There are some righteous people whose conscience is so tranquil that one cannot approach them without participating in the peace emitted, so to say, by their heart and by their language. As the hermit went on speaking, I felt the passions calm down in my bosom, and even the storm of heaven appeared to recede at his voice. The clouds were soon sufficiently dispersed to permit us to quit our retreat. We issued from the forest, and commenced climbing a high mountain. The dog walked by our side, carrying the extinguished lantern at the end of a stick.

I held Atala by the hand, and we followed the missionary. He frequently turned round to look at us, and seemed to pity our youth and our misfortunes. A book was hanging from his neck, and he leant upon a white staff. His figure was tall, his face pale and thin, and his countenance simple and sincere. His features showed that he had seen bad days, and the deep wrinkles in his forehead were the noble scars of passions overcome by virtue and by the love of God and of man. When he spoke to us standing and motionless, his long beard, his eyes modestly cast downwards, the affectionate tone of his voice, everything about him was calm and sublime. Whoever, like myself, has seen Father Aubry with his breviary and staff, on his lonely way in the desert, preserves a veritable idea of the Christian traveller upon earth.

“After half an hour’s dangerous march through the paths of the mountain, we arrived at the missionary’s grotto. We entered it over an accumulation of wet ivy and wild plants, washed down from the rocks by the rain. There was nothing in the place beyond a mat of papaya-leaves, a gourd for drawing up water, a few wooden vessels, a spade, a harmless serpent, and, upon a block of stone that served as a table, a crucifix and the Book of the Christians.

“The man of ancient days was not long in lighting a fire with some dried leaves. He then crushed some Indian corn between two stones, and having made a cake with it, placed it beneath the ashes to bake. When the cake had come to a fine golden color, he served it to us hot, with nut-cream, in a maple bowl. The evening having restored calm, the servant of the Great Spirit proposed that we should go and sit at the entrance to the grotto, which commanded an immense view. The remains of the storm had been carried in disorder towards the east; the fires of the conflagration caused in the forests by the lightning were still shining in the distance; at the foot of the mountain an entire pine-wood had been thrown down into the mud, and the river was charged pell-mell with molten clay, trunks of trees, and the bodies of dead animals and of dead fishes, floating upon the still agitated surface of the waters.

“It was in the midst of this scene that Atala related our history to the old genius of the mountain. His heart appeared to be touched, and tears fell upon his beard. ‘My child,’ he said to Atala, ‘you must offer your sufferings to God, for whose glory you have already done so many things. He will give you rest. Look at those smoking forests, those receding torrents, those scattered clouds: do you imagine that He who can calm such a tempest cannot appease the troubles of the heart of man? If you have no better retreat, my dear daughter, I offer you a place amongst the flock I have had the happiness of calling to Jesus Christ. I will instruct Chactas, and I will give him to you as a husband when he shall have proved himself worthy to be your spouse.’

“At these words I fell at the hermit’s knees, shedding tears of joy; but Atala became as pale as death. The old man raised me with benignity, and I then perceived that both his hands were mutilated. Atala at once comprehended his misfortunes. ‘The barbarians!’ she exclaimed.

“‘My daughter,’ replied the hermit, with a pleasant smile, ‘what is that in comparison with the sufferings of my Divine Master? If the Indian idolators have tortured me, they are poor, blind creatures, whom God will enlighten some day. I love them all the more for the injury they have done me. I could not remain in my country, to which I had gone back, and where an illustrious queen did me the honor to look upon these poor marks of my apostolate. And what more glorious reward could I receive for my labors than that of obtaining, from the head of our religion, the permission to celebrate the Divine sacrifice with these mutilated hands? It only remained for me, after such an honor, to try and render myself worthy of it; so I returned to the; new world to pass the rest of my lift: in the service of my God. I have dwelt in these solitudes nearly thirty years, and it will be twenty-two to-morrow since I took possession of this rock. When I came to the place, I encountered but a few wandering families, whose manners were ferocious and whose life was miserable. I have induced them to listen to the word of Peace, and their manners have become gradually softened. They now live together at the foot of this mountain. Whilst teaching them the way of salvation, I endeavored to instruct them in the primary arts of life, but without carrying them too far, and constantly keeping the honest people within the bounds of that simplicity which constitutes happiness. Fearing to trouble them by my presence, I retired to this grotto, where they come to consult me. It is here that far from man, I admire God in the grandeur of the solitude, and prepare myself for the death which the length of my years announces to me as approaching.’

