A10r

Ourika.

I was brought from Senegal
by the Governor, the Chevalier
de B., when about two years old.
He took compassion on me one
day as he stood witnessing the embarkation
of some slaves on board
a negro transport ship then going
to sail. I had lost my mother, A10v 20
and I was carried on board the
vessel, in spite of my violent
screams and resistance. He bought
me, and on his return to France
shortly after gave me to his aunt,
the wife of the Marshal de B.
She was the most amiable woman
of her time, and united an elevated
and highly refined mind to
the most exemplary virtue. To
save me from slavery, and choose
for me such a benefactress as
Madame de B., was twice bestowing
life upon me. Such was my
ingratitude towards Providence, A11r 21
that I was not made happy by it.
But is happiness always the result
of the development of our faculties?
I think not. How often
does the knowledge we acquire
teach us to regret our days of
ignorance! Nor does the fable
tell us that Galatea received the
gift of happiness with that of life.

I was not told the early circumstances
of my life until long after
they happened. My first recollections
always bring Madame de
B.’s drawing-room to my mind. I A11v 22
used to pass my life there, doated
on by herself, praised and caressed
by her friends, who loaded me
with presents, and exalted to the
skies my wit and graces.

The tone of her society was
animated gaiety; but gaiety from
which good taste had excluded
all exaggeration. What deserved
praise always met with it, and
what deserved blame was generally
excused; nay, from excessive
leniency erroneous notions were
often suffered to pass for right A12r 23
ones. Success gives courage, and
every one was sure of being estimated
a little above their real
worth, by Madame de B.; for,
without knowing it, she lent them
a part of her own, and after seeing
or listening to her people, fancied
themselves like her.

Dressed in the Eastern fashion,
and seated on a little stool at
Madame de B.’s feet, I used to
listen to the conversation of the
first wits of the day long before I
could understand it. I had no A12v 24
childish petulance. I was pensive
ere I began to think. I was perfectly
happy at being by the side
of Madame de B. To love her,
to listen to her, to obey her, and
above all, to look at her, was all
that I desired. Neither a life of
luxury, nor accomplished society,
could astonish me; I knew no
other, but I insensibly acquired a
great contempt for every other
sphere than the one I lived in.
Even when a child, the want of
taste would shock me. I felt it B1r 25
ere I could define it, for habit had
made it necessary.

Thus did I grow up to the age
of twelve years without an idea of
any other kind of happiness than
that I possessed. I felt no pain
at being a negress. I was continually
praised and admired, and
nothing ever suggested its being
to my disadvantage. I seldom
saw any other children; and the
only one who was my friend, did
not love me the less on account
of my colour.

B B1v 26

Madame de B. had two grandsons;
the children of her daughter
who had died young. Charles,
the youngest, was about my own
age. We spent our infancy together.
He was my protector and
my adviser in all my little faults,
but he went to school when he
was eight years old. I wept at
parting. This was my first sorrow.
He seldom came home, yet I
often thought of him. Whilst he
pursued his studies, I was ardently
engaged in acquiring the accomplishments
necessary to complete B2r 27
my education. Madame de B.
resolved to make me perfect in
every talent. My voice was
thought worthy of the instruction
of the first masters; a celebrated
painter, one of my benefactress’s
friends, undertook to guide me in
his art; English and Italian were
familiar to me, and Madame de B.
herself presided over my reading.
She formed both my mind and
judgment. By conversing with
her, and discovering the beauties
of her soul, my own grew elevated,
and admiration was the B2 B2v 28
first source of my own intelligence.
Alas! how little I then
foresaw that these delightful studies
would be followed by so
many bitter hours! My sole
thought was how to please Madame
de B., and a smile of approbation
on her lips the only recompense
I wished for.

However, constant reading, and,
above all, the study of the poets,
began to inflame my young imagination.
My thoughts sometimes
wandered upon my own future B3r 29
life; but, with the confidence natural
in youth, I felt assured that
I should always be happy with my
benefactress. Her tenderness towards
me, and the bewitching life
I led, contributed to confirm my
error. A single instance will show
the pride she took in me. You
will perhaps scarcely believe that
my shape was once remarkable for
its beauty and elegance. Madame
de B. often boasted of my grace,
and had been anxious to have me
dance well. Under pretext of
giving a ball for her grand-children,B3 B3v 30
she resolved to show off my
talent in a quadrille, representing
the four parts of the world, in
which I was to perform Africa.
Travellers were consulted, books
of costume resorted to, and works
read upon African music and dancing:
at last the Comba, a national
dance of my own country,
was fixed upon. My partner put
a crape over his face. Alas! I
had no need of any to blacken
mine; but this was far from my
thoughts, they were wholly engrossed
by the pleasures of the B4r 31
ball. I danced the comba with
the greatest success, as might be
expected, from the novelty of the
spectacle, and the choice of my spectators,
who were all friends of my
protectress, and to please her,
gave way to the most enthusiastic
applause. The dance was in itself
sufficiently attractive, being composed
of graceful attitudes and
measured steps, expressing love,
grief, triumph, and despair. I was
totally ignorant of these violent
passions; yet from instinct I
guessed them, and my imitation B4 B4v 32
succeeded. I was surrounded by
an applauding assembly, and overwhelmed
with praise. This was a
pleasure that I enjoyed in the
most perfect security. It was my
last.

A few days after this ball had
taken place, I overheard by chance
a conversation, which awakened
me to the truth, and at once put
an end to my youth.

