This piece is set in quite a passionate story, authored by Francois de Chateaubriand, recounted by Chactas, a well traveled and blind noble Natchez Indian, of his capture by the Muscogulees, a powerful nation of the Florides. Atala, a Christian virgin, and daughter of the very chief who is presiding over Chactas’ capture and execution, tells the warrior guard, “Hunter, if you wish to pursue the deer, I will guard the prisoner”. Atala then tells Chactas that he may “easily escape.” Chactas is shortly recaptured and taken on a five day journey to the Muscogule pavilion council, near Appalachucla, where they prepare the feasting and ceremonies on behalf of Chactas execution. Chactas is bound to the stake before “a shadowy figure”, Atala, loosens his bonds before the dawn, after the festival of souls, a celebratory day, which delays his execution. Chactas and Atala descend into a desert near the Meschaceba, (Mississippi), a river running from North to South into the Gulf of Mexico. After 15 days, they reach the Alleghany Mountain chain, and build a canoe, and let the current of a branch of the Tennessee River carry them past the village of “Stico”, “Keow” valley, and the “Jore” mountain cabins where Atala sings “with a voice full of emotion and melancholy. She sung her absent country the following strains:”
“’Happy they who have never seen the smoke of the stranger’s fire,
and who have never been guests at any festivals but those of their fathers.
If the blue jay of the Meschaceba should say to the nonpareil of Florida,
‘Why do you mourn so bitterly? Have you not here pleasant waters and
delightful shades, and all kinds of food, as well as in your own forests?’
‘Yes,’ the fugitive nonpareil would answer; ‘but my nest is in the Jessamine;
who will bring that to me? and have you the sun of my savanna?’
Happy they who have never seen the smoke of the stranger’s fire,
and who have never been guests at any festivals but those of their fathers.
After hours of painful journeying, the traveler sits down sorrowful.
He contemplates around him the tops of men’s cottages; the traveler has
no place where he can rest his head! He raps, and enters the hut, puts his
bow behind the door, and craves hospitality; the master makes a motion
with his hand; the traveler takes his bow again, and returns to the desert.
Happy they who have never seen the smoke of the stranger’s fire,
and who have never been guests at any festivals but those of their fathers.
Marvelous stories, related around the fireside, tender effusions of the heart,
long habits of loving, so necessary in life, you have filled up the days of those
who have never traveled out of their own country! Their tombs are in their
native soil, with the setting sun, the tears of their friends, and the charms of
religion.
Happy they who have never seen the smoke of the stranger’s fire,
and who have never been guests at any festivals but those of their fathers.’”
Eventually, after some travail, and a thunderstorm, Atala and Chactas wind up at a hermit’s dwelling in a wilderness.
Leave a Reply