The destiny which has brought us together, my dear son, is a singular one. I see in you the civilized man become savage: you see in me the wild man whom the Great Spirit (I know not from what motive) desired to civilize. Having each entered upon the career of life from opposite directions, you came to repose yourself at my place, and I have seated myself in yours; so that we must have acquired a totally different view of things. Which of the twain has gained or lost the more by this change of position? That is known to the genii, the least learned of whom possesses more wisdom than all mankind together.

“At the next flower-moon * there will be seven times ten snows, and three snows more, since my mother brought me into the world on the banks of the Mississippi. The Spaniards had recently established themselves in the Bay of Pensacola, but no European yet inhabited Louisiana. I had scarcely witnessed seventeen falls of the leaves when I marched with my father, the warrior Outalissi, against the Muscogulges, a powerful nation in the Floridas. We united our forces with those of the Spaniards, our allies, and the combat took place upon one of the branches of the Mobile. Areskoui * and the manitous were not favorable to us. Our enemies triumphed: my father lost his life; I was twice wounded whilst defending him. O why did I not then go down into the land of souls! I should have avoided the misfortunes which were awaiting me on earth. The Spirits ordained otherwise. I was dragged along by the defeated crowd to Saint Augustine.

“In that city, but then recently built by the Spaniards, I ran the risk of being carried away to the mines of Mexico, when an old Castilian, named Lopez, touched by my youth and simplicity, offered me an asylum, and presented me to his sister, with whom he was living spouseless.

“Both of them took to me in the tenderest manner. I was brought up with much care, and had all sorts of masters given to me. But after having passed thirty moons at Saint Augustine, I was afflicted with a disgust for the life of cities. I fell away visibly: sometimes I remained motionless for hours whilst contemplating the summits of distant forests; at other times I might be seen seated on the banks of a river, gazing sadly upon the flowing waters. I figured to myself the woods through which those waters had passed, and my soul was thus entirely given up to solitude.

“No longer able to resist the desire of returning to the desert, I one morning presented myself to Lopez dressed in my savage attire, holding in one hand my bow and arrows, and in the other my European costume, which I returned to my generous protector, at whose feet I fell, shedding a torrent of tears, giving myself odious names, and accusing myself of ingratitude. ‘After all, O my father,’ said I to him, ‘you see it yourself; I must die if I do not resume the life of the Indian.’

“Lopez, struck with astonishment, endeavored to change my determination. He spoke of the dangers I was about to encounter, by exposing myself to the possibility of falling into the hands of the Muscogulges. But perceiving at last that I was resolved to risk everything, he melted into tears, and, pressing me in his arms with affection, ‘Go,’ said he, ‘child of Nature; take back this independence of man, of which Lopez does not wish to deprive you. If I were myself younger, I would accompany you to the desert (where I also have sweet remembrances), and restore you to your mother’s arms. When you shall be once again in your forests, think sometimes of the old Spaniard who gave you hospitality, and remember, in order that you may be disposed to love your fellow-creatures, that your first experience of the human heart was altogether in its favor.’ Lopez finished by a prayer to the God of the Christians, whose religion I had refused to embrace, and we separated with much sadness.

“It was not long before I was punished for my ingratitude. My inexperience caused me to lose myself in the wood, and I was taken by a party of Muscogulges and Seminoles, as Lopez had predicted. My dress, and the feathers ornamenting my head, caused me to be recognized as a Natchez.

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I was enchained, but slightly, on account of my youth. Simaghan, the leader of the troop, desired to learn my name. I replied, ‘I am called Chactas, son of Outalissi, son of Miscou, who have taken more than a hundred scalps from the heroes of the Muscogulges.’ Simaghan then said, ‘Chactas, son of Outalissi, son of Miscou, rejoice; thou shalt be burnt at the big village.’ I answered, ‘That is well,’ and began to chaunt the song of death.

“Although a prisoner, I could not refrain, during the first few days, from admiring my enemies. The Muscogulge, and especially his ally, the Seminole, is full of gaiety, love and contentment. His walk is light, his mien calm and open. He speaks much, and with volubility. His language is harmonious and flowing. Even age does not deprive the sachems of this joyous simplicity: like the old birds of our forests, they mingle their ancient songs with the fresh notes of their young posterity.

“The women who accompanied the troop displayed for my youth a tender pity and an amiable curiosity. They questioned me about my mother, concerning the earliest days of my life; and they wanted to know whether my cradle of moss had been hung upon the flowering branches of the maple-trees, and whether the breezes had rocked me near the nests of the little birds. Then came a thousand other questions as to the state of my heart. They asked me if I had seen a white fawn in my dreams, and whether the trees of the secret valley had advised me to love. I replied with simplicity to the mothers, to the daughters, and to the spouses of the men, saying, ‘You are the graces of the day, and the night loves you like dew. Man issues from your loins to hang upon your breast and upon your lips: you know the magic words that lull every pain. So was I told by her who brought me into the world, and who will never see me again! She told me also that maidens are mysterious flowers met with in solitary places.’

“These praises gave much pleasure to the women, who overwhelmed me with all sorts of presents, and brought me cocoa-nut cream, maple-tree sugar, saganrite, * bear-hams, beaver-skins, shells with which to ornament myself, and moss for my couch. They sang and laughed with me, and then took to shedding tears at the thought that I was to be burnt.

“One night, when the Muscogulges had pitched their camp on the outskirt of a forest, I was seated near the war-fire with the guard who had charge of me. All of a sudden, I heard the sound of a dress upon the grass, and a female, half-veiled, came and sat down by my side. Tears were rolling from beneath her eyelids, and I saw by the light of the fire that a small golden crucifix shone upon her bosom. She was altogether beautiful, and I remarked upon her countenance an expression of virtue and passion of irresistible attraction. To that she added the most tender graces: an extreme sensitiveness, united to a profound melancholy, breathed in her looks, and her smile was heavenly.

