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- Herausgeber: Olympia Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016
Chateaubriand's highly imagined account of star-crossed Native American lovers. Very influential work to the early romantics. Translated by Caleb Bingham.
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ATALA, OR THE LOVE AND CONSTANCY OF TWO SAVAGES IN THE DESERT
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY CALEB BINGHAM
PROLOGUE
France formerly possessed, in North America, a vast empire, which extended from Labrador to the Floridas, and from the shores of the Atlantic to the remotest lakes of Upper Canada.
Four great rivers, having their sources in the same mountains, divided these immense regions; the river St. Lawrence, which loses itself in the East, in the gulf of its own name; the river of the West, which empties itself into unknown seas; the river Bourbon, which runs from South to North, and falls into Hudson's Bay; the Meschaceba which runs from North to South, and empties into the Gulf of Mexico.
This last river, through a course of more than a thousand leagues, waters a delightful country, which the inhabitants of the United States call New Eden, and to which the French have left the soft name of Louisiana. A thousand other rivers, tributary to the Meschaceba—the Missouri, the Illinois, the Akanza, the Ohio, the Wabash, the Tennessee, etc.—enrich it with their slime and fertilize it with their waters. When all these rivers are swelled by the rains and the melting of the snows, when the tempests have swept over the whole face of the country, Time collects from every source the trees torn from their roots. He fastens them together with vines; he cements them with rich soil; he plants upon them young shrubs, and launches his work upon the waters. Transported by the swelling flood, these rafts descend from all parts into the Meschaceba. The old river takes possession of them, and pushes them forward to his mouth, in order there to form with them a new branch. Sometimes he raises his mighty voice in passing between the mountains, expanding his waters, overflowing the loftiest trees, those colonnades of the forest, and deluging the pyramids of the Indian tombs. This is the Nile of the deserts. But in scenes of nature, elegance is always united with magnificence; and while the middle current wafts towards the sea the carcasses of pines and oaks, you may see all along each shore, floating islands of pistia and nenuphar, ascending the river by the force of contrary currents; the yellow blossoms of which rise into the appearance of little pavilions. Green serpents, blue herons, flamingoes, young crocodiles, embark as passengers on board these vessels of flowers; and the little colony, displaying to the winds its golden sails, gently glides towards the shore, and sleeps securely in some retired creek.
From the mouth of the Meschaceba to its junction with the Ohio, one continued picture covers its surface. On the western shore, savannas open to view as far as the sight extends. Their waving verdure, as the prospect stretches, seems to reach the azure vault of heaven, where it wholly disappears. In these boundless meadows are seen straying droves of three or four thousand* wild buffaloes. Sometimes a bison, borne down with years, cuts through the waves, and lands upon some island of the Meschaceba, to sleep quietly among the high grass. By his forehead, ornamented with two crescents, and his grisly beard, you would take him for the bellowing river god who casts a look over the waters and seems satisfied with the wild productions which its shores so abundantly yield.
Such is the scene on the western shore; but it suddenly changes on the opposite side and affords an admirable contrast. Bending over the banks of the river, forming into little clusters upon the tops of the rocks and upon the summits of the mountains, scattered through the valleys, trees of every shape, of every color, and of every perfume mingle and grow up together, rearing their tops to the clouds. Wild vines, such as begonias and coloquintidas, entwine together at the roots of the trees, climb up the trunks, creep to the extremity of the branches, and shoot from the maple to the tulip, from the tulip to the elm, exhibiting the appearance of a thousand grottoes, a thousand alcoves, a thousand piazzas. It often happens that these lianas, in wandering from tree to tree cross branches of rivers, actually forming arches and bridges festooned with flowers. In the midst of these massy columns, the superb magnolia elevates its immovable cone. Covered with its white roses, it reigns supreme over all the forest and has no rival but the palm tree, which gently waves its verdant branches near the other's lofty top.
