CHAPTER VI.
THE GREAT CHANGE.
The Bacillus of Beauty! Was the poor man insane? Had much study made ofhim a monomaniac babbling in a dream of absurdities? Do you wonder thatI doubted?
And yet--the thought flashed through my mind that things almost asstrange have become the commonplace. I had seen the bones of my ownhand through the veiling flesh. I had listened to a voice a thousandmiles away. I had seen insects cut in two, grafted together, head ofone and tail of another, and living. I had seen many, many marvelswhich science has wrought along the lines of evolution. And yet--
My dream; my desire always! If it could be!
As I stared open-mouthed at the Professor, he began once more:--
"T'e danger, t'e risk--t'ere is none. You shall see. It is as harmlessas--"
"Never mind about that!" I interrupted. "How would I look? Would itchange me totally? Would I really be the most beautiful?--"
I stopped, blushing at my own eagerness.
"Absolutely; I svear it. T'e most perfectly beautiful voman in t'evorld. Mein Gott, yes. How not? Never vas t'ere yet a perfectlybeautiful voman. Not von. All have defects; none fulfills t'e ideal.You? You vill look like yourself. I do not miracles. T'e same soul villlook out of your eyes. You vill be perfect, but of your type. T'e sameeyes, more bright; t'e same hair, more lustrous and abundant; t'e samecomplexion clear and pure; t'e same voman as she might have been if t'erace had gone on defeloping a hundred t'ousand years. Look you. Someadmire blondes; some brunettes. You are not a Svede to be white, anItalian to be black. You are a brown American. You shall be t'e mostbeautiful brown American t'at efer lifed. And you shall be first. Vit'you as an example we shall convince t'e vorld. Ve shall accomplish int'ree generations t'e vork of a hundred t'ousand years of defelopment.How vill humanity bless us if we can raise, out of t'e slums andsqualor, out of t'e crooked and blind and degraded, out of t'ehospitals and prisons, t'e spawning dregs of humanity and make t'emperfect! T'ey shall valk t'e eart' like gods, rejoicing in t'eirstrengt'. No more failures, no more abnormalities. Nature's vorkhastened by science, aeons of veary vaiting and slow efolutionforestalled by--by me!"
The little Professor stood erect, his eye fixed on mine, his miencommanding. I had never looked on man so transfigured.
The thought was intoxicating me, driving me wild. I tried to think, tostruggle against the tide that was sweeping me away. He seemed to behypnotizing me with his grave, uncanny eye. I could not move, I couldnot speak.
"You may ask," Darmstetter went on--though I had not thought ofasking--"if t'e beauty vould be hereditable; if as an acquiredcharacteristic, it vould pass to descendants, or, if each child villnot haf to be treated anew. I believe no. It is true t'at acquiredtraits are not hereditable. T'ere Weissmann is right, v'atefer doubtersmay say. You know t'e t'eory. T'e blacksmit's muscles are nottransmitted to his son t'e clerk; but t'e black hair t'at he got fromhis fat'er. Only after fery many generations of blacksmit's could a boybe born who vould grow up as a clerk vit' blacksmit' muscles. Efolutionshapes t'e vorld, yes; but t'e process is so slow, so slow! Soeducation, modification, must begin afresh vit' each generation andcontinue forefer. But t'is bacillus does not add ornament to t'eoutside. It is not like t'e masseuse, vit' her unguents and kneading.It changes all t'e nature. It is like compressing a million years ofeducation by natural selection into von lifetime. T'at is my t'eory. Ido not know--it is not yet tried--but how ot'ervise? Ve but hasten t'eprocess, as t'e chemist hastens fermentation; Nature constructs, shedoes not adapt or alter or modify. Ve produce beauty by Nature's ownmet'od. V'y not hereditary?"
I had made up my mind.
"I'll do it," I cried, no longer able to resist, for the fever of itwas in my blood. "You shall make your attempt on me! It can do no harm.I do not see how it can accomplish all you claim, but if youthink--it's an experiment full of possibilities--in the interests ofscience--"
"Interest of humbug!" snapped Prof. Darmstetter, his own sarcastic selfagain. "You consent because you vant to be beautiful. You care not'ingfor science. I can trust you vit' my secret. You need svear no oat'snot to reveal it. You vant to be t'e only perfect voman in t'e vorld,and so you shall be, for some time. T'at is right. T'at is your revard."
My cheeks flushed at his injustice. I do care for others. I am notselfish--not more than everybody. And yet--at that moment I feared himand his knowledge; I shuddered at nameless terrors.
Really, I often wonder that I ever had the courage to try. And oh, I amso glad!
Now there is no more fear. Darmstetter is my servant, if I will it. Asfor his marvellous power, I shall bless it and reverence it all mylife. I thank God for letting me know this man. It is toowonderful--too wonderful for words!
The transformation was slow at first. The beginning--such an anxioustime. Every day I studied myself and watched and waited for the firstsign of growing grace, for the dawning glory. Sometimes I thought Icould see the change already under way, and then again the same plainNelly Winship looked at me from the uncomplimentary glass, and awayflew all my hopes.
