The Fortunes of Sir Robert Ardagh

"The Fortunes of Sir Robert Ardagh" is a novel by Joseph Thomas Sheridan Le Fanu, published in 1877. The story follows the life of Sir Robert Ardagh, an Irish gentleman who grapples with themes of fortune, love, and the supernatural. As he navigates the complexities of his family's legacy and financial troubles, he encounters various characters and incidents that challenge his morals and ambitions. Le Fanu weaves a captivating narrative filled with gothic elements, exploring the intersections of fate, wealth, and the human condition in 19th-century Ireland.

• Fiction
• Horror
• Short story

								
Being a second Extract from the Papers of the late Father Purcell.

     'The earth hath bubbles as the water hath--
       And these are of them.'

In the south of Ireland, and on the borders of the county of Limerick,
there lies a district of two or three miles in length, which is rendered
interesting by the fact that it is one of the very few spots throughout
this country, in which some vestiges of aboriginal forest still remain.
It has little or none of the lordly character of the American forest,
for the axe has felled its oldest and its grandest trees; but in the
close wood which survives, live all the wild and pleasing peculiarities
of nature: its complete irregularity, its vistas, in whose perspective
the quiet cattle are peacefully browsing; its refreshing glades, where
the grey rocks arise from amid the nodding fern; the silvery shafts of
the old birch trees; the knotted trunks of the hoary oak, the grotesque
but graceful branches which never shed their honours under the tyrant
pruning-hook; the soft green sward; the chequered light and shade; the
wild luxuriant weeds; the lichen and the moss--all, all are beautiful
alike in the green freshness of spring, or in the sadness and sere of
autumn. Their beauty is of that kind which makes the heart full with
joy--appealing to the affections with a power which belongs to nature
only. This wood runs up, from below the base, to the ridge of a long
line of irregular hills, having perhaps, in primitive times, formed but
the skirting of some mighty forest which occupied the level below.

But now, alas! whither have we drifted? whither has the tide of
civilisation borne us? It has passed over a land unprepared for
it--it has left nakedness behind it; we have lost our forests, but our
marauders remain; we have destroyed all that is picturesque, while we
have retained everything that is revolting in barbarism. Through the
midst of this woodland there runs a deep gully or glen, where
the stillness of the scene is broken in upon by the brawling of a
mountain-stream, which, however, in the winter season, swells into a
rapid and formidable torrent.

There is one point at which the glen becomes extremely deep and narrow;
the sides descend to the depth of some hundred feet, and are so steep as
to be nearly perpendicular. The wild trees which have taken root in the
crannies and chasms of the rock have so intersected and entangled, that
one can with difficulty catch a glimpse of the stream, which wheels,
flashes, and foams below, as if exulting in the surrounding silence and
solitude.

This spot was not unwisely chosen, as a point of no ordinary strength,
for the erection of a massive square tower or keep, one side of which
rises as if in continuation of the precipitous cliff on which it is
based. Originally, the only mode of ingress was by a narrow portal in
the very wall which overtopped the precipice, opening upon a ledge
of rock which afforded a precarious pathway, cautiously intersected,
however, by a deep trench cut with great labour in the living rock; so
that, in its original state, and before the introduction of artillery
into the art of war, this tower might have been pronounced, and that not
presumptuously, almost impregnable.

The progress of improvement and the increasing security of the times
had, however, tempted its successive proprietors, if not to adorn, at
least to enlarge their premises, and at about the middle of the last
century, when the castle was last inhabited, the original square tower
formed but a small part of the edifice.

The castle, and a wide tract of the surrounding country, had from time
immemorial belonged to a family which, for distinctness, we shall call
by the name of Ardagh; and owing to the associations which, in Ireland,
almost always attach to scenes which have long witnessed alike the
exercise of stern feudal authority, and of that savage hospitality which
distinguished the good old times, this building has become the subject
and the scene of many wild and extraordinary traditions. One of them I
have been enabled, by a personal acquaintance with an eye-witness of the
events, to trace to its origin; and yet it is hard to say whether the
events which I am about to record appear more strange or improbable as
seen through the distorting medium of tradition, or in the appalling
dimness of uncertainty which surrounds the reality.

Tradition says that, sometime in the last century, Sir Robert Ardagh, a
young man, and the last heir of that family, went abroad and served
in foreign armies; and that, having acquired considerable honour and
emolument, he settled at Castle Ardagh, the building we have just now
attempted to describe. He was what the country people call a DARK man;
that is, he was considered morose, reserved, and ill-tempered; and, as
it was supposed from the utter solitude of his life, was upon no terms
of cordiality with the other members of his family.

The only occasion upon which he broke through the solitary monotony
of his life was during the continuance of the racing season, and
immediately subsequent to it; at which time he was to be seen among
the busiest upon the course, betting deeply and unhesitatingly, and
invariably with success. Sir Robert was, however, too well known as a
man of honour, and of too high a family, to be suspected of any unfair
dealing. He was, moreover, a soldier, and a man of an intrepid as well
as of a haughty character; and no one cared to hazard a surmise, the
consequences of which would be felt most probably by its originator
only.

Gossip, however, was not silent; it was remarked that Sir Robert never
appeared at the race-ground, which was the only place of public resort
which he frequented, except in company with a certain strange-looking
person, who was never seen elsewhere, or under other circumstances. It
was remarked, too, that this man, whose relation to Sir Robert was never
distinctly ascertained, was the only person to whom he seemed to speak
unnecessarily; it was observed that while with the country gentry
he exchanged no further communication than what was unavoidable in
arranging his sporting transactions, with this person he would converse
earnestly and frequently. Tradition asserts that, to enhance the
curiosity which this unaccountable and exclusive preference excited, the
stranger possessed some striking and unpleasant peculiarities of person
and of garb--she does not say, however, what these were--but they, in
conjunction with Sir Robert's secluded habits and extraordinary run of
luck--a success which was supposed to result from the suggestions and
immediate advice of the unknown--were sufficient to warrant report in
pronouncing that there was something QUEER in the wind, and in surmising
that Sir Robert was playing a fearful and a hazardous game, and that, in
short, his strange companion was little better than the devil himself.

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