 Section 6 of Atala by François-René de Château-Briand. This Libervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by William Jones, Benita Springs, Florida. Atala. Section 6, Chapter 3, The Drama. If my dream of happiness was bright, it was also of short duration, and I was to be awakened from it at the Hermits grotto. On arriving there in the middle of the day, 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 appearances of the interest 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 lies upon God. There was more courage in that religious heart, withered by seventy-six years than in all the ardour 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 chaktis, 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 then 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 be lie your mother? Oh my Atala, I am leaving you in a world that is not worthy of possessing a Christian. In the midst of idolaters 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 vow, you only renounced the cares of the cabin and the fatal passions which have tormented your mother's breast. Come, then, my beloved, come, swear upon this image of the Savior'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. Oh, my mother, why spake you thus? Oh, religion, the cause of my ills and of my felicity, my ruin in 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, oh, chocked us, 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 this secret inviolably from the pagans, the persecutors of my religion, she expired whilst holding me in a tender embrace. I did not know at first the danger of my oath, full of ardor and 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 file in the forest, then it was that I felt the weight of my vows. When Atala had finished uttering these words, I cried out with clenched fists, and looking at the missionary with a threatening air, this then is religion you have so much wanted to me? Parish the oath that deprives me of Atala. Man preached, 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 Aubrey, you shall have past thirty years in exile upon the mountains, you will be less prompt to judge 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 flash 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. Jocked us, the religion which has made a virtue of hope is a divine religion. My young friend, resumed Attala, you have been a witness of my struggles, and nevertheless you have seen the smallest portion of them. I concealed the rest from you. No, the black slave who moistened the hot sands of the Florida's with his sweat is less miserable than Attala 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. 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 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, chocked us, 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 witted upon you like a slave, to have prepared your repast 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, yet other times, feeding 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 peer 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 jest. 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. It's 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, those good shepherd would have shot 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 civil vows, and you shall finish your days near me, with Choctus, as your spouse. As the old man finished speaking, Attila 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. Oh, it is too late. It is too late! she cried. Must I die at the moment when I learned 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 Choctus, a Christian consoled comforted by this August breeze in this desert forever? Oh, my felicity would have been too great. Calm yourself, I said to her, taking hold of one of those unfortunate maidens' hands. Calm yourself. That happiness is still in store for us. Never, never, said Attila. Oh, 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. Oh, heavenly, cried the missionary. Dear child, what have you done? A crime, my father said Attila, 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 Attila. The torch slipped from the hermit's hand. I felt feinty near Lopez's daughter. The old men took each of us in his arms, and during a short interval, we all three mingled our sobs at 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 neck, 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 this last night. Alas, my father, said Attila, I was looking 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 Choctus, 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 Attila'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, endearing 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 Attila's suffering. 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 Attila'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. Afterward 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. Chaktas's rays will be very beautiful in the desert over my tomb. Attila, 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 the 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 warrants of instruction have been your ruin. You do not know that a Christian cannot dispose of his life. Consold 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 or 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 suffer 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, my child, you lose but a 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. But willer 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 or a dream. Do you know the heart of men, and could you reckon upon the inconstancies of his affection? Sacrifices and kindness, Attala, are not eternal ties. One day, perhaps, disgust would have come with satiety. The past would have been considered as nothing, and not would have remained but the inconveniences of a poor and despised union. Doubtless, my dear daughter, the most beautiful loves are 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. I and Adam for Eve. Yes, 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 firstborn 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 a tent of Abraham, and even in the abode 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 newborn 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 attended upon human affections is so powerful that I have in my country seen grandlady's. 