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, sombre 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, dearest!" exclaimed he. "Do not shrink from me! Believe
me, Georgiana, I even rejoice in this single imperfection, since
it will be such a rapture to remove it."
"O, 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."
"O, 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, 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.
"O, 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, 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 toward 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 of 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 Aylmer reached a profounder wisdom, he need not thus
have flung away the happiness which would have woven his mortal
life of the self-same 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.