CHAPTER I

THE TWELVE ADVENTURERS

AND OTHER STORIES

Transcriber’s Note:

Every attempt has been made to preserve the original formatting,

along with inconsistent spelling, hyphenation, and italicization.

However, footnotes have been changed to endnotes or renumbered and

moved closer to their anchor, and some obvious typographical errors

have been corrected; see the Errata for a complete list.

New original cover art, which features a pencil drawing by Charlotte

Brontë of an unknown woman, included with this eBook is granted to

the public domain.

_The Twelve Adventurers

and Other Stories ❦ ❦ ❦

By CHARLOTTE BRONTË

Hodder and Stoughton

Limited London_

Made and Printed in Great Britain

T. and A. CONSTABLE LTD., Printers, Edinburgh

NOTE

IT would be quite easy to maintain that these twelve fragments which

come to us from the childhood of Charlotte Brontë should not be perpetuated

for the public in the printed page. They were written between the

ages of twelve and twenty-one, and it was certainly never for a moment

contemplated by the author that they would ever see the light. They

were handed to me in a little house in Banagher in Ireland, nearly

thirty years ago, by the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls, the husband of

Charlotte Brontë, who in a letter before me explains that they would

have been burnt had I not come upon the scene. The ever-increasing

fame of Charlotte Brontë in the intervening years has gone on side

by side with an immense literature devoted to child psychology. It

is as a contribution to that science that I have been frequently

exhorted to publish them. A natural indolence would have prevented

this had not my friend, Mr. C. W. Hatfield, come to the rescue by

diligently transcribing the minute handwriting and preparing the

volume with certain useful notes for publication.

CLEMENT SHORTER.

_August_ 1925.

CONTENTS

*THE TWELVE ADVENTURERS . . . . . 1

AN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND . . . . . 19

*THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS . . . . 25

THE ADVENTURES OF ERNEST ALEMBERT . . 45

ALBION AND MARINA . . . . . . . 75

*THE RIVALS . . . . . . . . . 95

THE FAIRY GIFT . . . . . . . . 105

*LOVE AND JEALOUSY . . . . . . . 121

*NAPOLEON AND THE SPECTRE . . . . 137

*THE TRAGEDY AND THE ESSAY . . . . 145

*A PEEP INTO A PICTURE BOOK . . . . 161

*MINA LAURY—I . . . . . . . . 181

*MINA LAURY—II . . . . . . . . 193

_The stories marked with an asterisk (*) are now published for the

first time._

I AM alone; it is the dead of night;

I am not gone to rest, because my mind

Is too much raised for sleep. The silent light

Of the dim taper streams its unseen wind,

And quite as voiceless, on the hearth, burns bright

The ruddy ember: now no ear can find

A sound, however faint, to break the lull

Of which the shadowy realm of dreams is full.

CHARLOTTE BRONTË

THE TWELVE ADVENTURERS

‘THE Twelve Adventurers’ is the first of two stories in the earliest

of Charlotte Brontë’s manuscripts, and was written by her when she

was only twelve years of age.

Her early admiration for the hero of the story, the ‘Great Duke,’

was first noted by Mrs. Gaskell in _The Life of Charlotte Brontë_,

1857, vol. i. p. 94, where she says:

All that related to him (the Duke of Wellington) belonged to

the heroic age. Did Charlotte want a knight-errant, or a

devoted lover, the Marquis of Douro, or Lord Charles Wellesley,

came ready to her hand. There is hardly one of her prose

writings at this time in which…their ‘august father’ does

not appear as a sort of Jupiter Tonans, or Deus ex Machinâ.

The country ‘discovered’ by the twelve adventurers became the scene

of nearly all the stories written by Charlotte Brontë during the

following eleven years. Originally named ‘The Country of the Genii,’

the fairies deserted it after Charlotte’s school-days at Roe Head

(1831-1832), and the country was re-named ‘The Kingdom of Angria.’

The ‘great city’ became ‘The Glass Town’ or ‘Verreopolis,’ which

was afterwards changed to ‘Verdopolis,’ the chief city of Angria.

C. W. H.

CHAPTER I

THE COUNTRY OF THE GENII

THERE is a tradition that some thousands of years ago twelve men

from Britain, of a most gigantic size, and twelve men from Gaul,

came over to the country of the genii, and while here were continually

at war with each other; and, after remaining many years, returned

again to Britain and Gaul. In the inhabited parts of the genii countries

there are now no vestiges of them, though it is said there have been

found some colossal skeletons in that wild, barren sand, the evil

desert.

I have read a book called _The Travels of Captain Parnell_, out of

which the following is an extract:

About four in the afternoon I saw a dark red cloud arise

in the east, which gradually grew larger till it covered the

whole sky. As the cloud spread the wind rose and blew a

tremendous hurricane. The sand of the desert began to

move and rolled like the waves of the sea. As soon as I saw

this I threw myself on my face and stopped my breath, for

I knew that this was a tornado or whirlwind. I remained

in this situation for three minutes; at the end of that time

I ventured to look up. The whirlwind had passed over and

had not hurt me, but close by lay my poor camel quite dead.

At this sight I could not forbear weeping; but my attention

was soon diverted by another object. About one

hundred yards further off lay an immense skeleton. I

immediately ran up to it and examined it closely. While

I was gazing at the long ghastly figure which lay stretched

upon the sand before me the thought came into my mind

that it might be the skeleton of one of those ancient Britons

who, tradition tells us, came from their own country to this

evil land, and here miserably perished. While I was pursuing

this train of meditation, I observed that it was bound

with a long chain of rusty iron. Suddenly the iron clanked

and the bones strove to rise, but a huge mountain of sand

overwhelmed the skeleton with a tremendous crash, and

when the dust which had hid the sun and enveloped everything

in darkness cleared away, not a mark could be distinguished to

show the future traveller where the bones

had lain.

Now, if this account be true—and I see no reason why we should suppose

it is not—I think we may fairly conclude that these skeletons are

evil genii chained in these deserts by the fairy Maimoune.[1]

1 Maimoune, a fairy, daughter of Damriel, King or head of a legion

of genies.—_Arabian Nights Entertainments_.—C. W. H.

There are several other traditions, but they are all so obscure that

no reliance is to be placed on them.

CHAPTER II

THE VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY

In the year 1798 the _Invincible_, 74 guns, set sail with a fair

wind from England; her crew, twelve men, every one healthy and stout

and in the best temper. Their names were as follows:—

Marcus O’Donell,

Ferdinand Cortez,

Felix de Rothsay,

Eugene Cameron,

Harold FitzGeorge,

Henry Clinton,

Francis Stewart,

Ronald Tragnain,

Ernest Fortescue,

Gustavus Dumally,

Frederick Brunswick

(Duke of York), and

Arthur Wellesley.

Well, as I said before, we set sail with a fair wind from England

on the 1st of March 1798. On the 15th we came in sight of Spain.

On the 16th we landed, bought a supply of provisions, and set sail

again on the 20th. On the 25th, about noon, Henry Clinton, who was

in the shrouds, cried out that he saw the Oxeye.

In a minute we were all on deck and gazing eagerly and fearfully

towards the mountain over which we saw hanging in the sky the ominous

speck. Instantly the sails were furled, the ship tacked about, and

the boat was made ready for launching in our last extremity.

Thus having made everything ready, we retired to the cabin, and every

one looked as sheepish as possible and noway inclined to meet our

fate like men. Some of us began to cry; but we waited a long time

and heard no sound of the wind, and the cloud did not increase in

size.

At last Marcus O’Donell exclaimed: ‘I wish it would either go backward

or forward.’

At this Stewart reproved him, and Ferdinand gave him a box on the

ear. O’Donell returned the compliment; but just then we heard the

sound of the wind, and Ronald shouted out:

‘The cloud is as big as me!’

Brunswick pulled Ronald away from the window, and ordered him to

hold his tongue. Ronald said he would not and began to sing. Felix

de Rothsay put his hand over Ronald’s mouth. Harold FitzGeorge got

Rothsay behind the throat. Ernest Fortescue held his fist in O’Donell’s

face, and Marcus floored Ernest. Cameron kicked Clinton to the other

end of the cabin; and Stewart shouted so loud for them to be quiet

that he made the greatest noise of any.

But suddenly they were all silenced by a fierce flash of lightning

and a loud peal of thunder. The wind rose and the planks of our ship

cracked. Another flash of lightning, brighter and more terrible than

the first, split our mainmast and carried away our foretop-sail;

and now the flashes of lightning grew terrific and the thunder roared

tremendously. The rain poured down in torrents, and the gusts of

wind were most loud and terrible. The hearts of the stoutest men

in our company now quailed, and even the chief doctor was afraid.

At last the storm ceased, but we found it had driven us-quite out

of our course, and we knew not where we were.

On the 30th, Gustavus Dumally who was on deck cried out: ‘LAND!’

At this we were all extremely rejoiced. On the 31st we reached it,

and found it was the island of Trinidad.

We refitted our ship and got in a store of provisions and water,

and set sail once more on the 5th of May. It would be endless to

describe all our adventures in the South Atlantic Ocean. Suffice

it to say that after many storms, in which we were driven quite out

of our course and knew not in what part of the world we were, we

at last discovered land.

We sailed along the coast for some time to find a good landing-place.

We at last found one.

We landed on the 2nd of June 1793. We moored our battered ship in

a small harbour and advanced up into the country. To our great surprise

we found it cultivated. Grain of a peculiar sort grew in great abundance,

and there were large plantations of palm-trees, and likewise an immense

number of almond-trees. There were also many olives and large enclosures

of rice.

We were greatly surprised at these marks of the land being inhabited.

It seemed to be part of an immense continent.

After we had travelled about two miles we saw at a distance twenty

men well armed. We immediately prepared for battle, having each of

us a pistol, sword, and bayonet. We stood still and they came near.

They seemed greatly surprised at us, and we heard one of them say:

‘What strange people!’

The Chief then said: ‘Who are you?’

Wellesley answered: ‘We were cast up on your shores by a storm and

require shelter.’

They said: ‘You shall not have any.’

‘We will take it, then!’

We prepared for battle; they did the same.

It was a very fierce encounter, but we conquered: killed ten, took

the Chief prisoner, wounded five, and the remaining four retreated.’

The Chief was quite black and very tall; he had a fine countenance

and the finest eyes I ever saw. We asked him what his name was, but

he would not speak. We asked him the name of his country, and he

said: ‘Ashantee.’

Next morning a party of twelve men came to our tents bringing with

them a ransom for their Chief, and likewise a proposition of peace

from their King. This we accepted, as it was on terms most advantageous

to ourselves.

Immediately after the treaty of peace was concluded we set about

building a city. The situation was in the middle of a large plain,

bounded on the north by high mountains, on the south by the sea,

on the east by gloomy forests, and on the west by evil deserts.

About a month after we had begun our city the following adventure

happened to us:—

One evening when all were assembled in the great tent, and most of

us sitting round the fire which blazed in the middle, listening to

the storm which raged without, a dead silence prevailed. None of

us felt inclined to speak, still less to laugh, and the wine-cups

stood upon the round table filled to the brim. In the midst of this

silence we heard the sound of a trumpet which seemed to come from

the desert. The next moment a peal of thunder rolled through the

sky, which seemed to shake the earth to its centre.

By this time we were all on our legs, and filled with terror, which

was changed to desperation by another blast of the terrible trumpet.

