Hehe, make a copy here for future reference.
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The Birthmark
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 his 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 motion 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 bass-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 underworker 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.”
When Georgiana recovered consciousness she found herself breathing 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.”
“Oh, 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.”
“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 redhot 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.
“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 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 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 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 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 Alymer reached a profounder wisdom, he need not thus have flung away the happiness which would have woven his mortal life of the selfsame 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.
胎记
上个世纪下半叶，有位在各门自然科学中都享有盛名的科学家，在我们的故事开始之前
不久，感受到了强似任何化学亲和力的精神吸引力，就把实验室扔给助手照管，洗净被炉火
熏黑的清俊面庞，洗去手上斑斑的酸液痕迹，去追一位美丽的女人，让她成为自己的妻子。
那年头，电及其它大自然的奥秘刚被发现，仿佛打开了进入奇异世界的条条途径。人们热爱
科学，那份深情与专注甚至胜过对女人的爱。超群的智力，想象力，精神，甚至感情，都能
从各种科学探索中找到相宜的养料。这些探索，正如一些热诚献身者相信的那样，将把强有
力的智慧步步向前推进，直到科学家找到创造力的秘密，并为自己开拓一片新天地。不知道
阿尔默对人类最终把握大自然有没有这等信心，不过，他已毫无保留地致力于科学研究，任
何别的激情都不能使他放弃自己的追求。他爱娇妻也许甚于爱科学，但这爱情只有与对科学
的爱互相交织，并且把科学的力量与他自己的力量相结合，才显得更为强烈。
这种结合于是产生，并招来真正惊人的后果与深刻的教训。婚后不久的一天，阿尔默坐