Madame de B. had a lacker
screen in her drawing-room, which B5r 33
hid one of the doors, and extended
beyond the window. Between the
door and this window there was a
table where I used frequently to
draw. I sat down one morning,
to work at a miniature there; my
attention became so completely
absorbed that I remained for some
time motionless, and no doubt
Madame de B. concluded that I
had left the room when the Marchioness
de C. was announced. This
lady possessed a penetrating judgment,
but her manners were trenchant,
positive, and dry. She was B5 B5v 34
capable of great devotion to her
friends, but at the same time was
inquisitive, and hard to please: in
short she was the least amiable of
Madame de B.’s friends. I feared
her, though she had always shown
a regard for me; that is, in her
own way. Severity and investigation
were its signs. I was too
much accustomed to indulgence,
not to fear her justice. “Now
that we are alone, my dear,”
said this lady to Madame de B.,
“let me speak to you of Ourika.
She is a charming girl; her B6r 35
mind is nearly formed; she
possesses wit, infinite natural
grace, and very superior talents;
but what is to become of her?
What do you intend to do with
her?” “That is the very
thought that distresses me,”
cried Madame de B. “I love her
as my child: I should think no
sacrifice too great to make her
happy, but the longer I reflect
upon her situation, the less
remedy I find for it. Alas,
poor Ourika! I see thee doomed B6 B6v 36
to be alone—eternally alone in
the world!”

It would be impossible for me
to describe the effect these few
words produced upon me; lightning
could not have been more
prompt. I discovered the extent
of my misery. I saw what I was
—a black girl, a dependant, without
fortune, without a being of
my own kind to whom I could
unite my destiny; belonging to
nobody; till now, the plaything
of my benefactress, but soon an B7r 37
outcast from a world that I was
not made for. I shuddered, and
my heart beat so violently, that,
for a moment, I could not attend
to this conversation, but I strove
to master my feeling.

“I fear,” continued the Marchioness,
“that you will make her
very miserable. What will satisfy
her, now that she has passed her
life with you in the intimacy of
your society?” “But will she
not remain with me?” said
Madame de B. “Aye, as long as B7v 38
her childhood lasts, but she is
now nearly fifteen; and who
can you marry her to, with the
education you have given her?
Who will ever marry a negro
girl? And if you should find
any man who, for the sake of
money, would perhaps consent
to have negro children, must it
not be some one of inferior condition,
with whom she would be
unhappy? Will a man whom
she would choose ever choose
her?” “Alas! this is true,”
cried Madame de B. “but she B8r 39
fortunately does not suspect it,
and her attachment for me will,
I hope, prevent her perceiving
her situation for some time. To
have made her happy, I should
have made an ordinary being of
her; and frankly I believe that
impossible. Besides, as she has
not remained in the station she
was first intended for, may not
her mind rise superior to the
restraints of her present one?”
“Never; you are forging chimeras,”
replied the Marchioness.
“Philosophy may raise our minds B8v 40
above the vicissitudes of fortune,
but can never prevail against the
evils which arise from having
disturbed the laws of nature.
Ourika has not fulfilled her
destiny, she has usurped a place
in society to which she had no
right, and society will punish
her for it.” “But surely it is
no fault of her’s? Poor child!
with what severity you decide
upon her happiness.” “I judge
it more rationally than you have
done.—I consider how it may
best be secured, whilst you will B9r 41
be the cause of its ruin.” Madame
de B. answered this accusation
with some warmth, and I was
just becoming the cause of a quarrel
between the two friends, when
the arrival of a third person put
an end to their discussion. I slid
out at the door behind the screen,
and flew to my own room, there
to solace my poor heart for a moment
by a flood of tears.

Oh, how I felt my whole existence
changed! How lost I was
when the illusions I had so constantly B9v 42
dwelt in vanished! They
resembled the light of day, and
when they fled, utter darkness
succeeded. So great was the confusion
of my mind under the new
thoughts that assailed it, that not
one of my usual ideas ever occurred
to me. I was struck with
terror. To be an object of pity
to the world! Not to be fit for the
rank I lived in! Perhaps to meet
with a man who for the sake of
money would consent to have
negro children! These thoughts
kept rising successively over my B10r 43
mind, pursuing me like phantoms.
But the bitterest of all was the
certainty of belonging to no one
in the world. To be alone! Ever,
and for ever alone! Madame de
B. had owned it, and I repeated
the words over and over. What
cared I to be alone, but a few
minutes before. I knew it not, I
felt it not; I had need of the
beings that I loved, but I was unconscious
of their not wanting me.
Now my eyes were opened, and
with misfortune came mistrust into
my soul.

B10v 44

When I returned to Madame de
B.’s apartment, every body was
struck with the change in my appearance.
I pretended to be ill,
and was believed. Madame de B.
sent for her physician, Barthez,
who felt my pulse, questioned me
carefully, and then abruptly declared
that nothing ailed me. This
quieted the uneasiness of my benefactress
about my health; but
she sought every means of diverting
my mind. I dare not own
how little gratitude I felt for her
care. My heart seemed withered B11r 45
in itself. As long as it had received
favours with pleasure, it
gladly acknowledged the benefit;
but now filled with the bitterest
feelings, it had no power to expand.
My days were spent in the
same thoughts, differently combined
and under various forms,
but still the blackest my imagination
could invent. Often were
my nights passed in weeping. I
exhausted my whole pity upon
myself.—My face was become
odious to me;—I no longer dared
to look in a glass;—and my black B11v 46
hands struck me with horror;—
they appeared to me like a
monkey’s. I dwelt upon the idea
of my ugliness, and my colour
appeared to me the sign of me reprobation:
it was alone which
separated me from the rest of my
fellow creatures, and condemned
me to live alone, and never to be
loved.—That a man should perhaps
consent for the sake of
money to have negro children!
My blood rose with indignation
at the idea. I thought for a moment
of entreating Madame de B12r 47
B. to send me back to my own
country;—but even there I
should have felt isolated.—Who
would have understood me? Who
would have sympathised with my
feelings? Alas! I belonged to no
one—I was estranged from the
whole world!”

