1843
TWICE-TOLD TALES
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 an 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
pigmy 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 woul
d 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 death-like 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 burthen 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
statu
re, 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 practical details of his master's
experiments. With his vast strength, his shaggy hair, his smoky
aspect, and the indescribable earthiness that encrusted 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 pastille."
"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 death-like 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, empurpled 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 burthen 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
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