The Mortal Immortal

July 16, 1833. -- This is a memorable anniversary for me; on it I completemy three hundred and twenty-third year!The Wandering Jew? -- certainly not. More than eighteen centuries havepassed over his head. In comparison with him, I am a very young Immortal.Am I, then, immortal? This is a question which I have asked myself, by dayand night, for now three hundred and three years, and yet cannot answer it.I detected a grey hair amidst my brown locks this very day -- that surelysignifies decay. Yet it may have remained concealed there for three hundredyears -- for some persons have become entirely white-headed before twentyyears of age.I will tell my story, and my reader shall judge for me. I will tell mystory, and so contrive to pass some few hours of a long eternity, become sowearisome to me. For ever! Can it be? to live for ever! I have heard ofenchantments, in which the victims were plunged into a deep sleep, to wake,after a hundred years, as fresh as ever: I have heard of the Seven Sleepers-- thus to be immortal would not be so burthensome: but, oh! the weight ofnever-ending time -- the tedious passage of the still-succeeding hours! Howhappy was the fabled Nourjahad! -- But to my task.All the world has heard of Cornelius Agrippa. His memory is as immortal ashis arts have made me. All the world has also heard of his scholar, who,unawares, raised the foul fiend during his master's absence, and wasdestroyed by him. The report, true or false, of this accident, was attendedwith many inconveniences to the renowned philosopher. All his scholars atonce deserted him -- his servants disappeared. He had no one near him to putcoals on his ever-burning fires while he slept, or to attend to thechangeful colours of his medicines while he studied. Experiment afterexperiment failed, because one pair of hands was insufficient to completethem: the dark spirits laughed at him for not being able to retain a singlemortal in his service.I was then very young -- very poor -- and very much in love. I had been forabout a year the pupil of Cornelius, though I was absent when this accidenttook place. On my return, my friends implored me not to return to thealchymist's abode. I trembled as I listened to the dire tale they told; Irequired no second warning; and when Cornelius came and offered me a purseof gold if I would remain under his roof, I felt as if Satan himself temptedme. My teeth chattered -- my hair stood on end; -- I ran off as fast as mytrembling knees would permit.My failing steps were directed whither for two years they had every eveningbeen attracted, -- a gently bubbling spring of pure living water, besidewhich lingered a dark-haired girl, whose beaming eyes were fixed on the pathI was accustomed each night to tread. I cannot remember the hour when I didnot love Bertha; we had been neighbours and playmates from infancy, -- herparents, like mine were of humble life, yet respectable, -- our attachmenthad been a source of pleasure to them. In an evil hour, a malignant fevercarried off both her father and mother, and Bertha became an orphan. Shewould have found a home beneath my paternal roof, but, unfortunately, theold lady of the near castle, rich, childless, and solitary, declared herintention to adopt her. Henceforth Bertha was clad in silk -- inhabited amarble palace -- and was looked on as being highly favoured by fortune. Butin her new situation among her new associates, Bertha remained true to thefriend of her humbler days; she often visited the cottage of my father, andwhen forbidden to go thither, she would stray towards the neighbouring wood,and meet me beside its shady fountain.She often declared that she owed no duty to her new protectress equal insanctity to that which bound us. Yet still I was too poor to marry, and shegrew weary of being tormented on my account. She had a haughty but animpatient spirit, and grew angry at the obstacle that prevented our union.We met now after an absence, and she had been sorely beset while I was away;she complained bitterly, and almost reproached me for being poor. I repliedhastily, --"I am honest, if I am poor! -- were I not, I might soon become rich!"This exclamation produced a thousand questions. I feared to shock her byowning the truth, but she drew it from me; and then, casting a look ofdisdain on me, she said, --"You pretend to love, and you fear to face the Devil for my sake!"I protested that I had only dreaded to offend her; -- while she dwelt on themagnitude of the reward that I should receive. Thus encouraged -- shamed byher -- led on by love and hope, laughing at my later fears, with quick stepsand a light heart, I returned to accept the offers of the alchymist, and wasinstantly installed in my office.A year passed away. I became possessed of no insignificant sum of money.Custom had banished my fears. In spite of the most painful vigilance, I hadnever detected the trace of a cloven foot; nor was the studious silence ofour abode ever disturbed by demoniac howls. I still continued my stoleninterviews with Bertha, and Hope dawned on me -- Hope -- but not perfectjoy: for Bertha fancied that love and security were enemies, and herpleasure was to divide them in my bosom. Though true of heart, she wassomething of a coquette in manner; I was jealous as a Turk. She slighted mein a thousand ways, yet would never acknowledge herself to be in the wrong.She would drive me mad with anger, and then force me to beg her pardon.Sometimes she fancied that I was not sufficiently submissive, and then