“‘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!’