Charlotte Brontë

The Adventures of Ernest Alembert

Charlotte Brontë

(1816–1855)

The Adventures of Ernest Alembert

A Fairy Tale

(1830)

Extracted from:

Literary Anecdotes of the Nineteenth Century: Contributions towards a Literary History of the Period, Volume II.

Edited by W. Robertson Nicoll, M.A., LL.D., (1851–1923) and Thomas J. Wise (1859–1937).

London: Hodder & Stoughton

Paternoster Row

MDCCCXCVI

(Pages 49–80)

Table of Contents

Introductory Note

The Adventures of Ernest Alembert

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Introductory Note

READERS of Mrs. Gaskell’s Life of Charlotte Brontë, first issued in 1857, and of Mr. Clement K. Shorter’s recently published Charlotte Brontë and her Circle, cannot fail to have followed with lively interest the account given by both writers of the early literary endeavours made by each of the Brontë children, and of the considerable quantity of matter produced by them during the ten years commencing with 1829, and ending only in 1839, when Charlotte left her home to take up her duties as governess in the family at Stonegappe.

Mrs. Gaskell, it is true, treats solely of the compositions of 1829–30, and prints a list (from Charlotte’s own “Catalogue”) of the latter’s books completed up to August 3rd, 1830. Mr. Shorter proceeds much further. Having had access to many manuscripts—some of them in his own possession—of whose existence Mrs. Gaskell was unaware, and having, moreover, expended upon the papers an amount of attention far in excess of the brief glance Mrs. Gaskell bestowed upon them, he was enabled to extend his list to the year 1839, and to include in it no fewer than thirty-three titles as compared with the eighteen which figure in Mrs. Gaskell’s “Catalogue.”

As Mrs. Gaskell makes mention of no manuscript of a later date than 1830, it is highly probable that those cited by Mr. Shorter as having been written subsequent to that year were quite unknown to Charlotte Brontë’s earlier biographer. Upon checking Mrs. Gaskell’s comments with the actual holographs, her statements are found to be woefully inexact, and one is led to opine that her acquaintance with the manuscripts was a slight one; that she contented herself with turning over the papers in a rapid and cursory fashion, and copying, as sufficient for her purpose, Charlotte’s little “Catalogue.”

In one point Mrs. Gaskell fell into serious error. In the closing paragraph upon page 86 of the first volume of her Life, she remarks:

“As each volume contains from sixty to a hundred pages, and the size of the page lithographed is rather less than the average, the amount of the whole seems very great, if we remember that it was all written in about fifteen months.”

No single one of these manuscripts extends even to sixty pages—Mrs. Gaskell’s minimum; the bulk of them average from twelve to sixteen pages each, only two or three having an additional number of leaves.

One of the books which occurs both in Mr. Shorter’s list and in Mrs. Gaskell’s “Catalogue” is a story entitled The Adventures of Ernest Alembert. It is a fairy tale, produced by Charlotte in the spring of 1830, and is thoroughly characteristic of the style of workmanship to which she had attained whilst yet in her fifteenth year. The story is full of imagination of a wildly luxuriant—though somewhat extravagant—kind, and shows how very far the creative faculty in the brain of the young authoress leaped in advance of her power of literary expression. Truly, the hardest task Charlotte Brontë set herself to master whilst acquiring a knowledge of the technique of her craft, must have been a rigid restraint in the use of superlatives, and in the too free indulgence in those florid descriptions which overflow the pages of these early romances.

The manuscript of The Adventures of Ernest Alembert is an octavo pamphlet of sixteen pages, measuring 7¼ x 4½ inches. It is written in a free running hand, far more readily deciphered than the minute characters employed in the majority of these early books. [1] Unlike most of these it has no title-page, but in its stead a large portion of the final page is occupied by an inscription, after the manner of a colophon, of which a facsimile is given herewith.

In addition the manuscript is signed at the end, “C. Brontë, May the 25, 1830.”

The leaves are stitched in a wrapper of coarse brown paper, with the following inscription in Charlotte’s hand upon the front: “The Adventures of Ernest Alembert. A Tale by C. Brontë. May 25, 1830.” Since the death of its writer the manuscript has been preserved by the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls, Charlotte’s husband, and it is his courtesy, combined with the friendly intervention of Mr. Clement Shorter, that has enabled the Editors to include the story in the present work.