在那儿端详妻子，神情越来越烦躁，终于开口。
“乔治亚娜，”他说，“你从没想过脸上那块胎记也许可以弄掉么？”
“没想过，真的。”她微微一笑。可发觉丈夫的严肃，脸又变得通红。“老实说，人家
都讲它妩媚迷人，我也就以为如此了。”
“啊，长在别人脸上也许如此，”丈夫道，“可在你脸上绝不是。不，亲爱的乔治亚
娜，大自然把你造得几乎尽善尽美，所以这一点点瑕疵——我吃不准该叫它缺憾还是美丽—
—也令人震惊，因为它是人间遗憾的明显标记。”
“令你震惊，我的夫君！”乔治亚娜深感委屈，顿时粉脸气得绯红，接着就珠泪涟涟，
“那你干嘛把我从我妈身边娶了来？总不会是爱一个令你震惊的人吧！”
要解释这场谈话，须提示各位，乔治亚娜左边脸颊上生着一块特殊的印记，与面部肌肉
组织深深地长在一起。平时，她脸色娇嫩，健康红润——这印记便显得深红，在周围的玫瑰
红中稍稍露出它的形状。她突然脸红时，这印记会渐渐变得更模糊，最后消失在猛然涌上面
颊的一片光彩照人的红晕之中。但是，只要情绪变化，使她面色苍白，那印记就会再现，犹
如白雪之中一点红，那份清晰有时简直令阿尔默触目惊心。这印记很像一只人手，虽说只有
最小号侏儒的手那样大小。乔治亚娜的倾慕者们都说，她出生之时，有位仙女把玉手按在了
婴儿的脸上，留下这个记号，便给了她颠倒众人的魅力。许多爱得发狂的青年，为得到亲吻
这神秘手印的特权，甚至愿冒生命危险。不过，无须讳言，人们对那位仙女手迹的印象千差
万别，因为各人性格不同。一帮吹毛求疵者——不过无一例外全是女性，断言这只血手——
她们宁肯这么叫——大大破坏了乔治亚娜的美貌，把她的脸弄得丑陋可怕。话说回来，断定
最纯净的大理石上有时出现的蓝色斑痕，只须小小一块，就足以将出自鲍威斯①之手的夏娃
雕像变成怪物，也有它的道理。而男性观察者们，若这块胎记不曾增添他们的艳羡，也满足
于但愿它能消失，好让这世界拥有一个美仑美色合乎理想的活标本。阿尔默婚前极少或根本
没想过这件事，但婚后发现自己的心愿正是如此。
①鲍威斯（海勒姆·鲍威斯HiramPowers，1805—1873）：美国著名雕刻家。其作
品《堕落前的夏娃》受到高度赞美。
她要是没这么美丽——要是妒忌之神能找到别的嘲弄目标——他也许会由于这块细小可
人的胎记而更添爱慕。这块小手形的胎记时而朦胧出现，时而无影无踪；时而悄然归来，伴
随她情绪的波动若隐若现。可是，既然她其它方面如此完美无憾，阿尔默便觉得在他们的共
同生活当中，这个缺点变得愈来愈难以容忍。人类有一大致命缺陷，这就是自然之神对待她
的造物，总以种种方式留下不可磨灭的烙印，要么意味着万物生命短暂有限，要么意味着若
求完美必须含辛茹苦。这块绯红的胎记表明，人类逃不脱死亡的厄运，死亡能攫住尘世最崇
高最纯洁的造物，将他们贬到最卑贱甚至于畜生的地位。与畜生一样，人类有形的躯体也终
将回归尘土。阿尔默就以这种方式认定，这胎记便是妻子难逃罪孽、悲伤、腐朽与死亡的象
征。他阴暗的想象力不久就将这块胎记视为不祥之物。它所造成的烦恼与恐惧，超过乔治亚
娜善良心灵与美丽容貌带来的欢乐。
在本该是他们最愉快的时刻，他却老是回到这个灾难般的话题上来。不，他并非故意，
还力图回避它呢。起先，这只是一件区区小事，但它却与它招来的一连串想法与不同感觉紧
密相连，结果成为一切的中心点。晨光曦微，阿尔默争眼看看妻子，一下就认出那缺陷的标
记。夜晚炉火旁，夫妻相守，他目光会偷偷溜到她脸上，在木柴摇曳的火光中发现那鬼似的
手形忽隐忽现，在他情愿膜拜的地方写下必死二字。乔治亚娜不久就意识到这一点，在他的
凝视下瑟瑟颤栗。他只要露出这种常挂在脸上的怪相对她瞥上一眼，她红润的脸蛋立刻就变
得死一般苍白。那只绯红的小手就会明显地喷薄而出，恰似洁白大理石上的一颗红宝石浮雕。
一日夜深，火光渐次暗淡。可怜妻子脸上的胎记已几乎辨不出来。她头一回主动提起这