It was the fading of a little scar on my thumb that first let me knowthe blessed truth. Now I can scarcely see the place where it was, andI'm sure no one else would notice it. It will never go away entirely.Prof. Darmstetter says I am not proof against wounds and old age,because these are a part of Nature's great plan. But it faded, faded!
And my ears! How I used to hate their prominence! But soon theysnuggled closer to my beautiful, beautiful face--and I'm in sure Idon't blame them. Every morning when I woke, my shining eyes and thebloom of my cheeks told me I was growing perfect, just as he said Imust do. Though I'm not yet quite perfect.
I could sit at my glass and look for hours at my reflected image--if itweren't for Kitty--and--
Why, it seems like another girl, and such a girl as never the world sawbefore--not me, but Her. Sometimes times I fear Her; but oftener andoftener, as I get used to the lovely vision, I want to hug Her rightout of the cold mirror and kiss Her and pat Her smooth cheek like achild's, and put pretty clothes upon Her, as if she were a doll.
And then I try to realise that Her is Me, my own self, and I justcannot believe it! I look from the reflected image to a littlephotograph of the Helen Winship I once knew, and back again to theglass, and wonder, and thank God, and shudder with awe of my ownloveliness. I luxuriate in it, I joy in it, I feel it in every fibre ofmy being. I am as happy as a queen. I am a queen--or She is.
I am but slightly taller. My form is more rounded and of better mould,but I am still slender. My face is the same face but--how can I expressit? A Venus with the--the expression of a Western schoolgirl pursuingspecial studies in New York, looks at me with Her eyes. They are theeyes of Helen Winship, but larger and fuller orbed and more lustrous,with an appeal that makes me fall in love with myself, as I look. Thenose is longer and straighter, the cheeks fuller and fairer, the chindaintier, the neck--ah, well, why shouldn't I be frank? I am beautiful!
And the complexion--still so strange I do not say "mycomplexion"--clear, fair, rosy all in one, with the fineness and purityof a baby's; it is the most indescribable of all the marvels that glowin my glass. Before, I had the rather sallow, powder-excusing skin ofso many Western girls. Now it is perfect. I love to gaze by the hour atmy own beauty. I should be renamed Narcissa.
My voice, too, is glorious. I have to school myself not to start at thesound of it when I speak. And most of all, what most impresses me whenI try to consider myself fairly--candidly--critically--is theappearance of strength, of health, of unbounded power and deathlessyouth--as if the blood of generations of athletic girls and free,Viking men ran in my veins. I am, I believe, the only perfectly healthywoman on earth.
Will the gods smite me for my happiness? Are they jealous? Ah, well, Ihave never lived until now, and if I can stay a little while like this,I shall be satisfied; I shall be ready to die. If only beauty does notvanish as suddenly as it came! If it did, I should kill myself.
There
are disadvantages. Such a time as I'm having with my clothes!Money to buy new is not so plenty as I could wish, though the $75 amonth that Father sends was more than enough until the change. I'msaving to buy a microscope--a better one than those loaned to studentsat the laboratory; so I have to let out and contrive--I who so hate aneedle!
And the staring admiration that is lavished on me everywhere! I supposeI'll get used to it; but it's a new experience. I like to be looked at,too, much as it embarrasses me. My loveliness is like a beautiful newdress; one is delighted to have it, but terribly shy about wearing it,at first.
Admiration! Why, the mystified music master is ready to go down on hisknees to me, the janitor and the page boys are puzzled. I wonder--Iwonder what John will say, I almost dread to think of his seeing me so;yet it will be the greatest test. Test! I need none!
The girls in the laboratory are divided between awe and envy, and KittyReid--poor Kitty! She began by being puzzled, then grew panic stricken.
The first time she noticed--I shall always remember it--was when I camein from the college one day, still skeptical of change, yet hoping itmight be so.
"Why, you've a new way of doing your hair--no; same old pug--butsomehow--you're looking uncommon fit to-day," she said glancing up fromher drawings.
My heart leaped for joy. It was true then! It was true! But rememberingMiss Coleman, I forced myself to reply as quietly as I could:--
"My genius must be beginning to sprout."
A little later Kitty was in constant mystification.
"How do you do it?" she would demand. "What have you got? Can't you letme into the secret? I just think you might introduce me to the fairygodmother."
If I were to tell any one, it would be Kitty, of course. Such a dearlittle red-headed angel she would make! But it would not be fair toProf. Darmstetter. He is not ready yet. So I can only sham ignoranceand joke with her about milk baths and cold cream and rain water. Nowthat she has reached the stage of fright, I have great fun with her.
"The age of miracles has come again," she says a hundred times a day."I can't believe my eyes! How is it that you are growing so beautiful?Is it witchcraft?"
"Am I better looking?" I inquire languidly. "Well, I'm glad of it. Ihad an aunt who was well-favoured when she was young; it's high time Itook after her, if I'm ever going to."
"No living aunt ever looked as you do now," Kitty will mutter, shakingher head. "I don't know what to think. I'm half afraid of you."
To tell the truth, she's more than half afraid of me, and I delight inmystifying her all I can.
But the strangest thing of all, the most ridiculous thing, consideringhis age, the oddest thing when one remembers that he himself is itscreator--Professor Darmstetter is half in love with the beauty he hasmade; he would be, if he might, the gray and withered Pygmalion of myGalatea!