The twelve adventurers, and other stories

by Charlotte Brontë

CHAPTER III

It was a fair and mild evening in the decline of summer, when all the elfin courts assembled within a dell, one of those privileged spots which the pinching frosts and snows of winter are unable to deprive of their everlasting green array. The soft velvet turf served them for seats, and the profusion of sweet flowers with which it was embroidered shed around a refreshing perfume. The lily canopy was raised, and the glittering table was covered with crystal goblets brimming with nectarous dew. The song of a lark now hymning his vespers in the cloud-wrapped dome was all their music, and as its tones fell on the silent earth they diffused a holy calm on all. Before the festival began a fairy rose and advanced towards Alembert, who reposed on the ground a little apart. Approaching him, he presented him with a goblet, and bade him drink the contents. Ernest obeyed, and scarcely had he done so when a strange stupor seized him, which slowly overpowered all his senses. In a short time he sank into a profound slumber.

When he recovered from his stupor he found himself at the entrance to a wide green vale, bounded by high hills, whose sides were clothed with pleasant woods, which descended to their feet, and here and there advanced a considerable way into the valley. At intervals enormous rocks were scattered, whose rugged and moss-grown forms added a touch of romance to the delightful scene. Nor were there wanting pleasant groves, whose cool green shades offered welcome shelter to the toiling and travel-wearied pilgrim. It was sunset, and not one purple cloud was visible in all the radiant sky. The west swam in an ocean of golden light that bathed the heavens in glory, and poured its reflected splendour over half the world. Eastward a long line of sober red appeared, gradually growing softer and paler towards the point of sunrise. Above, all was a clear bright silvery blue, deepening at the zenith, and faintly tinged with grey as it receded from the gorgeous west. Beneath this sky the earth glowed with tints whose warm and mellow richness could not have been surpassed by the loveliest scenes in Italy. Hills, rocks, and trees shone invested in a lustrous halo of beauty. The vale flowed with light, and a hundred flowers stirred among their leaves as the sun shed its last beams over them. Long Ernest lingered, gazing entranced upon the sight. He knew that this was no delusive vision, and that no mystery hung upon its spell. As he stood a sound stole past him like the music of a harp. He trembled, fearing he was still held in the power of supernatural beings. The sound swelled, and, gathering in volume, swept solemnly down the wild glen, awakening low sweet echoes among the frowning rocks which specked the lovely woods in which It was embosomed.

Soon, however, Ernest’s fear was dissipated, for he heard the music accompanied by a human voice. He moved forward a step or two, and then bent eagerly towards the spot whence the tones issued, striving to catch the burthen of the uttered tones. This at length he did, and this is the song that fell upon his ears:—

Proudly the sun has sunk to rest
Behind yon dim and distant hill;
The busy noise of day has ceased,
A holy calm the air doth fill.
That softening haze which veils the light
Of sunset in the gorgeous sky,
Is dusk, grey harbinger of night,
Now gliding onward silently.
No sound rings through the solemn vale
Save murmurs of those tall dark trees,
Which raise eternally their wail,
Bending beneath the twilight breeze.
And my harp peals the woods among
When vesper lifts its quiet eye,
Commingling with each night-bird’s song
That chants its vigils pensively.
And here I sit, until night’s noon
Hath gemmed the heavens with many a star,
And sing beneath the wandering moon
Who comes, high journeying, from afar.
Oh! sweet to me is that still hour
When frown the shades of night around,
Deepening the gloom of forest bower;
Filling the air with awe profound.
I hush my harp, and hush my song,
Low kneeling ’neath the lofty sky,
I hark the nightingale prolong
Her strain of wondrous melody,
Forth gushing like a mountain rill,
So rich, so deep, so clear and free;
She pours it forth o’er dale and hill,
O’er rock and river, lake and tree,
Till morn comes, and, with rosy hand,
Unbars the golden gates of day;
Then, as at touch of magic wand,
The earth is clad in fair array.
Then from its couch the skylark springs;
The trembling drops of glittering dew
Are scattered, as with vigorous wings
It mounts the glorious arch of blue.

Before the strain ceased the hues of sunset had begun to fade away, yet sufficient light remained for Ernest to perceive a man of ancient and venerable aspect seated at the mouth of a deep cavern, under the shade of an immense oak, whose massive limbs and dense foliage stood in dark relief against the sky. Every leaf and twig was dimly pencilled on the silvery blue, the outline of the trunk and larger branches alone being clearly visible. The stranger was clad in a long white robe and dark mantle which partly enveloped his person, and then, falling downwards, swept the ground in picturesque and magnificent folds. His robe was confined by a black girdle, down to which his snowy beard flowed in profusion, and formed a fine contrast to his mantle and belt. His right hand rested upon a harp, whose chords he now and then swept with his left, causing a few sweet transitory notes to issue therefrom, which rose and swelled in an uncertain cadence and then died away in the distance. As Ernest approached, the harper raised his head, and demanded his name. When Alembert had answered this question to the old man’s satisfaction, he requested permission to seat himself beside him for a few moments that he might rest. The harper instantly complied, and after a short pause asked him whence he came, and whither he went, and the reason of his being in so unfrequented and lonely a spot at such an unaccustomed hour. Ernest in reply related the whole of his adventures, and by the time he had completed their recital night had closed in, and the moon had risen. His host now arose and invited him to lodge for that night within his cave. Alembert gladly consented, and together they proceeded to enter. When they were seated at their frugal supper of fruits and herbs, Ernest in his turn begged the old man to recount the circumstances of his own life. To this request he gave a ready assent, and proceeded to unfold the following story:—