A multitude of animals, placed by the hand of their Creator in these delightful retreats, diffuse life and enchantment through the whole. From the skirts of the groves are seen bears, intoxicated with grapes, reeling upon the branches of the elms; flocks of caribou bathing in a lake; black squirrels playing among the thick foliage. Mocking birds and Virginia pigeons of the size of a sparrow descend upon the grass plats painted with strawberries. Green paroquets with yellow heads, red cardinals, and purple woodpeckers climb, after many times encircling, to the tops of the cypresses. Humming-birds sparkle upon the jessamine of the Floridas; and the bird-catching serpents hiss, as they swing suspended from the leafy domes, resembling the twining lianas.
If all is silence and repose in the savannas on the other side of the river, here, on the contrary, all is movement and murmur. Strokes of the beak against the trunk of the oaks, the rustling of beasts which hurry through the woods, browsing, and grinding between their teeth the seeds and stones of various fruits, the roaring of the waters, the feeble groanings, hoarse bellowings, and soft murmurings fill these deserts with a wild and pleasant harmony. But when a breeze begins to animate these solitudes, to put in motion all these floating bodies, to confound all these masses of white, azure, green, and red, to blend all colors, unite all murmurs, then there proceed from the recesses of these forests such noises, and the spectator is presented with such a view, as it would be in vain for me to attempt to describe to those who have never traversed over these primitive fields of nature.
After the discovery of the Meschaceba by Father Marquette and the unfortunate La Salle, the first Frenchmen who established themselves at Biloxi and at New Orleans made a treaty of alliance with the Natchez, an Indian nation whose power was considered mighty throughout all these regions. Private injustice, revenge, love, and all the passions, one after the other, deluged in blood this land of hospitality. There was among these savages an old man named Chactas, who, on account of his age, his wisdom, and his knowledge of men and of things, was the idol and the patriarch of the desert. He had, like all other men, purchased wisdom by his sufferings. Not only the forests were filled with his misfortunes, but he carried them even to the shores of France. Confined to the galleys at Marseilles by cruel injustice, restored to liberty, and introduced to the court of Louis XIV, he had conversed with all the great men of that renowned age; had assisted at the feasts of Versailles, at the tragedies of Racine, at the funeral orations of Bossuet; in a word, it was there that the savage had viewed civil society in its highest pitch of splendor.
After many years, having returned to the bosom of his country, Chactas there enjoyed repose. Nevertheless, heaven sold him, still dear, this favor; the old man became blind. A young girl accompanied him in solitude, as Antigone guided the steps of OEdipus upon Mount Cytheron, or as Malvina conducted Ossian to the tomb of his fathers.
In spite of the numberless injuries which Chactas had experienced from the French, he loved them. He always remembered Fenelon, whose guest he had been, and he wished to have it in his power to render some service to the countrymen of that virtuous man. For this a favorable opportunity presented itself. In 1725 a Frenchman named Rene, driven by passions and misfortunes, arrived at Louisiana.
He proceeded up the Meschaceba as far as Natchez, and requested to be received as a warrior among that nation. Chactas having questioned him, and finding him fixed in his resolution, adopts him as his son, and gives him for a wife a young woman of the tribe, called Celuta. Soon after the nuptials, the Indians prepare themselves for a grand beaver hunt.
Chactas, though blind, on account of the respect which the people of the forest bear to his name, is designated by the council of sachems as the commander of the party. The prayers and fasts commence; the jugglers interpret the dreams; the Manitous are consulted; the lungs of a moose are burned, and some examine whether they crackle in the flames, in order to learn the will of the genii. Finally, after having eaten the consecrated dog, they set out upon their enterprise. Rene is one of the company.
By the force of the contrary currents, the canoes ascend the Meschaceba and enter the channel of the Ohio. It being in autumn, the delightful plains of Kentucky unfold to the astonished eyes of the young Frenchman.