“I took her to be the Virgin of the last Loves, the virgin sent to the prisoner of war to enchant his tomb. Under this impression, I said to her stammeringly, and with an emotion that did not, however, proceed from any feeling of fear of the funeral pile, ‘O virgin, you are worthy of a first love, and you are not made for the last. The palpitations of a heart that will soon cease to beat would ill respond to the movements of your own. How can death and life lie mingled together? You would cause me to regret too much the approach of day. Let another be happier than myself, and may long embraces unite the tender plant to the oak!’

“The youthful maiden then said to me, ‘I am not the Virgin of the last Loves. Are you a Christian?’ I replied that I had not betrayed the genii of my cottage. At these words the Indian made an involuntary movement, and said, ‘I pity you for being merely a wicked idolator. My mother made me a Christian; my name is Atala, and I am the daughter of Simaghan of the Golden Bracelets, the chief of the warriors of this troop. We are going to Apalachucla, where you will be burnt.’ Having uttered these words, Atala rose and took her departure.”

Here. Chactas was compelled to interrupt his story. A crowd of souvenirs rushed into his soul; his closed eyes inundated his furrowed cheeks with tears, just as two springs, hidden in the profound depths of the earth, reveal themselves by the waters they send filtering between the rocks.

“Oh, my son,” said he, after a long pause, “you perceive that Chactas is not very wise, notwithstanding his reputation for wisdom. Alas! my dear child, although men can no longer see, they can still weep! Several days passed. Every evening the old man’s daughter came to converse with me. Sleep had fled from my eyes, and Atala was in my heart like the remembrance of the resting-place of my fathers.

“On the seventeenth day of our march, about the time when the ephemeran rises from the waters, we entered upon the grand savannah of Alachua. The plain is surrounded with hills, which, receding behind one another, are covered, as they appear to touch the clouds, with ranges of forests of palm-trees, citron-trees, magnolias and oaks. The chief uttered the cry of arrival, and the troop encamped at the foot of a hill-side. I was left at some distance, on the border of one of those natural wells so famous in the Floridas, attached to the trunk of a tree, and guarded by a warrior who watched me with impatience. I had passed but some moments in this place when Atala appeared beneath the liquid ambers of the fountain. ‘Hunter,’ said she to the Muscogulgan hero, ‘if you would like to chase the stag, I will guard the prisoner.’ The warrior jumped for joy at this offer of the chiefs daughter, and at once hurried from the top of the hill, and directed his steps towards the plain.

“What a strange contradiction is the heart of man! I, who had so much desired to speak of things mysterious to her whom I already loved like the sun, suddenly became troubled and confused, and felt as though I should have preferred to be thrown amongst the crocodiles in the fountain to finding myself alone with Atala. The daughter of the desert was as much affected as her prisoner. We observed a profound silence; for the genii of love had deprived us of speech. After an interval, Atala, making an effort, spoke thus: ‘Warrior, you are held but slightly: you can easily escape.’ At these words courage returned to my tongue, and I replied, ‘But slightly held, O woman!’—— I could not complete my phrase. Atala hesitated some moments, and then said, ‘Fly!’ at the same time liberating me from the trunk of the tree. I seized the cord, and returned it to the hand of the foreign maiden, forcing her beautiful fingers to close themselves upon my chain. ‘Take it back! Take it back!’ I cried. ‘You are mad!’ said Atala, in a voice full of emotion. ‘Wretched man, do you not know that you will be burnt? What do you mean? Do you reflect that I am the daughter of a redoubtable sachem?’ ‘There was a time,’ I replied, with tears, ‘when I also was carried about in a beaver-skin on the shoulders of a mother: my father also had a fine cottage, and his fawns drank of the waters of a thousand torrents; but I now wander without a country. When I shall have ceased to exist, no friend will place a little grass over my body, to keep the insects away from it. The corpse of an unhappy stranger interests no one.’

“These words touched Atala. Her tears fell into the fountain. ‘Ah,’ I continued with vivacity, ‘if your heart spoke like mine! Is not the desert free? Do not the forests contain folds in which we could conceal ourselves? And, in order to be happy, are there so many things necessary for the children of the huts? O maiden, more beautiful than the first dream of a spouse! O my well-beloved, dare to follow me!’ Such was my language. Atala replied to me in a tender tone of voice, ‘My young friend, you have learnt the expressions of the white men; it is easy to deceive an Indian girl!’ ‘What!’ I exclaimed, ‘you call me your young friend. Ah, if a poor slave’—— ‘Well,’ said she, leaning upon me, ‘a poor slave’——

I continued with ardor, ‘Let a kiss assure him of your faith!’ Atala listened to my prayers. As a fawn appears to cling to the flowers of the rosy creepers which it seizes with its delicate tongue on the mountain-steeps, so I remained attached to the lips of my well-beloved.

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“Alas, my dear son, pain is in close attendance upon pleasure. Who could have thought that the moment in which Atala gave me the first token of her love should be precisely that in which she would destroy all my hopes? White hairs of old Chactas, what was your astonishment when the daughter of the sachem pronounced these words: ‘Beautiful prisoner, I have foolishly given way to your desire; but whither will this passion lead us? My religion separates me from you for ever——. Oh, my mother, what hast thou done?’—— Atala became suddenly silent, and kept back I know not what fatal secret about to escape from her lips. Her words plunged me into despair. ‘Well, then,’ I exclaimed, ‘I will be as cruel as you; I will not escape. You shall see me in the flame of fire; you shall hear the groans of my flesh, and you will be full of joy.’ Atala took my hands between both of hers. ‘Poor young idolator,’ she cried, ‘I really grieve for you! You wish me, then, to weep my whole heart out? What a pity I cannot fly with you! Unhappy was the bosom of thy mother, O Atala! Why dost thou not throw thyself to the crocodiles in the fountain?’

