“If my dream of happiness was bright, it was also of short duration, and
I was to be awakened from it at the hermit’s grotto. On arriving there
in the middle of the clay, I was surprised at not seeing Atala come
forth to meet us. I cannot tell what sudden apprehension took possession
of me. As we approached the grotto, I dared not call the daughter of
Lopez; my imagination was equally frightened by the idea of the noise or
of the silence that might follow my cries. Still more terrified by the
dark appearance of the entrance to the rock, I said to the missionary,
‘O you, whom heaven accompanies and strengthens, penetrate into those
shades!’
“How weak is the man who is governed by his passions! How strong is he
who relies upon God! There was more courage in that religious heart,
withered by seventy-six years, than in all the ardor of my youth. The
man of peace entered the grotto, whilst I remained outside, full of
terror. Soon a feeble murmur of complaint issued from the interior
of the rock, and fell upon my ear. Uttering a cry as I recovered my
strength, I rushed into the darkness of the cavern. Spirits of my
fathers, you alone know the spectacle that met my view!
“The hermit had lighted a pine-torch, which he was holding with a
trembling hand over Atala’s couch. With her hair in disorder, the young
and beautiful woman, slightly raised upon her elbow, looked pale
and suffering. Drops of painful sweat shone upon her forehead; her
half-extinguished eyes still sought to express her love to me, and her
mouth endeavored to smile. As though struck by lightning, with my eyes
fixed, my arms outstretched, and my lips apart, I remained motionless.
A profound silence reigned for a moment between the three personages of
this scene of grief. The hermit was the first to break it. ‘This,’
he said, ‘can only be a fever occasioned by fatigue, and if we resign
ourselves to God’s will, He will take pity on us.’
“At these words my heart revived, and, with the mobility of the savage,
I passed suddenly from an excess of fear to an excess of confidence,
from which, however, Atala soon aroused me. Shaking her head sadly, she
made us a sign to approach her couch.
“‘My father,’ she said, in a weak voice, addressing herself to the
hermit, ‘I am upon the point of death. O Chactas! listen without despair
to the fatal secret I had concealed from you in order not to make you
too miserable, and out of obedience to my mother. Try not to interrupt
me by any marks of grief, which would shorten the few moments I have to
live. I have many things to tell of, and from the beatings of my heart,
which slacken--I do not know what icy burden presses within my bosom--I
feel that I cannot make too much haste!’
“After a short silence, Atala continued thus:--
“‘My sad destiny began almost before I had seen the light. My mother had
conceived me in misfortune. I wearied her bosom, and she brought me into
the world with such painful difficulty that my life was despaired of. To
save me, my mother made a vow. She promised the Queen of Angels that I
should consecrate myself to an unwedded life if I escaped from death.
That fatal vow is now hurrying me to the tomb!
“‘I was entering upon my sixteenth year when I lost my mother. Some
hours before her death she called me to her bedside. “My daughter,”
she said, in the presence of the missionary who was consoling her last
moments, “you know the vow I made for you. Would you belie your mother?
O my Atala, I am leaving you in a world that is not worthy of possessing
a Christian--in the midst of idolators who persecute the God of your
father and of your mother, the God who, after having given you life, has
preserved it to you by a miracle. Ah, my dear child, by accepting the
virgin’s veil, you only renounce the cares of the cabin and the fatal
passions which have tormented your mother’s breast! Come, then, my
well-beloved, come; swear upon this image of the Saviour’s Mother, held
by the hands of this holy priest and of your dying parent, that you will
not betray me in the face of heaven. Remember what I promised for you
in order to save your life, and that, if you do not keep my promise, you
will plunge your mother’s soul into eternal tortures.”
“‘O my mother, why spake you thus? O Religion, the cause of my ills and
of my felicity, my ruin and my consolation at the same time! And you,
dear and sad object of a passion that is consuming me even in the arms
of death, you can now see, O Chactas, what has caused the hardship of
our destiny! Melting into tears, and throwing myself upon my mother’s
bosom, I promised all that I was asked to promise. The missionary
pronounced over me the fearful language of my oath, and gave me the
scapulary that bound me forever. My mother threatened me with her
malediction if ever I broke my vow; and, after having advised me to keep
the secret inviolably from the pagans, the persecutors of my religion,
she expired, whilst holding me in a tender embrace.