个话题。
“亲爱的阿尔默，还记得么，”她勉强微笑，“昨天晚上你那个梦，梦到了这只可恶的
手？”
“不！什么也不记得了！”阿尔默吃了一惊。不过马上就干巴巴冷冰冰地补上一句，好
掩饰自己深深的忧虑，“也许会梦到的，因为入睡之前心里老想着它。”
“那你真的梦到它啦？”乔治亚娜忙问，唯恐泪水会夺眶而出，打断想说的话。“可怕
的梦！我不信你会忘掉它。难道能忘掉这句话么？——‘它现在到她心里了，咱们非得除掉
它！’想想吧，我的丈夫，无论如何，我都请你把那梦想起来。”
席卷一切的梦神，无法将手下的幽灵禁锢在她混沌的势力范围之内，听任它们冲将出
来，使现实生活受到属于内心世界之秘密的恐吓，此时的心境自然十分悲哀。阿尔默现在想
起了自己的梦。他梦见与助手阿米那达布一道，试图通过手术去掉妻子的胎记。可是手术刀
切得越深，那只小手陷得也越深。到后来，它竟紧紧抓住了乔治亚娜的心脏，而她丈夫则毫
不动摇，非要将它切除或扯掉不可。
完全想起梦境之后，阿尔默感到愧对妻子。真实常常趁大脑沉沉酣睡之时翩然出现，将
我们醒时不自觉地自我欺骗的种种事情直言相陈。直到现在，他才意识到自己内心世界已被
一个意识完全左右，而为了得到安宁，他竟会想到要做出什么样的事来。
“阿尔默，”乔治亚娜认真地接着说，“我不知道为除掉这块不吉利的胎记，咱俩得付
出多大代价。说不定去掉它会留下无法医治的残疾，也可能它就是生命本身的印记。再说一
遍，我们是否知道不惜任何代价，有没有办法除掉这只在我出生之前就已紧紧抓住了我的小
手？”
“亲爱的乔治亚娜，这事我考虑已久。”阿尔默连忙打断她的话，“我相信去掉它完全
办得到。”
“哪怕只有丁点儿可能，”乔治亚娜接着说，“不管冒多大风险，都试试看吧。危险我
不在乎，因为只要有这块可怕的印记，你就对我又害怕又讨厌。生命——生命就成了我心甘
情愿扔掉的包袱。要么去掉这只可怕的手，要么拿去我悲惨的生命！你学问高深，世人有目
共睹。你创造了那么多奇迹，难道连这么一块小小的小小的印记都除不掉么？我的两只小手
指尖都能盖住它呢。为了你自己的安宁，为了救救你可怜的妻子免于发疯，难道你连这都办
不到么？”
“最高尚最亲爱最温柔的妻呀，”阿尔默欣喜若狂。“不要怀疑我的力量，此事我已进
行过深入思考。它给我带来的启发几乎能使我造出一个比你稍欠完美的人来。乔治亚娜，你
把我更深入地带进了科学的心脏。我感到自己完全能够把这一侧可爱的面颊变得与另一侧同
样完美无缺。到那时，最亲爱的，一旦我纠正了大自然最美丽造物的瑕疵，我将多么快乐！
就连皮格梅隆①的少女雕像获得生命之时，他那份狂喜也比不上我呢。”
①皮格梅隆（Pygmalon）：希腊神话中的塞浦路斯国王，热恋自己所雕的阿芙洛蒂
特象牙雕像，由于祈祷虔诚，女神为之感动，赋予雕像生命。他遂娶这位少女为妻。
“那就一言为定，”乔治亚娜怯懦地笑笑。“阿尔默，别舍不得我，就算最后发现那胎
记一直长到了我心里。”
丈夫温存地亲亲妻子的脸颊——右脸颊——不是长着绯红小手印的那一侧。
第二天，阿尔默告诉妻子他想好的一个计划，以便能有机会深思熟虑和专心观察，而这
些都是计划中的手术所必需的。乔治亚娜也可以安心静养，这对手术成功至关重要。夫妻俩
要与世隔绝，住进阿尔默用作实验室的扩建的房间里去。在这里，阿尔默曾度了他艰难跋涉
的青年时代，在大自然原动力方面做出了重要发现，使整个欧洲学术界钦佩不已。静坐于这
个实验室中，面色苍白的科学家曾研究过最高云层与最深矿藏的秘密，查明了火山爆发与不
断喷火的原因；解开了喷泉之谜，说明了为什么从黑暗的地心喷涌而出的火，有的纯净透
明，有的富于医疗功效；同样在这里，他早期还研究过人类骨胳的奥妙，试图彻底弄清自然
母亲从大地与天空，以及精神世界汲取的所有精华，创造和养育她的杰作——人类——的过