It was not until long after that
I understood the possibility of
being reconciled to such a fate.
Madame de B. was no devotee;
she had had me instructed in
the duties of my religion by a
respectable priest, from whom I B12v 48
imbibed my only notions on the
subject. They were as sincere as
my own character; but I was not
aware that piety is of no succour,
unless mingled with the daily
actions of life. I had devoted a
few moments of each day to its
practice, but left it a stranger to
the rest. My confessor was an
indulgent, unsuspicious old man,
whom I saw twice or thrice
a year; but as I did not imagine
that my grief could be a fault,
I never mentioned it to him;
meanwhile it continued to undermine C1r 49
my health, though, strange
to say, it perfected my understanding.
“What doth the man
know who hath not suffered?”
says an Eastern sage; and I soon
perceived how true this was.
What I had taken for ideas were
impressions. I did not judge—
I liked. I was either pleased
or displeased with the words or
actions of the persons I lived
with, but stopped not to consider
why. Since I had found out that
the world would reject me, I began
to examine and criticise almostC C1v 50
every thing that had hitherto
enchanted me.

Such a tendency could not
escape Madame de B.’s penetration;
though I never knew
whether she guessed the cause.
Possibly she was afraid of letting
me confide my chagrin to her,
for fear of increasing it; but she
was even kinder to me than usual;
she entrusted all her thoughts to
me, and tried to dissipate my
own troubles by busying me
with her’s. She judged my heart C2r 51
rightly, for nothing could attach
me to life but the idea of being
necessary or even useful to my
benefactress. To be alone, to
die, and leave no regret in the
soul of any being, was the dread
that haunted me: but there I was
unjust towards her, for she sincerely
loved me; still she had
other and superior interests to
mine. I did not envy her tenderness
for her grandchildren;
but, oh! how I longed like them
to call her mother! C2

C2v 52

Family ties, above all, brought
distressing recollections over me.
I! who was doomed never to be
the sister, wife, or mother of any
human being! Perhaps I fancied
these ties more endearing
than they really were; and because
they were out of my reach,
I foolishly neglected those that
were not. But I had no friend,
no confidant. My feeling for Madame
de B. was that of worship
rather than of affection; but I believe
that I felt the utmost love
of a sister for Charles.

C3r 53

His studies were nearly finished,
and he was setting out on his travels
with his eldest brother and
their governor. They were to
be two years absent, and were
to visit Italy, Germany, and England.
Charles was delighted to
travel, and I was too well accustomed
to rejoice at what gave
him pleasure, to feel any grief
until the moment of our parting.

I never told him the distress
that preyed upon me. We did
not see each other alone, and it C3 C3v 54
would have taken me some time
to explain my grief to him. He
would then have understood me,
I am sure. His manners were
mild and grave, but he had a
propensity to ridicule that intimidated
me; not that he ever
gratified it but at the expense of
affectation. Sincerely completely
disarmed him. However, I kept
my secret; besides, the chagrin
of our parting was a relief to
my mind, to which any grief was
more welcome than its accustomed
one.

C4r 55

A short time after Charles’ departure,
the revolution began to
assume a serious turn: the great
moral and political interests that
were agitated by it to their very
source were daily discussed in Madame
de B.’s drawing-room. These
were debates that superior minds
delighted in; and what could better
form my own, than the contemplation
of an arena where
men of distinguished talents were
struggling against opinions long
since received, and investigating
every subject, examining the originC4 C4v 56
of every institution, unfortunately
to destroy and shake
them from their very foundation.

Will you believe that, young as
I was, without any share in the interests
of society, and nourishing
my own wound in secret, the revolution
bought some change in
my ideas, created a glimmering
ray of hope in them, and, for a
while, suspended their bitterness.
It appeared to me that, in the
general confusion, my situation
might change; and that, when all C5r 57
ranks were levelled, fortunes upset,
and prejudices done away
with, I might find myself less
isolated in this new order of
things; and that, if I did possess
any hidden qualities or superiority
of mind, my colour would no
longer single me out, and prevent
their being appreciated: but it
happened that these very qualities
quickly opposed my illusion.
I could not desire my own happiness
at the expense of the misfortune
of thousands; besides, I
daily witnessed the folly of personsC5 C5v 58
who were struggling against
events that they could not control.
I saw through the weakness
of such characters, and
guessed their secret views. Their
false philanthropy did not long
deceive me, and I quite gave up
my hopes when I found that they
would still feel contempt for me,
even in the midst of the severest
adversity. The days were gone
when each sought to please, and
remembered that the only means
of doing so in society is the very
unconsciousness of one’s own success. C6r 59
No sooner did the revolution
cease to be a grand theory,—
no sooner did it menace the interests
of every high individual,
than conversation degenerated into
dispute, and reasoning was exchanged
for bitter personality.
Sometimes, in spite of my dejection,
I could not help being
amused by the sudden violence of
opinions which were excited by
ambition, affectation, or fear; but
gaiety that is occasioned by the
observation of folly in others is
too malignant to do good: the C6 C6v 60
heart delights in innocent joys,
and the mirth of ridicule, far
from dispelling misfortune, is more
likely to proceed from it, as it
feeds upon the same bitterness of
soul.

My hopes in the revolution
having quickly vanished, I remained
dissatisfied as before with
my situation. Madame de B.’s
friendship and confidence were
my only solace. Often, in the
midst of an acrimonious political
discussion, after vainly trying to C7r 61
restore good humour, she would
cast a sad look at me:—this
look was a balm to my heart; it
seemed to say, “Ourika, you
alone can sympathise with me.”

The negroes’ right to liberty
next began to be debated; and
I, of course, felt deeply interested
in the question. One of my
remaining illusions was, that at
least I had countrymen in another
land, and knowing them to
be unhappy, I believed them virtuous,
and pitied their fate. Alas! C7v 62
here again I was undeceived. The
massacre of St. Domingo added
fresh grief to my soul; and to my
despair at belonging to a proscribed
race was added shame at
their being likewise a race of barbarians.

The revolution having soon
made rapid progress, and the
most violent men getting into
power, inspired the greatest terror
by their utter disregard of the
laws of justice. The horrid days
of the twentieth of June and tenth C8r 63
of August prepared for every
other event. The greater number
of Madame de B.’s friends
fled at this epoch; some sought
shelter abroad, others in the provinces
or in secret retreats; but she
remained. The constant occupation
of her heart fixed her to home.