“That very moment the crocodiles, at the approach of the setting of the sun, began to make their cries heard. Atala said to me, ‘Let us leave this place.’ I led away the daughter of Simaghan to the foot of the hills, which form gulfs of verdure by advancing their promontories into the savannahs. Everything in the desert was splendidly imposing. The stork was screaming upon its nest; the woods resounded with the monotonous song of the quails, the whistling of the paraquets, the lowing of the bisons and the neighing of the Siminolian cavalry.

“Our promenade was almost a dumb one. I walked by the side of Atala, who was holding the end of the cord which I had forced her to take back again. Sometimes we shed tears, and sometimes we endeavored to smile. A look, now directed towards the sky and then towards the earth; an ear listening to the song of the birds; a gesture towards the setting sun; a hand tenderly pressed; a bosom by turns palpitating and tranquil: the names of Chactas and Atala softly repeated at intervals! Oh, first promenade of love, thy souvenir must be extremely powerful, since after so many years of misfortune it can still stir the heart of old Chactas!

“How incomprehensible are mortals when agitated by the passions! I had just abandoned the generous-hearted Lopez; I had just exposed myself to every danger for the sake of liberty, and in one instant the look of a woman had changed my tastes, my resolutions, my thoughts! Forgetful of my country, my mother, my cabin, and the frightful death awaiting me, I had become indifferent to everything that was not Atala. Lacking strength to raise myself to the reason of a man, I had suddenly fallen into a sort of childishness, and, far from being able to do anything to extricate myself from threatening misfortunes, I almost required some one to provide me with the means of sleep and nourishment.

“It was therefore in vain that Atala, after our ramble in the savannah, threw herself at my knees and again begged me to leave her. I declared that I would return alone to the camp, if she refused to re-attach me to the trunk of my tree. She was compelled to comply with my request, hoping to convince me another time.

“The next day, which decided the fate of my life, we halted in a valley not far from Cuscowilla, the capital of the Seminoles. These Indians, together with the Muscogulges, form the confederation of the Creeks. The daughter of the land of palm-trees came to find me in the middle of the night. She conducted me to a great pine-forest, and renewed her entreaties to induce me to escape. Without replying to her, I took her hand in mine, and forced the thirsting fawn to wander with me into the forest. The night was delicious. The genius of the air appeared to be shaking the blue canopy, embalmed with the odor of the pines; and we breathed a slight perfume of amber emitted by the crocodiles asleep beneath the tamarind-trees by the river-side. The moon was shining in the midst of a spotless azure, and the pearl-grey light fell upon the undefined summit of the forests. Not a sound was to be heard, except I know not what distant harmony that reigned in the depth of the woods. It seemed as though the soul of solitude was sighing throughout the entire extent of the desert.

“Through the trees we perceived a young man, who, holding a torch in his hand, looked like the genius of spring visiting the forests to reanimate Nature. He was a lover on his way to learn his fate at the cabin of his mistress.

“Should the maiden blow out the torch, she accepts the offered vows; but if she veil herself without extinguishing it, she refuses the spouse.

“The warrior, gliding through the shades, chanted these words in a low tone of voice:

“‘I will outrun the steps of the daylight upon the mountain-tops to seek my lonely dove in the midst of the oaks of the forest.

“‘I have fastened around her throat a necklace of porcelain, * with three red beads for my love, three violet ones for my fears, three blue ones for my hopes.

“‘Mila has the eyes of an ermine, and hair as light as a field of rice; her mouth is a pink shell lined with pearls; her two breasts are like two little spotless kids, born the same day of one mother.

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“‘May Mila extinguish this torch! May her mouth cast a voluptuous shade over it! I will fertilize her bosom! The hope of the country shall hang from her fruitful breast, and I will smoke my calumet of peace by the cradle of my son.

“‘Ah! let me outrun the steps of the daylight upon the mountain-tops to seek my lonely dove amidst the oaks of the forest!’

“Thus sang this young man, whose accents agitated me to the bottom of my soul, and caused Atala to chance countenance. Our united hands trembled in each other. But we were diverted from this scene by another scene not less dangerous for us.

“We passed near a child’s tomb, which served as a boundary between two nations. It had been placed on the border of the road, according to custom, in order that the young wives, when going to the fountain, might draw into their bosom the soul of the innocent creature, and restore it to the country. At this moment several newly-married spouses were there, and, desirous of the sweets of maternity, were endeavoring, by opening their lips, to receive the soul of the little child, which they fancied they saw wandering amongst the flowers. The veritable mother came afterwards, and deposited a bunch of corn and white lilies upon the tomb; she sprinkled the earth with her milk, sat down upon the damp turf, and spoke thus to her child in an impassioned voice:

“‘Why do I weep for thee in thy earthly cradle, O my new-born? When the little bird has grown, it must seek its own nutriment, and finds many bitter seeds in the desert. At least thou hast been unconscious of tears; at least thy heart has not been exposed to the devouring breath of men. The bud that dries up in its envelope passes away with all its perfumes, like thou, O my son, with all thine innocence. Happy are those who die in the cradle! they have only known the kisses and smiles of a mother!’

“Already subdued by our own hearts, we were overwhelmed by the images of love and maternity which seemed to pursue us in these enchanted solitudes. I carried Atala away in my arms to the extremity of the forest, where I told her things that I should in vain endeavor to repeat to-day with my lips. The southern wind, my dear son, loses its heat on passing over mountains of ice. The souvenirs of love in the heart of an old man are like the fires of day reflected by the peaceful orb of the moon when the sun has set, and silence spreads itself over the huts of the savages.