[1] A first-rate example of Charlotte’s microscopic handwriting the first page of The Secret is given by Mrs. Gaskell.

The Adventures of Ernest Alembert

Chapter I

MANY years ago there lived in a certain country a youth named Ernest Alembert. He came of an ancient and noble race; but one of his ancestors having been beheaded in consequence of a suspicion of high treason, the family since that time had gradually decayed, until at length the only remaining branch of it was this young man of whom I write.

His abode was a small cottage situated in the midst of a little garden, and overshadowed by the majestic ruins of his ancestral castle. The porch of his hut, adorned by the twisting clematis and jessamine, fronted the rising sun, and here in the cool summer mornings he would often sit and watch its broad orb slowly appearing above the blue distant mountains. The eminence on which his cottage was built formed one side of a wide valley, watered by a stream whose hoarse voice was softened into a gentle murmur ere it reached the summit of the hill. The opposing rocks which guarded the vale on the other side were covered by .a wood of young ash and sycamore trees, whose branching foliage, clothing them in a robe of living green, hid their rugged aspect, save where some huge fragment, all grey and moss-grown, jutted far over the valley, affording a fine contrast to the leafy luxuriant branch which perhaps rested on the projection, and imparting an appearance of picturesque wildness and variety to the scene. The valley itself was sprinkled with tall shady elms and poplars, that sheltered the soft verdant turf ornamented by cowslips, violets, daisies, golden cups, and a thousand other sweet flowers, which shed abroad their perfumes when the morning and evening summer dews, or the rains of spring, descend softly and silently on the earth. On the borders of the stream a few weeping willows stood dipping their long branches into the water, where their graceful forms were clearly reflected. Through an opening in the vale this noisy river was observed gradually expanding and smoothing until at last it became a wide lake, in calm weather a glassy unruffled mirror for all the clouds and stars of heaven to behold themselves in as they sailed through the spangled or dappled firmament. Beyond this lake arose high hills, at noonday almost indistinguishable from the blue sky, but at sunset glowing in the richest purple, like a sapphire barrier to the dim horizon.

One evening in autumn as Ernest sat by his blazing fire, and listened to the wind which roared past his dwelling, shaking the little casement till the leaves of the wild vine which curled around it fell rustling to the earth, he heard suddenly the latchet of his door raised. A man clothed in a dark mantle, with long hair, and a beard of raven blackness, entered. At sight of this singular figure he started up, and the stranger immediately accosted him as follows:

“My name is Rufus Werner. I come from a great distance, and having been overtaken by darkness in the valley I looked about for some roof where I might pass the night. At length I espied a light streaming through this window. I made the best of my way to it, and I now request shelter from you.”

Ernest, after gazing a moment at him, complied with his demand. He closed the door, and they both seated themselves by the fire. They sat thus for some time without interchanging a word, the stranger with his eyes intently fixed on the ascending flame, apparently quite inattentive to any other object; and Ernest as intently viewing him, and revolving in his mind who he might be—the cause of his strange attire—his long beard—his unbroken taciturnity—not unmixed with a feeling of awe allied to fear at the presence of a being of whose nature he was totally ignorant, and who, for aught he knew, might be the harbinger of no good to his humble dwelling. Dim, dreamlike reminiscences passed slowly across his mind concerning tales of spirits who, in various shapes, had appeared to men shortly before their deaths, as if to prepare them for the ghostly society with which they would soon have to mingle.

At length, to relieve himself of these almost unsupportable thoughts, he ventured to accost his mysterious guest by inquiring whence he came.

“From a rich and fruitful land,” replied the stranger, “where the trees bear without ceasing, the earth casts up flowers which sparkle like jewels, the sun shines for ever, and the moon and stars are not quenched even at noonday. Where the rocks lose themselves in the skies, and the tops of the mountains are invisible by reason of the firmament which rests upon them.”

This answer, uttered in a hollow and hoarse voice, convinced Ernest of the truth of his surmises; but a charm seemed to have been cast upon him which prevented him from being overcome by terror, and he replied as follows:

“If what you say is true, I should like exceedingly to follow you into your country instead of remaining here, where I am often chilled by frost and icy winds, and saddened by the absence of the cheering warmth of the sun.”

