{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_73858/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_73858","id":"gutenberg_73858","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73858","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Science-Fiction & Fantasy","English fiction -- 19th century","Short stories, English"],"text":"THE TWELVE ADVENTURERS\n    AND OTHER STORIES\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Note:\n\nEvery attempt has been made to preserve the original formatting,\nalong with inconsistent spelling, hyphenation, and italicization.\nHowever, footnotes have been changed to endnotes or renumbered and\nmoved closer to their anchor, and some obvious typographical errors\nhave been corrected; see the Errata for a complete list.\n\nNew original cover art, which features a pencil drawing by Charlotte\nBront\u00eb of an unknown woman, included with this eBook is granted to\nthe public domain.\n\n\n\n\n    _The Twelve Adventurers\n    and Other Stories \u2766 \u2766 \u2766\n\n    By CHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb\n\n    Hodder and Stoughton\n    Limited London_\n\n    Made and Printed in Great Britain\n    T. and A. CONSTABLE LTD., Printers, Edinburgh\n\n\n\n\nNOTE\n\nIT would be quite easy to maintain that these twelve fragments which\ncome to us from the childhood of Charlotte Bront\u00eb should not be perpetuated\nfor the public in the printed page. They were written between the\nages of twelve and twenty-one, and it was certainly never for a moment\ncontemplated by the author that they would ever see the light. They\nwere handed to me in a little house in Banagher in Ireland, nearly\nthirty years ago, by the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls, the husband of\nCharlotte Bront\u00eb, who in a letter before me explains that they would\nhave been burnt had I not come upon the scene. The ever-increasing\nfame of Charlotte Bront\u00eb in the intervening years has gone on side\nby side with an immense literature devoted to child psychology. It\nis as a contribution to that science that I have been frequently\nexhorted to publish them. A natural indolence would have prevented\nthis had not my friend, Mr. C. W. Hatfield, come to the rescue by\ndiligently transcribing the minute handwriting and preparing the\nvolume with certain useful notes for publication.\n\nCLEMENT SHORTER.\n\n_August_ 1925.\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n    *THE TWELVE ADVENTURERS  .  .  .  .  .   1\n    AN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND  .  .  .  .  .  19\n    *THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS .  .  .  .  25\n    THE ADVENTURES OF ERNEST ALEMBERT .  .  45\n    ALBION AND MARINA  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  75\n    *THE RIVALS  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  95\n    THE FAIRY GIFT  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 105\n    *LOVE AND JEALOUSY .  .  .  .  .  .  . 121\n    *NAPOLEON AND THE SPECTRE   .  .  .  . 137\n    *THE TRAGEDY AND THE ESSAY  .  .  .  . 145\n    *A PEEP INTO A PICTURE BOOK .  .  .  . 161\n    *MINA LAURY\u2014I   .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 181\n    *MINA LAURY\u2014II  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 193\n\n_The stories marked with an asterisk (*) are now published for the\nfirst time._\n\n\n\n    I AM alone; it is the dead of night;\n        I am not gone to rest, because my mind\n    Is too much raised for sleep. The silent light\n        Of the dim taper streams its unseen wind,\n    And quite as voiceless, on the hearth, burns bright\n        The ruddy ember: now no ear can find\n    A sound, however faint, to break the lull\n    Of which the shadowy realm of dreams is full.\n    CHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWELVE ADVENTURERS\n\n\u2018THE Twelve Adventurers\u2019 is the first of two stories in the earliest\nof Charlotte Bront\u00eb\u2019s manuscripts, and was written by her when she\nwas only twelve years of age.\n\nHer early admiration for the hero of the story, the \u2018Great Duke,\u2019\nwas first noted by Mrs. Gaskell in _The Life of Charlotte Bront\u00eb_,\n1857, vol. i. p. 94, where she says:\n\n    All that related to him (the Duke of Wellington) belonged to\n    the heroic age. Did Charlotte want a knight-errant, or a\n    devoted lover, the Marquis of Douro, or Lord Charles Wellesley,\n    came ready to her hand. There is hardly one of her prose\n    writings at this time in which\u2026their \u2018august father\u2019 does\n    not appear as a sort of Jupiter Tonans, or Deus ex Machin\u00e2.\n\nThe country \u2018discovered\u2019 by the twelve adventurers became the scene\nof nearly all the stories written by Charlotte Bront\u00eb during the\nfollowing eleven years. Originally named \u2018The Country of the Genii,\u2019\nthe fairies deserted it after Charlotte\u2019s school-days at Roe Head\n(1831-1832), and the country was re-named \u2018The Kingdom of Angria.\u2019\nThe \u2018great city\u2019 became \u2018The Glass Town\u2019 or \u2018Verreopolis,\u2019 which\nwas afterwards changed to \u2018Verdopolis,\u2019 the chief city of Angria.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE COUNTRY OF THE GENII\n\nTHERE is a tradition that some thousands of years ago twelve men\nfrom Britain, of a most gigantic size, and twelve men from Gaul,\ncame over to the country of the genii, and while here were continually\nat war with each other; and, after remaining many years, returned\nagain to Britain and Gaul. In the inhabited parts of the genii countries\nthere are now no vestiges of them, though it is said there have been\nfound some colossal skeletons in that wild, barren sand, the evil\ndesert.\n\nI have read a book called _The Travels of Captain Parnell_, out of\nwhich the following is an extract:\n\n    About four in the afternoon I saw a dark red cloud arise\n    in the east, which gradually grew larger till it covered the\n    whole sky. As the cloud spread the wind rose and blew a\n    tremendous hurricane. The sand of the desert began to\n    move and rolled like the waves of the sea. As soon as I saw\n    this I threw myself on my face and stopped my breath, for\n    I knew that this was a tornado or whirlwind. I remained\n    in this situation for three minutes; at the end of that time\n    I ventured to look up. The whirlwind had passed over and\n    had not hurt me, but close by lay my poor camel quite dead.\n    At this sight I could not forbear weeping; but my attention\n    was soon diverted by another object. About one\n    hundred yards further off lay an immense skeleton. I\n    immediately ran up to it and examined it closely. While\n    I was gazing at the long ghastly figure which lay stretched\n    upon the sand before me the thought came into my mind\n    that it might be the skeleton of one of those ancient Britons\n    who, tradition tells us, came from their own country to this\n    evil land, and here miserably perished. While I was pursuing\n    this train of meditation, I observed that it was bound\n    with a long chain of rusty iron. Suddenly the iron clanked\n    and the bones strove to rise, but a huge mountain of sand\n    overwhelmed the skeleton with a tremendous crash, and\n    when the dust which had hid the sun and enveloped everything\n    in darkness cleared away, not a mark could be distinguished to\n    show the future traveller where the bones\n    had lain.\n\nNow, if this account be true\u2014and I see no reason why we should suppose\nit is not\u2014I think we may fairly conclude that these skeletons are\nevil genii chained in these deserts by the fairy Maimoune.[1]\n\n1 Maimoune, a fairy, daughter of Damriel, King or head of a legion\nof genies.\u2014_Arabian Nights Entertainments_.\u2014C. W. H.\n\nThere are several other traditions, but they are all so obscure that\nno reliance is to be placed on them.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE VOYAGE OF DISCOVERY\n\nIn the year 1798 the _Invincible_, 74 guns, set sail with a fair\nwind from England; her crew, twelve men, every one healthy and stout\nand in the best temper. Their names were as follows:\u2014\n\n    Marcus O\u2019Donell,\n    Ferdinand Cortez,\n    Felix de Rothsay,\n    Eugene Cameron,\n    Harold FitzGeorge,\n    Henry Clinton,\n    Francis Stewart,\n    Ronald Tragnain,\n    Ernest Fortescue,\n    Gustavus Dumally,\n    Frederick Brunswick\n    (Duke of York), and\n    Arthur Wellesley.\n\nWell, as I said before, we set sail with a fair wind from England\non the 1st of March 1798. On the 15th we came in sight of Spain.\nOn the 16th we landed, bought a supply of provisions, and set sail\nagain on the 20th. On the 25th, about noon, Henry Clinton, who was\nin the shrouds, cried out that he saw the Oxeye.\n\nIn a minute we were all on deck and gazing eagerly and fearfully\ntowards the mountain over which we saw hanging in the sky the ominous\nspeck. Instantly the sails were furled, the ship tacked about, and\nthe boat was made ready for launching in our last extremity.\n\nThus having made everything ready, we retired to the cabin, and every\none looked as sheepish as possible and noway inclined to meet our\nfate like men. Some of us began to cry; but we waited a long time\nand heard no sound of the wind, and the cloud did not increase in\nsize.\n\nAt last Marcus O\u2019Donell exclaimed: \u2018I wish it would either go backward\nor forward.\u2019\n\nAt this Stewart reproved him, and Ferdinand gave him a box on the\near. O\u2019Donell returned the compliment; but just then we heard the\nsound of the wind, and Ronald shouted out:\n\n\u2018The cloud is as big as me!\u2019\n\nBrunswick pulled Ronald away from the window, and ordered him to\nhold his tongue. Ronald said he would not and began to sing. Felix\nde Rothsay put his hand over Ronald\u2019s mouth. Harold FitzGeorge got\nRothsay behind the throat. Ernest Fortescue held his fist in O\u2019Donell\u2019s\nface, and Marcus floored Ernest. Cameron kicked Clinton to the other\nend of the cabin; and Stewart shouted so loud for them to be quiet\nthat he made the greatest noise of any.\n\nBut suddenly they were all silenced by a fierce flash of lightning\nand a loud peal of thunder. The wind rose and the planks of our ship\ncracked. Another flash of lightning, brighter and more terrible than\nthe first, split our mainmast and carried away our foretop-sail;\nand now the flashes of lightning grew terrific and the thunder roared\ntremendously. The rain poured down in torrents, and the gusts of\nwind were most loud and terrible. The hearts of the stoutest men\nin our company now quailed, and even the chief doctor was afraid.\n\nAt last the storm ceased, but we found it had driven us-quite out\nof our course, and we knew not where we were.\n\nOn the 30th, Gustavus Dumally who was on deck cried out: \u2018LAND!\u2019\n\nAt this we were all extremely rejoiced. On the 31st we reached it,\nand found it was the island of Trinidad.\n\nWe refitted our ship and got in a store of provisions and water,\nand set sail once more on the 5th of May. It would be endless to\ndescribe all our adventures in the South Atlantic Ocean. Suffice\nit to say that after many storms, in which we were driven quite out\nof our course and knew not in what part of the world we were, we\nat last discovered land.\n\nWe sailed along the coast for some time to find a good landing-place.\nWe at last found one.\n\nWe landed on the 2nd of June 1793. We moored our battered ship in\na small harbour and advanced up into the country. To our great surprise\nwe found it cultivated. Grain of a peculiar sort grew in great abundance,\nand there were large plantations of palm-trees, and likewise an immense\nnumber of almond-trees. There were also many olives and large enclosures\nof rice.\n\nWe were greatly surprised at these marks of the land being inhabited.\nIt seemed to be part of an immense continent.\n\nAfter we had travelled about two miles we saw at a distance twenty\nmen well armed. We immediately prepared for battle, having each of\nus a pistol, sword, and bayonet. We stood still and they came near.\nThey seemed greatly surprised at us, and we heard one of them say:\n\u2018What strange people!\u2019\n\nThe Chief then said: \u2018Who are you?\u2019\n\nWellesley answered: \u2018We were cast up on your shores by a storm and\nrequire shelter.\u2019\n\nThey said: \u2018You shall not have any.\u2019\n\n\u2018We will take it, then!\u2019\n\nWe prepared for battle; they did the same.\n\nIt was a very fierce encounter, but we conquered: killed ten, took\nthe Chief prisoner, wounded five, and the remaining four retreated.\u2019\n\nThe Chief was quite black and very tall; he had a fine countenance\nand the finest eyes I ever saw. We asked him what his name was, but\nhe would not speak. We asked him the name of his country, and he\nsaid: \u2018Ashantee.\u2019\n\nNext morning a party of twelve men came to our tents bringing with\nthem a ransom for their Chief, and likewise a proposition of peace\nfrom their King. This we accepted, as it was on terms most advantageous\nto ourselves.\n\nImmediately after the treaty of peace was concluded we set about\nbuilding a city. The situation was in the middle of a large plain,\nbounded on the north by high mountains, on the south by the sea,\non the east by gloomy forests, and on the west by evil deserts.\n\nAbout a month after we had begun our city the following adventure\nhappened to us:\u2014\n\nOne evening when all were assembled in the great tent, and most of\nus sitting round the fire which blazed in the middle, listening to\nthe storm which raged without, a dead silence prevailed. None of\nus felt inclined to speak, still less to laugh, and the wine-cups\nstood upon the round table filled to the brim. In the midst of this\nsilence we heard the sound of a trumpet which seemed to come from\nthe desert. The next moment a peal of thunder rolled through the\nsky, which seemed to shake the earth to its centre.\n\nBy this time we were all on our legs, and filled with terror, which\nwas changed to desperation by another blast of the terrible trumpet.\nWe all rushed out of the tent with a shout, not of courage, but fear;\nand then we saw a sight so terribly grand that even now when I think\nof it, at the distance of forty years from that dismal night, my\nlimbs tremble and my blood is chilled with fear. High up in the clouds\nwas a tall and terrible giant. In his right hand he held a trumpet;\nin his left two darts pointed with fire. On a thunder cloud which\nrolled before him his shield rested. On his forehead was written:\n\u2018The Genius of the Storm.\u2019 On he strode over the black clouds which\nrolled beneath his feet and regardless of the fierce lightning which\nflashed around him.\n\nThe hoarse voice of the storm was hushed, and a gentler light than\nthe fire of the elements spread itself over the face of the now cloudless\nsky. The calm moon shone forth in the midst of the firmament, and\nthe little stars seemed rejoicing in their brightness. The giant\nhad descended to the earth, and approaching the place where we stood\ntrembling he made three circles in the air with his flaming scimitar,\nand then lifted his hand to strike. Just then we heard a loud voice\nsaying: \u2018Genius, I command thee to forbear!\u2019\n\nWe looked round and saw a figure so tall that the Genius seemed to\nbe but a diminutive dwarf. It cast one joyful glance on us and disappeared.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nTHE DESERT\n\nThe building of our city went on prosperously. The Hall of Justice\nwas finished, the fortifications were completed, the Grand Inn was\nbegun, the Great Tower was ended.\n\nOne night when we were assembled in the Hall of Justice, Arthur Wellesley,\nat that time a common trumpeter, suddenly exclaimed, while we were\ntalking of our happiness:\n\n\u2018Does not the King of the Blacks view our prosperity with other eyes\nthan ours? Would not the best way be to send immediately to England,\ntell them of the new world we have discovered and of the riches that\nare in it; and do you not think they would send us an army?\u2019\n\nFrancis Stewart immediately rose and said: \u2018Young man, think before\nyou speak! How could we send to England? Who would be found hardy\nenough to traverse again the Atlantic? Do you not remember the storm\nwhich drove us on the shores of Trinidad?\u2019\n\nArthur Wellesley answered: \u2018It is with all due deference that I venture\nto contradict the opinions of older and more experienced men than\nI am; and it is after much consideration that I have ventured to\nsay what I have said. Well do I remember that storm which forced\nus to seek refuge amongst foreigners. I am not so rash as to suppose\nthat we of ourselves could cross the ocean on the damaged and leaky\nvessel we possess, or that we could build another in time to avert\nthe danger which I fear is coming. But in what a short time have\nwe built the city we are now in! How long has it taken to rear the\nGrand Hall where we now are? Have not those marble pillars and that\nsolemn dome been built by supernatural power? If you view the city\nfrom this Gothic window and see the beams of the morn gilding the\nbattlements of the mighty towers, and the pillars of the splendid\npalaces which have been reared in a few months, can you doubt that\nmagic has been used in their construction?\u2019\n\nHere he paused. We were all convinced that the genii had helped us\nto build our town. He went on:\n\n\u2018Now, if the genii have built us our city, will they not likewise\nhelp us to call our countrymen to defend what they have built against\nthe assaults of the enemy?\u2019\n\nHe stopped again, for the roof shook and the hall was filled with\nsmoke. The ground opened, and we heard a voice saying:\n\n\u2018When the sun appears above the forests of the east be ye all on\nthe border of the evil desert, for if ye fail I will crush you to\natoms.\u2019\n\nThe voice ceased, the ground closed, and the smoke cleared away.\nThere was no time for us to consult; the desert lay ten miles off,\nand it was now midnight. We immediately set off with the Duke of\nYork at our head. We reached the desert about 4 A.M., and there we\nstopped. Far off to the east the long black line of gloomy forests\nskirted the horizon. To the north the Mountains of the Moon seemed\na misty girdle to the plain of Dahomey; to the south the ocean guarded\nthe coasts of Africa; before us to the west lay the desert.\n\nIn a few minutes we saw a dense vapour rise from the sands, which\ngradually collecting took the form of a Genius larger than any of\nthe giants. It advanced towards us and cried with a loud voice: \u2018Follow\nme!\u2019\n\nWe obeyed and entered the desert.\n\nAfter we had travelled a long time, about noon the Genius told us\nto look around. We were now about the middle of the desert. Nothing\nwas to be seen far or near but vast plains of sand under a burning\nsun and cloudless sky. We were dreadfully fatigued and begged the\nGenius to allow us to stop a little, but he immediately ordered us\nto proceed. We therefore began our march again and travelled a long\nway, till the sun went down and the pale moon was rising in the east.\nAlso a few stars might now be dimly seen, but still the sands were\nburning hot, and our feet were very much swollen.\n\nAt last the Genius ordered us to halt and lie down. We soon fell\nasleep. We had slept about an hour when the Genius awoke us and ordered\nus to proceed.\n\nThe moon had now risen and shone brightly in the midst of the sky\u2014brighter\nfar than it ever does in our country. The night-wind had somewhat\ncooled the sands of the desert, so that we walked with more ease\nthan before; but now a mist arose which covered the whole plain.\nThrough it we thought we could discern a dim light. We now likewise\nheard sounds of music at a great distance.\n\nAs the mist cleared away the light grew more distinct till it burst\nupon us in almost insufferable splendour. Out of the barren desert\narose a palace of diamonds, the pillars of which were ruby and emerald\nilluminated with lamps too bright to look upon. The Genius led us\ninto a hall of sapphire in which were thrones of gold. On the thrones\nsat the Princes of the Genii. In the midst of the hall hung a lamp\nlike the sun. Around it stood genii and fairies whose robes were\nof beaten gold sparkling with diamonds. As soon as their chiefs saw\nus they sprang up from their thrones, one of them seizing Arthur\nWellesley and exclaiming: \u2018This is the Duke of Wellington!\u2019\n\nArthur Wellesley asked her why she called him the Duke of Wellington.\n\nThe Genius answered: \u2018A prince will arise who shall be as a thorn\nin the side of England, and the desolator of Europe. Terrible shall\nbe the struggle between that chieftain and you! It will last many\nyears, and the conqueror shall gain eternal honour and glory. So\nlikewise shall the vanquished; and though he shall die in exile his\nname shall never be remembered by his countrymen but with feelings\nof enthusiasm. The renown of the victory shall reach the ends of\nthe earth; Kings and Emperors shall honour him; Europe shall rejoice\nin its deliverer; and though in his lifetime fools will envy him,\nhe shall overcome. At his death renown shall cover him, and his name\nshall be everlasting!\u2019\n\nWhen the Genius finished speaking we heard the sound of music far\noff, which drew nearer and nearer till it seemed within the hall.\nThen all the fairies and genii joined in one grand chorus which rose\nrolling to the mighty dome and pillars of the genii palace, and reached\namong the vaults and dungeons beneath; then gradually dying away\nit at last ceased entirely.\n\nAs the music went off the palace slowly disappeared, and we found\nourselves alone in the midst of the desert. The sun had just begun\nto enlighten the world, and the moon might be dimly seen; but all\nbelow there was sand as far as our eyes could reach. We knew not\nwhich way to go, and we were ready to faint with hunger; but on once\nmore looking round we saw lying on the sands some dates and palm-wine.\nOf this we made our breakfast, and then began again to think of our\njourney, when suddenly there appeared a beaten track in the desert,\nwhich we followed.\n\nAbout noon, when the sun was at its meridian, and we felt weary and\nfaint with the heat, a grove of palm-trees appeared in sight towards\nwhich we ran; and after we had rested awhile under its shade, and\nrefreshed ourselves with its fruit, we resumed our march; and that\nsame night to our inexpressible joy we entered the gates of our beautiful\ncity and slept beneath the shadow of its roofs.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nNEWS FROM HOME\n\nThe next morning we were awakened by the sound of trumpets and great\nwar-drums, and on looking towards the mountains we saw descending\nto the plain an immense army of Ashantees. We were all thrown into\nthe utmost consternation except Arthur Wellesley, who advised us\nto look to the great guns and man the walls, never doubting that\ngenii would come to our help if we ourselves could not beat them\noff by the help of the cannon and rockets.\n\nThis advice we immediately followed, while the Ashantees came on\nlike a torrent, sweeping everything, burning the palm-trees, and\nlaying waste the rice-fields.\n\nWhen they came up to the walls of our city they set up a terrible\nyell, the meaning of which was that we should be consumed from the\nface of the earth, and that our city should vanish away; for as it\ncame by magic it should go by the same. Our answer to this insolent\nspeech was a peal of thunder from the mouth of our cannon. Two fell\ndead, and the rest set off towards the mountains with amazing swiftness,\nfollowed by a triumphant shout from their conquerors.\n\nThey came back in the afternoon and in the most submissive terms\nasked for their dead. We granted their request, and in return they\nallowed us to witness the funeral.\n\nA few days after, on the 21st of September, Ronald, running into\nthe Halls of Justice where we all were, shouted out that there was\na ship from England. The Duke of York immediately sent Arthur Wellesley\nto ascertain the truth of this.\n\nWhen he arrived at the seashore he found all the crew, consisting\nof fifty men, had landed. He then examined the state of the ship,\nand found it was almost a complete wreck. He asked the men a few\nquestions and they seemed greatly surprised to find him here, and\nasked him how he contrived to live in such a country. He told them\nto follow him.\n\nWhen he brought them to the Halls of Justice, the Duke of York asked\nthem to relate their story. They cried: \u2018We were driven on your shore\nby a storm, and we request shelter.\u2019\n\nThe Duke of York answered: \u2018Fellow-Englishmen, we rejoice that you\nwere driven on our part of the coast, and you shall have shelter\nif we can give it.\u2019\n\nAccordingly they remained with us about a fortnight, for at the end\nof that time the genii had fitted out their ship again, when they\nset sail for England accompanied by Arthur Wellesley.\n\nFor about ten years after this we remained at war with the blacks,\nand then made peace; after which, for about ten years more, nothing\nhappened worth mentioning.\n\nOn the 16th of May 1816, a voice passed through the city saying:\n\u2018Set a watch on the tower which looks towards the south, for to-morrow\na conqueror shall enter your gates!\u2019\n\nThe Duke of York immediately despatched Henry Clinton to the highest\ntower in the city. About noon Clinton cried out:\n\n\u2018I see something at a great distance upon the Atlantic.\u2019\n\nWe all of us ran to the watch-tower, and on looking towards the ocean\nwe could discern a dark object upon the verge of the horizon which\nas it neared the shore we saw plainly was a fleet. At last it anchored\nand the men began to land.\n\nFirst came seventy-two regiments of horsemen, next, three of infantry,\nthen several high officers. The latter seemed to be the staff of\nsome great general; and last of all came the general himself, who\nhad the bearing of Arthur Wellesley.\n\nAfter he had marshalled the regiments he ordered them to march, and\nwe saw them enter the gates of the city. When they arrived at the\ntower they stopped, and we heard the general say:\n\n\u2018Hill, you may stop here with the army while I go to the Palace of\nJustice, as I suppose they are all there if they be yet in the land\nof the living. And, Beresford, you must come with me.\u2019\n\n\u2018No, no, we are here, Arthur, almost terrified out of our wits for\nfear you shall burn the tower and sack the city!\u2019 exclaimed the Duke\nof York as we descended from our hiding-place.\n\n\u2018What! Are you all here, and not one of you slain in battle or dead\nin the hospital?\u2019 said His Grace as he sprang from his war-horse\nand we shook hands with him two at a time. \u2018But come, my brave fellows,\nlet us go to the Grand Inn, and in Fernando Hall we will talk of\nwhat we have done and suffered since we last met.\u2019\n\n\u2018Please, your Grace, in what part of the town is the army to be quartered?\u2019\nsaid one of the staff.\n\n\u2018Oh, never you fear for the army, Murry; we are not amongst Spaniards.\nLet them follow me.\u2019\n\n\u2018The army is to follow His Grace the Duke of Wellington,\u2019 said Murry.\n\n\u2018His Grace the Duke of Wellington!\u2019 we all exclaimed at once in great\nsurprise.\n\n\u2018Yes,\u2014His Grace the Duke of Wellington,\u2019 said another of the staff.\n\u2018I don\u2019t know who you are, but he is one of the most noble generals,\nthe conqueror of Bonaparte and the deliverer of Europe.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then the genii don\u2019t always tell lies,\u2019 said Marcus; \u2018and I\u2019m very\nglad of it, for I always thought, Duke, you would return to us with\nmore glory than you had when you went away from us.\u2019\n\nBy this time we had arrived at the Grand Inn, which was a most superior\nbuilding and large enough to accommodate twenty thousand men. We\nwere soon seated in the hall and listening to Beresford as he related\nto us how Europe had been set free from the iron chain of a despot,\nand how the mighty victory had been achieved with which all the civilised\nworld had rung; of the splendid triumphs which had taken place on\nthat glorious occasion; and how all the high sovereigns of Europe\nhad honoured England with their presence on that grand occasion.\nLonger could we have listened and more could he have told had we\nnot heard the sound of the midnight bell which reminded us that it\nwas time to retire to rest.\n\nSome days after this the Duke of York expressed a wish to return\nto his own country, and one of the ships with about twenty men was\nappointed to convey him there.\n\nThere were now in the city fifteen thousand men, and we determined\nto elect a King. Accordingly a council of the whole nation was summoned\nfor the 14th of June 1816. On that day they all assembled in the\nPalace of Justice. Around the throne sat Marcus O\u2019Donell, Ferdinand\nCortez, Henry Clinton, Gustavus Dumally, Harold FitzGeorge, and the\nDuke of Wellington and his staff.\n\nAn intense anxiety pervaded the council to know who would be proposed\nas King, for not a man of us knew, and no hints had been thrown out.\nAt length the great entrance was closed, and Cortez proclaimed the\nwhole nation to be present. Stewart then rose and said:\n\n\u2018I propose the most noble Field-Marshal Arthur, Duke of Wellington,\nas a fit and proper person to sit on the throne of these realms.\u2019\n\nImmediately a loud shout burst forth from the multitude, and the\nhall rang: \u2018Long live our most noble Duke of Wellington!\u2019 and almost\nimmediately afterwards a profound silence prevailed in the house.\nHe said: \u2018Fellow-soldiers, I will defend what you have committed\nto my care.\u2019\n\nThen, bowing to the council, he retired amidst thundering sounds\nof enthusiastic joy.\n\n    C. BRONT\u00cb,\n    _April 2nd_, 1829.\n    (Aged 12.)\n\n\n\n\nAN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND\n\nTHIS is the second of the two stories in Charlotte Bront\u00eb\u2019s earliest\nmanuscript. It was included by Mr. Clement Shorter in _Charlotte\nBront\u00eb and Her Circle_, 1896, pp. 64-66, and in the enlarged edition\nof that work, entitled _The Bront\u00ebs: Life and Letters_, 1908, vol.\ni. pp. 74-76. It is now reprinted for the first time.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\nAN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND\n\nDURING my travels in the south of Ireland the following adventure\nhappened to me. One evening in the month of August, after a long\nwalk, I was ascending the mountain which overlooks the village of\nCahin, when I suddenly came in sight of a fine old castle. It was\nbuilt upon a rock, and behind it was a large wood, and before it\nwas a river. Over the river there was a bridge, which formed the\napproach to the castle.\n\nWhen I arrived at the bridge I stood still awhile to enjoy the prospect\naround me: far below was the wide sheet of still water in which the\nreflection of the pale moon was not disturbed by the smallest wave;\nin the valley was the cluster of cabins which is known by the appellation\nof Cahin; and beyond these were the mountains of Killala. Over all,\nthe grey robe of twilight was now stealing with silent and scarcely\nperceptible advances. No sound except the hum of the distant village\nand the sweet song of the nightingales in the wood behind me broke\nupon the stillness of the scene.\n\nWhile I was contemplating this beautiful prospect a gentleman, whom\nI had not before observed, accosted me with \u2018Good evening, sir; are\nyou a stranger in these parts?\u2019\n\nI replied that I was. He then asked me where I was going to stop\nfor the night; I answered that I intended to sleep somewhere in the\nvillage.\n\n\u2018I am afraid you will find very bad accommodation there,\u2019 said the\ngentleman; \u2018but if you will take up your quarters with me at the\ncastle, you are welcome.\u2019\n\nI thanked him for his kind offer, and accepted it.\n\nWhen we arrived at the castle I was shown into a large parlour, in\nwhich was an old lady sitting in an armchair by the fireside, knitting.\nOn the rug lay a very pretty tortoiseshell cat. As soon as mentioned,\nthe old lady rose; and when Mr. O\u2019Callaghan (for that, I learned,\nwas his name) told her who I was, she said in the most cordial tone\nthat I was welcome, and asked me to sit down.\n\nIn the course of conversation I learned that she was Mr. O\u2019Callaghan\u2019s\nmother, and that his father had been dead about a year.\n\nWe had sat about an hour, when supper was announced, and after supper\nMr. O\u2019Callaghan asked me if I should like to retire for the night.\nI answered in the affirmative, and a little boy was commissioned\nto show me to my apartment. It was a snug, clean, and comfortable\nlittle old-fashioned room at the top of the castle. As soon as we\nhad entered, the boy, who appeared to be a shrewd, good-tempered\nlittle fellow, said with a shrug of the shoulder: \u2018If it was going\nto bed I was, it shouldn\u2019t be here that you\u2019d catch me.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why?\u2019 said I.\n\n\u2018Because,\u2019 replied the boy, \u2018they say that the ould masther\u2019s ghost\nhas been seen sitting on that there chair.\u2019\n\n\u2018And have you seen him?\u2019\n\n\u2018No; but I\u2019ve heard him washing his hands in that basin often and\noften.\u2019\n\n\u2018What is your name, my little fellow?\u2019\n\n\u2018Dennis Mulready, please, your honour.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, good night to you.\u2019\n\n\u2018Good night, masther; and may the saints keep you from all fairies\nand brownies,\u2019 said Dennis as he left the room.\n\nAs soon as I had laid down I began to think of what the boy had been\ntelling me, and I confess I felt a strange kind of fear, and once\nor twice I even thought I could discern something white through the\ndarkness which surrounded me. At length, by the help of reason, I\nsucceeded in mastering these, what some would call idle fancies,\nand fell asleep.\n\nI had slept about an hour when a strange sound awoke me, and I saw\nlooking through my curtains a skeleton wrapped in a white sheet.\nI was overcome with terror and tried to scream, but my tongue was\nparalysed and my whole frame shook with fear. In a deep hollow voice\nit said to me:\n\n\u2018Arise, that I may show thee this world\u2019s wonders,\u2019 and in an instant\nI found myself encompassed with clouds and darkness. But soon the\nroar of mighty waters fell upon my ear, and I saw some clouds of\nspray arising from high falls that rolled in awful majesty down tremendous\nprecipices, and then foamed and thundered in the gulf beneath as\nif they had taken up their unquiet abode in some giant\u2019s cauldron.\n\nBut soon the scene changed, and I found myself in the mines of Cracone.\nThere were high pillars and stately arches, whose glittering splendour\nwas never excelled by the brightest fairy palaces. There were not\nmany lamps; only those of a few poor miners, whose rough visages\nformed a striking contrast to the dazzling figures and grandeur which\nsurrounded them. But in the midst of all this magnificence I felt\nan indescribable sense of fear and terror; for the sea raged above\nus, and by the awful and tumultuous noises of roaring winds and dashing\nwaves it seemed as if the storm was violent. And now the mossy pillars\ngroaned beneath the pressure of the ocean, and the glittering arches\nseemed about to be overwhelmed. When I heard the rushing waters and\nsaw a mighty flood rolling towards me I gave a loud shriek of terror.\n\nThe scene vanished and I found myself in a wide desert full of barren\nrocks and high mountains. As I was approaching one of the rocks,\nin which there was a large cave, my foot stumbled and I fell. Just\nthen I heard a deep growl, and saw by the unearthly light of his\nown fiery eyes a royal lion rousing himself from his kingly slumbers.\nHis terrible eye was fixed upon me, and the desert rang and the rocks\nechoed with the tremendous roar of fierce delight which he uttered\nas he sprang towards me.\n\n\u2018Well, masther, it\u2019s been a windy night, though it\u2019s fine now,\u2019 said\nDennis, as he drew the window curtain and let the bright rays of\nthe morning sun into the little old-fashioned room at the top of\nO\u2019Callaghan Castle.\n\n    C. BRONT\u00cb,\n    _April 28th_, 1829.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS\n\nTHE original manuscript of this story is in the possession of Mr.\nT. J. Wise.\n\nIt appears to be the first manuscript which Charlotte Bront\u00eb attempted\nto complete in the form of a book, _i.e._ with a title-page and Preface.\nThe title-page is written in capital letters resembling printing,\nand the Preface in the young authoress\u2019s ordinary writing.