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 should not affect you, that all your ambition was limited to the desire of living in an obscure cabin with the men of your choice, that you sought less after the suites 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 always been bald, nor this breast always so calm as it appears to you today. Believe in my experience, if man constant in his affection 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 Choctus 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 perceived with joy, even by those who had shed the most tears to his memory. So quickly our new ties contracted, so easily fresh habits are indulged in, so entirely is in constancy 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, calm my worthy servant, calm my dove, calm and sit down upon the throne of Kandor, amidst all those maidens who have sacrificed their beauty and their youth in the surface of humanity, in the education of children, and in works of penitence. As the last day of daylight stills the winds and spreads trend quality 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 would 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 the 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 today, it is merely to render you more compassionate for the ills of others. The heart chocked us, is like those trees that only yield their balm for healing men's wounds after having been themselves seared with iron. When she had this spoken, Akala turned toward the missionary, seeking from him the consolation she had been endeavouring 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 heart's previous passionate transports. Toward 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 Utalisi, do you remember the night you took me for the Virgin of the Last Loves? What a singular omen of our destiny! She stopped and continued, When I think that I am leaving you forever, 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 instances, then she added, It only remains for me to ask you were pardoned for all the ills I have caused you. Jaktas, 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, interrupted 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. 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, 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 in mind, 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. Chaktos, 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 today, 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 reunion. That religion has worked a great miracle under your own eyes, since it enables me to quit you without the anguish of despair. Still, Chaktos, 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. Oh, my mother, pardon thy daughter, I am again succumbing to my weaknesses, and am turning aside from thee, oh my God, thoughts that should be thine and thine only. Overwhelmed with grief, I promise Atala that I would one day embrace the Christian religion. At this moment the hermit, rising with an inspired air, stretching his arms toward 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 this 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 ecstasies. 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 feet of God. The mystic bread. The saintly old man afterward 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. True life, eternal, Atala had just expired. At this point Choctas 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. Oh, my son, you see it, but I can see it no longer. Tell me, but 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 Choctas 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 will 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 widened with grief. I hope to be reunited to Atala. But let me finish what remains to be told of my story. End of Section 6, The Drama. Section 7 of Atala by François-René de Choteau-Briand. This Louvre Proc's recording is in the public domain. Recording by William Jones, Benita Springs, Florida. Atala, Section 7, Chapter 4, The Funeral. I will not undertake, René, to picture the despair that took possession of my soul when Atala had heaved her last sigh. You would require more warmth than I have left, and that my closed eyes might reopen to the sun to ask it to tell of the tears they shed in its light. Yes, the moon now shining above our heads will become weary of lighting the solitudes of Kentucky. The river that is now bearing our pieros will suspend the course of its waters before my tears cease to flow for Atala. During two days I was insensible to the hermit's conversation. In trying to calm my grief, the excellent man did not employ the commonplace reasonings of earthly minds. All he said was, My son, it is the will of God. And then he pressed me in his arms. I should never have thought there was so much consolation in those few words of a resigned Christian if I had not myself experienced it. The mild tenderness and the unvarying patience of the old servant of God at length conquered the obscenity of my grief. I became ashamed of the tears I caused him to shed. My father, I said, this is too much. Let the passions of a young man disturb the peace of your days no longer. Permit me to carry away the remains of my spouse. I will enter them in some corner of the desert. And if I am condemned to live on for a