[Illustration: 069]
[Illustration: 071]
[Illustration: 073]
[Illustration: 075]
“‘I did not at first know the danger of my oath. Full of ardor and a
veritable Christian, proud, too, of the Spanish blood that flowed in my
veins, I saw myself surrounded by men unworthy of receiving my hand, and
I congratulated myself upon having no other spouse than the God of my
mother. I saw you, young and beautiful prisoner; I pitied your lot; I
had the courage to speak to you at the funeral pile in the forest. Then
it was that I felt the weight of my vows!’
“When Atala had finished littering these words, I cried out, with
clenched fists, and looking at the missionary with a threatening air,
‘This, then, is the religion you have so much vaunted to me! Perish the
oath that deprives me of Atala! Man-priest, why did you come into these
forests?’
‘“To save you,’ said the old man, in a terrible voice; ‘to conquer
your passions, and to prevent you, blasphemer, from drawing down upon
yourself the wrath of Heaven! It is becoming, indeed, for so young a
man, scarcely entered upon life, to complain of his griefs! Where are
the marks of your sufferings? Where are the acts of injustice you have
had to support? Where are your virtues, which alone could give you a
certain right to murmur? What services have you rendered? What good have
you done? What, miserable creature! you can only show me passions,
and you dare to accuse Heaven! When, like Father Aubry, you shall have
passed thirty years in exile upon the mountains, you will be less prompt
to judge of the designs of Providence. You will then understand that
you know nothing and are nothing, and that there is no chastisement
so severe, no misfortune so terrible, that our corrupt flesh does not
deserve to suffer.’
“The lightnings that flashed from the old man’s eyes, the beatings of
his beard against his breast, and his fiery language, made him like to
a god. Overcome by his majesty, I fell at the father’s knees, and asked
pardon for my anger. ‘My son,’ he replied, in a tone so mild that
a feeling of remorse entered my soul, ‘it was not for myself that I
reprimanded you. Alas! you are right, my dear child: I have done but
very little in these forests, and God has no servant more unworthy than
myself. But, my son, it is Heaven--Heaven, I say--that should never be
accused! Pardon me if I have offended you, and let us listen to your
sister. There may still perhaps be some remedy; do not let us tire
of hoping. Chactas, the religion which has made a virtue of hope is a
Divine religion!’
“‘My young friend,’ resumed Atala, ‘you have been a witness of my
struggles, and nevertheless you have seen but the smallest portion of
them. I concealed the rest from you. No; the black slave who moistens
the hot sands of the Floridas with his sweat is less miserable than
Atala has been. Urging you to flight, and yet certain to die if you left
me; fearful of flying with you to the desert, and still panting after
the shade of the woods--ah! if it had only been required of me to
abandon my relations, my friends, my country! if even (frightful
thought!) I should only have incurred the loss of my soul! But thy
shadow, O my mother! thy shadow was always there, reminding me of thy
tortures! I heard thy complaints; I saw the flames of hell consuming
thee. My nights were barren, and haunted by phantoms, my days were
disconsolate; the evening dew dried as it fell upon my burning skin; I
opened my lips to the breezes, and the breezes, far from refreshing me,
became heated with the fire of my breath. What torture it was for me,
Chactas, to see you constantly near me, far from all mankind, in the
depths of the solitude, and to feel that there was an invincible barrier
between you and myself! To have passed my life at your feet, to have
waited upon you like a slave, to have prepared your repasts and your
couch in some unknown corner of the universe, would have been for me
supreme happiness. That happiness was within my reach, yet I could not
enjoy it. What plans I have imagined! What dreams have passed through
this sad heart of mine! Occasionally, when I fixed my eyes upon you, I
went so far as to encourage desires that were as foolish as they were
culpable: sometimes I wished I were the only creature living with you
upon the earth: at other times, feeling a divinity that stopped me in
my horrible transports, I seemed to desire that that divinity might
be annihilated, provided that, pressed in your arms, I might roll from
abyss to abyss with the ruins of God and of the world! Even now--shall I
say it?--now that eternity is about to swallow me up, that I am going to
appear before the inexorable Judge; at the moment when, from obedience
to my mother, I see with joy my vow devouring my life; well, even now,
by a frightful contradiction, I carry away with me the regret of not
having been yours----’
“‘My daughter,’ interrupted the missionary, ‘your grief misleads you.