\n\nThe story contains the earliest known poem by Charlotte Bront\u00eb.\n\nI am indebted to Mr. T. J. Wise for the loan of the original manuscript,\nthus enabling me to correct and complete a copy of the story in my\nkeeping, and to present an accurate text.\n\nThe story was written by Charlotte Bront\u00eb at the age of thirteen\nyears.                                 C. W. H.\n\n\n\n\n    THE SEARCH AFTER\n    HAPPINESS\n\n    A TALE BY\n    CHARLOTTE\n    BRONT\u00cb\n\n    PRINTED BY HERSELF\n    AND\n    SOLD BY\n    NOBODY &c. &c.\n\n    AUGUST\n    THE\n    SEVENTEENTH\n    EIGHTEEN HUNDRED\n    AND\n    TWENTY-NINE\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nTHE persons meant by the Chief of the City and his sons are the Duke\nof Wellington, the Marquis of Douro, and Lord Wellesley.\n\nThe city is the Glass Town.\n\nHenry O\u2019Donell and Alexander Delancy are Captain Tarry-not-at-home\nand Monsieur Like-to-live-in-lonely-places.\n\n    CHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb,\n    _August the 17th_, 1829.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nCHARACTER OF O\u2019DONELL\u2014CAUSE OF HIS TRAVELS\n\nNOT many years ago there lived in a certain city a person of the\nname of Henry O\u2019Donell. In figure he was tall, of a dark complexion,\nand searching black eye. His mind was strong and unbending, his disposition\nunsociable, and though respected by many he was loved by few.\n\nThe city where he resided was very great and magnificent. It was\ngoverned by a warrior, a mighty man of valour, whose deeds had resounded\nto the ends of the earth.\n\nThis soldier had two sons, who were at that time of the separate\nages of six and seven years.\n\nHenry O\u2019Donell was a nobleman of great consequence in the city, and\na peculiar favourite with the governor, before whose glance his stern\nmind would bow; and at his command O\u2019Donell\u2019s self-will would be\novercome.\n\nWhile playing with the young princes he would forget his usual sullenness\nof demeanour, the days of his childhood returned upon him, and he\nwould be as merry as the youngest, who was gay indeed.\n\nOne day, at Court, a quarrel ensued between him and another noble.\nWords came to blows, and O\u2019Donell struck his opponent a violent blow\non the left cheek. At this the military King started up and commanded\nO\u2019Donell to apologise. This he immediately did, but from that hour\nof dissent a spell seemed to have been cast over him, and he resolved\nto quit the city.\n\nThe evening before he put this resolution into practice he had an\ninterview with the King, and returned quite an altered man. Before,\nhe seemed stern and intractable; now, he was only meditative and\nsorrowful. As he was passing the inner court of the palace he perceived\nthe two young princes at play. He called them, and they came running\nto him.\n\n\u2018I am going far from this city, and shall, most likely, never see\nyou again,\u2019 said O\u2019Donell.\n\n\u2018Where are you going?\u2019\n\n\u2018I cannot tell.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then why do you go away from us? Why do you go from your own house\nand lands, from this great and splendid city, to you know not where?\u2019\n\n\u2018Because I am not happy here.\u2019\n\n\u2018And if you are not happy here, where you have everything for which\nyou can wish, do you expect to be happy when you are dying of hunger\nor thirst in a desert, or longing for the society of men when you\nare thousands of miles from any human being?\u2019\n\n\u2018How do you know that that will be my case?\u2019\n\n\u2018It is very likely that it will.\u2019\n\n\u2018And if it is I am determined to go.\u2019\n\n\u2018Take this then, that you may sometimes remember us when you dwell\nwith only the wild beasts of the desert, or the great eagle of the\nmountain,\u2019 said they, as they each gave him a curling lock of their\nhair.\n\n\u2018Yes, I will take it, my princes, and I shall remember you, and the\nmighty warrior King, your father, even when the Angel of Death has\nstretched forth his bony arm against me, and I am within the confines\nof his dreary kingdom, the cold, damp grave,\u2019 replied O\u2019Donell, as\nthe tears rushed to his eyes; and he once more embraced the little\nprinces, and then quitted them, it might be, for ever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nABOUT MEETING DELANCY\u2014COMING TO THE OLD CASTLE\u2014ENTERING THE NEW\nWORLD\u2014DESCRIPTION\n\nThe dawn of the next morning found O\u2019Donell on the summit of a high\nmountain which overlooked the city. He had stopped to take a farewell\nview of the place of his nativity. All along the eastern horizon\nthere was a rich glowing light, which, as it rose, gradually melted\ninto the pale blue of the sky, in which, just over the light, there\nwas still visible the silver crescent of the moon. Ina short time\nthe sun began to rise in golden glory, casting his splendid radiance\nover all the face of nature, and illuminating the magnificent city;\nin the midst of which, towering in silent grandeur, there appeared\nthe palace where dwelt the mighty Prince of that great and beautiful\ncity, all around the brazen gates and massive walls of which there\nflowed the majestic stream of the Guadima, whose banks were bordered\nby splendid palaces and magnificent gardens. Behind these, stretching\nfor many a league, were fruitful plains and forests, whose shade\nseemed almost impenetrable to a single ray of light; while in the\ndistance blue mountains were seen raising their heads to the sky\nand forming a misty girdle to the plains of Dahomey. On the whole\nof this grand and beautiful prospect O\u2019Donell\u2019s gaze was long and\nfixed; but his last look was to the palace of the King, and a tear\nstood in his eye as he said earnestly:\n\n\u2018May he be preserved from all evil! May good attend him; and may\nthe chief genii spread their broad shield of protection over him\nall the time of his sojourn in this wearisome world!\u2019\n\nThen, turning round, he began to descend the mountain. He pursued\nhis way till the sun began to wax hot; when he stopped, and, sitting\ndown, he took out some provisions which he had brought with him,\nand which consisted of a few biscuits and dates.\n\nWhile he was eating, a tall man came up and accosted him. O\u2019Donell\nrequested him to sit beside him, and offered him a biscuit. This\nhe refused, and, taking one out of a small bag which he carried,\nhe sat down, and they began to talk. In the course of conversation,\nO\u2019Donell: learned that this man\u2019s name was Alexander Delancy, that\nhe was a native of France, and that he was engaged in the same pursuit\nwith himself, _i.e._ the search of happiness. They talked for a long\ntime, and, at last, agreed to travel together. Then, rising, they\npursued their journey.\n\nTowards nightfall they lay down in the open air, and slept soundly\ntill morning, when they again set off; and thus they continued till\nthe third day, when, about two hours after noon, they approached\nan old castle, which they entered; and, as they were examining it,\nthey discovered a subterraneous passage which they could not see\nthe end of.\n\n\u2018Let us follow where this passage leads us, and, perhaps, we may\nfind happiness here,\u2019 said O\u2019Donell.\n\nDelancy agreed, and the two stepped into the opening. Immediately\na great stone was rolled to the mouth of the passage, with a noise\nlike thunder, which shut out all but a single ray of daylight.\n\n\u2018What is that?\u2019 exclaimed O\u2019Donell.\n\n\u2018I cannot tell,\u2019 replied Delancy; \u2018but, never mind, I suppose it\nis only some Genius playing tricks.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, it may be so,\u2019 returned O\u2019Donell; and they proceeded on their\nway.\n\nAfter travelling for a long time\u2014as near as they could reckon about\ntwo days\u2014they perceived a silvery streak of light on the walls of\nthe passage, something like the light of the moon. In a short time\nthey came to the end of the passage, and, leaping out of the opening\nwhich formed, they entered a new world.\n\nThey were, at first, so much bewildered by the different objects\nwhich struck their senses that they almost fainted; but, at length\nrecovering, they had time to see everything around them. They were\nupon the top of a rock which was more than a thousand fathoms high.\nAll beneath them were liquid mountains tossed to and fro with horrible\nconfusion, roaring and raging with a tremendous noise, and crowned\nwith waves of foam. All above them was a mighty firmament, in one\npart covered with black clouds from which darted: huge and terrible\nsheets of lightning. In another part an immense globe of light, like\nsilver, was hanging in the sky; and several smaller globes, which\nsparkled exceedingly, surrounded it.\n\nIn a short time, the tempest, which was dreadful beyond description,\nceased; the dark, black clouds cleared away; the silver globes vanished,\nand another globe, whose light was of a gold colour, appeared. It\nwas far larger than the former, and, in a little time, it became\nso intensely bright, that they could no longer gaze on it; so, after\nlooking around them for some time, they rose and pursued their journey.\n\nThey had travelled a long way when they came to an immense forest,\nthe trees of which bore a large fruit of a deep purple colour, of\nwhich they tasted and found that it was fit for food. They journeyed\nin this forest for three days, and on the third day they entered\na valley, or rather a deep glen, surrounded on each side by tremendous\nrocks whose tops were lost in the clouds. In this glen they continued\nfor some time, and at last came in sight of a mountain which rose\nso high that they could not see the summit, though the sky was quite\nclear. At the foot of the mountain there flowed a river of pure water,\nbordered by trees which had flowers of a beautiful rose colour. Except\nthese trees nothing was to be seen but black forests and huge rocks\nrising out of a wilderness which bore the terrible aspect of devastation,\nand which stretched as far as the eye could reach. In this desolate\nland no sound was to be heard, not even the cry of the eagle or the\nscream of the curlew; but a silence like the silence of the grave\nreigned over all the face of nature, unbroken except by the murmur\nof the river as it slowly wound its course through the desert.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nCOMING TO THE CAVE\u2014MANNER OF LIFE ARRIVAL OF THE OLD MAN\n\nAfter they had contemplated this scene for some time, O\u2019Donell exclaimed:\n\u2018Alexander, let us abide here. What need have we to travel farther?\nLet us make this our place of rest.\u2019\n\n\u2018We will,\u2019 replied Delancy. \u2018And this shall be our abode,\u2019 added\nhe, pointing to a cave at the foot of the mountains.\n\n\u2018It shall,\u2019 returned O\u2019Donell, as they entered it.\n\nIn this country they remained for many long years, and passed their\ntime in a manner which made them completely happy. Sometimes they\nwould sit upon a high rock, and listen to the hoarse thunder rolling\nthrough the sky and making the mountains to echo and the desert to\nring with its awful voice. Sometimes they would watch the lightning\ndarting across black clouds and shivering huge fragments of rock\nin its terrible passage. Sometimes they would witness the great,\nglorious orb of gold sink behind the far distant mountains which\ngirded the horizon, and then watch the advance of grey twilight,\nand the little stars coming forth in beauty, and the silver moon\nrising in her splendour, till the cold dews of night began to fall;\nand then they would retire to their beds in the cave with hearts\nfull of joy and thankfulness.\n\nOne evening they were seated in this cave by a large blazing fire\nof turf which cast its lurid light to the high arched roof and illuminated\nthe tall and stately pillars, cut by the hand of nature out of the\nstony rock, with a cheerful red glare that appeared strange in this\ndesolate land, which no fires had ever before visited, except those\nfierce flames of death which flash from the heavens when robed in\nthe dreadful majesty of thunder. They were seated in this cave then,\nlistening to the howling night-wind as it swept in mournful cadences\nthrough the trees of the forest which encircled the foot of the mountain\nand bordered the stream which flowed round it. They were quite silent,\nand their thoughts were occupied by those that were afar off, and\nwhom it was their fate most likely never more to behold.\n\nO\u2019Donell was thinking of his noble master and his young princes;\nof the thousands of miles which intervened between him and them;\nand the sad, silent tear gushed forth as he ruminated on the happiness\nof those times, when his master frowned not, when the gloom of care\ngave place to the smile of friendship, when he would talk to him\nand laugh with him, and be to him, not as a brother,\u2014no, no, but\nas a mighty warrior, who, relaxing from his haughtiness, would now\nand then converse with his high officers in a strain of vivacity\nand playful humour not to be equalled. Next he viewed him in his\nmind\u2019s eye at the head of his army. He heard, in the ears of his\nimagination, the buzz of expectation, of hope, and supposition which\nhummed round him as his penetrating eye, with a still keenness of\nexpression, was fixed on the distant ranks of the enemy. Then he\nheard his authoritative voice exclaim: \u2018Onward, brave sons of freedom!\nOnward to the battle!\u2019 And, lastly, his parting words to him: \u2018In\nprosperity or in misery, in sorrow or in joy, in populous cities\nor in desolate wildernesses, my prayer shall go with you!\u2019 darted\nacross his mind with such painful distinctness, that he at length\ngave way to his uncontrollable grief at the thought that he should\nnever behold his beloved and mighty commander more; and burst into\na flood of tears.\n\n\u2018What is the matter, Henry?\u2019 exclaimed Delancy.\n\n\u2018Oh, nothing, nothing,\u2019 was the reply; and they were resuming their\ntacit thinking, when a voice was heard outside the cavern, which\nbroke strangely upon the desolate silence and that land which for\nthousands of years had heard no sound save the howling of the wind\nthrough the forest, the echoing of the thunder among mountains, or\nthe solitary murmuring of the river; if we except the presence of\nO\u2019Donell and Delancy.\n\n\u2018Listen!\u2019 cried Alexander; \u2018listen! What is that?\u2019\n\n\u2018It is the sound of a man\u2019s voice,\u2019 replied Henry; and then snatching\nup a burning torch he rushed to the mouth of the cave, followed by\nDelancy. When they had got there they saw the figure of a very old\nman sitting on the damp, wet ground, moaning and complaining bitterly.\nThey went up to him. At their approach he rose and said:\n\n\u2018Are you human or supernatural beings?\u2019\n\nThey assured him that they were human. He went on:\n\n\u2018Then why have you taken up your abode in this land of the grave?\u2019\n\nO\u2019Donell answered that he would relate to him all the particulars\nif he would take shelter for the night with them. The old man consented,\nand when they were all assembled round the cheerful fire, O\u2019Donell\nfulfilled his promise; and then requested the old man to tell them\nhow he came to be travelling there. He complied, and began as follows:\u2014\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nOLD MAN\u2019S TALE\n\nI was the son of a respectable merchant in Moussoul. My father intended\nto bring me up to his own trade, but I was idle and did not like\nit. One day, as I was playing in the street, a very old man came\nup to me and asked me if I would go with him. I asked him where he\nwas going. He replied that if I would go with him he would show me\nvery wonderful things. This raised my curiosity and I consented.\nHe immediately took me by the hand and hurried me out of the city\nof Moussoul so quickly that my breath was almost stopped, and it\nseemed as if we glided along in the air, for I could hear no sound\nof any footsteps. We continued on our course for a long time, till\nwe came to a glen surrounded by very high mountains. How we passed\nover these mountains I could never tell. In the middle of the glen\nthere was a small fountain of very clear water. My conductor directed\nme to drink of it. This I did and immediately I found myself in a\npalace, the glory of which far exceeds any description which I can\ngive. The tall, stately pillars, reaching from heaven to earth, were\nformed of the finest, purest diamonds; the pavement sparkling with\ngold and precious stones; and the mighty dome, made solemn and awful\nby its stupendous magnitude, was of a single emerald. In the midst\nof this grand and magnificent palace was a lamp like the sun, the\nradiance of which made all the palace to flash and glitter with an\nalmost fearful grandeur. The ruby sent forth a streak of crimson\nlight, the topaz gold, the sapphire intensest purple, and the dome\npoured a flood of deep, clear splendour which overcame all the other\ngaudy lights by its mild, triumphant glory. In this palace were thousands\nand tens of thousands of fairies and genii, some of whom flitted\nlightly among the blazing lamps to the sound of unearthly music,\nwhich died and swelled in a stream of wild grandeur, suited to the\nwords they sang:\u2014\n\n    In this fairy land of light\n        No mortals e\u2019er have been;\n    And the dreadful grandeur of this sight\n        By them hath not been seen.\n    It would strike them shuddering to the earth\n        Like the flash from a thunder-cloud;\n    It would quench their light and joyous mirth\n        And fit them for the shroud.\n    The rising of our palaces\n        Like visions of the deep,\n    And the glory of their structure,\n        No mortal voice can speak.\n\n                _Chorus:_\n\n        The music of our songs,\n            And our mighty trumpet\u2019s swell,\n        And the sounding of our silver harps,\n            No mortal tongue can tell.\n\n    Of us they know but little,\n        Save when the storm doth rise,\n    And the mighty waves are tossing\n        Against the arch\u00e8d skies.\n    Then oft they see us striding\n        O\u2019er the billow\u2019s snow-white foam,\n    Or hear us speak in thunder\n        When we stand, in grandeur lone,\n    On the darkest of the mighty clouds\n        Which veil the pearly moon,\n    Around us lightning flashing,\n        Night\u2019s blackness to illume.\n\n                _Chorus:_\n\n        The music of our songs,\n            And our mighty trumpet\u2019s swell,\n        And the sounding of our silver harps,\n            No mortal tongue can tell.\n\nWhen they had finished there was a dead silence for about half an\nhour; and then the palace began slowly and gradually to vanish, till\nit disappeared entirely, and I found myself in the glen surrounded\nby high mountains, and the fountain, illuminated by the cold light\nof the moon, springing up in the middle of the valley; and standing\nclose by was the old man who had conducted me to this enchanted place.\nHe turned round and I could see that his countenance had an expression\nof strange severity which I had not before observed.\n\n\u2018Follow me,\u2019 he said.\n\nI obeyed, and we began to ascend the mountain. It is needless to\ntrouble you with a repetition of my adventures. Suffice it to say\nthat after two months\u2019 time we arrived at a large temple. We entered\nit. The interior as well as the outside had a very gloomy and ominous\naspect, being entirely built of black marble. The old man suddenly\nseized me and dragged me to an altar at the upper end of the temple;\nthen, forcing me down on my knees, he made me swear that I would\nbe his servant for ever. This promise I faithfully kept, notwithstanding\nthe dreadful scenes of magic of which every day of my life I was\nforced to be a witness. One day he told me he would discharge me\nfrom the oath I had taken, and commanded me to leave his service.\nI obeyed, and, after wandering about the world for many years, I,\none evening, laid myself down on a little bank by the roadside, intending\nto pass the night there. Suddenly, I found myself raised in the air\nby invisible hands. In a short time I lost sight of the earth, and\ncontinued on my course through the clouds till I became insensible;\nand, when I recovered from my swoon, I found myself lying outside\nthis cave. What may be my future destiny I know not.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nDEPARTURE OF THE OLD MAN\u2014DISAPPEARANCE OF DELANCY\u2014TRANSPORTATION\nOF O\u2019DONELL HIS ARRIVAL AT THE CITY\u2014HIS ARRIVAL AT THE PALACE, AND\nHIS INTERVIEW WITH HIS CHIEF HE FINDS DELANCY\n\nWhen the old man had finished his tale, O\u2019Donell and Delancy thanked\nhim for the relation, adding at the same time that they had never\nheard anything half so wonderful. Then, as it was very late, they\nall retired to rest. Next morning, O\u2019Donell awoke very early, and,\nlooking round the cave, he perceived the bed of leaves on which the\nold man had lain to be empty. Then rising he went out of the cave.\n\nThe sky was covered with red, fiery clouds, except those in the east\nwhose edges were tinged with the bright rays of the morning sun as\nthey strove to hide its glory with their dark veil of vapours, now\nall beauty and radiance by the golden lines of light which streaked\ntheir gloomy surface beneath this storm-portending sky; and, far\noff, to the westward rose two tremendous rocks whose summits were\nenveloped with black clouds rolling one above another with an awful\nmagnificence well-suited to the land of wilderness and mountain which\nthey canopied.\n\nGliding along in the air between these two rocks was a chariot of\nlight. In the chariot sat a figure the expression of whose countenance\nwas that of the old man, armed with the majesty and might of a spirit.\n\nO\u2019Donell stood at the mouth of the cave watching it till it vanished,\nand then, calling Delancy, he related the circumstance to him.\n\nSome years after this, Alexander went out one morning in search of\nthe fruit on which they subsisted. Noon came, and he had not returned;\nevening, and still no tidings of him. O\u2019Donell began to be alarmed\nand set out in search of him, but could nowhere find him. One whole\nday he spent in wandering about the rocks and mountains, and in the\nevening he came back to his cave weary and faint with hunger and\nthirst. Days, weeks, months, passed away, and no Delancy appeared.\nO\u2019Donell might now be said to be truly miserable. He would sit on\na rock for hours together and cry out: \u2018Alexander! Alexander!\u2019 but\nreceive no answer but the distant echoing of his voice among the\nrocks. Sometimes he fancied it was another person answering him,\nand he would listen earnestly till it died away. Then, sinking into\nutter despair again, he would sit till the dews of night began to\nfall, when he would retire to his cave to pass the night in anguish,\nbroken slumbers, or in thinking of his beloved comrade, whom he could\nnever see more. In one of these dreadful intervals he took up a small\nparcel. Opening it, he saw lying before him two locks of soft, curly\nhair, shining like burnished gold. He gazed on them for a little\ntime, and thought of the words of those who gave them to him:\n\n\u2018Take this then, that you may remember us when you dwell with only\nthe wild beasts of the desert, or the great eagle of the mountain.\u2019\n\nHe burst into a flood of tears. He wrung his hands in sorrow, and\nin the anguish of the moment he wished that he could once more see\nthem and the mighty warrior King, their father, if it cost him his\nlife.\n\nJust at that instant a loud clap of thunder shook the roof of the\ncave. A sound like the rushing of wind was heard, and a mighty Genius\nstood before him.\n\n\u2018I know thy wish,\u2019 cried he with a loud and terrible voice, \u2018and\nI will grant it. In two months\u2019 time thou returnest to the castle,\nwhence thou camest hither, and surrenderest thyself into my power!\u2019\n\nO\u2019Donell promised that he would; and instantly he found himself at\nthe door of the old castle, and in the land of his birth.\n\nHe pursued his journey for three days, and on the third day he arrived\nat the mountain which overlooked the city. It was a beautiful evening\nin the month of September, and the full moon was shedding her tranquil\nlight on all the face of nature. The city was lying in its splendour\nand magnificence surrounded by the broad stream of the Guadima. The\npalace was majestically towering in the midst of it, and all its\npillars and battlements seemed in the calm light of the moon as if\nthey were transformed into silver by the touch of a fairy\u2019s wand.\n\nO\u2019Donell stayed not long to contemplate this beautiful scene, but,\ndescending the mountain, he soon crossed the fertile plain which\nled to the city, and, entering the gates, he quickly arrived at the\npalace. Without speaking to any one, he entered the inner court of\nthe palace by a secret way with which he was acquainted, and then\ngoing up a flight of steps and crossing a long gallery he arrived\nat the King\u2019s private apartments. The door was half open. He looked\nin and beheld two very handsome young men sitting together and reading.\nHe instantly recognised them, and was going to step forward, when\nthe door opened and the Great Duke entered. O\u2019Donell could contain\nhimself no longer, and, rushing in, he threw himself at the feet\nof His Grace.\n\n\u2018O\u2019Donell! is this you?\u2019 exclaimed the Duke.\n\n\u2018It is, my most noble master!\u2019 answered O\u2019Donell, almost choking\nwith joy. The young princes instantly embraced him, while he almost\nsmothered them with caresses.\n\nAfter awhile they became tranquil, and then O\u2019Donell, at the request\nof the Duke, related all his adventures since he parted with them,\nnot omitting the condition on which he was now in the palace.\n\nWhen he had ended a loud voice was heard saying that he was free\nfrom his promise and might spend the rest of his days in his native\ncity.\n\nSome time after this, as O\u2019Donell was walking in the streets, he\nmet a gentleman whom he thought he had seen before, but could not\nrecollect where or under what circumstances. After a little conversation\nhe discovered that he was Alexander Delancy, that he was now a rich\nmerchant in the city of Paris, and high in favour with the Emperor\nNapoleon. As may be supposed they both were equally delighted at\nthe discovery. They ever after lived happily in their separate cities;\nand so ends my little tale.\n\n    C. BRONT\u00cb,\n    _August 17th_, 1829.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF ERNEST ALEMBERT\n\nFIRST printed, from the original manuscript, in 1896, in an edition\nlimited to thirty copies for private circulation only. Edited by\nThomas J. Wise. This volume contains facsimiles of two pages of the\nmanuscript. Reprinted in _Literary Anecdotes of the Nineteenth Century_,\nedited by W. Robertson Nicoll, M.A., and Thomas J. Wise, vol. ii.,\n1896, pp. 47-79.\n\nIn the Preface to the privately printed volume we are informed by\nMr. Wise, that\u2014\n\n    The manuscript of \u2018The Adventures of Ernest Alembert\u2019\n    consists of sixteen octavo pages, measuring 7 1/4 by 4 1/2 inches,\n    stitched in a wrapper of coarse brown paper, with the following\n    title written in Charlotte\u2019s hand upon the front: \u2018The\n    Adventures of Ernest Alembert. A Tale by C. Bront\u00eb. May 25,\n    1880.\u2019 The book is written in a free running hand, far more\n    readily deciphered than the minute characters employed in the\n    majority of these early books. Unlike most of these it has no\n    title-page save that on the wrapper, but a large portion of the\n    final page is occupied by an inscription, after the manner of a\n    colophon.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\n    THE ADVENTURES\n    OF\n    ERNEST ALEMBERT\n\n    A TALE\n    BY\n    C. BRONT\u00cb\n\n    May 25, 1830.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nMANY years ago there lived in a certain country a youth named Ernest\nAlembert. He came of an ancient and noble race: but one of his ancestors\nhaving been beheaded in consequence of a suspicion of high treason,\nthe family since that time had gradually decayed, until at length\nthe only remaining branch of it was this young man of whom I write.\n\nHis abode was a small cottage situated in the midst of a little garden,\nand overshadowed by the majestic ruins of his ancestral castle. The\nporch of his hut, adorned by the twisting clematis and jessamine,\nfronted the rising sun, and here in the cool summer mornings he would\noften sit and watch its broad orb slowly appearing above the blue\ndistant mountains. The eminence on which his cottage was built formed\none side of a wide valley, watered by a stream whose hoarse voice\nwas softened into a gentle murmur ere it reached the summit of a\nhill. The opposing rocks which guarded the vale on the other side\nwere covered by a wood of young ash and sycamore trees, whose branching\nfoliage, clothing them in a robe of living green, hid their rugged\naspect, save where some huge fragment, all grey and moss-grown, jutted\nfar over the valley, affording a fine contrast to the leafy luxuriant\nbranch which perhaps rested on the projection, and imparting an appearance\nof picturesque wildness and variety to the scene. The valley itself\nwas sprinkled with tall shady elms and poplars, that shaded the soft\nverdant turf ornamented by cowslips, violets, daisies, golden cups,\nand a thousand other sweet flowers, which shed abroad their perfumes\nwhen the morning and evening summer dews, or the rains of spring,\ndescend softly and silently to the earth. On the borders of the stream\na few weeping willows stood dipping their long branches into the\nwater, where their graceful forms were clearly reflected. Through\nan opening in the vale this noisy river was observed gradually expanding\nand smoothing until at last it became a wide lake, in calm weather\na glassy unruffled mirror for all the clouds and stars of heaven\nto behold themselves in as they sailed through the spangled or dappled\nfirmament. Beyond this lake arose high hills, at noonday almost\nindistinguishable from the blue sky, but at sunset glowing in the\nrichest purple, like a sapphire barrier to the dim horizon.\n\nOne evening in autumn as Ernest sat by his blazing fire and listened\nto the wind which roared past his dwelling, shaking the little casement\ntill the leaves of the wild vine which curled around it fell rustling\nto the earth, he heard suddenly the latchet of his door raised. A\nman clothed in a dark mantle, with long hair, and a beard of raven\nblackness, entered. At sight of this singular figure he started up,\nand the stranger immediately accosted him as follows:\n\n\u2018My name is Rufus Warner. I come from a great distance, and having\nbeen overtaken by darkness in the valley I looked about for some\nroof where I might pass the night. At length I espied a light streaming\nthrough this window. I made the best of my way to it, and now I request\nshelter from you.\u2019\n\nErnest, after gazing a moment at him, complied with his demand. He\nclosed the door, and they both seated themselves by the fire. They\nsat thus for some time without interchanging a word, the stranger\nwith his eyes intently fixed on the ascending flame, apparently quite\ninattentive to any other object; and Ernest as intently viewing him,\nand revolving in his mind who he might be\u2014the cause of his strange\nattire\u2014his long beard\u2014his unbroken taciturnity\u2014not unmixed with a\nfeeling of awe allied to fear at the presence of a being of whose\nnature he was totally ignorant, and who, for aught he knew, might\nbe the harbinger of no good to his humble dwelling. Dim, dreamlike\nreminiscences passed slowly across his mind concerning tales of spirits\nwho, in various shapes; had appeared to men shortly before their\ndeaths, as if to prepare them for the ghostly society with which\nthey would soon have to mingle.\n\nAt length, to relieve himself of these almost insupportable thoughts,\nhe ventured to accost his mysterious guest by inquiring whence he\ncame.\n\n\u2018From a rich and fruitful land,\u2019 replied the stranger, \u2018where the\ntrees bear without ceasing, and earth casts up flowers which sparkle\nlike jewels, the sun shines for ever, and the moon and stars are\nnot quenched even at noonday; where the rocks lose themselves in\nthe skies, and the tops of the mountains are invisible by reason\nof the firmament which rests upon them.\u2019\n\nThe answer, uttered in a hollow and hoarse voice, convinced Ernest\nof the truth of his surmises; but a charm seemed to have been cast\nupon him which prevented him from being overcome by terror, and he\nreplied as follows:\n\n\u2018If what you say is true, I should like exceedingly to follow you\ninto your country instead of remaining here, where I am often chilled\nby frost and icy winds, and saddened by the absence of the cheering\nwarmth of the sun.\u2019\n\n\u2018If thou wilt go, thou mayst,\u2019 replied the stranger; and Ernest,\nunder the influence of a secret fascination, consented.\n\n\u2018To-morrow, by daybreak, we will set out,\u2019 said his guest; and then,\nas the night was far advanced, they both retired to their straw couches,\nafter partaking of a simple supper which Ernest had hastily provided.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nThe rising dawn found Ernest and his unknown guide wending their\nway down the long valley. It was a still, gloomy October morning.\nThe sky was obscured by grey clouds, and the cold wind which whistled\namong the yellow withered leaves of the wood that covered the rocks\nblew occasionally some mizzling drops of rain into the faces of the\ntwo travellers. The distant prospect of the lake and mountains was\nhidden by a veil of mist, and when the sun rose above them his presence\nwas only revealed by a whitish light gleaming through the thin watery\natmosphere. The only sounds which fell on the ear were the howling\nof the blast in the caverned sides of the valley, and the melancholy\nmurmuring of the stream as its waves beat against the rugged stones\nwhich obstructed its passage.\n\nThey proceeded along in a straight course till they came to the borders\nof the lake, where the guide stopped, saying: \u2018We must now cross\nthis water.\u2019 Ernest gazed at him a moment, and then said:\n\n\u2018How can we? We have no boat, and I lack the power to swim for so\nlong a time as it would require to cross this lake.\u2019\n\nNo sooner had he uttered these words than a light gale arose which\nruffled and agitated the quiet surface of the lake. Presently a tiny\nskiff appeared gliding over the waves, and in a few minutes reached\nthe bank whereon they stood. The stranger quickly sprang into the\nbark, and Ernest, though filled with terror at the conviction that\nhe was now in the hands of a supernatural being, felt himself compelled\nby a strong impulse to follow whither he was led. No sooner were\nthey seated than a large white sail unfurled seemingly of its own\naccord, and in a few moments they found themselves nearing the opposite\nshore, so lightly and swiftly this fairy vessel had borne them over\nthe lake.\n\nNo sooner had they touched the bank with their feet than a huge billow\nlike a mountain swept over the water. Immediately the swelling waves\nsubsided, the rising foam vanished, and a great calm fell on the\nbosom of the lake. At the same moment Ernest felt his fear pass away,\nand it was succeeded by a feeling of courage against danger, mingled\nwith a certain curiosity to see what was to come. After they had\ntravelled a great distance they came to a wide moor that stretched\nto the verge of the horizon. This was perfectly level, save at one\nspot where tall black rocks were seen raising their heads towards\nthe sky. About evening they reached these rocks, when they stopped\nand sat down to rest themselves. The scene was now grand and awful\nin the extreme. Around lay the dark desert heath, unenlivened by\na single streak of verdure; its beautiful pink flowers were withered,\nand their fragrance had vanished. The mellow hum of the bee was no\nlonger heard about them, for he had gathered his honey and was gone.\nAbove rose the tremendous precipices whose vast shadows blackened\nall that portion of the moor, and deepened the frown upon the unpropitious\nface of nature. At intervals from the summit of the rocks shrill\nscreams, uttered by some bird of prey which had built its nest upon\nthem, swept through the arch of heaven in which wild clouds were\ncareering to and fro as if torn by a horrible tempest. The sun had\nlong since sunk to rest, and the full moon, like a broad shield dyed\nwith blood, now ascended the stormy sky. A mournful halo surrounded\nher, and through that warning veil she looked from her place in the\nfirmament, her glorious light dimmed and obscured, till the earth\nonly knew by a faint ruddy tint that her white-robed handmaiden beheld\nher. All the attendant train of stars shone solemnly among the clouds,\nand by their abated splendour acknowledged the presence of their\npeerless queen.