“What could save Atala? what could prevent her from succumbing to Nature? Nothing, doubtless, but a miracle; and that miracle was accomplished. The daughter of Simaghan had recourse to the God of the Christians; she threw herself upon the ground, and uttered a fervent prayer, addressed to her mother and to the Queen of Virgins. It was from this moment, O RenÉ, that I entertained a wonderful idea of that religion which, in the forests, in the midst of all the privations of life, imparts a thousand boons to the unfortunate; of that religion which, opposing its power to the torrent of the passions, suffices alone to conquer them, when everything else is in their favor—the secrecy of the woods, the absence of men, and the fidelity of the shades. Ah, how divine to me appeared that simple savage, the ignorant Atala, who, on her knees before an old fallen pine-tree, as at the foot of an altar, was offering up a prayer to her God in favor of an idolatrous lover! Her eyes raised towards the star of the night, her cheeks, brilliant with tears of religion and of love, were of immortal beauty. Several times it appeared to me as though she were about to take her flight to heaven; several times I fancied I saw come down upon the rays of the moon, and heard amidst the trees, those genii whom the God of the Christians sends to the hermits of the rocks when He is about to call them back to Himself. I was afflicted by all this, for I feared that Atala had but little time to remain on earth.

“Nevertheless, she shed such abundant tears, she appeared so unhappy, that I was perhaps upon the point of consenting to take my departure, when the cry of death resounded through the forest. Four armed men rushed upon me. We had been discovered; the war-chief had given orders for our pursuit.

“Atala, who resembled a queen in the pride of her demeanor, disdained to speak to these warriors. She glanced nobly at them, and went forthwith to Simaghan.

“She could obtain no concession. My guards were doubled, my chains increased, and my lover was kept away from me. Five nights passed, and then we perceived Apalachucla, situated on the banks of the river Chata-Uche. I was immediately crowned with flowers; my face was painted blue and red; beads were fastened to my nose and to my ears, and a chichikouÉ * was placed in my hand.

“Thus prepared for the sacrifice, I entered Apalachucla amidst the reiterated shouts of the crowd. My fate was sealed; when all of a sudden the sound of a conch was heard, and the mico, or chief of the nation, ordered an assembly.

“You know, my son, the torments to which savages subject their prisoners of war. Christian missionaries, at the risk of their lives, and with an indefatigable charity, had succeeded in inducing several nations to substitute a comparatively mild slavery to the horrors of the funeral pile. The Muscogulges had not yet adopted this custom, but a numerous party amongst them had declared themselves in favor of it. It was to decide upon this important matter that the mico had convoked the sachems, or wise men. I was conducted to the place of deliberation.

“The pavilion of the council was situated upon an isolated mound not far from Apalachucla. Three circles of columns constituted the elegant architecture of this rotunda. The columns were of polished and carved cypress-wood, increasing in height and in thickness, and diminishing in number as they approached the centre, which was indicated by a single pillar. From the summit of this pillar depended strips of bark, which, passing over the tops of the other columns, covered the pavilion in the guise of an open fan.

“The council assembled. Fifty old men, in beaver cloaks, were ranged upon the steps facing the door of the pavilion. The grand chief was seated in their midst, holding in his hand the calumet of peace, half-colored for war. On the right of the old men were placed fifty women, dressed in robes of swan-feathers. The war-chiefs, with a tomahawk in the hand, a bunch of feathers on the head, and their arms and chests dyed with blood, occupied the left.

“At the foot of the central column the fire of the council was burning. The first jungler, surrounded by eight guardians of the temple, dressed in long vestments, and wearing a stuffed owl upon their heads, poured some balm of copal upon the flames, and offered a sacrifice to the sun. The triple row of old men, matrons, and warriors—the priests, the clouds of incense, and the sacrifice—imparted to this council an aspect altogether imposing.

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“I was standing chained in the midst of the assembly. When the sacrifice was finished, the mico spoke, and explained with simplicity the affair that had brought the council together. He threw a blue necklace upon the ground, as evidence of what he had just said.

“Then a sachem of the tribe of the Eagle rose, and spoke thus:

“‘My father the mico, sachems, matrons, warriors of the four tribes of the Eagle, the Beaver, the Serpent, and the Tortoise, let us change nothing in the manners of our forefathers: let us burn the prisoner, and let us not allow our courage to be weakened. It is a custom of the white men that is now proposed to you; it cannot be other than pernicious. Give a red collar which contains my words. I have spoken.’

“And he threw a red collar into the midst of the assembly.

“A matron then rose, and said:

“‘My father Eagle, you have the cleverness of a fox and the prudent slowness of a tortoise. I will polish the chain of friendship with you, and we will plant together the tree of peace. But let us change the customs of our forefathers when they are of a terrible character. Let us have slaves to cultivate our fields, and let us no longer hear the cries of the prisoners, which trouble the bosoms of the mothers. I have spoken.’

“As the waves of the ocean are broken up by a storm; as in autumn the dried leaves are carried away in a whirlwind; as the reeds of the Mississippi bend and rise again during a sudden inundation; as a great herd of deer bellow in the depths of a forest, so was the council agitated and murmuring. Sachems, warriors, and matrons spoke by turns, or all together. Interests clashed, opinions were divided, and the council was about to be dissolved; but at length the ancient custom prevailed, and I was condemned to the pile.

“A circumstance caused my punishment to be delayed: the Feast of the Dead, or the Festival of Souls, was approaching, and it is the custom not to put any captive to death during the days consecrated to that ceremony. I was handed over to a strict guard, and doubtless the sachems had sent away the daughter of Simaghan, as I saw her no longer.

“Meanwhile, the tribes for more than three hundred leagues around came in crowds to celebrate the Festival of Souls. A long hut had been constructed upon an isolated situation. On the day indicated, each cabin exhumed the remains of its fathers from their private tombs, and the skeletons were hung upon the walls of the Common-room of the Ancestors in order and by families. The winds (a tempest had burst forth), the forests, and the cataracts roared from without, while the old men of the different nations were engaged in concluding treaties of peace between the tribes over the bones of their fathers.

