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Paul and Virginia
By SAINT-PIERRE IN the year 1726 a young man of Normandy brought to the Isle de France his young wife, whose family was of noble blood. Shortly afterward he was taken with the fever and died, leaving her alone on the isle. Estranged from her family and without means, the young widow made her way to an uninhabited island where she could cultivate the soil without the payment of rent, and there she built a rude home for herself and her little child, a daughter whom she named Virginia. At the same time another woman, with a little son named Paul, settled on the same island, and the two women, mutually grateful for aid and comfort, became fast friends, although they had been of different stations in life. Marguerite's servant, named Domingo, a powerful black man, was the husband of Marie, who was Madame de la Tour's hand-maid. Bound to each other by similar needs, the two lonely women spent much time together, and the two children were almost inseparable. Their attachment was very marked even from the cradle. If Virginia was in trouble, the cries of Paul made it known. When they learned to speak, the first names they learned to give each other were brother and sister. For the rest, they went almost naked, and could neither read nor write. From the beauty of their bare limbs one might fancy them two of Niobe's children escaped from the marble. As Madame de la Tour saw the unfolding charms of her daughter she became alarmed for her future and humbled herself to write to an old aunt in France, asking for aid for Virginia's sake. The aunt replied coldly, commending her to the governor of the island, adding, "Your disgraceful marriage has brought its righteous punishment." Deserted by her kinsfolk, the poor widow took Paul and Virginia to her arms. Paul became a planter, busy and skilful, while Virginia spun or tended the goats and helped in the house. Thus passed their innocent youth. To them Madame de la Tour read the stories which time had hallowed, teaching them to find their happiness in serving others. Their lives seemed bound up in that of the trees. They knew no historical epochs, no chronology save that of their orchards. No care wrinkled their brows, no intemperance poisoned their blood. They had all the freshness of the morning of life. They loved each other naturally and purely. It was wise Marguerite who said: "Let us marry our children. Soon Paul will be a man, and then we will have much to fear." Madame de la Tour hesitated. "Let us wait. Let us send Paul to India for a time. There he will be able to earn money with which to provide a home for himself and Virginia." To this plan Paul would not consent. "I am needed here. Domingo is old and our mothers are alone. I shall stay." At this moment came another letter from the aunt in Normandy asking that Virginia be sent to her for education. "If she follows my wishes," the aunt wrote, "she may look forward to being my heiress." Virginia was alarmed at this offer and Paul was angry. The madame decided against it. The governor of the island now urged that Virginia be sent. A missionary of the island joined the governor in urging that Virginia go to her kinswoman, and at last with a heart filled with anguish, mother and daughter, thinking it God's will, consented. Paul was puzzled by all this secret council. Meanwhile Virginia's consent had brought from her aunt gold to pay for clothes and jewels and her passage, and she was a trans-formed being. In her muslin and taffeta, with her hair in the manner of the period, she looked the duchess, and Paul was thrown into despair at sight of her beauty and her alien magnificence. Distressed by his grief and hoping to cure him of his false hopes, Marguerite now told him that he was only the illegitimate son of a peasant, while Virginia was the daughter of a noblewoman. Paul, pressing her in his arms, assured her that, as he had no other relative, he would love her the more. "But I see now why Madame de la Tour avoids me." As the thought of losing Virginia came to him, Paul lost control of himself. Clasping her in his arms, he said: "I am going with you. Nothing shall part us. I swear it by the sea that I must cross, by the air to which I have never breathed a lie." Nevertheless, Virginia was taken away from him while he was wandering in the forest, mad with his fears. When he returned to the cabin and found her gone, he rushed to a high point from which the outgoing vessel could be seen, and there he stood till the darkness fell and the night winds began to sing their songs in his ear. Thereafter when he saw the two mothers weeping he bitterly said, "Seek some one else to wipe away your tears." At last he turned his thought to the garden and to a new task. He determined to learn to read. He wished to be able to read of the country to which his love had gone. In a very short time he was able to read, and when at last a letter came from Virginia he was able to read it for himself. It was a sweet letter, but not a cheerful one. The girl's heart was in her happy island, and she asked Paul to plant the flower seeds which she sent, upon the spot where they had last talked together-a place she called Farewell Rock. As the months passed, envious folk began to whisper that Virginia was about to marry a nobleman, and Paul was a prey to doubt and despair. One morning at daybreak Paul saw a white flag flying on Mount Discovery. It was a sign that a ship was in the offing. A little later a letter from Virginia to Madame de la Tour was handed to Paul. Rapturously kissing it, he thrust it into his bosom and hastened to his home! To all the household madame read the letter. Virginia was coming home! She would soon land. Masters and servants all embraced. "My son," said Madame de la Tour, "go tell all our neighbors Virginia is coming home." To this happy household a negro messenger came to say that the ship was in distress and firing guns for help. A storm was approaching. By midnight the sea was hammering the rocks with fearful roar. The sound of the signal guns was dreadful in Paul's ears. All night long he and his faithful Domingo waited for the dawn in silence and dread. At dawn the governor with a file of soldiers arrived at a point near which the ship could be dimly seen in the fog. All signs pointed to a hurricane, and the people gathered in the hope of assisting the ship to land its passengers. At nine o'clock a whirlwind swept the harbor clear of fog and the ship was seen moored near the rocks. Her head was set toward the billows which rolled from the open sea. Suddenly, in the midst of a terrible rush of sea, the cables parted. The ship was thrown upon the rocks. A cry of despair arose among those who stood on shore. Paul, in frenzy, was about to throw himself into the sea when a strong hand prevented him. In order to save his life they bound him fast with a long rope and let him leap into the water. He tried to reach the ship, only to be flung back upon the sands. The crew threw themselves into the sea. Those on shore saw a young woman stretching out her arms in piteous entreaty. It was Virginia, almost the last to remain on board. In a moment she, too, was struggling in the cruel sea. Paul, unconscious and bleeding from his last attempt to reach the ship, was carried to a neighboring house, while old Domingo and other friends searched the beach for the body of Virginia. At last in despair they started back to tell Virginia's mother of the girl's tragic death. On the way some negroes told them that wreckage had been driven in at Palm River Valley, and so Domingo and his companion turned aside to look once again for the body. There on the sand, half buried, yet with a serene and beautiful face, lay the maiden, richly clad. One hand rested upon her gown, the other was pressed to her heart and covered a picture of Paul. Lifting her gently, the servants carried her to a fisherman's hut and left her. In the morning Paul was brought home. He had regained his senses, but he could not utter a word. His coming brought a ray of hope. After a beautiful and touching ceremony, in which the black people took a part, they buried the lovely body on the western side of the church, at a point where she had often rested when on her way to Mass, with Paul, and there a few weeks later they brought his body in order that he might rest forever by her side. |