and, lifting Sancho up, told him that their enemies were driven off.
To this he said nothing save to ask for his old clothes. And when he was
dressed he went down to Dapple's stall, and embraced his faithful ass
with tears in his eyes. "Come hither, my friend and true companion,"
quoth he; "happy were my days, my months, and years, when with thee I
journeyed, and all my concern was to mend thy harness and find food for
thy little stomach! But now that I have climbed to the towers of
ambition, a thousand woes, a thousand torments, and four thousand
tribulations have haunted my soul!" While he spoke he fitted on the
pack-saddle, mounted his ass, bade farewell to the people, and departed
in peace and great humility.


_V.--The Death of Don Quixote_


Meanwhile, Don Quixote had been fooled to the top of his bent in the
duke's castle, and had endured tribulations from maids and men
sufficient to deject the finest fortitude. He was now in the mood to
forsake that great castle, and to embrace once more the life of the open
road, and so with Sancho Panza he started out to take up the threads of
his old life. After adventures so miraculous as to seem incredible, Don
Quixote was laid low in an encounter with a friend of his disguised as a
knight, and by this defeat was so broken and humiliated that he thought
to turn shepherd and to spend the remainder of his days in a pastoral
life. Sancho cheered him, and kept his heart as high as it would reach
in his misery, and together they turned their faces towards home,
leaving the future to the disposition of Providence.

As they entered the village, two boys fighting in a field attracted the
knight's attention, and he heard one of them cry, "Never fret yourself,
you shall never see her while you have breath in your body!" The knight
immediately applied these words to himself and Dulcinea, and nothing
that Sancho could say had power to cheer his spirits. Moreover, the boys
of the village, having seen them, raised a shout, and came laughing
about them, saying, "Oh, law! here is Gaffer Sancho Panza's donkey as
fine as a lady, and Don Quixote's beast thinner than ever!" The barber
and the curate then came upon the scene and saw their old friend, and
went with him to his house.

Here Don Quixote faithfully described his discomfiture in the encounter
with another knight, and declared his intention honourably to observe
the conditions laid upon him of being confined to his village for a
year.

Melancholy increased with the poor knight, and he was seized with a
violent fever. The physician and his friends conjectured that his
sickness arose from regret for his defeat and disappointment of
Dulcinea's disenchantment; they did all they could do to divert him, but
in vain. One day he desired them to leave him, and for six hours he
slept so profoundly that his niece thought he was dead. At the end of
this time he wakened, and cried with a loud voice, "Blessed be Almighty
God for this great benefit He has vouchsafed to me! His mercies are
infinite; greater are they than the sins of men."

These rational words surprised his niece, and she asked what he meant by
them. He answered that by God's mercy his judgment had returned, free
and clear. "The cloud of ignorance," said he, "is now removed, which
continuous reading of those noxious books of knight-errantry had laid
upon me." He said that his great grief now was the lateness with which
enlightenment had come, leaving him so little time to prepare his soul
for death.

The others coming in, Don Quixote made his confession, and one went to
fetch Sancho Panza. With tears in his eyes the squire sought his poor
master's side, and when in the first clause of his will Don Quixote made
mention of Sancho, saying afterwards, "Pardon me, my friend, that I
brought upon you the shame of my madness," Sancho cried out, "Woe's me,
your worship, do not die this bout; take my counsel, and live many a
good year. For it is the maddest trick a man can play in his whole life
to go out like the snuff of a candle, and die merely of the mulligrubs!"

The others admonished him in like spirit, but Don Quixote answered and
said, "Gently, sirs! do not look in last year's nests for the birds of
this year. I was mad, but now I have my reason. I was Don Quixote of La
Mancha; but to-day I am Alonso Quixano the Good. I hope that my
repentance and my sincerity will restore me to the esteem that once you
had for me. And now let Master Notary proceed." So he finished writing
his will, and then fell into a swooning fit, and lay full length in his
bed. But he lingered some days, and when he did give up the ghost, or to
speak more plainly, when he died, it was amidst the tears and
lamentations of his family, and after he had received the last
sacrament, and had expressed, in pathetic way, his horror at the books
of chivalry.