shehad some story of a rival, favoured by her protectress. She was surroundedby silk-clad youths -- the rich and gay. What chance had the sad-robedscholar of Cornelius compared with these?On one occasion, the philosopher made such large demands upon my time, thatI was unable to meet her as I was wont. He was engaged in some mighty work,and I was forced to remain, day and night, feeding his furnaces and watchinghis chemical preparations. Bertha waited for me in vain at the fountain. Herhaughty spirit fired at this neglect; and when at last I stole out during afew short minutes allotted to me for slumber, and hoped to be consoled byher, she received me with disdain, dismissed me in scorn, and vowed that anyman should possess her hand rather than he who could not be in two places atonce for her sake. She would be revenged! And truly she was. In my dingyretreat I heard that she had been hunting, attended by Albert Hoffer. AlbertHoffer was favoured by her protectress, and the three passed in cavalcadebefore my smoky window. Methought that they mentioned my name; it wasfollowed by a laugh of derision, as her dark eyes glanced contemptuouslytowards my abode.Jealousy, with all its venom and all its misery, entered my breast. Now Ished a torrent of tears, to think that I should never call her mine; and,anon, I imprecated a thousand curses on her inconstancy. Yet, still I muststir the fires of the alchymist, still attend on the changes of hisunintelligible medicines.Cornelius had watched for three days and nights, nor closed his eyes. Theprogress of his alembics was slower than he expected: in spite of hisanxiety, sleep weighted upon his eyelids. Again and again he threw offdrowsiness with more than human energy; again and again it stole away hissenses. He eyed his crucibles wistfully. "Not ready yet," he murmured; "willanother night pass before the work is accomplished? Winzy, you are vigilant-- you are faithful -- you have slept, my boy -- you slept last night. Lookat that glass vessel. The liquid it contains is of a soft rose-colour: themoment it begins to change hue, awaken me -- till then I may close my eyes.First, it will turn white, and then emit golden flashes; but wait not tillthen; when the rose-colour fades, rouse me." I scarcely heard the lastwords, muttered, as they were, in sleep. Even then he did not quite yield tonature. "Winzy, my boy," he again said, "do not touch the vessel -- do notput it to your lips; it is a philtre -- a philtre to cure love; you wouldnot cease to love your Bertha -- beware to drink!"And he slept. His venerable head sunk on his breast, and I scarce heard hisregular breathing. For a few minutes I watched the vessel -- the rosy hue ofthe liquid remained unchanged. Then my thoughts wandered -- they visited thefountain, and dwelt on a thousand charming scenes never to be renewed --never! Serpents and adders were in my heart as the word "Never!" half formeditself on my lips. False girl! -- false and cruel! Never more would shesmile on me as that evening she smiled on Albert. Worthless, detested woman!I would not remain unrevenged -- she should see Albert expire at her feet --she should die beneath my vengeance. She had smiled in disdain and triumph-- she knew my wretchedness and her power. Yet what power had she? -- thepower of exciting my hate -- my utter scorn -- my -- oh, all butindifference! Could I attain that -- could I regard her with careless eyes,transferring my rejected love to one fairer and more true, that were indeeda victory!A bright flash darted before my eyes. I had forgotten the medicine of theadept; I gazed on it with wonder: flashes of admirable beauty, more brightthan those which the diamond emits when the sun's rays are on it, glancedfrom the surface of the liquid; and odour the most fragrant and gratefulstole over my sense; the vessel seemed one globe of living radiance, lovelyto the eye, and most inviting to the taste. The first thought, instinctivelyinspired by the grosser sense, was, I will -- I must drink. I raised thevessel to my lips. "It will cure me of love -- of torture!" Already I hadquaffed half of the most delicious liquor ever tasted by the palate of man,when the philosopher stirred. I started -- I dropped the glass -- the fluidflamed and glanced along the floor, while I felt Cornelius's gripe at mythroat, as he shrieked aloud, "Wretch! you have destroyed the labour of mylife!"The philosopher was totally unaware that I had drunk any portion of hisdrug. His idea was, and I gave a tacit assent to it, that I had raised thevessel from curiosity, and that, frightened at its brightness, and theflashes of intense light it gave forth, I had let it fall. I neverundeceived him. The fire of the medicine was quenched -- the fragrance diedaway -- he grew calm, as a philosopher should under the heaviest trials, anddismissed me to rest.I will not attempt to describe the sleep of glory and bliss which bathed mysoul in paradise during the remaining hours of that memorable night. Wordswould be faint and shallow types of my enjoyment, or of the gladness thatpossessed my bosom when I woke. I trod air -- my thoughts were in heaven.Earth appeared heaven, and my inheritance upon it was to be one trance ofdelight. "This it is to be cured of love," I thought; "I will see Berthathis day, and she will find her lover cold and regardless; too happy to bedisdainful, yet how utterly indifferent to her!"The hours danced away. The philosopher, secure that he had once succeeded,and believing that he might again, began