‘You have told me that your latter years have been spent among fairies. I likewise abode for a time with supernatural beings, but theirs was a less gentle nature than those whom you have described. When yet: very young I became embued with the spirit of adventure, and determined to go out and seek my fortune in the world. The quarter of the globe which I fixed upon as the first scene of my wanderings was Asia, and accordingly I embarked myself on board a ship bound for Odessa. In a few days we set sail, and after a prosperous voyage arrived at that part of the Russian dominions. From thence I proceeded to Tcherkask, where I halted a few days, and then went on to Good-Gard, a mountain in the Caucasus. Here I decided to venture upon crossing that stupendous range alone. Upon communicating my intentions to some of the natives, they solemnly warned me against such an enterprise, assuring me that many powerful genii held their courts among the snows of Elbruz and Kasbec. These words I disregarded, and as soon as extreme fatigue would permit me I began to ascend the Good-Gard road. With great difficulty I proceeded along this road for several days, until I reached the towering Elbruz. During the whole of my journey this mountain had been partly hidden from me by the minor hills that surrounded it, but upon emerging from a gorge in the last of these a full view of its tremendous magnitude burst upon my sight. It was a fair and sunny afternoon in autumn when I first beheld the sublime vision. The mountain was separated from me only by a lovely green valley, through which a branch of the Aragua^[*] wound its silent course. Never shall I forget that inspiring scene. The mountain towered before me, the grandeur of its radiant summit majestically cleaving the skies; its yawning abysses and clefts sufficiently wide to engulf a city; and its immovable aspect firm as if its base were fixed beyond the seas. As I gazed, suddenly the mountain trembled, the top rent asunder, and a huge grim spirit rose from the horrible chasm thus produced. He raised his head to heaven, and uttered a cry which shook all Georgia. At this mystic appearance I sank to the ground insensible. When I recovered from my swoon I found myself in a vast cave, illuminated only by an opening at the top, through which one ray of light streamed in. On looking round I perceived an iron door fitted in the side of the cave. This, with much difficulty, I opened, and found beyond a narrow passage tending downwards. I entered, and continued for several hours to follow whither it led. At length I heard in the distance a dull noise like the roaring of the sea, and after a while found myself borne upon the bosom of a rushing wave. I was hurried through the waters without fear or injury, whilst strange and ghastly scenes saluted my wondering eyes. Anon I was walking at the bottom of the ocean. A thousand huge monsters lay there, glaring with fixed and solemn eyes through the tenebrous gloom. I saw the kraken with its hundred arms, the great whale, the sea bear, and others unknown to dwellers upon the earth. Voiceless they glided through the regions of eternal silence, and the black billows broke far above them in the midst of loneliness and solitude. Unutterable were the feelings with which I viewed the foundation of the everlasting hills, and beheld the trackless pathways of the unfathomed sea. Lustrous gems glittered on every side; groves of coral begirt each rock; myriads of pearls gleamed constantly around; and the loveliest shells shone below me, to be crushed at each movement of my feet. Slowly I advanced until I espied a cavern, which opened before me. This I entered. Instantly a wave rose behind me and swept me swiftly down an abyss which led beneath the arches of a magnificent palace, larger and grander than any that can be boasted of in the lands which rise above the ocean’s surface. There I saw, coiled in his own vast halls, that mystic snake known among ancient Scalds by the name of Jormandugar. He it is who holds the earth girdled in his toils. For many days I sojourned here, and beheld sights of which no mortal tongue can tell. After a season: I returned to the cave in Elbruz, whence I was taken by the spirit who had brought me thither. Since then I have wandered in many regions of the earth, mingled with the peoples of many lands, and seen the myriad wonders of the world. At length, compelled by age, I have retired to this valley, where I have now dwelt in happiness and peace for twenty years.’

Here the old man ended his recital. Ernest thanked him for his narrative, adding that he likewise longed to spend the remainder of his days in that same lovely glen. The old man approved of his design, and for many years they two dwelt together in perfect harmony, tranquillity, and peace.

C. Brontë,

May 25th, 1830.

ALBION AND MARINA

This is Charlotte Brontë’s first love story. It was printed by permission of Mr. Clement Shorter, the owner of the copyright of all the unpublished Brontë manuscripts, in the Brontë Society Publications, Part xxx., 1920, and is now reprinted for the first time.

C. W. H.

ALBION AND
MARINA

A
TALE BY
LORD
WELLESLEY

PRINCIPAL PART
POSSESSING FACT
FOR ITS FOUNDATION.

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