\n\nAfter having viewed the scene some time the stranger rose, and beckoned\nErnest to follow him. This he did, until he came to a particular\npart of the rocks where was seen a profound cavern. This the stranger\nentered, and Ernest felt himself impelled to enter too. The track\nseemed to incline downwards, and as they went deeper and deeper they\nsoon lost sight of the upper world, and not a ray of light appeared\nto illumine the thick darkness around them. At length a faint grey\ndawn became visible, and at the same instant a warm and gentle breeze\nstole past them which softened the cold raw air of the cave. Anon\nthey began to behold branches of trees waving above them, and saw\nthat they trod upon a smooth and velvety turf. In a short time, by\nthe aid of the increasing light, they perceived that they were in\na deep gloomy forest, which, as they advanced, gradually thinned\ninto a pleasant shady wood, becoming more beautiful as they passed\non, until at last it assumed the appearance of a delightful grove.\nFrom this they soon emerged into an open and graceful country. A\nwide plain was stretched before them, covered with the most enchanting\nverdure. Graceful trees sprang out of the earth bearing delicious\nfruits of a perfect transparency; others rose to a great height,\ncasting down their branches laden with white blossoms, and dark flourishing\nleaves. Crystal fountains, that fell with a murmuring noise, were\nseen glittering through bowers of roses and tall lilies. The melody\nof a thousand birds was heard from groves of myrtle and laurel which\nbordered a river whose waters glided through the plain. Arching rocks\nof diamond and amethyst, up which plants of immortal verdure crept,\nsparkled in the light and lent variety to the lovely prospect. The\nplain was bounded by hills, some of which rose majestically to the\nheavens, covered with vines and pomegranates, while others only gently\nswelled upon the sight, and then sank into calm and peaceful valleys.\nOver all this scene hung an atmosphere of crystal clearness. Not\none fleecy cloud sullied the radiant sky; not one wreath of mist\nfloated over the brows of the distant mountains. The whole land lay\nin stainless purity, arrayed in a robe of spiritual and unearthly\nlight.\n\nWhen Ernest emerged from the wood, this view, bursting at once upon\nhis eyes, completely overpowered him. For a long time he stood speechless,\ngazing intently upon it. His mind seemed to be elevated and enlarged\nby the resplendency of the vision. All his senses were delighted:\nhis hearing by the combination of sweet sounds which poured upon\nit, his sight by the harmonious blending of every colour and scene,\nand his smell by the fragrant perfume of each flower which bloomed\nin these everlasting fields. At length, in ecstatic admiration, he\nhastened to thank his conductor for bringing him thither, but when\nhe turned the stranger had gone. The forest through which he came\nhad vanished also, and in its stead was a vast ocean whose extent\nseemed altogether boundless. Ernest, now more than ever filled with\nastonishment, remained for a while alternating between fear and wonder;\nthen, rousing himself, he uttered the name of his guide aloud. But\nhis voice was only answered by a faint echo. After this he walked\na considerable distance into the country without meeting with one\nvisible being either human or supernatural. In a few hours he had\ntraversed the plain and reached the acclivities which bordered it,\nand then entered a wide and mountainous land totally different from\nthat which he had left. He wandered among the rocks heedless whither\nhe went until twilight fell, when he longed to return, but was entirely\nunable to detect the way. No signs appeared of the plain he had quitted,\nsave that on the southern horizon a beautiful light lingered long\nafter sunset, and occasionally, as the wind rose, faint melodious\nsounds were heard floating fitfully by.\n\nAfter a while, when the night had closed in, Ernest came to the brow\nof a lofty precipice. Overcome with fatigue he cast himself upon\nthe ground and began to gaze into the profound depth beneath him.\nAs he lay a deathlike stillness fell upon the earth. No voice was\nheard in the gloomy region, the air was untracked by any wing. No\nfootstep crushed the desolate sands. Echo whispered not in the caverned\nrocks, and even the winds seemed to have held their breath. At length\nhe perceived in the tremendous gulf a thick vapour slowly rising.\nIt gradually expanded, until the chasm was filled with a dense cloud\nswaying to and fro as if moved by an invisible power. Then he heard\na dull hollow noise like water roaring in subterraneous caves. By\ndegrees the cloud rose and enlarged, sweeping round him till all\nthings vanished from his sight, and he found himself encircled by\nits curling mist. Then he heard music; subdued and harmonious, resembling\nthe soft breathings of flutes and dulcimers. This was suddenly broken\nby a flood of warlike melody rolling from golden trumpets and great\nharps of silver, which now suddenly gleamed upon him as the curtain\nof clouds rent and the whole scene was revealed. A pavement of sapphire\nsparkled, from which flashes of radiant purple light proceeded, mingling\nwith the glory of an emerald dome that proudly arched a palace whose\npillars were the purest diamond. Vases of agate and porphyry sent\nup wreaths of refined incense formed of the united fragrance of a\nthousand flowers. Beings of immortal beauty and splendour stood in\nshining ranks around a throne of ruby guarded by golden lions, and\nsounds so sweet and enchanting swelled on his ear that Ernest, overwhelmed\nwith the too powerful magnificence, sank senseless on the bright\npavement. When he recovered from his swoon he found himself no longer\nsurrounded by the gorgeous splendour of the fairy palace, but reposing\nin a wood whose branches were just moved by a fresh moaning wind.\nThe first sunbeams penetrating the green umbrage lighted up the dewdrops\nwhich glistened on tender blades of grass, or trembled in the cups\nof the wild flowers which bordered a little woodland well. When Ernest\nopened his eyes he beheld standing close to him a man whom he presently\nrecognised to be his guide. He started up, and the stranger addressed\nhim as follows:\n\n\u2018I am a fairy. You have been, and still are, in the land of fairies.\nSome wonders you have seen; many more you shall see if you choose\nto follow me still.\u2019\n\nErnest consented. The fairy immediately stepped into the well, and\nhe felt compelled to do the same. They sank gradually downwards.\nBy degrees the water changed into mists and vapours; the forms of\nclouds were dimly seen floating around. These increased until at\nlength they were wholly enveloped in their folds. In a short time\nthey seemed to land, and Ernest felt his feet resting on a solid\nsubstance. Suddenly the clouds were dissipated, and he found himself\nin a lovely and enchanting island encircled by a boundless expanse\nof water. The trees in the island were beautiful: rose laurels and\nflowering myrtles, creeping pomegranates, clematis and vines, intermixed\nwith majestic cypresses and groves of young elms and poplars. The\nfairy led him to a natural bower of lofty trees whose thick branches\nmingling above formed a shady retreat from the sun, which now glowed\nin meridian splendour. This bower was on a green bank of the isle,\nembroidered with every kind of sweet and refreshing flower. The sky\nwas perfectly free from clouds, but a milky haze softened the intense\nbrilliancy of the blue and gave a more unbroken calmness to the air.\nThe lake lay in glassy smoothness. From its depths arose a sound\nof subdued music, a breath of harmony which just waved the blue\nwater-lilies lying among their dark green leaves upon its surface.\nWhile Ernest reposed on the green turf and viewed this delightful\nprospect, he saw a vision of beauty pass before him. First he heard\nthe melody of a horn, which seemed to come from dim mountains that\nappeared to the east. It rose again nearer, and a majestic stag of\nradiant whiteness, with branching and beaming golden horns, bounded\nsuddenly into sight, pursued by a train of fairies mounted upon\nwinged steeds, caparisoned so magnificently that rays of light shot\nfrom them, and the whole air was illumined with their glory. They\nflew across the lake swifter than wind. The water rose sparkling and\nfoaming about them, agitated and roaring as if by a storm. When they\nhad disappeared Ernest turned towards the fairy, who still continued\nwith him, and expressed his admiration of the beautiful scene which\nhad just vanished. The fairy replied that it was but a shadow compared\nwith the things infinitely more grand and magnificent which were still\nreserved for him to behold. Ernest at these words replied that he felt\nextremely impatient for the time to come when he might see them. His\nconductor arose, and commanded Alembert to follow. This he did, and\nthey proceeded to enter a dark and thick wood which grew on the banks\nof the island. They journeyed here for several miles, and at length\nemerged into an open glade of the forest, where was a rock formed\nlike a small temple, on the summit of which, covered with grass and\nvarious kinds of flowers, grew several young poplars and other trees.\nThis curious edifice the fairy entered alone. After remaining some\ntime he reappeared, and approaching Ernest bade him look up. Alembert\ninstantly complied, and, as he did so, beheld a chariot, which shone\nas the clouds that the sun glorifies at his setting, descending from\nthe skies. It was drawn by two swans, larger than the fabulous roc,\nwhose magnificent necks, arched like a rainbow, were surrounded by a\nbright halo reflected from the intense radiancy and whiteness of their\nplumage. Their expanded wings lightened the earth under them, and, as\nthey drew nearer, their insufferable splendour so dazzled the senses of\nErnest that he sank in a state of utter exhaustion to the ground.\n\nHis conductor then touched him with a small silver wand, and immediately\na strange stupor came ever him, which in a few minutes rendered him\nperfectly insensible. When he awoke from this swoon he found himself\nin an exceedingly wide and lofty apartment, whose vast walls were\nformed of black marble. Its huge gloomy dome was illumined by pale\nlamps that glimmered like stars through a curtain of clouds. Only\none window was visible, and that, of an immense size, and arched\nlike those of an ancient Gothic cathedral, was veiled by ample black\ndrapery. In the midst arose a colossal statue, whose lifted hands\nwere clasped in strong supplication, and whose upraised eyes and\nfixed features betokened excessive anguish. It was rendered distinctly\nvisible by the light of the tapers which burned around. As Ernest\ngazed on this mysterious room he felt a sensation of extreme awe,\nsuch as he had never before experienced. He knew that he was in a\nworld of spirits. The scene before him appeared like a dim dream.\nNothing was clear, for a visionary mist hovered over all things,\nthat imparted a sense of impenetrable obscurity to his mental as\nwell as his bodily eyesight.\n\nAfter continuing awhile in this state, amidst the most profound silence,\nhe heard the sweet soft tones of an \u00e6olian harp stealing through\nthe tall pillared arches. The subdued melody rose and filled the\nair with mournful music as the wind began to moan around the dome.\nBy degrees these sounds sank to rest, and the deathly stillness returned\nwith a more chilling and oppressive power. It continued for a long\nperiod until its unbroken solemnity became supernatural and insupportable.\nErnest struck the ground with his foot, but the blow produced no\nsound. He strove to speak, but his voice gave forth no utterance.\nAt that instant a crashing peal of thunder burst. The wild air roared\nround the mighty building, which shook and trembled to its centre.\nThen, as the wind arose, the music swelled again, mingling its majestic\nfloods of sound with the thunder that now pealed unceasingly. The\nunearthly tones that rolled along the blast exceeded everything that\nany mortal had heard before, and Ernest was nigh overwhelmed by the\nawe which their weird majesty inspired.\n\nSuddenly the fairy who had been his guide appeared, and approaching\nthe window beckoned him to come near. Ernest obeyed, and on looking\nout his eyes were bewildered by the scene which presented itself\nto his view. Nothing was visible beneath but billowy clouds, black\nas midnight, rolling around a tower a thousand feet in height, on\nwhose terrible summit he stood. Long he gazed intently on the wild\nvapours tossed to and fro like waves in a storm. At times they lay\nin dense gloom and darkness, then globes or flashes of fire illumined\nthem with sudden light.\n\nAt length the thunder and the wind ceased, the clouds slowly dispersed,\nand a growing brightness shone upon them. Beyond the horizon, through\nthe dismal piles of mist fast fading away, a fair vision gleamed\nwhich filled Alembert: with wonder and delight. A beautiful city\nappeared, whose lovely hues charmed the eye with their mild attractive\nsplendour. Its palaces, arches, pillars, and temples all smiled in\ntheir own gentle radiance, and a clear wide stream (transformed by\nthe distance into a silver thread) which circled its crystal walls\nwas spanned by a bright rainbow, through whose arch it flowed into\na broad, expanse of green hills, woods, and valleys, enamelled by\na thousand flowers that sent up their united fragrance so high that\neven the atmosphere around the summit of the lofty tower was faintly\nperfumed by it.\n\n\u2018That city,\u2019 said the guide, \u2018is the abode of our fairy king, whose\npalace you may see rising above those long groves near the southern\ngates.\u2019\n\nErnest looked in the direction indicated, but beheld only a star\nof light, for the palace was formed of certain materials too brilliant\nfor any but the eyes of fairies to behold. He continued some time\nat the window, until the prospect beneath, as twilight shed her dim\ninfluence over it, began to fade. Slowly the stars looked forth one\nby one from the sky\u2019s deepening azure, and the full moon as she ascended\nthe east gradually paled the bright orange-dye which glowed in the\nwestern heavens. The murmur of the aerial city died away. Only at\nintervals was heard the voice of the giant harp breaking the stillness\nof eventide, and its wild mournful melody as it floated on the balmy\nbreeze served but to enhance the calm, sacred, and mysterious feeling\nof that peaceful hour.\n\n\u2018We must now depart,\u2019 said the fairy, turning suddenly to Alembert,\nand at the same instant the latter found himself upon the very summit\nof the tower. His conductor then, without warning, pushed him from\nthe dizzy eminence into the void beneath.\n\nErnest gave a loud shriek of terror, but his fear was instantly dispelled\nby a delightful sensation which followed. He seemed to sink gently\nand slowly downwards, borne on a soft gale which now fanned his cheek,\nand guided by invisible beings who appeared to check the velocity\nof his fall, and to moderate his descent into a quiet and easy transition\nto the regions of the earth.\n\nAfter a while he alighted in the fairy city, still attended by his\nconductor. They proceeded along a magnificent street, paved with\nthe rarest gems, gorgeously sparkling in the moonlight, until they\narrived at a majestic palace of lapis lazuli whose golden gates rolled\nback at their approach, and admitted them to a wide hall floored\nwith the purest alabaster, richly carved and figured, and lighted\nby silver lamps perfumed with the most costly odours.\n\nErnest was now grown weary, and the fairy led him into another apartment\nmore beautiful than the first. Here was a splendid couch overhung\nby a canopy adorned with emeralds, diamonds, sapphires, and rubies,\nwhose excessive brilliancy illuminated all the room. On this couch\nAlembert flung himself joyfully down to rest. In a few moments a\nprofound slumber closed his eyelids, and his sleep continued undisturbed\nuntil break of day, when he was awakened by the sweet singing of\nbirds. He arose, and on looking forth from his casement beheld an\nimmense garden filled with the sweetest flowers, and with rare plants\nunknown among mortals. Long rows of lofty trees, bearing fruit that\nsparkled like precious stones, shaded green walks strewn with fallen\nblossoms. On their fresh verdant branches sat innumerable birds,\nclothed in rich and resplendent plumage, who filled the air with\ndelightful and harmonious warbling.\n\nErnest was astonished at beholding no appearance of the city, but\ncontinued for some time listening to the enchanting music of the\nbirds, enjoying the fragrant perfume of the blossoms, and the dark\ngrandeur of the majestic trees that surrounded him. This contemplation\nwas at length interrupted by his conductor, who now appeared in the\napartment. Without speaking, his guide led him from the chamber,\nand when they reached the open air bade him by a sign to look around.\nErnest obeyed, and in place of the palace he saw a high bower formed\nof trees whose flowers were more lovely than the finest roses, and\nsweeter than lilies or camellias. The prospect then suddenly changed,\nand a deep glen, embosomed in hills whose sides were wooded and\nrock-strewn, took the place of the garden. A deep, clear-watered river\nflowed past them. Into this the fairy plunged, and Ernest, forced by\nan overmastering spell, followed him. For a long time they sank slowly\ndown and nought was visible save the waters that swallowed them.\n\nAt length, leagues beneath, a new realm dawned upon Ernest\u2019s astonished\nsight. Their speed now accelerated, and soon they arrived at the\nabode of a fairy king. The palace was brilliant as a liquid diamond.\nA great fountain rushing upwards from the earth parted into a thousand\narches and pillars, through whose transparent surfaces appeared a\nquantity of emeralds, rubies, and other gems which the fountain continually\ncast up. The palace roof was formed of the frozen spray that proceeded\nlike a vapour from the living arches ever in motion. This, congealed\ninto round lucid drops, assumed the appearance of a lofty dome, from\nwhich descended other pillars of a larger size that seemed to support\nit. Over the summit of the dome was suspended in the air a sun of\ninsufferable brightness, and from within gleamed a hundred stars\nsparkling with supernatural splendour.\n\nBy reason of the translucent nature of the edifice the interior was\nperfectly visible, and Ernest saw the fairy king seated on a glittering\nand revolving throne. He was surrounded by attendants, one of whom\nheld a diamond cup filled with the honeydew of wild flowers. Others\nplayed sweetly upon silver harps and lutes, or sang in more melodious\ntones than the nightingale or skylark.\n\nIt would be impossible to relate all the marvellous adventures that\nbefel Alembert whilst he abode in the land of Faery. He saw their\nmidnight revels in many a wild glen, and witnessed how they feasted\nin the greenwood beneath the solemn moon. He viewed their pleasures\nand their pageants, and learned the spells by which they drew the\nlonely traveller into their enchanted circlet. Often he watched their\nsports by the \u2018beached margin of the sea,\u2019 and saw the rolling billows\nrest calmly under the magic influence of their incantations. He heard\nand felt the sweet witchery of their songs chanted at unearthly banquets,\nand when the sound swelled until it reached the starlit sky the revolving\nworlds arrested their mighty courses and stood still in the charmed\nheavens to attend. But this life in time grew wearying and insupportable.\nHe longed once more to dwell among humankind, to hear again the language\nof mortals, and to tread upon the old green grass-covered turf, under\nthe shade of the earthly trees he loved so well. At length the fairies\nperceived that the yearning to return was filling the bosom of Alembert,\nand that his heart was straining with the desire for home. This desire\nthey appreciated, for they knew well that no mortal born of mortals\ncould for long endure the light and fleeting glories of the land\nof Fays. Thus it was that they determined to relinquish him, and\nto bestow upon him the crown of his hopes. The following tells the\nmanner in which they gave fulfilment to his wish.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nIt was a fair and mild evening in the decline of summer, when all\nthe elfin courts assembled within a dell, one of those privileged\nspots which the pinching frosts and snows of winter are unable to\ndeprive of their everlasting green array. The soft velvet turf served\nthem for seats, and the profusion of sweet flowers with which it\nwas embroidered shed around a refreshing perfume. The lily canopy\nwas raised, and the glittering table was covered with crystal goblets\nbrimming with nectarous dew. The song of a lark now hymning his vespers\nin the cloud-wrapped dome was all their music, and as its tones fell\non the silent earth they diffused a holy calm on all. Before the\nfestival began a fairy rose and advanced towards Alembert, who reposed\non the ground a little apart. Approaching him, he presented him with\na goblet, and bade him drink the contents. Ernest obeyed, and scarcely\nhad he done so when a strange stupor seized him, which slowly overpowered\nall his senses. In a short time he sank into a profound slumber.\n\nWhen he recovered from his stupor he found himself at the entrance\nto a wide green vale, bounded by high hills, whose sides were clothed\nwith pleasant woods, which descended to their feet, and here and\nthere advanced a considerable way into the valley. At intervals enormous\nrocks were scattered, whose rugged and moss-grown forms added a touch\nof romance to the delightful scene. Nor were there wanting pleasant\ngroves, whose cool green shades offered welcome shelter to the toiling\nand travel-wearied pilgrim. It was sunset, and not one purple cloud\nwas visible in all the radiant sky. The west swam in an ocean of\ngolden light that bathed the heavens in glory, and poured its reflected\nsplendour over half the world. Eastward a long line of sober red\nappeared, gradually growing softer and paler towards the point of\nsunrise. Above, all was a clear bright silvery blue, deepening at\nthe zenith, and faintly tinged with grey as it receded from the gorgeous\nwest. Beneath this sky the earth glowed with tints whose warm and\nmellow richness could not have been surpassed by the loveliest scenes\nin Italy. Hills, rocks, and trees shone invested in a lustrous halo\nof beauty. The vale flowed with light, and a hundred flowers stirred\namong their leaves as the sun shed its last beams over them. Long\nErnest lingered, gazing entranced upon the sight. He knew that this\nwas no delusive vision, and that no mystery hung upon its spell.\nAs he stood a sound stole past him like the music of a harp. He trembled,\nfearing he was still held in the power of supernatural beings. The\nsound swelled, and, gathering in volume, swept solemnly down the\nwild glen, awakening low sweet echoes among the frowning rocks which\nspecked the lovely woods in which It was embosomed.\n\nSoon, however, Ernest\u2019s fear was dissipated, for he heard the music\naccompanied by a human voice. He moved forward a step or two, and\nthen bent eagerly towards the spot whence the tones issued, striving\nto catch the burthen of the uttered tones. This at length he did,\nand this is the song that fell upon his ears:\u2014\n\n    Proudly the sun has sunk to rest\n        Behind yon dim and distant hill;\n    The busy noise of day has ceased,\n        A holy calm the air doth fill.\n\n    That softening haze which veils the light\n        Of sunset in the gorgeous sky,\n    Is dusk, grey harbinger of night,\n        Now gliding onward silently.\n\n    No sound rings through the solemn vale\n        Save murmurs of those tall dark trees,\n    Which raise eternally their wail,\n        Bending beneath the twilight breeze.\n\n    And my harp peals the woods among\n        When vesper lifts its quiet eye,\n    Commingling with each night-bird\u2019s song\n        That chants its vigils pensively.\n\n    And here I sit, until night\u2019s noon\n        Hath gemmed the heavens with many a star,\n    And sing beneath the wandering moon\n        Who comes, high journeying, from afar.\n\n    Oh! sweet to me is that still hour\n        When frown the shades of night around,\n    Deepening the gloom of forest bower;\n        Filling the air with awe profound.\n\n    I hush my harp, and hush my song,\n        Low kneeling \u2019neath the lofty sky,\n    I hark the nightingale prolong\n        Her strain of wondrous melody,\n\n    Forth gushing like a mountain rill,\n        So rich, so deep, so clear and free;\n    She pours it forth o\u2019er dale and hill,\n        O\u2019er rock and river, lake and tree,\n\n    Till morn comes, and, with rosy hand,\n        Unbars the golden gates of day;\n    Then, as at touch of magic wand,\n        The earth is clad in fair array.\n\n    Then from its couch the skylark springs;\n        The trembling drops of glittering dew\n    Are scattered, as with vigorous wings\n        It mounts the glorious arch of blue.\n\nBefore the strain ceased the hues of sunset had begun to fade away,\nyet sufficient light remained for Ernest to perceive a man of ancient\nand venerable aspect seated at the mouth of a deep cavern, under\nthe shade of an immense oak, whose massive limbs and dense foliage\nstood in dark relief against the sky. Every leaf and twig was dimly\npencilled on the silvery blue, the outline of the trunk and larger\nbranches alone being clearly visible. The stranger was clad in a\nlong white robe and dark mantle which partly enveloped his person,\nand then, falling downwards, swept the ground in picturesque and\nmagnificent folds. His robe was confined by a black girdle, down\nto which his snowy beard flowed in profusion, and formed a fine contrast\nto his mantle and belt. His right hand rested upon a harp, whose\nchords he now and then swept with his left, causing a few sweet transitory\nnotes to issue therefrom, which rose and swelled in an uncertain\ncadence and then died away in the distance. As Ernest approached,\nthe harper raised his head, and demanded his name. When Alembert\nhad answered this question to the old man\u2019s satisfaction, he requested\npermission to seat himself beside him for a few moments that he might\nrest. The harper instantly complied, and after a short pause asked\nhim whence he came, and whither he went, and the reason of his being\nin so unfrequented and lonely a spot at such an unaccustomed hour.\nErnest in reply related the whole of his adventures, and by the time\nhe had completed their recital night had closed in, and the moon\nhad risen. His host now arose and invited him to lodge for that night\nwithin his cave. Alembert gladly consented, and together they proceeded\nto enter. When they were seated at their frugal supper of fruits\nand herbs, Ernest in his turn begged the old man to recount the\ncircumstances of his own life. To this request he gave a ready assent,\nand proceeded to unfold the following story:\u2014\n\n\u2018You have told me that your latter years have been spent among fairies.\nI likewise abode for a time with supernatural beings, but theirs\nwas a less gentle nature than those whom you have described. When\nyet: very young I became embued with the spirit of adventure, and\ndetermined to go out and seek my fortune in the world. The quarter\nof the globe which I fixed upon as the first scene of my wanderings\nwas Asia, and accordingly I embarked myself on board a ship bound\nfor Odessa. In a few days we set sail, and after a prosperous voyage\narrived at that part of the Russian dominions. From thence I proceeded\nto Tcherkask, where I halted a few days, and then went on to Good-Gard,\na mountain in the Caucasus. Here I decided to venture upon crossing\nthat stupendous range alone. Upon communicating my intentions to\nsome of the natives, they solemnly warned me against such an enterprise,\nassuring me that many powerful genii held their courts among the\nsnows of Elbruz and Kasbec. These words I disregarded, and as soon\nas extreme fatigue would permit me I began to ascend the Good-Gard\nroad. With great difficulty I proceeded along this road for several\ndays, until I reached the towering Elbruz. During the whole of my\njourney this mountain had been partly hidden from me by the minor\nhills that surrounded it, but upon emerging from a gorge in the last\nof these a full view of its tremendous magnitude burst upon my sight.\nIt was a fair and sunny afternoon in autumn when I first beheld the\nsublime vision. The mountain was separated from me only by a lovely\ngreen valley, through which a branch of the Aragua [2] wound its\nsilent course. Never shall I forget that inspiring scene. The mountain\ntowered before me, the grandeur of its radiant summit majestically\ncleaving the skies; its yawning abysses and clefts sufficiently wide\nto engulf a city; and its immovable aspect firm as if its base were\nfixed beyond the seas. As I gazed, suddenly the mountain trembled,\nthe top rent asunder, and a huge grim spirit rose from the horrible\nchasm thus produced. He raised his head to heaven, and uttered a\ncry which shook all Georgia. At this mystic appearance I sank to\nthe ground insensible. When I recovered from my swoon I found myself\nin a vast cave, illuminated only by an opening at the top, through\nwhich one ray of light streamed in. On looking round I perceived\nan iron door fitted in the side of the cave. This, with much difficulty,\nI opened, and found beyond a narrow passage tending downwards. I\nentered, and continued for several hours to follow whither it led.\nAt length I heard in the distance a dull noise like the roaring of\nthe sea, and after a while found myself borne upon the bosom of a\nrushing wave. I was hurried through the waters without fear or injury,\nwhilst strange and ghastly scenes saluted my wondering eyes. Anon\nI was walking at the bottom of the ocean. A thousand huge monsters\nlay there, glaring with fixed and solemn eyes through the tenebrous\ngloom. I saw the kraken with its hundred arms, the great whale, the\nsea bear, and others unknown to dwellers upon the earth. Voiceless\nthey glided through the regions of eternal silence, and the black\nbillows broke far above them in the midst of loneliness and solitude.\nUnutterable were the feelings with which I viewed the foundation\nof the everlasting hills, and beheld the trackless pathways of the\nunfathomed sea. Lustrous gems glittered on every side; groves of\ncoral begirt each rock; myriads of pearls gleamed constantly around;\nand the loveliest shells shone below me, to be crushed at each movement\nof my feet. Slowly I advanced until I espied a cavern, which opened\nbefore me. This I entered. Instantly a wave rose behind me and swept\nme swiftly down an abyss which led beneath the arches of a magnificent\npalace, larger and grander than any that can be boasted of in the\nlands which rise above the ocean\u2019s surface. There I saw, coiled in\nhis own vast halls, that mystic snake known among ancient Scalds\nby the name of Jormandugar. He it is who holds the earth girdled\nin his toils. For many days I sojourned here, and beheld sights of\nwhich no mortal tongue can tell. After a season: I returned to the\ncave in Elbruz, whence I was taken by the spirit who had brought\nme thither. Since then I have wandered in many regions of the earth,\nmingled with the peoples of many lands, and seen the myriad wonders\nof the world. At length, compelled by age, I have retired to this\nvalley, where I have now dwelt in happiness and peace for twenty\nyears.\u2019\n\n2 \u2018Lines to the River Aragua\u2019 is the title of a poem by Charlotte\nBront\u00eb which is mentioned by Mrs. Gaskell in _The Life of Charlotte\nBront\u00eb_, 1857, vol. i. p. 94.\u2014C. W. H.\n\nHere the old man ended his recital. Ernest thanked him for his narrative,\nadding that he likewise longed to spend the remainder of his days\nin that same lovely glen. The old man approved of his design, and\nfor many years they two dwelt together in perfect harmony, tranquillity,\nand peace.\n\n    C. BRONT\u00cb,\n    _May 25th_, 1830.\n\n\n\n\nALBION AND MARINA\n\nTHIS is Charlotte Bront\u00eb\u2019s first love story. It was printed by permission\nof Mr. Clement Shorter, the owner of the  copyright of all the unpublished\nBront\u00eb manuscripts, in the  Bront\u00eb Society Publications, Part xxx.,\n1920, and is now reprinted for the first time.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\n    ALBION AND\n    MARINA\n\n    A\n    TALE BY\n    LORD\n    WELLESLEY\n\n    PRINCIPAL PART POSSESSING FACT\n    FOR ITS FOUNDATION.\n\n    PUBLISHED\n    AND SOLD BY SERGEANT\n    TREE\n    AND ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS IN THE CHIEF GLASS TOWN,\n    PARIS, &C.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\nI HAVE written this tale out of malignity for the injuries that have\nlately been offered to me. Many parts, especially the former, were\ncomposed under a mysterious influence that I cannot account for.\n\nMy reader will easily recognise the characters through the thin veil\nwhich I have thrown over them. I have considerably flattered Lady\nZelvia Ellrington. She is not nearly so handsome as I have represented\nher, and she strove far more vigorously to oust some one from another\nperson\u2019s good graces than I say. But her endeavours failed. Albion\nhas hitherto stood firm. What he will do I cannot even pretend to\nguess; but I think that Marina\u2019s incomparable superiority will prevail\nover her Frenchified rival, who, as all the world knows, is a miller,\njockey, talker, blue-stocking, charioteer, and beldam united in one\u2026\n\nThe conclusion is wholly destitute of any foundation in truth, and\nI did it out of revenge. Albion and Marina are both alive and well\nfor aught I know.\n\nOne thing, however, will certainly break my heart, and that is the\nadmission of any scandal against Tree (the publisher); but I hope\nmy readers will pardon me for it, as I promise to make amends with\nusury the next time I write a book.\n\n    C. WELLESLEY,\n    _October 12th_, 1880.\n\nI wrote this in four hours.\u2014C. B.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nALBION\n\nTHERE is a certain sweet little pastoral village in the south of\nEngland with which I am better acquainted than most men. The scenery\naround it possesses no distinguishing characteristic of romantic\ngrandeur or wildness that might figure to advantage in a novel, to\nwhich high title this brief narrative sets up no pretensions.\n\nNeither rugged lofty rocks, nor mountains dimly huge, mark with frowns\nthe undisturbed face of nature; but little peaceful valleys, low\nhills crowned with wood, murmuring cascades and streamlets, richly\ncultivated fields, farmhouses, cottages, and a wide river, form all\nthe scenic features. And every hamlet has one or more great men.\n\nThis had one and he was \u2018na sheep-shanks.\u2019\n\nEvery ear in the world had heard of his fame, and every tongue could\nbear testimony to it. I shall name him the Duke of Strathelleraye,\nand by that name the village was likewise denominated.\n\nFor more than thirty miles around every inch of ground belonged to\nhim and every man was his retainer.\n\nThe magnificent villa, or rather palace, of this noble, stood on\nan eminence, surrounded by a vast park and the embowering shade of\nan ancient wood, proudly seeming to claim the allegiance of all the\ncountryside.\n\nThe mind, achievements, and character of its great possessor, must\nnot, _can_ not, be depicted by a pen so feeble as mine; for though\nI could call filial love and devoted admiration to my aid, yet both\nwould be utterly ineffective.\n\nThough the duke seldom himself came among his attached vassals, being\ndetained elsewhere by important avocations, yet his lady the duchess\nresided in the castle constantly. Of her I can only say that she\nwas like an earthly angel. Her mind was composed of charity, beneficence,\ngentleness, and sweetness. All, both old and young, loved her; and\nthe blessings of those that were ready to perish came upon her evermore.\n\nHis Grace had also two sons, who often visited Strathelleraye.