“Funeral amusements were indulged in, running, ball, and a game with small bones. Two maidens tried to snatch from each other a willow-twig. Their hands fluttered about the twig, which each in her turn held above her head. Their beautiful naked feet intertwined, their mouths met, their sweet breaths became confounded; they stooped, and their hairs were mixed together; then they looked at their mothers, and blushed in the midst of applause. * The jungler invoked Michabou, the genius of the waters, and related the wars of the great Hare against Machimanitou, the god of evil. He spoke of the first man, and of AthaËnsic, the first woman, being hurled from heaven for having lost their innocence; of the earth having been reddened with a brother’s blood; of the immolation of Tahouistsarou by the impious Jouskeka; of the deluge commanded by the voice of the Great Spirit; of Massou, the only one saved in his bark vessel; and of the crow sent out to discover the land. He spoke, moreover, of the beautiful EndaË, recalled from the land of souls by the sweet songs of her spouse.

“After these games and hymns, preparations were made for giving the ancestors an eternal sepulture.

“Upon the borders of the river Chata-Uche there was a wild fig-tree, which the worship of the people had consecrated. The Indian maidens were in the habit of washing their bark-dresses at this place, and exposing them to the breath of the desert upon the branches of the ancient tree. It was there that an immense tomb had been dug.

“While leaving the funeral chamber, the hymn of death was sung. Each family carried some sacred remains. On arriving at the tomb, the relics were lowered down into it, and spread out in layers, separated by the skins of bears and beavers; the mound of the tomb was then raised, and the tree of tears and of sleep planted upon it.

“Let us pity men, my dear son! Those very Indians whose customs are so touching, those very women who had displayed such a tender interest in my behalf, now called out loudly for my execution; and entire tribes delayed their departure, in order to have the pleasure of seeing a young man undergo the most horrible sufferings.

“In a valley to the north, at some distance from the grand village, was a wood of cypresses and deals, called the Wood of Blood. It was reached by the ruins of one of those monuments of which the origin is ignored, and which were the work of a people now unknown. I was led thither in triumph. Preparations were being made for my death. The pole of Areskoui was planted; pine, elm, and cypress-trees fell beneath the axe; the funeral pile was rising, and spectators were constructing amphitheatres with the branches and trunks of trees. Each one was occupied in inventing a torture. Some proposed to tear the skin off my head, others to burn my eyes out with red-hot axes. I began to sing the song of death:

“‘I do not fear torture: I am brave, O Muscognlges! I defy you; I despise you more than women. My father, Outalissi, son of Miscou, drank out of the skulls of your most famous warriors; you will not draw a sigh from my breast.’

“Provoked by my song, a warrior pierced my arm with an arrow. I merely said, ‘Brother, I thank thee.’

“In spite of the activity of the executioners, the preparations for my execution could not be completed before the setting of the sun. A jungler was consulted, and he forbade the genii of the shades to be troubled, so that my death was postponed till the following day. But, in their impatience to enjoy the spectacle, and in order to be ready sooner on the break of day, the Indians did not quit the Wood of Blood. They lighted large fires, and began a series of festivities and dances.

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“Meanwhile, I had been laid down upon my back. Cords from my neck, from my feet, and from my arms, were attached to stakes fixed in the ground. Warriors were seated upon these cords, and I could not make the slightest movement without their knowledge. The night advanced; the songs and dances gradually ceased; the fires emitted but a ruddy light, in front of which I could see the shadows of some of the savages pass. At last they all fell asleep; but as the noise of men became pacified, that of the desert seemed to increase, and to the tumult of voices succeeded the howlings of the winds in the forest.

“It was the hour when a young Indian recently become a mother awakes with a start in the middle of the night, fancying she has heard the cry of her first-born babe desirous of her sweet nutriment. With my eyes gazing up to heaven, where the crescent moon was wandering in the clouds, I was reflecting upon my destiny. Atala appeared to me to be a monster of ingratitude thus to abandon me at the moment of punishment—I, who had given myself up to the flames rather than leave her! And yet I felt that I still loved her, and that I should die with joy for Atala.

“In extreme pleasures there is a sting that excites one as though to counsel us to profit by the rapidly passing moment: in great grief, on the contrary, there is something heavy that induces drowsiness; the eyes fatigued with tears naturally seek to close, and the goodness of Providence may be thus remarked even in our misfortunes. I gave way, in spite of myself, to that heavy sleep which sometimes overcomes the wretched. I dreamt that my chains were being taken off; I thought I felt the satisfaction experienced when, after having been tightly pressed, a helping hand relieves us of our irons.

“This sensation was so vivid that it caused me to raise my eyelids. By the light of the moon, a ray of which was escaping between two clouds, I saw a tall white figure leaning over me, and silently occupied in loosening my bonds. I was about to utter a cry, when a hand, which I instantly recognized, closed my mouth. A single cord remained, but it appeared impossible to cut it without touching a warrior who covered it entirely with his body. Atala placed her hand upon it. The warrior, half-awakened, bestirred himself, and sat up. Atala remained motionless, and looked at him. The Indian thought he was looking at the Spirit of the ruins; and he lay down again, closing his eyes and invoking his manitou. The bond was broken. I arose and followed my deliverer, who tendered to me the end of a bow of which she held the other extremity. But with what dangers were we surrounded! At times we were on the point of stumbling over the sleeping savages; then a guard questioned us, and Atala replied in an assumed voice. Children were crying, and dogs barking. Scarcely had we got clear of the fatal enclosure, when terrible howlings resounded through the forest. The camp was aroused. A thousand fires were lighted, and savages were running about in all directions with torches. We hurried away with precipitation.

“When day broke upon the Apalaches, we were already far away. Great was my felicity on finding myself again in solitude with Atala—with Atala my deliverer, with Atala who was giving herself to me for ever! Words failed my tongue. I fell on my knees, and said to the daughter of Simaghan: ‘Men are but little; but when the genii visit them, they are nothing at all. You are a genius; you have visited me, and I cannot speak before you.’ Atala offered me her hand with a smile: ‘I am obliged to follow you,’ she said, ‘since you will not fly without me. During the night I seduced the jungler with presents, I intoxicated your executioners with essence of fire, * and I risked my life for you, because you had given yours for me. Yes, young idolator!’ she added, with an accent that alarmed me, ‘the sacrifice will be reciprocal.’

