If then I have a favourable reply from
you, and if I can make your daughter happy and my character is
approved, I shall fly to Albi and embrace you a thousand times. I shall
not distinguish you from my mother and my sisters."
He also wrote to Monsieur de Vesian, begging him not to interfere with
the free inclinations of his daughter, and to remember that "in order
to be happy there must be no repugnance to conquer. I have, however,"
he added, "an affair to terminate which does not permit me to dispose
of myself entirely. My mother will tell you the details. I hope to be
free in six weeks or two months. My happiness will then be
inexpressible if I obtain your consent and that of Madame de Vesian,
with the certainty of not having opposed the wishes of Mademoiselle,
your daughter."
"I hope to be free" - did he "hope"? That was his polite way of putting
the matter. Or he may have believed that he had conquered his love for
Eleonore Broudou, and that she, as a French girl who understood his
obligations to his family, would - perhaps after making a few
handkerchiefs damp with her tears - acquiesce.
So the negotiations went on, and at length, in May, 1783, the de Vesian
family accepted Laperouse as the fiance of their daughter. "My project
is to live with my family and yours," he wrote. "I hope that my wife
will love my mother and my sisters, as I feel that I shall love you and
yours. Any other manner of existence is frightful to me, and I have
sufficient knowledge of the world and of myself to know that I can only
be happy in living thus."
But in the very month that he wrote contracting himself - that is
precisely the word - to marry the girl he had never seen, Eleonore, the
girl whom he had seen, whom he had loved, and whom he still loved in
his heart, came to Paris with her parents. Laperouse saw her again. He
told her what had occurred. Of course she wept; what girl would not?
She said, between her sobs, that if it was to be all over between them
she would go into a convent. She could never marry anyone else.
"Mon histoire est un roman," and here beginneth the new chapter of this
real love story. Why, we wonder, has not some novelist discovered these
Laperouse letters and founded a tale upon them? Is it not a better
story even told in bare outline in these few pages, than nine-tenths of
the concoctions of the novelists, which are sold in thousands? Think of
the wooing of these two delightful people, the beautiful girl and the
gallant sailor, in the ocean isle, with its tropical perfumes and
colours, its superb mountain and valley scenery, bathed in
eternal sunshine by day and kissed by cool ocean breezes by night - the
isle of Paul and Virginia, the isle which to Alexandre Dumas was the
Paradise of the World, an enchanted oasis of the ocean, "all carpeted
with greenery and refreshed with cooling streams, where, no matter what
the season, you may gently sink asleep beneath the shade of palms and
jamrosades, soothed by the babbling of a crystal spring."
Think of how he must have entertained and thrilled her with accounts of
his adventures: of storms, of fights with the terrible English, of the
chasing of corsairs and the battering of the fleets of Indian princes.
Think of her open-eyed wonder, and of the awakening of love in her
heart; and then of her dread, lest after all, despite his consoling
words and soft assurances, he, the Comte, the officer, should be
forbidden to marry her, the maiden who had only her youth, her beauty,
and her character, but no rank, no fortune, to win favour from the
proud people who did not know her. The author is at all events certain
of this: that if the letters had seen the light before old Alexandre
Dumas died, he would have pounced upon them with glee, and would have
written around them a romance that all the world would have rejoiced to
read.
But while we think of what the novelists have missed, we are neglecting
the real story, the crisis of which we have now reached.
Seeing Eleonore again, his sensitive heart deeply moved by her sorrow,
Laperouse took a manly resolution. He would marry her despite
all obstacles. He had promised her at her home in Ile-de-France. He
would keep his promise. He would not spoil her beautiful young life
even for his family.
But there was the contract concerning Mademoiselle de Vesian. What of
that? Clearly Laperouse was in a fix. Well, a man who has been over
twenty-five years at sea has been in a fix many times, and learns that
a bold face and tact are good allies. Remembering the nature of his
situation, it will be agreed that the letter he wrote to his mother,
announcing his resolve, was a model of good taste and fine feeling:
"I have seen Eleonore, and I have not been able to resist the remorse
by which I am devoured. My excessive attachment to you had made me
violate all that which is most sacred among men. I forgot the vows of
my heart, the cries of my conscience. I was in Paris for twenty days,
and, faithful to my promise to you, I did not go to see her. But I
received a letter from her. She made no reproach against me, but the
most profound sentiment of sadness was expressed in it. At the instant
of reading it the veil fell from my eyes. My situation filled me with
horror. I am no better in my own eyes than a perjurer, unworthy of
Mademoiselle de Vesian, to whom I brought a heart devoured by remorse
and by a passion that nothing could extinguish.
