CHAPTER LXXXII.

"So," said Margrave, turning to me, "under the soil that spreads around us

lies the gold which to you and to me is at this moment of no value, except

as a guide to its twin-born,--the regenerator of life!"

"You have not yet described to me the nature of the substance which we are

to explore, nor of the process by which the virtues you impute to it are

to be extracted."

"Let us first find the gold, and instead of describing the life-amber, so

let me call it, I will point it out to your own eyes. As to the process,

your share in it is so simple, that you will ask me why I seek aid from a

chemist. The life-amber, when found, has but to be subjected to heat and

fermentation for six hours; it will be placed, in a small caldron which

that coffer contains, over the fire which that fuel will feed. To give

effect to the process, certain alkalies and other ingredients are

required; but these are prepared, and mine is the task to commingle them.

From your science as chemist I need and ask nought. In you I have sought

only the aid of a man."

"If that be so, why, indeed, seek me at all? Why not confide in those

swarthy attendants, who doubtless are slaves to your orders?"

"Confide in slaves! when the first task enjoined to them would be to

discover, and refrain from purloining gold! Seven such unscrupulous

knaves, or even one such, and I, thus defenceless and feeble! Such is not

the work that wise masters confide to fierce slaves. But that is the

least of the reasons which exclude them from my choice, and fix my choice

of assistant on you. Do you forget what I told you of the danger which

the Dervish declared no bribe I could offer could tempt him a second time

to brave?"

"I remember now; those words had passed away from my mind."

"And because they had passed away from your mind, I chose you for my

comrade. I need a man by whom danger is scorned."

"But in the process of which you tell me I see no possible danger unless

the ingredients you mix in your caldron have poisonous fumes."

"It is not that. The ingredients I use are not poisons."

"What other danger, except you dread your own Eastern slaves? But, if so,

why lead them to these solitudes; and, if so, why not bid me be armed?"

"The Eastern slaves, fulfilling my commands, wait for my summons where

their eyes cannot see what we do. The danger is of a kind in which the

boldest son of the East would be more craven, perhaps, than the daintiest

Sybarite of Europe, who would shrink from a panther and laugh at a ghost.

In the creed of the Dervish, and of all who adventure into that realm of

nature which is closed to philosophy and open to magic, there are races in

the magnitude of space unseen as animalcules in the world of a drop. For

the tribes of the drop, science has its microscope. Of the host of yon

azure Infinite magic gains sight, and through them gains command over

fluid conductors that link all the parts of creation. Of these races,

some are wholly indifferent to man, some benign to him, and some dreadly

hostile. In all the regular and prescribed conditions of mortal being,

this magic realm seems as blank and tenantless as yon vacant air. But

when a seeker of powers beyond the rude functions by which man plies the

clockwork that measures his hours, and stops when its chain reaches the

end of its coil, strives to pass over those boundaries at which philosophy

says, 'Knowledge ends,'--then he is like all other travellers in regions

unknown; he must propitiate or brave the tribes that are hostile,--must

depend for his life on the tribes that are friendly. Though your science

discredits the alchemist's dogmas, your learning informs you that all

alchemists were not ignorant impostors; yet those whose discoveries prove

them to have been the nearest allies to your practical knowledge, ever

hint in their mystical works at the reality of that realm which is open to

magic,--ever hint that some means less familiar than furnace and bellows

are essential to him who explores the elixir of life. He who once quaffs

that elixir, obtains in his very veins the bright fluid by which he

transmits the force of his will to agencies dormant in nature, to giants

unseen in the space. And here, as he passes the boundary which divides

his allotted and normal mortality from the regions and races that magic

alone can explore, so, here, he breaks down the safeguard between himself

and the tribes that are hostile. Is it not ever thus between man and man?

Let a race the most gentle and timid and civilized dwell on one side a

river or mountain, and another have home in the region beyond, each, if it

pass not the intervening barrier, may with each live in peace. But if

ambitious adventurers scale the mountain, or cross the river, with design

to subdue and enslave the population they boldly invade, then all the

invaded arise in wrath and defiance,--the neighbours are changed into

foes. And therefore this process--by which a simple though rare material

of nature is made to yield to a mortal the boon of a life which brings,

with its glorious resistance to Time, desires and faculties to subject to

its service beings that dwell in the earth and the air and the deep--has

ever been one of the same peril which an invader must brave when he

crosses the bounds of his nation. By this key alone you unlock all the

cells of the alchemist's lore; by this alone understand how a labour,

which a chemist's crudest apprentice could perform, has baffled the giant

fathers of all your dwarfed children of science. Nature, that stores this

priceless boon, seems to shrink from conceding it to man; the invisible

tribes that abhor him, oppose themselves to the gain that might give them

a master. The duller of those who were the life-seekers of old would have

told you how some chance, trivial, unlooked-for, foiled their grand hope

at the very point of fruition,--some doltish mistake, some improvident

oversight, a defect in the sulphur, a wild overflow in the quicksilver, or

a flaw in the bellows, or a pupil who failed to replenish the fuel, by

falling asleep by the furnace. The invisible foes seldom vouchsafe to

make themselves visible where they can frustrate the bungler, as they mock

at his toils from their ambush. But the mightier adventurers, equally

foiled in despite of their patience and skill, would have said, 'Not with

us rests the fault; we neglected no caution, we failed from no oversight.

But out from the caldron dread faces arose, and the spectres or demons

dismayed and baffled us.' Such, then, is the danger which seems so

appalling to a son of the East, as it seemed to a sees in the dark age of

Europe. But we can deride all its threats, you and I. For myself, I own

frankly I take all the safety that the charms and resources of magic

bestow. You, for your safety, have the cultured and disciplined reason

which reduces all fantasies to nervous impressions; and I rely on the

courage of one who has questioned, unquailing, the Luminous Shadow, and

wrested from the hand of the magician himself the wand which concentred

the wonders of will!"

To this strange and long discourse I listened without interruption, and

now quietly answered,--

"I do not merit the trust you affect in my courage; but I am now on my

guard against the cheats of the fancy, and the fumes of a vapour can

scarcely bewilder the brain in the open air of this mountain-land. I

believe in no races like those which you tell me lie viewless in space, as

do gases. I believe not in magic; I ask not its aids, and I dread not its

terrors. For the rest, I am confident of one mournful courage,--the

courage that comes from despair. I submit to your guidance, whatever it

be, as a sufferer whom colleges doom to the grave submits to the quack who

says, 'Take my specific and live!' My life is nought in itself; my life

lives in another. You and I are both brave from despair; you would turn

death from yourself, I would turn death from one I love more than myself.

Both know how little aid we can win from the colleges, and both,

therefore, turn to the promises most audaciously cheering. Dervish or

magician, alchemist or phantom, what care you and I? And if they fail us,

what then? They cannot fail us more than the colleges do!"

A Strange Story — Volume 08 · 第 9 / 16 章