Read
"The Birthmark" from Nathaniel Hawthorne's Mosses From an Old
Manse
“The Birthmark” In the latter part of the last century there lived a man of science, an eminent proficient in every branch of natural philosophy, who not long before our story opens had made experience of a spiritual affinity more attractive than any chemical one. He had left his laboratory to the care of an assistant, cleared his fine countenance from the furnace smoke, washed the stain of acids from his fingers, and persuaded a beautiful woman to become his wife. In those days when the comparatively recent discovery of electricity and other kindred mysteries of Nature seemed to open paths into the region of miracle, it was not unusual for the love of science to rival the love of woman in its depth and absorbing energy. The higher intellect, the imagination, the spirit, and even the heart might all find their congenial aliment in pursuits which, as some of their ardent votaries believed, would ascend from one step of powerful intelligence to another, until the philosopher should lay his hand on the secret of creative force and perhaps make new worlds for himself. |
 |
| John Millais's Mariana in the Moated Grange, 1850-51 | |
| We
know not whether Aylmer possessed this degree of faith in man's ultimate control
over Nature. He had devoted himself, however, too unreservedly to scientific
studies ever to be weaned from them by any second passion. His love for his
young wife might prove the stronger of the two; but it could only be by
intertwining itself with his love of science, and uniting the strength of the
latter to his own. |
|
| Such a union
accordingly took place, and was attended with truly remarkable
consequences and a deeply impressive moral. One day, very soon after their
marriage, Aylmer sat gazing at his wife with a trouble in his countenance
that grew stronger until he spoke. |
|
| "Georgiana,"
said he, "has it never occurred to you that the mark upon your cheek
might be removed?" |
|
| "No,
indeed," said she, smiling; but perceiving the seriousness of his
manner, she blushed deeply. "To tell you the truth it has been so of |
|
| "Ah,
upon another face perhaps it might," replied her husband; "but
never on yours. No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfect from the
hand of Nature that this slightest possible defect, which we hesitate
whether to term a defect or a beauty, shocks me, as being the visible mark
of earthly imperfection." |
|
| "Shocks
you, my husband!" cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at first reddening
with momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. |
|
| "Then
why did you take me from my mother's side? You cannot love what shocks
you!" |
|
| To explain
this conversation it must be mentioned that in the centre of Georgiana's
left cheek there was a singular mark, deeply interwoven, as it were, with
the texture and substance of her face. In the usual state of her
complexion--a healthy though delicate bloom--the mark wore a tint of
deeper crimson, which imperfectly defined its shape amid the surrounding
rosiness. When she blushed it gradually became more indistinct, and
finally vanished amid the triumphant rush of blood that bathed the whole
cheek with its brilliant glow. But if any shifting motion caused her to
turn pale there was the mark again, a crimson stain upon the snow, in what
Aylmer sometimes deemed an almost fearful distinctness. Its shape bore not
a little similarity to the human hand, though of the smallest pygmy size.