We had been living for some
months in solitude, when towards
the latter end of the year 17921792,
the decree for the confiscation
of the emigrants’ estates was
issued. In the midst of such C8v 64
great disasters, Madame de B.
would have cared little for the
loss of her fortune, had it not
belonged to her grandchildren;
for by a family arrangement, she
had only the enjoyment of it during
her lifetime. This made her
decide upon sending for Charles
home, whilst his eldest brother,
then nearly one and twenty, went
to join the army of the Prince of
Condé. Their travels were just
completed, which two years before
had been undertaken under such
different auspices. Charles arrived C9r 65
in Paris, in the beginning of 1793-02February,
1793, a short time after
the King’s death. Madame de B.
had given herself up to the most
poignant grief, at the perpetration
of this deed. Her feeling mind
proportioned its horror to the immensity
of the crime. Affliction
in old age is a most moving spectacle,
it carries with it the authority
of reason. Madame de B.
suffered with such energy, that it
affected her health, and I did not
conceive it possible to console her,
but I mingled my tears with hers, C9v 66
and sought by elevating my own
sentiments, to ally my soul more
nearly to hers, so that I might at
least share her sufferings. My
own distress scarcely occurred to
me while the reign of terror lasted.
I should have felt ashamed
to think of it during such dreadful
calamities. Besides, I no longer
felt so isolated, since every person
round me was unhappy. Opinion
is like the link of country, it is
the property of all, and men are
brothers to defend its cause. Sometimes
I thought, that poor negress C10r 67
as I was, still I was allied to noble
minds, by the same need of justice
that I experienced in common with
them. The return of truth and justice
to their country, would be a
day of triumph for me as well as
for them; but, alas! it was far
distant.

On Charles’s return, Madame de
B. went into the country. All her
friends had fled. The only society
she had left, was that of an old
Abbé, who for ten years had
turned religion into ridicule, but C10v 68
was now highly irritated at the
riches of the clergy being confiscated,
because he lost twenty
thousand francs a year by it.
He accompanied us to St. Germain.
His company was rather
quiet than agreeable, and was
more the result of his disposition
than of his heart.

Madame de B. had had it in
her power all her life to do good.
She was intimately acquainted
with the Count de Choiseul, and
during his long ministry, was useful C11r 69
to a number of persons. Two
of the most popular men during
that terror, owed obligations to
her, and remembered it in those
dreadful times. They watched over
her preservation, and risqued their
own lives to save hers from the
fury of the revolutionary assassins;
and it may here be remarked,
that at this fatal epoch even
the chiefs of the most violent factions
ran great danger in doing
a little good. It seemed as if our
desolate land was only to be governed
by evil, for that alone took C11v 70
away or gave power. Madame de
B. was not sent to prison. She
was guarded at home under pretext
of bad health. Charles, the
Abbé, and myself remained with
her, and attended her with care.

Nothing can equal the state of
anxiety and terror in which we
passed our days: continually reading
in the papers accounts of the
sentences of death passed against
Madame de B.’s friends, and trembling
lest her protector should be
deprived of the power of preserving C12r 71
her from a similar fate. We
discovered, indeed, that she was
on the eve of perishing, when the
death of Robespierre put an end
to so much horror. We breathed
again. The guards left our house,
and we all remained in the same
solitude, like people who have escaped
some great calamity together.
Misfortune seemed to have
linked us closer to each other. I
felt in those moments that I was
not a stranger. If I ever passed
a few happy moments since the
fairy days of my childhood, it was C12v 72
during the times that followed
this disastrous epoch. Madame
de B. possessed to a supreme degree
those qualities which constitute
the charm of domestic life;
her temper was easy and indulgent;
she always put the most
favourable construction upon what
was said before her: no harsh or
captious judgment of hers ever
cooled the confidence of her
friends. Thoughts were free, and
might be uttered without responsibility
before her, merely passing
for what they were worth. Such D1r 73
gifts, had they been her only ones,
would have made Madame de B’s
friends adore her; but how many
others she possessed! It was impossible
to feel ennui in her company.
There was a charm in her
wit and manner, that made even
trifles interesting the moment they
engrossed her attention.

Charles bore some resemblance
to his mother. His mind like her’s
was liberal and just, but firm, and
without modification, for youth
allows of none; it finds every
thing either quite right or quite D D1v 74
wrong, while the failing of old
age is to believe that nothing is
ever quite right or quite wrong.
Charles was endowed with the two
first qualities of his age,—truth
and justice. I have already said,
that he hated the very shadow of
affectation; nay, he sometimes
fancied it where it did not exist.
Reserve was habitual to him, and
this made his confidence the more
flattering, as it was evidently the
result of his esteem, and not of his
natural propensity; whatever portion
of it he granted, was of value, D2r 75
for he never acted inconsiderately,
and yet was always natural and
sincere. He placed such full reliance
in me, that his thoughts
were communicated to me as
quickly as they came. When we
were all seated round our table
of an evening, how interesting
were our conversations. Our old
Abbé took his share in them; he
had made out to himself such a
completely false set of ideas, and
maintained them with so much
good faith, that he was an inexhaustible
source of amusement to D2 D2v 76
Madame de B.; her clear and
penetrating judgment drew out
the poor man’s absurdities (he
never taking it amiss), and she
would throw in keen traits of
good sense over his orderly system,
which we used to compare to the
heavy strokes of Charlemagne’s
or Roland’s sword.

Madame de B. was fond of
exercise; we used to walk in the
forest of St. Germain every morning;
she leaning on the Abbé,
and I following with Charles at a D3r 77
distance. It was then he would
unburthen his mind to me, and
tell me his thoughts, his projects,
his future hopes, and above all,
his opinion upon men and passing
events. He had not a secret feeling
hidden from me, and was unconscious
of disclosing one. The
habit of relying upon my friendship
had made it like his own life
to him. He enjoyed it without
knowing that he did. He demanded
neither attention nor expressions
of interest from me; he
knew that, in speaking to me of D3 D3v 78
his own concerns, it was as though
he spoke to me of mine, and that
I felt more deeply for him than
he did for himself. Friendship
like this was a charm that equalled
the sensations of happiness itself!

