have heard all night hoarse noises in the mountain, and in the forests: the leaves of the trees are shaken, although there is no wind: the sea birds seek refuge upon the land: it is certain that all those signs announce a hurricane.' 'Well, my friends,' answered the governor, 'we are prepared for it: and no doubt the vessel is also.'
"Every thing, indeed, presaged the near approach of the hurricane. The centre of the clouds in the zenith was of a dismal black, while their skirts were fringed with a copper hue. The air resounded with the cries of the frigate bird, the cur water, and a multitude of other sea birds, who, notwithstanding the obscurity of the atmosphere, hastened from all points of the horizon to seek for shelter in the island.
"Towards nine in the morning we heard on the side of the ocean the most terrific noise, as if torrents of water, mingled with thunder, were rolling down the steeps of the mountains. A general cry was heard of, 'There is the hurricane!' and in one moment a frightful whirlwind scattered the fog which had covered the Isle of Amber and its channel. The Saint Geran then presented itself to our view, her gallery crowded with people, her yards and main topmast laid upon the deck, her flag shivered, with four cables at her head, and one by which she was held at the stern. She had anchored between the Isle of Amber and the main land, within that chain of breakers which encircles the island, and which bar she had passed over, in a place where no vessel had ever gone before. She presented her head to the waves which rolled from the open sea; and as each billow rushed into the straits, the ship heaved, so that her keel was in air; and at the same moment her stern, plunging into the water, disappeared altogether, as if it were swallowed up by the surges. In this position, driven by the winds and waves towards the shore, it was equally impossible for her to return by the passage through which she had made her way; or, by cutting her cables, to throw herself upon the beach, from which she was separated by sand banks, mingled with breakers. Every billow which broke upon the coast advanced roaring to the bottom of the bay, and threw planks to the distance of fifty feet upon the land; then rushing back, laid bare its sandy bed, from which it rolled immense stones, with a hoarse dismal noise. The sea, swelled by the violence of the wind, rose higher every moment; and the channel between this island the Isle of Amber was but one vast sheet of white foam, with yawning pits of black deep billows. The foam boiling in the gulf was more than six feet high: and the winds which swept its surface, bore it over the steep coast more than half a league upon the land. Those innumerable white flakes, driven horizontally as far as the foot of the mountain, appeared like snow issuing from the ocean, which was now confounded with the sky. Thick clouds, of a horrible form, swept along the zenith with the swiftness of birds, while others appeared motionless as rocks. No spot of azure could be discerned in the firmament; only a pale yellow gleam displayed the objects of earth sea, and skies.
"From the violent efforts of the ship, what we dreaded happened. The cables at the head of the vessel were torn away; it was then held by one anchor only, and was instantly dashed upon the rocks, at the distance of half a cable's length from the shore. A general cry of horror issued from the spectators. Paul rushed towards the sea, when, seizing him by the arm, I exclaimed, 'Would you perish?'—'Let me go to save her,' cried he, 'or die!' Seeing that despair deprived him of reason, Domingo and I, in order to preserve him, fastened a long cord round his waist, and seized hold of each end. Paul then precipitated himself towards the ship, now swimming, and now walking upon the breakers. Sometimes he had the hope of reaching the vessel, which the sea, in its irregular movements, had left almost dry, so that you could have made its circuit on foot; but suddenly the waves advancing with new fury, shrouded it beneath mountains of water, which then lifted it upright upon its keel. The billows at the same moment threw the unfortunate Paul far upon the beach, his legs bathed in blood, his bosom wounded, and himself half dead. The moment he had recovered his senses, he arose, and returned with new ardour towards the vessel, the planks of which now yawned asunder from the violent strokes of the billows. The crew, then despairing of their safety, threw themselves in crowds into the sea, upon yards, planks, hencoops, tables, and barrels. At this moment we beheld an object fitted to excite eternal sympathy; a young lady in the gallery of the stern of the Saint Geran, stretching out her arms towards him who made so many efforts to join her. It was Virginia. She had discovered her lover by his intrepidity. The sight of this amiable young woman, exposed to such horrible danger, filled us with unutterable despair. As for Virginia, with a firm and dignified mien, she waved her hand, as if bidding us an eternal farewell. All the sailors had flung themselves into the sea, except one, who still remained upon the deck, and who was naked, and strong as Hercules. This man approached Virginia with respect, and, kneeling at her feet attempted to force her to throw off her clothes; but she repulsed him with modesty, and turned away her head. Then was heard redoubled cries from the spectators, 'Save her! Save her! Do not leave her!' But at that moment a mountain billow, of enormous magnitude, ingulfed itself between the Isle of Amber and the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, towards which it rolled bellowing, with its black sides and foaming head. At this terrible sight the sailor flung himself into the sea; and Virginia seeing death inevitable, placed one hand upon her clothes, the other on her heart, and lifting up her lovely eyes, seemed an angel prepared to take her flight to heaven.