“If thou wilt go, thou mayst,” replied the stranger; and Ernest, under the influence of a secret fascination, consented.

“To-morrow, by daybreak, we will set out,” said his guest; and then, as the night was far advanced, they both retired to their straw couches, after partaking of a simple supper which Ernest had hastily provided.

Chapter II

THE rising dawn found Ernest and his unknown guide wending their way down the long valley. It was a chill, gloomy October morning. The sky was obscured by grey clouds, and the cold wind which whistled among the yellow withered leaves of the wood that covered the rocks blew occasionally some mizzling drops of rain into the faces of the two travellers. The distant prospect of the lake and mountains was hidden by a veil of mist, and when the sun rose above them, his presence was only revealed by a whitish light gleaming through the thin watery atmosphere. The only sounds which fell on the ear were the howling of the blast in the caverned sides of the valley, and the melancholy murmuring of the stream as its waves beat against the rugged stones which obstructed its passage.

They proceeded along in a straight course till they came to the borders of the lake, where the guide stopped, saying, “We must now cross this water.” Ernest gazed at him a moment, and then said:

“How can we? we have no boat, and I lack the power to swim for so long a time as it would require to cross this lake.”

No sooner had he uttered these words than a light gale arose which ruffled and agitated the quiet surface of the lake. Presently a tiny skiff appeared gliding over the waves, and in a few minutes reached the bank whereon they stood. The stranger quickly sprang into the bark, and Ernest, though filled with terror at the conviction that he was now in the hands of a supernatural being, felt himself compelled by a strong impulse to follow whither he was led. No sooner were they seated than a large white sail unfurled seemingly of its own accord, and in a few moments they found themselves nearing the opposite shore, so lightly and swiftly this fairy vessel had borne them over the lake.

No sooner had they touched the bank with their feet than a huge billow like a mountain swept over the water. Immediately the swelling waves subsided, the rising foam vanished, and a great calm fell on the bosom of the lake. At the same moment Ernest felt his fear pass away, and it was succeeded by a feeling of courage against danger, mingled with a certain curiosity to see what was to come. After they had travelled a great distance they came to a wide moor that stretched to the verge of the horizon. This was perfectly level, save at one spot where tall black rocks were seen raising their heads towards the sky. About evening they reached these rocks, when they stopped and sat down to rest themselves. The scene was now grand and awful in the extreme. Around lay the dark desert heath, unenlivened by a single streak of verdure; its beautiful pink flowers were withered, and their fragrance had vanished. The mellow hum of the bee was no longer heard about them, for he had gathered his honey and was gone. Above rose the tremendous precipices whose vast shadows blackened all that portion of the moor, and deepened the frown upon the unpropitious face of nature. At intervals from the summit of the rocks shrill screams, uttered by some bird of prey which had built its nest upon them, swept through the arch of heaven in which wild clouds were careering to and fro as if torn by a horrible tempest. The sun had long since sunk to rest, and the full moon, like a broad shield dyed with blood, now ascended the stormy sky. A mournful halo surrounded her, and through that warning veil she looked from her place in the firmament, her glorious light dimmed and obscured, till the earth only knew by a faint ruddy tint that her white-robed handmaiden beheld her. All the attendant train of stars shone solemnly among the clouds, and by their abated splendour acknowledged the presence of their peerless queen.

After having viewed this scene some time the stranger rose, and beckoned Ernest to follow him. This he did, until they came to a particular part of the rocks where was seen a profound cavern. This the stranger entered, and Ernest felt himself impelled to enter too. The track seemed to incline downwards, and as they went deeper and deeper they soon lost sight of the upper world, and not a ray of light appeared to illumine the thick darkness around them. At length a faint grey dawn became visible, and at the same instant a warm and gentle breeze stole past them which softened the cold raw air of the cave. Anon they began to behold branches of trees waving above them, and saw that they trod upon a smooth and velvety turf. In a short time, by the aid of the increasing light, they perceived that they were in a deep gloomy forest, which, as they advanced, gradually thinned into a pleasant shady wood, becoming more beautiful as they passed on, until at last it assumed the appearance of a delightful grove. From this they soon emerged into an open and graceful country. A wide plain was stretched before them, covered with the most enchanting verdure. Graceful trees sprang out of the earth bearing delicious fruits of a perfect transparency; others rose to a great height, casting down their branches laden with white blossoms, and dark flourishing leaves. Crystal fountains, that fell with a murmuring noise, were seen glittering through bowers of roses and tall lilies. The melody of a thousand birds was heard from groves of myrtle and laurel which bordered a river whose waters glided through the plain. Arching rocks of diamond and amethyst, up which plants of immortal verdure crept, sparkled in the light and lent variety to the lovely prospect. The plain was bounded by hills, some of which rose majestically to the heavens, covered with vines and pomegranates, while others only gently swelled upon the sight, and then sank into calm and peaceful valleys. Over all this scene hung an atmosphere of crystal clearness. Not one fleecy cloud sullied the radiant sky; not one wreath of mist floated over the brows of the distant mountains. The whole land lay in stainless purity, arrayed in a robe of spiritual and unearthly light.