*       *       *       *       *




ADALBERT VON CHAMISSO


Peter Schlemihl, the Shadowless Man

Adalbert von Chamisso, a German lyric poet and scientist, was
born on January 30, 1781, at the Castle of Boncourt, in the
Champagne district of France. His parents emigrated in 1790,
and in 1796 he became page to the Queen of Prussia. Two years
afterwards he entered the army, which he left in 1806 to go to
France, returning to Berlin in the following year. In 1810 he
proceeded to France once more, and thence to Geneva, where he
began his study of natural history. In 1815 he went with Otto
von Kotzehue on a tour round the world, and on his return he
settled in Berlin, having obtained a post in the Botanical
Gardens. He wrote several important books on botany,
topography, and ethnology, but became even more famous through
his poems, ballads and romances. "Peter Schlemihl," which was
written in 1813 was published in the following year by
Chamisso's friend Fouque, and achieved so great a success that
it was translated into most languages. Chamisso died in Berlin
on August 21, 1838.


_I.--The Grey Man_


Having safely landed after a fatiguing journey, I took my modest
belongings to the nearest cheap inn, engaged a garret room, washed, put
on my newly-turned black coat, and proceeded to find Mr. Thomas John's
mansion. After a severe cross-examination on the part of the
hall-porter, I had the honour of being shown into the park where Mr.
John was entertaining a party. He graciously took my letter of
introduction, continuing the while to talk to his guests. Then he broke
the seal, still joining in the conversation, which turned upon wealth.
"Anyone," he remarked, "who has not at least a million is, pardon the
word, a rogue." "How true," I exclaimed; which pleased him, for he asked
me to stay. Then, offering his arm to a fair lady, he led the party to
the rose-clad hill. Everybody was very jolly; and I followed behind, so
as not to make myself a nuisance.

The beautiful Fanny, who seemed to be the queen of the day, in trying to
pick a rose, had scratched her finger, which caused much commotion. She
asked for some plaster, and a quiet, lean, tall, elderly man, dressed in
grey, who walked by my side, put his hand in his coat pocket, pulled out
a pocket-book, and, with a deep bow, handed the lady what she wanted.
She took it without thanks, and we all continued to ascend the hill.

Arrived at the top, Mr. John, espying a light spot on the horizon,
called for a telescope. Before the servants had time to move, the grey
man, bowing modestly, had put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a
beautiful telescope, which passed from hand to hand without being
returned to its owner. Nobody seemed surprised at the huge instrument
issuing from a tiny pocket, and nobody took any more notice of the grey
man than of myself.

The ground was damp, and somebody suggested how fine it would be to
spread some Turkey carpets. Scarcely had the wish been expressed, when
the grey man again put his hand into his pocket, and, with a modest,
humble gesture, pulled out a rich Turkey carpet, some twenty yards by
ten, which was spread out by the servants, without anybody appearing to
be surprised. I asked a young gentleman who the obliging man might be.
He did not know.

The sun began to get troublesome, and Fanny casually asked the grey man
if he might happen to have a tent by him. He bowed deeply, and began to
pull out of his pocket canvas, and bars, and ropes, and everything
needed for the tent, which was promptly put up. Again nobody seemed
surprised. I felt uncanny; especially when, at the next expressed
desire, I saw him pull out of his pocket three fine large horses with
saddles and trappings! You would not believe it if I did not tell you
that I saw it with my own eyes.

It was gruesome. I sneaked away, and had already reached the foot of the
hill, when, to my horror, I noticed the grey man approaching. He took
off his hat, bowed humbly, and addressed me.

"Forgive my impertinence, sir, but during the short time I have had the
happiness to be near you I have been able to look with indescribable
admiration upon that beautiful shadow of yours, which you throw from you
contemptuously, as it were. Pardon me, but would you feel inclined to
sell it?"

I thought he was mad. "Is your own shadow not enough for you? What a
strange bargain!"

"No price is too high for this invaluable shadow. I have many a precious
thing in my pocket, which you may choose--a mandrake, the dish-cloth of
Roland's page, Fortunati's purse----"

"What! Fortunati's purse?"

"Will you condescend to try it?" he said, handing me a money-bag of
moderate size, from which I drew ten gold pieces, and another ten, and
yet another ten.

I extended my hand, and exclaimed, "A bargain! For this purse you can
have my shadow." He seized my hand, knelt down, cleverly detached my
shadow from the lawn, rolled it up, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
Then he bowed and retired behind the rose-hedge, chuckling gently.

