God,patience is the courage of virtue."
"Ah!" cried he, "I am then without virtue! Every thing overwhelms meand drives me to despair."--"Equal, constant, and invariable virtue,"I replied, "belongs not to man. In the midst of the many passions whichagitate us, our reason is disordered and obscured: but there is aneverburning 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 bywhich the universe is governed, and which man, inspired by a celestialintelligence, has drawn down to earth. Like the rays of the sun, itenlightens us, it rejoices us, it warms us with a heavenly flame, andseems, in some sort, like the element of fire, to bend all nature toour use. By its means we are enabled to bring around us all things, allplaces, all men, and all times. It assists us to regulate our mannersand our life. By its aid, too, our passions are calmed, vice issuppressed, and virtue encouraged by the memorable examples of great andgood men which it has handed down to us, and whose time-honoured imagesit ever brings before our eyes. Literature is a daughter of Heaven whohas descended upon earth to soften and to charm away all the evils ofthe human race. The greatest writers have ever appeared in the worsttimes,--in times in which society can hardly be held together,--thetimes of barbarism and every species of depravity. My son, literaturehas consoled an infinite number of men more unhappy than yourself:Xenophon, banished from his country after having saved to her tenthousand of her sons; Scipio Africanus, wearied to death by thecalumnies of the Romans; Lucullus, tormented by their cabals; andCatinat, by the ingratitude of a court. The Greeks, with theirnever-failing ingenuity, assigned to each of the Muses a portion of thegreat circle of human intelligence for her especial superintendence;we ought in the same manner, to give up to them the regulation of ourpassions, to bring them under proper restraint. Literature in thisimaginative guise, would thus fulfil, in relation to the powers ofthe soul, the same functions as the Hours, who yoked and conducted thechariot of the Sun.
"Have recourse to your books, then, my son. The wise who have writtenbefore our days are travellers who have preceded us in the paths ofmisfortune, and who stretch out a friendly hand towards us, and inviteus to join in their society, when we are abandoned by every thing else.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 myself; but when she looked at me, andcalled me her friend, I could not feel unhappy."
"Undoubtedly," said I, "there is no friend so agreeable as a mistressby whom we are beloved. There is, moreover, in woman a liveliness andgaiety, which powerfully tend to dissipate the melancholy feelings of aman; her presence drives away the dark phantoms of imagination producedby over-reflection. Upon her countenance sit soft attraction and tenderconfidence. What joy is not heightened when it is shared by her? Whatbrow is not unbent by her smiles? What anger can resist her tears?Virginia will return with more philosophy than you, and will be quitesurprised to find the garden so unfinished;--she who could think of itsembellishments in spite of all the persecutions of her aunt, and whenfar from her mother and from you."
The idea of Virginia's speedy return reanimated the drooping spirits ofher lover, and he resumed his rural occupations, happy amidst his toils,in the reflection that they would soon find a termination so dear to thewishes of his heart.
One morning, at break of day, (it was the 24th of December, 1744,)Paul, when he arose, perceived a white flag hoisted upon the Mountainof Discovery. This flag he knew to be the signal of a vessel descried atsea. He instantly flew to the town to learn if this vessel brought anytidings of Virginia, and waited there till the return of the pilot,who was gone, according to custom, to board the ship. The pilot did notreturn till the evening, when he brought the governor information thatthe signalled vessel was the Saint-Geran, of seven hundred tons burthen,and commanded by a captain of the name of Aubin; that she was nowfour leagues out at sea, but would probably anchor at Port Louis thefollowing afternoon, if the wind became fair: at present there was acalm. The pilot then handed to the governor a number of letters whichthe Saint-Geran had brought from France, among which was one addressedto Madame de la Tour, in the hand-writing of Virginia. Paul seized uponthe letter, kissed it with transport, and placing it in his bosom, flewto the plantation. No sooner did he perceive from a distance the family,who were awaiting his return upon the rock of Adieus than he waved theletter aloft in the air, without being able to utter a word. No soonerwas the seal broken, than they all crowded round Madame de la Tour,to hear the letter read. Virginia informed her mother that she hadexperienced much ill-usage from her aunt, who, after having in vainurged her to a marriage against her inclination, had disinheritedher, and had sent her back at a time when she would probably reachthe Mauritius during the hurricane season. In vain, she added, had sheendeavoured to soften her aunt, by representing what she owed to hermother, and to her early habits; she was treated as a romantic girl,whose head had been turned by novels. She could now only think of thejoy of again seeing and embracing her beloved family, and would havegratified her ardent desire at once, by landing in the pilot's boat, ifthe captain had allowed her: but that he had objected, on account of thedistance, and of a heavy swell, which, notwithstanding the calm, reignedin the open sea.