time, I will endeavor to render myself worthy of the eternal nuptials that were promised me by Atala. At this unexpected return of courage, the good father trembled with joy, saying, O blood of Jesus Christ, blood of my divine master, I acknowledge herein thy merits. Thou wilt no doubt save this young man. My God, finish thy work. Restore peace to this troubled soul, and leave it but the humble and useful remembrance of its midst's fortunes. The righteous man refused to give up to me the body of Lopez's daughter. But he proposed to call together his neophytes and to intern with all the pomp of the Christian ceremonial. In my turn, I refused. Atala's misfortunes and virtues, I said, were unknown to men. Let her grave dug secretly by our hands share that obscurity. We agree to set off the next morning at sunrise and to bury Atala beneath the arch of the natural bridge at the entrance to the groves of death. It was also decided that we should pass the night in prayer near the corpse of the saint. Towards evening we transported the precious remains to an opening of the grotto looking to the north. The hermit had enveloped them in a piece of European lawn woven by his mother. It was the only thing still remaining to him of his country, and he had long preserved it for his own tomb. We laid Atala upon a turf of mountain sensitives. Her feet, her head, her shoulders, and a part of her bosom were uncovered. There was a faded magnolia in her hair, the same flower I had placed upon the virgin's couch to render her fruitful. Her lips, like a rosebud gathered two mornings before, seemed to languish and smile. Her cheeks of sparkling whiteness showed a number of blue veins. Her beautiful eyes were closed. Her modest feet joined together, and her hands of alabaster pressed against her heart and ebony crucifix. The scapulary of her vows was fashioned about her neck. She appeared as though enchanted by the angel of melancholy and by the double sleep of innocence and of the tomb. I never saw anything so heavenly. By a person unconscious that this young girl had enjoyed the light she might have been taken for a statue of sleeping virginity. The monk did not cease praying all night. I sat in silence at the end of my Atala's funeral couch. How often during her sleep I had held that charming head upon my knees how many times I had leaned over her to hear her breathe and to inhale her breath. But at present no sound issued from that motionless breast and it was in vain that I looked for the awakening of my love. The moon lent her pale light to this funeral watching. She rose in the middle of the night like a white vessel come to weep over the coffin of a companion. From time to time the monk dipped a flowering branch into the holy water and checking its motioned leaves perfumed the night air with heavenly bombs. Occasionally also he repeated to an ancient tune these verses by an old poet named Job. I have passed away like a flower. I have withered like the grass of the fields wherefore is light given to him that is in misery and life into the bitter in soul. Thus sang the old man his deep and irregular voice went rolling through the silence of the desert the name of God and of the tomb issued from all the echoes from all the torrents and from all the forests and the groves of death seemed to be murmuring a distant chorus of the departed in reply to the hermit's sacred chant. Nevertheless a bar of gold was forming in the east the sparrow hawks were crying upon the rocks and the martins creeping back into the howls of the elm trees. These were so many signs that the time had come for Atala's interment. I took the body on my shoulder the hermit walked in front of me carrying a spade in his hand. We commenced the descent from rock to rock old age and death combined equally to slacken our pace at the sight of the dog which had found us in the forest and which now jumping with joy led us by another route I melted into tears Atala's long hair the plaything of the morning breezes frequently through its golden veil over my eyes and bending beneath the burden I was obliged to lay it down off and upon the moss and sit a while to recover my strength. At length we arrived at the spot selected by my grief and we entered beneath the arch of the bridge. Oh my son, you should have seen the youthful savage and the old hermit on their knees in front of each other in the desert digging with their hands a grave for the poor girl whose body lay outstretched close at hand in the dried up bed of a torrent. When our work was terminated we transported the loved one into her bed of clay taking then a little dust in my hand and observing a fearful silence I looked upon Atala's face for the last time I afterward spread the earth over that forehead of 18 springs gradually I saw the features of my sister disappear and her graces become hidden beneath the curtain of eternity Lopez, I exclaimed behold your son burying your daughter and I finished by covering Atala entirely with the earth of sleep we returned to the grotto where I made the missionary acquainted with the project I had formed of remaining with him the saint who wonderfully understood the heart of a man penetrated my thought and the artfulness of my grief he said Chakras, son of Uptalisi so long as Atala was alive by myself desire that you should live with me but at present your lot is changed you owe yourself to your country believe me my son such griefs are not eternal sooner or later they wear themselves out because the heart of man is finite that is one of our great miseries we are not even capable of being unhappy for a long time return to the Mississippi go and console your mother who weeps for you day and night and who stands in need of your support get yourself instructed in Atala's religion whenever an opportunity presents itself and remember that you promised her to