We all rushed out of the tent with a shout, not of courage, but fear;

and then we saw a sight so terribly grand that even now when I think

of it, at the distance of forty years from that dismal night, my

limbs tremble and my blood is chilled with fear. High up in the clouds

was a tall and terrible giant. In his right hand he held a trumpet;

in his left two darts pointed with fire. On a thunder cloud which

rolled before him his shield rested. On his forehead was written:

‘The Genius of the Storm.’ On he strode over the black clouds which

rolled beneath his feet and regardless of the fierce lightning which

flashed around him.

The hoarse voice of the storm was hushed, and a gentler light than

the fire of the elements spread itself over the face of the now cloudless

sky. The calm moon shone forth in the midst of the firmament, and

the little stars seemed rejoicing in their brightness. The giant

had descended to the earth, and approaching the place where we stood

trembling he made three circles in the air with his flaming scimitar,

and then lifted his hand to strike. Just then we heard a loud voice

saying: ‘Genius, I command thee to forbear!’

We looked round and saw a figure so tall that the Genius seemed to

be but a diminutive dwarf. It cast one joyful glance on us and disappeared.

CHAPTER III

THE DESERT

The building of our city went on prosperously. The Hall of Justice

was finished, the fortifications were completed, the Grand Inn was

begun, the Great Tower was ended.

One night when we were assembled in the Hall of Justice, Arthur Wellesley,

at that time a common trumpeter, suddenly exclaimed, while we were

talking of our happiness:

‘Does not the King of the Blacks view our prosperity with other eyes

than ours? Would not the best way be to send immediately to England,

tell them of the new world we have discovered and of the riches that

are in it; and do you not think they would send us an army?’

Francis Stewart immediately rose and said: ‘Young man, think before

you speak! How could we send to England? Who would be found hardy

enough to traverse again the Atlantic? Do you not remember the storm

which drove us on the shores of Trinidad?’

Arthur Wellesley answered: ‘It is with all due deference that I venture

to contradict the opinions of older and more experienced men than

I am; and it is after much consideration that I have ventured to

say what I have said. Well do I remember that storm which forced

us to seek refuge amongst foreigners. I am not so rash as to suppose

that we of ourselves could cross the ocean on the damaged and leaky

vessel we possess, or that we could build another in time to avert

the danger which I fear is coming. But in what a short time have

we built the city we are now in! How long has it taken to rear the

Grand Hall where we now are? Have not those marble pillars and that

solemn dome been built by supernatural power? If you view the city

from this Gothic window and see the beams of the morn gilding the

battlements of the mighty towers, and the pillars of the splendid

palaces which have been reared in a few months, can you doubt that

magic has been used in their construction?’

Here he paused. We were all convinced that the genii had helped us

to build our town. He went on:

‘Now, if the genii have built us our city, will they not likewise

help us to call our countrymen to defend what they have built against

the assaults of the enemy?’

He stopped again, for the roof shook and the hall was filled with

smoke. The ground opened, and we heard a voice saying:

‘When the sun appears above the forests of the east be ye all on

the border of the evil desert, for if ye fail I will crush you to

atoms.’

The voice ceased, the ground closed, and the smoke cleared away.

There was no time for us to consult; the desert lay ten miles off,

and it was now midnight. We immediately set off with the Duke of

York at our head. We reached the desert about 4 A.M., and there we

stopped. Far off to the east the long black line of gloomy forests

skirted the horizon. To the north the Mountains of the Moon seemed

a misty girdle to the plain of Dahomey; to the south the ocean guarded

the coasts of Africa; before us to the west lay the desert.

In a few minutes we saw a dense vapour rise from the sands, which

gradually collecting took the form of a Genius larger than any of

the giants. It advanced towards us and cried with a loud voice: ‘Follow

me!’

We obeyed and entered the desert.

After we had travelled a long time, about noon the Genius told us

to look around. We were now about the middle of the desert. Nothing

was to be seen far or near but vast plains of sand under a burning

sun and cloudless sky. We were dreadfully fatigued and begged the

Genius to allow us to stop a little, but he immediately ordered us

to proceed. We therefore began our march again and travelled a long

way, till the sun went down and the pale moon was rising in the east.

Also a few stars might now be dimly seen, but still the sands were

burning hot, and our feet were very much swollen.

At last the Genius ordered us to halt and lie down. We soon fell

asleep. We had slept about an hour when the Genius awoke us and ordered

us to proceed.

The moon had now risen and shone brightly in the midst of the sky—brighter

far than it ever does in our country. The night-wind had somewhat

cooled the sands of the desert, so that we walked with more ease

than before; but now a mist arose which covered the whole plain.

Through it we thought we could discern a dim light. We now likewise

heard sounds of music at a great distance.

As the mist cleared away the light grew more distinct till it burst

upon us in almost insufferable splendour. Out of the barren desert

arose a palace of diamonds, the pillars of which were ruby and emerald

illuminated with lamps too bright to look upon. The Genius led us

into a hall of sapphire in which were thrones of gold. On the thrones

sat the Princes of the Genii. In the midst of the hall hung a lamp

like the sun. Around it stood genii and fairies whose robes were

of beaten gold sparkling with diamonds. As soon as their chiefs saw

us they sprang up from their thrones, one of them seizing Arthur

Wellesley and exclaiming: ‘This is the Duke of Wellington!’

Arthur Wellesley asked her why she called him the Duke of Wellington.

The Genius answered: ‘A prince will arise who shall be as a thorn

in the side of England, and the desolator of Europe. Terrible shall

be the struggle between that chieftain and you! It will last many

years, and the conqueror shall gain eternal honour and glory. So

likewise shall the vanquished; and though he shall die in exile his

name shall never be remembered by his countrymen but with feelings

of enthusiasm. The renown of the victory shall reach the ends of

the earth; Kings and Emperors shall honour him; Europe shall rejoice

in its deliverer; and though in his lifetime fools will envy him,

he shall overcome. At his death renown shall cover him, and his name

shall be everlasting!’

When the Genius finished speaking we heard the sound of music far

off, which drew nearer and nearer till it seemed within the hall.

Then all the fairies and genii joined in one grand chorus which rose

rolling to the mighty dome and pillars of the genii palace, and reached

among the vaults and dungeons beneath; then gradually dying away

it at last ceased entirely.

As the music went off the palace slowly disappeared, and we found

ourselves alone in the midst of the desert. The sun had just begun

to enlighten the world, and the moon might be dimly seen; but all

below there was sand as far as our eyes could reach. We knew not

which way to go, and we were ready to faint with hunger; but on once

more looking round we saw lying on the sands some dates and palm-wine.

Of this we made our breakfast, and then began again to think of our

journey, when suddenly there appeared a beaten track in the desert,

which we followed.

About noon, when the sun was at its meridian, and we felt weary and

faint with the heat, a grove of palm-trees appeared in sight towards

which we ran; and after we had rested awhile under its shade, and

refreshed ourselves with its fruit, we resumed our march; and that

same night to our inexpressible joy we entered the gates of our beautiful

city and slept beneath the shadow of its roofs.

CHAPTER IV

NEWS FROM HOME

The next morning we were awakened by the sound of trumpets and great

war-drums, and on looking towards the mountains we saw descending

to the plain an immense army of Ashantees. We were all thrown into

the utmost consternation except Arthur Wellesley, who advised us

to look to the great guns and man the walls, never doubting that

genii would come to our help if we ourselves could not beat them

off by the help of the cannon and rockets.

This advice we immediately followed, while the Ashantees came on

like a torrent, sweeping everything, burning the palm-trees, and

laying waste the rice-fields.

When they came up to the walls of our city they set up a terrible

yell, the meaning of which was that we should be consumed from the

face of the earth, and that our city should vanish away; for as it

came by magic it should go by the same. Our answer to this insolent

speech was a peal of thunder from the mouth of our cannon. Two fell

dead, and the rest set off towards the mountains with amazing swiftness,

followed by a triumphant shout from their conquerors.

They came back in the afternoon and in the most submissive terms

asked for their dead. We granted their request, and in return they

allowed us to witness the funeral.

A few days after, on the 21st of September, Ronald, running into

the Halls of Justice where we all were, shouted out that there was

a ship from England. The Duke of York immediately sent Arthur Wellesley

to ascertain the truth of this.

When he arrived at the seashore he found all the crew, consisting

of fifty men, had landed. He then examined the state of the ship,

and found it was almost a complete wreck. He asked the men a few

questions and they seemed greatly surprised to find him here, and

asked him how he contrived to live in such a country. He told them

to follow him.

When he brought them to the Halls of Justice, the Duke of York asked

them to relate their story. They cried: ‘We were driven on your shore

by a storm, and we request shelter.’

The Duke of York answered: ‘Fellow-Englishmen, we rejoice that you

were driven on our part of the coast, and you shall have shelter

if we can give it.’

Accordingly they remained with us about a fortnight, for at the end

of that time the genii had fitted out their ship again, when they

set sail for England accompanied by Arthur Wellesley.

For about ten years after this we remained at war with the blacks,

and then made peace; after which, for about ten years more, nothing

happened worth mentioning.

On the 16th of May 1816, a voice passed through the city saying:

‘Set a watch on the tower which looks towards the south, for to-morrow

a conqueror shall enter your gates!’

The Duke of York immediately despatched Henry Clinton to the highest

tower in the city. About noon Clinton cried out:

‘I see something at a great distance upon the Atlantic.’

We all of us ran to the watch-tower, and on looking towards the ocean

we could discern a dark object upon the verge of the horizon which

as it neared the shore we saw plainly was a fleet. At last it anchored

and the men began to land.

First came seventy-two regiments of horsemen, next, three of infantry,

then several high officers. The latter seemed to be the staff of

some great general; and last of all came the general himself, who

had the bearing of Arthur Wellesley.

After he had marshalled the regiments he ordered them to march, and

we saw them enter the gates of the city. When they arrived at the

tower they stopped, and we heard the general say:

‘Hill, you may stop here with the army while I go to the Palace of

Justice, as I suppose they are all there if they be yet in the land

of the living. And, Beresford, you must come with me.’

‘No, no, we are here, Arthur, almost terrified out of our wits for

fear you shall burn the tower and sack the city!’ exclaimed the Duke

of York as we descended from our hiding-place.

‘What! Are you all here, and not one of you slain in battle or dead

in the hospital?’ said His Grace as he sprang from his war-horse

and we shook hands with him two at a time. ‘But come, my brave fellows,

let us go to the Grand Inn, and in Fernando Hall we will talk of

what we have done and suffered since we last met.’

‘Please, your Grace, in what part of the town is the army to be quartered?’

said one of the staff.

‘Oh, never you fear for the army, Murry; we are not amongst Spaniards.

Let them follow me.’

‘The army is to follow His Grace the Duke of Wellington,’ said Murry.

‘His Grace the Duke of Wellington!’ we all exclaimed at once in great

surprise.

‘Yes,—His Grace the Duke of Wellington,’ said another of the staff.

‘I don’t know who you are, but he is one of the most noble generals,

the conqueror of Bonaparte and the deliverer of Europe.’

‘Then the genii don’t always tell lies,’ said Marcus; ‘and I’m very

glad of it, for I always thought, Duke, you would return to us with

more glory than you had when you went away from us.’

By this time we had arrived at the Grand Inn, which was a most superior

building and large enough to accommodate twenty thousand men. We

were soon seated in the hall and listening to Beresford as he related

to us how Europe had been set free from the iron chain of a despot,

and how the mighty victory had been achieved with which all the civilised

world had rung; of the splendid triumphs which had taken place on

that glorious occasion; and how all the high sovereigns of Europe

had honoured England with their presence on that grand occasion.