Georgiana's lovers were wont to say that some fairy at her birth hour had
laid her tiny hand upon the infant's cheek, and left this impress there in
token of the magic endowments that were to give her such sway over all
hearts. Many a desperate swain would have risked life for the privilege of pressing his lips to the mysterious hand. It must not be concealed, however, that the impression wrought by this fairy sign manual varied exceedingly, according to the difference of temperament in the beholders. Some fastidious persons--but they were exclusively of her own sex--affirmed that the bloody hand, as they chose to call it, quite destroyed the effect of Georgiana's beauty, and rendered her countenance even hideous. But it would be as reasonable to say that one of those small blue stains which sometimes occur in the purest statuary marble would convert the Eve of Powers to a monster. Masculine observers, if the birthmark did not heighten their admiration, contented themselves with wishing it away, that the world might possess one living specimen of ideal loveliness without the semblance of a flaw. After his marriage,--for he thought little or nothing of the matter before,--Aylmer discovered that this was the case with himself. |
|
| Had she been
less beautiful,--if Envy's self could have found aught else to sneer
at,--he might have felt his affection heightened by the prettiness of this
mimic hand, now vaguely portrayed, now lost, now stealing forth again and
glimmering to and fro with every pulse of emotion that throbbed within her
heart; but seeing her otherwise so perfect, he found this one defect grow
more and more intolerable with every moment of their united lives. It was
the fatal flaw of humanity which Nature, in one shape or another, stamps
ineffaceably on all her productions, either to imply that they are
temporary and finite, or that their perfection must be wrought by toil and
pain. The crimson hand expressed the ineludible gripe in which mortality
clutches the highest and purest of earthly mould, degrading them into
kindred with the lowest, and even with the very brutes, like whom their
visible frames return to dust. In this manner, selecting it as the symbol
of his wife's liability to sin, sorrow, decay, and death, Aylmer's sombre
imagination was not long in rendering the birthmark a frightful object,
causing him more trouble and horror than ever Georgiana's beauty, whether
of soul or sense, had given him delight. |
|
| At all the
seasons which should have been their happiest, he invariably and without
intending it, nay, in spite of a purpose to the contrary, reverted to this
one disastrous topic. Trifling as it at first appeared, it so connected
itself with innumerable trains of thought and modes of feeling that it
became the central point of all. With the morning twilight Aylmer opened
his eyes upon his wife's face and recognized the symbol of imperfection;
and when they sat together at the evening hearth his eyes wandered
stealthily to her cheek, and beheld, flickering with the blaze of the wood
fire, the spectral hand that wrote mortality where he would fain have
worshipped. Georgiana soon learned to shudder at his gaze. It needed but a
glance with the peculiar expression that his face often wore to change the
roses of her cheek into a deathlike paleness, amid which the crimson hand
was brought strongly out, like a bass-relief of ruby on the whitest
marble. |
|
| Late one
night when the lights were growing dim, so as hardly to betray the stain
on the poor wife's cheek, she herself, for the first time, voluntarily
took up the subject. |
|
| "Do you
remember, my dear Aylmer," said she, with a feeble attempt at a
smile, "have you any recollection of a dream last night about this
odious hand?" |
|
| "None!
none whatever!" replied Aylmer, starting; but then he added, in a
dry, cold tone, affected for the sake of concealing the real depth of his
emotion, "I might well dream of it; for before I fell asleep it had
taken a pretty firm hold of my fancy." |
|
| "And you
did dream of it?" continued Georgiana, hastily; for she dreaded lest
a gush of tears should interrupt what she had to say. "A terrible
dream! I wonder that you can forget it. Is it possible to forget this one expression?--'It is in her heart now; we must have it out!' Reflect, my husband; for by all means I would have you recall that dream." |
|
| The mind is
in a sad state when Sleep, the all-involving, cannot confine her spectres
within the dim region of her sway, but suffers them to break forth,
affrighting this actual life with secrets that perchance belong to a
deeper one. Aylmer now remembered his dream. He had fancied himself with
his servant Aminadab, attempting an operation for the removal of the
birthmark; but the deeper went the knife, the deeper sank the hand, until
at length its tiny grasp appeared to have caught hold of Georgiana's
heart; whence, however, her husband was inexorably resolved to cut or