be virtuous and Christian I will watch over her tomb go my son God your sister's soul and the heart of your old friend will follow you such was the language of the man of the rock his authority was too great his wisdom too profound not to be obeyed the next morning I quit in my venerable host who pressing me to his heart gave me his last counsels his last blessing and his last tears I went to the grave and was surprised at finding a little cross placed over the body as one may sometimes perceive the mass of a vessel that has been wrecked I judged that the hermit had been there to pray during the night this mark of friendship and religion caused me to shed an abundance of tears I was almost tempted to reopen the tomb in order to gaze once more upon my well-beloved a religious fear withheld me I sat down upon the recently disturbed ground with an elbow resting upon my knees and my head supported by my hand I remained buried for a time in a most bitter reverie over a day it was then that for the first time I made serious reflections upon the vanity of our days and the still greater vanity of our projects ah my child who has not made such reflections I am no longer but an old stag whitened by the winters my years compete with those of the crow well in spite of the number of days accumulated over my head in spite of such a long experience of life I have not yet met with a man who had not been deceived in his dreams of happiness nor a heart that did not contain a hidden wound having thus seen the sun rise and set upon this place of grief the next day at the first cry of the stork I prepared to leave the sacred sepulchre I quitted it as the spot from which I desired to start upon a career of virtue three times I evoked the soul of atala three times the genius of the desert responded to my cries beneath the funeral arch I afterwards saluted the east and then I perceived amongst the mountain paths in the distance the friendly hermit going to the cabin of some unhappy creature falling upon my knees and ardently embracing atala's grave I exclaimed sleep in peace in this foreign land too unfortunate maiden in return for your love for your exile and for your death you are going to be abandoned even by chakras then shedding a flood of tears I separated from Lopez's daughter and tearing myself from the spot left at the foot of nature's monument a monument still more august the humble tomb of virtue end of section seven the funeral section eight of atala by france walls renais des chateaux brillants this liber box recording is in the public domain recording by william jones benita springs florida atala section eight chapter five epilogue chakras son of utali see the matches related this story to renais the european fathers have repeated it to their sons and i a traveler to distant lands have faithfully narrated what the indians told me i saw in this story the picture of the hunting people and of the laboring people religion the first law giver of men the dangers of ignorance and religious enthusiasm opposed to the light the charity and the veritable spirit of the evangel the struggles of the passions and the virtues in the simple heart and finally the triumph of christianity over the most ardent sentiment and the most terrible fear love and death when a seminal related this story to me i found it very instructive and perfectly beautiful because he narrated it with the flowery eloquence of the desert the grace of the cabin and a simplicity in describing grief which i am afraid i have not been able to preserve but one thing remained for me to learn i wish to know what had become of father albry and no one could tell me i should never have ascertained if providence who guides all had not led me to discover what i was seeking this is how the matter came about i had visited the shores of the mississippi which formally constituted the southern boundary of new france and i was desirous obscene in the north that other wonder of the american empire the cataract of niagara i had nearly reached the falls in the ancient country of the agonion the iroquois when one morning as i was crossing a plain i perceived a woman seated beneath a tree and holding a dead child upon her knees i quietly approached the young mother and heard her singing to this effect if thou has remained among us dear babe with what grace they hand might have bent the bow thy arm might have tamed the furious bear and thy steps might have outrun the flying kid on the summit of the mountain white ermine of the rock to go so young to the land of souls how will thou manage to live there thy father is not there to feed thee with the produce of his chase thou wilt be cold and no spirit will give these skins to cover thyself oh i must hasten to rejoin thee to sing songs to thee and to give thee my breast and the young mother sang with a trembling voice rocked the child upon her knees wedded its lips with her maternal milk and bestowed upon the dead all those cares which are usually given to the living according to the indian custom the woman desired to dry the body of her son upon the branches of a tree before taking it away to the tomb of its ancestors she therefore undressed the newborn babe and after breathing some instance upon its mouth uncovered its breast and embraced the icy remains which would certainly have been reanimated by the fire of that maternal heart if god had not reserved to himself the breath that imparts life she rose and looked about for a tree upon which she might lay her child she selected a maple with red flowers festooned with garlands of opioles that emitted the sweetest perfumes with one hand she pulled down the lowest branch and with the other she placed the body thereon then loosing the branch it returned to its natural position with the remains of innocence concealed in its odoriferous foliage oh how touching is this indian