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