wrench it away. |
|
| When the
dream had shaped itself perfectly in his memory, Aylmer sat in his wife's
presence with a guilty feeling. Truth often finds its way to the mind
close muffled in robes of sleep, and then speaks with uncompromising directness of matters in regard to which we practise an unconscious self-deception during our waking moments. Until now he had not been aware of the tyrannizing influence acquired by one idea over his mind, and of the lengths which he might find in his heart to go for the sake of giving himself peace. |
|
| "Aylmer,"
resumed Georgiana, solemnly, "I know not what may be the cost to both
of us to rid me of this fatal birthmark. Perhaps its removal may cause cureless deformity; or it may be the stain goes as deep as life itself. Again: do we know that there is a possibility, on any terms, of unclasping the firm gripe of this little hand which was laid upon me before I came into the world?" |
|
| "Dearest
Georgiana, I have spent much thought upon the subject," hastily
interrupted Aylmer. "I am convinced of the perfect practicability of
its removal." |
|
| "If
there be the remotest possibility of it," continued Georgiana,
"let the attempt be made at whatever risk. Danger is nothing to me; for life, while this hateful mark makes me the object of your horror and disgust,--life is a burden which I would fling down with joy. Either remove this dreadful hand, or take my wretched life! You have deep science. All the world bears witness of it. You have achieved great wonders. Cannot you remove this little, little mark, which I cover with the tips of two small fingers? Is this beyond your power, for the sake of your own peace, and to save your poor wife from madness?" |
|
| "Noblest,
dearest, tenderest wife," cried Aylmer, rapturously, "doubt not
my power. I have already given this matter the deepest thought--thought
which might almost have enlightened me to create a being less perfect than
yourself. Georgiana, you have led me deeper than ever into the heart of
science. I feel myself fully competent to render this dear cheek as
faultless as its fellow; and then, most beloved, what will be my triumph
when I shall have corrected what Nature left imperfect in her fairest
work! Even Pygmalion, when his sculptured woman assumed life, felt not
greater ecstasy than mine will be." |
|
| "It is
resolved, then," said Georgiana, faintly smiling. "And, Aylmer,
spare me not, though you should find the birthmark take refuge in my heart
at last." |
|
| Her husband
tenderly kissed her cheek--her right cheek--not that which bore the
impress of the crimson hand. |
|
| The next day
Aylmer apprised his wife of a plan that he had formed whereby he might
have opportunity for the intense thought and constant watchfulness which
the proposed operation would require; while Georgiana, likewise, would
enjoy the perfect repose essential to its success. They were to seclude
themselves in the extensive apartments occupied by Aylmer as a laboratory,
and where, during his toilsome youth, he had made discoveries in the
elemental powers of Nature that had roused the admiration of all the
learned societies in Europe. Seated calmly in this laboratory, the pale
philosopher had investigated the secrets of the highest cloud region and
of the profoundest mines; he had satisfied himself of the causes that
kindled and kept alive the fires of the volcano; and had explained the
mystery of fountains, and how it is that they gush forth, some so bright
and pure, and others with such rich medicinal virtues, from the dark bosom
of the earth. Here, too, at an earlier period, he had studied the wonders
of the human frame, and attempted to fathom the very process by which
Nature assimilates all her precious influences from earth and air, and
from the spiritual world, to create and foster man, her masterpiece. The
latter pursuit, however, Aylmer had long laid aside in unwilling
recognition of the truth--against which all seekers sooner or later
stumble—that our great creative Mother, while she amuses us with
apparently working in the broadest sunshine, is yet severely careful to
keep her own secrets, and, in spite of her pretended openness, shows us nothing but results. She permits us, indeed, to mar, but seldom to mend, and, like a jealous patentee, on no account to make. Now, however, Aylmer resumed these half-forgotten investigations; not, of course, with such hopes or wishes as first suggested them; but because they involved much physiological truth and lay in the path of his proposed scheme for the treatment of Georgiana. |
|
| As he led her
over the threshold of the laboratory, Georgiana was cold and tremulous.
Aylmer looked cheerfully into her face, with intent to reassure her, but
was so startled with the intense glow of the birthmark upon the whiteness
of her cheek that he could not restrain a strong convulsive shudder. His
wife fainted. |
|
| "Aminadab!