When Ernest emerged from the wood, this view, bursting at once upon his eyes, completely overpowered him. For a long time he stood speechless, gazing intently upon it. His mind seemed to be elevated and enlarged by the resplendency of the vision. All his senses were delighted; his hearing by the combination of sweet sounds which poured upon it, his sight by the harmonious blending of every colour and scene; and his smell by the fragrant perfume of each flower which bloomed in these everlasting fields. At length, in ecstatic admiration, he hastened to thank his conductor for bringing him thither, but when he turned the stranger had gone. The forest through which he came had vanished also, and in its stead was a vast ocean whose extent seemed altogether boundless. Ernest, now more than ever filled with astonishment,, remained for a while alternating between fear and wonder; then, rousing himself, he uttered the name of his guide aloud. But his voice was only answered by a faint echo. After this he walked a considerable distance into the country without meeting with one visible being either human or supernatural. In a few hours he had traversed the plain, and reached the acclivities which bordered it, and then entered a wide mountainous land totally different from that which he had left. He wandered among the rocks heedless whither he went until twilight fell, when he longed to return, but was entirely unable to detect the way. No signs appeared of the plain he had quitted, save that on the southern horizon a beautiful light lingered long after sunset, and occasionally, as the wind rose, faint melodious sounds were heard floating fitfully by.

After a while, when the night had closed in, Ernest came to the brow of a lofty precipice. Overcome with fatigue he cast himself upon the ground and began to gaze into the profound depth beneath him. As he lay a death-like stillness fell upon the earth. No voice was heard in that gloomy region, the air was untracked by any wing. No footstep crushed the desolate sands. Echo whispered not in the caverned rocks, and even the winds seemed to have held their breath. At length he perceived in the tremendous gulf a thick vapour slowly rising. It gradually expanded, until the chasm was filled with a dense cloud swaying to and fro as if moved by an invisible power. Then he heard a dull hollow noise like water roaring in subterraneous caves. By degrees the cloud rose and enlarged, sweeping round, him till all things vanished from his sight, and he found himself encircled by its curling mist. Then he heard music, subdued and harmonious, resembling the soft breathings of flutes and dulcimers. This was suddenly broken by a flood of warlike melody rolling from golden trumpets and great harps of silver, which now suddenly gleamed upon him as the curtain of clouds rent and the whole scene was revealed. A pavement of sapphire sparkled, from which flashes of radiant purple light proceeded, mingling with the glory of an emerald dome that proudly arched a palace whose pillars were the purest diamond. Vases of agate and porphyry sent up wreaths of refined incense formed of the united fragrance of a thousand flowers. Beings of immortal beauty and splendour stood in shining ranks around a throne of ruby guarded by golden lions, and sounds so sweet and enchanting swelled on his ear, that Ernest, overwhelmed with the too powerful magnificence, sank senseless on the bright pavement. When he recovered from his swoon he found himself no longer surrounded by the gorgeous splendour of the fairy palace, but reposing in a wood whose branches were just moved by a fresh moaning wind. The first sunbeams penetrating the green umbrage lighted up the dew-drops which glistened on tender blades of grass, or trembled in the cups of the wild flowers which bordered a little woodland well. When Ernest opened his eyes he beheld standing close to him a man whom he presently recognised to be his guide. He started up, and the stranger addressed him as follows:

“I am a fairy. You have been, and still are, in the land of fairies. Some wonders you have seen; many more you shall see if you choose to follow me still.”