\n\nOf the youngest, Lord Cornelius, everything is said when I inform\nthe reader that he was seventeen years of age, grave, sententious,\nstoical, rather haughty and sarcastic, of a fine countenance though\nsomewhat swarthy; that he had long thick hair black as the hoody\u2019s\nwing; and liked nothing so well as to sit in moody silence musing\nover the vanity of human affairs, or improving and expanding his\nmind by the abstruse study of the higher branches of mathematics,\nand that sublime science astronomy.\n\nThe eldest son, Albion, Marquis of Tagus, is the hero of my present\ntale. He had entered his nineteenth year; his stature was lofty;\nhis form equal in the magnificence of its proportions to that of\nApollo Belvedere. The bright wealth and curls of his rich brown hair\nwaved over a forehead of the purest marble in the placidity of its\nunveined whiteness. His nose and mouth were cast in the most perfect\nmould. But saw I never anything to equal his eye! Oh! I could have\nstood riveted with the chains of admiration gazing for hours upon\nit! What clearness, depth, and lucid transparency in those large\norbs of radiant brown! And the fascination of his smile was irresistible,\nthough seldom did that sunshine of the mind break through the thoughtful\nand almost melancholy expression of his noble features. He was a\nsoldier, captain in the Royal Regiment of Horse Guards, and all his\nattitudes and actions were full of martial grace. His mental faculties\nwere in exact keeping with such an exterior, being of the highest\norder; and though not like his younger brother, wholly given up to\nstudy, yet he was well versed in the ancient languages, and deeply\nread in the Greek and Roman classics, in addition to the best works\nin the British, German, and Italian tongues.\n\nSuch was my hero. The only blot I was ever able to discover in his\ncharacter was that of a slight fierceness or impetuosity of temper\nwhich sometimes carried him beyond bounds, though at the slightest\nlook or word of command from his father he instantly bridled his\npassion and became perfectly calm.\n\nNo wonder the duke should be, as he was, proud of such a son.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nMARINA\n\nAbout two miles from the castle there stood a pretty house, entirely\nhid from view by a thick forest, in a glade of which it was situated.\n\nBehind it was a smooth lawn fringed with odoriferous shrubs, and\nbefore it a tasteful flower garden.\n\nThis was the abode of Sir Alured Angus, a Scotchman, who was physician\nto His Grace, and though of gentlemanly manners and demeanour, yet\nharsh, stern, and somewhat querulous in countenance and disposition.\n\nHe was a widower, and had but one child, a daughter, whom I shall\ncall Marina, which nearly resembles her true name.\n\nNo wild rose blooming in solitude, or bluebell peering from an old\nwall, ever equalled in loveliness this flower of the forest. The\nhue of her cheek would excel the most delicate tint of the former,\neven when its bud is just opening to the breath of summer, and the\nclear azure of her eyes would cause the latter to appear dull as\na dusky hyacinth. Also, the silken tresses of her hazel hair straying\nin light ringlets down a neck and forehead of snow seemed more elegant\nthan the young tendrils of a vine. Her dress was almost Quaker-like\nin its simplicity. Pure white or vernal green were the colours she\nconstantly wore, without any jewels save one row of pearls round\nher neck. She never stirred beyond the precincts of the wooded and\npleasant green lane which skirted a long cornfield near the house.\nThere on warm summer evenings she would ramble and linger listening\nto the woodlark\u2019s song, and occasionally join her own more harmonious\nvoice to its delightful warblings.\n\nWhen the gloomy days and nights of autumn and winter did not permit\nthese walks she amused herself with drawing (for which she had an\nexact taste), playing on the harp, reading the best English, French,\nand Italian works (all which languages she understood) in her father\u2019s\nextensive library, and sometimes a little light needlework.\n\nThus in a state of almost perfect seclusion (for seldom had she even\nSir Alured\u2019s company, as he generally resided in London) she was\nquite happy, and reflected with innocent wonder on those who could\nfind pleasure in the noisy delights of what is called \u2018fashionable\nsociety.\u2019\n\nOne day, as Lady Strathelleraye was walking in the wood she met Marina,\nand on learning who she was, being charmed with her beauty and sweet\nmanners, invited her to go on the morrow to the castle. She did so,\nand there met the Marquis of Tagus. _He_ was even more surprised\nand pleased with her than the duchess, and when she was gone he asked\nhis mother many questions about her, all of which she answered to\nhis satisfaction.\n\nFor some time afterwards he appeared listless and abstracted. The\nreader will readily perceive that he had, to use a cant phrase, \u2018fallen\nin love.\u2019\n\nLord Cornelius, his brother, warned him of the folly of doing so;\nbut instead of listening to his sage admonitions he first strove\nto laugh, and then frowning at him commanded silence.\n\nIn a few days he paid a visit to Oakwood House (Sir Alured\u2019s mansion),\nand after that became more gloomy than before.\n\nHis father observed this, and one day as they were sitting alone\nremarked it to Albion, adding that he was fully acquainted with the\nreason.\n\nAlbion reddened but made no answer.\n\n\u2018I am not, my son,\u2019 continued the duke, \u2018opposed to your wishes,\nthough certainly there is a considerable difference of rank between\nyourself and Marina Angus, but that difference is compensated by\nthe many admirable qualities she possesses.\u2019\n\nOn hearing these words, Arthur,\u2014Albion, I mean,\u2014started up, and throwing\nhimself at his father\u2019s feet, poured forth his thanks in terms of\nglowing gratitude, while his fine features, flushed with excitation,\nspoke even more eloquently than his eloquent words.\n\n\u2018Rise, Albion!\u2019 said the duke; \u2018you are worthy of her and she of\nyou; but both are yet too young. Some years must elapse before your\nunion takes place; therefore exert your patience, my son.\u2019\n\nAlbion\u2019s joy was slightly damped by this news, but his thankfulness\nand filial obedience as well as love forced him to acquiesce, and\nimmediately after he quitted the room and took his way to Oakwood\nHouse.\n\nThere he related the circumstance to Marina, who, though she blushed\nincredulously, yet in truth felt as much gladness and as great a\nrelief from doubt almost amounting to despair as himself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nGLASS TOWN\n\nA few months afterwards the Duke of Strathelleraye determined to\nvisit that wonder of the world, the great city of Africa: the Glass\nTown, of whose splendour, magnificence, and extent, strength and\nriches, occasional tidings came from afar, wafted by breezes of the\nocean to Merry England.\n\nBut to most of the inhabitants of that little isle it bore the character\nof a dream or gorgeous fiction. They were unable to comprehend how\nmere human beings could construct fabrics of such a marvellous size\nand grandeur as many of the public buildings were represented to\nbe; and as to the \u2018Tower of all the Nations,\u2019 few believed in its\nexistence. It seemed as the cities of old: Nineveh or Babylon with\nthe temples of their gods, Ninus or Jupiter Belus, and their halls\nof Astart\u00e9 and Semalt. These most people believe to be magnified\nby the dim haze of intervening ages, and the exaggerating page of\nhistory through which medium we behold them.\n\nThe duke, as he had received many invitations from the Glass Townians,\nwho were impatient to behold one whose renown had spread so far,\nand who likewise possessed vast dominions near the African coast,\ninformed his lady, the Marquis of Tagus, and Lord Cornelius, that\nin a month\u2019s time he should take his departure with them, and that\nhe should expect them all to be prepared at that period, adding that\nwhen they returned Marina Angus should be created Marchioness of\nTagus.\n\nThough it was a bitter trial to Albion to part with one to whom he\nwas now so entirely devoted, yet, comforted by the last part of his\nfather\u2019s speech, he obeyed without murmuring.\n\nOn the last evening of his stay in Strathelleraye he took a sad farewell\nof Marina, who wept as if hopeless; but suddenly restraining her\ngriefs she looked up, with her beautiful eyes irradiated by a smile\nthat like a ray of light illumined the crystal tears, and whispered:\n\n\u2018I shall be happy when you return.\u2019\n\nThen they parted; and Albion during his voyage over the wide ocean\noften thought for comfort on her last words.\n\nIt is a common superstition that the words uttered by a friend on\nseparating are prophetic, and these certainly portended nothing but\npeace.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nLITERARY AMBITIONS\n\nIn due course of time they arrived at the Glass Town, and were welcomed\nwith enthusiastic cordiality.\n\nAfter the duke had visited his kingdom he returned to the chief metropolis\nand established his residence there at Salamanca Palace.\n\nThe Marquis of Tagus from the noble beauty of his person attracted\nconsiderable attention wherever he went, and in a short period he\nhad won and attached many faithful friends of the highest rank and\nabilities.\n\nFrom his love of elegant literature and the fine arts in general,\npainters and poets were soon among his warmest admirers. He himself\npossessed a most sublime genius, but as yet its full extent was unknown\nto him.\n\nOne day as he was meditating alone on the world of waters that rolled\nbetween him and the fair Marina, he determined to put his feelings\non paper in a tangible shape that he might hereafter show them to\nher when anticipation had given place to fruition. He took his pen,\nand in about a quarter of an hour had completed a brief poem of exquisite\nbeauty. The attempt pleased him and soothed the anguish that lingered\nin his heart. It likewise gave him an insight into the astonishing\nfaculties of his own mind; and a longing for immortality, an ambition\nof glory, seized him.\n\nHe was a devoted worshipper of the divine works that the Grecian\ntragedians have left for all succeeding ages to marvel at, particularly\nthose of Sophocles the Majestic; and his mind was deeply embued with\nthe spirit of their eagle-like flights into higher regions than that\nof earth or even Parnassus.\n\nBeing now sensible in a degree of his lofty powers, he determined,\nlike Milton, to write somewhat that the traditionary muses would\nnot willingly let die, and accordingly commenced a tragedy entitled:\n\u2018Necropolis, or the City of the Dead.\u2019 Here was set forth in a strain\nof the grandest mind the mysteries of ancient Egyptian worship; and\nhe has acknowledged to me that he felt his being absorbed while he\nwrote it, even by the words himself had made.\n\nSublime is this surprising production! It is indeed, in the words\nof an eminent writer (Captain Tree), \u2018a noble instance of the almost\nperfectibility of human intellect\u2019; but there hovers over it a feeling\nof tender melancholy, for the image of Marina haunted his thoughts,\nand Amalthea, his heroine, is but an impersonation of her.\n\nThis tragedy wreathed the laurels of fame round his brow, and his\nafter-productions, each of which seemed to excel the other, added\nnew wreaths to those which already beautified his temples.\n\nI cannot follow him in the splendour of his literary career, nor\neven mention so much as the titles of his various works. Suffice\nit to say he became one of the greatest poets of the age; and one\nof the chief motives that influenced him in his exertions for renown\nwas to render himself worthy to possess such a treasure as Marina.\nShe in whatever he was employed was never out of his thoughts, and\nnone had he as yet beheld among all the ladies of the Glass Town,\u2014though\nrich, titled, and handsome strove by innumerable arts to gain his\nfavour,\u2014whom he could even compare with her.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nLADY ZELVIA ELLRINGTON\n\nOne evening Albion was invited to the house of Earl Cruachan, where\nwas a large party assembled. Among the guests was one lady apparently\nabout twenty-five or twenty-six years of age. In figure she was very\ntall, and both it and her face were of a perfectly Roman cast. Her\nfeatures were regularly and finely formed, her full and brilliant\neyes jetty black, as were the luxuriant tresses of her richly-curled\nhair. Her dark glowing complexion was set off by a robe of crimson\nvelvet trimmed with ermine, and a nodding plume of black ostrich\nfeathers added to the imposing dignity of her appearance.\n\nAlbion, notwithstanding her unusual comeliness, hardly noticed her\ntill Earl Cruachan rose and introduced her to him as the Lady Zelvia\nEllrington.\n\nShe was the most learned and noted woman in Glass Town, and he was\npleased with this opportunity of seeing her.\n\nFor some time she entertained him with a discourse of the most lively\neloquence, and indeed Madame de Sta\u00ebl herself could not have gone\nbeyond Lady Zelvia in the conversational talent; and on this occasion\nshe exerted herself to the utmost, as she was in the presence of\nso distinguished a man, and one whom she seemed ambitious to please.\n\nAt length one of the guests asked her to favour the company with\na song and tune on the grand piano. At first she refused, but on\nAlbion seconding the request rose, and taking from the drawing-room\ntable a small volume of poems opened it at one by the Marquis of\nTagus. She then set it to a fine air and sang as follows, while she\nskilfully accompanied her voice upon the instrument:\u2014\n\n    I think of thee when the moonbeams play\n        On the placid water\u2019s face;\n    For thus thy blue eyes\u2019 lustrous ray\n        Shone with resembling grace.\n\n    I think of thee when the snowy swan\n        Glides calmly down the stream;\n    Its plumes the breezes scarcely fan,\n        Awed by their radiant gleam.\n\n    For thus I\u2019ve seen the loud winds hush\n        To pass thy beauty by,\n    With soft caress and playful rush\n        \u2019Mid thy bright tresses fly.\n\n    And I have seen the wild birds sail\n        In rings thy head above,\n    While thou hast stood like lily pale\n        Unknowing of their love.\n\n    Oh! for the day when once again\n        Mine eyes shall gaze on thee;\n    But an ocean vast, a sounding main,\n        An ever howling sea,\n            Roll on between\n            With their billows green,\n        High tost tempestuously.\n\nThis song had been composed by Albion soon after his arrival at the\nGlass Town. The person addressed was Marina. The full rich tones\nof Lady Zelvia\u2019s voice did ample justice to the subject, and he expressed\nhis sense of the honour she had done him in appropriate terms.\n\nWhen she had finished the company departed, for it was then rather\nlate.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE SPIRIT OF MARINA\n\nAs Albion pursued his way homewards alone he began insensibly to\nmeditate on the majestic charms of Lady Zelvia Ellrington, and to\ncompare them with the gentler ones of Marina Angus. At first he could\nhardly tell which to give the preference to, for though he still\nalmost idolised Marina, yet an absence of four years had considerably\ndeadened his remembrance of her person.\n\nWhile he was thus employed he heard a soft but mournful voice whisper\n\u2018Albion!\u2019\n\nHe turned hastily round, and saw the form of the identical Marina\nat a little distance distinctly visible by the moonlight.\n\n\u2018Marina! My dearest Marina!\u2019 he exclaimed, springing towards her,\nwhile joy unutterable filled his heart; \u2018how did you come here? Have\nthe angels in Heaven brought you?\u2019\n\nSo saying he stretched out his hand, but she eluded his grasp, and\nslowly gliding away, said: \u2018Do not forget me; I shall be happy when\nyou return.\u2019\n\nThen the apparition vanished. It seemed to have appeared merely to\nassert her superiority over her rival, and indeed the moment Albion\nbeheld her beauty he felt that it was peerless.\n\nBut now wonder and perplexity took possession of his mind. He could\nnot account for this vision except by the common solution of supernatural\nagency, and that ancient creed\u2019 his enlightened understanding had\nhitherto rejected until it was forced upon him by this extraordinary\nincident.\n\nOne thing there was, however, the interpretation of which he thought\nhe could not mistake, and that was the repetition of her last words:\n\u2018I shall be happy when you return.\u2019 It showed that she was still\nalive, and that which he had seen could not be her wraith. However,\nhe made a memorandum of the day and hour, namely, the 18th of June\n1815, twelve o\u2019clock at night.\n\nFrom this time the natural melancholy turn of his disposition increased,\nfor the dread of her death before he should return was constantly\nbefore him, and the ardency of his adoration and desire to see her\nagain redoubled.\n\nAt length, not being able any longer to bear his misery he revealed\nit to his father; and the duke, touched with his grief and the fidelity\nof his attachment, gave him full permission to visit England and\nbring back Marina with him to Africa.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nALBION\u2019S RETURN\n\nI need not trouble the reader with a minute detail of the circumstances\nof Albion\u2019s voyage, but shall pass on to what happened after he arrived\nin England.\n\nIt was a fair evening in September 1815 when he reached Strathelleraye.\n\nWithout waiting to enter the halls of his fathers he proceeded immediately\nto Oakwood House. As he approached it he almost sickened when for\nan instant the thought that she might be no more passed across his\nmind, but summoning hope to his aid and resting on her golden anchor\nhe passed up the lawn and gained the glass doors of the drawing-room.\n\nAs he drew near a sweet symphony of harp music swelled on his ear.\nHis heart bounded within him at the sound. He knew that no fingers\nbut hers could create those melodious tones with which now blended\nthe harmony of a sweet and sad but well-known voice. He lifted the\nvine branch that shaded the door and beheld Marina, more beautiful\nhe thought than ever, seated at her harp sweeping with her slender\nfingers the quivering chords.\n\nWithout being observed by her, as she had her face turned from him,\nhe entered, and sitting down leaned his head on his hand and, closing\nhis eyes, listened with feelings of overwhelming transport to the\nfollowing words:\u2014\n\n    Long my anxious ear hath listened\n        For the step that ne\u2019er returned;\n    And my tearful eye hath glistened,\n        And my heart hath daily burned,\n                                But now I rest.\n\n    Nature\u2019s self seemed clothed in mourning;\n        Even the star-like woodland flower,\n    With its leaflets fair, adorning\n        The pathway to the forest-bower,\n                                Drooped its head.\n\n    From the cavern of the mountain,\n        From the groves that crown the hill,\n    From the stream, and from the fountain,\n        Sounds prophetic murmured still,\n                                Betokening grief.\n\n    Boding winds came fitful, sighing,\n        Through the tall and leafy trees;\n    Birds of omen, wildly crying,\n        Sent their calls upon the breeze\n                                Wailing round me.\n\n    At each sound I paled and trembled,\n        At each step I raised my head,\n    Hearkening if it his resembled,\n        Or if news that he was dead\n                                Were come from far.\n\n    All my days were days of weeping;\n        Thoughts of grim despair were stirred;\n    Time on leaden feet seemed creeping;\n        Long heart-sickness, hope deferred\n                                Cankered my heart.\n\nHere the music and singing suddenly ceased.\n\nAlbion raised his head. All was darkness except where the silver\nmoonbeams showed a desolate and ruined apartment instead of the elegant\nparlour that a few minutes before had gladdened his sight.\n\nNo trace of Marina was visible, no harp or other instrument of harmony,\nand the cold lunar light streamed through a void space instead of\nthe glass door. He sprang up and called aloud: \u2018Marina! Marina!\u2019\nBut only an echo as of empty rooms answered. Almost distracted he\nrushed into the open air. A child was standing alone at the garden\ngate, who advanced towards him and said: \u2018I will lead you to Marina\nAngus; she has removed from that house to another.\u2019\n\nAlbion followed the child till they came to a long row of tall dark\ntrees leading to a churchyard, which they entered, and the child\nvanished, leaving Albion beside a white marble tombstone on which\nwas chiselled:\u2014\n\n            MARINA ANGUS\n              She died\n          18th of June 1815\n                at\n            12 o\u2019clock\n             midnight.\n\nWhen Albion had read this he felt a pang of horrible anguish wring\nhis heart and convulse his whole frame. With a loud groan he fell\nacross the tomb and lay there senseless a long time, till at length\nhe was waked from the death-like trance to behold the spirit of Marina,\nwhich stood beside him for a moment, and then murmuring, \u2018Albion,\nI am happy, for I am at peace,\u2019 disappeared!\n\nFor a few days he lingered round her tomb, and then quitted Strathelleraye,\nwhere he was never again heard of.\n\n\n\nThe reason of Marina\u2019s death I shall briefly relate. Four years after\nAlbion\u2019s departure tidings came to the village that he was dead.\nThe news broke Marina\u2019s faithful heart. The day after, she was no\nmore.\n\n    C. B.,\n    _October 12th_, 1830.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RIVALS\n\n\n\n\n    THE RIVALS\n\n    A SHORT DRAMA WRITTEN BY\n    CHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb\n    AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN YEARS.\n\n    DRAMATIS PERSON\u00c6\n\n    LORD ARTHUR.\n\n    _The Rivals:_\n    MARIAN.\n    LADY ZENOBIA ELLRINGTON.\n\nThese characters will be easily recognised under their assumed names\nin the story entitled \u2018Albion and Marina,\u2019 pp. 75-94.\n\n\n\n\nTHE RIVALS\n\nSCENE\u2014_A thick forest, under the trees of which_ LADY ZENOBIA ELLRINGTON\n_is reposing, dressed in her usual attire of a crimson-velvet robe\nand black plumes. She speaks_:\n\n    \u2019Tis eve: how that rich sunlight streameth through\n    The unwoven arches of this sylvan roof!\n    How their long, lustrous lines of light illume,\n    With trembling radiance, all the ag\u00e8d boles\n    Of elms majestic as the lofty columns\n    That proudly rear their tall forms to the dome\n    Of old cathedral or imperial palace!\n    Yea, they are grander than the mightiest shafts\n    That e\u2019er by hand of man were fashioned forth\n    Their holy, solemn temples to uphold;\n    And sweeter far than the harmonious peals\n    Of choral thunder, that in music roll\n    Through vaulted isles, are the low forest sounds\n    Murmuring around: of wind and stirr\u00e8d leaf,\n    And warbled song of nightingale or lark\n    Whose swelling cadences and dying falls\n    And whelming gushes of rich melody\n    Attune to meditation, all serene,\n    The weary spirit; and draw forth still thoughts\n    Of happy scenes half veil\u00e8d by the mists\n    Of bygone times. Yea, that calm influence\n    Hath soothed the billowy troubles of my heart\n    Till scarce one sad thought rises, though I sit\n    Beneath these trees, utterly desolate.\n    But no, not utterly, for still one friend\n    I fain would hope remains to brighten yet\n    My mournful journey through this vale of tears;\n    And, while he shines, all other, lesser lights\n    May wane and fade unnoticed from the sky.\n    But more than friend, e\u2019en he can never be:\n                                [_Heaves a deep sigh._\n    That thought is sorrowful, but yet I\u2019ll hope.\n    What is my rival? Nought but a weak girl,\n    Ungifted with the state and majesty\n    That mark superior minds. Her eyes gleam not\n    Like windows to a soul of loftiness;\n    She hath not raven locks that lightly wave\n    Over a brow whose calm placidity\n    Might emulate the white and polished marble.\n                                [_A white dove flutters by._\n    Ha! what art thou, fair creature? It hath vanished\n    Down that long vista of low-drooping trees.\n    How gracefully its pinions waved! Methinks\n    It was the spirit of this solitude.\n    List! I hear footsteps; and the rustling leaves\n    Proclaim the approach of some corporeal being.\n        [_A young girl advances up the vista, dressed in\n            green, with a garland of flowers wreathed\n            in the curls of her hazel hair. She comes\n            towards_ LADY ZENOBIA, _and says_:\n\n                        GIRL.\n    Lady, methinks I erst have seen thy face.\n    Art thou not that Zenobia, she whose name\n    Renown hath come e\u2019en to this fair retreat?\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    Aye, maiden, thou hast rightly guessed. But how\n    Didst recognise me?\n\n                        GIRL.\n    In Verreopolis\n    I saw thee walking in those gardens fair\n    That like a rich, embroidered belt surround\n    That mighty city; and one bade me look\n    At her whose genius had illumined bright\n    Her age, and country, with undying splendour.\n    The majesty of thy imperial form,\n    The fire and sweetness of thy radiant eye,\n    Alike conspired to impress thine image\n    Upon my memory; and thus it is\n    That now I know thee as thou sittest there\n    Queen-like, beneath the over-shadowing boughs\n    Of that huge oak-tree, monarch of this wood.\n\n        LADY ELLRINGTON [_smiling graciously_].\n    Who art thou, maiden?\n\n                        GIRL.\n                            Marian is my name.\n\n        LADY ELLRINGTON [_starting up: aside_].\n    Ha! my rival! [_Sternly_] What dost thou here\n        alone?\n\n                    MARIAN [_aside_].\n    How her tone changed! [_Aloud_] My favourite\n        cushat-dove,\n    Whose plumes are whiter than new-fallen snow,\n    Hath wandered, heedless, from my vigilant care.\n    I saw it gleaming through these dusky trees,\n    Fair as a star, while soft it glided by:\n    So have I come to find and lure it back.\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    Are all thy affections centred in a bird?\n    For thus thou speakest, as though nought were worthy\n    Of thought or care saving a silly dove!\n\n                        MARIAN.\n    Nay, lady, I\u2019ve a father, and mayhap\n    Others whom gratitude or tenderest ties,\n    If such there be, bind my heart closer to.\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    But birds and flowers and such trifles vain\n    Seem most to attract thy love, if I may form\n    A judgment from thy locks elaborate curled\n    And wreathed around with woven garlandry,\n    And from thy whining speech, all redolent\n    With tone of most affected sentiment.\n            [_She seizes MARIAN, and exclaims with\n                a violent gesture:_\n    Wretch, I could kill thee!\n\n                        MARIAN.\n                            Why, what have I done?\n    How have I wronged thee? Surely thou \u2019rt distraught!\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    How hast thou wronged me? Where didst weave\n    the net\n    Whose cunning meshes have entangled round\n    The mightiest heart that e\u2019er in mortal breast\n    Did beat responsive unto human feeling?\n\n                        MARIAN.\n    The net? What net? I wove no net; she\u2019s frantic!\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    Dull, simple creature! Canst not understand?\n\n                        MARIAN.\n    Truly, I cannot. \u2019Tis to me a problem,\n    An unsolved riddle, an enigma dark.\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    I\u2019ll tell thee, then. But, hark! What voice is that?\n\n                VOICE [_from the forest_].\n    Marian, where art thou? I have found a rose\n    Fair as thyself. Come hither, and I\u2019ll place it\n    With the blue violets on thine ivory brow.\n\n                        MARIAN.\n    He calls me; I must go; restrain me not.\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    Nay! I will hold thee firmly as grim death.\n    Thou need\u2019st not struggle, for my grasp is strong.\n    Thou shalt not go: Lord Arthur shall come here,\n    And I will gain the rose despite of thee!\n    Now for my hour of triumph: here he comes.\n        [LORD ARTHUR _advances from among the trees,\n            exclaiming on seeing_ LADY ELLRINGTON.\n\n                    LORD ARTHUR.\n    Zenobia! How com\u2019st thou here? What ails thee?\n    Thy cheek is flushed as with a fever glow;\n    Thine eyes flash strangest radiance; and thy frame\n    Trembles like to the wind-stirred aspen-tree!\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    Give me the rose, Lord Arthur, for methinks\n    I merit it more than my girlish rival;\n    I pray thee now grant my request, and place\n    That rose upon my forehead, not on hers;\n    Then will I serve thee all my after-days\n    As thy poor handmaid, as thy humblest slave,\n    Happy to kiss the dust beneath thy tread,\n    To kneel submissive in thy lordly presence.\n    Oh! turn thine eyes from her and look on me\n    As I kneel here imploring at thy feet,\n    Supremely blest if but a single glance\n    Could tell me that thou art not wholly deaf\n    To my petition, earnestly preferred.\n\n                    LORD ARTHUR.\n    Lady, thou\u2019rt surely mad! Depart, and hush\n    These importunate cries. They are not worthy\n    Of the great name which thou hast fairly earned.\n\n                    LADY ELLRINGTON.\n    Give me that rose, and I to thee will cleave\n    Till death. Hear me, and give it me, Lord Arthur!\n\n        LORD ARTHUR [_after a few minutes\u2019 deliberation_].\n    Here, take the flower, and keep it for my sake.\n        [MARIAN _utters a suppressed scream, and sinks\n            to the ground_.\n\n            LADY ELLRINGTON [_assisting her to rise_].\n    Now I have triumphed! But I\u2019ll not exult;\n    Yet know, henceforth, I\u2019m thy superior.\n    Farewell, my lord; I thank thee for thy preference!\n            [_She plunges into the wood and disappears._\n\n                    LORD ARTHUR.\n    Fear nothing, Marian, for a fading flower\n    Is not symbolical of constancy.\n    But take this sign; [_Gives her his diamond ring_]\n        enduring adamant\n    Betokens well affection that will live\n    Long as life animates my faithful heart.\n    Now let us go; for, see, the deepening shades\n    Of twilight darken our lone forest-path;\n    And, lo! thy dove comes gliding through the murk,\n    Fair wanderer, back to its loved mistress\u2019 care!\n    Luna will light us on our journey home:\n    For, see, her lamp shines radiant in the sky,\n    And her bright beams will pierce the thickest boughs.\n                        [_Exeunt, and curtain falls._\n\nFrom an unpublished manuscript by Charlotte Bront\u00eb, entitled \u2018Visits\nin Verreopolis,\u2019 vol. i., completed December 11th, 1880.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY GIFT\n\nUNDER the title of \u2018The Four Wishes\u2019 this story was first printed\nby Mr. Clement Shorter in April 1918, in an edition limited to twenty\ncopies for private circulation only.\n\nIt was published, with three illustrations, in the _Strand Magazine_,\nDecember 1918, pp. 461-466.\n\nThe title of \u2018The Fairy Gift\u2019 was given to the story by Charlotte\nBront\u00eb.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY GIFT\n\nONE cold evening in December 17\u2014, while I was yet but a day labourer,\nthough not even at that time wholly without some aspirations after\nfame and some intimations of future greatness, I was sitting alone\nby my cottage fire engaged in ambitious reveries of _l\u2019avenir_, and\namusing myself with wild and extravagant imaginations. A thousand\nevanescent wishes flitted through my mind, one of which was scarcely\nformed when another succeeded it; then a third, equally transitory,\nand so on.\n\nWhile I was thus employed with building castles in the air my frail\nedifices were suddenly dissipated by an emphatic \u2018Hem!\u2019 I started,\nand raised my head. Nothing was visible, and, after a few minutes,\nsupposing it to be only fancy, I resumed my occupation of weaving\nthe web of waking visions. Again the \u2018Hem!\u2019 was heard; again I looked\nup, when lo! sitting in the opposite chair I beheld the diminutive\nfigure of a man dressed all in green. With a pretty considerable\nfluster I demanded his business, and how he had contrived to enter\nthe house without my knowledge.\n\n\u2018I am a fairy,\u2019 he replied, in a shrill voice; \u2018but fear nothing;\nmy intentions are not mischievous. On the contrary, I intend to gift\nyou with the power of obtaining four wishes, provided that you wish\nthem at different times; and if you should happen to find the fruition\nof my theme not equal to your anticipations, still you are at liberty\nto cast it aside, which you must do before another wish is granted.\u2019\n\nWhen he had concluded this information he gave me a ring, telling\nme that by the potency of the spell with which it was invested my\ndesires would prove immediately successful.\n\nI expressed my gratitude for this gift in the warmest terms, and\nthen inquired how I should dispose of the ring when I had four times\narrived at the possession of that which I might wish.\n\n\u2018Come with it at midnight to the little valley in the uplands, a\nmile hence,\u2019 said he, \u2018and there you will be rid of it when it becomes\nuseless.\u2019\n\nWith these words he vanished from my sight. I stood for some minutes\nincredulous of the reality of that which I had witnessed, until at\nlast I was convinced by the green-coloured ring set in gold that\nsparkled in my hand.\n\nBy some strange influence I had been preserved from any feeling of\nfear during my conversation with the fairy, but now I began to feel\ncertain doubts and misgivings as to the propriety of having any dealings\nwith supernatural beings. These, however, I soon quelled, and began\nforthwith to consider what should be the nature of my first wish.\nAfter some deliberation I found the desire for beauty was uppermost\nin my mind, and therefore formed a wish that next morning when I\narose I should find myself possessed of surpassing loveliness.\n\nThat night my dreams were filled with anticipations of future grandeur,\nbut the gay visions which my sleeping fancy called into being were\ndispelled by the first sounds of morning.\n\nI awoke lightsome and refreshed, and springing out of bed glanced\nhalf-doubtingly into the small looking-glass which decorated the\nwall of my apartment, to ascertain if any change for the better had\nbeen wrought in me since the preceding night.\n\nNever shall I forget the thrill of delighted surprise which passed\nthrough me when I beheld my altered appearance. There I stood, tall,\nslender, and graceful as a young poplar tree, all my limbs moulded\nin the most perfect and elegant symmetry, my complexion of the purest\nred and white, my eyes blue and brilliant, swimming in liquid radiance\nunder the narrow dark arches of two exquisitely-formed eyebrows,\nmy mouth of winning sweetness, and, lastly, my hair clustering in\nrich black curls over a forehead smooth as ivory.\n\nIn short, I have never yet heard or read of any beauty that could\nat all equal the splendour of comeliness with which I was at that\nmoment invested.\n\nI stood for a long time gazing at myself in a trance of admiration\nwhile happiness such as I had never known before overflowed my heart.\nThat day happened to be Sunday, and accordingly I put on my best\nclothes and proceeded forthwith towards the church. The service had\njust commenced when I arrived, and as I walked up the aisle to my\npew I felt that the eyes of the whole assembly were upon me, and\nthat proud consciousness gave an elasticity to my gait which added\nstateliness and majesty to my other innumerable graces. Among those\nwho viewed me most attentively was Lady Beatrice Ducie. This personage\nwas the widow of Lord Ducie, owner of the chief part of the village\nwhere I resided and nearly all the surrounding land for many miles,\nwho, when he died, left her the whole of his immense estates. She\nwas without children and perfectly at liberty to marry whomsoever\nshe might chance to fix her heart on, and therefore, though her ladyship\nhad passed the meridian of life, was besides fat and ugly, and into\nthe bargain had the reputation of being a witch, I cherished hopes\nthat she might take a liking for me, seeing I was so very handsome;\nand by making me her spouse raise me at once from indigence to the\nhighest pitch of luxury and affluence.