to concoct the same medicine oncemore. He was shut up with his books and drugs, and I had a holiday. Idressed myself with care; I looked in an old but polished shield whichserved me for a mirror; methoughts my good looks had wonderfully improved. Ihurried beyond the precincts of the town, joy in my soul, the beauty ofheaven and earth around me. I turned my steps toward the castle -- I couldlook on its lofty turrets with lightness of heart, for I was cured of love.My Bertha saw me afar off, as I came up the avenue. I know not what suddenimpulse animated her bosom, but at the sight, she sprung with a lightfawn-like bound down the marble steps, and was hastening towards me. But Ihad been perceived by another person. The old high-born hag, who calledherself her protectress, and was her tyrant, had seen me also; she hobbled,panting, up the terrace; a page, as ugly as herself, held up her train, andfanned her as she hurried along, and stopped my fair girl with a "How, now,my bold mistress? whither so fast? Back to your cage -- hawks are abroad!"Bertha clasped her hands -- her eyes were still bent on my approachingfigure. I saw the contest. How I abhorred the old crone who checked the kindimpulses of my Bertha's softening heart. Hitherto, respect for her rank hadcaused me to avoid the lady of the castle; now I disdained such trivialconsiderations. I was cured of love, and lifted above all human fears; Ihastened forwards, and soon reached the terrace. How lovely Bertha looked!her eyes flashing fire, her cheeks glowing with impatience and anger, shewas a thousand times more graceful and charming than ever. I no longer loved-- oh no! I adored -- worshipped -- idolized her!She had that morning been persecuted, with more than usual vehemence, toconsent to an immediate marriage with my rival. She was reproached with theencouragement that she had shown him -- she was threatened with being turnedout of doors with disgrace and shame. Her proud spirit rose in arms at thethreat; but when she remembered the scorn that she had heaped upon me, andhow, perhaps, she had thus lost one whom she now regarded as her onlyfriend, she wept with remorse and rage. At that moment I appeared. "Oh,Winzy!" she exclaimed, "take me to your mother's cot; swiftly let me leavethe detested luxuries and wretchedness of this noble dwelling -- take me topoverty and happiness."I clasped her in my arms with transport. The old dame was speechless withfury, and broke forth into invective only when we were far on the road to mynatal cottage. My mother received the fair fugitive, escaped from a giltcage to nature and liberty, with tenderness and joy; my father, who lovedher, welcomed her heartily; it was a day of rejoicing, which did not needthe addition of the celestial potion of the alchymist to steep me indelight.Soon after this eventful day, I became the husband of Bertha. I ceased to bethe scholar of Cornelius, but I continued his friend. I always felt gratefulto him for having, unaware, procured me that delicious draught of a divineelixir, which, instead of curing me of love (sad cure! solitary and joylessremedy for evils which seem blessings to the memory), had inspired me withcourage and resolution, thus winning for me an inestimable treasure in myBertha.I often called to mind that period of trance-like inebriation with wonder.The drink of Cornelius had not fulfilled the task for which he affirmed thatit had been prepared, but its effects were more potent and blissful thanwords can express. They had faded by degrees, yet they lingered long -- andpainted life in hues of splendour. Bertha often wondered at my lightness ofheart and unaccustomed gaiety; for, before, I had been rather serious, oreven sad, in my disposition. She loved me the better for my cheerful temper,and our days were winged by joy.Five years afterwards I was suddenly summoned to the bedside of the dyingCornelius. He had sent for me in haste, conjuring my instant presence. Ifound him stretched on his pallet, enfeebled even to death; all of life thatyet remained animated his piercing eyes, and they were fixed on a glassvessel, full of roseate liquid."Behold," he said, in a broken and inward voice, "the vanity of humanwishes! a second time my hopes are about to be crowned, a second time theyare destroyed. Look at that liquor -- you may remember five years ago I hadprepared the same, with the same success; -- then, as now, my thirsting lipsexpected to taste the immortal elixir -- you dashed it from me! and atpresent it is too late."He spoke with difficulty, and fell back on his pillow. I could not helpsaying, --"How, revered master, can a cure for love restore you to life?"A faint smile gleamed across his face as I listened earnestly to hisscarcely intelligible answer."A cure for love and for all things -- the Elixir of Immortality. Ah! if nowI might drink, I should live for ever!"As he spoke, a golden flash gleamed from the fluid; a well-rememberedfragrance stole over the air; he raised himself, all weak as he was --strength seemed miraculously to re-enter his frame -- he stretched forth hishand -- a loud explosion startled me -- a ray of fire shot up from theelixir, and the glass vessel which contained it was shivered to atoms! Iturned my eyes towards the philosopher; he had fallen back -- his eyes wereglassy -- his features rigid -- he was dead!But I lived, and was to live for ever! So said the unfortunate alchymist,and for a few days I believed his words. I remembered the gloriousintoxication that had followed my stolen