Ernest consented. The fairy immediately stepped into the well, and he felt compelled to do the same. They sank gradually downwards. By degrees the water changed into mists and vapours; the forms of clouds were dimly seen floating around. These increased until at length they were wholly enveloped in their folds. In a short time they seemed to land, and Ernest felt his feet resting on a solid substance. Suddenly the clouds were dissipated, and he found himself in a lovely and enchanting island encircled by a boundless expanse of water. The trees in the island were beautiful; rose laurels and flowering myrtles, creeping pomegranates, clematis and vines, intermixed with majestic cypresses and groves of young elms and poplars. The fairy led him to a natural bower of lofty trees whose thick branches mingling above formed a shady retreat from the sun, which now glowed in meridian splendour. This bower was on a green bank of the isle, embroidered with every kind of sweet and refreshing flower. The sky was perfectly free from clouds, but a milky haze softened the intense brilliancy of its blue, and gave a more unbroken calmness to the air. The lake lay in glassy smoothness. From its depths arose a sound of subdued music, a breath of harmony which just waved the blue water-lilies lying among their dark green leaves upon its surface. While Ernest reposed on the green turf and viewed this delightful prospect, he saw a vision of beauty pass before him. First he heard the melody of a horn, which seemed to come from dim mountains that appeared to the east. It rose again, nearer, and a majestic stag of radiant whiteness, with branching and beaming golden horns, bounded suddenly into sight, pursued by a train of fairies mounted upon winged steeds, caparisoned so magnificently that rays of light shot from them, and the whole air was illumined with their glory. They flew across the lake swifter than wind. The water rose sparkling and foaming about them, agitated and roaring as if by a storm. When they had disappeared Ernest turned towards the fairy, who still continued with him, and expressed his admiration of the beautiful scene which had just vanished. The fairy replied that it was but a shadow compared with the things infinitely more grand and magnificent which were still reserved for him to behold. Ernest at these words replied that he felt extremely impatient for the time to come when he might see them. His conductor arose, and commanded Alembert to follow. This he did, and they proceeded to enter a dark and thick wood which grew on the banks of the island. They journeyed here for several miles, and at length emerged into an open glade of the forest, where was a rock formed like a small temple, on the summit of which, covered with grass and various kinds of flowers, grew several young poplars and other trees. This curious edifice the fairy entered alone. After remaining some time he reappeared, and approaching Ernest bade him look up. Alembert instantly complied, and, as he did so, beheld a chariot which shone as the clouds that the sun glorifies at his setting, descending from the skies. It was drawn by two swans, larger than the fabulous roc, whose magnificent necks, arched like a rainbow, were surrounded by a bright halo reflected from the intense radiancy and whiteness of their plumage. Their expanded wings lightened the earth under them, and, as they drew nearer, their insufferable splendour so dazzled the senses of Ernest that he sank in a state of utter exhaustion to the ground.

His conductor then touched him with a small silver wand, and immediately a strange stupor came over him, which in a few minutes rendered him perfectly insensible. When he awoke from this swoon he found himself in an exceedingly wide and lofty apartment, whose vast walls were formed of black marble. Its huge gloomy dome was illumined by pale lamps that glimmered like stars through a curtain of clouds. Only one window was visible, and that, of an immense size, and arched like those of an ancient Gothic cathedral, was veiled by ample black drapery. In the midst arose a colossal statue, whose lifted hands were clasped in strong supplication, and whose upraised eyes and fixed features betokened excessive anguish. It was rendered distinctly visible by the light of the tapers which burned around. As Ernest gazed on this mysterious room he felt a sensation of extreme awe, such as he had never before experienced. He knew that he was in a world of spirits. The scene before him appeared like a dim dream. Nothing was clear, for a visionary mist hovered over all things, that imparted a sense of impenetrable obscurity to his mental as well as his bodily eyesight.