\n\nThese were my ambitious meditations as I slowly retraced my steps\nhomeward.\n\nIn the afternoon I again attended church, and again Lady Ducie favoured\nme with many smiles and glances expressive of her admiration. At\nlength my approaching good fortune was placed beyond a doubt, for\nwhile I was standing in the porch after service was over she happened\nto pass, and inclining her head towards me, said: \u2018Come to my house\nto-morrow at four o\u2019clock.\u2019? I only answered by a low bow and then\nhastened back to my cottage.\n\nOn Monday afternoon I dressed myself in my best, and putting a Christmas\nrose in the buttonhole of my coat, hastened to the appointed rendezvous.\n\nWhen I entered the avenue of Ducie Castle a footman in rich livery\nstopped me and requested me to follow him. I complied, and we proceeded\ndown a long walk to a bower of evergreens, where sat her ladyship\nin a pensive posture. Her stout, lusty figure was arrayed in a robe\nof purest white muslin, elegantly embroidered. On her head she wore\nan elaborately curled wig, among which borrowed tresses was twined\na wreath of artificial flowers, and her brawny shoulders were enveloped\nin a costly Indian shawl. At my approach she arose and saluted me.\nI returned the compliment, and when we were seated, and the footman\nhad withdrawn, business summarily commenced by her tendering me the\npossession of her hand and heart, both which offers, of course, I\nwillingly accepted.\n\nThree weeks after, we were married in the parish church by special\nlicence, amidst the rejoicings of her numerous tenantry, to whom\na sumptuous entertainment was that day given.\n\nI now entered upon a new scene of life. Every object which met my\neyes spoke of opulence and grandeur. Every meal of which I partook\nseemed to me a luxurious feast. As I wandered through the vast halls\nand magnificent apartments of my new residence I felt my heart dilating\nwith gratified pride at the thought that they were my own.\n\nTowards the obsequious domestics that thronged around me I behaved\nwith the utmost respect and deference, being impelled thereto by\na feeling of awe inspired by their superior breeding and splendid\nappearance.\n\nI was now constantly encompassed by visitors from among those who moved\nin the highest circles of society. My time was passed in the enjoyment\nof all sorts of pleasures; balls, concerts, and dinners were given\nalmost every day at the castle in honour of our wedding. My evenings\nwere spent in hearing music, or seeing dancing and gormandising; my\ndays in excursions over the country, either on horseback or in a\ncarriage.\n\nYet, notwithstanding all this, I was not happy. The rooms were so\nnumerous that I was often lost in my own house, and sometimes got\ninto awkward predicaments in attempting to find some particular apartment.\nOur high-bred guests despised me for my clownish manners and deportment.\nI was forced to bear patiently the most humiliating jokes and sneers\nfrom noble lips. My own servants insulted me with impunity; and,\nfinally, my wife\u2019s temper showed itself every day more and more in\nthe most hideous light. She became terribly jealous, and would hardly\nsuffer me to go out of her sight a moment. In short, before the end\nof three months I sincerely wished myself separated from her and\nreduced again to the situation of a plain and coarse but honest and\ncontented ploughboy.\n\nThis separation was occasioned by the following incident sooner than\nI expected. At a party which we gave one evening there chanced to\nbe present a young lady named Cecilia Standon. She possessed no mean\nshare of beauty, and had besides the most graceful demeanour I ever\nsaw. Her manner was kind, gentle, and obliging, without any of that\nhaughty superciliousness which so annoyed me in others of my fashionable\nacquaintances. If I made a foolish observation or transgressed against\nthe rules of politeness she did not give vent to her contempt in\na laugh or suppressed titter, but informed me in a whisper what I\nought to have done, and instructed me how to do it.\n\nWhen she was gone I remarked to my wife what a kind and excellent\nlady Miss Cecilia Standon was. \u2018Yes,\u2019 exclaimed she, reddening, \u2018every\none can please you but me. Don\u2019t think to elude my vigilance, I saw\nyou talking and laughing with her, you low-born creature whom I raised\nfrom obscurity to splendour. And yet not one spark of gratitude do\nyou feel towards me. But I will have my revenge.\u2019 So saying she left\nme to meditate alone on what that revenge might be.\n\nThe same night, as I lay in bed restless, I heard suddenly a noise\nof footsteps outside the chamber door. Compelled by irresistible\ncuriosity, I rose and opened it without making any sound. My surprise\nwas great on beholding the figure of my wife stealing along on tiptoe\nwith her back towards me, and a lighted candle in her hand. Anxious\nto know what could be her motive for walking about the house at this\ntime of night I followed softly, taking care to time my steps so\nas to coincide with hers.\n\nAfter proceeding along many passages and galleries which I had never\nbefore seen, we descended a very long staircase that led us underneath\nthe coal and wine cellars to a damp, subterraneous vault. Here she\nstopped and deposited the candle on the ground. I shrank instinctively,\nfor the purpose of concealment, behind a massive stone pillar which\nupheld the arched roof on one side.\n\nThe rumours which I had often heard of her being a witch passed with\npainful distinctness across my mind, and I trembled violently. Presently\nshe knelt with folded hands and began to mutter some indistinguishable\nwords in a strange tone. Flames now darted out of the earth, and\nhuge smouldering clouds of smoke rolled over the slimy walls, concealing\ntheir hideousness from the eye.\n\nAt length the dead silence that had hitherto reigned unbroken was\ndissipated by a tremendous cry which shook the house to its centre,\nand I saw six black, indefinable figures gliding through the darkness\nbearing a funeral bier on which lay arranged, as I had seen her the\nprevious evening, the form of Cecilia Standon. Her dark eyes were\nclosed, and their long lashes lay motionless on a cheek pale as marble.\nShe was quite stiff and dead.\n\nAt this appalling sight I could restrain myself no longer, and uttering\na loud shriek I sprang from behind the pillar. My wife saw me. She\nstarted from her kneeling position, and rushed furiously towards\nwhere I stood, exclaiming in tones rendered tremulous by excessive\nfury: \u2018Wretch, wretch, what demon has lured thee hither to thy fate?\u2019\nWith these words she seized me by the throat and attempted to strangle\nme.\n\nI screamed and struggled in vain. Life was ebbing apace when suddenly\nshe loosened her grasp, tottered, and fell dead.\n\nWhen I was sufficiently recovered from the effects of her infernal\ngrip to look around I saw by the light of the candle a little man\nin a green coat striding over her and flourishing a bloody dagger\nin the air. In his sharp, wild physiognomy I immediately recognised\nthe fairy who six months ago had given me the ring.\n\nThat was the occasion of my present situation. He had stabbed my\nwife through the heart, and thus afforded me opportune relief at\nthe moment when I so much needed it.\n\nAfter tendering him my most ardent thanks for his kindness I ventured\nto ask what we should do with the dead body.\n\n\u2018Leave that to me,\u2019 he replied. \u2018But now as the day is dawning, and\nI must soon be gone, do you wish to return to your former rank of\na happy, honest labourer, being deprived of the beauty which has\nbeen the source of so much trouble to you, or will you remain as\nyou are? Decide quickly, for my time is limited.\u2019\n\nI replied unhesitatingly, \u2018Let me return to my former rank,\u2019 and\nno sooner were the words out of my mouth than I found myself standing\nalone at the porch of my humble cottage, plain and coarse as ever,\nwithout any remains of the extreme comeliness with which I had been\nso lately invested.\n\nI cast a glance at the tall towers of Ducie Castle which appeared\nin the distance faintly illuminated by the light reflected from rosy\nclouds hovering over the eastern horizon, and then, stooping as I\npassed beneath the lowly lintel, once more crossed the threshold\nof my parental hut.\n\nA day or two after, while I was sitting at breakfast; a neighbour\nentered and, after inquiring how I did, etc., asked me where I had\nbeen for the last half year. Seeing it necessary to dissemble, I\nanswered that I had been on a visit to a relation who lived at a\ngreat distance. This satisfied him, and I then inquired if anything\nhad happened in the village since my departure.\n\n\u2018Yes,\u2019 said he, \u2018a little while after you were gone Lady Ducie married\nthe handsomest young man that was ever seen, but nobody knew where\nhe came from, and most people thought he was a fairy; and now about\nfour days ago Lady Ducie, her husband, and Lord Standon\u2019s eldest\ndaughter all vanished in the same night and have never been heard\nof since, though the strictest search has been made after them. Yesterday\nher ladyship\u2019s brother came and took possession of the estate, and\nhe is trying to hush up the matter as much as he can.\u2019\n\nThis intelligence gave me no small degree of satisfaction, as I was\nnow certain that none of the villagers had any suspicion of my dealings\nwith the fairy.\n\nBut to proceed. I had yet liberty to make three more wishes; and,\nafter much consideration, being convinced of the vanity of desiring\nsuch a transitory thing as my first, I fixed upon \u2018superior talent\u2019\nas the aim of my second wish; and no sooner had I done so than I\nfelt an expansion, as it were, of soul within me.\n\nEverything appeared to my mental vision in a new light. High thoughts\nelevated my mind, and abstruse meditations racked my brain continually.\nBut you shall presently hear the upshot of this sudden \u00e9claircissement.\n\nOne day I was sent to a neighbouring market town, by one Mr. Tenderden,\na gentleman of some consequence in our village, for the purpose of\nbuying several articles in glass and china.\n\nWhen I had made my purchases I directed them to be packed up in straw,\nand then with the basket on my back trudged off homeward. But ere\nI was half-way night overtook me. There was no moon, and the darkness\nwas also much increased by a small mizzling rain. Cold and drenched\nto the skin, I arrived at The Rising Sun, a little wayside inn, which\nlay in my route.\n\nOn opening the door my eyes were agreeably saluted by the light of\na bright warm fire, round which sat about half a dozen of my acquaintance.\n\nAfter calling for a drop of something to warm me, and carefully depositing\nthe basket of glass on the ground, I seated myself amongst them.\nThey were engaged in a discussion as to whether a monarchical or\nrepublican form of government was the best. The chief champion of\nthe republican side was Bob Sylvester, a blacksmith by trade, and\nof the largest loquacity of any man I ever saw. He was proud of his\nargumentative talents, but by dint of my fairy gift I soon silenced\nhim, amid cheers from both sides of the house.\n\nBob was a man of hot temper, and not calculated for lying down quietly\nunder a defeat. He therefore rose and challenged me to single combat.\nI accepted, and a regular battle ensued. After some hard hits he\nclosed in furiously, and-dealt me a tremendous left-handed blow.\nI staggered, reeled, and fell insensible. The last thing I remember\nwas a horrible crash as if the house was tumbling in about my ears.\n\nWhen I recovered my senses I was laid in bed in my own house, all cut,\nbruised, and bloody. I was soon given to understand that the basket of\nglass was broken, and Mr. Tenderden, being a miserly, hard-hearted man,\nmade me stand to the loss, which was upwards of five pounds.\n\nWhen I was able to walk about again I determined to get rid of my\nring forthwith in the manner the fairy had pointed out, seeing that\nit brought me nothing but ill-luck.\n\nIt was a fine clear night in October when I reached the little valley\nin the uplands before mentioned. There was a gentle frost, and the\nstars were twinkling with the lustre of diamonds in a sky of deep\nand cloudless azure. A chill breeze whistled dreamily in the gusty\npasses of the hills that surrounded the vale, but I wrapped my cloak\naround me and standing in a sheltered nook boldly awaited the event.\n\nAfter about half an hour of dead silence I heard a sound as of many\nvoices weeping and lamenting at a distance. This continued for some\ntime until it was interrupted by another voice, seemingly close at\nhand. I started at the contiguity of the sound, and looked on every\nside, but nothing was visible. Still the strain kept rising and drawing\nnearer. At length the following words, sung in a melancholy though\nharmonious tone, became distinctly audible:\u2014\n\n    Hearken, O Mortal! to the wail\n        Which round the wandering night-winds fling,\n    Soft-sighing \u2019neath the moonbeams pale,\n        How low! how old! its murmuring!\n\n    No other voice, no other tone,\n        Disturbs the silence deep;\n    All, saving that prophetic moan,\n        Are hushed in quiet sleep.\n\n    The moon and each small lustrous star,\n        That journey through the boundless sky,\n    Seem, as their radiance from afar\n        Falls on the still earth silently,\n\n    To weep the fresh descending dew\n        That decks with gems the world:\n    Sweet teardrops of the glorious blue\n        Above us wide unfurled.\n\n    But, hark! again the sighing wail\n        Upon the rising breeze doth swell.\n    Oh! hasten from this haunted vale,\n        Mournful as a funeral knell!\n\n    For here, when gloomy midnight reigns,\n        The fairies form their ring,\n    And, unto wild unearthly strains,\n        In measured cadence sing.\n\n    No human eye their sports may see,\n        No human tongue their deeds reveal;\n    The sweetness of their melody\n        The ear of man may never feel.\n\n    But now the elfin horn resounds,\n        No longer mayst thou stay;\n    Near and more near the music sounds,\n        Then, Mortal, haste away!\n\nHere I certainly heard the music of a very sweet and mellow horn.\nAt that instant the ring which I held in my hand melted and became\nlike a drop of dew, which trickled down my fingers and falling on\nthe dead leaves spread around, vanished.\n\nHaving now no further business I immediately quitted the valley and\nreturned home\u2026\n\nBeing very tired and sleepy I retired to bed. As I have no doubt\nmy reader is by this time in much the same state, I bid him good-bye.\n\n    CHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb,\n    _December 18th_, 1830.\n\nFrom _Visits in Verreopolis_, vol. II. chap. ii., by the Honourable\nCharles Albert Florian, Lord Wellesley, aged ten years. Published\nby Sergeant Bud. The tale is related by, and is a passage from the\nearly life of, Captain Bud, the father of the fictitious publisher.\u2014C.\nW. H.\n\n\n\n\nLOVE AND JEALOUSY\n\n\n\n\nNO title was given by Charlotte Bront\u00eb to this story, which was probably\nintended as a sequel to the short drama printed on pp. 95-104.\n\nThe original manuscript has been divided into two parts, one sheet\nof four pages having been removed and certain words erased (see footnotes\non pages 126 and 129), apparently in an attempt to make it appear\nas two separate and complete manuscripts. The missing words have\nbeen obtained from a transcript made before the manuscript was mutilated.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\nLOVE AND JEALOUSY\n\nIN the autumn of the year 1831, being weary of study, and the melancholy\nsolitude of the vast streets and mighty commercial marts of our great\nBabel, and being fatigued with the ever-resounding thunder of the\nsea, with the din of a thousand self-moving engines, with the dissonant\ncries of all nations, kindreds, and tongues, congregated together\nin the gigantic emporium of commerce, of arts, of God-like wisdom,\nof boundless learning, and of superhuman knowledge; being dazzled\nwith continually beholding the glory, the power, the riches, dominion,\nand radiant beauty of the city which sitteth like a queen upon the\nwaters; in one word, being tired of Verdopolis and all its magnificence,\nI determined on a trip into the country.\n\nAccordingly, the day after this resolution was formed, I rose with\nthe sun, collected a few essential articles of dress, etc., packed\nthem neatly in a light knapsack, arranged my apartment, partook of\na wholesome repast, and then, after locking the door and delivering\nthe key to my landlady, I set out with a light heart and joyous step.\n\nAfter three days of continued travel I arrived on the banks of a\nwide and profound river winding through a vast valley embosomed in\nhills whose robe of rich and flowery verdure was broken only by the\nlong shadow of groves, and here and there by clustering herds and\nflocks lying, white as snow, in the green hollows between the mountains.\nIt was the evening of a calm summer day when I reached this enchanting\nspot. The only sounds now audible were the songs of shepherds, swelling\nand dying at intervals, and the murmur of gliding waves. I neither\nknew nor cared where I was. My bodily faculties of eye and ear were\nabsorbed in the contemplation of this delightful scene, and, wandering\nunheedingly along, I left the guidance of the river and entered a\nwood, invited by the warbling of a hundred forest minstrels. Soon\nI perceived the narrow, tangled woodpath to widen, and gradually\nit assumed the appearance of a green shady alley. Occasionally bowers\nof roses and myrtles appeared by the pathside, with soft banks of\nmoss for the weary to repose on. Notwithstanding these indications\nof individual property, curiosity and the allurements of music and\ncool shade led me forwards. At length I entered a glade in the wood,\nin the midst of which was a small but exquisitely beautiful marble\nedifice of pure and dazzling whiteness. On the broad steps of the\nportico two figures were reclining, at sight of whom I instantly\nstepped behind a low, wide-spreading fig-tree, where I could hear\nand see all that passed without fear of detection. One was a youth\nof lofty stature and remarkably graceful demeanour, attired in a\nrich purple vest and mantle, with closely fitting white pantaloons\nof white woven silk, displaying to advantage the magnificent proportions\nof his form. A richly adorned belt was girt tightly round his waist\nfrom which depended a scimitar whose golden hilt, and scabbard of\nthe finest Damascus steel, glittered with gems of inestimable value.\nHis steel-barred cap, crested with tall, snowy plumes, lay beside\nhim, its absence revealing more clearly the rich curls of dark, glossy\nhair clustering round a countenance distinguished by the noble beauty\nof its features, but still more by the radiant fire of genius and\nintellect visible in the intense brightness of his large, dark, and\nlustrous eyes.\n\nThe other form was that of a very young and slender girl, whose complexion\nwas delicately, almost transparently, fair. Her cheeks were tinted\nwith a rich, soft crimson, her features moulded in the utmost perfection\nof loveliness; while the clear light of her brilliant hazel eyes,\nand the soft waving of her auburn ringlets, gave additional charms\nto what seemed already infinitely too beautiful for this earth. Her\ndress was a white robe of the finest texture the Indian loom can\nproduce. The only ornaments she wore were a long chain which encircled\nher neck twice and hung lower than her waist, composed of alternate\nbeads of the finest emeralds and gold; and a slight gold ring on\nthe third finger of her left hand, which, together with a small crescent\nof pearls glistening on her forehead (which is always worn by the\nnoble matrons of Verdopolis), betokened that she had entered the\npath of wedded life. With a sweet vivacity in her look and manner\nthe young bride was addressing her lord thus when I first came in\nsight of the peerless pair:\n\n\u2018No, no, my lord; if I sing the song you shall choose it. Now, once\nmore, what shall I sing? The moon is risen, and, if your decision\nis not prompt, I will not sing at all!\u2019\n\n[126] To this he answered: \u2018Well, if I am threatened with the entire\nloss of the pleasure if I defer my choice, I will have that sweet\nsong which I overheard you singing the evening before I left Scotland.\u2019\n[3]\n\n3 The last four words in this sentence have been erased from the\nMS.\u2014C. W. H.\n\nWith a smiling blush she took a little ivory lyre, and, in a voice\nof the most touching melody, sang the following stanzas:\u2014\n\n    He is gone, and all grandeur has fled from the mountain;\n    All beauty departed from stream and from fountain;\n                A dark veil is hung\n            O\u2019er the bright sky of gladness,\n                And, where birds sweetly sung,\n            There\u2019s a murmur of sadness;\n        The wind sings with a warning tone\n            Through many a shadowy tree;\n        I hear, in every passing moan,\n            The voice of destiny.\n\n    Then, O Lord of the Waters! the Great and All-seeing!\n    Preserve in Thy mercy his safety and being;\n                May he trust in Thy might\n            When the dark storm is howling,\n                And the blackness of night\n            Over Heaven is scowling;\n        But may the sea flow glidingly\n            With gentle summer waves;\n        And silent may all tempests lie\n            Chained in \u00c6olian caves!\n\n    Yet, though ere he returnest long years will have vanished,\n    Sweet hope from my bosom shall never be banished:\n                I will think of the time\n            When his step, lightly bounding,\n                Shall be heard on the rock\n            Where the cataract is sounding;\n        When the banner of his father\u2019s host\n            Shall be unfurled on high,\n        To welcome back the pride and boast\n            Of England\u2019s chivalry!\n\n    Yet tears will flow forth while of hope I am singing;\n    Still despair her dark shadow is over me flinging;\n                But, when he\u2019s far away,\n            I will pluck the wild flower\n                On bank and on brae\n            At the still, moonlight hour;\n        And I will twine for him a wreath\n            Low in the fairy\u2019s dell;\n        Methought I heard the night-wind breathe\n            That solemn word: \u2018Farewell!\u2019 [4]\n\n4 The above poem appears to have been composed more than twelve months\nbefore the story in which it appears. In _The Red Cross Knight and\nOther Poems_, 1917 (a little book printed for private circulation\nonly, in an edition limited to thirty copies), the poem was printed\nfor Mr. T. J. Wise from a manuscript dated July 1831.\u2014C. W. H.\n\nWhen the lady had concluded her song I stepped from my place of\nconcealment, and was instantly perceived by the noble youth (whom, of\ncourse, every reader will have recognised as the Marquis of Douro).\n\nHe gave me a courteous welcome, and invited me to proceed with him\nto his country palace, as it was now wearing late. I willingly accepted\nthe invitation, and, in a short time, we arrived there.\n\nIt is a truly noble structure, built in the purest style of Grecian\narchitecture, situated in the midst of a vast park, embosomed in\nrichly wooded hills, perfumed with orange and citron groves, and\nwatered by a branch of the Gambia, almost equal in sight to the parent\nstream.\n\nThe magnificence of the interior is equal to that of the outside.\nThere is an air of regal state and splendour throughout all the lofty\ndomed apartments which strikes the spectator with awe for the lord\nof so imposing a residence. The marquis has a particular pride in\nthe knowledge that he is the owner of one of the most splendid, select,\nand extensive libraries now in the possession of any individual.\nHis picture and statue galleries likewise contain many of the finest\nworks, both of the ancient and modern masters, particularly the latter,\nof whom the marquis is a most generous and munificent patron. In\nhis cabinet of curiosities I observed a beautiful casket of wrought\ngold. At my request he opened it and produced the contents, viz.\na manuscript copy of that rare work, \u2018The Autobiography of Captain\nLeaf.\u2019 It was written on a roll of vellum, but much discoloured and\nrendered nearly illegible by time. To my eager inquiries respecting\nthe manner in which he had obtained so inestimable a treasure, he\nreplied, with a smile:\n\n\u2018That question I must decline to answer. It is a secret with which\nI alone am acquainted.\u2019\n\nI likewise noticed a brace of pistols, most exquisitely wrought and\nhighly finished. He told me they were the _chef-d\u2019\u0153uvre_ of Darrow,\nthe best manufacturer of firearms in the universe. I counted one\nhundred gold and silver medals, which had been presented to this\nyouthful but all-accomplished nobleman by different literary and\nscientific establishments. They were all contained in a truly splendid\ngold vase awarded to him last year by the Academy of Modern Athenians\n(as that learned body somewhat presumptuously chooses to style itself)\nas being the composer of the best epigram in Greek. Above this was\nsuspended a silver bow and quiver, the first prize given by the Royal\nSociety of Archers, together with a bit, bridle, spurs, and stirrups,\nall of fine gold, obtained from the Honourable Community of Equestrians.\nNear these lay several withered wreaths of myrtle, laurel, etc.,\netc., won by him as conqueror in the great African Biennial Games.\nOn a rich stand of polished ebony were ranged twenty-three beautiful\nvases of marble, alabaster, etc., all richly carved in basso-relievo,\nremarkable for classic elegance of form, design, and execution. Some\nof these were filled with cameos, others with ancient coins, and\nothers again bore branches of scarlet and white coral, pearls, gems\nof various sorts, fossils, etc. But what interested me more than\nall these trophies of victory and specimens of art and nature, costly,\nbeautiful, and almost invaluable as they were, was a little figure\nof Apollo, about six inches in height, curiously carved in white\nagate, holding a lyre in his hand, and placed on a pedestal of the\nsame valuable material, on which was the following inscription:\u2014\n\n    In our day we beheld the god of Archery, Eloquence, and\n    Verse, shrined in an infinitely fairer form than that worn\n    by the ancient Apollo, and giving far more glorious proofs\n    of his divinity than the day-god ever vouchsafed to the\n    inhabitants of the old Pagan world. Zenobia Ellrington\n    implores Arthur Augustus Wellesley to accept this small\n    memorial, and consider it as a token that, though forsaken\n    and despised by him whose good opinion and friendship\n    she valued more than life, she yet bears no malice.\n\nThere was a secret contained in this inscription which I could not\nfathom. I had never before heard of any misunderstanding between\nhis lordship and Lady Zenobia, nor did public appearances warrant\na suspicion of its existence. Long after, however, the following\ncircumstances came to my knowledge. The channel through which they\nreached me cannot be doubted, but I am not at liberty to mention\nnames.\n\nOne evening about dusk, as the Marquis of Douro was returning from a\nshooting excursion into the country, he heard suddenly a rustling noise\nin a deep ditch on the roadside.[5] He was preparing his fowling-piece\nfor a shot when the form of Lady Ellrington started up before him. Her\nhead was bare, her tall person was enveloped in the tattered remnants\nof a dark velvet mantle. Her dishevelled hair hung in wild elf-locks\nover her face, neck, and shoulders, almost concealing her features,\nwhich were emaciated and pale as death. He stepped back a few paces,\nstartled at the sudden and ghastly apparition. She threw herself on her\nknees before him, exclaiming in wild, maniacal accents:\n\n\u2018My lord, tell me truly, sincerely, ingenuously, where you have been.\nI heard that you had left Verdopolis, and I followed you on foot\nfive hundred miles. Then my strength failed me, and I lay down in\nthis place, as I thought, to die. But it was doomed I should see\nyou once more before I became an inhabitant of the grave. Answer\nme, my lord: Have you seen that wretch Marian Hume? Have you spoken\nto her? Viper! Viper! Oh, that I could sheathe this weapon in her\nheart!\u2019\n\n5 The first twelve words in this sentence have been erased from the\nMS.\u2014C. W. H.\n\nHere she stopped for want of breath, and, drawing a long, sharp,\nglittering knife from under her cloak, brandished it wildly in the\nair. The marquis looked at her steadily, and, without attempting\nto disarm her, answered with great composure:\n\n\u2018You have asked me a strange question, Lady Zenobia; but, before\nI attempt to answer, you had better come with me to our encampment.\nI will order a tent to be prepared for you where you may pass the\nnight in safety, and, to-morrow, when you are a little recruited\nby rest and refreshment, we will discuss this matter soberly.\u2019[6]\n\n6 It is the custom in Verdopolis, where perhaps forty or so noblemen,\nwith their attendants, go to shoot or hunt wild beasts or birds in\nthe desolate and uninhabited Mountains of the Moon, to form a sort\nof camp for their mutual protection and defence. These camps sometimes\ncontain upwards of a hundred individuals.\u2014_Note by Author_.\n\nHer rage Was now exhausted by its own vehemence, and she replied\nwith more calmness than she had hitherto evinced:\n\n\u2018My lord, believe me, I am deputed by Heaven to warn you of a great\ndanger into which you are about to fall. If you persist in your intention\nof uniting yourself to Marian Hume you will become a murderer and\na suicide. I cannot explain myself more clearly; but ponder carefully\non my words until I see you again.\u2019\n\nThen, bowing her forehead to the ground in an attitude of adoration,\nshe kissed his feet, muttering at the same time some unintelligible\nwords. At that moment a loud rushing, like the sound of a whirlpool,\nbecame audible, and Lady Zenobia was swept away by some invisible\npower before the marquis could extend his arms to arrest her progress,\nor frame an answer to her mysterious address. He paced slowly forward,\nlost in deep reflection on what he had heard and seen. The moon had\nrisen over the black, barren mountains ere he reached the camp. He\ngazed for awhile on her pure, undimmed lustre, comparing it to the\nloveliness of one far away, and then, entering his tent, wrapped\nhimself in his hunter\u2019s cloak, and lay down to unquiet sleep.\n\nMonths rolled away, and the mystery remained unravelled. Lady Zenobia\nEllrington appeared as usual in that dazzling circle of which she was\never a distinguished ornament. There was no trace of wandering fire in\nher eyes which might lead a careful observer to imagine that her mind\nwas unsteady. Her voice was more subdued and her looks pale, and it\nwas remarked by some that she avoided all (even the most commonplace)\nconversation with the marquis.\n\nIn the meantime the Duke of Wellington had consented to his son\u2019s\nunion with the beautiful, virtuous, and accomplished, but untitled,\nMarian Hume.\n\nVast and splendid preparations were making for the approaching bridal,\nwhen just at this critical juncture news arrived of the Great Rebellion\nheaded by Alexander Rogue. The intelligence fell with the suddenness\nand violence of a thunderbolt. Unequivocal symptoms of dissatisfaction\nbegan to appear at the same time among the lower orders in Verdopolis.\nThe workmen at the principal mills and furnaces struck for an advance\nof wages, and, the masters refusing to comply with their exorbitant\ndemands, they all turned out simultaneously. Shortly after, Colonel\nGrenville, one of the great millowners, was shot. His assassins being\nquickly discovered and delivered up to justice were interrogated by\ntorture, but they remained inflexible, not a single satisfactory\nanswer being elicited from them. The police were now doubled. Bands\nof soldiers were stationed in the more suspicious parts of the city,\nand orders were issued that no citizen should walk abroad unarmed.\nIn this state of affairs Parliament was summoned to consult on the\nbest measures to be taken. On the first night of its sitting the\nhouse was crowded to excess. All the members attended, and above a\nthousand ladies of the first rank appeared in the gallery. A settled\nexpression of gloom and anxiety was visible in every countenance.\nThey sat for some time gazing at ache other in the silence of seeming\ndespair. At length the Marquis of Douro rose and ascended the tribune.\nIt was on this memorable night he pronounced that celebrated oration\nwhich will be delivered to posterity as a finished specimen of the\nsublimest eloquence. The souls of all who heard him were thrilled with\nconflicting emotions. Some of the ladies in the gallery fainted and\nwere carried out. My limits will not permit me to transcribe the whole\nof this speech, and to attempt an abridgment would be profanation.\nI will, however, present the reader with the conclusion. It was as\nfollows:\u2014\n\n    I will call upon you, my countrymen, to rouse yourselves\n    to action. There is a latent flame of rebellion smouldering\n    in our city, which blood alone can quench: the hot blood\n    of ourselves and our enemies freely poured forth! We\n    daily see in our streets men whose brows were once open\n    as the day, but which are now wrinkled with dark dissatisfaction,\n    and the light of whose eyes, formerly free as\n    sunshine, is now dimmed by restless suspicion. Our upright\n    merchants are ever threatened with fears of assassination\n    from those dependants who, in time past, loved,\n    honoured, and reverenced them as fathers. Our peaceful\n    citizens cannot pass their thresholds in safety unless laden\n    with weapons of war, the continual dread of death haunting\n    their footsteps wherever they turn. And who has\n    produced this awful change? What agency of hell has\n    affected, what master-spirit of crime, what prince of sin,\n    what Beelzebub of black iniquity, has been at work in\n    this Kingdom? I will answer that fearful question:\n    ALEXANDER ROGUE! Arm for the battle, then, fellow-countrymen;\n    be not faint-hearted, but trust in the justice of\n    your cause as your banner of protection, and let your war-shout\n    in the onslaught ever be: \u2018God defend the right!\u2019\n\nWhen the marquis had concluded this harangue, he left the house amidst\nlong and loud thunders of applause, and proceeded to one of the shady\ngroves planted on the banks of the Guadima. Here he walked for some\ntime inhaling the fresh night-wind, which acquired additional coolness\nas it swept over the broad rapid river, and was just beginning to\nrecover from the strong excitement into which his enthusiasm had\nthrown him when he felt his arm suddenly grasped from behind, and\nturning round beheld Lady Zenobia Ellrington standing beside him,\nwith the same wild, unnatural expression of countenance which had\nbefore convulsed her features among the dark hills of Gibbel Kumri.\n\n\u2018My lord,\u2019 she muttered, in a low, energetic tone, \u2018your eloquence,\nyour noble genius has again driven me to desperation. I am no longer\nmistress of myself, and if you do not consent to be mine, and mine\nalone, I will kill myself where I stand.\u2019\n\n\u2018Lady Ellrington,\u2019 said the marquis coldly, withdrawing his hand\nfrom her grasp, \u2018this conduct is unworthy of your character. I must\nbeg that you will cease to use the language of a madwoman, for I\ndo assure you, my lady, these deep stratagems will have no effect\nupon me.\u2019\n\nShe now threw herself at his feet, exclaiming in a voice almost stifled\nwith ungovernable emotion:\n\n\u2018Oh! do not kill me with such cold, cruel disdain. Only consent to\nfollow me, and you will be convinced that you ought not to be united\nto one so utterly unworthy of you as Marian Hume.\u2019\n\nThe marquis, moved by her tears and entreaties, at length consented\nto accompany her. She led him a considerable distance from the city\nto a subterranean grotto, where was a fire burning on a brazen altar.\nShe threw a certain powder into the flame, and immediately they were\ntransported through the air to an apartment at the summit of a lofty\ntower. At one end of this room was a vast mirror, and at the other\na drawn curtain, behind which a most brilliant light was visible.