Longer could we have listened and more could he have told had we

not heard the sound of the midnight bell which reminded us that it

was time to retire to rest.

Some days after this the Duke of York expressed a wish to return

to his own country, and one of the ships with about twenty men was

appointed to convey him there.

There were now in the city fifteen thousand men, and we determined

to elect a King. Accordingly a council of the whole nation was summoned

for the 14th of June 1816. On that day they all assembled in the

Palace of Justice. Around the throne sat Marcus O’Donell, Ferdinand

Cortez, Henry Clinton, Gustavus Dumally, Harold FitzGeorge, and the

Duke of Wellington and his staff.

An intense anxiety pervaded the council to know who would be proposed

as King, for not a man of us knew, and no hints had been thrown out.

At length the great entrance was closed, and Cortez proclaimed the

whole nation to be present. Stewart then rose and said:

‘I propose the most noble Field-Marshal Arthur, Duke of Wellington,

as a fit and proper person to sit on the throne of these realms.’

Immediately a loud shout burst forth from the multitude, and the

hall rang: ‘Long live our most noble Duke of Wellington!’ and almost

immediately afterwards a profound silence prevailed in the house.

He said: ‘Fellow-soldiers, I will defend what you have committed

to my care.’

Then, bowing to the council, he retired amidst thundering sounds

of enthusiastic joy.

C. BRONTË,

_April 2nd_, 1829.

(Aged 12.)

AN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND

THIS is the second of the two stories in Charlotte Brontë’s earliest

manuscript. It was included by Mr. Clement Shorter in _Charlotte

Brontë and Her Circle_, 1896, pp. 64-66, and in the enlarged edition

of that work, entitled _The Brontës: Life and Letters_, 1908, vol.

i. pp. 74-76. It is now reprinted for the first time.

C. W. H.

AN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND

DURING my travels in the south of Ireland the following adventure

happened to me. One evening in the month of August, after a long

walk, I was ascending the mountain which overlooks the village of

Cahin, when I suddenly came in sight of a fine old castle. It was

built upon a rock, and behind it was a large wood, and before it

was a river. Over the river there was a bridge, which formed the

approach to the castle.

When I arrived at the bridge I stood still awhile to enjoy the prospect

around me: far below was the wide sheet of still water in which the

reflection of the pale moon was not disturbed by the smallest wave;

in the valley was the cluster of cabins which is known by the appellation

of Cahin; and beyond these were the mountains of Killala. Over all,

the grey robe of twilight was now stealing with silent and scarcely

perceptible advances. No sound except the hum of the distant village

and the sweet song of the nightingales in the wood behind me broke

upon the stillness of the scene.

While I was contemplating this beautiful prospect a gentleman, whom

I had not before observed, accosted me with ‘Good evening, sir; are

you a stranger in these parts?’

I replied that I was. He then asked me where I was going to stop

for the night; I answered that I intended to sleep somewhere in the

village.

‘I am afraid you will find very bad accommodation there,’ said the

gentleman; ‘but if you will take up your quarters with me at the

castle, you are welcome.’

I thanked him for his kind offer, and accepted it.

When we arrived at the castle I was shown into a large parlour, in

which was an old lady sitting in an armchair by the fireside, knitting.

On the rug lay a very pretty tortoiseshell cat. As soon as mentioned,

the old lady rose; and when Mr. O’Callaghan (for that, I learned,

was his name) told her who I was, she said in the most cordial tone

that I was welcome, and asked me to sit down.

In the course of conversation I learned that she was Mr. O’Callaghan’s

mother, and that his father had been dead about a year.

We had sat about an hour, when supper was announced, and after supper

Mr. O’Callaghan asked me if I should like to retire for the night.

I answered in the affirmative, and a little boy was commissioned

to show me to my apartment. It was a snug, clean, and comfortable

little old-fashioned room at the top of the castle. As soon as we

had entered, the boy, who appeared to be a shrewd, good-tempered

little fellow, said with a shrug of the shoulder: ‘If it was going

to bed I was, it shouldn’t be here that you’d catch me.’

‘Why?’ said I.

‘Because,’ replied the boy, ‘they say that the ould masther’s ghost

has been seen sitting on that there chair.’

‘And have you seen him?’

‘No; but I’ve heard him washing his hands in that basin often and

often.’

‘What is your name, my little fellow?’

‘Dennis Mulready, please, your honour.’

‘Well, good night to you.’

‘Good night, masther; and may the saints keep you from all fairies

and brownies,’ said Dennis as he left the room.

As soon as I had laid down I began to think of what the boy had been

telling me, and I confess I felt a strange kind of fear, and once

or twice I even thought I could discern something white through the

darkness which surrounded me. At length, by the help of reason, I

succeeded in mastering these, what some would call idle fancies,

and fell asleep.

I had slept about an hour when a strange sound awoke me, and I saw

looking through my curtains a skeleton wrapped in a white sheet.

I was overcome with terror and tried to scream, but my tongue was

paralysed and my whole frame shook with fear. In a deep hollow voice

it said to me:

‘Arise, that I may show thee this world’s wonders,’ and in an instant

I found myself encompassed with clouds and darkness. But soon the

roar of mighty waters fell upon my ear, and I saw some clouds of

spray arising from high falls that rolled in awful majesty down tremendous

precipices, and then foamed and thundered in the gulf beneath as

if they had taken up their unquiet abode in some giant’s cauldron.

But soon the scene changed, and I found myself in the mines of Cracone.

There were high pillars and stately arches, whose glittering splendour

was never excelled by the brightest fairy palaces. There were not

many lamps; only those of a few poor miners, whose rough visages

formed a striking contrast to the dazzling figures and grandeur which

surrounded them. But in the midst of all this magnificence I felt

an indescribable sense of fear and terror; for the sea raged above

us, and by the awful and tumultuous noises of roaring winds and dashing

waves it seemed as if the storm was violent. And now the mossy pillars

groaned beneath the pressure of the ocean, and the glittering arches

seemed about to be overwhelmed. When I heard the rushing waters and

saw a mighty flood rolling towards me I gave a loud shriek of terror.

The scene vanished and I found myself in a wide desert full of barren

rocks and high mountains. As I was approaching one of the rocks,

in which there was a large cave, my foot stumbled and I fell. Just

then I heard a deep growl, and saw by the unearthly light of his

own fiery eyes a royal lion rousing himself from his kingly slumbers.

His terrible eye was fixed upon me, and the desert rang and the rocks

echoed with the tremendous roar of fierce delight which he uttered

as he sprang towards me.

‘Well, masther, it’s been a windy night, though it’s fine now,’ said

Dennis, as he drew the window curtain and let the bright rays of

the morning sun into the little old-fashioned room at the top of

O’Callaghan Castle.

C. BRONTË,

_April 28th_, 1829.

THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS

THE original manuscript of this story is in the possession of Mr.

T. J. Wise.

It appears to be the first manuscript which Charlotte Brontë attempted

to complete in the form of a book, _i.e._ with a title-page and Preface.

The title-page is written in capital letters resembling printing,

and the Preface in the young authoress’s ordinary writing.

The story contains the earliest known poem by Charlotte Brontë.

I am indebted to Mr. T. J. Wise for the loan of the original manuscript,

thus enabling me to correct and complete a copy of the story in my

keeping, and to present an accurate text.

The story was written by Charlotte Brontë at the age of thirteen

years. C. W. H.

THE SEARCH AFTER

HAPPINESS

A TALE BY

CHARLOTTE

BRONTË

PRINTED BY HERSELF

AND

SOLD BY

NOBODY &c. &c.

AUGUST

THE

SEVENTEENTH

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED

AND

TWENTY-NINE

PREFACE

THE persons meant by the Chief of the City and his sons are the Duke

of Wellington, the Marquis of Douro, and Lord Wellesley.

The city is the Glass Town.

Henry O’Donell and Alexander Delancy are Captain Tarry-not-at-home

and Monsieur Like-to-live-in-lonely-places.

CHARLOTTE BRONTË,

_August the 17th_, 1829.

CHAPTER I

CHARACTER OF O’DONELL—CAUSE OF HIS TRAVELS

NOT many years ago there lived in a certain city a person of the

name of Henry O’Donell. In figure he was tall, of a dark complexion,

and searching black eye. His mind was strong and unbending, his disposition

unsociable, and though respected by many he was loved by few.

The city where he resided was very great and magnificent. It was

governed by a warrior, a mighty man of valour, whose deeds had resounded

to the ends of the earth.

This soldier had two sons, who were at that time of the separate

ages of six and seven years.

Henry O’Donell was a nobleman of great consequence in the city, and

a peculiar favourite with the governor, before whose glance his stern

mind would bow; and at his command O’Donell’s self-will would be

overcome.

While playing with the young princes he would forget his usual sullenness

of demeanour, the days of his childhood returned upon him, and he

would be as merry as the youngest, who was gay indeed.

One day, at Court, a quarrel ensued between him and another noble.

Words came to blows, and O’Donell struck his opponent a violent blow

on the left cheek. At this the military King started up and commanded

O’Donell to apologise. This he immediately did, but from that hour

of dissent a spell seemed to have been cast over him, and he resolved

to quit the city.

The evening before he put this resolution into practice he had an

interview with the King, and returned quite an altered man. Before,

he seemed stern and intractable; now, he was only meditative and

sorrowful. As he was passing the inner court of the palace he perceived

the two young princes at play. He called them, and they came running

to him.

‘I am going far from this city, and shall, most likely, never see

you again,’ said O’Donell.

‘Where are you going?’

‘I cannot tell.’

‘Then why do you go away from us? Why do you go from your own house

and lands, from this great and splendid city, to you know not where?’

‘Because I am not happy here.’

‘And if you are not happy here, where you have everything for which

you can wish, do you expect to be happy when you are dying of hunger

or thirst in a desert, or longing for the society of men when you

are thousands of miles from any human being?’

‘How do you know that that will be my case?’

‘It is very likely that it will.’

‘And if it is I am determined to go.’

‘Take this then, that you may sometimes remember us when you dwell

with only the wild beasts of the desert, or the great eagle of the

mountain,’ said they, as they each gave him a curling lock of their

hair.

‘Yes, I will take it, my princes, and I shall remember you, and the

mighty warrior King, your father, even when the Angel of Death has

stretched forth his bony arm against me, and I am within the confines

of his dreary kingdom, the cold, damp grave,’ replied O’Donell, as

the tears rushed to his eyes; and he once more embraced the little

princes, and then quitted them, it might be, for ever.

CHAPTER II

ABOUT MEETING DELANCY—COMING TO THE OLD CASTLE—ENTERING THE NEW

WORLD—DESCRIPTION

The dawn of the next morning found O’Donell on the summit of a high

mountain which overlooked the city. He had stopped to take a farewell

view of the place of his nativity. All along the eastern horizon

there was a rich glowing light, which, as it rose, gradually melted

into the pale blue of the sky, in which, just over the light, there

was still visible the silver crescent of the moon. Ina short time

the sun began to rise in golden glory, casting his splendid radiance

over all the face of nature, and illuminating the magnificent city;

in the midst of which, towering in silent grandeur, there appeared

the palace where dwelt the mighty Prince of that great and beautiful

city, all around the brazen gates and massive walls of which there

flowed the majestic stream of the Guadima, whose banks were bordered

by splendid palaces and magnificent gardens. Behind these, stretching

for many a league, were fruitful plains and forests, whose shade

seemed almost impenetrable to a single ray of light; while in the

distance blue mountains were seen raising their heads to the sky

and forming a misty girdle to the plains of Dahomey. On the whole

of this grand and beautiful prospect O’Donell’s gaze was long and

fixed; but his last look was to the palace of the King, and a tear

stood in his eye as he said earnestly:

‘May he be preserved from all evil! May good attend him; and may

the chief genii spread their broad shield of protection over him

all the time of his sojourn in this wearisome world!’