程。不过，这项研究阿尔默搁置已久，颇不情愿地承认了一条真理——一切探索者早晚都会
在这儿跌跤子的——这就是，哺育万物的伟大的自然母亲虽表面上在光天化日之下创造奇
迹，可她却极为小心地严守秘密；尽管装得豁达坦白，给我们看到的却只有成果没有过程。
她的确允许我们破坏，却极少允许我们修补，好比一位怀有戒心的专利占有者，绝不许我们
进行创造。然而，现在阿尔默又重拾这些几乎被遗忘的研究，当然并不抱当初的希望或愿
望，而是因为这些研究涉及许多生理学方面的真理，并且是乔治亚娜治疗方案的拦路虎。
他将妻子带到实验室，跨入门槛时，乔治亚娜浑身发冷，抖个不停。阿尔默兴致勃勃地
注视着她，想给她宽宽心，却吃惊地发现她雪白的面颊上那块胎记赫然在目，不由得也痉挛
似地打一个大寒战。妻子顿时昏了过去。
“阿米那达布！阿米那达布！”阿尔默扯开嗓门大叫，一面用力跺脚。
里屋立刻走出一个人来，身量短小却身躯庞大，头发乱蓬蓬，面孔黑黝黝。此人在阿尔
默全部科学生涯中，一直充当他的助手，非常称职。召之即来，来之能战，虽对科学原理一
窍不通，却能完成主人实验中的一切具体工作。他精力充沛，头发蓬乱，满面烟尘，浑身上
下难以形容的粗犷纯朴，仿佛代表了人类肉体凡胎的本性。而阿尔默则身材颀长，肤色白
皙，一脸智慧，也恰好象征着人类的精神素质。“打开闺房的门，阿米那达布，”阿尔默命
道，“再点支香锭。”
“遵命，主人，”阿米那达布关心地看一眼毫无生气的乔治亚娜，自言自语地说，“她
要是我老婆，我可舍不得那块胎记。”
乔治亚娜苏醒过来，但觉芳香扑鼻，香味温和的功效将她从死一般的昏厥中唤醒。四周
的一切仿佛中了魔咒。阿尔默已将这些烟熏火燎，邋里邋遢，昏暗阴森的房间变成一套漂亮
的房间，给一个十分可爱的女人做隐居的闺房十分合适。墙上悬挂着华丽的帷幔，使人感到
豪华雅致，换一种装饰就达不到这种效果。帷幔从天花板直落地面，无数沉甸甸的褶皱，挡
住了所有尖角与直线，将这里与无限的空间隔绝开来。乔治亚娜觉得，这许是一座云中楼阁
呢。阿尔默遮挡了阳光，唯恐会影响他的化学实验过程，却安装了散发香气的照明灯，发出
五颜六色的光焰，而这些彩灯又全都融为一种柔和的紫色光线。此刻，阿尔默跪在妻子身旁
关切地看着她，倒并不惊慌，因为他对自己的科学非常自信，认为能在她周围划上一道妖孽
难入的魔圈。
“我在哪儿？哦，想起来了，”乔治亚娜虚弱地说，同时伸手捂住那块可恨胎记，不让
丈夫看到。
“别怕，亲爱的！”他说，“别怕我！相信我，乔治亚娜，我甚至为这特殊的缺憾高兴
呐，因为去掉它将给我带来巨大快乐。”
“哦，饶了我吧！”妻子难过地回答，“请别再看着它了。
我再也忘不掉你那个痉挛似的寒战。”
为安抚乔治亚娜，也可以说是为帮她忘却现实的烦恼，阿尔默现在运用了一些深奥科学
的轻松而有趣的秘密。轻盈的人形，无形的意念，虚幻的美丽形象一齐出现，在她面前舞
蹈，在道道光柱中留下它们转瞬即逝的舞步。她虽对这些光学现象的方法有一知半解，但这
些幻觉这般近乎完美，足以使她确信丈夫拥有操纵精神世界的力量。接着，她又向往从这与
世隔绝的地方看看外面的世界。立刻，这念头就得到了应答，外界的一切便依次掠过她的眼
帘，现实生活中的景象和人物都完美地呈现在面前，但具有那种令人心醉神迷，却又无法形
容的差异。这种差异总是使一幅画，一个形象，或一个影子比原物更加美丽动人。腻味这些
之后，阿尔默要她看一眼一只装了些泥土的钵子。她起初不在意，但很快就吃惊地发现，一
棵幼芽破土而出，正努力地往上长，纤细的茎长好了，叶片缓缓舒展开来，中间竟有一朵娇
艳可爱的鲜花。
“是魔花！”乔治亚娜惊道，“我可不敢碰它。”
“不，摘下它吧，”阿尔默道。“摘了它，尽快吸取它短暂的香味儿。这花儿马上就会
凋萎，除了褐色的种子荚壳，什么也不会留下。不过，这些种子将繁衍出一种与它同样短命
的花卉来。”
然而，乔治亚娜刚一碰那朵花，整棵花就枯萎了，叶片变得乌黑，被火烤焦了似的。