Aminadab!" shouted Aylmer, stamping violently on the floor. |
|
| Forthwith
there issued from an inner apartment a man of low stature, but bulky
frame, with shaggy hair hanging about his visage, which was grimed with
the vapors of the furnace. This personage had been Aylmer's underworker
during his whole scientific career, and was admirably fitted for that
office by his great mechanical readiness, and the skill with which, while
incapable of comprehending a single principle, he executed all the details
of his master's experiments. With his vast strength, his shaggy hair, his
smoky aspect, and the indescribable earthiness that incrusted him, he
seemed to represent man's physical nature; while Aylmer's slender figure,
and pale, intellectual face, were no less apt a type of the spiritual
element. |
|
| "Throw
open the door of the boudoir, Aminadab," said Aylmer, "and burn
a pastil." |
|
| "Yes,
master," answered Aminadab, looking intently at the lifeless form of
Georgiana; and then he muttered to himself, "If she were my wife, I'd
never part with that birthmark." |
|
| When
Georgiana recovered consciousness she found herself breathing an
atmosphere of penetrating fragrance, the gentle potency of which had
recalled her from her deathlike faintness. The scene around her looked
like enchantment. Aylmer had converted those smoky, dingy, somber rooms,
where he had spent his brightest years in recondite pursuits, into a
series of beautiful apartments not unfit to be the secluded abode of a
lovely woman. The walls were hung with gorgeous curtains, which imparted
the combination of grandeur and grace that no other species of adornment
can achieve; and as they fell from the ceiling to the floor, their rich
and ponderous folds, concealing all angles and straight lines, appeared to
shut in the scene from infinite space. For aught Georgiana knew, it might
be a pavilion among the clouds. And Aylmer, excluding the sunshine, which
would have interfered with his chemical processes, had supplied its place
with perfumed lamps, emitting flames of various hue, but all uniting in a
soft, impurpled radiance. He now knelt by his wife's side, watching her
earnestly, but without alarm; for he was confident in his science, and
felt that he could draw a magic circle round her within which no evil
might intrude. |
|
| "Where
am I? Ah, I remember," said Georgiana, faintly; and she placed her
hand over her cheek to hide the terrible mark from her husband's eyes. |
|
| "Fear
not, de |
|
| "Oh,
spare me!" sadly replied his wife. "Pray do not look at it
again. I never can forget that convulsive shudder." |
|
| In order to
soothe Georgiana, and, as it were, to release her mind from the burden of
actual things, Aylmer now put in practice some of the light and playful
secrets which science had taught him among its profounder lore. Airy
figures, absolutely bodiless ideas, and forms of unsubstantial beauty came
and danced before her, imprinting their momentary footsteps on beams of
light. Though she had some indistinct idea of the method of these
optical phenomena, still the illusion was almost perfect enough to warrant
the belief that her husband possessed sway over the spiritual world. Then
again, when she felt a wish to look forth from her seclusion, immediately,
as if her thoughts were answered, the procession of external existence
flitted across a screen. The scenery and the figures of actual life were
perfectly represented, but with that bewitching, yet indescribable
difference which always makes a picture, an image, or a shadow so much
more attractive than the original. When wearied of this, Aylmer bade her
cast her eyes upon a vessel containing a quantity of earth. She did so,
with little interest at first; but was soon startled to perceive the germ
of a plant shooting upward from the soil. Then came the slender stalk; the
leaves gradually unfolded themselves; and amid them was a perfect and
lovely flower. |
|
| "It is
magical!" cried Georgiana. "I dare not touch it." |
|
| "Nay,
pluck it," answered Aylmer,--"pluck it, and inhale its brief
perfume while you may. The flower will wither in a few moments and leave
nothing save its brown seed vessels; but thence may be perpetuated a race
as ephemeral as itself." |
|
| But Georgiana
had no sooner touched the flower than the whole plant suffered a blight,
its leaves turning coal-black as if by the agency of fire. |
|
| "There
was too powerful a stimulus," said Aylmer, thoughtfully. |
|
| To make up
for this abortive experiment, he proposed to take her portrait by a
scientific process of his own invention. It was to be effected by rays of
light striking upon a polished plate of metal. Georgiana assented; but, on
looking at the result, was affrighted to find the features of the portrait
blurred and indefinable; while the minute figure of a hand appeared where
the cheek should have been. Aylmer snatched the metallic plate and
threw it into a jar of corrosive acid. |
|
| Soon,
however, he forgot these mortifying failures. In the intervals of study
and chemical experiment he came to her flushed and exhausted, but seemed
invigorated by her presence, and spoke in glowing language of the
resources of his art. He gave a history of the long dynasty of the
alchemists, who spent so many ages in quest of the universal solvent by
which the golden principle might be elicited from all things vile and
base. Aylmer appeared to believe that, by the plainest scientific logic,
it was altogether within the limits of possibility to discover this
long-sought medium; "but," he added, "a philosopher who
should go deep enough to acquire the power would attain too lofty a wisdom
to stoop to the exercise of it." Not less singular were his opinions
in regard to the elixir vitae. He more than intimated that it was at his
option to concoct a liquid that should prolong life for years, perhaps