The excess of passion to which you are abandoning yourself is rarely
just; it is not even natural; and for that reason it is less culpable in
the eyes of God, because it is rather an error of the mind than a vice
of the heart. You must therefore put away such passionate feelings,
which are unworthy of your innocence. At the same time, my dear child;
your impetuous imagination has alarmed you too much concerning your
vows. Religion requires no superhuman sacrifice. Its true sentiments,
its moderated virtues, are far above the exalted sentiments and the
forced virtues of a pretending heroism. If you had succumbed--well, poor
lost sheep! the Good Shepherd would have sought for you, and would have
brought you back to the flock. The treasures of repentance were open to
you; torrents of blood are required to wipe out our faults in the
eyes of men; a single tear suffices with God. Tranquilize yourself,
therefore, my dear daughter; your situation needs calm. Let us address
ourselves to God, who heals all the wounds of His servants. If it be
His will, as I trust it may be, that you escape from this malady, I will
write to the Bishop of Quebec; he has the power to release you from your
vows, which are but simple vows; and you shall finish your days near me,
with Chactas as your spouse.’
“As the old man finished speaking, Atala was seized with a violent
convulsion, from which she emerged with all the signs of fearful
suffering. ‘What!’ said she, joining her two hands with passion,
‘there was a remedy! I could have been released from my vows!’ ‘Yes, my
daughter,’ replied the father; ‘and it is still time.’ ‘It is too late it
is too late!’ she cried.
‘Must I die at the moment when I learn that I might have been happy? Why
did I not know * this old man sooner? At present what happiness should I
be enjoying with you, with my Chactas, a Christian--consoled, comforted
by this august priest--in this desert--for ever--Oh! my felicity would
have been too great!’ ‘Calm yourself,’ I said to her, taking hold of
one of the unfortunate maiden’s hands; ‘calm yourself: that happiness is
still in store for us.’ ‘Never! never!’ said Atala. ‘How?’ I asked. ‘You
do not know all,’ cried the maiden. ‘Yesterday--during the storm--I was
on the point of breaking my vows; I was going to plunge my mother into
the flames of the abyss. Already her malediction was upon me, already
I lied to the God who had saved my life. Whilst you were kissing my
trembling lips, you were not aware that you were embracing death!’ ‘O
heaven!’ cried the missionary; ‘dear child, what have you done?’ ‘A
crime, my father,’ said Atala, with her eyes wandering; ‘but I only
destroyed myself, and I saved my mother.’ ‘Finish then!’ I exclaimed,
full of fear. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I had foreseen my weakness; and on
quitting the cabins I took away with me----’
‘What?’ I interrupted with horror. ‘A poison?’ said the father. ‘It is
now at my heart,’ cried Atala.
“The torch slipped from the hermit’s hand. I fell fainting near Lopez’s
daughter. The old man took each of us in his arms, and during a short
interval we all three mingled our sobs on the funeral couch.
“‘Let us be stirring; let us be stirring,’ said the courageous father,
as he rose to light a lamp. ‘We are losing precious moments: like
intrepid Christians, let us brave the assaults of adversity; with
the cord about our necks, and with ashes upon our heads, let us throw
ourselves at the feet of the Most High, to implore His clemency, and
to submit ourselves to His decrees. Perhaps it may still be time. My
daughter, you ought to have told me of this last night.’
“‘Alas! my father,’ said Atala, ‘I looked for you last night; but
heaven, as a punishment for my faults, kept you away from me. Besides,
all help would have been useless; for even the Indians themselves, who
are so clever in what concerns poisons, know no remedy for that I have
taken. O Chactas, judge of my astonishment when I found that the result
was not so prompt as I had expected! My love redoubled my strength, and
my soul was unwilling to separate thus quickly from you!’
“It was no longer by sobs that I now interrupted Atala’s recital, but
by a torrent of passionate transports known only to savages. I rolled
myself upon the ground, twisting my arms and biting my hands. The
old priest, with wonderful tenderness, ran from brother to sister,
endeavoring to relieve us in a thousand ways. Through the calmness of
his heartland from the experience due to his weight of years, he knew
how to act upon our youth, and his religion furnished him with accents
even more tender and more ardent than our passions. Does not this
priest, who had passed forty years of daily sacrifice in the service of
God and man upon the mountain, remind you of the holocausts of Israel
smoking perpetually on the high places before the Lord?