“Atala gave me the weapons she had had the precaution to bring, and then she dressed my wound. Whilst wiping it with a papaya-leaf, she wetted it with her tears. ‘It is a balm,’ I said to her, ‘that you are dropping on my arm.’ ‘I am rather afraid that it may be a poison,’ she replied. She tore one of the coverings from her bosom, with which she made a first bandage that she fastened with a tress of lier hair.

“Intoxication, which lasts a long time upon savages, and is for them a species of malady, prevented them from pursuing us during the first few days. If they sought for us afterwards, it was probably in a westerly direction, as they must have thought we should make for the Mississippi; but we had taken our flight towards the fixed star, ** guiding ourselves by the moss on the trunks of the trees.

“We were not long in perceiving that we had gained but little by my deliverance. The desert now unrolled before us its immeasurable solitudes. Without experience in forest life, having lost our way, and walking on at hazard, what was to become of us? Often, while gazing upon Atala, I remembered the ancient story of Agar, that Lopez had given me to read, and which happened in the desert of Beersheba a long time ago, when men lived to three times the age of the oak.

“Atala made me a cloak out of some ash-bark, and she also embroidered me a pair of musk rat skin moccasins with porcupine’s hair. In my turn, I did all in my power to ornament her attire. First of all, I placed upon her head a crown of those blue mallows that crowded beneath our feet in the abandoned Indian cemeteries; then I made her necklaces of red azalea-berries; and after all I smiled in the contemplation of her wonderful beauty.

“When we encountered a river, we crossed it either on a raft or by swimming. Atala placed one of her hands upon my shoulder, and thus, like a pair of migratory swans, we traversed the solitary waves.

“During the great heat of the day we often sought shelter beneath the moss of the cedars. Nearly all the Floridan trees, especially the cedar and the oak, are covered with a white moss, which descends from their branches down to the very ground. At night-time, by moonlight, should you happen to see, in the open savannah, an isolated holm dressed in such drapery, you would imagine it to be a phantom dragging after it a number of long veils. The scene is not less picturesque by day, when a crowd of butterflies, brilliant insects, colibris, green paroquets, and blue jackdaws entangle themselves amongst the moss, and thus produce the effect of a piece of white woollen tapestry embroidered by some clever European workman with beautiful birds and sparkling insects.

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“It was in the shade of such smiling quarters, prepared by the Great Spirit, that we stopped to repose ourselves. When the winds come down from heaven to rock the great cedar, when the aerial castles built upon its brandies undulate with the birds and the travellers sleeping beneath its shelter, when thousands of sighs pass through the corridors of the waving edifice, there is nothing amongst the wonders of the ancient world to be compared with this monument of the desert.

“Every evening we lighted a large fire and built a travelling hut of bark raised upon four stakes. When I had killed a wild turkey, a pigeon, or a wood-pheasant, we attached it to the end of a pole before a pile of burning oak, and left the care of turning the hunter’s prey to the caprices of the wind. We used to eat a kind of moss called rock-tripe, sweetened bark, and May-apples, that tasted of the peach and the raspberry. The black-walnut-tree, the maple-tree, and the sumach furnished our table with wine. Sometimes I went and fetched from amongst the reeds a plant whose flower, in the form of an elongated cup, contained a glass of the purest dew. We blessed Heaven for having placed this limpid spring upon the stalk of a flower, in the midst of the corrupted marshes, just as it has placed hope at the bottom of hearts ulcerated by grief; just also as it has caused virtue to well up from the bosom of the miseries of life!

“I soon discovered, alas! that I had deceived myself as to the apparent calm of my beloved Atala. The farther we advanced the sadder she became. She frequently shuddered without a cause, and turned her head aside hurriedly. I sometimes caught her regarding me with a passionate look, which she at once cast towards the sky with a profound melancholy. What alarmed me above all was a secret thought concealed in the bottom of her soul, but which I read in her eyes. Constantly drawing me towards her and then pushing me away, re-animating my hopes, and then destroying them when I thought I had made some progress in her heart, I found myself still at the same point. How many times she said to me, ‘O my young sweetheart! I love you like the shade of the woods at mid-day!’ You are as beautiful as the desert with all its flowers and all its breezes. If I incline towards you, I tremble: when my hand falls upon yours, it seems to me as though I were about to die. The other day the wind blew your hair upon my face as you were reposing yourself upon my bosom, and I fancied I felt the light touch of the invisible spirits. Yes, I have seen the young kids of the mountain of Occona; I have listened to the language of men ripe with years; but the mildness of goats and the wisdom of old men are less agreeable and less powerful than your words. Ah, my poor Chactas! I shall never be your spouse!’

“The constant struggle between Atala’s love and religion, her tender freedom and the chastity of her conduct, the pride of her character and her profound sensitiveness, the elevation of her soul in great things, her susceptibility about trifles, rendered her, in my opinion, an incomprehensible being. Atala could not hold a weak empire over a man. Full of passion, she was full of power. She must either be adored or hated.

“After fifteen nights of hurried march, we entered upon the chain of the Alleghany mountains, and reached one of the branches of the Tennessee, a river that falls into the Ohio. Aided by the advice of Atala, I built a boat, which I coated with plum-tree gum, after having re-sewn the bark with roots of the fir. I subsequently embarked therein with Atala, and we abandoned ourselves to the current of the river.

“The Indian village of SticoË, with its pyramidal tombs and ruined huts, appeared on our left at the turn of a promontory; on the right we left the valley of Keow, terminated by the perspective of the cabins of Jore, which seemed to be suspended from the forehead of the mountain of the same name. The river which carried us along flowed between high cliffs, at the extremity of which we perceived the setting sun. The profound solitudes were not disturbed by the presence of men. We only saw one Indian hunter, who, leaning motionless upon his bow, on the peak of a rock, looked like a statue raised upon the mountain to the genius of those deserts.