I hurried back to my inn, after having tied the bag around my neck,
under my waistcoat. As I went along the sunny street, I heard an old
woman's voice, "Heigh, young man, you have lost your shadow!"

"Thank you," I said, threw her a gold piece, and sought the shade of the
trees. But I had to cross a broad street again, just as a group of boys
were leaving school. They shouted at me, jeered, and threw mud at me. To
keep them away I threw a handful of gold among them, and jumped into a
carriage. Now I began to feel what I had sacrificed. What was to become
of me?

At the inn I sent for my things, and then made the driver take me to the
best hotel, where I engaged the state rooms and locked myself up. And
what, my dear Chamisso, do you think I did then? I pulled masses of gold
out of the bag, covered the floor of the room with ducats, threw myself
upon them, made them tinkle, rolled over them, buried my hands in them,
until I was exhausted and fell to sleep. Next morning I had to cart all
these coins into a cupboard, leaving only just a few handfuls. Then,
with the help of the host, I engaged some servants, a certain Bendel, a
good, faithful soul, being specially recommended to me as a valet. I
spent the whole day with tailors, bootmakers, jewellers, merchants, and
bought a heap of precious things, just to get rid of the heaps of gold.

I never ventured out in daytime; and even at night when I happened to
step out into the moonlight, I had to suffer untold anguish from the
contemptuous sneers of men, the deep pity of women, the shuddering fear
of fair maidens. Then I sent Bendel to search for the grey man, giving
him every possible indication. He came back late, and told me that none
of Mr. John's servants or guests remembered the stranger, and that he
could find no trace of him. "By the way," he concluded, "a gentleman
whom I met just as I went out, bid me tell you that he was on the point
of leaving the country, and that in a year and a day he would call on
you to propose new business. He said you would know who he was."

"How did he look?" Bendel described the man in the grey coat! He was in
despair when I told him that this was the very person I wanted. But it
was too late; he had gone without leaving a trace.

A famous artist for whom I sent to ask him whether he could paint me a
shadow, told me that he might, but I should be bound to lose it again at
the slightest movement.

"How did you manage to lose yours?" he asked. I had to lie. "When I was
travelling in Russia it froze so firmly to the ground that I could not
get it off again."

"The best thing you can do is not to walk in the sun," the artist
retorted with a piercing look, and walked out.

I confessed my misfortune to Bendel, and the sympathetic lad, after a
terrible struggle with his conscience, decided to remain in my service.
From that day he was always with me, ever trying to throw his broad
shadow over me to conceal my affliction from the world. Nevertheless,
the fair Fanny, whom I often met in the hours of dusk and evening, and
who had begun to show me marked favour, discovered my terrible secret
one night, as the moon suddenly rose from behind a cloud, and fainted
with terror.

There was nothing left for me but to leave the town. I sent for horses,
took only Bendel and another servant, a rogue named Gauner, with me, and
covered thirty miles during the night. Then we continued our journey
across the mountains to a little-frequented watering-place, where I was
anxious to seek rest from my troubles.


_II.--A Soul for a Shadow_


Bendel preceded me to prepare a house for my reception, and spent money
so lavishly that the rumour spread the King of Prussia was coming
incognito. A grand reception was prepared by the townsfolk, with music
and flowers and a chorus of maidens in white, led by a girl of wonderful
beauty. And all this in broad sunlight! I did not move in my carriage,
and Bendel tried to explain that there must be a mistake, which made the
good folk believe that I wanted to remain incognito. Bendel handed a
diamond tiara to the beautiful maiden, and we drove on amid cheering and
firing of guns.

I became known as Count Peter, and when it was found out that the King
of Prussia was elsewhere, they all thought I must be some other king. I
gave a grand fete, Bendel taking good care to have such lavish
illuminations all round that no one should notice the absence of my
shadow. I had masses of gold coins thrown among the people in the
street, and gave Mina, the beautiful girl who headed the chorus at my
arrival, all the jewels I had brought with me, for distribution among
her friends. She was the daughter of the verdurer, and I lost no time in
making friends with her parents, and succeeded in gaining Mina's
affection.