interminably; but that it would produce a discord in Nature which all the
world, and chiefly the quaffer of the immortal nostrum, would find cause
to curse. |
|
| "Aylmer,
are you in earnest?" asked Georgiana, looking at him with amazement
and fear. "It is terrible to possess such power, or even to dream of
possessing it." |
|
| "Oh, do
not tremble, my love," said her husband. "I would not wrong
either you or myself by working such inharmonious effects upon our lives;
but I would have you consider how trifling, in comparison, is the skill
requisite to remove this little hand." |
|
| At the
mention of the birthmark, Georgiana, as usual, shrank as if a redhot iron
had touched her cheek. |
|
| Again Aylmer
applied himself to his labors. She could hear his voice in the distant
furnace room giving directions to Aminadab, whose harsh, uncouth,
misshapen tones were audible in response, more like the grunt or growl of
a brute than human speech. After hours of absence, Aylmer reappeared and
proposed that she should now examine his cabinet of chemical products and
natural treasures of the earth. Among the former he showed her a small
vial, in which, he remarked, was contained a gentle yet most powerful
fragrance, capable of impregnating all the breezes that blow across a
kingdom. They were of inestimable value, the contents of that little vial;
and, as he said so, he threw some of the perfume into the air and filled
the room with piercing and invigorating delight. |
|
| "And
what is this?" asked Georgiana, pointing to a small crystal globe
containing a gold-colored liquid. "It is so beautiful to the eye that
I could imagine it the elixir of life." |
|
| "In one
sense it is," replied Aylmer; "or, rather, the elixir of
immortality. It is the most precious poison that ever was concocted in
this world. By its aid I could apportion the lifetime of any mortal
at whom you might point your finger. The strength of the dose would
determine whether he were to linger out years, or drop dead in the midst
of a breath. No king on his guarded throne could keep his life if I, in my
private station, should deem that the welfare of millions justified me in
depriving him of it." |
|
| "Why do
you keep such a terrific drug?" inquired Georgiana in horror. |
|
| "Do not
mistrust me, dearest," said her husband, smiling; "its virtuous
potency is yet greater than its harmful one. But see! here is a powerful
cosmetic. With a few drops of this in a vase of water, freckles may be
washed away as easily as the hands are cleansed. A stronger infusion would
take the blood out of the cheek, and leave the rosiest beauty a pale
ghost." |
|
| "Is it
with this lotion that you intend to bathe my cheek?" asked Georgiana,
anxiously. |
|
| "Oh, no," hastily replied her husband; "this is merely superficial. Your case demands a remedy that shall go deeper." | |
| In his
interviews with Georgiana, Aylmer generally made minute inquiries as to
her sensations and whether the confinement of the rooms and the
temperature of the atmosphere agreed with her. These questions had such a
particular drift that Georgiana began to conjecture that she was already
subjected to certain physical influences, either breathed in with the
fragrant air or taken with her food. She fancied likewise, but it might be
altogether fancy, that there was a stirring up of her system--a strange,
indefinite sensation creeping through her veins, and tingling, half
painfully, half pleasurably, at her heart. Still, whenever she dared to
look into the mirror, there she beheld herself pale as a white rose and
with the crimson birthmark stamped upon her cheek. Not even Aylmer now
hated it so much as she. |
|
| To dispel the
tedium of the hours which her husband found it necessary to devote to the
processes of combination and analysis, Georgiana turned over the volumes
of his scientific library. In many dark old tomes she met with chapters
full of romance and poetry. They were the works of philosophers of the
middle ages, such as Albertus Magnus, Cornelius Agrippa, Paracelsus, and
the famous friar who created the prophetic Brazen Head. All these antique
naturalists stood in advance of their centuries, yet were imbued with some
of their credulity, and therefore were believed, and perhaps imagined
themselves to have acquired from the investigation of Nature a power above
Nature, and from physics a sway over the spiritual world. Hardly less
curious and imaginative were the early volumes of the Transactions of the
Royal Society, in which the members, knowing little of the limits of
natural possibility, were continually recording wonders or proposing
methods whereby wonders might be wrought. |
|
| But to
Georgiana the most engrossing volume was a large folio from her husband's
own hand, in which he had recorded every experiment of his scientific
career, its original aim, the methods adopted for its development, and its
final success or failure, with the circumstances to which either event was
attributable. The book, in truth, was both the history and emblem of his
ardent, ambitious, imaginative, yet practical and laborious life. He
handled physical details as if there were nothing beyond them; yet
spiritualized them all, and redeemed himself from materialism by his
strong and eager aspiration towards the infinite. In his grasp the veriest
clod of earth assumed a soul. Georgiana, as she read, reverenced Aylmer
and loved him more profoundly than ever, but with a less entire dependence
on his judgment than heretofore. Much as he had accomplished, she could
not but observe that his most splendid successes were almost invariably
failures, if compared with the ideal at which he aimed. His brightest
diamonds were the merest pebbles, and felt to be so by himself, in
comparison with the inestimable gems which lay hidden beyond his reach.