I never thought of telling
Charles what had so long oppressed
me. I listened to him, and, by I
know not what magical effect, his
conversation banished from my
mind the recollection of my sorrows.
Had he questioned me, I
should have confessed them all, D4r 79
but he did not imagine that I had
any secret. Every body was accustomed
to my weak state of
health, and Madame de B. had
striven so much to make me
happy, that she had a right to
think me so. So I ought to have
been, I felt it, and often accused
myself of ingratitude and folly.
I doubt whether I should have
ever dared to own how miserable
the irreparable misfortune of my
colour made me. There is a sort
of degradation in not being able
to submit to necessity, and when D4 D4v 80
hopeless grief masters the soul, it
bears the character of despair.
There was a rigidity in Charles’s
notions, which likewise increased
my timidity. One evening our
conversation turned upon pity,
and it was asked, whether misfortune
inspires most compassion
from its cause or from its effects.
Charles decided for the former;
this was declaring that all grief
should be actuated by some powerful
motive. But who can judge
the motives of another? All
hearts have not the same wants; D5r 81
and does not real misfortune consist
in the heart’s being deprived
of its desires? It was seldom,
however, that our conversations
thus led me to reflect upon my
own case, which I so earnestly
sought to forget. I would have
no looking-glasses in my room.
I constantly wore gloves, and
dresses that covered my throat
and arms. I had a large hat and
veil to walk out in, which I often
continued to wear in doors: in
short, I would fain have deceived
myself, and, like a child, shut my D5 D5v 82
own eyes, and thought that no
one saw me.

Towards the end of the year
17951795, the reign of terror being at
an end, friends began to seek
each other out, and the scattered
remains of Madame de B.’s society
rallied around her. With chagrin
I beheld the circle of her friends
increase, for the station I held in
the world was so equivocal, that
the more society returned to its
natural order, the more I felt
myself excluded from it. Every D6r 83
time that strangers came to visit
us I underwent fresh misery. The
expression of surprise, mingled
with disdain, that I observed upon
their countenances when they first
beheld me, put me to confusion.
I was sure to become the subject
of an aparté in the window-seat, or
of a whisper in a corner, that it
might be explained how a negress
came to be admitted as an inmate
in Madame de B.’s society. I
used to suffer martyrdom during
these explanations. I longed to
be transported back to my barbarousD6 D6v 84
country and its savage inhabitants,
whom I should fear less
than this cruel world that made
me responsible for its own evils.
The recollection of a disdainful
look would remain upon me for
whole days, appear to me in my
dreams, flit before me under the
likeness of my own image. Alas!
such were the chimeras that I
suffered to disturb me. Thou,
my God! hadst not yet taught
me to dispel these phantoms; I
knew not that repose was to be
found in thee.

D7r 85

I then sought for shelter in the
heart of Charles. I was proud of
his virtues, and still prouder of
his friendship. I admired him as
the most perfect being that I knew
upon earth. I once thought that
I felt for him the most tender
love of a sister; but now, worn
by grief, it seemed as if I had
grown old, and my tenderness
was become that of a mother.
Indeed, a mother only could feel
the same passionate desire for his
success, and anxiety for his welfare
through life. I would willingly D7v 86
have given up my existence
to save him from a moment’s pain.
I saw the impression he made
upon others long before he did.
He was happy enough neither to
think nor care about it. This
was natural, for he had nothing
to fear; nothing to give him that
habitual uneasiness I felt about
the opinion of others. His fate
was all harmony, mine was all
discord.

One morning an old friend
called upon Madame de B., confidentially D8r 87
entrusted with a proposal
of marriage for Charles. Mademoiselle
de Thémines had suddenly
become a rich heiress in the
most distressing manner. Her
whole family, excepting her great
aunt, had perished on the scaffold
in one day. This lady (having
reached her eightieth year) as sole
guardian of her niece, was exceedingly
anxious to have her
married, lest her own death should
leave her without a single protector.
Anais de Thémines, besides
possessing the advantages of D8v 88
birth, wealth, and education, was
beautiful as an angel. It was
impossible that Madame de B.
should hesitate; she spoke to her
son, who (though he at first
showed some reluctance at marrying
so early) expressed a desire to
see Mademoiselle de Thémines.
The interview took place, and his
reluctance vanished. Anais was
formed to please him. She appeared
so unconscious of her
charms, and possessed modesty
so unassuming and quiet, that she
could not fail endearing herself D9r 89
to him; he was allowed to visit
at her aunt’s, and soon became
passionately in love with her. I
knew the progress of his feelings,
and longed to behold this lovely
creature to whom his happiness
was soon to be entrusted. She
came one morning to St. Germains.
Charles had spoken of me to her,
and I had no contemptuous scrutiny
to undergo. She appeared
to me an angel of goodness; I
assured her that Charles would
make her happy, and that his
discretion was so much above his D9v 90
years, that she need have no
apprehensions on account of his
youth. She questioned me much
about him, for she knew that we
had been friends from infancy,
and I was so delighted at having
an opportunity of extolling his
many virtues, that I could have
talked for ever.

Some weeks passed before the
marriage took place for the settlement
of business, and Charles
spent most part of that time at
Madame de Thémines, sometimes D10r 91
remaining two or three days at a
time in Paris. His absence pained
me; I felt vexed at losing him,
and vexed with myself for preferring
my own happiness to his. I
had never done so before. The
days that he returned home were
holidays for me. Then he would
tell me how he had passed his
time, what progress he had made
in the affections of his mistress,
and rejoice with me at the success
he had met with. Once, he
began (describing to me the
manner he intended to live with D10v 92
her)—“I will obtain her confidence,”
said he, “and give
her mine. All my thoughts
shall be open to her, every
secret impulse of heart will I tell
her; in short, I wish the same
mutual trust and confidence
to be between us as between
you and me, Ourika.” The
same confidence! How this pained
me. I recollected that he knew
not the only secret I ever had,
and determined never to let him
know it.

