that part of it devoted to education, they proceeded to visit the
church with its various objects of interest; and as De Chaulieu's
thoughts were now forced into another direction, his cheerfulness
began insensibly to return. Natalie looked so beautiful, too, and the
affection betwixt the two young sisters was so pleasant to behold!
And they spent a couple of hours wandering about with Hortense, who
was almost as well informed as the Suisse, till the brazen doors
were open which admitted them to the royal vault.
Satisfied at length with what they had seen, they began to think
of returning to the inn, the more especially as De Chaulieu, who
had not eaten a morsel of food since the previous evening, confessed
to being hungry; so they directed their steps to the door, lingering
here and there as they went to inspect a monument or a painting, when
happening to turn his head aside to see if his wife, who had stopped
to take a last look at the tomb of King Dagobert, was following,
he beheld with horror the face of Jacques Rollet appearing from
behind a column. At the same instant his wife joined him and took
his arm, inquiring if he was not very much delighted with what
he had seen. He attempted to say yes, but the word died upon his
lips; and staggering out of the door, he alleged that a sudden
faintness had overcome him.
They conducted him to the hotel, but Natalie now became seriously
alarmed; and well she might. His complexion looked ghastly, his
limbs shook, and his features bore an expression of indescribable
horror and anguish. What could be the meaning of so extraordinary
a change in the gay, witty, prosperous De Chaulieu, who, till that
morning, seemed not to have a care in the world? For, plead illness
as he might, she felt certain, from the expression of his features,
that his sufferings were not of the body, but of the mind; and
unable to imagine any reason for such extraordinary manifestations,
of which she had never before seen a symptom, but a sudden aversion
to herself, and regret for the step he had taken, her pride took the
alarm, and, concealing the distress she really felt, she began to
assume a haughty and reserved manner toward him, which he naturally
interpreted into an evidence of anger and contempt.
The dinner was placed upon the table, but De Chaulieu's appetite, of
which he had lately boasted, was quite gone; nor was his wife better
able to eat. The young sister alone did justice to the repast; but
although the bridegroom could not eat, he could swallow champagne
in such copious draughts that erelong the terror and remorse which
the apparition of Jacques Rollet had awakened in his breast were
drowned in intoxication.
Amazed and indignant, poor Natalie sat silently observing this elect
of her heart, till, overcome with disappointment and grief, she
quitted the room with her sister, and retired to another apartment,
where she gave free vent to her feelings in tears.
After passing a couple of hours in confidences and lamentations,
they recollected that the hours of liberty, granted as an especial
favor to Mademoiselle Hortense, had expired; but ashamed to exhibit
her husband in his present condition to the eyes of strangers,
Natalie prepared to reconduct her to the Maison Royal herself.
Looking into the dining-room as they passed, they saw De Chaulieu
lying on a sofa, fast asleep, in which state he continued when
his wife returned. At length the driver of their carriage begged
to know if monsieur and madame were ready to return to Paris, and
it became necessary to arouse him.
The transitory effects of the champagne had now subsided; but when
De Chaulieu recollected what had happened, nothing could exceed
his shame and mortification. So engrossing, indeed, were these
sensations, that they quite overpowered his previous ones, and,
in his present vexation, he for the moment forgot his fears. He
knelt at his wife's feet, begged her pardon a thousand times, swore
that he adored her, and declared that the illness and the effect of
the wine had been purely the consequences of fasting and overwork.
It was not the easiest thing in the world to reassure a woman whose
pride, affection, and taste had been so severely wounded; but Natalie
tried to believe, or to appear to do so, and a sort of reconciliation
ensued, not quite sincere on the part of the wife, and very humbling
on the part of the husband. Under these circumstances it was impossible
that he should recover his spirits or facility of manner; his gayety
was forced, his tenderness constrained; his heart was heavy within
him; and ever and anon the source whence all this disappointment
and woe had sprung would recur to his perplexed and tortured mind.
