discovered the poverty of languagewith regard to picturesque descriptions. In his earliest work, theoften-quoted "Voyages," he complains, that the terms for describingnature are not yet invented. "Endeavour," he says, "to describe amountain in such a manner that it may be recognised. When you havespoken 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 thiscan 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 thisdearth of expression. Few authors ever introduced more new terms intodescriptive writing: yet are his innovations ever chastened, and in goodtaste. His style, in its elegant simplicity, is, indeed, perfection. Itis at once sonorous and sweet, and always in harmony with the sentimenthe would express, or the subject he would discuss. Chenier might wellarm himself with "Paul and Virginia," and the "Chaumiere Indienne," inopposition to those writers, who, as he said, made prose unnatural, byseeking to elevate it into verse.
The "Etudes de la Nature" embraced a thousand different subjects, andcontained some new ideas on all. It is to the honour of human nature,that after the uptearing of so many sacred opinions, a production likethis, revealing the chain of connection through the works of Creation,and the Creator in his works, should have been hailed, as it was, withenthusiasm.
His motto, from his favourite poet Virgil, "Taught by calamity, I pitythe unhappy," won for him, perhaps many readers. And in its touchingillusions, the unhappy may have found suspension from the realities oflife, as well as encouragement to support its trials. For, throughout,it infuses admiration of the arrangements of Providence, and a desirefor virtue. More than one modern poet may be supposed to have drawn aportion of his inspiration, from the "Etudes." As a work of science itcontains many errors. These, particularly his theory of the tides,(*)St. Pierre maintained to the last, and so eloquently, that it was saidat 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. Itwas an entirely new creation, uninspired by any previous work; but whichgave birth to many others, having furnished the plot to six theatricalpieces. It was a subject to which the author could bring all hisexcellences as a writer and a man, while his deficiencies and defectswere 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 successto be inseparable from the happy selection of a story so entirely inharmony with the character of the author; and that the most successfulwriters might envy him so fortunate a choice. Buonaparte was in thehabit of saying, whenever he saw St. Pierre, "M. Bernardin, when do youmean to give us more Pauls and Virginias, and Indian Cottages? You oughtto give us some every six months."
The "Indian Cottage," if not quite equal in interest to "Paul andVirginia," is still a charming production, and does great honour to thegenius of its author. It abounds in antique and Eastern gems of thought.Striking and excellent comparisons are scattered through its pages; andit is delightful to reflect, that the following beautiful and solemnanswer of the Paria was, with St. Pierre, the results of his ownexperience:--"Misfortune resembles the Black Mountain of Bember,situated at the extremity of the burning kingdom of Lahore; while youare climbing it, you only see before you barren rocks; but when you havereached its summit, you see heaven above your head, and at your feet thekingdom of Cachemere."
When this passage was written, the rugged, and sterile rock had beenclimbed by its gifted author. He had reached the summit,--his genius hadbeen rewarded, and he himself saw the heaven he wished to point out toothers.
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 PortLouis, in the Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the marks offormer cultivation, are seen the ruins of two small cottages. Theseruins 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 mountaincalled the Height of Discovery, whence the eye marks the distant sailwhen it first touches the verge of the horizon, and whence the signal isgiven when a vessel approaches the island. At the foot of this mountainstands the town of Port Louis. On the right is formed the road whichstretches from Port Louis to the Shaddock Grove, where the churchbearing that name lifts its head, surrounded by its avenues of bamboo,in the middle of a spacious plain; and the prospect terminates in aforest extending to the furthest bounds of the island. The front viewpresents the bay, denominated the Bay of the Tomb; a little on the rightis seen the Cape of Misfortune; and beyond rolls the expanded ocean,on the surface of which appear a few uninhabited islands; and, amongothers, the Point of Endeavour, which resembles a bastion built upon theflood.
At the entrance of the valley which presents these various objects,the echoes of the mountain incessantly repeat the hollow murmurs of thewinds that shake the neighbouring forests, and the tumultuous dashing ofthe waves which break at a distance upon the cliffs; but near the ruinedcottages all is calm and still, and the only objects which there meetthe eye are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding rampart.Large clumps of trees grow at their base, on their rifted sides, andeven on their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to repose. Theshowers, which their bold points attract, often paint the vivid coloursof the rainbow on their green and brown declivities, and swell thesources of the little river which flows at their feet, called the riverof Fan-Palms. Within this inclosure reigns the most profound silence.The waters, the air, all the elements are at peace. Scarcely does theecho repeat the whispers of the palm-trees spreading their broad leaves,the long points of which are gently agitated by the winds. A soft lightillumines the bottom of this deep valley, on which the sun shines onlyat noon. But, even at the break of day, the rays of light are thrown onthe surrounding rocks; and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadowsof the mountain, appear like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon theazure sky.
To this scene I loved to resort, as I could here enjoy at once therichness of an unbounded landscape, and the charm of uninterruptedsolitude. One day, when I was seated at the foot of the cottages, andcontemplating their ruins, a man, advanced in years, passed near thespot. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the island, his feet werebare, and he leaned upon a staff of ebony; his hair was white, and theexpression of his countenance was dignified and interesting. I bowed tohim with respect; he returned the salutation; and, after looking at mewith some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the hillock on whichI was seated. Encouraged by this mark of confidence I thusaddressed him: "Father, can you tell me to whom those cottages oncebelonged?"--"My son," replied the old man, "those heaps of rubbish,and that untilled land, were, twenty years ago, the property of twofamilies, who then found happiness in this solitude. Their history isaffecting; but what European, pursuing his way to the Indies, will pauseone moment to interest himself in the fate of a few obscure individuals?What European can picture happiness to his imagination amidst povertyand neglect? The curiosity of mankind is only attracted by thehistory of the great, and yet from that knowledge little use canbe derived."--"Father," I rejoined, "from your manner and yourobservations, I perceive that you have acquired much experience of humanlife. If you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the history ofthe ancient inhabitants of this d
esert; and be assured, that eventhe men who are most perverted by the prejudices of the world, finda soothing pleasure in contemplating that happiness which belongs tosimplicity and virtue." The old man, after a short silence, during whichhe leaned his face upon his hands, as if he were trying to recall theimages of the past, thus began his narration:--
Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was a native of Normandy, afterhaving in vain solicited a commission in the French army, or somesupport from his own family, at length determined to seek his fortune inthis 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. Shebelonged to a rich and ancient family of the same province: but he hadmarried her secretly and without fortune,
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