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[Illustration: _Paul and Virginia. p.29._]


PAUL AND VIRGINIA,

FROM THE FRENCH

OF

J.B.H. DE SAINT PIERRE.




1851




PREFACE.

The following translation of "Paul and Virginia," was written at Paris,
amidst the horrors of Robespierre's tyranny. During that gloomy epocha it
was difficult to find occupations which might cheat the days of calamity of
their weary length. Society had vanished; and amidst the minute vexations
of Jacobinical despotism, which, while it murdered in _mass_, persecuted in
detail, the resources of writing, and even reading, were encompassed with
danger. The researches of domiciliary visits had already compelled me to
commit to the flames a manuscript volume, where I had traced the political
scenes of which I had been a witness, with the colouring of their first
impressions on my mind, with those fresh tints that fade from recollection;
and since my pen, accustomed to follow the impulse of my feelings, could
only have drawn, at that fatal period, those images of desolation and
despair which haunted my imagination, and dwelt upon my heart, writing was
forbidden employment. Even reading had its perils; for books had sometimes
aristocratical insignia, and sometimes counter revolutionary allusions; and
when the administrators of police happened to think the writer a
conspirator, they punished the reader as his accomplice.

In this situation I gave myself the task of employing a few hours every day
in translating the charming little novel of Bernardin St. Pierre, entitled
"Paul and Virginia;" and I found the most soothing relief in wandering from
my own gloomy reflections to those enchanting scenes of the Mauritius,
which he has so admirably described. I also composed a few Sonnets adapted
to the peculiar productions of that part of the globe, which are
interspersed in the work. Some, indeed, are lost, as well as a part of the
translation, which I have since supplied, having been sent to the
Municipality of Paris, in order to be examined as English papers; where
they still remain, mingled with revolutionary placards, motions, and
harangues; and are not likely to be restored to my possession.

With respect to the translation, I can only hope to deserve the humble
merit of not having deformed the beauty of the original. I have, indeed,
taken one liberty with my author, which it is fit I should acknowledge,
that of omitting several pages of general observations, which, however
excellent in themselves, would be passed over with impatience by the
English reader, when they interrupt the pathetic narrative. In this
respect, the two nations seem to change characters; and while the serious
and reflecting Englishman requires, in novel writing, as well as on the
theatre, a rapid succession of incidents, much bustle and stage effect,
without suffering the author to appear himself, and stop the progress of
the story; the gay and restless Frenchman listens attentively to long
philosophical reflections, while the catastrophe of the drama hangs in
suspense.

My last poetical productions (the Sonnets which are interspersed in this
work) may perhaps be found even more imperfect than my earlier
compositions; since, after a long exile from England, I can scarcely
flatter myself that my ear is become more attuned to the harmony of a
language, with the sounds of which it is seldom gladdened; or that my
poetical taste is improved by living in a country where arts have given
place to arms. But the public will, perhaps, receive with indulgence a work
written under such peculiar circumstances; not composed in the calm of
literary leisure, or in pursuit of literary fame, but amidst the turbulence
of the most cruel sensations, and in order to escape awhile from
overwhelming misery.

H.M.W.




PAUL AND VIRGINIA.


On the eastern coast 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. Those ruins are situated near 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,
from 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 midst 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