“Atala and myself added our silence to the silence of this scene. All of a sudden, the daughter of exile filled the air by thus singing, in a voice replete with melancholy emotion, of her absent country:

“‘Happy are they who have not seen the smoke of foreign festivals, and who have never been seated elsewhere than at the rejoicings of their fathers!

“‘If the blue jackdaw of the Mississippi were to say to the nonpareil of the Floridas, “Why dost thou complain so sadly? Hast thou not here beautiful waters and lovely shades, and all sorts of pastures, as in thine own forests?”

“Yes,” would reply the fugitive nonpareil; “but my nest is in the jessamine; who will bring it to me? And the sun of my savannah, where is it?”

“‘Happy are they who have not seen the smoke of foreign festivals, and who have never been seated elsewhere than at the rejoicings of their fathers!

“‘After hours of painful wayfare, the traveller sits down in sadness. He sees around him the roofs of men’s habitations, but has no place wherein to repose his head. The traveller knocks at a cabin, places his bow behind the door, and asks for hospitality. The master makes a gesture of the hand; the traveller takes back his bow, and returns to the desert.

“‘Happy are they who have not seen the smoke of foreign festivals, and who have never been seated elsewhere than at the rejoicings of their fathers!

“‘Wondrous stories told around the hearth, tender effusions of the heart, long habits of loving so necessary to life, you have filled the days of those who have not quitted their natal place! Their tombs are in the land of their birth, with the setting sun, the tears of their friends and the charms of religion.

“‘Happy are they who have not seen the smoke of foreign festivals, and who have never been seated elsewhere than at the rejoicings of their fathers!’

“Thus sang Atala. Nothing interrupted the course of her lamentations, except the almost imperceptible sound of our boat upon the waves. In two or three places only were they taken up by a weak echo, which repeated them to a second, and the second to a third, faintly and more faintly still. It seemed as though the souls of two lovers, formerly unfortunate like ourselves, and attracted by the touching melody, were enjoying the pleasure of sighing forth the dying sounds of its music in the mountain.

“Nevertheless, the solitude, the constant presence of the beloved object, even our misfortunes, increased our affection from one instant to another. Atala prayed continuously to her mother, whose irritated shade she seemed as though wishing to appease. She sometimes asked me if I did not hear a plaintive voice, and see flames issuing out of the earth. As for myself, exhausted with fatigue, but still burning with desire, and thinking that I was perhaps irretrievably lost in the midst of those forests, I was a hundred times upon the point of drawing my spouse to my arms, and a hundred times did I urge Atala to allow me to build a hut upon the river side, so that we might bury ourselves therein together. But she always resisted my propositions. ‘Remember, my young friend,’ she would say, ‘that a warrior owes himself to his country. What is a woman compared to the duties you have to fulfil? Take courage, son of Outalissi; do not murmur against your destiny. The heart of man is like a river-sponge, that imbibes pure water during calm weather, and is swollen with muddy liquid when the sky has troubled the waves. Has the sponge the right to say, “I thought there would never be any storms, and that the sun would never be scorching?”’

“O RenÉ, if you fear the trials of the heart, be upon your guard against solitude. The great passions are solitary, and to transport them to the desert is to restore them to their triumph. Overcome with cares and fears; exposed to the danger of falling into the hands of Indian enemies, to be swallowed up by the waters, stung by serpents, devoured by beasts; finding the poorest nourishment with difficulty, and not knowing whither to direct our steps, it seemed impossible for our misfortunes to be greater, when an accident brought them to a climax.

“It was the twenty-seventh sun since our departure from the cabins. The moon of fire had commenced her course, and everything announced a storm. Towards the hour when the Indian matrons hang up the plough-handle to the branches of the sabin-tree, and when the paroquets retire into the hollows of the cypress, the sky began to be overcast. The voices of the solitude died away, the desert became silent, and the forests were reposing in the midst of a universal calm. Shortly after, the rollings of a distant thunder, prolonged through the woods as old as the world, re-issued from them with sublime sounds. Fearful of being submerged, we hastened to reach the bank of the river, and withdrew into a forest.

“The ground in this place was marshy. We advanced with difficulty under a vault of smilax, amidst vines, indigo-plants, bean-trees, and creeping ivy that entangled our feet like nets. The spongy soil trembled around us, and at each instant we were on the point of sinking into the quagmires. Insects without number, and enormous bats, blinded us; bell-serpents were hissing in every direction, and wolves, bears, carcajous, and young tigers, come to hide themselves in these retreats, made them resound with their roarings.

“Meanwhile, the darkness increased. The lowering clouds were entering beneath the leafy covering of the woods. Suddenly the sky was rent, and the lightning traced a rapid zig-zag of fire. A violent wind from the west rolled clouds upon clouds; the forests bent; the sky opened time after time, and from between the interstices other skies and ardent scenes might be perceived. What a frightful, what a magnificent spectacle! The lightning set fire to the forest; the conflagration extended like a head-dress of flame; columns of sparks and of smoke besieged the clouds, which were vomiting their flashes into the vast burning mass. Then the Great Spirit covered the mountain with heavy darkness; and from the midst of this chaos there arose a confused moaning, formed by the rushing of the winds, the cracking of trees, the howling of wild beasts, the buzzing of the inflamed vegetation, and the repeated fall of thunderbolts hissing as they died out in the waters.

“The Great Spirit knows that at this moment I saw and thought of nothing but Atala. I managed to guard her against the torrents of rain by placing her beneath the inclining trunk of a birch-tree, under which I sat down, holding my well-beloved upon my knees, and warming her naked feet between my hands; and thus I found myself happier than the young spouse who feels her future offspring quiver in her bosom for the first time.