Then, turning round, he began to descend the mountain. He pursued

his way till the sun began to wax hot; when he stopped, and, sitting

down, he took out some provisions which he had brought with him,

and which consisted of a few biscuits and dates.

While he was eating, a tall man came up and accosted him. O’Donell

requested him to sit beside him, and offered him a biscuit. This

he refused, and, taking one out of a small bag which he carried,

he sat down, and they began to talk. In the course of conversation,

O’Donell: learned that this man’s name was Alexander Delancy, that

he was a native of France, and that he was engaged in the same pursuit

with himself, _i.e._ the search of happiness. They talked for a long

time, and, at last, agreed to travel together. Then, rising, they

pursued their journey.

Towards nightfall they lay down in the open air, and slept soundly

till morning, when they again set off; and thus they continued till

the third day, when, about two hours after noon, they approached

an old castle, which they entered; and, as they were examining it,

they discovered a subterraneous passage which they could not see

the end of.

‘Let us follow where this passage leads us, and, perhaps, we may

find happiness here,’ said O’Donell.

Delancy agreed, and the two stepped into the opening. Immediately

a great stone was rolled to the mouth of the passage, with a noise

like thunder, which shut out all but a single ray of daylight.

‘What is that?’ exclaimed O’Donell.

‘I cannot tell,’ replied Delancy; ‘but, never mind, I suppose it

is only some Genius playing tricks.’

‘Well, it may be so,’ returned O’Donell; and they proceeded on their

way.

After travelling for a long time—as near as they could reckon about

two days—they perceived a silvery streak of light on the walls of

the passage, something like the light of the moon. In a short time

they came to the end of the passage, and, leaping out of the opening

which formed, they entered a new world.

They were, at first, so much bewildered by the different objects

which struck their senses that they almost fainted; but, at length

recovering, they had time to see everything around them. They were

upon the top of a rock which was more than a thousand fathoms high.

All beneath them were liquid mountains tossed to and fro with horrible

confusion, roaring and raging with a tremendous noise, and crowned

with waves of foam. All above them was a mighty firmament, in one

part covered with black clouds from which darted: huge and terrible

sheets of lightning. In another part an immense globe of light, like

silver, was hanging in the sky; and several smaller globes, which

sparkled exceedingly, surrounded it.

In a short time, the tempest, which was dreadful beyond description,

ceased; the dark, black clouds cleared away; the silver globes vanished,

and another globe, whose light was of a gold colour, appeared. It

was far larger than the former, and, in a little time, it became

so intensely bright, that they could no longer gaze on it; so, after

looking around them for some time, they rose and pursued their journey.

They had travelled a long way when they came to an immense forest,

the trees of which bore a large fruit of a deep purple colour, of

which they tasted and found that it was fit for food. They journeyed

in this forest for three days, and on the third day they entered

a valley, or rather a deep glen, surrounded on each side by tremendous

rocks whose tops were lost in the clouds. In this glen they continued

for some time, and at last came in sight of a mountain which rose

so high that they could not see the summit, though the sky was quite

clear. At the foot of the mountain there flowed a river of pure water,

bordered by trees which had flowers of a beautiful rose colour. Except

these trees nothing was to be seen but black forests and huge rocks

rising out of a wilderness which bore the terrible aspect of devastation,

and which stretched as far as the eye could reach. In this desolate

land no sound was to be heard, not even the cry of the eagle or the

scream of the curlew; but a silence like the silence of the grave

reigned over all the face of nature, unbroken except by the murmur

of the river as it slowly wound its course through the desert.

CHAPTER III

COMING TO THE CAVE—MANNER OF LIFE ARRIVAL OF THE OLD MAN

After they had contemplated this scene for some time, O’Donell exclaimed:

‘Alexander, let us abide here. What need have we to travel farther?

Let us make this our place of rest.’

‘We will,’ replied Delancy. ‘And this shall be our abode,’ added

he, pointing to a cave at the foot of the mountains.

‘It shall,’ returned O’Donell, as they entered it.

In this country they remained for many long years, and passed their

time in a manner which made them completely happy. Sometimes they

would sit upon a high rock, and listen to the hoarse thunder rolling

through the sky and making the mountains to echo and the desert to

ring with its awful voice. Sometimes they would watch the lightning

darting across black clouds and shivering huge fragments of rock

in its terrible passage. Sometimes they would witness the great,

glorious orb of gold sink behind the far distant mountains which

girded the horizon, and then watch the advance of grey twilight,

and the little stars coming forth in beauty, and the silver moon

rising in her splendour, till the cold dews of night began to fall;

and then they would retire to their beds in the cave with hearts

full of joy and thankfulness.

One evening they were seated in this cave by a large blazing fire

of turf which cast its lurid light to the high arched roof and illuminated

the tall and stately pillars, cut by the hand of nature out of the

stony rock, with a cheerful red glare that appeared strange in this

desolate land, which no fires had ever before visited, except those

fierce flames of death which flash from the heavens when robed in

the dreadful majesty of thunder. They were seated in this cave then,

listening to the howling night-wind as it swept in mournful cadences

through the trees of the forest which encircled the foot of the mountain

and bordered the stream which flowed round it. They were quite silent,

and their thoughts were occupied by those that were afar off, and

whom it was their fate most likely never more to behold.

O’Donell was thinking of his noble master and his young princes;

of the thousands of miles which intervened between him and them;

and the sad, silent tear gushed forth as he ruminated on the happiness

of those times, when his master frowned not, when the gloom of care

gave place to the smile of friendship, when he would talk to him

and laugh with him, and be to him, not as a brother,—no, no, but

as a mighty warrior, who, relaxing from his haughtiness, would now

and then converse with his high officers in a strain of vivacity

and playful humour not to be equalled. Next he viewed him in his

mind’s eye at the head of his army. He heard, in the ears of his

imagination, the buzz of expectation, of hope, and supposition which

hummed round him as his penetrating eye, with a still keenness of

expression, was fixed on the distant ranks of the enemy. Then he

heard his authoritative voice exclaim: ‘Onward, brave sons of freedom!

Onward to the battle!’ And, lastly, his parting words to him: ‘In

prosperity or in misery, in sorrow or in joy, in populous cities

or in desolate wildernesses, my prayer shall go with you!’ darted

across his mind with such painful distinctness, that he at length

gave way to his uncontrollable grief at the thought that he should

never behold his beloved and mighty commander more; and burst into

a flood of tears.

‘What is the matter, Henry?’ exclaimed Delancy.

‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ was the reply; and they were resuming their

tacit thinking, when a voice was heard outside the cavern, which

broke strangely upon the desolate silence and that land which for

thousands of years had heard no sound save the howling of the wind

through the forest, the echoing of the thunder among mountains, or

the solitary murmuring of the river; if we except the presence of

O’Donell and Delancy.

‘Listen!’ cried Alexander; ‘listen! What is that?’

‘It is the sound of a man’s voice,’ replied Henry; and then snatching

up a burning torch he rushed to the mouth of the cave, followed by

Delancy. When they had got there they saw the figure of a very old

man sitting on the damp, wet ground, moaning and complaining bitterly.

They went up to him. At their approach he rose and said:

‘Are you human or supernatural beings?’

They assured him that they were human. He went on:

‘Then why have you taken up your abode in this land of the grave?’

O’Donell answered that he would relate to him all the particulars

if he would take shelter for the night with them. The old man consented,

and when they were all assembled round the cheerful fire, O’Donell

fulfilled his promise; and then requested the old man to tell them

how he came to be travelling there. He complied, and began as follows:—

CHAPTER IV

OLD MAN’S TALE

I was the son of a respectable merchant in Moussoul. My father intended

to bring me up to his own trade, but I was idle and did not like

it. One day, as I was playing in the street, a very old man came

up to me and asked me if I would go with him. I asked him where he

was going. He replied that if I would go with him he would show me

very wonderful things. This raised my curiosity and I consented.

He immediately took me by the hand and hurried me out of the city

of Moussoul so quickly that my breath was almost stopped, and it

seemed as if we glided along in the air, for I could hear no sound

of any footsteps. We continued on our course for a long time, till

we came to a glen surrounded by very high mountains. How we passed

over these mountains I could never tell. In the middle of the glen

there was a small fountain of very clear water. My conductor directed

me to drink of it. This I did and immediately I found myself in a

palace, the glory of which far exceeds any description which I can

give. The tall, stately pillars, reaching from heaven to earth, were

formed of the finest, purest diamonds; the pavement sparkling with

gold and precious stones; and the mighty dome, made solemn and awful

by its stupendous magnitude, was of a single emerald. In the midst

of this grand and magnificent palace was a lamp like the sun, the

radiance of which made all the palace to flash and glitter with an

almost fearful grandeur. The ruby sent forth a streak of crimson

light, the topaz gold, the sapphire intensest purple, and the dome

poured a flood of deep, clear splendour which overcame all the other

gaudy lights by its mild, triumphant glory. In this palace were thousands

and tens of thousands of fairies and genii, some of whom flitted

lightly among the blazing lamps to the sound of unearthly music,

which died and swelled in a stream of wild grandeur, suited to the

words they sang:—

In this fairy land of light

No mortals e’er have been;

And the dreadful grandeur of this sight

By them hath not been seen.

It would strike them shuddering to the earth

Like the flash from a thunder-cloud;

It would quench their light and joyous mirth

And fit them for the shroud.

The rising of our palaces

Like visions of the deep,

And the glory of their structure,

No mortal voice can speak.

_Chorus:_

The music of our songs,

And our mighty trumpet’s swell,

And the sounding of our silver harps,

No mortal tongue can tell.

Of us they know but little,

Save when the storm doth rise,

And the mighty waves are tossing

Against the archèd skies.

Then oft they see us striding

O’er the billow’s snow-white foam,

Or hear us speak in thunder

When we stand, in grandeur lone,

On the darkest of the mighty clouds

Which veil the pearly moon,

Around us lightning flashing,

Night’s blackness to illume.

_Chorus:_

The music of our songs,

And our mighty trumpet’s swell,

And the sounding of our silver harps,

No mortal tongue can tell.

When they had finished there was a dead silence for about half an

hour; and then the palace began slowly and gradually to vanish, till

it disappeared entirely, and I found myself in the glen surrounded

by high mountains, and the fountain, illuminated by the cold light

of the moon, springing up in the middle of the valley; and standing

close by was the old man who had conducted me to this enchanted place.

He turned round and I could see that his countenance had an expression

of strange severity which I had not before observed.

‘Follow me,’ he said.

I obeyed, and we began to ascend the mountain. It is needless to

trouble you with a repetition of my adventures. Suffice it to say

that after two months’ time we arrived at a large temple. We entered

it. The interior as well as the outside had a very gloomy and ominous

aspect, being entirely built of black marble. The old man suddenly

seized me and dragged me to an altar at the upper end of the temple;

then, forcing me down on my knees, he made me swear that I would

be his servant for ever. This promise I faithfully kept, notwithstanding

the dreadful scenes of magic of which every day of my life I was

forced to be a witness. One day he told me he would discharge me

from the oath I had taken, and commanded me to leave his service.