\n\n\u2018You are now,\u2019 said Lady Ellrington, \u2018in the sacred presence of one\nwhose counsel, I am sure, you, my lord, will never slight.\u2019\n\nAt this moment the curtain was removed, and the astonished marquis\nbeheld Crashie, the divine and infallible, seated on his golden throne,\nand surrounded by those mysterious rays of light which ever emanate\nfrom him.\n\n\u2018My son,\u2019 said he, with an august smile, and in a voice of awful\nharmony, \u2018fate and inexorable destiny have decreed that in the hour\nyou are united to the maiden of your choice, the angel Azazel shall\nsmite you both, and convey your disembodied souls over the swift-flowing\nand impassable river of death. Hearken to the counsels of wisdom,\nand do not, in the madness of self-will, destroy yourself and Marian\nHume by refusing the offered hand of one who, from the moment of\nyour birth, was doomed by the prophetic stars of heaven to be your\npartner and support through the dark, unexplored wilderness of future\nlife.\u2019\n\nHe ceased. The combat betwixt true love and duty raged for a few\nseconds in the marquis\u2019s heart, and sent his life-blood in a tumult\nof agony and despair burning to his cheek and brow. At length duty\nprevailed, and, with a strong effort, he said in a firm, unfaltering\nvoice:\n\n\u2018Son of Wisdom! I will war no longer against the high decree of heaven,\nand here I swear by the eternal\u2014\u2019\n\nThe rash oath was checked in the moment of its utterance by some\nfriendly spirit who whispered in his ear:\n\n\u2018There is magic. Beware!\u2019\n\nAt the same time Crashie\u2019s venerable form faded away, and in its\nstead appeared the evil genius, Danhasch,[7] in all the naked hideousness\nof his real deformity. The demon soon vanished with a wild howl of\nrage, and the marquis found himself again in the grove with Lady\nEllrington.\n\n7 Danhasch, son of Schemhourasch, a genie rebellious to God (_Arabian\nNights Entertainments_).\u2014C. W. H.\n\nShe implored him on her knees to forgive an attempt which love alone\nhad dictated, but he turned from her with a smile of bitter contempt\nand disdain, and hastened to his father\u2019s palace.\n\nAbout a week after this event the nuptials of Arthur Augustus, Marquis\nof Douro, and Marian Hume were solemnized with unprecedented pomp\nand splendour. Lady Ellrington, when she thus saw that all her hopes\nwere lost in despair, fell into deep melancholy, and while in this\nstate she amused herself with carving the little image before mentioned.\nAfter a long time she slowly recovered, and the marquis, convinced\nthat her extravagances had arisen from a disordered brain, consented\nto honour her with his friendship once more.\n\n\n\nI continued upwards of two months at the Marquis of Douro\u2019s palace,\nand then returned to Verdopolis, equally delighted with my noble\nhost and his fair, amiable bride.\n\n_August 20th_, 1882.\n\n\n\n\nNAPOLEON AND THE SPECTRE\n\nTHIS story was printed by Mr. Clement Shorter in February 1919, in\nan edition limited to twenty-five copies for private circulation\nonly. Extracts from it were printed in _Poet-Lore_, vol. ix., Autumn\nNumber, 1897. The complete story is now published for the first time.\n\nIn the Introduction by Mr. Shorter in the privately printed pamphlet\nwe are informed that the story is supposed to be \u2018told at an inn\nby a traveller whose name is not given, but who is described as a\ndapper little man, dressed in brown coat and waistcoat and cream-coloured\ncontinuations.\u2019\n\nI venture to copy the following further extract from Mr. Shorter\u2019s\nIntroduction to the story:\u2014\n\n    The identity of the ghost is revealed by Napoleon\u2019s exclamation\n    when he is recovering from his somnambulistic trance,\n    \u2018Where in the world is Piche?\u2019 Piche is General Pichegru,\n    who, when Napoleon was first consul, joined in a plot to\n    assassinate him. The plot was discovered and Pichegru was arrested\n    and imprisoned; but before the day fixed for his trial \u2018he was\n    found dead in his cell with his black silk cravat twisted tightly\n    round his neck by means of a stick.\u2019\n\n    Whether he was strangled at the instigation of Napoleon, as\n    has been asserted by some historians, is not clear; but Charlotte\n    Bront\u00eb apparently believed in Napoleon\u2019s guilt, and in the story\n    causes the ghost of his victim to haunt him.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\nNAPOLEON AND THE SPECTRE\n\nWELL, as I was saying, the Emperor got into bed.\n\n\u2018Chevalier,\u2019 says he to his valet, \u2018let down those window-curtains,\nand shut the casement before you leave the room.\u2019\n\nChevalier did as he was told, and then, taking up his candlestick,\ndeparted.\n\nIn a few minutes the Emperor felt his pillow becoming rather hard,\nand he got up to shake it. As he did so a slight rustling noise was\nheard near the bed-head. His Majesty listened, but all was silent\nas he lay down again.\n\nScarcely had he settled into a peaceful attitude of repose, when\nhe was disturbed by a sensation of thirst. Lifting himself on his\nelbow, he took a glass of lemonade from the small stand which was\nplaced beside him. He refreshed himself by a deep draught. As he\nreturned the goblet to its station a deep groan burst from a kind\nof closet in one corner of the apartment.\n\n\u2018Who\u2019s there?\u2019 cried the Emperor, seizing his pistols. \u2018Speak, or\nI\u2019ll blow your brains out.\u2019\n\nThis threat produced no other effect than a short, sharp laugh, and\na dead silence followed.\n\nThe Emperor started from his couch, and, hastily throwing on a\n_robe-de-chambre_ which hung over the back of a chair, stepped\ncourageously to the haunted closet. As he opened the door something\nrustled. He sprang forward sword in hand. No soul or even substance\nappeared, and the rustling, it was evident, proceeded from the falling\nof a cloak, which had been suspended by a peg from the door.\n\nHalf ashamed of himself he returned to bed.\n\nJust as he was about once more to close his eyes, the light of the\nthree wax tapers, which burned in a silver branch over the mantelpiece,\nwas suddenly darkened. He looked up. A black, opaque shadow obscured\nit. Sweating with terror, the Emperor put out his hand to seize the\nbell-rope, but some invisible being snatched it rudely from his grasp,\nand at the same instant the ominous shade vanished.\n\n\u2018Pooh!\u2019 exclaimed Napoleon, \u2018it was but an ocular delusion.\u2019\n\n\u2018Was it?\u2019 whispered a hollow voice, in deep mysterious tones, close\nto his ear. \u2018Was it a delusion, Emperor of France? No! all thou hast\nheard and seen is sad forewarning reality. Rise, lifter of the Eagle\nStandard! Awake, swayer of the Lily Sceptre! Follow me, Napoleon,\nand thou shalt see more.\u2019\n\nAs the voice ceased, a form dawned on his astonished sight. It was\nthat of a tall, thin man, dressed in a blue surtout edged with gold\nlace. It wore a black cravat very tightly round its neck, and confined\nby two little sticks placed behind each ear. The countenance was\nlivid; the tongue protruded from between the teeth, and the eyes\nall glazed and bloodshot started with frightful prominence from their\nsockets.\n\n\u2018Mon Dieu!\u2019 exclaimed the Emperor, \u2018what do I see? Spectre, whence\ncometh thou?\u2019\n\nThe apparition spoke not, but gliding forward beckoned Napoleon with\nuplifted finger to follow.\n\nControlled by a mysterious influence, which deprived him of the capability\nof either thinking or acting for himself, he obeyed in silence.\n\nThe solid wall of the apartment fell open as they approached, and,\nwhen both had passed through, it closed behind them with a noise\nlike thunder.\n\nThey would now have been in total darkness had it not been for a\ndim light which shone round the ghost and revealed the damp walls\nof a long, vaulted passage. Down this they proceeded with mute rapidity.\nEre long a cool, refreshing breeze, which rushed wailing up the vault\nand caused the Emperor to wrap his loose nightdress closer round,\nannounced their approach to the open air.\n\nThis they soon reached, and Nap found himself in one of the principal\nstreets of Paris.\n\n\u2018Worthy Spirit,\u2019 said he, shivering in the chill night air, \u2018permit\nme to return and put on some additional clothing. I will be with\nyou again presently.\u2019\n\n\u2018Forward,\u2019 replied his companion sternly.\n\nHe felt compelled, in spite of the rising indignation which almost\nchoked him, to obey.\n\nOn they went through the deserted streets till they arrived at a\nlofty house built on the banks of the Seine. Here the Spectre stopped,\nthe gates rolled back to receive them, and they entered a large marble\nhall which was partly concealed by a curtain drawn across, through\nthe half transparent folds of which a bright light might be seen\nburning with dazzling lustre. A row of fine female figures, richly\nattired, stood before this screen. They wore on their heads garlands\nof the most beautiful flowers, but their faces were concealed by\nghastly masks representing death\u2019s-heads.\n\n\u2018What is all this mummery?\u2019 cried the Emperor, making an effort to\nshake off the mental shackles by which he was so unwillingly restrained,\n\u2018Where am I, and why have I been brought here?\u2019\n\n\u2018Silence,\u2019 said the guide, lolling out still further his black and\nbloody tongue. \u2018Silence, if thou wouldst escape instant death.\u2019\n\nThe Emperor would have replied, his natural courage overcoming the\ntemporary awe to which he had at first been subjected, but just then\na strain of wild, supernatural music swelled behind the huge curtain,\nwhich waved to and fro, and bellied slowly out as if agitated by\nsome internal commotion or battle of waving winds. At the same moment\nan overpowering mixture of the scents of mortal corruption, blent\nwith the richest Eastern odours, stole through the haunted hall.\n\nA murmur of many voices was now heard at a distance, and something\ngrasped his arm eagerly from behind.\n\nHe turned hastily round. His eyes met the well-known countenance\nof Marie Louise.\n\n\u2018What! are you in this infernal place, too?\u2019 said he. \u2018What has brought\nyou here?\u2019\n\n\u2018Will your Majesty permit me to ask the same question of yourself?\u2019\nsaid the Empress, smiling.\n\nHe made no reply; astonishment prevented him. No curtain now intervened\nbetween him and the light. It had been removed as if by magic, and\na splendid chandelier appeared suspended over his head. Throngs of\nladies, richly dressed, but without death\u2019s-head masks, stood round,\nand a due proportion of gay cavaliers was mingled with them. Music\nwas still sounding, but it was seen to proceed from a band of mortal\nmusicians stationed in an orchestra near at hand. The air was yet\nredolent of incense, but it was incense unblended with stench.\n\n\u2018Mon Dieu!\u2019 cried the Emperor, \u2018how is all this come about? Where\nin the world is Piche?\u2019\n\n\u2018Piche?\u2019 replied the Empress. \u2018What does your Majesty mean? Had you\nnot better leave the apartment and retire to rest?\u2019\n\n\u2018Leave the apartment? Why, where am I?\u2019\n\n\u2018In my private drawing-room, surrounded by a few particular persons\nof the Court whom I had invited this evening to a ball. You entered\na few minutes since in your nightdress with your eyes fixed and wide\nopen. I suppose from the astonishment you now testify that you were\nwalking in your sleep.\u2019\n\nThe Emperor immediately fell into a fit of catalepsy, in which he\ncontinued during the whole of that night and the greater part of\nnext day.\n\nCHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb.\n\nFrom the manuscript of the \u2018Green Dwarf,\u2019 an unpublished story which\nwas commenced on July 10th, 1833, and completed on September 2nd,\n1833.\u2014C. W. H.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRAGEDY AND THE ESSAY\n\n\n\n\n    THE TRAGEDY AND THE ESSAY\n    FROM THE MANUSCRIPT ENTITLED\n\n    ARTHURIANA, OR\n    ODDS AND ENDS\n\n    BEING\n    A MISCELLANEOUS COLLECTION\n    OF PIECES\n\n    IN\n\n    PROSE AND VERSE,\n\n    BY\n\n    LORD CHARLES A. F.\n    WELLESLEY.\n\n    Commenced September 27th, 1833.\n\n    Finished November 20th, 1833.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRAGEDY AND THE ESSAY\n\nONE wet and rainy afternoon Arthur was sitting alone in his room.\nThe unfavourable weather, united to a severe headache the consequence\nof certain vigils of the previous night, indisposed him for serious\nstudy, and he sat toasting his feet at a bright fire and languidly\nturning over Vernet\u2019s splendid views of the scenery round Verdopolis.\n\nWhile thus employed, or rather indis-employed, in the vain endeavour\nto kill time, a servant entered and announced: \u2018Mr. Hamilton.\u2019\n\n\u2018Show him in,\u2019 said Arthur with alacrity, glad of anything which\nmight be likely to divert the tedious ennui which oppressed him.\n\nAs the young architect, who it is well known is one of my brother\u2019s\nnumerous toadies, appeared at the door, he rose and, offering him\nhis hand, said with that winning air of condescension which has gained\nfor him the hearts of the rising geniuses in Verdopolis:\n\n\u2018Well, Edwin, how are you this suicidal day?\u2019\n\n\u2018Quite well, my lord, I thank you. I trust I find your lordship the\nsame?\u2019\n\nAs they seated themselves on a sofa the marquis replied:\n\n\u2018I cannot say that I am very brisk this afternoon, I have a slight\nheadache\u2026\u2019\n\nA brief silence followed of which Arthur seemed impatient, and he\nbroke it by saying:\n\n\u2018Now tell me, Edwin, what was your motive for coming to see me this\ndull day. I\u2019m mistaken if you had not some particular reason.\u2019\n\n\u2018Why, my lord,\u2019 replied the architect, blushing and looking down\nwith an embarrassed air, \u2018I can\u2019t deny that I have.\u2019\n\n\u2018What is it, then?\u2019 replied my brother eagerly. \u2018Have you been striking\nout some plan for a new public building? If so, let me see it directly.\u2019\n\n\u2018No, my lord; my employment lately has been of another kind to that\nto which you allude. I have been wooing\u2014\u2019\n\n\u2018Wooing!\u2019 interrupted the marquis. \u2018What! you are going to be married,\nare you? Humph! I see it all now. On my conscience, it\u2019s a perfect\nmiracle how such a bashful fellow as you ever summoned courage to\npop the question! But pray, what is the fair lady\u2019s name?\u2019\n\n\u2018Melpomene, the muse of tears!\u2019 replied the modest Hamilton, blushing\nto the temples as he spoke. \u2018In short, I\u2019ve ventured hither to show\nyour lordship a tragedy which I have written, called \u201cPetus and Aria.\u201d\u2019\n\nAt these words the spirit of criticism began to sparkle in Arthur\u2019s\neye and the smile of sarcasm to curl his lip. Poor Hamilton shrunk\ntogether as he saw his patron gazing on him with that-cool, keen,\ncomposed aspect of contempt which he sometimes assumed in order to\ntorture the wretches dependent on his favour.\n\n\u2018A tragedy!\u2019 he began. \u2018Produce it by all means. But first tell me,\nEdwin, is it constructed in the Grecian or Gothic style of architecture?\nOr perhaps you may have invented a kind of composite order out of\nyour own head?\u2019\n\n\u2018Eh, my lord?\u2019 murmured his hapless victim.\n\n\u2018Petus and Aria,\u2019 continued the unrelenting monster; \u2018the former\nwas, I believe, a somewhat timid and henpecked gentleman, whom for\nhis arrant poltroonery I have always looked upon with supreme contempt;\nand the latter a strapping virago that showed herself particularly\nanxious to get her husband out of the world which he dishonoured.\nQueer materials these for a tragedy!\u2019\n\nTo his observations Hamilton\u2019s only answer was a look of imploring\nagony. Its silent eloquence, however, touched Arthur more nearly\nthan words would have done. He smiled and said in a more encouraging\ntone than he had hitherto used:\n\n\u2018Come, Edwin, dismiss that miserable expression from your face and\nlet us see this notable play.\u2019\n\nWith a trembling hand the architect drew the manuscript from his\npocket and presented it to my brother. Half an hour of profound silence\nensued, during which he continued to endure all the torments of suspense.\nAt length the marquis laid it down, and the single word \u2018Admirable!\u2019\nwhich escaped from his lips at once relieved Hamilton from a host\nof fears.\n\n\u2018Are you in earnest, my lord?\u2019 asked he.\n\n\u2018Perfectly so; and as a proof of it I advise you to offer this play\nwithout loss of time to Mr. Price of the Theatre Royal. I will write\na few lines in favour of it to him, and I do not doubt but that my\nrecommendation will be sufficient to secure you handsome treatment\nin that quarter.\u2019\n\nA fortnight passed. Rumours began to be rife through Verdopolis that\nMr. Hamilton the architect, whose skill had long advanced him to\nthe rank of rival to the celebrated Turner, had laid down the compasses\nand taken up the pen. Ere long these reports were confirmed by the\nappearance one Wednesday morning of Price\u2019s bill of fare, containing\nthe following announcement:\u2014\n\n    This evening will be performed at the Theatre Royal\n    PETUS AND ARIA,\n    an entirely new tragedy by Edwin Hamilton, Esq.,\n    under the patronage of the Marquis of Douro.\n    The character of Aria to be performed by Mrs. Siddons;\n    that of Petus by Garry David.\n\nThat night Price had reason to lick his lips with satisfaction. Never\nbefore was there such a crowded house: pit, box, and gallery overflowed;\nand the manager after all expenses were paid netted a clear profit\nof five hundred pounds.\n\nIt was on this occasion that I took my station among the branches\nof the mighty golden chandelier which hangs from the centre of the\ndome; and from thence obtained a bird\u2019s-eye view of the whole magnificent\nscene.\n\nCertainly there are few sights more animated and inspiring than a\ncrowded theatre. The brilliant lights, the ceaseless hum of voices,\nthe busy and visionary stage, all conspire to raise indescribable\nfeelings in the soul. More than a thousand of the loveliest women\non earth sparkled in the dress circle, where the waving of plumes,\nthe rustling of robes, and the light-bright eyes were perfectly dazzling.\nAmong these my eyes singled out Lady Zenobia Ellrington. I noticed\nher particularly, because she seldom visits the theatre. There she\nsat robed in gorgeous purple, a star-light band of jewels gleaming\namong her rich raven locks. Lord Ellrington stood beside her in his\nusual plain black attire, and wearing a white cravat in the centre\nof which shone a single diamond. From my elevated station I beheld\nthe entrance of Mr. Hamilton. The Marquis of Douro preceded him,\naccompanied by a beautiful girl in a white dress and green sash without\nany ornament on her head except a profusion of chestnut curls which,\nclustering in the most luxuriant ringlets, obliged her every now\nand then to raise her small hand in order to put them back from her\nsnowy forehead and laughing blue eyes, which they almost concealed.\nI need not say that this was the marchioness.\n\nWho shall describe the tumultuous rush of feelings which rose in\nEdwin\u2019s bosom as he glanced hurriedly round at the vast assembly\non which his fate this night depended. His eyes wildly wandered from\nthe rough tenants of the gallery to the glittering population of\nthe boxes, and finally fixed themselves on the mighty green curtain\nwhich still hung before the stage. The few moments that elapsed before\nits removal seemed to him an hour, but at last the tinkle of the\nprompter\u2019s bell sounded and at once it was gathered to the ceiling.\n\nThe prologue (which had been furnished by Arthur) was received\nwith thunders of applause, amidst which arose one solitary note of\ndisapprobation. All eyes turned on the utterer of this presumptuous\nsqueal, which was a small deformed thing of the ape kind dressed in a\ngreen coat, and bearing the name of Captain Andrew.\n\n\u2018Knock him down!\u2019 was the general cry of the gods in the gallery;\nwhich mandate was presently executed by my friend, John Bud, who\nstood near. The first scene now came on, in the course of which Mrs.\nSiddons displayed all her finest powers and even excelled herself.\nPeals of applause again shook the theatre to its foundations. Hamilton\nwas scarcely able to contain the joy and gratitude which this intoxicating\nsuccess excited. His cheeks glowed, his eye sparkled, and his frame\ntrembled all over. His transports, however, were soon about to receive\na fearful check. At the commencement of the second act Petus rushed\ninto the tent of Camilus, exclaiming: \u2018General, we breathe the air\nof death. Our plot is smoked!\u2019\n\n\u2018Well,\u2019 cried Lord Lofty, who with a bevy of puppies like himself\noccupied a box at no great distance; \u2018Well, sir, and if your Pipe\nis smoked, can\u2019t you light another?\u2019\n\nThe laughter of some of the audience was raised by this sally of\nmiserable wit, which from what followed seemed to have been a preconcerted\nsignal for an indiscriminate attack on the tragedy. The thread of\napproval being once broken it appeared impossible to reunite it.\nHisses, groans, and peals of laughter now rose at the finest passages.\nThe gods, who are ever ready to join in a tumult, without nicely\ninquiring into the cause, yelled aloud for the instant condemnation\nof the whole concern. Lofty and his gang joined them clamourosly\nin this demand, and at length the uproar rose to such a pitch that\nMr. Price was compelled to come forward to the footlights and declare\nthat since the audience disapproved of the play he consented to withdraw\nit.\n\n\u2018All hope of fame is gone and I desire to live no longer,\u2019 said Hamilton,\nturning on the marquis his corpse-like countenance.\n\n\u2018Courage, Edwin,\u2019 replied the latter. \u2018It is part of my creed that\nthere is no wound too deep to receive relief from the divine balsam\nof revenge. I know who is your principal foe, and if I live you shall\nenjoy the remedy in perfection.\u2019\n\n\n\nIt was a bright and lovely afternoon in the midst of autumn. The\nsaloons of Waterloo Palace were thrown open for the admission of\nall the rank and fashion of Verdopolis. The doors of the great library\nwere likewise unfolded, and there a knot of _bel-esprits_, the very\nflower of Africa\u2019s geniuses, had gathered round a large open bow-window\nthrough which might be seen the extensive pleasure-grounds where\ngroups of the brighter children of fashion roamed idly about or reposed\nunder the shade of sequestered bowers. Of course my brother and Lady\nZenobia Ellrington formed the nucleus round which this literary party\nhad assembled. While they were conversing Lord Lofty entered and\ntook his station near them. He could not actually join their party,\nbecause, though a man of considerable talent, he had never written\na book, painted a picture, or moulded a statue; and it is an understood\nregulation of this chosen band that none but genuine authors and\nartists shall have the privilege of entering into their high and\nexclusive society. While he listened to the noble sentiment, the\nbrilliant wit, the exhaustless knowledge, and the varied information\nwhich, clothed in the purest language and uttered in the soft subdued\ntones which perfect refinement dictates, formed a conversazione of\nsuch fascinating brilliancy as he had never heard before, undefined\nlongings arose in his heart to become a more immediate partaker of\nthe feast of reason and the flow of soul he witnessed. At this moment\nthe Marchioness of Douro, who, seated on a low footstool at the feet\nof her husband and Lady Ellrington, had been gazing up at them with\nher large blue eyes full of wonder and delight, suddenly exclaimed\nin her usual artless manner: \u2018I wish I had written a book!\u2019\n\n\u2018And so do I,\u2019 was the response that immediately burst from Lofty\u2019s\nlips. The marquis smiled at the characteristic simplicity of Marian\u2019s\naspiration; but he turned with a more serious air to Lofty, and said:\n\n\u2018Well, and what is there to hinder you from writing as many books\nas you like?\u2019\n\n\u2018Nothing, my lord, except that I have not the genius.\u2019\n\n\u2018Pshaw! nonsense! you can do anything you choose!\u2019\n\n\u2018Are you in earnest, Douro?\u2019\n\n\u2018In earnest? Yes, that I am: I never was more so in my life.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, then, I really do think I\u2019ll turn author.\u2019\n\n\u2018That\u2019s right, Fred. I\u2019ll breakfast with you to-morrow morning, and\nwe\u2019ll talk the matter over at our leisure.\u2019\n\nNext day Arthur was punctual to his appointment. On entering the\nbreakfast-room he found Lord Frederic seated in a morning gown of\ngreen and silver brocade with slippers to correspond, and on the\ntable beside him lay a quire of paper and an inkstand of elaborate\nworkmanship with golden pens, etc. The smile with which he viewed\nthese preparations would have undeceived any other than Lofty, whose\nfaculties were rendered, however, so obtuse by conceit that he conceived\nit to be merely a token of approbation.\n\nAfter the first cup or two of chocolate had been discussed the marquis\nentered upon business by saying: \u2018Well, Fred, do you continue in\nthe same mind I left you in last night?\u2019\n\n\u2018Certainly, my lord; I am even confirmed in my determination to become\nan author. The only thing that puzzles me is on what subject to exercise\nthat genius which you flatter me I possess.\u2019\n\nAfter a moment\u2019s silence and apparent consideration, Arthur said:\n\n\u2018Of course you would desire something original. Talent like yours\nwould not be content to follow in any beaten path.\u2019\n\n\u2018Surely. In fact, I have determined that no hackneyed theme shall\nreceive immortality from my pen. Now, Douro, could you not help me\nto one that has never been touched on before?\u2019\n\n\u2018I think I could; but before I mention it let me briefly define to\nyou the meaning of originality. It consists in raising from obscurity\nsome theme, topic, employment, or existence which has never been\nthought of by the great mass of men, or thought of only to be despised;\nin pouring around it the light of genius, proving its claim to admiration\nby subtlety of logic, clothing it with all the bright tones of a\nlively imagination, and presenting it thus adorned to the astonished\nworld. I counsel you, Fred, to take for your subject the unjustly\ncondemned art of the laundress. Write an essay on it divided into\nthree parts, viz.: washing, starching, and ironing. In the first,\nsummon up all your learning. Go back to the old times of Homer when\nprincesses bleached linen in the gardens of Adcinous. Trace the art\nthrough the ramifications of ages and nations down to the present\nday. Expatiate upon the purity of the employment; give it an allegorical\nmeaning, and conclude by saying that it excels all others in dignity\nand honour. Let the second be a dissertation on the process of making\nstarch. Point out the grain which is most proper for it, and launch\na thundering anathema against all adulterators of the genuine article.\nIn the third, discourse most excellent music on the different kinds\nof irons, as box-irons, flat-irons, and Italian irons, and mind you\ngive them the preference over such machines as mangles and calenders.\nDo all this and I think I can promise you as the reward of your labours\nrenown of such a nature and extent as would satisfy the ambition\nof most men.\u2019\n\n\u2018My lord,\u2019 replied Lofty, \u2018by this disinterested and noble counsel\nyou have conferred on me an eternal obligation. I will follow up\nthe hint you have given, and by so doing I hope to produce somewhat\nthat the gracious public will not willingly let die.\u2019\n\nFrom that day Lord Lofty became an altered man. He was no longer\nthe free, dashing, gallant young nobleman whose handsome exterior\nand high-bred manners endeared him to the fair sex, and whose superiority\nboth mental and personal had entitled him to the rank of viceroy\nin the world of fashion, subject only to those two mighty monarchs,\nDouro and Ellrington. Seldom now was either ballroom, race ground,\nparliament house, rotunda, or ring honoured with his presence. Day\nand night he immersed himself in the solitude of his study and gave\naccess to none but my brother, who urged him unrelentingly to the\ncompletion of the task which he had assigned him. Sometimes, indeed,\nthe unhappy gull ventured forth to his old haunts, but so changed\nwas he become in dress, language, and behaviour as scarcely to be\nrecognised by his most intimate friends. A shabby black coat was\ngenerally wrapped round him; shoes trodden down at the heels garnished\nhis feet; and the fair hair which formerly was his greatest pride,\nand which he usually wore arranged in clustering curls, now hung\nneglected in elf-locks round a countenance that for consumptive paleness\nand attenuation might have been envied by the veriest tea-taster\nin existence. His conversation was in unison with his appearance,\nwhining, sickly, pedantic, and filled with that disgusting species\nof affectation peculiar to literary coxcombs. The consequence of\nthis was that those who had been accustomed to consider his acquaintance\nas an honour and a matter of boasting now grew ashamed to be seen\nin company with him. When he entered a drawing-room the ladies turned\naside their heads, and the gentlemen regarded him with a glance of\nundisguised contempt. Not a hand was stretched out to welcome him;\nnot a voice repeated his name except in atone of derision. These\nthings, however, he neither saw nor regarded. Fenced by a triple\nshield of self-conceit, the scorn of women and the disgust of men\nmoved him no more than hailstones would a rock.\n\nAfter some months of incessant labour he at length one evening announced\nto the marquis that his work was completed.\n\n\u2018Wait till to-morrow, Fred,\u2019 replied that faithful friend. \u2018I will\nthen accompany you to Sergeant Tree\u2019s, and you shall taste the first\nsweets of authorship.\u2019\n\nThat night and the first hours of morning seemed to Lofty an age.\nAs soon as breakfast was over he stationed himself at the window\nand continued impatiently looking out for Arthur\u2019s appearance. At\nlength about eleven o\u2019clock a.m. he perceived him advancing with\nhis usual stately tread up the street. Flinging open the sash he\njumped out and ran to meet him. As they walked towards the great\nbookseller\u2019s the marquis mentioned that he had invited a few friends\nto meet him there that morning, as he wished them to be spectators\nof Lofty\u2019s triumph. The latter bowed and expressed his gratitude\nfor what he considered to be another instance of my brother\u2019s attachment\nto him. They now entered the shop. Above a hundred men of the highest\nrank were assembled there, including Castlereagh, Molyneux, Aberford,\nBeauclerk, Sidney, Russell, Howard, Morpeth, etc., and by himself,\nleaning against a pillar, was Hamilton the architect, his pale face\nand his usually downcast eyes glowing with uncommon ardour behind\nthe marble slab which, supported on Ionic columns, forms the counter.\nSergeant Tree was seated in an elevated armchair. To him Lofty immediately\nadvanced and, presenting his manuscript, said in a loud and pompous\ntone of voice:\n\n\u2018Look at that, sir, and tell me what you will give me for it.\u2019\n\nTree took out his spectacles, placed them with all imaginable\ntranquillity, and after reading the title-page and glancing over the\nbody of the work returned it coolly to the washerwoman, saying in his\nquiet business-like manner: \u2018This, my lord, is not in my way. You have\nprobably mistaken me for Mrs. Bleachum, the washerwoman.\u2019\n\nA peal of laughter from the noble bystanders accompanied these words.\nLofty stood motionless a moment as if transfixed, then turned to\nthe marquis with a look of speechless agony. Instead of the cloud\nof sympathetic sorrow he had expected to see brooding on his friend\u2019s\nbrow his eyes fell on a countenance illumined by a smile of arch,\ncold, triumphant, deep and devilish meaning. It pierced at once the\nthick veil of infatuation that obscured his-mental vision, and suddenly\nthe light of truth burst on him with almost annihilating splendour.\nWhile he stood more like a statue than a living man Arthur advanced\nand said in a low and soft voice, but so distinct as to be heard\nby all present:\n\n\u2018Well, Frederic, don\u2019t you think a rejected essay is almost as agreeable\nas a condemned tragedy?\u2019\n\n    C. BRONT\u00cb,\n    _October 6th_, 1833.\n\n\n\n\nA PEEP INTO A PICTURE BOOK\n\nCHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb was eighteen years of age when she wrote these\ndescriptions of the principal characters in her stories. \u2018The land\nof the Genii\u2019 had become \u2018The Kingdom of Angria\u2019; the Duke of Wellington\nwas almost forgotten; and her early hero, the Marquis of Douro, had\nreceived various other titles, including that of Duke of Zamorna,\nand had been elected King of Angria. He had developed a character\ntotally different from that of the studious and ingenuous youth of\nCharlotte Bront\u00eb\u2019s earlier stories.\n\nAt this time his first wife, Marian Hume, is supposed to have been\ndead several years, and he is married to Mary Henrietta, the daughter\nof his Prime Minister\u2014Alexander Percy, Viscount Ellrington and Earl\nof Northangerland.\n\nAlexander Percy (sometimes called Alexander Rogue) was originally\na pirate, and was one of the creations of Charlotte\u2019s brother, Patrick\nBranwell Bront\u00eb, when very young. On pp. 175-179 of _A Bibliography\nof the Writings in Prose and Verse of the Members of the Bront\u00eb Family_,\n1917, by Thomas J. Wise, is printed a poem of one hundred and twenty-eight\nlines entitled \u2018The Rover.\u2019 This is a poem by Patrick Branwell Bront\u00eb\ndescriptive of one of Alexander Percy\u2019s adventures when he was a\npirate. It was from this character that Branwell Bront\u00eb took the\npseudonyms of \u2018Northangerland\u2019 and \u2018Alexander Percy,\u2019 which he continued\nto use until the end of his life.\n\nThe first wife of Northangerland also is dead at this time, and he\nis married to Lady Zenobia Ellrington, who in earlier stories (\u2018Albion\nand Marina,\u2019 \u2018The Rivals,\u2019 and \u2018Love and Jealousy\u2019) was the rival\nof Marian Hume for the affections of the Marquis of Douro.\n\nGeneral Thornton is the guardian of the young Lord Wellesley, the\nsupposed author of the manuscript in which \u2018A Peep into a Picture\nBook\u2019 was found.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n    A PEEP INTO A PICTURE BOOK\n\n    FROM THE MANUSCRIPT ENTITLED\n\n    CORNER DISHES\n\n    BEING\n    A SMALL COLLECTION OF\n    MIXED AND UNSUBSTANTIAL\n    TRIFLES\n    IN PROSE AND\n    VERSE\n\n    BY\n\n    LORD CHARLES ALBERT\n    FLORIAN WELLESLEY.\n\n    Begun May 28th, 1834.\n\n    Finished June 16th, 1834.\n\n\n\n\nA PEEP INTO A PICTURE BOOK\n\nIT is a fine, warm, sultry day, just after dinner. I am at Thornton\nHotel. The General is enjoying his customary nap; and while the serene\nevening sunshine reposes on his bland features and unruffled brow,\nan atmosphere of calm seems to pervade the apartment.\n\nWhat shall I do to amuse myself? I dare not stir lest he should awake;\nand any disturbance of his slumbers at this moment might be productive\nof serious consequences to me: no circumstance would more effectually\nsour my landlord\u2019s ordinarily bland temperament. Hark! There is a\nslight, light snore, most musical, most melancholy: he is firmly\nlocked in the chains of the drowsy god.\n\nAt the opposite end of the room three large volumes that look like\npicture books lie on a sideboard; their green watered-silk quarto\ncovers and gilt backs are tempting, and I will make an effort to\ngain possession of them. Softly, softly: there, I have thrown down\na silver fruit knife and a piece of orange peel! He stirs! I must\npause awhile or he will certainly awake. Hem! the worthy gentleman\nsettles down to his former tranquillity; the incipient frown which\ncontracted his forehead is past away; and the rest of a good conscience,\nthe calm of a mental and corporeal healthiness, sleeps there again.\n\nWith zephyr-step and bosomed breath I glide onward to the sideboard,\nI seize my prize, and being once more safely established in my chair\nI open the volumes to see if the profit be equivalent to the pains.