custom pompous monuments of the krasi and of the caesars i have seen you in your desolated planes but i by far prefer those arian tombs of the savages those mausoleums of flowers and verdure perfumed by the bee and waved by the zephyr wherein the nightingale builds its nest and wobbles its plaintive melody when the mortal remains are those of a young maiden suspended by the hand of a lover to the tree of death or of a beloved child placed by a fond mother in the dwelling of the little birds the charm is still greater i approached her who was groaning at the foot of the maple tree and placed my hand upon her head as i uttered the three cries of grief afterwards without speaking to the young mother i imitated her by ticking a bow and driving away the insects that were buzzing about the child's body but i was careful not to disturb a neighboring dove the indian woman said to it dove if thou are not the soul of my departed son thou are doubtless a mother seeking for something to make a nest take these hairs which i shall no more wash in scented water take them for a bed for thy little ones and may the great spirit preserve them to thee nevertheless the mother wept with joy on remarking the stranger's politeness as we were thus occupied a young man came up and said daughter of saluta take down our child we will no longer sojourn in this place we will set off at the rising of the next sun i then said brother i wish you a blue sky plenty of game a beaver cloak and hope you are not of the desert then no plied the young man we are exiles and we are going to seek a country saying that the warrior lowered his head upon his breast and began knocking off the heads of some flowers with the end of his bow i saw that there were tears at the bottom of this story so i remained silent the mother took her son's body down from the branch of the tree and gave it to her spouse to carry i then said will you allow me to light your fire tonight we have no cottage replied the warrior but if you desire to follow us we are going to camp on the border of the falls with pleasure i replied and we started off together we soon arrived at the border of the cataract which announced itself with frightful roaring it is formed by the river niagra which takes its rise in lake eerie and falls into lake ontario its perpendicular height is 144 feet from lake eerie to the falls the river flows with a rapid inclination and at the leap it is less a river than a sea whose torrents crush each other in the yawning mouth of an abyss the cataract is divided into two branches and bends like a horseshoe between the two falls there is an island hollow underneath and which hangs with all its trees over the chaos of the waves the mass of the river which rushes towards the north assumes the form of a vast cylinder unrolling itself into a field of snow and shining with every color in the sun that which flows to the east descends into a fearful shade and might be taken for a column of water of the deluge a thousand rainbows bend and cross each other above the abyss striking against the shaken rock the water rebounds and whirlwinds of froth that rise above the forests like smoke from a vast burning mass pine trees, walnut trees, and rocks worn into fantastic forms ornament the scene eagles carried along by the current of air are whirled down to the bottom of the gulf and carcajus hanging by their flexible tails to the ends of the fallen branches wait to seize in the abyss the crushed bodies of bears and elks whilst I was contemplating this spectacle with a sort of pleasure mixed with terror the Indian and his spouse left me I looked for them as I ascended the river side above the falls and soon discovered them in a place suited to their grief they were lying down upon the grass with a number of old men near some human bones wrapped in bearskins astonished at everything I had seen during the last few hours I sat down near the young mother and said what is all this my sister she replied my brother the earth of our country and the ashes of our forefathers follow us in our exile and how I asked have you been reduced to such a misfortune the daughter of salute responded we are the remains of the natchez after the massacre of our nation by the French to avenge their compatriots those of our brothers who escaped from the conquerors found refuge with our neighbors the chicasas we remained tranquilly with them for some time but seven moons ago the white man from Virginia took possession of our fields affirming that they had been given to them by a king of Europe so we raised our eyes to heaven and laden with the remains of our forefathers started on our way across the desert I was confined during the march and as my milk was bad on account of my grief it caused my child to die as she spoke the mother wiped her eyes with her hair I wept also after a while I said my sister let us adore the great spirit everything happens by his command we are all travelers our fathers were the same but there is a place where we shall find rest if I were not afraid of my tongue being as indiscreet as that of a white man I would ask of you if you have heard speak of chakdas the naches at these words the indian woman looked at me and asked who has spoken to you of chakdas the naches I replied wisdom the indian rejoined I will tell you what I know because you drove away the flies from the body of my son and uttered good words concerning the great spirit I am the daughter of the daughter of rene the european whom chakdas had adopted chakdas who had received baptism and rene my unfortunate grandfather perished in the massacre man passes constantly from grief to grief I replied bending myself with humility you might also perhaps be able to give me news of father abri he was not more fortunate than chakdas said the indian the cherakis who were hostile to the french attacked