“Alas! it was in vain that he tried to procure a remedy for Atala’s
sufferings. Fatigue, grief, poison, and a passion more mortal than all
the poisons together, had united to snatch the flower from the desert.
Towards evening terrible symptoms began to show themselves. A general
numbness took possession of Atala’s limbs, and the extremities of her
body became cold. ‘Touch my fingers,’ she said to me; ‘do they not feel
quite icy?’ I could not reply. I was overcome with horror. Afterwards
she added, ‘Even yesterday, my well-beloved, your contact made me
quiver: and now I can no longer feel your hand; I scarcely hear your
voice, and the objects in the grotto are disappearing from my sight
one after the other. Are not the birds singing? The sun must be nearly
setting? Chactas, its rays will be very beautiful in the desert, over my
tomb!’
“Atala perceiving that her language had melted us into tears, said
softly, ‘Pardon me, my kind friends; I am very weak, but perhaps I shall
get stronger. And yet to die so young, all at once, when my heart was so
full of life! Chief of prayer, take pity on me; support me. Do you
think my mother will be satisfied, and that God will forgive what I have
done?’
“‘My daughter,’ replied the holy man, shedding tears, and wiping them
away with his trembling, mutilated fingers, ‘all your misfortunes are
the result of your ignorance. Your savage education and the want of
instruction have been your ruin. You did not know that a Christian
cannot dispose of his life. Console yourself, therefore, my dear lamb;
God will pardon you, on account of the simplicity of your heart. Your
mother, and the imprudent missionary who guided her, are more to be
blamed than you; they exceeded their power in imposing an indiscreet vow
upon you: but may the Lord be with them! You all three offer a terrible
example of the dangers of enthusiasm, and of the want of enlightenment
on religious matters. Be of good cheer, my child; He who fathoms our
thoughts and our hearts will judge you according to your intentions,
which were pure, and not from your action, which was condemnable.
“‘As for life, if the moment has come for you to sleep in the Lord,
ah! my child, you lose but little by losing this world! In spite of the
solitude in which you have lived, you have known sorrow; what would
you have felt, then, if you had witnessed the evils of society?--if, on
visiting the shores of Europe, your ear had been stricken by the long
cry of suffering heard throughout that old land? The dweller in the
cabin, the inhabitant of a palace, both suffer and groan here below:
queens have been seen to cry like simple women, and people have been
astonished at the quantity of tears shed by kings!
“‘Is it your love that you regret? My daughter, you might as well weep
over a dream. Do you know the heart of man, and could you reckon upon
the inconstancies of his affection? Sacrifices and kindnesses, Atala,
are not eternal ties. One day, perhaps, disgust would have come with
satiety, the past would have been considered as nothing, and naught
would have remained but the inconveniences of a poor and despised union.
Doubtless, my dear daughter, the most beautiful loves were those of the
man and woman who issued from the hand of the Creator. A paradise had
been prepared for them. They were innocent and immortal. Perfect in soul
and body, they suited each other in every respect. Eve had been created
for Adam, l and Adam for Eve. If they, nevertheless, could not remain in
that state of happiness, what couple after them could do so? I will
not speak to you of the marriages of the first-born of men, of
those ineffable unions between sister and brother, in which love and
friendship were confounded in the same heart, and the purity of the one
increased the delights of the other. All those unions were troubled;
jealousy crept over the altar of turf upon which the goat was
sacrificed, it existed beneath the tent of Abraham, and even in the
abodes of the patriarchs, where they experienced so much joy that they
forgot the death of their mothers.
“‘Do you suppose, then, my child, that you are more innocent and more
fortunate in your ties than those holy families from which Jesus Christ
deigned to descend? Again, woman renews her sufferings each time she
becomes a mother, and she weeps on her marriage-day. What grief there
is for her in the mere loss of her new-born babe, to whom she gave
nourishment, and who dies upon her bosom! The mountain was full of
groans: nothing could console Rachel for the loss of her sons. The
bitterness attendant upon human affections is so powerful that I have in
my country seen grand ladies, the beloved of kings, quit the life of
a court to bury themselves in a cloister, and mutilate that rebellious
flesh, the pleasures of which are only the precursors of sorrow.