“刺激太强烈啦。”阿尔默沉思地说。
为补偿这次失败的实验，他提议用自己发明的一种科学方法，为她画一张肖像，就是用
光来照在一块抛光的金属板上。乔治亚娜同意了。可一看结果，她吓了一跳，肖像上五官一
片模糊，难以分辨，而该是面颊的地方却只见一只小小的手形。阿尔默一把抢过金属板，朝
一罐酸腐蚀剂扔去。
但是，他很快就把这些出乖露丑的失败抛诸脑后。在研究与化学实验的间歇中间，他回
到她身边，面红耳赤，精疲力竭。但似乎一见妻子就精神大振，高谈阔论起自己的科学手
段。他谈到一代又一代炼金术士长年累月追寻一种万能溶剂的历史。这种溶剂可以从一切卑
贱无用的东西中分解出黄金来。阿尔默相信，根据最清楚的科学逻辑，这种追寻已久的媒介
完全可能找得到。“不过，”他补充说，“任何深入钻研，获此能力的科学家，智慧超凡，
才不屑于将他的本领真用来做这种事。”对长生不老药，他见解也同样特殊。振振有词地声
称自己可以随意配制一种药水，将人的寿命大大延长，也许无限延长哩。只不过这会造成自
然界严重失控，招来全世界的人，尤其那些长期药服用者们的诅咒。
“阿尔默，你这话当真？”乔治亚娜惊惧交加，看着丈夫，“有这种本事可太吓人了，
连梦到有这种本事都吓死人。”
“哦，别担心，宝贝儿，”丈夫道，“我不会制造这种乱七八糟的东西来影响我们的生
活，害你，害自己的。只是想要你动动脑筋，做个对比，去掉这只小手需要的本领有多么微
不足道。”
一提胎记，乔治亚娜立刻与平时一样畏缩起来，就像通红的烙铁烫了她的面颊一下。
阿尔默重又埋头工作。听得见他在远处炉子间吩咐阿米那达布，而阿米那达布粗鲁刺耳
又古怪的声音在回答，不像人说话，倒像动物在咆哮。数小时后，阿尔默回来说，她应当去
仔细看看他那只装满化学品与大自然珍宝的柜橱。化学品当中，他给她看一只小瓶子，说里
头盛的是一种柔和却威力十足的香精，足以使吹遍全国的微风都沾上香味。这小瓶里的东西
可是无价宝哇。他边说就朝空中洒上几滴，屋内顿时充满沁人心脾令人振奋的香味儿。
“这是什么呀？”乔治亚娜指指盛着金色液体的一个小球状玻璃瓶。“真好看。我猜里
头装的是长生不老药。”
“从某种意义上说是的，”阿尔默回答，“或不如说是一种不朽的万应灵药。这是世上
能配出来的最宝贵的毒药，凭着它，我可以随意限定你想指点的任何人的寿命。它的剂量可
以决定服药者是苟延多年再死，还是转眼之间就完蛋。没有哪个戒备森严的国王能保住他的
性命，要是我在自己私人实验室里决定，为了成千上万人的幸福，应该剥夺他性命的话。”
“你干嘛保存这么可怕的东西呢？”乔治亚娜吓坏了。
“别误会，亲爱的，”丈夫笑道，“它的药效好处比坏处大多啦。瞧！这还是一种有奇
效的化妆品，一瓶水里滴上几滴，脸上的雀斑就能像洗手一样洗干净。多加些药量，就会把
脸上的白色洗尽，把脸蛋最红润的美女变成苍白的幽灵。”
“你就是想用这东西来洗我的脸吧？”乔治亚娜急了。
“哦，不是，”丈夫忙答，“这只能用于表面治疗。你需要一种功力更深入的药。”
谈话之间，阿尔默总是细细询问她感觉如何，待在这几间屋里足不出户，气温是否合
适。这些问题用意特殊，乔治亚娜开始疑心自己是否已经处于某种物质影响之下，不是与这
芬芳的香气吸入身体，就是和食物一道吞进了肚子。她还觉得——也许只是幻想而已——自
己体内有种躁动，一种怪怪的，说不清的感觉，正流遍全身。震颤着，半是痛苦，半是愉
悦，直达心窝。然而，只要她照照镜子，就会看到脸色白得像朵白玫瑰，而那绯红的胎记赫
然在目。现在，就连阿尔默也赶不上她对这东西的憎恶了。
丈夫埋头进行化合与分析的时候，为打发乏味的时光，乔治亚娜就翻阅起他卷帙浩繁的
科学图书来。从不少难解的古书中，她看到一些充斥小说与诗歌的篇章。这里，有中世纪科
学家的作品，诸如艾伯塔斯·马格努斯①、科尼利厄斯·阿格里帕②、帕拉塞尔斯③，还有