The volume, rich with achievements that had won renown for its author, was
yet as melancholy a record as ever mortal hand had penned. It was the sad
confession and continual exemplification of the shortcomings of the
composite man, the spirit burdened with clay and working in matter, and of
the despair that assails the higher nature at finding itself so miserably
thwarted by the earthly part. Perhaps every man of genius in
whatever sphere might recognize the image of his own experience in
Aylmer's journal. |
|
| So deeply did
these reflections affect Georgiana that she laid her face upon the open
volume and burst into tears. In this situation she was found by her
husband. |
|
| "It is
dangerous to read in a sorcerer's books," said he with a smile,
though his countenance was uneasy and displeased. "Georgiana, there
are pages in that volume which I can scarcely glance over and keep my
senses. Take heed lest it prove as detrimental to you." |
|
| "It has made me worship you more than ever," said she. | |
| "Ah,
wait for this one success," rejoined he, "then worship me if you
will. I shall deem myself hardly unworthy of it. But come, I have sought
you for the luxury of your voice. Sing to me, dearest." |
|
| So she poured
out the liquid music of her voice to quench the thirst of his spirit. He
then took his leave with a boyish exuberance of gayety, assuring her that
her seclusion would endure but a little longer, and that the result was
already certain. Scarcely had he departed when Georgiana felt irresistibly
impelled to follow him. She had forgotten to inform Aylmer of a
symptom which for two or three hours past had begun to excite her
attention. It was a sensation in the fatal birthmark, not painful, but
which induced a restlessness throughout her system. Hastening after her
husband, she intruded for the first time into the laboratory. |
|
| The first
thing that struck her eye was the furnace, that hot and feverish worker,
with the intense glow of its fire, which by the quantities of soot
clustered above it seemed to have been burning for ages. There was a
distilling apparatus in full operation. Around the room were retorts,
tubes, cylinders, crucibles, and other apparatus of chemical research. An
electrical machine stood ready for immediate use. The atmosphere felt
oppressively close, and was tainted with gaseous odors which had been
tormented forth by the processes of science. The severe and homely
simplicity of the apartment, with its naked walls and brick pavement,
looked strange, accustomed as Georgiana had become to the fantastic
elegance of her boudoir. But what chiefly, indeed almost solely, drew her
attention, was the aspect of Aylmer himself. |
|
| He was pale
as death, anxious and absorbed, and hung over the furnace as if it
depended upon his utmost watchfulness whether the liquid which it was
distilling should be the draught of immortal happiness or misery. How
different from the sanguine and joyous mien that he had assumed for
Georgiana's encouragement! |
|
| "Carefully
now, Aminadab; carefully, thou human machine; carefully, thou man of
clay!" muttered Aylmer, more to himself than his assistant.
"Now, if there be a thought too much or too little, it is all
over." |
|
| "Ho!