his mission they were guided thither by the sound of a bell that was wrong to sucker travelers father abri could have escaped but he would not abandon his children and remain to encourage them to die by his example he was burnt with great torture but his enemies could not draw from him a single cry that might be turned to the shame of his god or to the dishonor of his country during the punishment he never ceased to pray for his executioners and to pity the lot of his fellow victims in order to compel him to betray a mark of weakness the cherakis led to his feet a christian savage whom they had horribly mutilated but they were much surprised when they saw the young men go down upon his knees and kiss the wounds of the old hermit who cried out to them my child we have been given as a spectacle to men and to the angels the indians furious at his expression forced a red hot iron down his throat to prevent him from speaking and thereupon no longer able to console his fellow creatures he expired it is said that the cherakis accustomed though they were to see savages suffer with indifference could not refrain from confessing that there was in father abri's courage something unknown to them and which surpassed every description of courage they had witnessed several of them struck by his remarkable death afterwards became christians on his return to the land of white men several years later chakatos having heard of the misfortunes of the chief of prayer went together the father's ashes and those of atala he arrived at the spot where the mission had formally existed but he could scarcely recognize it the lake was overflown and the savannah changed into a marsh the natural bridge which had fallen in had buried atala's tomb and the groves of death beneath its ruins chakatos wondered about the place for a length of time he visited the hermit's grotto which he found full of weeds and raspberry trees and occupied by a fawn giving suck to her kid he sat down upon the rock beneath which he had watched his dying atala but there was nothing on it beyond a few feathers fallen from the wings of some birds of passage while he was weeping the missionaries tamed serpent issued from the neighboring bushes and came creeping to his feet chakatos warmed in his bosom the faithful friend who had remained alone in the midst of the ruins the son of utalisi stated that several times at the approach of night he fancied he saw the shades of atala and father all bereaved rise out of the misty twilight these visions filled him with religious fear and a joyful sadness after having sought the tomb of his sister and the hermit in vain he was on the point of abandoning the spot when the fawn from the grotto set to leaping in front of him she stopped at the foot of the mission cross that cross was then half surrounded by water the wood of it was covered with moss and the pelican of the wilderness loved to perch upon its warm eaten arms chakatos judged that the graceful fawn had led him to the tomb of his host he dug below the rock that had formerly served as an altar and there found the remains of a man and woman he had no doubt but they were those of the priest and of the virgin buried perhaps by the angels in that place so he wrapped them in bearskins and started on his way back to his country carrying off the precious remains which sounded on his shoulders like the quiver of death at night he placed them under his pillow and had dreams of love and of virtue oh stranger you may hear contemplate that dust and also the remains of chakatos himself as the end in finished speaking i rose went towards the sacred ashes and prostrated myself before them in silence i afterwards walked away slowly and with long strides saying to myself thus ends upon earth all that is good virtuous and feeling man thou art but a rapid and painful dream thou only existest by misfortune and if thou art anything at all it is merely by the sadness of thy soul and the eternal melancholy of thy thoughts i was preoccupied with such reflections all night the next morning at daybreak my host left me the young warriors opened the march and their wives closed it the former were charged with the holy relics the latter carried their infants the old men walked slowly in the middle placed between their forefathers and their posterity between remembrance and hope between the lost country and the country to be found oh what tears are shed when we thus abandon our native land when from the summit of the mountain of exile we looked for the last time upon the roof beneath which we were bred and see the hut stream still flowing sadly through the solitary fields surrounding our birthplace unfortunate indians you whom i have seen wandering in the deserts of the new world with the ashes of your ancestors you who gave me hospitality in spite of your misery i could not now return your generosity for i am wondering like you at the mercy of men but less fortunate than you in my exile i have not brought with me the bones of my fathers end of section eight apologue section nine of atala by françois renais deschats au brillant this libervox recording is in the public domain recording by william jones venita springs florida atala section nine introduction among the illustrious names which adorn the annals of france that of françois's augus deschats au brillant the author of atala les martyrs the last of the aben serges and many other brilliant and renowned works occupies a proud preeminence but his fame rests not merely upon his literary achievements his services as a statesman and the record and example of his private life even his sufferings and misfortunes have served to enhance his reputation and endear his memory both among his own countrymen and among just noble and patriotic minds in other lands he was great both by his character and abilities and while his celebrity is