After continuing a while in this state, amidst the most profound silence, he heard the sweet soft tones of an Aeolian Harp stealing through the tall pillared arches. The subdued melody rose and filled the air with mournful music as the wind began to moan around the dome. By degrees these sounds sank to rest, and the deathly stillness returned with a more chilling and oppressive power. It continued for a long period until its unbroken solemnity became supernatural and insupportable. Ernest struck the ground with his foot, but the blow produced no sound. He strove to speak, but his voice gave forth no utterance. At that instant a crashing peal of thunder burst. The wild air roared round the mighty building which shook and trembled to its centre. Then, as the wind arose, the music swelled again, mingling its majestic floods of sound with the thunder that now pealed unceasingly. The unearthly tones that rolled along the blast exceeded everything that any mortal had heard before, and Ernest was nigh overwhelmed by the awe which their weird majesty inspired.

Suddenly the fairy who had been his guide appeared, and approaching the window beckoned him to come near. Ernest obeyed, and on looking out his eyes were bewildered by the scene which presented itself to his view. Nothing was visible beneath but billowy clouds, black as midnight, rolling around a tower a thousand feet in height, on whose terrible summit he stood. Long he gazed intently on the wild vapours tossed to and fro like waves in a storm. At times they lay in dense gloom and darkness, then globes or flashes of fire illumined them with sudden light.

At length the thunder and the wind ceased, the clouds slowly dispersed, and a growing brightness shone upon them. Beyond the horizon, through the dismal piles of mist fast passing away, a fair vision gleamed which filled Alembert with wonder and delight. A beautiful city appeared, whose lovely hues charmed the eye with their mild attractive splendour. Its palaces, arches, pillars and temples all smiled in their own gentle radiance, and a clear wide stream (transformed by the distance into a silver thread) which circled its crystal walls, was spanned by a bright rainbow, through whose arch it flowed into a broad expanse of green hills, woods, and valleys, enamelled by a thousand flowers that sent up their united fragrance so high that even the atmosphere around the summit of the lofty tower was faintly perfumed by it.

“That city,” said the guide, “is the abode of our Fairy King, whose palace you may see rising above those long groves near the southern gates.”

Ernest looked in the direction indicated, but beheld only a star of light, for the palace was formed of certain materials too brilliant for any but the eyes of fairies to behold. He continued some time at the window, until the prospect beneath, as twilight shed her dim influence over it, began to fade. Slowly the stars looked forth one by one from the sky’s deepening azure, and the full moon as she ascended the East gradually paled the bright orange-dye which glowed in the Western heavens. The murmur of the aerial city died away. Only at intervals was heard the voice of the giant Harp breaking the stillness of eventide, and its wild mournful melody as it floated on the balmy breeze served but to enhance the calm, sacred, and mysterious feeling of that peaceful hour.

“We must now depart,” said the fairy, turning suddenly to Alembert, and at the same instant the latter found himself upon the very summit of the tower. His conductor then, without warning, pushed him from the dizzy eminence into the void beneath.

Ernest gave a loud shriek of terror, but his fear was instantly dispelled by a delightful sensation which followed. He seemed to sink gently and slowly downwards, borne on a soft gale which now fanned his cheek, and guided by invisible beings who appeared to check the velocity of his fall, and to moderate his descent into a quiet and easy transition to the regions of the earth.

After a while he alighted in the fairy city, still attended by his conductor. They proceeded along a magnificent street, paved with the rarest gems, gorgeously sparkling in the moonlight, until they arrived at a majestic palace of lapis lazuli whose golden gates rolled back at their approach, and admitted them to a wide hall floored with the purest alabaster, richly carved and figured, and lighted by silver lamps perfumed with the most costly odours.

Ernest was now grown weary, and the fairy led him into another apartment more beautiful than the first. Here was a splendid couch overhung by a canopy adorned with emeralds, diamonds, sapphires and rubies, whose excessive brilliancy illuminated all the room. On this couch Alembert flung himself joyfully down to rest. In a few moments a profound slumber closed his eyelids, and his sleep continued undisturbed until break of day, when he was awakened by the sweet singing of birds. He arose, and on looking forth from his casement beheld an immense garden filled with the sweetest flowers, and with rare plants unknown among mortals. Long rows of lofty trees, bearing fruits that sparkled like precious stones, shaded green walks strewn with fallen blossoms. On their fresh verdant branches sat innumerable birds, clothed in rich and resplendent plumage, who filled the air with delightful and harmonious warbling.