“‘But perhaps you would say that these last examples do not affect you;
that all your ambition was limited to the desire of living in an obscure
cabin with the man of your choice; that you sought less after the sweets
of marriage than after the charms of that folly which youth calls love?
Delusion, chimera, vanity--the dream of a diseased imagination! I also,
my daughter, have known the troubles of the heart. This head has not
been always bald, nor this breast always so calm as it appears to you
to-day. Believe in my experience: if man, constant in his affections,
could unceasingly respond to a sentiment constantly renewed, solitude
and love would doubtless render him the equal of God Himself; for those
are the two eternal pleasures of the Great Being. But the soul of man
becomes weary, and never loves the same object long and fully. There are
always some points upon which two hearts do not agree, and in the end
those points suffice to render life insupportable.
“‘Finally, my dear child, the great error of men, in their dream of
happiness, is that they forget the infirmity of death inseparable from
their nature; the end must come. Sooner or later, whatever might have
been your felicity, your beautiful visage would have been changed into
that uniform face which the sepulchre gives to the family of Adam. Even
the eye of Chactas would not have been able to distinguish you from
amongst your sisters of the tomb. Love does not extend its empire so far
as the worms in the coffin. What have I to say (O vanity of vanities!),
what can I say concerning the durability of earthly friendships? Would
you, my dear daughter, know its extent? If a man were to return to light
some years after his death, I do not believe he would be received with
joy even by those who had shed the most tears to his memory; so quickly
are new ties contracted, so easily fresh habits are indulged in, so
entirely is inconstancy natural to man, and so little is our life even
in the hearts of our friends!
“‘Thank, therefore, the Divine goodness, my dear daughter, for taking
you away thus early from this valley of misery. Already the white robe
and the brilliant crown of virgins are being prepared for you in the
skies; already I hear the Queen of the Angels crying out to you, “Come,
my worthy servant; come, my dove; come and sit down upon the throne of
candor, amidst all those maidens who have sacrificed their beauty and
their youth in the service of humanity, in the education of children,
and in works of penitence.”’
“As the last ray of daylight stills the winds and spreads tranquillity
through the sky, so the old man’s calm language appeased the passions in
the bosom of my lover. She no longer thought of anything but my grief,
and of the means for enabling me to support her loss. At first she said
that she should die happy if I would promise her to dry my tears;
then she spoke to me of my mother and of my country, and endeavored
to distract me from present grief by referring to past sufferings. She
exhorted me to patience and virtue. ‘You will not always be unhappy,’
she said; ‘if Heaven tries you to-day, it is merely to render you more
compassionate for the ills of others. The heart, Chactas, is like those
trees that only yield their balm for healing men’s wounds after having
been themselves seared with iron.’
“When she had thus spoken, Atala turned towards the missionary, seeking
from him the consolation she had been endeavoring to impart to me; and,
by turns consoling and consoled, she gave and received the word of life;
upon the couch of death.
“Nevertheless, the hermit redoubled his zeal. With the torch of religion
in his hand, he appeared to be guiding Atala to the tomb, to show her
its secret wonders. The humble grotto was full of the grandeur of this
Christian agony, and the heavenly spirits were no doubt attentive to the
scene, in which Religion had to struggle alone against Love, Youth and
Death.
“Divine Religion triumphed, and her victory was perceptible from the
holy sadness that followed our hearts’ previous passionate transports.
Towards the middle of the night, Atala seemed to revive, and repeated
the prayers pronounced by the monk at the side of her couch. Shortly
afterwards, she offered me her hand, and, in a voice scarcely audible,
said, ‘Son of Outalissi, do you remember the night when you took me for
the Virgin of the Last Loves? What a singular omen of our destiny! She
stopped, then continued: ‘When I think that I am leaving you for ever,
my heart makes such an effort to live, that I feel almost strong enough
to render myself immortal by the power of my love. But, O God! Thy will
be done!’ Atala became silent during a few instants; then she added: ‘It
only remains for me to ask your pardon for all the ills I have caused
you. Chactas, a little earth thrown upon my body will place a world
between you and me, and will deliver you forever from the weight of my
calamities!’