创造出会预言的青铜头像的著名道士④。所有这些古代博物学家都超越了自己所处的时代，
却又都具有那个时代的某些轻信，所以被人认为，或他们自己也认为，他们从对大自然的探
索中获得了超乎自然的神力，并从物理学的探索中获得了支配精神世界的力量。那一卷卷王
家学会的早期学报也同样光怪陆离，富于幻想。会员们对自然可能性的极限几乎毫无了解，
不停地记录奇迹，或提出创造奇迹的方法。
①艾伯塔斯·马格努斯（AlbertusMagnus，1193—1280）：日耳曼哲学家与神学家。
②科尼利厄斯·阿格里帕（CornelusAgrippa，1486—1535）：日耳曼医生与神学家。
③帕拉塞尔斯（Parcelus，1493—1541）：瑞士出生的炼金术士与医生。
④指英国科学家罗杰·培根（RogerBacon，1214—1294），人称“可敬的医生”。西方
历史上有关此人的传说纷纭，其中之一便是铜头的故事。据传培根造了一只铜头，只要他能
听到铜头说话，他的种种计划便可大功告成。反之，则会失败。培根入睡，仆人麦尔斯奉命
看守铜头。铜头一连三次说话。第一次说“时辰到了”，半小时后说“时辰刚过”，再过半
小时又说“时辰早过”。言毕，铜头倒地，裂为碎片。仆人惊慌失措，不曾报告主人，培根
遂功败垂成。
使乔治亚娜最感兴趣的是一册对开本大书，她丈夫的大作。上面记载了他科学生涯中的
每一项实验，原定目标、发展过程中采用的种种方法、最终的成功或失败，以及引起成功或
失败的具体情况。这本书既实实在在地记录了他雄心勃勃富于幻想却又务实勤勉的历史，又
是他一生不倦追求的象征。他处理物质细节时，仿佛除此之外便无它物存在，并将它们全部
化为精神。他以自己对无穷的强烈追求免于陷入功利主义。在他手里，地地道道的一块泥土
也能获得灵气。乔治亚娜边看书，边对阿尔默生出比从前更‘深的敬意与爱情。但对他的判
断力却不像从前那样深信不疑。尽管他成果累累，她却不能不看到，若与他理想的目标相
比，最辉煌的成就也几乎只能算做失败。与藏在远方，他无法得到的无价宝石相比，他最耀
眼的钻石也只是不起眼的破石头。他自己也这么认为。这部书满载为作者赢得声名的许多成
就，但又是一部凡夫俗子写就的悲哀记录。它写下了许多伤心的自白与无数的例证，说明精
神被泥土做成的肉体①所累，又只能在物质世界起作用的人类——这种混合体的种种缺陷，
也写下了崇高的天性却极为苦恼地受制于肉体凡胎的绝望。也许不论哪个领域的天才都能从
阿尔默的记事录上认出自己经历的生动写照。
①典出《圣经·旧约·创世纪》，上帝用泥土造出人类的始祖亚当。
这些反思使乔治亚娜大受感动。她把脸埋在打开的书里，珠泪长流。结果正好被丈夫撞
到。
“看巫士的书可危险嘞，”他笑道，神气却不安不悦。“乔治亚娜，这本书许多地方连
我自己看上一眼都差点儿失去理智，当心别让它害了你。”
“它使我比以前更崇拜你了。”她道。
“啊，且等这次成功吧，”他说，“到那时你乐意的话再崇拜吧，我也会认为自己受之
无愧。好啦，来吧，我来找你是想享受享受你的歌喉，亲爱的，唱支歌给我听吧。”
于是她便以自己美如流水的歌声一解他精神的饥渴。他又走了，孩子般兴高采烈，还宽
慰她说，隐居就快结束，成功在望。他刚走，乔治亚娜便感到有种无法抗拒的力量迫使她跟
上去。她忘了告诉阿尔默，两三个钟头以来，她身上出现了一种令人担心的症状，是那块倒
霉胎记上的感觉，不疼，但引起全身焦躁不安。快步跟在丈夫后头，她头一回闯进了实验室。
第一眼看到的就是那只滚烫通红的熔炉，火光熊熊。炉顶沉积的簇簇烟尘令人感到它已
燃烧了许多许多年。一套蒸馏设备正全速运转，屋里到处是干馏釜、试管、坩锅及其它化学
研究用品，一台电动机械准备好立即投入使用。气氛压抑得难受，还弥漫着一股实验造成的
刺鼻气味儿。这屋子朴素简陋，四壁空空，青砖铺地，使习惯了自己华丽闺房的乔治亚娜十