On a moonlit evening, while all the savages lie sleeping upon the bottoms of their canoes and the Indian fleet is pressed forward by a gentle breeze, Rene, alone remaining awake with Chactas, requests of him a recital of his adventures. The old man consents to gratify his curiosity; and seating himself by his side, on the stern of his periagua, thus mingles his voice with the murmuring of the waves, surrounded on every side by a solitary waste.
RECITAL
THE HUNTERS
It is a singular destiny, my dear son, which brings us together in this wilderness. In thee I behold a civilized man who makes himself a savage; in me thou seest a savage man, whom the great Spirit, as appears evident from his plans, would have civilized. Entering on the career of life at the two opposite extremes, thou art come to repose thyself in my place, and I have been situated in thine.
Thus we must have had objects in view which were totally different. Who has gained or lost the most by this change is known only to the genii, the least wise among whom possesses more knowledge than all the men in the world united.
At the next moon of flowers it will be seven times ten snows and three snows more since my mother gave me to the world on the banks of the Meschaceba. The Spaniards had just begun to make settlements at the bay of Pensacola, but no white person yet inhabited Louisiana.
I had hardly numbered seventeen fallings of the leaves when I marched with my father, Outalissi the warrior, against the Muscogules, a powerful nation of the Floridas. We joined our allies, the Spaniards, and a battle was fought upon one of the branches of the Mobile.
Neither Areskoui nor the Manitous were propitious. The enemy were triumphant. My father was slain in the engagement, and I was twice wounded in his defense. Oh, that I had descended to the land of shadows, that I might have escaped the miseries which awaited me on earth! But the spirits had ordained otherwise; and I was led away by the remaining fugitives to St. Augustine.
In this town, lately built by the Spaniards, I ran the risk of being carried off to work in the mines of Mexico. But an old Castilian named Lopez, touched with my youth and simplicity, offered me an asylum, and introduced me to a sister with whom he lived as a bachelor. This worthy couple imbibed for me sentiments of the most tender regard. They took the greatest care of my education; and procured me the best instructors in the various branches of science.
But after having passed thirty moons in this manner, I began to be disgusted with social life. I grew pale and emaciated. Sometimes I stood for whole hours immovable, contemplating the far distant forests, rising into mountains to the clouds. Sometimes they found me seated on the banks of a river, regarding its gentle current in melancholy silence. I painted to myself the woods through which this stream had passed, and my soul longed for solitude.
Being unable any longer to resist the desire of returning to the desert, I appeared one morning before Lopez in my savage dress, holding in one hand my bows and arrows, and in the other my European garments. These I returned to my generous benefactor, at whose feet I fell, shedding a torrent of tears, accusing myself of ingratitude, and stigmatizing my name with opprobrious epithets. At length I cried, “Oh, my father, thou thyself knowest that unless I enter again upon my wandering life after the Indian manner, I certainly shall die.”
Lopez, struck with astonishment, would have dissuaded me from my purpose. He represented to me the risks I should run, of falling into the hands of the Muscogules, from whom I had so narrowly escaped. But seeing I was resolved to encounter every danger, clasping me in his arms, with tears in his eyes, he exclaimed, “Go, magnanimous child of nature! enjoy this invaluable independence of man, which Lopez has no wish to rob thee of. Were I a few years younger, I would myself accompany thee to the desert (where I also have a sweet remembrance) and restore thee to the arms of thy widowed mother.
“When thou art in the forests, think sometimes of that old Spaniard who afforded thee hospitality; and recollect often that duty requires of thee to love thy fellow-creatures; in favor of which principle, the first experience thou hast had of the human heart has given thee a striking proof.” Lopez concluded with a prayer to the God of Christians, whose religion I had hitherto refused to embrace, and we parted with sobbings.
Punishment for my ingratitude was not long delayed. Through want of experience, I lost myself in the woods, and was taken by a party of Muscogules and Seminoles, as Lopez had predicted. They soon discovered, by m [...]
