The Birthmark, Page 2

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 red-hot 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, mis-shapen 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 life-time 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 the 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, with its original aim, the methods adopted

  for its development, and its final succes
s 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 short-comings of the

  composite man- the spirit burthened 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 gaiety, 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!"

  "Hoh! hoh!" 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 wrapt 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
<
br />   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