I obeyed, and, after wandering about the world for many years, I,

one evening, laid myself down on a little bank by the roadside, intending

to pass the night there. Suddenly, I found myself raised in the air

by invisible hands. In a short time I lost sight of the earth, and

continued on my course through the clouds till I became insensible;

and, when I recovered from my swoon, I found myself lying outside

this cave. What may be my future destiny I know not.

CHAPTER V

DEPARTURE OF THE OLD MAN—DISAPPEARANCE OF DELANCY—TRANSPORTATION

OF O’DONELL HIS ARRIVAL AT THE CITY—HIS ARRIVAL AT THE PALACE, AND

HIS INTERVIEW WITH HIS CHIEF HE FINDS DELANCY

When the old man had finished his tale, O’Donell and Delancy thanked

him for the relation, adding at the same time that they had never

heard anything half so wonderful. Then, as it was very late, they

all retired to rest. Next morning, O’Donell awoke very early, and,

looking round the cave, he perceived the bed of leaves on which the

old man had lain to be empty. Then rising he went out of the cave.

The sky was covered with red, fiery clouds, except those in the east

whose edges were tinged with the bright rays of the morning sun as

they strove to hide its glory with their dark veil of vapours, now

all beauty and radiance by the golden lines of light which streaked

their gloomy surface beneath this storm-portending sky; and, far

off, to the westward rose two tremendous rocks whose summits were

enveloped with black clouds rolling one above another with an awful

magnificence well-suited to the land of wilderness and mountain which

they canopied.

Gliding along in the air between these two rocks was a chariot of

light. In the chariot sat a figure the expression of whose countenance

was that of the old man, armed with the majesty and might of a spirit.

O’Donell stood at the mouth of the cave watching it till it vanished,

and then, calling Delancy, he related the circumstance to him.

Some years after this, Alexander went out one morning in search of

the fruit on which they subsisted. Noon came, and he had not returned;

evening, and still no tidings of him. O’Donell began to be alarmed

and set out in search of him, but could nowhere find him. One whole

day he spent in wandering about the rocks and mountains, and in the

evening he came back to his cave weary and faint with hunger and

thirst. Days, weeks, months, passed away, and no Delancy appeared.

O’Donell might now be said to be truly miserable. He would sit on

a rock for hours together and cry out: ‘Alexander! Alexander!’ but

receive no answer but the distant echoing of his voice among the

rocks. Sometimes he fancied it was another person answering him,

and he would listen earnestly till it died away. Then, sinking into

utter despair again, he would sit till the dews of night began to

fall, when he would retire to his cave to pass the night in anguish,

broken slumbers, or in thinking of his beloved comrade, whom he could

never see more. In one of these dreadful intervals he took up a small

parcel. Opening it, he saw lying before him two locks of soft, curly

hair, shining like burnished gold. He gazed on them for a little

time, and thought of the words of those who gave them to him:

‘Take this then, that you may remember us when you dwell with only

the wild beasts of the desert, or the great eagle of the mountain.’

He burst into a flood of tears. He wrung his hands in sorrow, and

in the anguish of the moment he wished that he could once more see

them and the mighty warrior King, their father, if it cost him his

life.

Just at that instant a loud clap of thunder shook the roof of the

cave. A sound like the rushing of wind was heard, and a mighty Genius

stood before him.

‘I know thy wish,’ cried he with a loud and terrible voice, ‘and

I will grant it. In two months’ time thou returnest to the castle,

whence thou camest hither, and surrenderest thyself into my power!’

O’Donell promised that he would; and instantly he found himself at

the door of the old castle, and in the land of his birth.

He pursued his journey for three days, and on the third day he arrived

at the mountain which overlooked the city. It was a beautiful evening

in the month of September, and the full moon was shedding her tranquil

light on all the face of nature. The city was lying in its splendour

and magnificence surrounded by the broad stream of the Guadima. The

palace was majestically towering in the midst of it, and all its

pillars and battlements seemed in the calm light of the moon as if

they were transformed into silver by the touch of a fairy’s wand.

O’Donell stayed not long to contemplate this beautiful scene, but,

descending the mountain, he soon crossed the fertile plain which

led to the city, and, entering the gates, he quickly arrived at the

palace. Without speaking to any one, he entered the inner court of

the palace by a secret way with which he was acquainted, and then

going up a flight of steps and crossing a long gallery he arrived

at the King’s private apartments. The door was half open. He looked

in and beheld two very handsome young men sitting together and reading.

He instantly recognised them, and was going to step forward, when

the door opened and the Great Duke entered. O’Donell could contain

himself no longer, and, rushing in, he threw himself at the feet

of His Grace.

‘O’Donell! is this you?’ exclaimed the Duke.

‘It is, my most noble master!’ answered O’Donell, almost choking

with joy. The young princes instantly embraced him, while he almost

smothered them with caresses.

After awhile they became tranquil, and then O’Donell, at the request

of the Duke, related all his adventures since he parted with them,

not omitting the condition on which he was now in the palace.

When he had ended a loud voice was heard saying that he was free

from his promise and might spend the rest of his days in his native

city.

Some time after this, as O’Donell was walking in the streets, he

met a gentleman whom he thought he had seen before, but could not

recollect where or under what circumstances. After a little conversation

he discovered that he was Alexander Delancy, that he was now a rich

merchant in the city of Paris, and high in favour with the Emperor

Napoleon. As may be supposed they both were equally delighted at

the discovery. They ever after lived happily in their separate cities;

and so ends my little tale.

C. BRONTË,

_August 17th_, 1829.

THE ADVENTURES OF ERNEST ALEMBERT

FIRST printed, from the original manuscript, in 1896, in an edition

limited to thirty copies for private circulation only. Edited by

Thomas J. Wise. This volume contains facsimiles of two pages of the

manuscript. Reprinted in _Literary Anecdotes of the Nineteenth Century_,

edited by W. Robertson Nicoll, M.A., and Thomas J. Wise, vol. ii.,

1896, pp. 47-79.

In the Preface to the privately printed volume we are informed by

Mr. Wise, that—

The manuscript of ‘The Adventures of Ernest Alembert’

consists of sixteen octavo pages, measuring 7 1/4 by 4 1/2 inches,

stitched in a wrapper of coarse brown paper, with the following

title written in Charlotte’s hand upon the front: ‘The

Adventures of Ernest Alembert. A Tale by C. Brontë. May 25,

1880.’ The book is written in a free running hand, far more

readily deciphered than the minute characters employed in the

majority of these early books. Unlike most of these it has no

title-page save that on the wrapper, but a large portion of the

final page is occupied by an inscription, after the manner of a

colophon.

C. W. H.

THE ADVENTURES

OF

ERNEST ALEMBERT

A TALE

BY

C. BRONTË

May 25, 1830.

CHAPTER I

MANY years ago there lived in a certain country a youth named Ernest

Alembert. He came of an ancient and noble race: but one of his ancestors

having been beheaded in consequence of a suspicion of high treason,

the family since that time had gradually decayed, until at length

the only remaining branch of it was this young man of whom I write.

His abode was a small cottage situated in the midst of a little garden,

and overshadowed by the majestic ruins of his ancestral castle. The

porch of his hut, adorned by the twisting clematis and jessamine,

fronted the rising sun, and here in the cool summer mornings he would

often sit and watch its broad orb slowly appearing above the blue

distant mountains. The eminence on which his cottage was built formed

one side of a wide valley, watered by a stream whose hoarse voice

was softened into a gentle murmur ere it reached the summit of a

hill. The opposing rocks which guarded the vale on the other side

were covered by a wood of young ash and sycamore trees, whose branching

foliage, clothing them in a robe of living green, hid their rugged

aspect, save where some huge fragment, all grey and moss-grown, jutted

far over the valley, affording a fine contrast to the leafy luxuriant

branch which perhaps rested on the projection, and imparting an appearance

of picturesque wildness and variety to the scene. The valley itself

was sprinkled with tall shady elms and poplars, that shaded the soft

verdant turf ornamented by cowslips, violets, daisies, golden cups,

and a thousand other sweet flowers, which shed abroad their perfumes

when the morning and evening summer dews, or the rains of spring,

descend softly and silently to the earth. On the borders of the stream

a few weeping willows stood dipping their long branches into the

water, where their graceful forms were clearly reflected. Through

an opening in the vale this noisy river was observed gradually expanding

and smoothing until at last it became a wide lake, in calm weather

a glassy unruffled mirror for all the clouds and stars of heaven

to behold themselves in as they sailed through the spangled or dappled

firmament. Beyond this lake arose high hills, at noonday almost

indistinguishable from the blue sky, but at sunset glowing in the

richest purple, like a sapphire barrier to the dim horizon.

One evening in autumn as Ernest sat by his blazing fire and listened

to the wind which roared past his dwelling, shaking the little casement

till the leaves of the wild vine which curled around it fell rustling

to the earth, he heard suddenly the latchet of his door raised. A

man clothed in a dark mantle, with long hair, and a beard of raven

blackness, entered. At sight of this singular figure he started up,

and the stranger immediately accosted him as follows:

‘My name is Rufus Warner. I come from a great distance, and having

been overtaken by darkness in the valley I looked about for some

roof where I might pass the night. At length I espied a light streaming

through this window. I made the best of my way to it, and now I request

shelter from you.’

Ernest, after gazing a moment at him, complied with his demand. He

closed the door, and they both seated themselves by the fire. They

sat thus for some time without interchanging a word, the stranger

with his eyes intently fixed on the ascending flame, apparently quite

inattentive to any other object; and Ernest as intently viewing him,

and revolving in his mind who he might be—the cause of his strange

attire—his long beard—his unbroken taciturnity—not unmixed with a

feeling of awe allied to fear at the presence of a being of whose

nature he was totally ignorant, and who, for aught he knew, might

be the harbinger of no good to his humble dwelling. Dim, dreamlike

reminiscences passed slowly across his mind concerning tales of spirits

who, in various shapes; had appeared to men shortly before their

deaths, as if to prepare them for the ghostly society with which

they would soon have to mingle.

At length, to relieve himself of these almost insupportable thoughts,

he ventured to accost his mysterious guest by inquiring whence he

came.

‘From a rich and fruitful land,’ replied the stranger, ‘where the

trees bear without ceasing, and earth casts up flowers which sparkle

like jewels, the sun shines for ever, and the moon and stars are

not quenched even at noonday; where the rocks lose themselves in

the skies, and the tops of the mountains are invisible by reason

of the firmament which rests upon them.’

The answer, uttered in a hollow and hoarse voice, convinced Ernest

of the truth of his surmises; but a charm seemed to have been cast

upon him which prevented him from being overcome by terror, and he

replied as follows:

‘If what you say is true, I should like exceedingly to follow you

into your country instead of remaining here, where I am often chilled

by frost and icy winds, and saddened by the absence of the cheering

warmth of the sun.’

‘If thou wilt go, thou mayst,’ replied the stranger; and Ernest,

under the influence of a secret fascination, consented.

‘To-morrow, by daybreak, we will set out,’ said his guest; and then,

as the night was far advanced, they both retired to their straw couches,

after partaking of a simple supper which Ernest had hastily provided.

CHAPTER II

The rising dawn found Ernest and his unknown guide wending their

way down the long valley. It was a still, gloomy October morning.

The sky was obscured by grey clouds, and the cold wind which whistled

among the yellow withered leaves of the wood that covered the rocks

blew occasionally some mizzling drops of rain into the faces of the

two travellers. The distant prospect of the lake and mountains was

hidden by a veil of mist, and when the sun rose above them his presence

was only revealed by a whitish light gleaming through the thin watery

atmosphere. The only sounds which fell on the ear were the howling

of the blast in the caverned sides of the valley, and the melancholy

murmuring of the stream as its waves beat against the rugged stones

which obstructed its passage.