undiminished by the lapse of time his works are still read and will long continue to be read and admired even through all changes in the manners and sentiments of mankind fashions and modes in literature and art as in society come and go new institutions arise demanding new methods and modifying the cherished customs and men's thoughts enlarge and widen with improved conditions as with the inevitable progress of the age but the master mind ever asserts its power he who has once truly stirred the human heart in its purest depths speaks not alone to his own generation but appeals to all other hearts and belongs to all his race his good gifts are the birthright of the world the rank of chateau brillant has been fixed by the united judgment of his associates and his successors and since time has allayed the fierce passions which raged in france during his lifetime his character is more and more deeply respected and admired his sincerity of purpose and enlightened understanding his grandeur and nobility of thought his energy of action and loftiness of aim preserved for him ever his exalted position made brilliant by the fires of genius and perpetuated by the force of truth chateau brillant was born at saint malo in september 1768 and died in paris after an active and most eventful career on the fourth of july 1848 the earlier portion of his life was passed in the quiet of his home at comburg at the termination of his collegiate training at dole and rand's he entered the army in which he soon gained promotion at about the age of 19 he was presented at court became acquainted with the fashionable world and was received and welcomed into the choicest literary circles of paris where he gained the friendship of the harp fontan marles hara bay and others among the distinguished savants of the period it was a troubled and stormy epic in france the social and political forces which culminated in the great revolution were beginning to be seriously felt and faction turbulence and anarchy were already rife in paris when chateau brillant left his native shores for america moved by a desire to discover the northwest passage but also with an attendant purpose long cherished of observing the mode of life and studying the characteristics of the aborigines for the purpose of embodying in his writings the impressions thus gained of man in a primitive condition from this period to the time of his death his life was a singular series of vicissitudes at one time the brilliant and revered statesman at another of the voluntary abdicator of all his rights and honors and even at one bitter passage of his existence living in an unwarmed london garret and obtaining a precarious livelihood by giving lessons in his native tongue and translating for the booksellers the utter upheaval of affairs in france brought the greatest distress upon himself his family and his immediate friends and with a sensitive heart of genius the blows which had fallen so keenly doubtless engendered the melancholy cast with which his writings are sometimes tinged his first work an idyllic poem showed little of the genius so finally developed in after years but his finest literary productions the martyrs the last of the abben sierges and the genius of christianity to which atala and rene properly belong remain a splendid monument to his powers and exhibit his earnest desire to be numbered among the benefactors and enlighteners of mankind the present work atala is the gathered fruit of his previous studies amid the wilds of america it abounds and sparkling description romantic incident and sentiments tender and heroic it is pervaded by purity of tone and elevation of thought qualities the more commendable and marked because produced in an age proverbially lacks and frivolous the illustrations of m doray have given an additional value to this tale so simple so unsophisticated yet blooming with all the wild luxurians of nature the artist has added his gifts to those of the poet and those acquainted with only his ready and original powers as the delineator of farce and rollery or of the exceptionally tragic and horrible will find new cause for admiration in these quiet renderings of the primeval beauties of the american wild its plains and forests it's still the goons and roaring cataracts its mountain slopes and deep defiles all its aspects of buddhist workmanship and will welcome these efforts of his genius in the lovely realm of descriptive art wedded as they are to the exquisite simplicity of this indian romance as in his other works here may be noticed the same surpassing fertility of resource the same alertness of intellect and readiness in the swiftness of touch but there may also be found new proofs of his complete sympathy with all that is picturesque in forest beauty and his high intuitive perception of every possible phase of nature in her wildest caprice and most tender bloom we append the following extracts from different prefaces to the author's writings as constituting what is explanatory of the story that follows from the preface to the first edition i was still very young when i conceived the idea of composing an epic on the man of nature to depict the manners of savages by uniting them with some well-known event after the discovery of america i saw no subject more interesting especially to frenchmen than the massacre of the natchez colony in louisiana in 1727 all the indian tribes conspiring after two centuries of oppression for the restoration of liberty to the new world appeared to me to offer a subject almost as attractive as the conquest of mexico i put some fragments of the work to paper but i soon found that i was weak in local coloring and that if i wish to produce a picture of real resemblance it became necessary for me an imitation of homers example to visit the tribes i was desirous of describing in 1789 i made monsieur de