分陌生。但吸引她主要的，简直是全部注意力的，还是阿尔默本人。
他面色如死人，神情焦虑专注，弯腰在炉前，仿佛正在蒸馏的液体到底成为永恒的幸福
药还是带来灾难的祸水，全都依仗自己的严密观察。这模样与鼓励齐治亚娜时的欢乐自信多
么不同！
“现在当心，阿米那达布。当心点儿，你这人形机器！当心点儿，你这凡夫俗子！”阿
尔默嘀嘀咕咕，不像告诫助手，倒像自言自语。“现在只要差上一毫一分，就会前功尽弃。”
“嗬嗬！”阿米那达布咕咕哝哝，“瞧哇，主人，快瞧！”
阿尔默连忙抬头一看，脸先一红，接着又变得比原先更苍白，他看到了乔治亚娜。立刻
冲过去一把抓住她胳膊，抓得那么紧，都给她胳膊上留下了手指印。
“干嘛到这儿来？难道不相信你丈夫？”他暴跳如雷。“你想让这倒霉胎记的晦气坏了
我的好事？药水还没做好哩。走吧，好奇的女人，快走！”
“不，阿尔默，”乔治亚娜无比坚决地说，“该抱怨的不是你，你连自己妻子都不相
信，你对这场实验给你带来的焦虑遮遮掩掩。别把我看得那么不中用，我的夫君。把咱俩所
冒的风险都告诉我吧，别担心我会畏惧退缩，因为这事给我的负担要比给你的轻得多。”
“不，不，乔治亚娜！”阿尔默不耐烦了，“这不行。”
“我会服从的，”她平静地说，“而且，阿尔默，我会大口喝下你给我拿来的不论什么
药水。而且根据同样原则，哪怕你亲手递给我一杯毒药，我也会一口喝下去。”
“我高尚的妻呀，”阿尔默深受感动，“直到如今我才明白你的天性有多高有多深，今
后什么也不会瞒着你了。那就告诉你吧，这块绯红的手印貌似肤浅，其实紧紧抓住了你身
体，那力量之大，我以前真没料到。我已经给你下了一些药，它的功效除了改变你整个生理
系统外，什么都能做到，只剩下一种办法还没试过。要是它失败，咱们就完了。”
“这事你为什么犹犹豫豫不早些告诉我？”她问。
“因为，乔治亚娜，”阿尔默声音一沉，“有危险。”
“危险？其实只有一个危险——就是这个可怕的印记会留在我脸上！”乔治亚娜喊道，
“去掉它，去掉它吧，不管什么代价，哪怕咱俩都变成疯子！”
“老天在上，你的话太对啦。”阿尔默悲哀地说，“现在，最亲爱的，回你闺房去吧，
再过一会儿，一切都会经受考验。”
他送她回房，并庄严而温存地向她告别，这份庄严与温存远远胜过一切言词，表明他们
如今承担了多大的风险。他走后，乔治亚娜陷入沉思，把阿尔默的个性反复琢磨，比以往任
何时候都更全面更公正。她满怀喜悦却又瑟瑟颤抖，想到他高尚的爱情——那么纯洁，那么
崇高，以致这种爱只肯容纳尽善尽美，却不愿屈就比他梦寐已求的稍嫌逊色的任何天性。现
在她感到，这种感情比那种宁愿为她着想而忍受缺憾的低劣感情宝贵得多，而将完美降格到
现实水平就是对崇高爱情的背叛。她全心全意地祈祷，哪怕只能短短一瞬，也愿满足丈夫至
高至深的观念。她十分清楚，比短短一瞬更为长久是不可能的，因为阿尔默的精神永不满
足，永在高攀，每时每刻都向往着超越眼前的一瞬。
丈夫的脚步声惊醒了她的冥想。他端来一只水晶玻璃杯，盛着水一般无色的液体，却又
晶莹透亮，犹如那种长生不老药。阿尔默面色苍白，不过，这好像是由于心情极为激动和精
神高度紧张，而并非由于恐惧或疑虑。
“这药水调得非常理想，”他道，以回答乔治亚娜询问的目光。“除非我的全部科学知
识欺骗了我，它不可能失败。”
“除开为了你，亲爱的阿尔默，”他妻子道，“与任何别的方式相比，我宁愿抛弃生命
本身，也不愿去掉这块凡人胎记。对那些达到我道德境界的人来说，生命不过是一笔令人悲
哀的财富。我要是软弱些，盲目些，倒也许会活得更快乐。我要是坚强些，也许就能怀抱希
望忍受下去。可是，看清了自己的本质，我想所有的人当中，我最适合去死！”
“你最适合上天堂却无须一尝死的滋味！”他丈夫应声道，“可咱们干嘛要谈到死呢？
这药不可能失败。瞧瞧它对这株花的作用吧。”
窗台上有一盆患黄斑病的天竺葵，黄色的斑点遍布所有叶片。阿尔默朝种花的土里倒了