They proceeded along in a straight course till they came to the borders

of the lake, where the guide stopped, saying: ‘We must now cross

this water.’ Ernest gazed at him a moment, and then said:

‘How can we? We have no boat, and I lack the power to swim for so

long a time as it would require to cross this lake.’

No sooner had he uttered these words than a light gale arose which

ruffled and agitated the quiet surface of the lake. Presently a tiny

skiff appeared gliding over the waves, and in a few minutes reached

the bank whereon they stood. The stranger quickly sprang into the

bark, and Ernest, though filled with terror at the conviction that

he was now in the hands of a supernatural being, felt himself compelled

by a strong impulse to follow whither he was led. No sooner were

they seated than a large white sail unfurled seemingly of its own

accord, and in a few moments they found themselves nearing the opposite

shore, so lightly and swiftly this fairy vessel had borne them over

the lake.

No sooner had they touched the bank with their feet than a huge billow

like a mountain swept over the water. Immediately the swelling waves

subsided, the rising foam vanished, and a great calm fell on the

bosom of the lake. At the same moment Ernest felt his fear pass away,

and it was succeeded by a feeling of courage against danger, mingled

with a certain curiosity to see what was to come. After they had

travelled a great distance they came to a wide moor that stretched

to the verge of the horizon. This was perfectly level, save at one

spot where tall black rocks were seen raising their heads towards

the sky. About evening they reached these rocks, when they stopped

and sat down to rest themselves. The scene was now grand and awful

in the extreme. Around lay the dark desert heath, unenlivened by

a single streak of verdure; its beautiful pink flowers were withered,

and their fragrance had vanished. The mellow hum of the bee was no

longer heard about them, for he had gathered his honey and was gone.

Above rose the tremendous precipices whose vast shadows blackened

all that portion of the moor, and deepened the frown upon the unpropitious

face of nature. At intervals from the summit of the rocks shrill

screams, uttered by some bird of prey which had built its nest upon

them, swept through the arch of heaven in which wild clouds were

careering to and fro as if torn by a horrible tempest. The sun had

long since sunk to rest, and the full moon, like a broad shield dyed

with blood, now ascended the stormy sky. A mournful halo surrounded

her, and through that warning veil she looked from her place in the

firmament, her glorious light dimmed and obscured, till the earth

only knew by a faint ruddy tint that her white-robed handmaiden beheld

her. All the attendant train of stars shone solemnly among the clouds,

and by their abated splendour acknowledged the presence of their

peerless queen.

After having viewed the scene some time the stranger rose, and beckoned

Ernest to follow him. This he did, until he came to a particular

part of the rocks where was seen a profound cavern. This the stranger

entered, and Ernest felt himself impelled to enter too. The track

seemed to incline downwards, and as they went deeper and deeper they

soon lost sight of the upper world, and not a ray of light appeared

to illumine the thick darkness around them. At length a faint grey

dawn became visible, and at the same instant a warm and gentle breeze

stole past them which softened the cold raw air of the cave. Anon

they began to behold branches of trees waving above them, and saw

that they trod upon a smooth and velvety turf. In a short time, by

the aid of the increasing light, they perceived that they were in

a deep gloomy forest, which, as they advanced, gradually thinned

into a pleasant shady wood, becoming more beautiful as they passed

on, until at last it assumed the appearance of a delightful grove.

From this they soon emerged into an open and graceful country. A

wide plain was stretched before them, covered with the most enchanting

verdure. Graceful trees sprang out of the earth bearing delicious

fruits of a perfect transparency; others rose to a great height,

casting down their branches laden with white blossoms, and dark flourishing

leaves. Crystal fountains, that fell with a murmuring noise, were

seen glittering through bowers of roses and tall lilies. The melody

of a thousand birds was heard from groves of myrtle and laurel which

bordered a river whose waters glided through the plain. Arching rocks

of diamond and amethyst, up which plants of immortal verdure crept,

sparkled in the light and lent variety to the lovely prospect. The

plain was bounded by hills, some of which rose majestically to the

heavens, covered with vines and pomegranates, while others only gently

swelled upon the sight, and then sank into calm and peaceful valleys.

Over all this scene hung an atmosphere of crystal clearness. Not

one fleecy cloud sullied the radiant sky; not one wreath of mist

floated over the brows of the distant mountains. The whole land lay

in stainless purity, arrayed in a robe of spiritual and unearthly

light.

When Ernest emerged from the wood, this view, bursting at once upon

his eyes, completely overpowered him. For a long time he stood speechless,

gazing intently upon it. His mind seemed to be elevated and enlarged

by the resplendency of the vision. All his senses were delighted:

his hearing by the combination of sweet sounds which poured upon

it, his sight by the harmonious blending of every colour and scene,

and his smell by the fragrant perfume of each flower which bloomed

in these everlasting fields. At length, in ecstatic admiration, he

hastened to thank his conductor for bringing him thither, but when

he turned the stranger had gone. The forest through which he came

had vanished also, and in its stead was a vast ocean whose extent

seemed altogether boundless. Ernest, now more than ever filled with

astonishment, remained for a while alternating between fear and wonder;

then, rousing himself, he uttered the name of his guide aloud. But

his voice was only answered by a faint echo. After this he walked

a considerable distance into the country without meeting with one

visible being either human or supernatural. In a few hours he had

traversed the plain and reached the acclivities which bordered it,

and then entered a wide and mountainous land totally different from

that which he had left. He wandered among the rocks heedless whither

he went until twilight fell, when he longed to return, but was entirely

unable to detect the way. No signs appeared of the plain he had quitted,

save that on the southern horizon a beautiful light lingered long

after sunset, and occasionally, as the wind rose, faint melodious

sounds were heard floating fitfully by.

After a while, when the night had closed in, Ernest came to the brow

of a lofty precipice. Overcome with fatigue he cast himself upon

the ground and began to gaze into the profound depth beneath him.

As he lay a deathlike stillness fell upon the earth. No voice was

heard in the gloomy region, the air was untracked by any wing. No

footstep crushed the desolate sands. Echo whispered not in the caverned

rocks, and even the winds seemed to have held their breath. At length

he perceived in the tremendous gulf a thick vapour slowly rising.

It gradually expanded, until the chasm was filled with a dense cloud

swaying to and fro as if moved by an invisible power. Then he heard

a dull hollow noise like water roaring in subterraneous caves. By

degrees the cloud rose and enlarged, sweeping round him till all

things vanished from his sight, and he found himself encircled by

its curling mist. Then he heard music; subdued and harmonious, resembling

the soft breathings of flutes and dulcimers. This was suddenly broken

by a flood of warlike melody rolling from golden trumpets and great

harps of silver, which now suddenly gleamed upon him as the curtain

of clouds rent and the whole scene was revealed. A pavement of sapphire

sparkled, from which flashes of radiant purple light proceeded, mingling

with the glory of an emerald dome that proudly arched a palace whose

pillars were the purest diamond. Vases of agate and porphyry sent

up wreaths of refined incense formed of the united fragrance of a

thousand flowers. Beings of immortal beauty and splendour stood in

shining ranks around a throne of ruby guarded by golden lions, and

sounds so sweet and enchanting swelled on his ear that Ernest, overwhelmed

with the too powerful magnificence, sank senseless on the bright

pavement. When he recovered from his swoon he found himself no longer

surrounded by the gorgeous splendour of the fairy palace, but reposing

in a wood whose branches were just moved by a fresh moaning wind.

The first sunbeams penetrating the green umbrage lighted up the dewdrops

which glistened on tender blades of grass, or trembled in the cups

of the wild flowers which bordered a little woodland well. When Ernest

opened his eyes he beheld standing close to him a man whom he presently

recognised to be his guide. He started up, and the stranger addressed

him as follows:

‘I am a fairy. You have been, and still are, in the land of fairies.

Some wonders you have seen; many more you shall see if you choose

to follow me still.’

Ernest consented. The fairy immediately stepped into the well, and

he felt compelled to do the same. They sank gradually downwards.

By degrees the water changed into mists and vapours; the forms of

clouds were dimly seen floating around. These increased until at

length they were wholly enveloped in their folds. In a short time

they seemed to land, and Ernest felt his feet resting on a solid

substance. Suddenly the clouds were dissipated, and he found himself

in a lovely and enchanting island encircled by a boundless expanse

of water. The trees in the island were beautiful: rose laurels and

flowering myrtles, creeping pomegranates, clematis and vines, intermixed

with majestic cypresses and groves of young elms and poplars. The

fairy led him to a natural bower of lofty trees whose thick branches

mingling above formed a shady retreat from the sun, which now glowed

in meridian splendour. This bower was on a green bank of the isle,

embroidered with every kind of sweet and refreshing flower. The sky

was perfectly free from clouds, but a milky haze softened the intense

brilliancy of the blue and gave a more unbroken calmness to the air.

The lake lay in glassy smoothness. From its depths arose a sound

of subdued music, a breath of harmony which just waved the blue

water-lilies lying among their dark green leaves upon its surface.

While Ernest reposed on the green turf and viewed this delightful

prospect, he saw a vision of beauty pass before him. First he heard

the melody of a horn, which seemed to come from dim mountains that

appeared to the east. It rose again nearer, and a majestic stag of

radiant whiteness, with branching and beaming golden horns, bounded

suddenly into sight, pursued by a train of fairies mounted upon

winged steeds, caparisoned so magnificently that rays of light shot

from them, and the whole air was illumined with their glory. They

flew across the lake swifter than wind. The water rose sparkling and

foaming about them, agitated and roaring as if by a storm. When they

had disappeared Ernest turned towards the fairy, who still continued

with him, and expressed his admiration of the beautiful scene which

had just vanished. The fairy replied that it was but a shadow compared

with the things infinitely more grand and magnificent which were still

reserved for him to behold. Ernest at these words replied that he felt

extremely impatient for the time to come when he might see them. His

conductor arose, and commanded Alembert to follow. This he did, and

they proceeded to enter a dark and thick wood which grew on the banks

of the island. They journeyed here for several miles, and at length

emerged into an open glade of the forest, where was a rock formed

like a small temple, on the summit of which, covered with grass and

various kinds of flowers, grew several young poplars and other trees.

This curious edifice the fairy entered alone. After remaining some

time he reappeared, and approaching Ernest bade him look up. Alembert

instantly complied, and, as he did so, beheld a chariot, which shone

as the clouds that the sun glorifies at his setting, descending from

the skies. It was drawn by two swans, larger than the fabulous roc,

whose magnificent necks, arched like a rainbow, were surrounded by a

bright halo reflected from the intense radiancy and whiteness of their

plumage. Their expanded wings lightened the earth under them, and, as

they drew nearer, their insufferable splendour so dazzled the senses of

Ernest that he sank in a state of utter exhaustion to the ground.

His conductor then touched him with a small silver wand, and immediately

a strange stupor came ever him, which in a few minutes rendered him

perfectly insensible. When he awoke from this swoon he found himself

in an exceedingly wide and lofty apartment, whose vast walls were

formed of black marble. Its huge gloomy dome was illumined by pale

lamps that glimmered like stars through a curtain of clouds. Only

one window was visible, and that, of an immense size, and arched

like those of an ancient Gothic cathedral, was veiled by ample black

drapery. In the midst arose a colossal statue, whose lifted hands

were clasped in strong supplication, and whose upraised eyes and

fixed features betokened excessive anguish. It was rendered distinctly

visible by the light of the tapers which burned around. As Ernest

gazed on this mysterious room he felt a sensation of extreme awe,

such as he had never before experienced. He knew that he was in a

world of spirits. The scene before him appeared like a dim dream.