ho!" mumbled Aminadab. "Look, master! look!" |
|
| Aylmer raised
his eyes hastily, and at first reddened, then grew paler than ever, on
beholding Georgiana. He rushed towards her and seized her arm with a gripe
that left the print of his fingers upon it. |
|
| "Why do
you come hither? Have you no trust in your husband?" cried he,
impetuously. "Would you throw the blight of that fatal birthmark over
my labors? It is not well done. Go, prying woman, go!" |
|
| "Nay,
Aylmer," said Georgiana with the firmness of which she possessed no
stinted endowment, "it is not you that have a right to complain. You
mistrust your wife; you have concealed the anxiety with which you watch
the development of this experiment. Think not so unworthily of me, my
husband. Tell me all the risk we run, and fear not that I shall shrink;
for my share in it is far less than your own." |
|
| "No, no,
Georgiana!" said Aylmer, impatiently; "it must not be." |
|
| "I
submit," replied she calmly. "And, Aylmer, I shall quaff
whatever draught you bring me; but it will be on the same principle that
would induce me to take a dose of poison if offered by your hand." |
|
| "My
noble wife," said Aylmer, deeply moved, "I knew not the height
and depth of your nature until now. Nothing shall be concealed. Know,
then, that this crimson hand, superficial as it seems, has clutched its
grasp into your being with a strength of which I had no previous
conception. I have already administered agents powerful enough to do aught
except to change your entire physical system. Only one thing remains to be
tried. If that fail us we are ruined." |
|
| "Why did
you hesitate to tell me this?" asked she. |
|
| "Because,
Georgiana," said Aylmer, in a low voice, "there is danger. |
|
| "Danger?
There is but one danger--that this horrible stigma shall be left upon my
cheek!" cried Georgiana. "Remove it, remove it, whatever be the
cost, or we shall both go mad!" |
|
| "Heaven
knows your words are too true," said Aylmer, sadly. "And now,
dearest, return to your boudoir. In a little while all will be
tested." |
|
| He conducted
her back and took leave of her with a solemn tenderness which spoke far
more than his words how much was now at stake. After his departure
Georgiana became rapt in musings. She considered the character of Aylmer,
and did it completer justice than at any previous moment. Her heart
exulted, while it trembled, at his honorable love--so pure and lofty that
it would accept nothing less than perfection nor miserably make itself
contented with an earthlier nature than he had dreamed of. She felt how
much more precious was such a sentiment than that meaner kind which would
have borne with the imperfection for her sake, and have been guilty of
treason to holy love by degrading its perfect idea to the level of the
actual; and with her whole spirit she prayed that, for a single moment,
she might satisfy his highest and deepest conception. Longer than one
moment she well knew it could not be; for his spirit was ever on the
march, ever ascending, and each instant required something that was beyond
the scope of the instant before. |
|
| The sound of
her husband's footsteps aroused her. He bore a crystal goblet containing a
liquor colorless as water, but bright enough to be the draught of
immortality. Aylmer was pale; but it seemed rather the consequence of a
highly-wrought state of mind and tension of spirit than of fear or doubt. |
|
| "The
concoction of the draught has been perfect," said he, in answer to
Georgiana's look. "Unless all my science have deceived me, it cannot
fail." |
|
| "Save on
your account, my dearest Aylmer," observed his wife, "I might
wish to put off this birthmark of mortality by relinquishing mortality
itself in preference to any other mode. Life is but a sad possession
to those who have attained precisely the degree of moral advancement at
which I stand. Were I weaker and blinder it might be happiness. Were I
stronger, it might be endured hopefully. But, being what I find myself,
methinks I am of all mortals the most fit to die." |
|
| "You are
fit for heaven without tasting death!" replied her husband "But
why do we speak of dying? The draught cannot fail. Behold its effect upon
this plant." |
|
| On the window
seat there stood a geranium diseased with yellow blotches, which had
overspread all its leaves. Aylmer poured a small quantity of the liquid
upon the soil in which it grew. In a little time, when the roots of the
plant had taken up the moisture, the unsightly blotches began to be
extinguished in a living verdure. |
|
| "There
needed no proof," said Georgiana, quietly. "Give me the goblet I
joyfully stake all upon your word." |
|
| "Drink,
then, thou lofty creature!" exclaimed Aylmer, with fervid admiration.
"There is no taint of imperfection on thy spirit. Thy sensible frame,
too, shall soon be all perfect." |
|
She quaffed the liquid and returned the goblet to his hand. |
|
| "It is
grateful," said she with a placid smile. "Methinks it is like
water from a heavenly fountain; for it contains I know not what of
unobtrusive fragrance and deliciousness. It allays a feverish thirst that
had parched me for many days. Now, dearest, let me sleep. My earthly
senses are closing over my spirit like the leaves around the heart of a
rose at sunset." |
|
| She spoke the
last words with a gentle reluctance, as if it required almost more energy
than she could command to pronounce the faint and lingering syllables.