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“We were listening to the sound of the tempest, when all of a sudden I felt one of Atala’s tears fall upon my breast. ‘Storm of the heart,’ I cried to myself, ‘is it a drop of your rain?’ Then embracing her I loved, I said, ‘Atala, you are concealing something from me. Open your heart to me, O beauty! It does one so much good when a friend looks into one’s soul. Tell me this secret of grief which you persist in hiding from me. Ah! I see you are weeping for your country.’ She immediately retorted, ‘Child of men, why should I weep for my country, since my father came not from the land of palms?’—‘What!’ I replied, with profound astonishment, ‘your father was not from the land of palms! What was he then who brought you upon this earth? Reply!’ Atala answered in these words:

“‘Before my mother brought to the warrior Simaghan, as a marriage portion, thirty mares, twenty buffaloes, a hundred measures of nut-oil, fifty beaver-skins, and a quantity of other riches, she had known a man of white flesh. Now the mother of my mother threw water in her face, and forced her to marry the magnanimous Simaghan, who was like unto a king, and honored by the people as a genius. But my mother said to her new spouse, “My bosom has conceived; kill me.” Simaghan replied to her, “May the Great Spirit preserve me from such an action! I will not mutilate you. I will neither cut off your nose nor your ears, because you have been sincere and have not betrayed my couch. The fruit of your bosom shall be my fruit, and I will not visit you till after the departure of the bird of the rice-fields, when the thirteenth moon shall have shone.” About that time I issued from my mother’s bosom, and I began to grow, proud as a Spaniard and as a savage. My mother made me a Christian, so that her God and the God of my father might also be my God. Afterwards love-sickness fell upon her, and she went down into the little pit furnished with skins, from which no one ever comes out.’

“Such was Atala’s story. ‘And who was your father, then, poor orphan?’ I said to her; ‘how was he called by men upon earth, and what name did he bear among the genii?’—‘I never washed my father’s feet,’ said Atala: ‘I only know that he lived with his sister at Saint Augustine, and that he ever remained faithful to my mother. Philip was his name amongst the angels, and men called him Lopez.”

“At these words I uttered a cry which re-echoed throughout the solitude; the soumis of my transports mingled with those of the storm. Pressing Atala to my heart, I exclaimed with sobs, ‘O my sister! O daughter of Lopez! daughter of my benefactor!’ Atala, alarmed, sought to ascertain the cause of my agitation; but when she learnt that Lopez was the generous host who had adopted me at Saint Augustine, and whom I had quitted in order to be free, she was herself stricken with joy and confusion.

“This fraternal friendship which came upon us and joined its love to our love, was too much for our hearts. Already had I intoxicated myself with her breath, already had I drunk all the magic of love upon her lips. With my eyes raised towards heaven, amidst the flash of the lightnings, I held my spouse in my arms in the presence of the Eternal. Splendid pomp, worthy of our misfortunes and of the grandeur of our loves; superb forests, that shook your creeping plants and your leafy domes as though they were to be the curtains and the canopy of our couch; overflowing river, roaring mountains, frightful and sublime Nature, were you then but a combination prepared to deceive us, and could you not for one moment conceal a man’s felicity amidst your mysterious horrors?

“Suddenly a vivid flash, followed by a clap of thunder, ran through the thickness of the shades, filled the forest with sulphur and light, and rent a tree close by us. We fled. O surprise! In the silence which followed, we heard the sound of a bell. Both speechless, we listened to the sound, so strange in a desert. At the same instant a dog barked in the distance. It approached, redoubled its cries, came up to us, and howled with joy at our feet. An old hermit, carrying a small lantern, was following the animal through the darkness of the forest. ‘Heaven be praised!’ he cried, as soon as he perceived us; ‘I have been looking for you a long time! Our dog smelt you as soon as the storm commenced, and has guided me hither. Poor children, how young you are, and how you must have suffered! Come; I have brought a bear-skin. It shall be for this young woman, and there is some wine in our gourd. Let God be praised in all His works! His mercy is great and His goodness is infinite!’

“Atala threw herself at the feet of the monk. ‘Chief of prayer,’ said she to him, ‘I am a Christian. Heaven has sent you to save me!’ ‘My daughter,’ said the hermit, raising her up, ‘we usually ring the mission-bell during the night and during tempests, to call strangers; and, in imitation of the example of our brethren of the Alps and of the Liban, we have taught our dog to discover lost travellers.’

“I scarcely understood the hermit. This charity appeared to me so much above man that I thought I was dreaming. By the light of the little lantern the monk was holding in his hand I saw that his beard and hair were saturated with water; his feet, his hands, and his face were bleeding: from their encounters with the brambles. ‘Old man!’ I at length cried, ‘what sort of heart have you, that you did not fear being struck by the lightning?’ ‘Fear!’ retorted the father, with a certain ardor, ‘fear when men are in danger and I can be useful to them! I should in that case be an unworthy servant of Jesus Christ!’ ‘But do you know,’ I interrupted, ‘that I am not a Christian?’ ‘Young man,’ replied the hermit, ‘did I ask you your religion? Jesus Christ did not say, “My blood shall wash this one or that one.” He died for the Jew and for the Gentile, and He only considered all the races of men as brothers in misfortune. What I am now doing for you is but little, and you would find elsewhere plenty of other help; but the glory of it should not fall upon the priests. What are we poor hermits, if not the coarse instruments of a celestial work? And what soldier would be cowardly enough to retreat when his Chief, with the cross in His hand and His forehead covered with thorns, marches before him to the assistance of suffering humanity?’

“These words went to my heart; tears of admiration and tenderness fell from my eyes. ‘My dear children,’ said the missionary, ‘I govern in these forests a little flock of your wild brethren. My grotto is not far from here, in the mountain. Come and warm yourselves under my roof. You will not find the conveniences of life there, but you shall have shelter, and you should thank the Divine goodness even for that, for there are many men who are without it.’

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