As soon as the letter was finished, the whole of the family, transportedwith joy, repeatedly exclaimed, "Virginia is arrived!" and mistressesand servants embraced each other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul,--"Myson, go and inform our neighbour of Virginia's arrival." Domingoimmediately lighted a torch of bois de ronde, and he and Paul bent theirway towards my dwelling.
It was about ten o'clock at night, and I was just going to extinguish mylamp, and retire to rest, when I perceived, through the palisades roundmy cottage, a light in the woods. Soon after, I heard the voice of Paulcalling me. I instantly arose, and had hardly dressed myself, whenPaul, almost beside himself, and panting for breath, sprang on my neck,crying,--"Come along, come along. Virginia is arrived. Let us go to theport; the vessel will anchor at break of day."
Scarcely had he uttered the words, when we set off. As we were passingthrough the woods of the Sloping Mountain, and were already on theroad which leads from the Shaddock Grove to the port, I heard some onewalking behind us. It proved to be a negro, and he was advancing withhasty steps. When he had reached us, I asked him whence he came, andwhither he was going with such expedition. He answered, "I come fromthat part of the island called Golden Dust; and am sent to the port, toinform the governor that a ship from France has anchored under the Isleof Amber. She is firing guns of distress, for the sea is very rough."Having said this, the man left us, and pursued his journey without anyfurther delay.
I then said to Paul,--"Let us go towards the quarter of the Golden Dust,and meet Virginia there. It is not more than three leagues from hence."We accordingly bent our course towards the northern part of the island.The heat was suffocating. The moon had risen, and was surrounded bythree large black circles. A frightful darkness shrouded the sky; butthe frequent flashes of lightning discovered to us long rows of thickand gloomy clouds, hanging very low, and heaped together over the centreof the island, being driven in with great rapidity from the ocean,although not a breath of air was perceptible upon the land. As we walkedalong, we thought we heard peals of thunder; but, on listening moreattentively, we perceived that it was the sound of cannon at a distance,repeated by the echoes. These ominous sounds, joined to the tempestuousaspect of the heavens, made me shudder. I had little doubt of theirbeing signals of distress from a ship in danger. In about half an hourthe firing ceased, and I found the silence still more appalling than thedismal sounds which had preceded it.
We hastened on without uttering a word, or daring to communicate toeach other our mutual apprehensions. At midnight, by great exertion, wearrived at the sea shore, in that part of the island called GoldenDust. The billows were breaking against the bench with a horrible noise,covering the rocks and the strand with foam of a dazzling whiten
ess,blended with sparks of fire. By these phosphoric gleams wedistinguished, notwithstanding the darkness, a number of fishing canoes,drawn up high upon the beach.
At the entrance of a wood, a short distance from us, we saw a fire,round which a party of the inhabitants were assembled. We repairedthither, in order to rest ourselves till the morning. While we wereseated near the fire, one of the standers-by related, that late inthe afternoon he had seen a vessel in the open sea, driven towards theisland by the currents; that the night had hidden it from his view; andthat two hours after sunset he had heard the firing of signal gunsof distress, but that the surf was so high, that it was impossible tolaunch a boat to go off to her; that a short time after, he thought heperceived the glimmering of the watch-lights on board the vessel, which,he feared, by its having approached so near
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