D11r 93

By degrees his absences became
longer and more frequent, until
at last he used merely to come
to St. Germains for a few minutes
at a time (generally on horseback,
to save time on the road), and
always returning to Paris the
same afternoon, so that we completely
lost his company of an
evening. Madame de B. used to
joke him for having deserted us,
would I could have done so too!
One morning, as we were walking
in the forest, I perceived him
coming full gallop at a distance. D11v 94
He had been absent nearly the
whole week; as he approached
us, he jumped from his horse, and
began walking with us. After a
few minutes general conversation,
we remained behind, and began
conversing as in former times.
I remarked it. “In former times!”
cried he, “Had I ever any thing
to say in former times? I have
only begun to exist since I have
known my Anais! Ah, Ourika,
I never can express to you what
I feel for her. Sometimes it
seems to me as if my whole D12r 95
soul were passing into her’s.
When she looks at me I can no
longer breathe;—if she blushes,
I long to throw myself in adoration
at her feet;—and when I
think that I am to become the
protector of this angel, and that
she trusts her happiness, her
life, her fate to me, ah! how
proud am I of my own! I shall
replace the parents she has lost,
but I shall likewise be her
husband! her lover! Her first
affections will be mine,—our
hearts will flow into each other, D12v 96
and our lives mingle into one;
nor during their whole current,
shall she have to say that I have
given her an hour’s pain.

How rapturous are my feelings,
Ourika, when I reflect that
she will be the mother of my
children, and that they will owe
their life to my Anais! Ah! they
will be beautiful and good as
she is! Tell me, merciful heaven,
what have I done to deserve
such happiness?”

E1r 97

Oh! what a different question
was I then addressing there! I
had listened to his passionate discourse
with the most unaccountable
sensations. Thou knowest,
O Lord, that I envied not his
happiness, but why gavest thou
life to poor Ourika? Why did
she not perish on board the slave
ship she was snatched from, or on
the bosom of her mother. A
little African sand would have
covered her infant body, and light
would have been the burthen.
Why was Ourika condemned to E E1v 98
live? To live alone? Ever and
for ever alone? Never to be loved!
O my God! do not permit it!
Take thy poor Ourika from hence!
No creature wants her; must she
linger desolate through life!

This heart-rending thought
seized me with more violence than
it ever had. I felt my knees
sinking under me. My eyes
closed, and I thought that I was
dying.

E2r 99

At these words the poor Nun’s
agitation increased. Her voice
faultered, and a few tears ran down
her withered cheeks. I besought
her to suspend her narration, but
she refused. “Do not heed me,”
said she, “grief has no hold over
my heart now: it has been rooted
out of it. God has taken pity on
me, and has saved me from the
abyss I had fallen into, for want
of knowing and of loving him.
Remember that I am happy
now, but alas! how miserable
I was then!”

E2 E2v 100

Until the moment I have just
been speaking of, I had borne
with my grief; it had undermined
my health, but I still preserved
a kind of power over my reason.
Like a worm in fruit it eat
through my very heart, while all
seemed full of life without. I
liked conversation; discussion animated
me; I had even the gaiety
of repartee. In short, until then
my strength had surpassed my
sorrow, but I felt that my sorrow
would now surpass my
strength.

E3r 101

Charles carried me home in his
arms. Succour was promptly administered
to me, and I returned
to my senses. I found Madame
de B. by my bed-side, and Charles
holding one of my hands. They had
both attended me, and the sight
of their anxious, sorrowful countenances
penetrated my very soul.
I felt life flow again. My tears
began to flow, Madame de B.
gently wiped them away. She
said not a word, did not ask a
question, while Charles overwhelmed
me with a thousand. I E3 E3v 102
know not what I answered. I attributed
my indisposition to the
heat and fatigue. He believed it,
and all my bitter feelings returned
on perceiving that he did; I immediately
ceased weeping. How
easy is it, though I, to deceive
those whose interest lies not with
you! I withdrew my hand, which
he was holding, and strove to
assume a tranquil air.

Charles left us as usual at five
o’clock. I felt hurt at his doing
so. I would have wished him to E4r 103
be uneasy about me. Indeed I
was suffering greatly! He would
still have gone to his Anais, for
I should have insisted on it, but
he would have owed the pleasure
of his evening to me, and that
might have consoled me. I carefully
hid this sensation from him.
Delicate feelings have a sort of
chastity about them. They should
be guessed, or they are thrown
away. There must be sympathy
on both sides.

Scarcely had Charles left us, E4 E4v 104
than I was seized with a violent
fever, which augmented the two
following days. Madame de B.
watched me with her usual tenderness.
She was distracted at
the state I was in, and at the impossibility
of removing me to Paris,
whither the celebration of her son’s
marriage obliged her to go the
next day.