Continuing to spend money with regal lavishness, I myself led a simple
and retired life, never leaving my rooms in daylight. Bendel warned me
of Gauner's extensive thefts; but I did not mind. Why should I grudge
him the money, of which I had an inexhaustible store? In the evenings I
used to meet Mina in her garden, and always found her loving, though
awed by my wealth and supposed rank. Yet, conscious of my dreadful
secret, I dared not ask for her hand. But the year was nearly up since I
had made the fateful bargain, and I looked forward to the promised visit
of the grey man, whom I hoped to persuade to take back his bag for my
shadow. In fact, I told the verdurer that on the first of the next month
I should ask him for his daughter's hand.

The anniversary arrived--midday, evening, midnight. I waited through the
long hours, heard the clock strike twelve; but the grey man did not
come! Towards morning I fell into a fitful slumber. I was awakened by
angry voices. Gauner forced his way into my room, which was defended by
the faithful Bendel.

"What do you want, you rogue?"

"Only to see your shadow, with your lordship's permission."

"How dare you----"

"I am not going to serve a man without a shadow. Either you show it to
me, or I go."

I wanted to offer him money; but he, who had stolen millions, refused to
accept money from a man without a shadow. He put on his hat, and left
the room whistling.

When at dark I went, with a heavy heart, to Mina's bower, I found her,
pale and beautiful, and her father with a letter in his hand. He looked
at the letter, then scrutinised me, and said, "Do you happen to know, my
lord, a certain Peter Schlemihl, who lost his shadow?"

"Oh, my foreboding!" cried Mina. "I knew it; he has no shadow!"

"And you dared," continued the verdurer, "to deceive us? See how she
sobs! Confess now how you lost your shadow."

Again I was forced to lie. "Some time ago a man stepped so clumsily into
my shadow that he made a big hole. I sent it to be mended, and was
promised to have it back yesterday."

"Very well. Either you present yourself within three days with a
well-fitting shadow, or, on the next day, my daughter will be another
man's wife."

I rushed away, half conscious, groaning and raving. I do not know how
long and how far I ran, but I found myself on a sunny heath, when
somebody suddenly pulled my sleeve. I turned round. It was the man in
the grey coat!

"I announced my visit for to-day. You made a mistake in your impatience.
All is well. You buy your shadow back and you will be welcomed by your
bride. As for Gauner, who has betrayed you and has asked for Mina's
hand--he is ripe for me."

I groped for the bag but the stranger stopped me.

"No, my lord, you keep this; I only want a little souvenir. Be good
enough and sign this scrap." On the parchment was written: "I herewith
assign to bearer my soul after its natural separation from my body."

I sternly refused. "I am not inclined to stake my soul for my shadow."

He continued to urge, giving the most plausible reasons why I should
sign. But I was firm. He even tried to tempt me by unrolling my shadow
on the heath. "A line of your pen, and you save your Mina from that
rogue's clutches."

At that moment Bendel arrived on the scene, saw me in tears, my shadow
on the ground apparently in the stranger's power, and set upon the man
with his stick. The grey man walked away, and Bendel followed him,
raining blows upon his shoulders, till they disappeared from sight.

I was left with my despair, and spent the day and night on the heath. I
was resolved not to return among men, and wandered about for three days,
feeding on wild fruit and spring-water. On the morning of the fourth day
I suddenly heard a sound, but could see nobody--only a shadow, not
unlike my own, but without body. I determined to seize it, and rushed
after it. Gradually I gained on it; with a final rush I made for it--and
met unexpectedly bodily resistance. We fell on the ground, and a man
became visible under me. I understood at once. The man must have had the
invisible bird's nest, which he dropped in the struggle, thus becoming
visible himself.

The nest being invisible, I looked for its shadow, found it, seized it
quickly, and, of course, disappeared from the man's sight. I left him
tearing his hair in despair; and I rejoiced at being able to go again
among men. Quickly I proceeded to Mina's garden, which was still empty,
although I imagined I heard steps following me. I sat down on a bench,
and watched the verdurer leaving the house. Then a fog seemed to pass
over my head. I looked around, and--oh, horror!--beheld the grey man
sitting by my side. He had pulled his magic cap over my head, at his
feet was his shadow and my own, and his hand played with the parchment.

"So we are both under the same cap," he began; "now please give me back
my bird's nest. Thanks! You see, sometimes we are forced to do what we
refuse when asked kindly. I think you had better buy that shadow back.
I'll throw in the magic cap."

Meanwhile, Mina's mother had joined the verdurer, and they began to
discuss Mina's approaching marriage and Gauner's wealth, which amounted
to ten millions. Then Mina joined them. She was urged to consent, and
finally said, sobbingly, "I have no further wish on earth. Do with me as
you please." At this moment Gauner approached, and Mina fainted.