“On finishing this discourse, the hermit fell upon his knees, and we imitated his example. He began in a loud voice a prayer to which Atala responded. Some dull flashes of lightning still opened the sky in the east, and upon the western clouds three suns seemed to be shining at the same time.

“We re-entered the grotto, where the hermit stretched out a bed of cypress-moss for Atala. Profound language was depicted in the eyes and movements of the maiden. She looked at Father Aubry as though she wished to reveal a secret to him; but something appeared to deter her from so doing—either my presence, or a sort of shame, or perhaps the uselessness of the avowal. I heard her get up in the middle of the night. She went to look for the hermit; but, as he had given up his couch to Atala, he had gone to contemplate the beauty of the heavens, and to pray to God on the top of the mountain. He told me the next day that such was his custom, even during winter, as he loved to see the forests wave their stripped summits, the clouds fly through the air, and to hear the winds and the torrents roar in the solitude. My sister was therefore obliged to return to her couch, where she immediately fell asleep. Alas! full of hope, I thought Atala’s weakness was nothing more than a passing sign of weariness.

“The following morning I was awakened by the songs of the cardinals and the mockingbirds, nestled in the acacias and laurels that surrounded the grotto. I went forth and gathered a magnolia rose, and placed it, wet with the tears of the morning, upon the head of my sleeping Atala. I hoped, according to the religion of my country, that the soul of some child dead at the breast might have descended upon this flower in a dew-drop, and that a happy dream might convey it to the bosom of my future spouse. I afterwards sought my host. I found him, his gown turned up into his two pockets, and a chaplet in his hand, waiting for me, seated upon the trunk of a pine-tree that had fallen from old age. He proposed that we should go together to the Mission while Atala was still reposing. I accepted his offer, and we immediately started on our way.

“On descending the mountain, I perceived some oaks upon which the genii seemed to have drawn foreign characters. The hermit told me that he had traced them himself; that they were some verses of an ancient poet called Homer, and a few sentences of another poet, more ancient still, named Solomon. There was a sort of mysterious harmony between the wisdom of former times, the verses eaten into by moss, the old hermit who had engraved them, and the aged oaks which had served him for books.

“His name, his age, and the date of his mission were also marked upon a reed of the savannah at the foot of those trees. I was surprised at the fragility of the latter monument. ‘It will last longer than I,’ replied the father, ‘and it will always be of more value than the little good I have done.’

“From thence we arrived at the entrance to a valley, where I saw a wonderful work. It was a natural bridge, similar to that in Virginia, of which you have perhaps heard. Men, my son, especially those of your country, often imitate Nature, and their copies are always insignificant. It is not the same with Nature when she appears to imitate the labors of men by in reality offering them models. Then it is that she throws bridges from the summit of one mountain to the summit of another, suspends roads in the air, spreads rivers for canals, carves out hills for columns, and for basins excavates seas.

“We passed beneath the sole arch of this bridge, and found ourselves in front of another wonder, the cemetery of the Indians of the Mission, or the Groves of Death. Father Aubry had permitted his neophytes to bury their dead in their manner, and to continue its original name to their place of sepulture. He had merely sanctified the place with a cross. * The soil was divided, like fields set out for harvest, into as many lots as there were families. Each lot formed a wood of itself, which varied according to the taste of those who had planted it. A stream meandered noiselessly through the groves. It went by the name of the River of Peace. This smiling refuge of souls was closed on the east by the bridge beneath which we had passed. Two hills bounded it on the north and on the south, and it was open only towards the west, where stood a large forest of fir trees. The trunks of these trees, spotted with green, and growing without branches up to their very summits, resembled tall columns, and formed the peristyle of this temple of death. We remarked a religious sound, similar to the half-suppressed murmurs of an organ beneath the roof of a church; but when we had penetrated into the interior of the sanctuary, we could hear nothing beyond the hymns of the birds celebrating an eternal fÊte to the memory of the dead.

“On emerging from the wood, we perceived the village of the Mission, situated on the side of a lake, in the midst of a savannah planted with flowers. It was reached by an avenue of magnolias and oaks, which bordered one of ‘those ancient roads met with towards the mountains that separate Kentucky from the Floridas. As soon as the Indians saw their pastor in the plain, they abandoned their labors, and hastened to meet him. Some of them kissed his gown, others assisted him to walk; the mothers raised their little children in their arms to show them the man of Jesus Christ who had shed tears. Father Aubry inquired as he went along of what was going on in the village. He gave counsel to one, and a mild reprimand to another, He spoke of harvests to be gathered, of children to be instructed, of troubles to be consoled; and he alluded to God in every topic he touched upon.