My physician answered for my
life, if I remained at St. Germain,
and she at last consented to leave
me. The excessive tenderness E5r 105
she showed on parting with me,
calmed me for an instant; but
after her departure, the real and
complete loneliness I was left in
for the first time, threw me into
despair. The vision was realized
that my imagination had so long
dwelt upon; I was dying far away
from those I loved; the sound of
my lamentations reached not their
ear. Alas! it would but have disturbed
their joy. I fancied them
given up to the most ecstatic bliss,
whilst I lay pining on my sickbed.
They were all I cared for E5 E5v 106
in the world, but they wanted not
my care. I had but them through
life, yet I was not wanted by them.
The frightful conviction of the
uselessness of my existence made
me sick of it. It was a pang not
to be endured, and sincerely I
prayed that I might die of my
illness. I neither spoke or gave
any sign of life. The only distinct
idea I could express in my mind
was, “I wish I could die”. Then at
other times I became excessively
agitated. All that had passed in
my last conversation with Charles E6r 107
rushed into my mind. I saw him
lost in the ocean of delight he had
pictured to me, whilst I was abandoned
to a death as solitary as my
life. This produced a kind of irritation,
more painful to endure
than grief; I increased it by filling
my brain with chimeras; I fancied
Charles coming to St. Germain,
being told that I was dead, and
being made miserable by my death.
Can it be believed? The idea of
grieving him rejoiced me. It
would be a revenge. Revenge!
for what? for his goodness, for his E6 E6v 108
having been the protecting angel
of my life? Such guilty thoughts
were soon replaced by horror, at
having conceived them. My grief
I thought no crime, but thus
giving way to it, might lead to
one: then I tried to collect my
inward strength, that it might fight
against this irritation; but even
that I sought not where I should
have found it. I was ashamed of
my ingratitude. Oh! let me die,
I exclaimed, but let no wicked
passions enter my heart. Ourika
is a portionless orphan, but innocence E7r 109
is yet her’s. Let her not
tarnish it by ingratitude. She will
pass away like a shadow upon
earth, but in her grave she will at
least rest in peace. Her friends
are all happy, then let Ourika be
so, and die as the leaves fall in
autumn? I fell into a state of
languor when this dangerous fever
left me. Madame de B. continued
to reside at St. Germain, after
Charles’s marriage. He often visited
her, accompanied by his Anais,
never without her. I always suffered
more when they were present. E7v 110
I know not whether the
image of their happiness made me
feel my misfortune more acutely,
or that the sight of Charles renewed
my remembrance of our
old friendship, which I sought to
find what it once was, but could
not. Yet he always spoke to me
just as before: it resembled the
friendship he used to show me, as
the artificial flower does the natural
one. It was the same, except
that it had neither life nor perfume.

E8r 111

Charles attributed the change
in my temper to the weakness
of my constitution. I believe
that Madame de B. knew more
of its real cause: she guessed
my secret, and was sensibly affected
by it.

Anais gave hopes of increasing
her family, and we returned to
Paris. My languor increased daily.
The spectacle of domestic happiness
so peaceful—of family
bonds so endearing—of love so
passionate and yet so tender—
was misery to a poor wretch who E8v 112
was doomed to live in no other
bonds but those of dependence
and pity.

Days and months passed on thus.
I took no share in conversation:
my talents were neglected: the
only books I could endure were
those in which a feeble picture of
my own sufferings was traced. I
fed upon these poisons,—I feasted
on my tears,—and remained shut
up in my room whole hours giving
way to them.

The birth of a son completed
the measure of Charles’s happiness. E9r 113
He came, his heart overflowing
with joy, to give me the news; and
I recognised in the expressions of
his delight, some of the accents of
her former confidence. It was the
voice of the friend that I had lost,
and brought painful remembrances
back with it. The child of Anais
was as beautiful as herself. Every
body felt moved at the sight of
this tender young mother and her
sweet infant. I alone beheld them
with bitter envy. “What had I
done that I should have been
brought to this land of exile? E9v 114
Why was I not left to follow
my destiny?—Well, if I had been
the negro slave of some rich
planter, sold to cultivate his land,
exposed all day to the burning
heat of the sun; still when evening
came and my toils were over,
I should have found repose in my
humble cottage. I should have
a sharer in them, a companion
through life, and children of my
own colour to call me mother!
They would have pressed their
infant lips upon my cheek without
disgust, and lain their little heads E10r 115
to sleep upon my bosom.—Why
am I never to experience the
only affection my heart was
made for? Oh my God! take
me I beseech thee from this
world,—I cannot, cannot endure
life any longer!”

I was addressing this impious
prayer to my Creator in agony,
upon my knees, when my door
opened, and the Marchioness de
C—, who was just returned from
England, entered the room. I
beheld her approach with terror,
for I too well remembered that E10v 116
she had first revealed my fate to
me,—she had first caused my
misery.

“My dear Ourika,” said she,
“I want to speak with you. You
know that I have loved and admired
you from your infancy,
and I grieve to see you giving
way to such deep melancholy.
How comes it that you make not
a better use of the ample resources
of your mind?”