"Can you endure this?" asked my companion. "Have you no blood in your
veins?" He rapidly scratched a slight wound in my hand, and dipped a pen
in the blood. "To be sure, red blood! Then sign." And I took the pen and
parchment.

I had scarcely touched food for days, and the excitement of this last
hour had completely exhausted my strength. Before I had time to sign I
swooned away. When I awoke it was dark. My hateful companion was in a
towering rage. The sound of festive music came from the brightly
illuminated house; groups of people strolled through the garden, talking
of Mina's marriage with the wealthy Mr. Gauner, which had taken place
this morning.

Disengaging myself from the magic cap, which act made my companion
disappear from my view, I made for the garden gate. But the invisible
wretch followed me with his taunts. He only left me at the door of my
house, with a mocking "_au revoir_." The place had been wrecked by the
mob and was deserted. Only the faithful Bendel was there to receive me
with tears of mingled grief and joy. I pressed him to my heart, and bid
him leave me to my misery. I told him to keep a few boxes filled with
gold, that were still in the house, made him saddle my horse, and
departed, leaving the choice of the road to the animal, for I had
neither aim, nor wish, nor hope.

A pedestrian joined me on the sad journey. After tramping along for a
while, he asked permission to put his cloak on my horse. I consented; he
thanked me, and then, in a kind of soliloquy, began to praise the power
of wealth, and to speak cleverly of metaphysics. Meanwhile, day was
dawning; the sun was about to rise, the shadows to spread their
splendour--and I was not alone! I looked at my companion--it was the man
with the grey coat!

He smiled at my surprise, and continued to converse amiably. In fact, he
not only offered to replace for the time being my former servant Bendel,
but actually lent me my shadow for the journey. The temptation was
great. I suddenly gave my horse the spurs and galloped off at full
speed; but, alas! my shadow remained behind and I had to turn back
shamefacedly.

"You can't escape me," said my companion, "I hold you by your shadow."
And all the time, hour by hour, day by day, he continued his urging. At
last we quarrelled seriously, and he decided to leave me. "If ever you
want me, you have only to shake your bag. You hold me by my gold. You
know I can be useful, especially to the wealthy; you have seen it."

I thought of the past and asked him quickly, "Did you get Mr. John's
signature?" He smiled. "With so good a friend, the formality was not
necessary."

"Where is he? I want to know."

He hesitated, then put his hand into his pocket, and pulled out Mr.
John's livid body; the blue lips of the corpse moved, and uttered
painfully the words: "_Justo judico Dei judicatus sum; justo judicio Dei
condemnatus sum."_

Seized with horror, I threw the inexhaustible money-bag into the abyss,
and then spoke the final words. "You fiend, I exorcise you in the name
of God! Be off, and never show yourself before mine eyes again!"

He glared at me furiously and disappeared instantly.


_III.--The Wanderer_


Left now without shadow and without money, save for the few gold pieces
still in my pocket, I could almost have been happy, had it not been for
the loss of my love. My horse was down below at the inn; I decided to
leave it there and to wander on on foot. In the forest I encountered a
peasant, from whom I obtained information about the district and its
inhabitants. He was an intelligent man, and I quite enjoyed the talk.
When we approached the wide bed of a mountain stream, I made him walk in
front, but he turned round to speak to me. Suddenly he broke off--"But
how is that? You have no shadow!"

"Unfortunately!" I said, with a sigh. "During an illness I lost my hair,
nails, and shadow. The hair and nails have grown again, but the shadow
won't."

"That must have been a bad illness," said the peasant, and walked on in
silence till we reached the nearest side-road, when he turned off
without saying another word. I wept bitter tears, and my good spirits
had vanished. And so I wandered on sadly, avoiding all villages till
nightfall, and often waiting for hours to pass a sunny patch unobserved.
I wanted to find work in a mine to save me from my thoughts.

My boots began to be worn out. My slender means made me decide to buy a
strong pair that had already been used; new ones were too dear. I put
them on at once, and walked out of the village, scarcely noticing the
way, since I was thinking deeply of the mine I hoped to reach the same
night, and of the manner in which I was to obtain employment. I had
scarcely walked two hundred steps, when I noticed that I had lost the
road. I was in a wild virginal forest. Another few steps and I was on an
endless ice-field. The cold was unbearable, and I had to hasten my
steps. I ran for a few minutes, and found myself in rice-fields where
Chinese labourers were working. There could be no doubt; I had seven-
league boots on my feet!

