The twelve adventurers, and other storiesBrontë, Charlotte
Science
The twelve adventurers, and other stories
Brontë, Charlotte
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
But just opposite, separated only by a transparent sheet of silver
paper, there is something different: his wife, his own matchless
Henrietta! She looks at him with serene eyes as if the dew of placid
thought could be shed on him by the influence of those large, clear
stars. It reminds me of moonlight descending on troubled waters.
I wish the parallel held good all the way, and that she was as far
beyond the reach of sorrows arising from her husband’s insatiable
ambition and fiery impetuosity as Dian is above the lash of the restless
deep. But it is not so: her destiny is linked with his; and however
strange the great river of Zamorna’s fate may flow; however awful
the rapids over which it may rush; however cold and barren the banks
of its channel; however wild, however darkly beached and stormily
billowed the ocean into which it may finally plunge, Mary’s must
follow. Fair creature! I could weep to think of it. For her sake,
I hope a bright futurity for her lord; pity that the shadow of grief
should ever fall where the light of such beauty shines. Every one
knows how like the duchess is to her father: his very image cast
in a softer—it could not be a more refined—mould. They are precisely
similar, even to the very delicacy of their hands. As Byron says,
her features have all the statuesque repose, the calm classic grace,
that dwells on the Earl’s. She, however, has one advantage over him:
the stealing, pensive brilliancy of her hazel eyes, and the peaceful
sweetness of her mouth, impart a harmony to the whole which the satanic
sneer fixed on the corresponding features of Northangerland’s face
totally destroys. The original paintings of these two engraved portraits,
namely, Zamorna’s and his lady’s, hang in the grand refectory at
Wellesley House. Five hundred guineas was the sum paid for each.
They are de Lisle’s, and rank amongst his most splendid _chefs-d’œuvre_.
I know of no parallels to them, except those of Percy and Zenobia
in the central saloon at Ellrington Hall. Search all the world from
Iceland to Australia, and you will not find four human beings, male
and female, to compare with them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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