Nothing was clear, for a visionary mist hovered over all things,

that imparted a sense of impenetrable obscurity to his mental as

well as his bodily eyesight.

After continuing awhile in this state, amidst the most profound silence,

he heard the sweet soft tones of an æolian harp stealing through

the tall pillared arches. The subdued melody rose and filled the

air with mournful music as the wind began to moan around the dome.

By degrees these sounds sank to rest, and the deathly stillness returned

with a more chilling and oppressive power. It continued for a long

period until its unbroken solemnity became supernatural and insupportable.

Ernest struck the ground with his foot, but the blow produced no

sound. He strove to speak, but his voice gave forth no utterance.

At that instant a crashing peal of thunder burst. The wild air roared

round the mighty building, which shook and trembled to its centre.

Then, as the wind arose, the music swelled again, mingling its majestic

floods of sound with the thunder that now pealed unceasingly. The

unearthly tones that rolled along the blast exceeded everything that

any mortal had heard before, and Ernest was nigh overwhelmed by the

awe which their weird majesty inspired.

Suddenly the fairy who had been his guide appeared, and approaching

the window beckoned him to come near. Ernest obeyed, and on looking

out his eyes were bewildered by the scene which presented itself

to his view. Nothing was visible beneath but billowy clouds, black

as midnight, rolling around a tower a thousand feet in height, on

whose terrible summit he stood. Long he gazed intently on the wild

vapours tossed to and fro like waves in a storm. At times they lay

in dense gloom and darkness, then globes or flashes of fire illumined

them with sudden light.

At length the thunder and the wind ceased, the clouds slowly dispersed,

and a growing brightness shone upon them. Beyond the horizon, through

the dismal piles of mist fast fading away, a fair vision gleamed

which filled Alembert: with wonder and delight. A beautiful city

appeared, whose lovely hues charmed the eye with their mild attractive

splendour. Its palaces, arches, pillars, and temples all smiled in

their own gentle radiance, and a clear wide stream (transformed by

the distance into a silver thread) which circled its crystal walls

was spanned by a bright rainbow, through whose arch it flowed into

a broad, expanse of green hills, woods, and valleys, enamelled by

a thousand flowers that sent up their united fragrance so high that

even the atmosphere around the summit of the lofty tower was faintly

perfumed by it.

‘That city,’ said the guide, ‘is the abode of our fairy king, whose

palace you may see rising above those long groves near the southern

gates.’

Ernest looked in the direction indicated, but beheld only a star

of light, for the palace was formed of certain materials too brilliant

for any but the eyes of fairies to behold. He continued some time

at the window, until the prospect beneath, as twilight shed her dim

influence over it, began to fade. Slowly the stars looked forth one

by one from the sky’s deepening azure, and the full moon as she ascended

the east gradually paled the bright orange-dye which glowed in the

western heavens. The murmur of the aerial city died away. Only at

intervals was heard the voice of the giant harp breaking the stillness

of eventide, and its wild mournful melody as it floated on the balmy

breeze served but to enhance the calm, sacred, and mysterious feeling

of that peaceful hour.

‘We must now depart,’ said the fairy, turning suddenly to Alembert,

and at the same instant the latter found himself upon the very summit

of the tower. His conductor then, without warning, pushed him from

the dizzy eminence into the void beneath.

Ernest gave a loud shriek of terror, but his fear was instantly dispelled

by a delightful sensation which followed. He seemed to sink gently

and slowly downwards, borne on a soft gale which now fanned his cheek,

and guided by invisible beings who appeared to check the velocity

of his fall, and to moderate his descent into a quiet and easy transition

to the regions of the earth.

After a while he alighted in the fairy city, still attended by his

conductor. They proceeded along a magnificent street, paved with

the rarest gems, gorgeously sparkling in the moonlight, until they

arrived at a majestic palace of lapis lazuli whose golden gates rolled

back at their approach, and admitted them to a wide hall floored

with the purest alabaster, richly carved and figured, and lighted

by silver lamps perfumed with the most costly odours.

Ernest was now grown weary, and the fairy led him into another apartment

more beautiful than the first. Here was a splendid couch overhung

by a canopy adorned with emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, and rubies,

whose excessive brilliancy illuminated all the room. On this couch

Alembert flung himself joyfully down to rest. In a few moments a

profound slumber closed his eyelids, and his sleep continued undisturbed

until break of day, when he was awakened by the sweet singing of

birds. He arose, and on looking forth from his casement beheld an

immense garden filled with the sweetest flowers, and with rare plants

unknown among mortals. Long rows of lofty trees, bearing fruit that

sparkled like precious stones, shaded green walks strewn with fallen

blossoms. On their fresh verdant branches sat innumerable birds,

clothed in rich and resplendent plumage, who filled the air with

delightful and harmonious warbling.

Ernest was astonished at beholding no appearance of the city, but

continued for some time listening to the enchanting music of the

birds, enjoying the fragrant perfume of the blossoms, and the dark

grandeur of the majestic trees that surrounded him. This contemplation

was at length interrupted by his conductor, who now appeared in the

apartment. Without speaking, his guide led him from the chamber,

and when they reached the open air bade him by a sign to look around.

Ernest obeyed, and in place of the palace he saw a high bower formed

of trees whose flowers were more lovely than the finest roses, and

sweeter than lilies or camellias. The prospect then suddenly changed,

and a deep glen, embosomed in hills whose sides were wooded and

rock-strewn, took the place of the garden. A deep, clear-watered river

flowed past them. Into this the fairy plunged, and Ernest, forced by

an overmastering spell, followed him. For a long time they sank slowly

down and nought was visible save the waters that swallowed them.

At length, leagues beneath, a new realm dawned upon Ernest’s astonished

sight. Their speed now accelerated, and soon they arrived at the

abode of a fairy king. The palace was brilliant as a liquid diamond.

A great fountain rushing upwards from the earth parted into a thousand

arches and pillars, through whose transparent surfaces appeared a

quantity of emeralds, rubies, and other gems which the fountain continually

cast up. The palace roof was formed of the frozen spray that proceeded

like a vapour from the living arches ever in motion. This, congealed

into round lucid drops, assumed the appearance of a lofty dome, from

which descended other pillars of a larger size that seemed to support

it. Over the summit of the dome was suspended in the air a sun of

insufferable brightness, and from within gleamed a hundred stars

sparkling with supernatural splendour.

By reason of the translucent nature of the edifice the interior was

perfectly visible, and Ernest saw the fairy king seated on a glittering

and revolving throne. He was surrounded by attendants, one of whom

held a diamond cup filled with the honeydew of wild flowers. Others

played sweetly upon silver harps and lutes, or sang in more melodious

tones than the nightingale or skylark.

It would be impossible to relate all the marvellous adventures that

befel Alembert whilst he abode in the land of Faery. He saw their

midnight revels in many a wild glen, and witnessed how they feasted

in the greenwood beneath the solemn moon. He viewed their pleasures

and their pageants, and learned the spells by which they drew the

lonely traveller into their enchanted circlet. Often he watched their

sports by the ‘beached margin of the sea,’ and saw the rolling billows

rest calmly under the magic influence of their incantations. He heard

and felt the sweet witchery of their songs chanted at unearthly banquets,

and when the sound swelled until it reached the starlit sky the revolving

worlds arrested their mighty courses and stood still in the charmed

heavens to attend. But this life in time grew wearying and insupportable.

He longed once more to dwell among humankind, to hear again the language

of mortals, and to tread upon the old green grass-covered turf, under

the shade of the earthly trees he loved so well. At length the fairies

perceived that the yearning to return was filling the bosom of Alembert,

and that his heart was straining with the desire for home. This desire

they appreciated, for they knew well that no mortal born of mortals

could for long endure the light and fleeting glories of the land

of Fays. Thus it was that they determined to relinquish him, and

to bestow upon him the crown of his hopes. The following tells the

manner in which they gave fulfilment to his wish.

CHAPTER III

It was a fair and mild evening in the decline of summer, when all

the elfin courts assembled within a dell, one of those privileged

spots which the pinching frosts and snows of winter are unable to

deprive of their everlasting green array. The soft velvet turf served

them for seats, and the profusion of sweet flowers with which it

was embroidered shed around a refreshing perfume. The lily canopy

was raised, and the glittering table was covered with crystal goblets

brimming with nectarous dew. The song of a lark now hymning his vespers

in the cloud-wrapped dome was all their music, and as its tones fell

on the silent earth they diffused a holy calm on all. Before the

festival began a fairy rose and advanced towards Alembert, who reposed

on the ground a little apart. Approaching him, he presented him with

a goblet, and bade him drink the contents. Ernest obeyed, and scarcely

had he done so when a strange stupor seized him, which slowly overpowered

all his senses. In a short time he sank into a profound slumber.

When he recovered from his stupor he found himself at the entrance

to a wide green vale, bounded by high hills, whose sides were clothed

with pleasant woods, which descended to their feet, and here and

there advanced a considerable way into the valley. At intervals enormous

rocks were scattered, whose rugged and moss-grown forms added a touch

of romance to the delightful scene. Nor were there wanting pleasant

groves, whose cool green shades offered welcome shelter to the toiling

and travel-wearied pilgrim. It was sunset, and not one purple cloud

was visible in all the radiant sky. The west swam in an ocean of

golden light that bathed the heavens in glory, and poured its reflected

splendour over half the world. Eastward a long line of sober red

appeared, gradually growing softer and paler towards the point of

sunrise. Above, all was a clear bright silvery blue, deepening at

the zenith, and faintly tinged with grey as it receded from the gorgeous

west. Beneath this sky the earth glowed with tints whose warm and

mellow richness could not have been surpassed by the loveliest scenes

in Italy. Hills, rocks, and trees shone invested in a lustrous halo

of beauty. The vale flowed with light, and a hundred flowers stirred

among their leaves as the sun shed its last beams over them. Long

Ernest lingered, gazing entranced upon the sight. He knew that this

was no delusive vision, and that no mystery hung upon its spell.

As he stood a sound stole past him like the music of a harp. He trembled,

fearing he was still held in the power of supernatural beings. The

sound swelled, and, gathering in volume, swept solemnly down the

wild glen, awakening low sweet echoes among the frowning rocks which

specked the lovely woods in which It was embosomed.

Soon, however, Ernest’s fear was dissipated, for he heard the music

accompanied by a human voice. He moved forward a step or two, and

then bent eagerly towards the spot whence the tones issued, striving

to catch the burthen of the uttered tones. This at length he did,

and this is the song that fell upon his ears:—

Proudly the sun has sunk to rest

Behind yon dim and distant hill;

The busy noise of day has ceased,

A holy calm the air doth fill.

That softening haze which veils the light

Of sunset in the gorgeous sky,

Is dusk, grey harbinger of night,

Now gliding onward silently.

No sound rings through the solemn vale

Save murmurs of those tall dark trees,

Which raise eternally their wail,

Bending beneath the twilight breeze.

And my harp peals the woods among

When vesper lifts its quiet eye,

Commingling with each night-bird’s song

That chants its vigils pensively.

And here I sit, until night’s noon

Hath gemmed the heavens with many a star,

And sing beneath the wandering moon

Who comes, high journeying, from afar.

Oh! sweet to me is that still hour

When frown the shades of night around,

Deepening the gloom of forest bower;

Filling the air with awe profound.