E11r 117

“The resources of the mind,
Madam,” answered I, “only serve
to increase misfortunes by showing
them under a thousand different
forms.” “But if those misfortunes
are without remedy, is
it not a folly to struggle against
them, instead of submitting to
necessity, which can compel
even the strongest to yield?”—
“True, Madam; but that only
makes necessity a hardship the
more.”—“Still, you must
own, Ourika, that reason commands
us to resign ourselves, and E11v 118
divert our attention.”—“We
must have a glimpse of happiness
elsewhere to be able to do
so.”—“Then cannot you try
what occupation and forcing
your mind to a little pleasure
will do?”—“Ah! Madam,
pleasures that are forced upon
us are more tedious than melancholy.”
—“But why neglect
your talents?”—“Talents must
have some object (when they
charm not their possessor,) ere
they can become a resource. E12r 119
Mine would be like the flower
of the English poet—
‘Born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness in the desert
air.’”
“Are your friend then no object?”
“I have no friends,
Madam; I have patrons.” “Ourika,
you make yourself very
needlessly unhappy.” “Every
thing in my life is needless,
Madam, even my grief.” “How
can you nourish such bitter
thoughts. You, Ourika, who E12v 120
were so devoted to Madame de
B. during her distress, when
every other friend had left her.”
“Alas! Madam, I am like an
evil genius, whose power lasts
in calamity, but who flies on the
return of happiness.” “Let me
be your confidant, my dear;
open your heart to me. Tell
me your secret. No one can take
a greater interest in you than I
do, and I shall perhaps be able
to do you good.” “I have no
secret,” replied I; “my colour
and my situation are my sole F1r 121
misfortunes, as you know, Madam.”
“Nay, do you deny
that you have a secret sorrow?
It is impossible to behold you
for a moment without being
certain of it.” I persisted in
what I had first said. She grew
impatient, and I saw the storm
rising that was to burst upon me.
“Is this your good faith?” cried
she. “Is this your vaunted sincerity?
Ourika, take care. Reserve
sometimes leads to deceit.”
“What, Madam, can I have to
reveal to you? You, who foresawF F1v 122
my misery so long ago, I
can tell you nothing that you
do not know already.” “I
will not believe you,” answered
she; “and since you refuse to trust
your secret to me, and pretend
that you have none, I will convince
you that I know it. Yes,
Ourika; a senseless passion is
the cause of all your grief, and
your regret; and were you not
so desperately in love with
Charles, you would care very
little about being a negress.
Adieu. I leave you, I must F2r 123
own, with much less regard than
I felt in coming here.” So
saying she quitted the room. I
remained thunderstruck. What
had she revealed to me? What
horrid interpretation had she put
upon my grief? Who? I nourish
a criminal passion? I let it
canker my heart! Was my wish
to hold a link in the chain of my
fellow-creatures, my longing after
natural affections, and my grief at
being desolate, was that the despair
of guilty love? And when
I thought that I was only envying F2 F2v 124
the picture of his bliss, did my
impious wishes aspire to the object
itself? What cause had I given
to be suspected of so hopeless a
passion? Might I not love him
more than my own life, and yet
with innocence? Did the mother,
when she threw herself into the
lion’s jaw to save her son, or the
brothers and sisters, who intreated
that they might die upon the
same scaffold, and united their
prayers to heaven as they went
up to it, did they feel influenced
by guilty love? Is not humanity F3r 125
alone the cause of the sublimest
devotion of every kind? And why
might I not have the same feelings
for Charles, my friend from
infancy, and the protector of my
youth? And yet a secret voice
unheard before warns me that I
am guilty! Oh, heaven! remorse
must then become a fresh torment
to my wasted heart! Poor Ou
rika! Every species of misery
must then oppress her! Poor
Ourika! and are even her tears
become a crime? Is she forbidden F3 F3v 126
to think of him? Must she no
longer dare even to be unhappy!

These thoughts threw me into
a death-like stupor. Before night
came I was taken violently ill, and
in three days my life was despaired
of. My physician declared
that the sacrament should be
promptly administered to me, for
there was not a moment to lose.
My confessor had died a short
time since. Madame de B. sent
for the parish priest, who could
only bestow extreme unction F4r 127
upon me, for I was perfectly insensible
to what was passing round
me. But then when my death
was hourly expected, when all
hopes were over, then it was that
God took pity on my soul, by
preserving my life. Contrary to
all expectation I continued to
struggle against my illness; at the
end of which time my senses returned
to me. Madame de B.
had never left me, and Charles’s
affection for me seemed returned.
The priest had visited me every
day, anxious to find an interval of F4v 128
reason to confess me; I desired
it likewise as soon as I had
thought again; I seemed led by
an involuntary impulse to seek for
repose in the bosom of religion.
I made an avowal of my errors to
the priest. The state of my soul
did not frighten him. Like an
old experienced mariner, he was
accustomed to the tempest. He
quieted my fears as to the passion
I was accused of. “Your heart
is pure,” said he; “you have
injured no one but yourself, and
in that you were guilty. You F5r 129
will have to account for your
happiness to God, for he entrusted
it to you. It depended
on yourself, since it lies in
the performance of your duty.
Have you ever considered in
what that duty consisted?
God should be the aim of man,
but has your’s been? Let not,
however, let not thy courage fail
thee Ourika; but pray to God.
He hears you, and will receive
you in his arms. He knows no
difference of men or colour.
All are of equal value in his F5v 130
eye, and do thou strive to
render thyself worthy of his
favour.”

Thus did this venerable man
open the path of consolation to
me. His simple words carried
peace with them to my heart. I
meditated on them, and drew from
them, as a fertile mine, a store of
new thoughts. I saw only that I had
not known my duty; for there are
duties for the lonely as well as for
those connected in the world to
perform. Though they are deprived F6r 131
of the ties of blood, heaven
has granted them the whole
world for their family. The charity
sister, thought I, is not isolated
on earth, though she has renounced
its enjoyments. She has
a family of her own choosing. She
is the orphan’s mother, the daughter
of the aged, and a sister to the
unhappy. How often have men
of the world sought for retirement,
there to adore in solitude
the Author of all that is great and
good, privately seeking to render F6v 132
their souls worthy of appearing
before the Lord.

Sweet it is, oh God! to seek to
please thee by purifying the heart
for the great day of thy appearance.
—But I had not done so!
A senseless victim of each uncurbed
impulse of my soul, I had
pursued the enjoyments of the
world, and had thrown away my
happiness. Still I lost not all
hope.—God was willing, perhaps,
in throwing me on this foreign
land, to take me to himself. He G1r 133
snatched me from my savage state
of ignorance. He saved me from
the vices the slavery, and permitted
me to learn his laws. They point
out my duty to me, and I will
pursue it. Never more, oh Lord!
will I offend thee for the favours
thou hast granted me, or accuse
thee of my faults.

The new light in which I viewed
my situation, brought peace to my
heart. I was astonished at the
calm that it enjoyed after so many
storms. An outlet had been openedG G1v 134
for the torrent, and it now
floated in peaceful tides, instead
of carrying devastation with its
current.

I soon determined upon taking
the veil, and intreated Madame
de B.’s permission to do so. “I
shall be truly grieved, my dearest
Ourika,” said she, “to part with
you, but I have done you so
much harm by wanting to do
you good, that I have no right
to oppose your determination.”
Charles pleaded against it with G2r 135
great earnestness: he entreated,
he conjured me to renounce it.
“Hinder me not, Charles,” cried
I; “let me seek the only asylum
where my prayers for you will
be equally pure with the friendship
I have ever entertained for
you.”

Here the young Nun abruptly
ended her narrative. I continued G2v 136
to attend her, but all my endeavours
to preserve her life were
vain. She fell with the last leaves
of Autumn.

The End.