"Oh, day of horror! Alas! every thing was swallowed up by the relentless billows. The surge threw some of the spectators far upon the beach, whom an impulse of humanity prompted to advance towards Virginia, and also the sailor who had endeavoured to save her life. This man, who had escaped from almost certain death, kneeling on the sand, exclaimed, 'Oh, my God! thou hast saved my life, but I would have given it willingly for that poor young woman!'
"Domingo and myself drew Paul senseless to the shore, the blood flowing from his mouth and ears. The governor put him into the hands of a surgeon, while we sought along the beach for the corpse of Virginia. But the wind having suddenly changed, which frequently happens during hurricanes, our search was in vain; and we lamented that we could not even pay this unfortunate young woman the last sad sepulchral duties.
"We retired from the spot overwhelmed with dismay, and our minds wholly occupied by one cruel loss, although numbers had perished in the wreck. Some of the spectators seemed tempted, from the fatal destiny of this virtuous young woman, to doubt the existence of Providence. Alas! there are in life such terrible, such unmerited evils, that even the hope of the wise is sometimes shaken.
"In the meantime, Paul, who began to recover his senses, was taken to a house in the neighbourhood, till he was able to be removed to his own habitation. Thither I bent my way with Domingo, and undertook the sad task of preparing Virginia's mother and her friend for the melancholy event which had happened. When we reached the entrance of the valley of the river of Fan-Palms, some negroes informed us that the sea had thrown many pieces of the wreck into the opposite bay. We descended towards it; and one of the first objects which struck my sight upon the beach was the corpse of Virginia. The body was half covered with sand, and in the attitude in which we had seen her perish. Her features were not changed; her eyes were closed, her countenance was still serene; but the pale violets of death were blended on her cheek with the blush of virgin modesty. One of her hands was placed upon her clothes: and the other, which she held on her heart, was fast closed, and so stiffened, that it was with difficulty I took from its grasp a small box. How great was my emotion, when I saw it contained the picture of Paul; which she had promised him never to part with while she lived! At the sight of this last mark of the fidelity and tenderness of the unfortunate girl, I wept bitterly. As for Domingo, he beat his breast, and pierced the air with his cries. We carried the body of Virginia to a fisher's hut, and gave it in charge to some poor Malabar women, who carefully washed away the sand.
"While they were employed in this melancholy office, we ascended with trembling steps to the plantation. We found Madame de la Tour and Margaret at prayer, while waiting for tidings from the ship. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me coming, she eagerly cried, 'Where is my child, my dear child?' My silence and my tears apprised her of her misfortune. She was seized with convulsive stiflings, with agonizing pains, and her voice was only heard in groans. Margaret cried, 'Where is my son? I do not see my son!' and fainted. We ran to her assistance. In a short time she recovered, and being assured that her son was safe, and under the care of the governor, she only thought of succouring her friend, who had long successive faintings. Madame de la Tour passed the night in sufferings so exquisite, that I became convinced there was no sorrow like a mother's sorrow. When she recovered her senses, she cast her languid and steadfast looks on heaven. In vain her friend and myself pressed her hands in ours: in vain we called upon her by the most tender names; she appeared wholly insensible; and her oppressed bosom heaved deep and hollow moans.
"In the morning Paul was brought home in a palanquin. He was now restored to reason but unable to utter a word. His interview with his mother and Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded, produced a better effect than all my cares. A ray of consolation gleamed upon the countenances of those unfortunate mothers. They flew to meet him, clasped him in their arms, and bathed him with tears, which excess of anguish had till now forbidden to flow. Paul mixed his tears with theirs; and nature having thus found relief, a long stupor succeeded the convulsive pangs they had suffered, and gave them a lethargic repose like that of death.
"Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprise me secretly that the corpse of Virginia had been borne to the town by his order, from whence it was to be transferred to the church of the Shaddock Grove. I hastened to Port Louis, and found a multitude assembled from all parts, in order to be present at the funeral solemnity, as if the whole island had lost its fairest ornament. The vessels in the harbour had their yards crossed, their flags hoisted, and fired guns at intervals. The grenadiers led the funeral procession, with their muskets reversed, their drums muffled, and sending forth slow dismal sounds. Eight young ladies of the most considerable families of the island, dressed in white, and bearing palms in their hands, supported the pall of their amiable companion, which was strewed with flowers. They were followed by a band of children chanting hymns, and by the governor, his field officers, all the principal inhabitants of the island, and an immense crowd of people.