Book: Diary of Samuel Pepys, April/May 1661
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Samuel Pepys >> Diary of Samuel Pepys, April/May 1661
"I have arranged," he says to Mr. Henin, 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 St. 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 was 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 this 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 gall. His hopes had proved
delusions--his expectations, mockeries. Oh! who but 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 all happiness, there!
One great proof that he did beautify the distant, may be found in the
contrast of some of the descriptions in the "Voyage a l'Ile 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 induces 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 height his fancy soared,
the 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 it in his power to marry Virginia
Tabenheim; and in Russia, Mlle. de la Tour, the niece of General
Dubosquet, 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 St. Pierre who first discovered the poverty of language
with regard to picturesque descriptions. In his earliest 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 recognised. 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 periphrasis 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 moulding has its appropriate name."
It was St. Pierre's glory, in some degree, to triumph over this
dearth 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. Chenier might well
arm himself with "Paul and Virginia," and the "Chaumiere Indienne," 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," won 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 "Etudes." As a work of science it
contains many errors. These, particularly his theory of the tides,(*)
St. Pierre maintained to the last, and so eloquently, that it was said
at the time, to be impossible to unite less reason with more logic.
(*) Occasioned, according to St. Pierre, by the melting of
the ice at the Poles.
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. Lemontey and Sainte-Beuve both consider success
to be inseparable from the happy selection of a story so entirely in
harmony with the character of the author; and that the most successful
writers might envy him so fortunate a choice. Buonaparte was in the
habit of saying, whenever he saw St. Pierre, "M. Bernardin, when do you
mean to give us more Pauls and Virginias, and Indian Cottages? You ought
to give us some every six months."
The "Indian Cottage," if not quite equal in interest to "Paul and
Virginia," is still a charming 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 Paria was, with St. Pierre, the results of his own
experience:--"Misfortune resembles the Black Mountain of Bember,
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 the
kingdom of Cachemere."
When this passage was written, the rugged, and 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.
[For the facts contained in this brief Memoir, I am indebted
to St. Pierre's own works, to the "Biographie Universelle,"
to the "Essai sur la Vie et les Ouvrages de Bernardin de St.
Pierre," by M. Aime Martin, and to the very excellent and
interesting "Notice Historique et Litteraire," of M. Sainte-
Beauve.]
PAUL AND VIRGINIA
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 cultivation, are seen the ruins of two small cottages. These
ruins are not far from the centre 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 that name lifts 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 surface of which appear a few uninhabited islands; and, among
others, the Point of Endeavour, which resembles a bastion 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, called the river
of Fan-Palms. Within this inclosure 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 foot 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 hillock on 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 untilled 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 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 rapacity 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 rather support, but one negro woman. Too delicate
to solicit protection or relief from any one 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 nook of the mountain, some secret
asylum where she might live solitary and unknown, 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, fly for refuge amidst their pains to haunts the
most wild and desolate; as if rocks could form a rampart against
misfortune--as if the calm of Nature could hush the tumults of the soul.
That Providence, which lends its support when we ask but the supply of
our necessary wants, had a blessing in reserve for Madame de la Tour,
which neither riches nor greatness can purchase:--this blessing was a
friend.
The spot to which Madame de la Tour 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 neighbourhood, who promised her marriage.
He soon abandoned her, and adding inhumanity to seduction, refused to
insure a provision for the child of which she was pregnant. Margaret
then determined to leave 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 de la Tour, 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
de la Tour 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 de la Tour 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
misfortunes, 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 little intercourse with
the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim to friendship, and hospitality
towards strangers seemed less a 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
de la Tour 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 twenty 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, whence 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 comprised 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 rugged, 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
neighbours to draw lots for their respective possessions. 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 centre 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 neighbourhood lived
on their own property. I myself cut palisades from the mountain, and
brought leaves of fan-palms from the sea-shore 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 gourds 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 potatoe; the
cotton-tree flourished upon the heights, and the sugar-cane grew in the
clayey 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 negro 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,
and 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 bare-footed:
shoes were a convenience reserved for Sunday, on which day, at an early
hour, they attended mass at the church of the Shaddock 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 Shaddock 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.