“Thus escorted, we arrived at the foot of the large cross placed by the roadside. It was here that the servant of God was in the habit of celebrating the mysteries of his religion. ‘My dear neophytes,’ said he, turning himself towards the crowd, ‘a brother and a sister have come up to you, and, as an additional happiness, I see that Providence spared your harvests yesterday. Behold two great reasons for thankfulness. Let us therefore offer up the holy sacrifice, and may each of you bring to it deep attention, a lively faith, infinite gratitude, and a humble heart!’

“The holy priest forthwith put on a white tunic of mulberry-bark; the sacred cups were withdrawn from a tabernacle at the foot of the cross; the altar was set out on a portion of the rock, water was procured from the neighboring torrent, and a bunch of wild grapes furnished the wine for the sacrifice. We all went down upon our knees in the high grass, and the mystery began.

“Break of day, appearing from behind the mountains, inflamed the eastern sky. Everything in the solitude was golden or roseate. The sun, announced by so much splendor, at length issued from an abyss of light, and its first ray fell upon the consecrated host, which the priest was at that very moment raising in the air.

“After the sacrifice, during which nothing was wanting to me but the daughter of Lopez, we went to the village. The most touching mixture of social and natural life reigned there. By the side of a cypress-wood of the ancient desert was a nascent vegetation; ears of corn rolled like gold about the trunk of a fallen oak, and summer sheaves replaced the tree of three centuries. On all sides forests given up to the flames were sending up their smoke into the air, and the plough was being pushed slowly through the remains of their roots. Surveyors with long chains went to measure the ground; arbitrators marked out the first properties; the bird gave up its nest; the den of the wild beast was converted into a cabin; forges were heard to roar, and the blows of the axe caused the echoes to resound for the last time as they expired with the trees which had served them for a refuse.

“I wandered with delight in the midst of these scenes, rendered still more enchanting by the image of Atala and by the dreams of felicity with which I was feeding my heart. I admired the triumph of Christianity over savage life. I saw the Indian becoming civilized by the voice of religion; I assisted at the primitive union of man and the earth—man, by this great contract, abandoning to the earth the inheritance of his labors; and the earth undertaking in return to bear faithfully the harvests, the sons, and the ashes of man.

“During this time a child was presented to the missionary, who baptized it among the flowering jessamine on the border of a spring, whilst a coffin, in the midst of these joys and labors, was being carried to the Groves of Death. Two spouses received the nuptial benediction beneath an oak, and we afterwards went to install them in a corner of the desert. The pastor walked in front of us, blessing here and there a rock, a tree or a fountain, as of old, according to the book of the Christians, God blessed the untilled land when He gave it to Adam for an inheritance. This procession, which, with the flocks, was following its venerable chief from rock to rock, represented to my affected heart the migrations of the first families, when Shem, with his children, advanced into an unknown world, following the sun as his guide.

“I desired to know from the hermit how he governed his flock. With great patience he replied to me, ‘I have laid down no law for them; I have merely taught them to love one another, to pray to God, and to hope for a better life. All the laws in the world are comprised therein. Towards the middle of the village you may perceive a cabin somewhat larger than the rest. It serves as a chapel during the rainy season. My children assemble there morning and evening to praise the Lord, and when I am absent an old man offers up the prayers; for old age, like maternity, is a sort of priesthood. The people afterwards go to work in the fields; and although the properties are divided, in order that each may learn something of social economy, the harvests are deposited in the same storehouse, out of a spirit of brotherly charity. Four old men are charged with the equal distribution of the produce of the general labors. Add to all that our religious ceremonies, plenty of hymns, the cross where I celebrate the mysteries, the elm-tree beneath which I preach in fine weather, our tombs near our corn-fields, our rivers into which I plunge the little children, and the Saint Johns of this new Bethany, and you will have a complete idea of this kingdom of Jesus Christ.’

“The language of the hermit delighted me, and I felt the superiority of this stable and busy life over the wandering and idle existence of the savage.

“Ah, RenÉ! I do not repine against Providence, yet I confess I never think of that evangelical society without experiencing bitter regret. How a hut, with Atala, in that neighborhood, would have rendered my life happy! There all my wanderings would have ceased; there, with a spouse, ignored by men and concealing my happiness in the depths of the forest, my days would have flown by like those rivers which have not even a name in the desert. Instead of the peace I was then bold enough to promise myself, amidst what troubles have my years been cast! The constant plaything of fortune, wrecked upon every shore, long an exile from my country, and on my return thither finding only a ruined cabin and friends in the tomb—such was to be the destiny of Chactas.

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