\n\nEureka! Eureka! \u2018Tree\u2019s Portrait Gallery of the Aristocracy of Africa\u2019!\nWhy, here is cent. per cent. indeed! The very thing; the beau-ideal\nof provision for an after-dinner\u2019s amusement! However languid and\nunfitted for exertion, the veriest gourmand could not turn with disgust\nfrom such placid entertainment as is here prepared for him; the sleepiest\neye might wander unwearied over the silent visions that here follow\neach other in a succession so dreamy and voiceless.\n\nI am no gourmand after dinner; I am as active as before; but just\nnow the pleasure of hanging over forms that speak without sound,\nof gazing into motionless eyes that search your very heart, is more\nattractive to me than sprightlier employments.\n\nThe second volume is nearest to my hand, and I will raise first from\nthe shadow of gossamer paper, waving as I turn it like a web of woven\nair, the spirit whosoever it be, male or female, crowned or coroneted,\nthat animates its frontispiece.\n\nA mighty phantom has answered my spell: an awful shape clouds the\nmagic mirror! Reader, before me I behold the earthly tabernacle of\nNorthangerland\u2019s unsounded soul! There he stands: what a vessel to\nbe moulded from the coarse clay of mortality! What a plant to spring\nfrom the rank soil of human existence! And the vessel is without\nflaw: polished, fresh, and bright from the last process of the maker.\nThe flower has sprung up to mature beauty, but not a leaf is curled,\nnot a blossom faded. This portrait was taken ere the lights and shadows\nof twenty-five summers had fallen across the wondrous labyrinth of\nPercy\u2019s path through life. At this moment a gleam of sunlight, real\ndeep gold in hue, comes through the kindled window-panes, and falls\nrichly and serenely on the picture. It is a softened glory, for the\nsun is far west and its amber rays shed inexpressible tranquillity\nwherever they descend. How sweetly they sleep on that brow! and on\nthose Ionic features! Percy! Percy! never was humanity fashioned\nin a fairer mould. The eye follows delighted all those classic lines\nof face and form: not one unseemly curvature or angle to disturb\nthe general effect of so much refined regularity; all appears carved\nin ivory. The grossness of flesh and blood will not suit its statuesque\nexactness and speckless polish. A feeling of fascination comes over\nme while I gaze on that Phidian nose defined with such beautiful\nprecision; that chin and mouth chiselled to such elaborate perfection;\nthat high, pale forehead, not bald as now, but yet not shadowed with\ncurls, for the clustering hair is parted back, gathered in abundant\nwreaths on the temples and leaving the brow free for all the gloom\nand glory of a mind that has no parallel to play over the expanse\nof living marble which its absence reveals. The expression in this\npicture is somewhat pensive, composed, free from sarcasm except the\nfixed sneer of the-lip and the strange deadly glitter of the eye\nwhose glance\u2014a mixture of the keenest scorn and deepest thought\u2014curdles\nthe spectator\u2019s blood to ice. In my opinion this head embodies the\nmost vivid ideas we can conceive of Lucifer, the rebellious archangel:\nthere is such a total absence of human feeling and sympathy; such\na cold frozen pride; such a fathomless power of intellect; such passionless\nyet perfect beauty\u2014not breathing and burning, full of tightening\nblood and fiery thought and feeling like that of some others whom\nour readers will recollect,\u2014but severely studied, faultlessly refined,\nas cold and hard and polished and perfect as the most priceless brilliant.\nAnd in his eye there is a shade of something, words cannot express\nwhat. The sight may catch, but not fix it. A gleam, scarcely human,\ndark and fiend-like, it steals away under the lash, quivers sometimes\nwith the mysterious tremor of a northern light, fixes stedfastly\non some luckless bystander, who shrinks from the supernatural aspect,\nand then is all at once quenched. Once that marvellous light fell\non me; and long after I beheld it vanish its memory haunted me like\na spirit. The sensation which it excited was very singular. I felt\nas if he could read my soul; and strange to tell there was no fear\nlest he should find sinful thoughts and recollections there, but\na harassing dread lest anything good might arise which would awake\nthe tremendous power of sarcasm that I saw lurking in every feature\nof his face. Northangerland has a black drop in his veins that flows\nthrough every vessel, taints every limb, stagnates round his heart,\nand there in the very citadel of life the albinous blood of the patrician\nis the bitterest, rankest gall. Let us leave him in that shape, \u2018bright\nwith beauty, dark with crime.\u2019 He has sailed over many seas, wandered\nin many lands; just so with that look buried in profound meditation\nI can imagine him pacing the silent quarter-deck of his own _Red\nRover_, his eyes fixed on the sullen sea that moans round him on\nevery side, watching the mighty plunges of the waves rushing on as\nif they had an aim in their journey, as if they would bound on before\nhis gallant ship, and were seeking the land she sought with emulous\nintent to outstrip the wanderer of their green wilderness, and to\nteach her that ocean would not brook her haughty defiance. Farewell,\nPercy!\n\nI turn the leaves and behold\u2014his countess!\n\nHum! hum! I am not on very good terms with this celebrated lady,\nas all the world knows; yet plain truth compels me to confess that\nshe is a very fine woman, a superb daughter of Verdopolis; and Frederick\nde Lisle has done her justice; so has Edward Findan. A mere blue\nought not to be so handsome. What eyes! What raven hair! What an\nimposing contour of form and countenance!\n\nShe is perfectly grand in her velvet robes, dark plume, and crown-like\nturban. The lady of Ellrington House, the wife of Northangerland,\nthe prima donna of the Angrian Court, the most learned woman of her\nage, the modern Cleopatra, the Verdopolitan de Sta\u00ebl: in a word,\nZenobia Percy! Who would think that that grand form of feminine majesty\ncould launch out into the unbridled excesses of passion in which\nher ladyship not unfrequently indulges? There is fire in her eyes,\nand command on her brow; and some touch of a pride that would spurn\nrestraint in the curl of her rich lip. But all is so tempered with\nwomanly dignity that it would seem as if neither fire nor pride nor\nimperiousness could awaken the towering fits of ungoverned and frantic\nrage that often deform her beauty. Her hands, look at them, they\nare well formed and small, white and sparkling with rings; is it\nnatural that such hands should inflict the blows that sometimes tingle\nfrom them? I think not; but my scarlet ears and aching bones have\nmore than once borne incontestable witness how the case stands! The\ntruth is her fingers though slender are long and like those of Zamorna,\nand like his they possess more vigour than their fragile structure\nwould seem to indicate. She can spar, I verily believe, with her\nown husband, one of the best boxers on record, though now a little\ndisabled by a tormenting complaint from long-continued exertion.\nHer employment, however, as here represented is of a higher order\nthan pugilistic achievement. She leans on a large clasped volume,\nanother of equal size lies open before her, and: one taper forefinger\ndirects the spectator\u2019s attention to the page while her eye looks\ninto his with an earnest and solemn air as if she were warning him\nof the mighty treasures contained in the maxims of ancient lore to\nwhich she points. As I turn from this pictured representation of\nthe countess I must say she is a noble creature both in mind and\nbody, though full of the blackest defects: a flawed diamond; a magnificent\nlandscape trenched with drains; virgin gold basely adulterated with\nbrass; a beautiful intellectual woman, but an infidel.\n\nThe next portrait is that of His Grace the Duke of Fidena. I feel\nas if awaking from a feverish dream, a distempered vision of troubled\ngrandeur and stormy glory, as I raise my eyes from the lord and lady\nof Pandemonium, from Sin and Satan, and let them fall on Prince John,\nthe Royal Philosopher. How grave! what severe virtue! what deep and\nfar-sought and well-treasured wisdom! what inflexible uprightness!\nIntegrity that Death could not turn from the path of right; Firmness\nthat would stoop to the block rather than yield one jot of its just,\nmature, righteous resolution; Truth from which the agonies of the\nwheel would be powerless to wring a word of equivocation; and to\nspeak verity, Pride that could no more be thawed than the icebergs\nof Greenland or the snows of his own Highland hills. There is a look\ntoo of prejudice in his rather stern forehead, a something which\ntells us that Fidena could be an unforgiving, almost a vindictive,\nenemy, if stubbornly opposed or wantonly insulted. An air of reserve,\nof stiffness, which warns us that the son of Alexander,\u2014all good,\nwise, and just, as he is,\u2014lays emphasis on the forms of Courts, the\nusages of high circles. He will brook no breach of them, however\ntrivial, in those under his authority. That cold eye and aristocratic\nmien say that jealousy would be quickly aroused by any mingling of\nranks, any inroads of plebeians on the rights of patricians, any\nremoving of landmarks or undermining of old institutions. He looks\nchill, almost forbidding. Something like a cold feeling of restraint\ncreeps over us whilst we gaze: the virtues pictured in his stately\nfeatures seem of that high and holy order which almost exempt their\npossessor from sympathy with mankind. Thoughts of martyrs or patriots,\na zealous but stern prophet chosen in evil times to denounce judgment,\nnot to proclaim mercy, recur to our minds. Yet John is not altogether\nwhat he appears; or rather he is that and more too. I have seen him\nin private life in moments of relaxation when surrounded by his family\nand one or two bosom friends. Nothing in such circumstances can be\nmore fascinating than his winning, easy manner, his calm cheerfulness,\nhis pleasing, philosophical gravity of aspect and demeanour. For\nhours I have watched him while he sat on a sofa with his lovely wife\nbeside him, and the beautiful Marchioness of Douro sitting at his\nfeet; and heard the benignant simplicity with which he poured out\nthe stores of his varied and extensive erudition, answering so kindly\nand familiarly each question of the fair listeners, mingling an air\nof conjugal tenderness in his manner to his wife, and earnest melancholy\ngentleness in that to Marian such as always characterized his treatment\nof her. Poor thing! she looked on him as her only friend,\u2014her brother,\nher adviser, her unerring oracle; with the warm devotedness that\nmarked her disposition she followed his advice as if it had been\nthe precept of inspired revelation. Fidena could not err; he could\nneither think nor act wrongly: he was perfect. Those who thought\nhim too proud were very much mistaken. _She_ never found him so.\nNobody had milder and softer manners; nobody spoke more pleasantly.\nThus she would talk; then blush with anger if any one contradicted\nher too exclusively favourable opinion. Prince John, I believe, regarded\nMarian as a delicate flower planted in a stormy situation; as a lovely,\nfragile being that needed his careful protection; and that protection\nhe would have extended to her at the hazard of life itself. To the\nlast he tried to support her. Many lone days he spent in watching\nand cheering her during her final lingering sickness; but all the\nkindness, all the tenderness in the world were insufficient to raise\nthat blighted lily so long as the sunshine of those eyes which had\nbeen her idolatry was withered; and so long as the music of that\nvoice she had loved so fondly and truly sounded too far off to be\nheard. Fidena was in the house when she died. He had left the chamber\nbut a few minutes before Zamorna entered it. On quitting the bedside,\nas he hung over his adopted sister for the last time, a single large\ntear, the only one anguish, bodily or mental, ever wrung from the\nexalted soul of the Christian philosopher, dropped on the little\nworn hand he held in his; and he muttered half aloud: \u2018Would to God\nI had possessed this treasure; it should not thus have been thrown\naway.\u2019\n\nMarian\u2019s portrait comes next to Fidena. Every one know what it is\nlike: the small delicate features, dark blue eyes full of wild and\ntender enthusiasm, beautiful curls, and frail-looking form, are familiar\nto all; so I need not pause on a more elaborate detail.\n\nAfter her the frank face of General Thornton looks out on the gazer\nwith a hearty, welcoming aspect. You almost hear his doric accents\nexclaiming: \u2018Well, how do you do, this evening? Fine, summer weather!\nI\u2019m taking a bit of a stroll to Girnington Hall. Will ye come with\nme and see how the cattle thrive?\u2019 Honest, honest Thornton! there\nare few men so worthy as thyself in the world. Thou hast been wronged,\nvilely and shamefully wronged; yet not a shadow of discontent in\nthat smooth, broad brow, with its dashing swirl of hair, intimates\nthat thou art an ill-used man. Never did a word of complaint fall\nfrom those fresh-coloured, well-formed lips. Hearty execrations have\noften poured from them, but not a single whine. Thornton bears a\nresemblance to Prince John; faint indeed and rather uncertain as\nto its locality, but still sufficient to point out their relationship.\nThe complexions of both are fair and northern; the eyes are of similar\ncolour: a clear and lively grey; and the nose not unlike in contour.\nTheir forms, however, are very different, the general\u2019s being middle-sized\nand somewhat stout, the duke\u2019s tall, thin, and stately. But their\nminds! There the great distinction lies; no wonder they hate each\nother! Fire and flint could no more amalgamate than them.\n\nLady Maria Sneachy, a real, dazzling, brilliant, smiling beauty!\nWhat large, imperial eyes; what a magnificent neck and brow; and\nhow haughtily she lifts her fair head with its weight of glancing\nblack ringlets! She seems to scorn the earth which her small foot\npresses, and to look round in supreme contempt of beggarly man and\nall his trifling concerns. He may gaze at her, worship her, but let\nhim aspire no higher. The laugh of satire that can burst from those\nlips is cutting to the last degree. I have seen many a wretch writhing\nunder it, and pitied the despair with which he turned away from the\nroyal coquette to seek happiness in a less splendid and less disdainful\nform. People say that Maria has found her tamer now. I know not how\nthat is, but I think the King of Angria is too well satisfied with\nhis present Queen, who fits herself to him and all his proud strange\nways more perfectly every day, to choose even so grand a successor\nas Maria Sneachy would be.\n\nAugustus, Marquis of Rosendale\u2014young Highland Red-Deer! Fidena may\nbe proud of his son. I never saw a child who better merited the epithet,\n\u2018handsome,\u2019 than does this juvenile prince. All his limbs and features\nare so round and regular. Look at those fleshy, plump arms naked\nto the shoulder; on that fair and florid face with its fearless blue\neye, and the curly grace of his plentiful light hair; on that bold\nwhite forehead which will be bared yet to the mountain winds of his\nfatherland when he fronts them in the storm of the chase, and to\nthe keener gales of war when he follows the sound of the trumpet\nand charges either to the rescue or ruin of that banner whose orb\nis rising, but which ere then will be in its glowing noontide. Prince\nJohn should watch Augustus; let him not follow his young god-father\nin infancy or he will do it hereafter in manhood.\n\nHere the second volume closes. I now take up the first.\n\nFire! Light! What have we here? Zamorna\u2019s self, blazing in the frontispiece\nlike the sun on his own standard. De Lisle has given him to us in\nfull regimentals\u2014plumed, epauletted, and sabred (I wish the last\nwere literally true, by-the-bye!). All his usual insufferableness\nor irresistibleness, or whatever the ladies choose to call it, surrounding\nhim like an atmosphere, he stands as if a thunderbolt could neither\nblast the light of his eyes nor dash the effrontery of his brow.\nKeen, glorious being! tempered and bright and sharp and rapid as\nthe scimitar at his side when whirled by the delicate yet vigorous\nhand that now grasps the bridle of a horse to all appearance as viciously\nbeautiful as himself. O Zamorna! what eyes those are glancing under\nthe deep shadow of that raven crest! They bode no good. Man nor woman\ncould ever gather more than a troubled, fitful happiness from their\nkindest light, Satan gave them their glory to deepen the midnight\ngloom that always follows where their lustre has fallen most lovingly.\nThis, indeed, is something different from Percy. All here is passion\nand fire unquenchable. Impetuous sin, stormy pride, diving and soaring\nenthusiasm, war and poetry, are kindling their fires in all his veins,\nand his wild blood boils from his heart and back again like a torrent\nof new-sprung lava. Young duke? Young demon! I have looked at you\ntill words seemed to issue from your lips in those fine electric\ntones, as clear and profound as the silver chords of a harp, which\nsteal affections like a charm. I think I see him bending his head\nto speak to the Countess Zenobia or the Princess Maria or Lady Julia\nor perhaps Queen Henrietta, while he whispers words that touch the\nheart like a \u2018melody that\u2019s sweetly played in tune.\u2019 A low wind rises\nand sighs slowly onward. Suddenly his plumes rustle; their haughty\nshadow sweeps over his forehead; the eye,\u2014the full, dark, refulgent\neye,\u2014lightens most gloriously; his curls are all stirred; smiles\ndawn on his lip. Suddenly he lifts his head, flings back the feathers,\nand clusters of bright hair, and, while he stands erect and god-like,\nhis regards (as the French say) bent on the lady, whoever it be,\nwho by this time is of course seriously debating whether he be man\nor angel, a momentary play of indescribable expression round the\nmouth, and elevation of the eyebrows, tell how the stream of thought\nruns at that moment; the mind which so noble a form enshrines! Detestable\nwretch!\u2014I hate him!\n\nBut just opposite, separated only by a transparent sheet of silver\npaper, there is something different: his wife, his own matchless\nHenrietta! She looks at him with serene eyes as if the dew of placid\nthought could be shed on him by the influence of those large, clear\nstars. It reminds me of moonlight descending on troubled waters.\nI wish the parallel held good all the way, and that she was as far\nbeyond the reach of sorrows arising from her husband\u2019s insatiable\nambition and fiery impetuosity as Dian is above the lash of the restless\ndeep. But it is not so: her destiny is linked with his; and however\nstrange the great river of Zamorna\u2019s fate may flow; however awful\nthe rapids over which it may rush; however cold and barren the banks\nof its channel; however wild, however darkly beached and stormily\nbillowed the ocean into which it may finally plunge, Mary\u2019s must\nfollow. Fair creature! I could weep to think of it. For her sake,\nI hope a bright futurity for her lord; pity that the shadow of grief\nshould ever fall where the light of such beauty shines. Every one\nknows how like the duchess is to her father: his very image cast\nin a softer\u2014it could not be a more refined\u2014mould. They are precisely\nsimilar, even to the very delicacy of their hands. As Byron says,\nher features have all the statuesque repose, the calm classic grace,\nthat dwells on the Earl\u2019s. She, however, has one advantage over him:\nthe stealing, pensive brilliancy of her hazel eyes, and the peaceful\nsweetness of her mouth, impart a harmony to the whole which the satanic\nsneer fixed on the corresponding features of Northangerland\u2019s face\ntotally destroys. The original paintings of these two engraved portraits,\nnamely, Zamorna\u2019s and his lady\u2019s, hang in the grand refectory at\nWellesley House. Five hundred guineas was the sum paid for each.\nThey are de Lisle\u2019s, and rank amongst his most splendid _chefs-d\u2019\u0153uvre_.\nI know of no parallels to them, except those of Percy and Zenobia\nin the central saloon at Ellrington Hall. Search all the world from\nIceland to Australia, and you will not find four human beings, male\nand female, to compare with them.\n\nHector Mirabeau Montmorency, Esq.! These features are somewhat stern\nto gaze on after such a continuation of the beautiful. They are far,\nhowever, from being harsh and disagreeable. A great deal of stuff was\nwritten some years ago about the exaggerated and grotesque character of\nthis gentleman\u2019s physiognomy. I remember several libellous assertions\nto that effect in the long since exploded catch-penny of Captain Tree\u2019s\ndenominated: \u2018The Foundling.\u2019[8] But, indeed, where all the rest was a\ncompound of the grossest falsehood, where Lord and Lady Ellrington, Mr.\nSydney, the Duke of Wellington, the whole concern of the Philosopher\u2019s\nIsland,\u2014tutors, masters of colleges, students and all,\u2014were hashed up\ninto one wild farrago of bombast, fustian and lies, why should the\nLord of Derrinane escape more than others? It is not to be wondered at\nthat this same work, which gave a detailed account of Zenobia Percy\u2019s\ndeclaring in solemn soliloquy that she hated her husband\u2014abhorred,\nloathed, detested her own Alexander\u2014which afterwards showed her\ndaring him in the most insolent language to his fate, glorifying the\nyoung Marquis of Douro, and anathematizing _him_; and which, to crown\nall, made Percy offer to commit an act that certainly was more than\nexcusable\u2014almost justifiable after such provocation,\u2014namely, the final\nsettling of so shrewish and shameless a wife, introduced a third\nperson to prevent the deed, and made his interference successful.\nThe volume which contained all this, I say, should excite but small\naccession of wonder by the few lines that describe Montmorency as\na broad, low man, bandy-legged, squinting, his head covered with a\nshock of shaggy black hair, and his eyes of the consistency of boiled\ngooseberries: green, glassy, and ghost-like. The fact is Hector is\na tall, well-proportioned, robust figure, with red hair, a florid\ncomplexion, an expression of eye which indicates good humour, powerful\ntalent, and no small degree of ferocity. His countenance is certainly\nnot so femininely elegant as that of Northangerland, nor so fierily\nmagnificent as that of Zamorna, but it is the countenance of a\ngentleman and a Glass-towner, not of a brownie and a bear.\n\n8 \u2018The Foundling: A Tale of Our Own Times,\u2019 by Captain Tree, is an\nunpublished story containing about thirty-five thousand words, which\nwas commenced by Charlotte Bront\u00eb on May 31st, 1833, and completed\non June 27th, 1823. The manuscript is described, and facsimiles of\ntwo pages of the manuscript are given, by Mr. T. J. Wise in his book,\n_A Bibliography of the Writings in Prose and Verse of the Members\nof the Bront\u00eb Family_, published in 1917.\u2014C. W. H.\n\nHist! Thornton is awakening!\n\n\u2018Heigho, Charles, what are ye about there?\u2019\n\n\u2018Looking at pictures.\u2019\n\n\u2018Looking at pictures? Aye, that ye are with a vengeance! Do ye see\nwhat you\u2019ve done? Daubed your hands with ink, and then rubbed them\nover every other portrait in the book. Well, child, thou dost try\nmy patience! Take away your fingers this minute. There! he\u2019s drawn\na scrawl across Lady Julia Sydney\u2019s bonny face and spoiled the handsomest\nlass in the book! Leave the room and get me _The Cook\u2019s Guide_: you\nshall learn a page of recipes for this business before ever you have\na morsel of supper. Poor Julia! she\u2019s fairly changed into a blackamoor;\nand there\u2019s John with an ink mark across his forehead that makes\nhim frown like death. Faith, that was a lucky hit! I\u2019ve a\u2019most a\ngood mind to forgive you for it; but I willn\u2019t either: there\u2019s a\nhundred pounds thrown away, and I won\u2019t have such work.\u2019\n\nAll this was very true. While examining the portraits I had been\njotting down the few remarks here contained. The ink had been communicated\nby the pen to my fingers, and by them to each leaf as I turned it\nover. If crime can be expiated by punishment, however, my sin was\nsoon washed away. Till ten o\u2019clock that night I was engaged in lifting\nup my voice over the pathetic pages of _The Cook\u2019s Guide, or, Every\nMan his own Housekeeper_\u2014(I think that is the title of the abomination);\nand, let me assure the reader, such a penalty as this might be the\nguerdon of graver guilt.\n\n    C. BRONT\u00cb,\n    _May 30th_, 1834.\n\n\n\n\nMINA LAURY\n\nI\n\nFROM the first part of the manuscript entitled \u2018Passing Events,\u2019\ncompleted by Charlotte Bront\u00eb on her twentieth birthday, April 21st,\n1836.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\nMINA LAURY\n\nI\n\nTHE Cross of Rivaulx![9] Is that a name familiar to my readers? I\nrather think not. Listen, then. It is a green, delightful, and quiet\nplace, half way between Angria and the foot of the Sydenham Hills,\nunder the frown of Hawkscliffe, and on the edge of its royal forest.\nYou see a fair house whose sash-windows are set in ivy grown thick\nand kept in trim order. Over the front door there is a little porch\nof trellis-work, all the summer covered with a succession of verdant\nleaves and pink roses: globes, buds, and full-blown blossoms. Within\nthis in fine weather the door is constantly open and reveals a passage\nterminating in a staircase of low white steps traced up the middle\nby a brilliant carpet. There are no decided grounds laid out about\nthe Cross of Rivaulx; but a lawn-like greenness surrounds it, and\nthe last remnants of Hawkscliffe shade it in the form of many wild-rose\ntrees and a few lofty elms. You look in vain for anything like a\nwall or gate to shut it in. The only landmark consists in an old\nobelisk with moss and wild-flowers at its base and a half-obliterated\ncrucifix sculptured on its side. Well, this is no very presuming\nplace, but on a June evening not seldom have I seen a figure whom\nevery eye in Angria might recognise stride out of the domestic gloom\nof that little hall and stand in pleasant leisure under the porch\nwhose flowers and leaves were disturbed by the contact of his curls.\nIt is but a lodge to the mighty towers of Hawkscliffe, which being\nfive miles distant buried in the chase are of less convenient access.\nThe day is breezeless, quite still and warm. The sun far declined,\nfor afternoon is just melting into evening, sheds a deep amber light.\nA cheerful air surrounds the mansion, whose windows are up, its door\nas usual hospitably apart; and the broad passage reverberates with\na lively conversational hum from the rooms which open upon it. The\nday is of that perfectly mild, sunny kind that by an irresistible\ninfluence draws people out into the balmy air; and see, there are\ntwo gentlemen lounging easily in the porch sipping coffee from the\ncups they have brought from the drawing-room, and a third has stretched\nhimself on the soft moss in the shadow of the obelisk. But for these\nfigures the landscape would be one of exquisite repose. They break\nthe enchantment of sun, sky, pleasant home, and waveless trees. Their\ndress is military: they are officers from Angria, from the headquarters\nof Zamorna\u2019s grand army. Two at least are of this description. The\nother, reclining on the grass, a slight figure in black, wears a\ncivil dress. That is Mr. Warner, the Home Secretary. Another person\nwas standing by him, whom I should not have omitted to describe.\nIt was a fine girl dressed in rich black satin with ornaments like\nthose of a bandit\u2019s wife, in which a whole fortune seemed to have\nbeen expended; but no wonder, for they had doubtless been the gifts\nof a king! In her ears (she was not too refined for the barbaric\nmagnificence of earrings) hung two long clear drops red as fire and\nsuffused with a purple tint that showed them to be the true oriental\nruby. Bright, delicate links of gold circled her neck again and again;\nand a cross of gems lay on her breast, the centre stone of which\nwas a locket enclosing a ringlet of dark brown hair. With that little\nsoft curl she would not have parted for a kingdom.\n\n9 The name of Rivaulx was probably obtained from Rivaulx Abbey (now\nin ruins), founded in 1131 for the Cistercians. It is in the N. Riding\nof Yorkshire, in Rye Dale, at the foot of the Hambleton Hills.\u2014C.\nW. H.\n\nWarner\u2019s eyes were fixed with interest on Miss Laury as she stood\nover him, a model of beautiful vigour and glowing health, a kind\nof military erectness in her form so elegantly built, and in the\nmanner in which her neck sprung from her bust and was placed with\ngraceful uprightness on her falling shoulders. Her waist too falling\nin behind, and her fine slender foot supporting her in a regulated\nposition, plainly indicated familiarity from her childhood with the\nsergeants\u2019 drill.\n\nAll the afternoon she had been entertaining: her exalted guests,\u2014the\ntwo in the porch were no other than Lord Hartford and Enara,[10]\nand conversing with them frankly and cheerfully, but with a total\nabsence of levity, a dash of seriousness, an habitual intentness\nof purpose that had more than once attracted to her the admiring\nglance of the Home Secretary. These and Lord Arundel were the only\nfriends she had in the world. Female acquaintance she never sought,\nnor if she had sought would she have found them. And so sagacious,\nclever, and earnest was she in all she said and did that the haughty\naristocrats did not hesitate to communicate with her often on matters\nof first-rate importance. Mr. Warner was now talking to her about\nhimself.\n\n10 General Henri Fernando de Euara, known in the army as \u2018The Tiger.\u2019\u2014C.\nW. H.\n\n\u2018My dear madam,\u2019 he was saying in his imperious but still dulcet\ntone, \u2018it is unreasonable that you should remain thus exposed to\ndanger. I am your friend; yes, madam, your true friend. Why do you\nnot hear me and attend to my representations of the case? Angria\nis an unsafe place for you; you ought to leave it.\u2019\n\nThe lady shook her head: \u2018Never till my master compels me; his land\nis my land.\u2019\n\n\u2018But\u2014but, Miss Laury, you know that our army has no warrant from\nthe Almighty of conquest. This invasion may be successful, at least\nfor a time, and then what becomes of you? When the duke\u2019s nation\nis wrestling with destruction, his glory sunk in deep waters, and\nhimself diving desperately to recover it, can he waste a thought\nor a moment on a woman? You will be at the tender mercies of Quashia,[11]\nand of Sheik Medina,\u2014I mean of the detestable renegade Gordon,\u2014before\nyou are aware.\u2019\n\n11 Quashia Quamina Kashna, an African chief.\u2014C. W. H.\n\nMina smiled. \u2018I am resolved,\u2019 said she. \u2018My master himself shall\nnot force me to leave him. You know I am hardened, Warner; shame\nand reproach have no effect on me. I do not care for being called a\ncamp-follower. In peace and pleasure all the ladies in Africa would\nbe at the duke\u2019s beck; in war and suffering he shall not lack one\npoor peasant girl. Why, sir, I\u2019ve nothing else to exist for; I\u2019ve no\nother interest in life. Just to stand by His Grace and watch him and\nanticipate his wishes, or when I cannot do that to execute them like\nlightning when they are signified; to wait on him when he is sick or\nwounded, to hear his groans and bear his heartrending animal-patience\nin enduring pain; to breathe if I can my own inexhaustible health and\nenergy into him; and oh! if it were practicable, to take his fever\nand agony, to guard his interests, to take on my shoulders power from\nhim that galls me with its weight; to fill gaps in his mighty train\nof service that nobody else would dare to step into; to do all that,\nsir, is to fulfil the destiny I was born to. I know I am of no repute\namong society at large, because I have devoted myself so wholly to one\nman. And I know that he very seldom troubles himself to think of what\nI do; and has never and can never appreciate the unusual feelings of\nsubservience, the total self-sacrifice I offer at his shrine. But then\nhe gives me my reward, and that an abundant one. Mr. Warner, when I\nwas at Fort Adrian and had all the yoke of governing the garrison and\nmilitary household I used to rejoice in my responsibility and to feel\nfirmer the heavier the weight was assigned me to support. And when my\nmaster came over, as he often did, to take one of his general surveys,\nor on a hunting expedition with some of you, his officers, I had such\ndelights in ordering the banquets and entertainments and in seeing the\nfires kindled up and chandeliers lighted in those dark halls, knowing\nfor whom the feast was made ready; and it gave me a feeling of ecstasy\nto hear my young master\u2019s voice as he spoke to you or Arundel or to\nthat stately Hartford, and to see him moving about secure and powerful\nin his own stronghold, to know what true hearts he had about him,\nassured as I was that his generals and ministers were men of steel,\nand that his vassals under my rule were trusty as the very ramparts\nthey garrisoned. The last summer evening that he came here the sun and\nflowers and quietness brightened his noble features with such happiness\nI could tell his heart was at rest, for as he lay in the shade where\nyou are now I heard him hum the airs he long ago played on his guitar\nat Mornington. I was rewarded then to feel that the house I kept was\npleasant enough to make him forget Angria, and recur to home. The west,\nthe sweet west, is both his home and mine.\u2019\n\nMina paused and looked solemnly at the sun now softened in its shine\nand hanging exceedingly low. In a moment her eyes fell again on Warner.\nThey seemed to have absorbed radiance from what they had gazed on.\nLight like an arrow-point glanced in them as she said:\n\n\u2018This is my time to follow. Ill not be robbed of those hours of blissful\ndanger when I may be continually with him. My kind, noble master\nnever likes to see my tears, and I will weep before him night and\nday till he grants what I wish. I am not afraid of danger. I have\nstrong nerves. I don\u2019t wish to fight like an Amazon; and fatigue\nI never felt. I will die or be with him.\u2019\n\n\u2018What has fired your eyes so suddenly, Miss Laury?\u2019 asked Lord Hartford,\nnow advancing with Enara from their canopy of roses.\n\n\u2018The duke, the duke,\u2019 muttered Henri Fernando; \u2018she won\u2019t leave him,\nI\u2019ll be sworn.\u2019\n\n\u2018I can\u2019t, general,\u2019 said Mina.\n\n\u2018No,\u2019 answered the Italian; \u2018and nobody shall force you. You shall\nhave your own way, madam, whether it be right or wrong.\u2019\n\nBefore Miss Laury could answer a voice from within the mansion spoke\nher name.\n\n\u2018It is my lord!\u2019 she exclaimed, and ran over the sward, through the\nporch, along the passage, to a summer parlour whose walls were painted\na fine pale red, its mouldings burnished gilding, and its window-curtains\nartistical draperies of dark blue silk covered with gold waves and\nflowers. Here Zamorna sat alone. He had been writing. One or two\nletters, folded, sealed, and inscribed with western directions, lay\non the table beside him. His gloves and cambric handkerchief with\na crown wrought upon it in black hair appeared on his desk. He had\nnot uncovered since entering the house three hours since; and either\nthe weight of his dragoon helmet or the gloom of its impending plumes\nor else some inward feeling had clouded his face with a strange darkness.\nMina closed the door and softly drew near. Without speaking or asking\nleave she began to busy herself in unclasping the heavy helmet. The\nduke smiled faintly as her little fingers played about his chin and\nluxuriant whiskers, and then, the load of brass and sable plumage\nbeing removed, as they arranged the pressed masses of glossy brown\nringlets and touched with soft cool contact his feverish brow. Absorbed\nin the grateful task she hardly felt that His Majesty\u2019s arm had encircled\nher waist, and yet she did feel it too and would have thought herself\npresumptuous to shrink from the endearment. She took it as a slave\nought to take the caress of a Sultan, and obeying the gentle effort\nof his hand slowly sank on to the sofa by her master\u2019s side.\n\n\u2018My little physician,\u2019 said he, meeting her adoring but anxious upward\ngaze with the full light of his countenance, \u2018you look at me as if\nyou thought I was not well. Feel my pulse.