“‘Pardon you!’ I exclaimed, drowned in tears; ‘Is it not I who have
caused all your misfortunes?’ ‘My friend,’ she replied, interrupting
me, ‘you have rendered me very happy, and if I had to begin my life over
again, I should still prefer the happiness of having loved you for a few
short moments in an exile of adversity to an entire life of repose in my
own country.’
[Illustration: 084]
“Here Atala’s voice languished: the shadows of death spread themselves
about her eyes and her mouth; her wandering fingers endeavored to catch
at something and she spoke lowly with the invisible spirits. Soon,
however, making an effort, she attempted, but in vain, to take the
little crucifix from her neck; she asked me to untie it myself, and then
said to me:--
[Illustration: 088]
“‘When I spoke to you for the first time, by the light of the fire you
saw this cross shining upon my bosom; it is the only treasure that Atala
possesses. Lopez, your father and mine, sent it to my mother a few days
after my birth. Accept the inheritance, then, from me, my brother, and
keep it in remembrance of my misfortunes. Chactas, I have a last request
to make of you. Our union on earth, my friend, would have been short;
but after this life there is a longer life. I only go before you to-day,
and I will wait for you in the celestial empire. If you have loved me,
get yourself instructed in the Christian religion, which will prepare
our re-union. That religion has worked a great miracle under your own
eyes, since it enables me to quit you without the anguish of despair.
Still, Chactas, I only desire you to make me a simple promise. I know
too well what it costs to ask an oath from you. Perhaps such a vow might
separate you from some woman happier than I. O my mother, pardon thy
daughter! I am again succumbing to my weaknesses, and am turning aside
from Thee, O my God, thoughts that should be thine, and thine only!’
“Overwhelmed with grief, I promised Atala that I would one day embrace
the Christian religion. At this moment the hermit, rising with an
inspired air, and stretching his arms towards the roof of the grotto,
exclaimed, ‘It is time--it is time to call God hither!’
“Scarcely had he uttered those words, when a supernatural force
constrained me to fall upon my knees and to turn my head towards the
foot of Atala’s couch. The priest opened a secret place that contained
a golden urn covered with a silk veil; he then knelt down and prayed
fervently. Suddenly the grotto appeared to be illuminated: songs of
angels and the vibrations of celestial harps were heard in the air; and
when the hermit drew the sacred vessel from the tabernacle, I thought I
saw God Himself issue forth from the side of the mountain.
“The priest opened the cup, took between his fingers a wafer white as
snow, and approached Atala as he pronounced some mysterious words. That
saint’s eyes were upturned in ecstacy. All her sufferings appeared to be
suspended; her entire being concentrated itself upon her mouth; her lips
parted, and advanced with respect to seek the God concealed beneath the
mystic bread. The saintly old man afterwards soaked a piece of cotton in
the consecrated oil, and looked for a moment at the dying maiden; when
all of a sudden he uttered these imposing words, ‘Go, Christian soul,
go; return to your Creator!’ Raising then my downcast head, I cried,
looking at the vessel that contained the holy oil, ‘My father, will that
remedy restore Atala to life?’ ‘Yes, my son,’ said the old man, falling
into my arms, ‘to life eternal!’ Atala had just expired.
At this point Chactas was obliged, for the second time, to interrupt the
recital of his story. His tears flowed copiously, and the tremor of his
voice only permitted him to utter broken words. The blind sachem opened
his breast and drew forth Atala’s crucifix. “Here it is!” he cried;
“dear token of adversity! O René, O my son! You see it; but I can see it
no longer.
Tell me whether, after so many years, the gold of it is tarnished? Do
you see any traces of my tears upon it? Could you recognize the part
which had been touched by the lips of a saint? How is it that Chactas is
not yet a Christian? What trivial motives of policy or nationality have
kept him in the errors of his fathers? No; I will no longer delay. The
earth is crying out to me, ‘When, then, wilt thou go down into the tomb,
and for what art thou waiting to embrace a Divine religion?’.... Earth!
thou shalt not wait long, for as soon as a priest shall have regenerated
by baptism this head whitened with grief, I hope to be re-united to
Atala.... But let me finish what remains to be told of my story.”
[Illustration: 091]
[Illustration: 092]
[Illustration: 094]
[Illustration: 096]