malicez acquainted with my idea of going to america but wishing at the same time to give a useful object to my voyage i formed the project of discovering the overland passage so long sought after and concerning which even captain cook himself had left some doubts i started visited the american solitudes and returned with plans for a second voyage which was to last nine years i proposed to traverse the entire continent of north america afterwards to explore the coasts to the north of california and returned by hudson's bay rounding the poll monsieur de mala herbes undertook to submit my plans to the government and it was then that he listened to the first fragments of the little work i now offer to the public the revolution put a stop to all my projects covered with the blood of my only brother of my sister-in-law and of the illustrious old man their father having seen my mother and other talented sister die in consequence of the treatment they had undergone in prison i wandered forth to foreign lands where the only friend i had preserved stabbed himself in my arms of all my manuscripts upon america i have only saved some fragments atala in particular which was itself but an episode of the natchez atala was written in the desert beneath the huts of the savages i do not know whether the public will like this story which quits all beaten tracks and represents a nature and manners altogether foreign to europe there is no adventure in atala it is a sort of poem half descriptive half dramatic it consists entirely in the portraiture of two lovers walking and talking together in the solitudes and in the picture of the trials of love in the midst of the calm of the desert i have endeavored to give this work the most antique forms it is divided into prologue recital and epilogue the principal parts of the story have each a denomination such as the hunters the laborers etc and it was thus that in the early ages of greece the rhapsodists sang under different titles fragments of the illid and odyssey the moralities i have been desirous of inculcating in atala are easily discoverable and as they are summed up in the epilogue i need not speak of them here i will merely say a word or two concerning chakdas the lover of atala he is a savage more than half civilized since he knows not only the living but also the dead languages of europe he can therefore express himself in a mixed style suitable to the line upon which he stands between society and nature this circumstance has given me some advantages by permitting chakdas to speak as a savage in the description of manners and as a european in the dramatic portions of the narrative without that the work must have been abandoned if i had always made use of the indian style atala would have been he brew for the reader as to the missionary he is a simple priest who speaks without blushing of the cross of the blood of his divine master of corrupted flesh etc in one word he is really a priest i am aware that it is difficult to depict such a character without awakening ideas of ridicule in the minds of certain readers where i do not draw a tear i may raise a smile that must depend upon individual sentiment i must say a last word as to atala the subject is not entirely of my invention it is certain that there was a savage at the galleys and at the court of louis the 14th it is certain that a french missionary accomplished the facts i have related it is certain that i saw savages in the american forests carrying away the bones of their forefathers and a young mother exposing the body of her child upon the branches of a tree some other circumstances narrated are also veritable but as they are not of general interest it is needless for me to speak of them from the preface to alain and renais published in 1805 i have been stopped in the corrections neither by the consideration of the cost of the book nor by that of the length of the work a few years have suffice to make me acquainted with the weak or defective portions of that episode obedient upon this point to the critics even so far as to reproach myself with an excess of docility i have proved to those who attacked me that i never remain voluntarily in error and that at all times and upon all subjects i am ready to give way to lights superior to my own atala has been reprinted eleven times five times separately and six times in the genius of christianity if those eleven editions were compared scarcely two would be found to be altogether alike the 12th which i now publish has been revised with the greatest care i have consulted with the friends prompt to censor me i have weighed each phrase examined every word the style freed from certain epithets which embarrassed it proceeds perhaps more naturally and with greater simplicity i have introduced more order and logic into certain ideas and i have effaced even the slightest inaccuracies of language misir de la harp observed to me on the subject of atala if you will shut yourself up with me only for a few hours that time will suffice for wiping out the spots that cause your critics to cry out so loudly i have passed four years in the revision of this episode but it is now as i intended to remain it is at present the only atala i shall ever in future acknowledge the new nature and the new manners i have described have also drawn upon me another ill-considered reproach i have been taken for the inventor of certain extraordinary details whereas i merely repeated circumstances well known to all travelers some notes added to the present edition of atala would easily have justified this assertion but if i had introduced them at every point where each reader might have looked for them they would soon have exceeded the length of the work itself i therefore gave up the idea of annotations end of section nine introduction end of atala by françois renais they show to brilliant