\u2019\n\nShe folded that offered hand, white, supple, and soft with youth\nand delicate nature, in both her own, and whether Zamorna\u2019s pulse\nbeat rapidly or not his handmaid\u2019s did as she felt the slender grasping\nfingers of the monarch laid quietly in hers. He did not wait for\nthe report, but took his hand away again, and laying it on her raven\ncurls said:\n\n\u2018So, Mina, you won\u2019t leave me though I never did you any good in\nthe world? Warner says you are resolved to continue in the scene\nof war.\u2019\n\n\u2018To continue by your side, my lord.\u2019\n\n\u2018But what shall I do with you, Mina? Where shall I put you? My little\ngirl, what will the army say when they hear of your presence? You\nhave read history? Recollect that it was Darius who carried his concubines\nto the field, not Alexander! The world will say: \u201cZamorna attends\nto his own pleasures and cares not how his men suffer.\u201d\u2019\n\nMina writhed at these words as if the iron had entered into her soul.\nA vivid burning flush crimsoned her cheek, and tears of shame and\nbitter self-reproach gushed at once into her bright black eyes. Zamorna\nwas touched acutely.\n\n\u2018Nay, my little girl,\u2019 said he, redoubling his caresses and speaking\nin his most soothing tone, \u2018never weep about it. It grieves me to\nhurt your feelings, but you desire an impossibility, and I must use\nstrong language to convince you that I cannot grant it.\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, don\u2019t refuse me again,\u2019 sobbed Miss Laury. \u2018I\u2019ll bear all infamy\nand contempt to be allowed to follow you, my lord. My lord, I\u2019ve\nserved you for many years most faithfully, and I seldom ask a favour\nof you. Don\u2019t reject the first request of the kind I have ever made.\u2019\n\nThe duke shook his head, and the meeting of his lips, too placid\nfor the firm compression, told that he was not to be moved.\n\n\u2018If you should receive a wound, if you should fall sick,\u2019 continued\nMina, \u2018what can surgeons and physicians do for you? They cannot watch\nyou and wait on you and worship you like me, and you do not seem\nwell now. The bloom is so faded on your complexion, and the flesh\nis wasted round your eyes. Do not look so calmly resolved: let me\ngo!\u2019\n\nZamorna withdrew his arm from her waist. \u2018I must be displeased before\nyou cease to importune me,\u2019 said he. \u2018Mina, look at that letter.\nRead the direction,\u2019 pointing to one he had been writing. She obeyed.\nIt was addressed to, \u2018Her Royal Highness, Mary Henrietta, Duchess\nof Zamorna.\u2019\n\n\u2018Must I pay no attention to the feelings of that lady?\u2019 pursued the\nduke, whom the duties of war and the conflict of some internal emotions\nseemed to render peculiarly stern. \u2018Her public claims must be respected\nwhether I love her or not.\u2019\n\nMiss Laury shrunk into herself. Not another word did she venture\nto breathe. An unconscious wish of wild intensity filled her that\nshe were dead and buried, and insensible to the shame that overwhelmed\nher. She saw Zamorna\u2019s finger with the ring on it still pointing\nto that awful name, a name that raised no impulse of hatred: far\ntoo high and blessed did the exalted lady seem for that; but only\nbitter humiliation and self-abasement. She stole from her master\u2019s\nside feeling that she had no more right to sit there than a fawn\nhas to share the den of a royal lion; and murmuring that she was\nvery sorry for her folly, was about to glide in dismay and despair\nfrom the room. But the duke rising up arrested her, and bending his\nlofty stature over her as she crouched before him folded her again\nin his arms. His countenance relaxed not a moment from its sternness,\nnor did the gloom leave his magnificent but worn features as he said:\n\n\u2018I will make no apologies for what I have said, because I know, Mina,\nthat as I hold you now you feel fully recompensed for my severity.\nBefore I depart I will speak to you one word of comfort which you\nmay remember when I am far away and perhaps dead. My dear girl! I\nknow and appreciate all you have done, all you have resigned, and\nall you have endured, for my sake. I repay you for it with one coin:\nwith what alone to you will be of greater worth than worlds without\nit. I give you such true and fond love as a master can give to the\nfairest and loveliest vassal that ever was bound to him in feudal\nallegiance. You may never feel the touch of Zamorna\u2019s lips again.\nThere, Mina!\u2019 And fervently and almost fiercely he pressed his lips\nto her forehead. \u2018Go to your chamber; to-morrow you must leave for\nthe west.\u2019\n\n\u2018Obedient till death,\u2019 was Miss Laury\u2019s answer as she closed the\ndoor and disappeared.\n\n  \u2022       \u2022       \u2022       \u2022       \u2022       \u2022       \u2022\n\n    C. BRONT\u00cb,\n    _April 21st_, 1836.\n\n\n\n\nMINA LAURY\n\nII\n\nFROM the final portion of an untitled manuscript which was completed\non January 17th, 1838.\n\nC. W. H.\n\n\n\n\nMINA LAURY\n\nII\n\nMISS LAURY was sitting after breakfast in a small library. Her desk\nlay before her and two large ruled quartos filled with items and\nfigures which she seemed to be comparing. Behind her chair stood a\ntall, well-made, soldierly young man with light hair. His dress was\nplain and gentlemanly; the epaulette, on one shoulder, alone indicated\nthat he occupied an official capacity. He watched with a fixed look\nof attention the movements of the small finger which ascended in\nrapid calculation the long columns of accounts. It was strange to see\nthe absorption of mind expressed in Miss Laury\u2019s face, the gravity\nof her smooth white brow shaded with drooping curls, the scarcely\nperceptible and unsmiling movement of her lips, though those lips in\ntheir rosy sweetness seemed formed only for smiles. An hour or more\nlapsed in this employment, the room meantime continuing in profound\nsilence broken only by an occasional observation addressed by Miss\nLaury to the gentleman behind her concerning the legitimacy of some\nitem or the absence of some stray farthing wanted to complete the\naccuracy of the sum total. In this balancing of the books she displayed\na most business-like sharpness and strictness. The slightest fault\nwas detected and remarked on in few words, but with quick searching\nglance. However, the accountant had evidently been accustomed to\nher surveillance, for on the whole his books were a specimen of\narithmetical correctness.\n\n\u2018Very well,\u2019 said Miss Laury, as she closed the volumes, \u2018your accounts\ndo you credit, Mr. O\u2019Neill. You may tell His Grace that all is quite\nright. Your memoranda tally with my own exactly.\u2019\n\nMr. O\u2019Neill bowed.\n\n\u2018Thank you, madam. This will bear me out against Lord Hartford. His\nlordship lectured me severely last time he came to inspect Fort Adrian.\u2019\n\n\u2018What about?\u2019 asked Miss Laury, turning aside her face to hide the\ndeepening of colour which overspread it at the mention of Lord Hartford\u2019s\nname.\n\n\u2018I can hardly tell you, madam; but his lordship was in a savage temper.\nNothing could please him. He found fault with everything and everybody.\nI thought he scarcely appeared himself, and that has been the opinion\nof many lately.\u2019\n\nMiss Laury gently shook her head.\n\n\u2018You shall not say so, Ryan,\u2019 she replied in a soft tone of reproof.\n\u2018Lord Hartford has a great many things to think about, and he is\nnaturally rather stern. You ought to bear with his tempers.\u2019\n\n\u2018Necessity has no law, madam,\u2019 replied O\u2019Neill with a smile, \u2018and\nI _must_ bear with them. But his lordship is not a popular man in\nthe army. He orders the lash so unsparingly. We like the Earl of\nArundel ten times better.\u2019\n\n\u2018Ah,\u2019 said Miss Laury, smiling, \u2018you and I are Westerns, Mr. O\u2019Neill:\nIrish,\u2014and we favour our countrymen. But Hartford is a gallant commander.\nHis men can always trust him. Do not let us be partial.\u2019\n\nMr. O\u2019Neill bowed in deference to her opinion, but smiled at the\nsame time, as if he doubted its justice. Taking up his books he seemed\nabout to leave the room. Before he did so, however, he turned and\nsaid:\n\n\u2018The duke wished me to inform you, madam, that he would probably\nbe here about four or five o\u2019clock in the afternoon.\u2019\n\n\u2018To-day?\u2019 asked Miss Laury in an accent of surprise.\n\n\u2018Yes, madam.\u2019\n\nShe mused a moment, then said quickly: \u2018Very well, sir.\u2019\n\nMr. O\u2019Neill now took his leave.\n\nFor a long time after the door had closed Miss Laury sat, with her\nhead on her hand, lost in a tumultuous flush of ideas and anticipations\nawakened by that simple sentence: \u2018The duke will be here to-day.\u2019\n\nThe striking of a timepiece aroused her. She remembered that twenty\ntasks awaited her direction. Always active, always employed, it was\nnot her custom to waste many hours in dreaming. She rose, closed\nher desk, and left the quiet library for busier scenes.\n\nFour o\u2019clock came, and Miss Laury\u2019s foot was heard on the staircase\ndescending from her chamber. She crossed the large light passage\u2014an\napparition of feminine elegance and beauty. The robe of black satin\nbecame at once the slender form, which it enveloped in full and shining\nfolds, and her bright blooming complexion, which it set off by the\ncontrast of colour. Glittering through her curls there was a band\nof fine diamonds, and drops of the same pure gems trembled from her\nsmall ears. These ornaments, so regal in their nature, had been the\ngift of royalty, and were worn now chiefly for the associations of\nsoft and happy moments which their gleam might be supposed to convey.\nShe entered the drawing-room and stood by the window. From thence\nappeared one glimpse of the highroad visible through the thickening\nshades of Rivaulx. Even that was now almost concealed by the frozen\nmist in which the approach of twilight was wrapped. All was very\nquiet both in the house and in the wood. A carriage drew near; she\nheard the sound. She saw it shoot through the fog; but it was not\nZamorna. No; the driving was neither the driving of Jehu the son\nof Nimshi, nor that of Jehu\u2019s postillions. She had not gazed a minute\nbefore her experienced eye discerned that there was something wrong\nwith the horses.\u2019 The harness had got entangled or they were frightened.\nThe coachman had lost control over them: they were plunging violently.\nShe rang the bell. A servant entered. She ordered immediate assistance\nto be despatched to the carriage on the road. Two grooms presently\nhurried down the drive to execute her commands, but before they could\nreach the spot one of the horses, in its gambols, had slipped on\nthe icy road and fallen. The others grew more unmanageable, and presently\nthe carriage lay overturned on the roadside. One of Miss Laury\u2019s\nmessengers came back. She threw up the window that she might communicate\nwith him more readily.\n\n\u2018Any accident?\u2019 she asked; \u2018anybody hurt?\u2019\n\n\u2018I hope not much, madam.\u2019\n\n\u2018Who is in the carriage?\u2019\n\n\u2018Only one lady, and she seems to have fainted. She looked very white\nwhen I opened the door. What is to be done, madam?\u2019\n\nMiss Laury answered directly: \u2018Bring her into the house. Let the\nhorses be taken to the stables. And the servants: how many are there?\u2019\n\n\u2018Three, madam: two postillions and a footman.\u2019\n\n\u2018Do you know the liveries?\u2019\n\n\u2018Can\u2019t say, madam. Postillions in grey and white, footman in plain\nclothes. Horses frightened at a drove of Sydenham oxen, they say:\nvery spirited nags.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, you have my orders: bring the lady in directly, and make the\nothers comfortable.\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, madam.\u2019\n\nThe groom touched his hat and departed. Miss Laury shut her window.\nIt was very cold. Not many minutes elapsed before the lady in the\narms of her own servants was slowly brought up the lawn and ushered\ninto the drawing-room.\n\n\u2018Lay her on the sofa,\u2019 said Miss Laury.\n\nShe was obeyed. The lady\u2019s travelling-cloak was carefully removed\nand a thin figure became apparent in a dark silk dress. The cushions\nof down scarcely sank under the pressure, it was so slight.\n\nHer swoon was now passing off. The genial warmth of the fire which\nshone full on her revived her. Opening her eyes she looked up at\nMiss Laury, who was now bending close over her and wetting her lips\nwith some cordial. Recognizing a stranger she shyly turned her glance\naside and asked for her servants.\n\n\u2018They are in the house, madam, and perfectly safe. But you cannot\npursue your journey at present: the carriage is much broken.\u2019\n\nThe lady lay silent. She looked keenly round the room, and seeing\nthe perfect elegance of its arrangement, the cheerful and tranquil\nglow of its hearth-light, she appeared to grow more composed. Turning\na little on the cushions which supported her, and by no means looking\nat Miss Laury, but straight the other way, she said:\n\n\u2018To whom am I indebted for this kindness? Where am I?\u2019\n\n\u2018In a hospitable country, madam; the Angrians never turn their backs\non strangers.\u2019\n\n\u2018I know I am in Angria,\u2019 she said quickly, \u2018but where? What is the\nname of the house? Who are you?\u2019\n\nMiss Laury coloured slightly; it seemed as if there was some undefined\nreluctance to give her real name.\n\n\u2018I am only the housekeeper,\u2019 she said. \u2018This is a shooting-lodge\nbelonging to a great Angrian proprietor.\u2019\n\n\u2018Who?\u2019 asked the lady, who was not to be put off by indirect answers.\n\nAgain Miss Laury hesitated. She replied hastily:\n\n\u2018A gentleman of Western extraction: a distant branch of the great\nPakenhams. So at least the family records say; but they have been\nlong naturalized in the Kast.\u2019\n\n\u2018I never heard of them,\u2019 replied the lady. \u2018Pakenham! That is not\nan Angrian name?\u2019\n\n\u2018Perhaps, madam, you are not particularly acquainted with this part\nof the country?\u2019\n\n\u2018I know Hawkscliffe,\u2019 said the lady, \u2018and your house is on the very\nborders, within the Royal Liberties; is it not?\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, madam. It stood there before the great duke bought up the forest\nmanor, and His Majesty allowed my master to retain this lodge and\nthe privilege of sporting in the chase.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, and you are Mr. Pakenham\u2019s housekeeper?\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, madam.\u2019\n\nThe lady surveyed Miss Laury with another furtive side-glance of\nher large majestic eyes. Those eyes lingered upon the diamond earrings,\nthe bandeau of brilliants that flashed from between the clusters\nof raven curls; then passed over the sweet face, the exquisite figure\nof the young housekeeper, and finally were reverted to the wall with\nan expression that spoke volumes. Miss Laury could have torn the\ndazzling pendants from her ears. She was bitterly stung.\n\nIn her turn she gazed on her guest. The lady was but a young creature,\nthough so high and commanding in her demeanour. She had very small\nand feminine features, handsome eyes, a neck of delicate curve, and\nfair, long, and graceful little snowy aristocratic hands, and sandalled\nfeet to match. It would have been difficult to tell her rank by her\ndress. None of those dazzling witnesses appeared which had betrayed\nMiss Laury. Any gentleman\u2019s wife might have worn the gown of dark-blue\nsilk, the tinted gloves of Parisian kid, and the fairy sandals of\nblack satin in which she was attired.\n\n\u2018May I have a room to myself?\u2019 she asked, again turning her eyes\nwith something of a smile toward Miss Laury.\n\n\u2018Certainly, madam; I wish to make you comfortable. Can you walk upstairs?\u2019\n\n\u2018Oh, yes!\u2019\n\nShe rose from her couch, and leaning on Miss Laury\u2019s arm in a way\nthat showed she had been used to that sort of support, they both\nglided from the room. Having seen her fair but haughty guest carefully\nlaid on a stately crimson bed in a quiet and spacious chamber; having\nseen her head sink with all its curls into the pillow of down, her\nlarge shy eyes close under their smooth eyelids, and her little slender\nhands fold on her breast in an attitude of perfect repose, Miss Laury\nprepared to leave her. She stirred.\n\n\u2018Come back a moment,\u2019 she said. She was obeyed; there was something\nin her tone of voice which exacted obedience. \u2018I don\u2019t know who you\nare;\u2019 she said, \u2018but I am very much obliged to you for your kindness.\nIf my manners are displeasing, forgive me; I mean no incivility.\nI suppose you will wish to know my name: it is Mrs. Irving; my husband\nis a minister in the northern kirk; I come from Sneachiesland. Now\nyou may go!\u2019\n\nMiss Laury did go. Mrs. Irving had testified incredulity respecting\nher story, and now she reciprocated that incredulity. Both ladies\nwere lost in their own mystification.\n\nFive o\u2019clock now struck. It was nearly dark. A servant with a taper\nwas lighting up the chandeliers in the large dining-room where a\ntable spread for dinner received the kindling lamplight upon a starry\nservice of silver. It was likewise magnificently flashed back from\na splendid sideboard all arranged in readiness to receive the great,\nthe expected guest. Tolerably punctual in keeping an appointment\nwhen he meant to keep it at all, Zamorna entered the house as the\nfairy-like voice of a musical clock in the passage struck out its\nsymphony to the pendulum. The opening of the front door, a bitter\nrush of the night-wind and then the sudden close, and the step advancing\nforwards, were the signals of his arrival.\n\nMiss Laury was in the dining-room looking round and giving the last\ntouch to all things. She just met her master as he entered. His cold\nlip pressed to her forehead and his colder hand clasping hers brought\nthe sensation which it was her custom of weeks and months to wait\nfor; and to consider when attained the ample recompense for all delay,\nall toil, all suffering.\n\n\u2018I am frozen, Mina,\u2019 said he; \u2018I came on horseback for the last four\nmiles; and the night is like Canada.\u2019\n\nChafing his icy hand to animation between her own warm supple palms,\nshe answered by the speechless but expressive look of joy, satisfaction,\nidolatry, which filled and overflowed her eyes.\n\n\u2018What can I do for you, my lord?\u2019 were her first words as he stood\nby the fire rubbing his hands cheerily over the blaze. He laughed.\n\n\u2018Put your arms round my neck, Mina, and kiss my cheeks as warm and\nblooming as your own.\u2019\n\nIt gave her a pang to resist the impulse that urged her to take him\nat his word; but she put it by, and only diffidently drew near the\narmchair into which he had now thrown himself, and began to smooth\nand separate the curls which were matted on his temples. She noticed\nas the first smile of salutation subsided a gloom succeeded on her\nmaster\u2019s brow, which, however he spoke or laughed, afterwards remained\na settled characteristic of his countenance.\n\n\u2018What visitors are in the house?\u2019 he asked; \u2018I saw the groom rubbing\ndown four black horses before the stables as I came in. They are\nnot of the Hawkscliffe stud, I think?\u2019\n\n\u2018No, my lord. A carriage was overturned at the lawn gates about an\nhour since, and as the lady who was in it was taken out insensible\nI ordered her to be brought up here, and her servants accommodated\nfor the night.\u2019\n\n\u2018And do you know who the lady is?\u2019 continued His Grace; \u2018the horses\nare good: first-rate.\u2019\n\n\u2018She says her name is Mrs. Irving, and that she is the wife of a\nPresbyterian minister in the north, but\u2014\u2019\n\n\u2018You hardly believe her?\u2019 interrupted the duke.\n\n\u2018No,\u2019 returned Miss Laury; \u2018I must say I took her for a lady of rank.\nShe has something highly aristocratic about her manners and aspect,\nand she appeared to know a good deal about Angria.\u2019\n\n\u2018What is she like?\u2019 asked Zamorna; \u2018young or old, handsome or ugly?\u2019\n\n\u2018She is young, slender, not so tall as I am, and I should say rather\nelegant than handsome; very pale, cold in her demeanour; she has\na small mouth and chin, and a long fair neck.\u2019\n\n\u2018Humph! A trifle like Lady Stuartville,\u2019 replied His Majesty. \u2018I\nshould not wonder if it is the countess; but I\u2019ll know. Perhaps you\ndid not say to whom the house belonged, Mina?\u2019\n\n\u2018I said,\u2019 replied Mina, smiling, \u2018that the owner of the house was\na great Angrian proprietor, a lineal descendant of the Western Pakenhams,\nand that I was his housekeeper.\u2019\n\n\u2018She would not believe you! Give me your hand, Mina. You are not\nso old as I am.\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, my lord; I was born on the same day, an hour after Your Grace.\u2019\n\n\u2018So I have heard, but it must be a mistake; you don\u2019t look twenty,\nand I am twenty-five. Look at me, Mina, straight, and don\u2019t blush!\u2019\n\nMina tried to look, but she could not do it without blushing. She\ncoloured to the temples.\n\n\u2018Pshaw!\u2019 said His Grace, pushing: her away, \u2018my acquaintance of ten\nyears cannot meet my eye unshrinkingly! Have you lost that ring I\nonce gave you, Mina?\u2019\n\n\u2018Which ring, my lord? You have given me many.\u2019\n\n\u2018That which I said had the essence of your whole heart and mind engraven\nin the stone as a motto.\u2019\n\n\u2018FIDELITY?\u2019 asked Miss Laury; and she held out her hand with a graven\nemerald on the forefinger.\n\n\u2018Right!\u2019 was the reply; \u2018is it your motto still?\u2019 And with one of\nhis jealous glances, he seemed trying to read her conscience. Miss\nLaury at once saw that late transactions were not a secret confined\nbetween herself and Lord Hartford. She saw His Grace was unhinged\nand strongly inclined to be savage. She stood and watched him with\na sad, fearful gaze.\n\n\u2018Well,\u2019 she said, turning away after a long pause, \u2018if Your Grace\nis angry with me I\u2019ve very little to care about in this world.\u2019\n\nThe entrance of servants with the dinner prevented Zamorna\u2019s answer.\nAs he took his place at the head of the table, he said to the man\nwho stood behind him:\n\n\u2018Give Mr. Pakenham\u2019s compliments to Mrs. Irving, and say that he\nwill be happy to see her at his table if she will honour him so far\nas to be present there.\u2019\n\nThe footman vanished. He returned in five minutes.\n\n\u2018Mrs. Irving is too much tired to avail herself of Mr. Pakenham\u2019s\nkind invitation at present, but she will be happy to join him at\ntea.\u2019\n\n\u2018Very well,\u2019 said Zamorna. Then looking round: \u2018Where is Miss Laury?\u2019\n\nMina was in the act of gliding from the room, but she stopped mechanically\nat his call.\n\n\u2018Am I to dine alone?\u2019 he asked.\n\n\u2018Does Your Grace wish me to attend you?\u2019\n\nHe answered by rising and leading her to her seat. He then resumed\nhis own, and dinner commenced. It was not until after the cloth was\nwithdrawn and the servants had retired that the duke, whilst he sipped\nhis single glass of champagne, recommenced the conversation he had\nbefore unpleasantly entered upon.\n\n\u2018Come here,\u2019 he said, drawing a chair close to his side.\n\nMina never hesitated, never delayed through bashfulness or any other\nfeeling to comply with his orders.\n\n\u2018Now,\u2019 he continued, leaning his head towards hers and placing his\nhand on her shoulder, \u2018are you happy, Mina? Do you want anything?\u2019\n\n\u2018Nothing, my lord.\u2019 She spoke truly; all that was capable of yielding\nher happiness on this side of eternity was at that moment within\nher reach. The room was full of calm. The lamps burnt as if they\nwere listening. The fire sent up no flickering flame, but diffused\na broad, still, glowing light over all the room. Zamorna touched\nher; his form and features filled her eye; his voice her ear; his\npresence her whole heart; she was soothed to perfect happiness.\n\n\u2018My Fidelity!\u2019 pursued that musical voice, \u2018if thou hast any favour\nto ask, now is the time. I\u2019m all concession: as yielding as a lady\u2019s\nglove. Come, Mina, what is thy petition? and thy request even to\nthe half of my kingdom shall be granted!\u2019\n\n\u2018Nothing,\u2019 again murmured Miss Laury. \u2018Oh, my lord, nothing! What\ncan I want?\u2019\n\n\u2018Nothing?\u2019 he repeated. \u2018What! No reward for ten years of faith and\nlove and devotion; no reward for the companionship in six-months\u2019\nexile; no recompense to the little hand that has so often smoothed\nmy pillow in sickness, to the sweet lips that have many a time in\ncool and dewy health been pressed to a brow of fever; none to the\ndark Milesian eyes that \u2018once grew dim with watching through endless\nnights by my bed of delirium? Need I speak of the sweetness and fortitude\nthat cheered sufferings known only to thee and me? of the devotion\nthat gave me bread when thou wert dying of hunger? and that scarcely\nmore than a year since! For all this and much more, must there be\nno reward?\u2019\n\n\u2018I have had it,\u2019 said Miss Laury. \u2018I have it now.\u2019\n\n\u2018But,\u2019 continued the duke, \u2018what if I have devised something worthy\nof your acceptance? Look up now and listen to me.\u2019\n\nShe did look up, but she speedily looked down again. Her master\u2019s\neye was insupportable; it burned absolutely with infernal fire! \u2018What\nis he going to say?\u2019 murmured Miss Laury to herself. She trembled.\n\n\u2018I say, love,\u2019 pursued the individual, drawing her a little closer\nto him, \u2018I will give you as a reward a husband. Don\u2019t start, now!\nAnd that husband shall be a nobleman; and that nobleman is called\nLord Hartford! Now, stand up and let me look at you.\u2019\n\nHe opened his arms and Miss Laury sprang erect like a loosened bow.\n\n\u2018Your Grace is anticipated,\u2019 she said. \u2018That offer has been made\nme before. Lord Hartford did it himself three days ago.\u2019\n\n\u2018And what did you say? Speak the truth now: subterfuge won\u2019t avail\nyou.\u2019\n\n\u2018What did I say? I don\u2019t know; it little signifies; you have rewarded\nme, my lord, but I cannot bear this: I feel sick.\u2019\n\nWith a deep, short sob, she turned white, and fell close by the duke,\nher head against his foot.\n\nThis was the first time in her life that Mina Laury had fainted,\nbut strong health availed nothing against the deadly struggle which\nconvulsed every feeling in her nature when she heard her master\u2019s\nannouncement. She believed him to be perfectly sincere. She thought\nhe was tired of her and she could not endure it.\n\nI suppose Zamorna\u2019s first feeling when she fell was horror; and his\nnext I am tolerably certain was intense gratification. People say\nI am not in earnest when I abuse him, or else I would here insert\nhalf a page of deserved vituperation\u2014deserved and heartfelt as it\nis, I will merely relate his conduct without note or comment.\n\nHe took a wax taper from the table and held it over Miss Laury. Here\ncould be no dissimulation. She was white as marble and still as stone.\nIn truth then she did intensely love him, with a devotion that left\nno room in her thoughts for one shadow of an alien image. Do not\nthink, reader, that Zamorna meant to be so generous as to bestow\nMiss Laury on Lord Hartford. No; he was but testing the attachment\nwhich a thousand proofs daily given ought long ago to have convinced\nhim was undying.\n\nWhile he yet gazed she began to recover. Her eyelids stirred and\nthen slowly dawned from beneath the large black orbs that scarcely\nmet his before they filled to overflowing with sorrow. Not a gleam\nof anger, not a whisper of reproach. Her lips and eyes spoke together\nno other language than the simple words: \u2018I cannot leave you!\u2019:\n\nShe rose feebly and with effort. The duke stretched out his hand\nto assist her. He held to her lips the scarcely tasted wine.\n\n\u2018Mina,\u2019 he said, \u2018are you collected enough to hear me?\u2019\n\n\u2018Yes, my lord.\u2019\n\n\u2018Then listen. I would much sooner give half, aye, the whole of my\nestates to Lord Hartford, than yourself! What I said just now was\nonly to try you.\u2019\n\nMiss Laury raised her eyes and sighed like one awakening from some\nhideous dream, but she could not speak.\n\n\u2018Would I,\u2019 continued the duke, \u2018would I resign the possession of\nmy first love to any hands but my own? I would far rather see her\nin her coffin; and I would lay you there as still, as white, and\nmuch more lifeless than you were stretched just now at my feet before\nI would for threat, for entreaty, for purchase, give to another a\nglance of your eyes or a smile from your lips. I know you adore me\nnow, Mina; for you could not feign that agitation, and therefore\nI will tell you what proof I gave yesterday of my regard for you.\nHartford mentioned your name in my presence, and I avenged the profanation\nby a shot which sent him to his bed little better than a corpse.\u2019\n\nMiss Laury shuddered, but so dark and profound are the mysteries\nof human nature, ever allying vice with virtue, that I fear this\nbloody proof of her master\u2019s love brought to her heart more rapture\nthan horror. She said not a word, for now Zamorna\u2019s arms were again\nfolded round her, and again he was soothing her to tranquillity by\nendearments and caresses that far away removed all thought of the\nworld, all past pangs of shame, all cold doubts, all weariness, all\nheart-sickness resulting from hope long deferred. He had told her\nthat she was his first love, and now she seemed tempted to believe\nthat she was his only love. Strong-minded beyond her sex; active,\nenergetic, and accomplished in all other points of view, here she\nwas as weak as a child. She lost her identity; her very life was\nswallowed up in that of another.\n\nThere came a knock to the door. Zamorna rose and opened it. His valet\nstood without.\n\n\u2018Might I speak with Your Grace in the anteroom?\u2019 asked Monsieur Rosier\nin somewhat of a hurried tone. The duke followed him out.\n\n\u2018What do you want with me, sir? Anything the matter?\u2019\n\n\u2018I was walking through the passage two minutes since when I heard\na step on the stairs: a light step as if of a very small foot. I\nturned, and there was a lady coming down.\u2019\n\n\u2018Well, did you know her?\u2019\n\n\u2018I did. I stood in the shade, screened by a pillar, and she passed\nvery near without observing me. I saw her distinctly, and it was\u2014\u2019\n\n\u2018Who, sir?\u2019\n\n\u2018The duchess!\u2019\n\nThere was a pause which was closed by a clear and remarkably prolonged\nwhistle from the duke. He took a leisurely turn through the room.\n\n\u2018Mrs. Irving, the wife of a minister in the north! A satirical hit\nat myself! What can have brought her? Anxiety about her invaluable\nhusband! Could not bear any longer without him: obliged to set off\nto see what he was doing. It\u2019s as well Rosier told me, however. What\nshall I do? I must not be angry; she can\u2019t do with that sort of thing\njust now.\u2019\n\nCeasing his soliloquy, the duke turned again to his valet:\n\n\u2018Which room did Her Grace go into?\u2019\n\n\u2018The drawing-room, my lord. She\u2019s there now.\u2019\n\nZamorna left the room.\n\nSoftly unclosing the drawing-room door he perceived the lady by the\nhearth. Her back was towards him, but there could be no mistake.\nThe whole turn of form, the style of dress, the curled auburn head:\nall were attributes but of one person. He closed the door as noiselessly\nas he had opened it and stole forwards. Her attention was absorbed\nin a book she had picked up. As he stood unobserved behind her he\ncould see that her eyes rested on the flyleaf, where was written\nin his own hand:\n\n    Holy St. Cyprian! thy waters stray\n        With still and solemn tone;\n    And fast my bright hours pass away\n    And somewhat throws a shadow grey,\n    Even as twilight closes day,\n        Upon thy waters lone.\n\n    Farewell! If I might come again,\n        Young as I was and free,\n    And feel once more in every vein\n    The fire of that first passion reign\n    Which sorrow could not quench nor pain,\n        I\u2019d soon return to thee;\n    But while thy billows seek the main.\n        That never more may be!\n\nThis was dated \u2018Mornington, 1829.\u2019\n\nThe duchess felt a hand press her shoulder and she looked up. The\nforce of attraction had its natural results and she clung to what\nshe saw.\n\n\u2018Adrian! Adrian!\u2019 was all her lips would utter.\n\n\u2018Mary! Mary!\u2019 replied the duke, allowing her to hang about him; \u2018what\nbrought you here? Are you running away: eloping in my absence?\u2019\n\n\u2018Adrian, why did you leave me? You said you would come back in a\nweek, and it is eight days since you left me; do come home!\u2019\n\n\u2018So you actually have set off in search of a husband,\u2019 said Zamorna,\nlaughing heartily; \u2018and been overturned and obliged to take shelter\nin Pakenham\u2019s shooting-box!\u2019\n\n\u2018Why are you here, Adrian?\u2019 enquired the duchess, who was far too\nmuch in earnest to join in his laugh. \u2018Who is Pakenham? and who is\nthat person who calls herself his housekeeper? And why do you let\nany one live so near Hawkscliffe without ever telling me?\u2019\n\n\u2018I forgot to tell you,\u2019 said His Grace; \u2018I\u2019ve other things to think\nabout when those bright eyes are looking up to me! As to Pakenham,\nto tell you the truth he is a sort of left-hand cousin of your own,\nbeing son to the old admiral, my uncle, in the south. And his housekeeper\nis his sister. _Voil\u00e0 tout_. Kiss me now.\u2019\n\nThe duchess did kiss him, but it was with a heavy sigh. The cloud\nof jealous anxiety hung on her brow undissipated.\n\n\u2018Adrian, my heart aches still. Why have you been staying so long\nin Angria? Oh, you don\u2019t care for me! You have never thought how\nmiserably I have been longing for your return, Adrian!\u2019 She stopped\nand cried.\n\n\u2018Mary, recollect yourself,\u2019 said His Grace. \u2018I cannot be always at\nyour feet. You were not so weak when we were first married. You let\nme leave you often then without any jealous remonstrance.\u2019\n\n\u2018I did not know you so well at that time,\u2019 said Mary; \u2018and if my\nmind is weakened, all its strength has gone away in tears and terrors\nfor you. I am neither so handsome nor so cheerful as I once was.\nBut you ought to forgive my decay, because you have caused it.\u2019\n\n\u2018Low spirits,\u2019 returned Zamorna; \u2018looking on the dark side of matters.\nGod bless me! the wicked is caught in his own net! Mary, never again\nreproach yourself with loss of beauty till I give the hint first.\nBelieve me now, in that and every other respect you are just what\nI wish you to be. You cannot fade any more than marble can, at least\nnot in my eyes. And as for your devotion and tenderness, though I\nchide its excess sometimes, because it wastes and bleaches you almost\nto a shadow, yet it forms the very firmest chain that binds me to\nyou. Now, cheer up! To-night you shall go to Hawkscliffe: it is only\nfive miles off. To-morrow I will be at the castle before dawn; the\ncarriage shall be ready; I will put you in, myself beside you; off\nwe go straight to Verdopolis; and there for the next three months\nI will tire you of my company, morning, noon, and night! Now what\ncan I promise more?\u2019\n\nBy dint of subterfuge and laughter the individual at last succeeded\nin getting all things settled to his mind.\n\nThe duchess went to Hawkscliffe that night, and keeping his promise\nfor once Zamorna accompanied her to Verdopolis next morning.\n\n  \u2022       \u2022       \u2022       \u2022       \u2022       \u2022       \u2022\n\nFor a long space of time, \u2018Good-bye, reader!\u2019 I have done my best\nto please you; and though I know that through feebleness, dulness,\nand iteration my work terminates rather in failure than in triumph,\nyet you are sure to forgive, for I have done my best!\n\n    C. BRONT\u00cb,\n    _Haworth_,\n    _January 17th_, 1838.\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\nERRATA.\n\nThe following obvious typographical errors have been corrected:\n\nOn page 126: Added missing closing quote after _Scotland.\u2019","title":"The twelve adventurers, and other stories","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":49262}