Scarcely had they loitered through her lips ere she was lost in slumber.
Aylmer sat by her side, watching her aspect with the emotions proper to a
man the whole value of whose existence was involved in the process now to
be tested. Mingled with this mood, however, was the philosophic
investigation characteristic of the man of science. Not the minutest
symptom escaped him. A heightened flush of the cheek, a slight
irregularity of breath, a quiver of the eyelid, a hardly perceptible
tremor through the frame,--such were the details which, as the moments
passed, he wrote down in his folio volume. Intense thought had set its
stamp upon every previous page of that volume, but the thoughts of years
were all concentrated upon the last. |
|
| While thus
employed, he failed not to gaze often at the fatal hand, and not without a
shudder. Yet once, by a strange and unaccountable impulse he pressed it
with his lips. His spirit recoiled, however, in the very act, and
Georgiana, out of the midst of her deep sleep, moved uneasily and murmured
as if in remonstrance. Again Aylmer resumed his watch. Nor was it without
avail. The crimson hand, which at first had been strongly visible upon the
marble paleness of Georgiana's cheek, now grew more faintly outlined. She
remained not less pale than ever; but the birthmark with every breath that
came and went, lost somewhat of its former distinctness. Its presence had
been awful; its departure was more awful still. Watch the stain of the rainbow fading out the sky, and you will know how that mysterious symbol passed away. |
|
| "By
Heaven! it is well-nigh gone!" said Aylmer to himself, in almost
irrepressible ecstasy. "I can scarcely trace it now. Success!
success! And now it is like the faintest rose color. The lightest flush of
blood across her cheek would overcome it. But she is so pale!" |
|
| He drew aside
the window curtain and suffered the light of natural day to fall into the
room and rest upon her cheek. At the same time he heard a gross, hoarse
chuckle, which he had long known as his servant Aminadab's expression of
delight. |
|
| "Ah,
clod! ah, earthly mass!" cried Aylmer, laughing in a sort of frenzy,
"you have served me well! Matter and spirit--earth and heaven --have
both done their part in this! Laugh, thing of the senses! You have earned
the right to laugh." |
|
| These
exclamations broke Georgiana's sleep. She slowly unclosed her eyes and
gazed into the mirror which her husband had arranged for that purpose. A
faint smile flitted over her lips when she recognized how barely
perceptible was now that crimson hand which had once blazed forth with
such disastrous brilliancy as to scare away all their happiness. But then
her eyes sought Aylmer's face with a trouble and anxiety that he could by
no means account for. |
|
| "My poor
Aylmer!" murmured she. |
|
| "Poor?
Nay, richest, happiest, most favored!" exclaimed he. "My
peerless bride, it is successful! You are perfect!" |
|
| "My poor
Aylmer," she repeated, with a more than human tenderness, "you
have aimed loftily; you have done nobly. Do not repent that with so high
and pure a feeling, you have rejected the best the earth could offer.
Aylmer, dearest Aylmer, I am dying!" |
|
| Alas! it was
too true! The fatal hand had grappled with the mystery of life, and was
the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in union with a mortal
frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark--that sole token of human
imperfection--faded from her cheek, the parting breath of the now perfect
woman passed into the atmosphere, and her soul, lingering a moment near
her husband, took its heavenward flight. Then a hoarse, chuckling laugh
was heard again! Thus ever does the gross fatality of earth exult in its
invariable triumph over the immortal essence which, in this dim sphere of
half development, demands the completeness of a higher state. Yet, had
Alymer reached a profounder wisdom, he need not thus have flung away the happiness which would have woven his mortal life of the selfsame texture with the celestial. The momentary circumstance was too strong for him; he failed to look beyond the shadowy scope of time, and, living once for all in eternity, to find the perfect future in the present. |
|
Course Home Page | The Instructor's Homepage | IVCC Homepage Syllabus Contact Kimberly M. Radek, the instructor of Women in Literature, at Kimberly_Radek@ivcc.edu .
This page was last updated on 21 April 2008 . Copyright Kimberly M. Radek, 2001.