Ernest was astonished at beholding no appearance of the city, but continued for some time listening to the enchanting music of the birds, enjoying the fragrant perfume of the blossoms, and the dark grandeur of the majestic trees that surrounded him. This contemplation was at length interrupted by his conductor, who now appeared in the apartment. Without speaking, his guide led him from the chamber, and when they reached the open air bade him by a sign to look around. Ernest obeyed, and in place of the palace he saw a high bower formed of trees whose flowers were more lovely than the finest roses, and sweeter than lilies or camellias. The prospect then suddenly changed, and a deep glen, embosomed in hills whose sides were wooded, and rock-strewn, took the place of the garden. A deep clear-watered river flowed past them. Into this the fairy plunged, and Ernest, forced by an over-mastering spell, followed him. For a long time they sank slowly down, and nought was visible save the waters that swallowed them.

At length, leagues beneath, a new realm dawned upon Ernest’s astonished sight. Their speed now accelerated, and soon they arrived at the abode of a Fairy King. The palace was brilliant as a liquid diamond. A great fountain rushing upwards from the earth parted into a thousand arches and pillars, through whose transparent surfaces appeared a quantity of emeralds, rubies, and other gems which the fountain continually cast up. The palace roof was formed of the frozen spray that proceeded like a vapour from the living arches ever in motion. This, congealed into round lucid drops, assumed the appearance of a lofty dome, from which descended other pillars of a larger size that seemed to support it. Over the summit of the dome was suspended in the air a sun of insufferable brightness, and from within gleamed a hundred stars sparkling with supernatural splendour.

By reason of the translucent nature of the edifice the interior was perfectly visible, and Ernest saw the fairy king seated on a glittering and revolving throne. He was surrounded by attendants, one of whom held a diamond cup filled with the honey-dew of wild flowers. Others played sweetly upon silver harps and lutes, or sang in more melodious tones than the nightingale .or skylark.

It would be impossible to relate all the marvellous adventures that befel Alembert whilst he abode in the land of Faery. He saw their midnight revels in many a wild glen, and witnessed how they feasted in the green wood beneath the solemn moon. He viewed their pleasures and their pageants, and learned the spells by which they drew the lonely traveller into their enchanted circlet. Often he watched their sports by the “beached margin of the sea,” and saw the rolling billows rest calmly under the magic influence of their muttered incantations. He heard and felt the sweet witchery of their songs chanted at unearthly banquets, and when the sound swelled until it reached the starlit sky, the revolving worlds arrested their mighty courses and stood still in the charmed heavens to attend. But this life in time grew wearying and insupportable. He longed once more to dwell among human kind, to hear again the language of mortals, and to tread upon the old green grass-covered turf, under the shade of the earthly trees he loved so well. At length the fairies perceived that the yearning to return was filling the bosom of Alembert, and that his heart was straining with the desire for home. This desire they appreciated, for they knew well that no mortal born of mortals could for long endure the light and fleeting glories of the land of Fays. Thus it was that they determined to relinquish him, and to bestow upon him the crown of his hopes. The following tells the manner in which they gave fulfilment to his wish.

Chapter III

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

When he recovered from his stupor he found himself at the entrance to a wide green vale, bounded by high hills, whose sides were clothed with pleasant woods, which descended to their feet, and here and there advanced a considerable way into the valley. At intervals enormous rocks were scattered, whose rugged and moss-grown forms added a touch of romance to the delightful scene. Nor were there wanting pleasant groves, whose cool green shades offered welcome shelter to the toiling and travel-wearied pilgrim. It was sunset, and not one purple cloud was visible in all the radiant sky. The west swam in an ocean of golden light that bathed the heavens in glory, and poured its reflected splendour over half the world. Eastward a long line of sober red appeared, gradually growing softer and paler towards the point of sunrise. Above all was a clear bright silvery blue, deepening at the zenith, and faintly tinged with grey as it receded from the gorgeous west. Beneath this sky the earth glowed with tints whose warmth 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 this solemn vale

Save murmurs of those tall dark trees,

Who raise eternally their wail

Bending beneath the twilight breeze.

And my harp peals the woods among

When vesper lifts its quiet eye,

Co-mingling 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 wond’rous melody.

Forth gushing like a mountain rill,

So rich, so deep, so dear 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 an 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 old man 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 Icherkash, 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 Elborus and Kasibeck. 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 Elborus. 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 hand 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 by 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 Elbor, 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 the 25, 1830.

The End