I hush my harp, and hush my song,

Low kneeling ’neath the lofty sky,

I hark the nightingale prolong

Her strain of wondrous melody,

Forth gushing like a mountain rill,

So rich, so deep, so clear and free;

She pours it forth o’er dale and hill,

O’er rock and river, lake and tree,

Till morn comes, and, with rosy hand,

Unbars the golden gates of day;

Then, as at touch of magic wand,

The earth is clad in fair array.

Then from its couch the skylark springs;

The trembling drops of glittering dew

Are scattered, as with vigorous wings

It mounts the glorious arch of blue.

Before the strain ceased the hues of sunset had begun to fade away,

yet sufficient light remained for Ernest to perceive a man of ancient

and venerable aspect seated at the mouth of a deep cavern, under

the shade of an immense oak, whose massive limbs and dense foliage

stood in dark relief against the sky. Every leaf and twig was dimly

pencilled on the silvery blue, the outline of the trunk and larger

branches alone being clearly visible. The stranger was clad in a

long white robe and dark mantle which partly enveloped his person,

and then, falling downwards, swept the ground in picturesque and

magnificent folds. His robe was confined by a black girdle, down

to which his snowy beard flowed in profusion, and formed a fine contrast

to his mantle and belt. His right hand rested upon a harp, whose

chords he now and then swept with his left, causing a few sweet transitory

notes to issue therefrom, which rose and swelled in an uncertain

cadence and then died away in the distance. As Ernest approached,

the harper raised his head, and demanded his name. When Alembert

had answered this question to the old man’s satisfaction, he requested

permission to seat himself beside him for a few moments that he might

rest. The harper instantly complied, and after a short pause asked

him whence he came, and whither he went, and the reason of his being

in so unfrequented and lonely a spot at such an unaccustomed hour.

Ernest in reply related the whole of his adventures, and by the time

he had completed their recital night had closed in, and the moon

had risen. His host now arose and invited him to lodge for that night

within his cave. Alembert gladly consented, and together they proceeded

to enter. When they were seated at their frugal supper of fruits

and herbs, Ernest in his turn begged the old man to recount the

circumstances of his own life. To this request he gave a ready assent,

and proceeded to unfold the following story:—

‘You have told me that your latter years have been spent among fairies.

I likewise abode for a time with supernatural beings, but theirs

was a less gentle nature than those whom you have described. When

yet: very young I became embued with the spirit of adventure, and

determined to go out and seek my fortune in the world. The quarter

of the globe which I fixed upon as the first scene of my wanderings

was Asia, and accordingly I embarked myself on board a ship bound

for Odessa. In a few days we set sail, and after a prosperous voyage

arrived at that part of the Russian dominions. From thence I proceeded

to Tcherkask, where I halted a few days, and then went on to Good-Gard,

a mountain in the Caucasus. Here I decided to venture upon crossing

that stupendous range alone. Upon communicating my intentions to

some of the natives, they solemnly warned me against such an enterprise,

assuring me that many powerful genii held their courts among the

snows of Elbruz and Kasbec. These words I disregarded, and as soon

as extreme fatigue would permit me I began to ascend the Good-Gard

road. With great difficulty I proceeded along this road for several

days, until I reached the towering Elbruz. During the whole of my

journey this mountain had been partly hidden from me by the minor

hills that surrounded it, but upon emerging from a gorge in the last

of these a full view of its tremendous magnitude burst upon my sight.

It was a fair and sunny afternoon in autumn when I first beheld the

sublime vision. The mountain was separated from me only by a lovely

green valley, through which a branch of the Aragua [2] wound its

silent course. Never shall I forget that inspiring scene. The mountain

towered before me, the grandeur of its radiant summit majestically

cleaving the skies; its yawning abysses and clefts sufficiently wide

to engulf a city; and its immovable aspect firm as if its base were

fixed beyond the seas. As I gazed, suddenly the mountain trembled,

the top rent asunder, and a huge grim spirit rose from the horrible

chasm thus produced. He raised his head to heaven, and uttered a

cry which shook all Georgia. At this mystic appearance I sank to

the ground insensible. When I recovered from my swoon I found myself

in a vast cave, illuminated only by an opening at the top, through

which one ray of light streamed in. On looking round I perceived

an iron door fitted in the side of the cave. This, with much difficulty,

I opened, and found beyond a narrow passage tending downwards. I

entered, and continued for several hours to follow whither it led.

At length I heard in the distance a dull noise like the roaring of

the sea, and after a while found myself borne upon the bosom of a

rushing wave. I was hurried through the waters without fear or injury,

whilst strange and ghastly scenes saluted my wondering eyes. Anon

I was walking at the bottom of the ocean. A thousand huge monsters

lay there, glaring with fixed and solemn eyes through the tenebrous

gloom. I saw the kraken with its hundred arms, the great whale, the

sea bear, and others unknown to dwellers upon the earth. Voiceless

they glided through the regions of eternal silence, and the black

billows broke far above them in the midst of loneliness and solitude.

Unutterable were the feelings with which I viewed the foundation

of the everlasting hills, and beheld the trackless pathways of the

unfathomed sea. Lustrous gems glittered on every side; groves of

coral begirt each rock; myriads of pearls gleamed constantly around;

and the loveliest shells shone below me, to be crushed at each movement

of my feet. Slowly I advanced until I espied a cavern, which opened

before me. This I entered. Instantly a wave rose behind me and swept

me swiftly down an abyss which led beneath the arches of a magnificent

palace, larger and grander than any that can be boasted of in the

lands which rise above the ocean’s surface. There I saw, coiled in

his own vast halls, that mystic snake known among ancient Scalds

by the name of Jormandugar. He it is who holds the earth girdled

in his toils. For many days I sojourned here, and beheld sights of

which no mortal tongue can tell. After a season: I returned to the

cave in Elbruz, whence I was taken by the spirit who had brought

me thither. Since then I have wandered in many regions of the earth,

mingled with the peoples of many lands, and seen the myriad wonders

of the world. At length, compelled by age, I have retired to this

valley, where I have now dwelt in happiness and peace for twenty

years.’

2 ‘Lines to the River Aragua’ is the title of a poem by Charlotte

Brontë which is mentioned by Mrs. Gaskell in _The Life of Charlotte

Brontë_, 1857, vol. i. p. 94.—C. W. H.

Here the old man ended his recital. Ernest thanked him for his narrative,

adding that he likewise longed to spend the remainder of his days

in that same lovely glen. The old man approved of his design, and

for many years they two dwelt together in perfect harmony, tranquillity,

and peace.

C. BRONTË,

_May 25th_, 1830.

ALBION AND MARINA

THIS is Charlotte Brontë’s first love story. It was printed by permission

of Mr. Clement Shorter, the owner of the copyright of all the unpublished

Brontë manuscripts, in the Brontë Society Publications, Part xxx.,

1920, and is now reprinted for the first time.

C. W. H.

ALBION AND

MARINA

A

TALE BY

LORD

WELLESLEY

PRINCIPAL PART POSSESSING FACT

FOR ITS FOUNDATION.

PUBLISHED

AND SOLD BY SERGEANT

TREE

AND ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS IN THE CHIEF GLASS TOWN,

PARIS, &C.

PREFACE

I HAVE written this tale out of malignity for the injuries that have

lately been offered to me. Many parts, especially the former, were

composed under a mysterious influence that I cannot account for.

My reader will easily recognise the characters through the thin veil

which I have thrown over them. I have considerably flattered Lady

Zelvia Ellrington. She is not nearly so handsome as I have represented

her, and she strove far more vigorously to oust some one from another

person’s good graces than I say. But her endeavours failed. Albion

has hitherto stood firm. What he will do I cannot even pretend to

guess; but I think that Marina’s incomparable superiority will prevail

over her Frenchified rival, who, as all the world knows, is a miller,

jockey, talker, blue-stocking, charioteer, and beldam united in one…

The conclusion is wholly destitute of any foundation in truth, and

I did it out of revenge. Albion and Marina are both alive and well

for aught I know.

One thing, however, will certainly break my heart, and that is the

admission of any scandal against Tree (the publisher); but I hope

my readers will pardon me for it, as I promise to make amends with

usury the next time I write a book.

C. WELLESLEY,

_October 12th_, 1880.

I wrote this in four hours.—C. B.

CHAPTER I

ALBION

THERE is a certain sweet little pastoral village in the south of

England with which I am better acquainted than most men. The scenery

around it possesses no distinguishing characteristic of romantic

grandeur or wildness that might figure to advantage in a novel, to

which high title this brief narrative sets up no pretensions.

Neither rugged lofty rocks, nor mountains dimly huge, mark with frowns

the undisturbed face of nature; but little peaceful valleys, low

hills crowned with wood, murmuring cascades and streamlets, richly

cultivated fields, farmhouses, cottages, and a wide river, form all

the scenic features. And every hamlet has one or more great men.

This had one and he was ‘na sheep-shanks.’

Every ear in the world had heard of his fame, and every tongue could

bear testimony to it. I shall name him the Duke of Strathelleraye,

and by that name the village was likewise denominated.

For more than thirty miles around every inch of ground belonged to

him and every man was his retainer.

The magnificent villa, or rather palace, of this noble, stood on

an eminence, surrounded by a vast park and the embowering shade of

an ancient wood, proudly seeming to claim the allegiance of all the

countryside.

The mind, achievements, and character of its great possessor, must

not, _can_ not, be depicted by a pen so feeble as mine; for though

I could call filial love and devoted admiration to my aid, yet both

would be utterly ineffective.

Though the duke seldom himself came among his attached vassals, being

detained elsewhere by important avocations, yet his lady the duchess

resided in the castle constantly. Of her I can only say that she

was like an earthly angel. Her mind was composed of charity, beneficence,

gentleness, and sweetness. All, both old and young, loved her; and

the blessings of those that were ready to perish came upon her evermore.

His Grace had also two sons, who often visited Strathelleraye.

Of the youngest, Lord Cornelius, everything is said when I inform

the reader that he was seventeen years of age, grave, sententious,

stoical, rather haughty and sarcastic, of a fine countenance though

somewhat swarthy; that he had long thick hair black as the hoody’s

wing; and liked nothing so well as to sit in moody silence musing

over the vanity of human affairs, or improving and expanding his

mind by the abstruse study of the higher branches of mathematics,

and that sublime science astronomy.

The eldest son, Albion, Marquis of Tagus, is the hero of my present

tale. He had entered his nineteenth year; his stature was lofty;

his form equal in the magnificence of its proportions to that of

Apollo Belvedere. The bright wealth and curls of his rich brown hair

waved over a forehead of the purest marble in the placidity of its

unveined whiteness. His nose and mouth were cast in the most perfect

mould. But saw I never anything to equal his eye! Oh! I could have

stood riveted with the chains of admiration gazing for hours upon

it! What clearness, depth, and lucid transparency in those large

orbs of radiant brown! And the fascination of his smile was irresistible,

though seldom did that sunshine of the mind break through the thoughtful

and almost melancholy expression of his noble features. He was a

soldier, captain in the Royal Regiment of Horse Guards, and all his

attitudes and actions were full of martial grace. His mental faculties

were in exact keeping with such an exterior, being of the highest

order; and though not like his younger brother, wholly given up to

study, yet he was well versed in the ancient languages, and deeply

read in the Greek and Roman classics, in addition to the best works

in the British, German, and Italian tongues.

Such was my hero. The only blot I was ever able to discover in his

character was that of a slight fierceness or impetuosity of temper

which sometimes carried him beyond bounds, though at the slightest

look or word of command from his father he instantly bridled his

passion and became perfectly calm.

No wonder the duke should be, as he was, proud of such a son.