I fell on my knees, shedding tears of gratitude. Now my future was
clear. Excluded from society, study and science were to be my future
strength and hope. I wandered through the whole world from east to west,
from north to south, comparing the fauna and flora of the different
regions. To reduce the speed of my progress, I found I had only to pull
a pair of slippers over my boots. When I wanted money, I just took an
ivory tusk to sell in London. And finally I made a home in the ancient
caves of the desert near Thebes.

Once in the far north I encountered a polar bear. Throwing off my
slippers, I wanted to step upon an island facing me. I firmly placed my
foot on it, but on the other side I fell into the sea, as the slipper
had not come off my boot. I saved my life and hurried to the Libyan
desert to cure my cold in the sun; but the heat made me ill. I lost
consciousness, and when I awoke again I was in a comfortable bed among
other beds, and on the wall facing me I saw inscribed in golden letters
my own name.

To cut things short--the institution which had received me had been
founded by Bendel and the widowed Mina with my money, and in my honour
had been called the Schlemihlium. As soon as I felt strong enough, I
returned to my desert cave, and thus I live to this day.

You, my dear Chamisso, are to be the keeper of my strange history, which
may contain useful advice for many. You, if you will live among men,
honour first the shadow, then the money. But, if you live only for your
better self, you will need no advice.

*       *       *       *       *




CHATEAUBRIAND


Atala

Francois Rene, Vicomte de Chateaubriand, born on September 4,
1768, at St. Malo, Brittany, was as distinguished for his
extraordinary and romantic career as for the versatility of
his genius. At the height of the Revolution (1791) he left for
America with the intention of discovering the North-West
passage, but in two years returned to fight on the royalist
side, and was wounded at the siege of Thionville. Emigrating
to England, he remained in London for eight years, supporting
himself with difficulty by translating and teaching and
writing. Returning to France, Chateaubriand was appointed by
Napoleon secretary to the embassy in Rome, but the execution
of the Duke d'Enghien so repelled him that he resigned and set
out on a long Oriental journey. Living in privacy till the
fall of Napoleon, he then returned to his native land, and
from 1822 to 1824 was ambassador to the British Court. His
whole political career was eccentric and uncertain, and he
himself declared that he was by heredity and honour a
Bourbonist, by conviction a Monarchist, but by temperament a
Republican. He died on July 4, 1848. "Atala," which appeared
in 1801, formed the first part of a prose epic, "The Natchez,"
on the wild and picturesque life of the Red Indians, the idea
for which Chateaubriand had conceived while wandering about
America. It at once raised its author to the highest position
in the French literary world of the age of Napoleon. In 1802,
Chateaubriand published a work of still greater importance--at
least, from a social point of view--"The Genius of
Christianity"--which magnificent and gorgeous piece of
rhetoric produced a profound change in the general attitude of
Frenchmen in regard to religion, undid to some extent the
destructive work of Voltaire, and was instrumental in inducing
Napoleon to come to terms with the Pope. But it is on "Atala"
that Chateaubriand's title to be one of the greatest masters
of French prose literature depends.


_I.--The Song of Death_


"It is surely a singular fate," said the old, blind Red Indian chief to
the young Frenchman, "which has brought us together from the ends of the
earth. I see in you a civilised man, who, for some strange reason,
wishes to become a savage. You see in me a savage, who, also for some
strange reason, has tried to become a civilised man. Though we have
entered on life from two opposite points, here we are, sitting side by
side. And I, a childless man, have sworn to be a father to you, and you,
a fatherless boy, have sworn to be a son to me."

Chactas, the chief of the Natchez, and Rene, the Frenchman, whom he had
adopted into his tribe, were sitting at the prow of a pirogue, which,
with its sail of sewn skins outstretched to the night wind, was gliding
down the moonlit waters of the Ohio, amid the magnificent desert of
Kentucky. Behind them was a fleet of pirogues, which Rene was piloting
on a hunting foray. Seeing that all the Indians were sleeping, Chactas
went on talking to his adopted son.

"How little, even now, we know of each other, Rene. You never told me
what it was that made you leave France in 1725, and come to Louisiana,
and ask to be admitted to our tribe. I have never told you why I have
not married and got children to succeed me, and help me in my old age to
govern my people.