一点点药水，须臾，花根就得到了药水的滋润，丑陋的斑点顿时消失于一派生气蓬勃的翠绿。
“用不着什么证明，”乔治亚娜安详地说，“把杯子给我，我乐于把一切都寄托于你的
吩咐。”
“那就喝吧，崇高的人！”阿尔默钦佩不已，大声说道，“你的心灵纯洁无瑕，你敏感
的肉体也将很快变得尽善尽美。”
她大口喝下药水，把杯子还给他。
“真爽口，”她平静地一笑，“我觉得它就像来自天堂的清泉水，因为我说不清这淡淡
的香气和可口的滋味究竟是什么。它止住了我多日来的焦渴。好啦，亲爱的，让我睡吧，我
的感觉正包裹我的灵魂，就像日落时分的叶子包住玫瑰花心一样。”
她说最后一句话时低柔勉强，仿佛要吐出那一串虚弱拖长的音节已超出了自己的全部力
量。话刚吐出芳唇，便酣然入梦。阿尔默守在她身旁，心潮激荡，好像他一生的全部价值都
系在这场实验的成败之上。不过，交织在他心中的还有科学家从事研究时的科学态度，最细
微的症状也逃不过他的眼睛。她脸泛红潮，呼吸稍稍变化，眼皮微微震颤，全身难以觉察的
一阵颤抖。随着时间分分秒秒地消逝，他将这些细节都记在了那本大书上，他的深思熟虑在
这本书的每一页中都留下了印记，但经年累月的思想全都集中在这最后一页。
这么忙着，他不忘时时观察那块不幸的手形胎记，每次都不由一个寒噤。然而有一次出
于莫名的奇怪冲动，他竟吻了它。吻的时候，精神又在畏缩。而乔治亚娜在沉睡中不安地动
了一下，还喃喃一声，仿佛对此表示抗议。阿尔默继续观察，没有徒劳无功。他发现那只绯
红的手印起先在乔治亚娜大理石般苍白的脸上十分明显，现在变得渐渐模糊。她仍和先前一
样苍白，但胎记伴随她每一次呼吸逐渐失去原先轮廓。它的存在令人生畏，它的消失更令人
恐惧。好好看看彩虹如何消失在天空，你就会清楚那个神秘象征如何消失不见。
“天哪！”它几乎没有啦！”阿尔默自言自语，欣喜若狂。
“现在简直看不到它了，成功啦！成功啦！现在它只有最淡的玫瑰色，只要她脸蛋微微
一红，就能淹没它。可是她这么苍白！”
他拉开窗帘，让阳光照进屋子，照在她脸上。这时忽听见一阵粗野刺耳的吃吃笑声，是
他早就熟悉的仆人阿米那达布在高兴。
“啊，傻瓜！啊，凡夫俗子！”阿尔默有些失态地哈哈大笑。“你为我干得不错！物质
与精神——尘世与天堂——这一回都尽了责任！笑吧！你这只有感觉的东西！你已经赢得笑
的权利！”
大喊大叫惊醒了乔治亚娜。她缓缓地睁开双眼，凝望丈夫特为她准备的镜子，发现那绯
红的手印已几乎看不出来，嘴角掠过一丝微笑。要知道，这手印一度灾难般清晰可辨，险些
吓跑了他们夫妻的全部幸福。可是她接着就满脸愁云，寻找着阿尔默的面孔。丈夫真不解这
忧愁缘何而起。
“可怜的阿尔默！”她喃喃地说。
“可怜？不，我是最富有，最幸福，最得宠的呀！”他大声说，“我举世无双的新娘，
我成功啦！你现在完美无缺啦！”
“我可怜的阿尔默，”她又说一遍，柔情万种，“你目标崇高，行为高尚，不要因为拥
有这么高尚纯洁的感情，而拒绝了尘世能给你的最好东西感到懊悔。阿尔默，最亲爱的阿尔
默，我就要死了！”
唉！可悲的真实哟！那只倒霉的小手牢牢攫住了生命的秘密，纽带般将天使的精神与凡
人的躯体联结在一起。随着那块胎记最后一点绯红的色彩——那人类缺陷的唯一标志——完
全从她脸上消失，如今完美无瑕的女子向空中吐出了最后一口气。她的芳魂在丈夫身旁流连
片刻，便向天国飞去。这时，又听到了那刺耳的吃吃笑声！凡间世俗的死亡，就这样压垮了
不朽的精神（这精神在尚待开发的混沌领域中，需求更高层次的完美），为自己一成不变的
胜利洋洋得意。不过，倘若阿尔默拥有更深刻的智慧，就无须这样抛弃自己的幸福，这幸福
本可以将他性质完全相同的尘世生活与天国的生活交织融汇。他受不了短暂的尘世，他的目
光本能地超越时间阴影的局限，而且，由于只能在永恒中活上一次，他也未能在眼前的生活
中发现完美的未来。