Thus mutually pained and distrustful, they returned to Paris, which
they reached about nine o'clock. In spite of her depression, Natalie,
who had not seen her new apartments, felt some curiosity about them,
whilst De Chaulieu anticipated a triumph in exhibiting the elegant
home he had prepared for her. With some alacrity, therefore, they
stepped out of the carriage, the gates of the hotel were thrown
open, the _concierge_ rang the bell which announced to the servants
that their master and mistress had arrived; and whilst these domestics
appeared above, holding lights over the balusters, Natalie, followed
by her husband, ascended the stairs.
But when they reached the landing-place of the first flight, they
saw the figure of a man standing in a corner, as if to make way for
them. The flash from above fell upon his face, and again Antoine
de Chaulieu recognized the features of Jacques Rollet.
From the circumstance of his wife preceding him, the figure was
not observed by De Chaulieu till he was lifting his foot to place
it on the top stair: the sudden shock caused him to miss the step,
and without uttering a sound, he fell back, and never stopped until
he reached the stones at the bottom.
The screams of Natalie brought the _concierge_ from below and the
maids from above, and an attempt was made to raise the unfortunate
man from the ground; but with cries of anguish he besought them
to desist.
"Let me," he said, "die here. O God! what a dreadful vengeance
is thine! Natalie, Natalie," he exclaimed to his wife, who was
kneeling beside him, "to win fame, and fortune, and yourself, I
committed a dreadful crime. With lying words I argued away the
life of a fellow-creature, whom, whilst I uttered them, I half
believed to be innocent; and now, when I have attained all I desired
and reached the summit of my hopes, the Almighty has sent him back
upon the earth to blast me with the sight. Three times this day--three
times this day! Again! Again! Again!" And as he spoke, his wild
and dilated eyes fixed themselves on one of the individuals that
surrounded him.
"He is delirious," said they.
"No," said the stranger, "what he says is true enough, at least in
part." And, bending over the expiring man, he added, "May Heaven
forgive you, Antoine de Chaulieu! I am no apparition, but the veritable
Jacques Rollet, who was saved by one who well knew my innocence. I
may name him, for he is beyond the reach of the law now: it was
Claperon, the jailer, who, in a fit of jealousy, had himself killed
Alphonse de Bellefonds."
"But--but there were three," gasped Antoine.
"Yes, a miserable idiot, who had been so long in confinement for
a murder that he was forgotten by the authorities, was substituted
for me. At length I obtained, through the assistance of my sister,
the position of _concierge_ in the Hotel Marboeuf, in the Rue Grange
Bateliere. I entered on my new place yesterday evening, and was
desired to awaken the gentleman on the third floor at seven o'clock.
When I entered the room to do so, you were asleep; but before I
had time to speak, you awoke, and I recognized your features in
the glass. Knowing that I could not vindicate my innocence if you
chose to seize me, I fled, and seeing an omnibus starting for St.
Denis, I got on it with a vague idea of getting on to Calais and
crossing the Channel to England. But having only a franc or two in
my pocket, or indeed in the world, I did not know how to procure
the means of going forward; and whilst I was lounging about the
place, forming first one plan and then another, I saw you in the
church, and, concluding that you were in pursuit of me, I thought
the best way of eluding your vigilance was to make my way back to
Paris as fast as I could; so I set off instantly, and walked all
the way; but having no money to pay my night's lodging, I came
here to borrow a couple of livres of my sister Claudine, who is
a _brodeuse_ and resides _au cinquieme_."
"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed the dying man, "that sin is off my soul.
Natalie, dear wife, farewell! Forgive--forgive all."
These were the last words he uttered; the priest, who had been
summoned in haste, held up the cross before his failing sight; a
few strong convulsions shook the poor bruised and mangled frame;
and then all was still.
THE BIRTHMARK.
BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE.
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. 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 its 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 often called a charm, that I was simple enough to imagine
it might be so."
"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 emotion 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 bas-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 under-worker 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."