"It is now seventy-three years since my mother brought me into the world
on the banks of the Mississippi. In 1652 there were a few Spaniards
settled in the bay of Pensacola, but no white man was then seen in
Louisiana. I was scarcely seventeen years old when I fought with my
father, the famous warrior Outalissi, against the Creeks of Florida. We
were then allied with the Spaniards, but, in spite of the help they gave
us, we were defeated. My father was killed, and I was grievously
wounded. Oh, why did I then not descend into the land of the dead? Happy
indeed should I have been had I thus escaped from the fate which was
waiting for me on earth!

"But one of our allies, an old Castilian, named Lopez, moved by my youth
and simplicity, rescued me in the battle and led me to the town of St.
Augustin, which his countrymen had recently built. My benefactor took me
to his home, and he and his sister adopted me as their son, and tried to
teach me their knowledge and religion. But after passing thirteen months
at St. Augustin I was seized with a disgust for town life. The city
seemed to me a prison, and I longed to get back to the wild life of my
fathers. At last I resolved to return to my tribe, and one morning I
came to Lopez, clad in the dress of the Natchez, with bow and arrows in
one hand, and a tomahawk in the other.

"'Oh, my father,' I said to him, my face streaming with tears, 'I shall
die if I stay in this city. I am an Indian, and I must live like an
Indian.'

"Lopez tried to detain me by pointing out the peril I was running. But I
already knew that in order to join the Natchez I should have to pass
through the country of the Creeks, and might fall into the hands of our
old enemies; and this did not deter me. At last, Lopez, seeing how
resolute I was, said, 'Go, my boy, and God be with you! Were I only
younger, I, too, would return with you to the wilderness, where the
happiest part of my life was spent. But when you get back to the forest,
think sometimes of the old Spaniard of St. Augustin, and if ever a white
man falls into your hands, treat him, my son, as I have treated you.'

"It was not long, Rene, before I was punished for my ingratitude in
running away from my protector. I had forgotten in the city my knowledge
of wood-craft, and I lost my way in the great forest, and was captured
by a band of Creeks. My costume and the feathers in my hair proclaimed
me one of the Natchez, and when Simaghan, the chief of the band, bound
me, and demanded who I was, I proudly answered. 'I am Chactas, the son
of the Outalissi who took more than a hundred scalps from the warriors
of the Creeks.'

"'Chactas, son of Outalissi,' said Simaghan, 'rejoice! We will burn you
before our wig-wams.'

"'That is good news,' I said, and thereupon I sang my song of death.

"Although the Creeks were my enemies, I could not help admiring them.
They were fine, handsome men of a merry and open nature, and their women
were beautiful, and full of pity towards me. One night, while I was
lying sleepless beside their camp fire, one of their maidens came and
sat by my side. Her face was strangely lovely; her eyes shone with
tears; and a little golden crucifix on her bosom glittered as the
firelight played upon it.

"'Maiden,' I said, 'your beauty is too great to be wasted on a dying
man. Let me die without tasting the delights of love. They would only
make death more bitter to me. You are worthy to be the squaw of a great
chief. Wait till you can find a lover with whom you can live in joy and
happiness all your life.'

"'Are you a Christian?' asked the maiden.

"'No,' I replied. 'I have not betrayed the faith of my forefathers.'

"'Oh, you are only a wicked heathen,' she exclaimed, covering her face
with her hands and weeping. 'I have been baptised by my mother. I am
Atala, daughter of Simaghan of the golden bracelets, and the chief of
this band. We are going to Cuscowilla, where you will be burnt.'

"And with a look of anger, Atala rose up and went away."

Here Chactas for a moment became silent. Tears rolled from his blind
eyes down his withered cheeks.

"Oh Rene, my son," he said, "you see that Chactas is very foolish in
spite of his reputation for wisdom! Why do men still weep, even when age
has blinded their eyes? Every night Atala came to see me, and a strange
love for her was born in my heart. After marching for seventeen days, my
captors brought me to the great savannah of Alachua, and camped in a
valley not far from Cuscowilla, the capital of the Creeks. I was bound
to the foot of a tree outside the town, and a warrior was set to watch
over me.

"But in the evening Atala came, and said to him, 'If you would like to
go hunting, I will look after the prisoner.'