draught. I reflected on the changeI had felt in my frame -- in my soul. The bounding elasticity of the one --the buoyant lightness of the other. I surveyed myself in a mirror, and couldperceive no change in my features during the space of the five years whichhad elapsed. I remembered the radiant hues and grateful scent of thatdelicious beverage -- worthy the gift it was capable of bestowing -- I was,then, IMMORTAL!A few days after I laughed at my credulity. The old proverb, that "a prophetis least regarded in his own country," was true with respect to me and mydefunct master. I loved him as a man -- I respected him as a sage -- but Iderided the notion that he could command the powers of darkness, and laughedat the superstitious fears with which he was regarded by the vulgar. He wasa wise philosopher, but had no acquaintance with any spirits but those cladin flesh and blood. His science was simply human; and human science, I soonpersuaded myself, could never conquer nature's laws so far as to imprisonthe soul for ever within its carnal habitation. Cornelius had brewed asoul-refreshing drink -- more inebriating than wine -- sweeter and morefragrant than any fruit: it possessed probably strong medicinal powers,imparting gladness to the heart and vigour to the limbs; but its effectswould wear out; already they were diminished in my frame. I was a luckyfellow to have quaffed health and joyous spirits, and perhaps a long life,at my master's hands; but my good fortune ended there: longevity was fardifferent from immortality.I continued to entertain this belief for many years. Sometimes a thoughtstole across me -- Was the alchymist indeed deceived? But my habitualcredence was, that I should meet the fate of all the children of Adam at myappointed time -- a little late, but still at a natural age. Yet it wascertain that I retained a wonderfully youthful look. I was laughed at for myvanity in consulting the mirror so often, but I consulted it in vain -- mybrow was untrenched -- my cheeks -- my eyes -- my whole person continued asuntarnished as in my twentieth year.I was troubled. I looked at the faded beauty of Bertha -- I seemed more likeher son. By degrees our neighbors began to make similar observations, and Ifound at last that I went by the name of the Scholar bewitched. Berthaherself grew uneasy. She became jealous and peevish, and at length she beganto question me. We had no children; we were all in all to each other; andthough, as she grew older, her vivacious spirit became a little allied toill-temper, and her beauty sadly diminished, I cherished her in my heart asthe mistress I idolized, the wife I had sought and won with such perfectlove.At last our situation became intolerable: Bertha was fifty -- I twenty yearsof age. I had, in very shame, in some measure adopted the habits of advancedage; I no longer mingled in the dance among the young and gay, but my heartbounded along with them while I restrained my feet; and a sorry figure I cutamong the Nestors of our village. But before the time I mention, things werealtered -- we were universally shunned; we were -- at least, I was --reported to have kept up an iniquitous acquaintance with some of my formermaster's supposed friends. Poor Bertha was pitied, but deserted. I wasregarded with horror and detestation.What was to be done? we sat by our winter fire -- poverty had made itselffelt, for none would buy the produce of my farm; and often I had been forcedto journey twenty miles to some place where I was not known, to dispose ofour property. It is true, we had saved something for an evil day -- that daywas come.We sat by our lone fireside -- the old-hearted youth and his antiquatedwife. Again Bertha insisted on knowing the truth; she recapitulated all shehad ever heard said about me, and added her own observations. She conjuredme to cast off the spell; she described how much more comely grey hairs werethan my chestnut locks; she descanted on the reverence and respect due toage -- how preferable to the slight regard paid to mere children: could Iimagine that the despicable gifts of youth and good looks outweigheddisgrace, hatred and scorn? Nay, in the end I should be burnt as a dealer inthe black art, while she, to whom I had not deigned to communicate anyportion of my good fortune, might be stoned as my accomplice. At length sheinsinuated that I must share my secret with her, and bestow on her likebenefits to those I myself enjoyed, or she would denounce me -- and then sheburst into tears.Thus beset, methought it was the best way to tell the truth. I reveled it astenderly as I could, and spoke only of a very long life, not of immortality-- which representation, indeed, coincided best with my own ideas. When Iended I rose and said,--"And now, my Bertha, will you denounce the lover of your youth? -- You willnot, I know. But it is too hard, my poor wife, that you should suffer for myill-luck and the accursed arts of Cornelius. I will leave you -- you havewealth enough, and friends will return in my absence. I will go; young as Iseem and strong as I am, I can work and gain my bread among strangers,unsuspected and unknown. I loved you in youth; God is my witness that Iwould not desert you in age, but that your safety and happiness require it."I took my cap and moved toward the door; in a moment Bertha's arms wereround my neck, and her lips were pressed to mine. "No, my husband, myWinzy," she said, "you shall not go alone -- take me with you; we willremove from this place, and, as you say, among strangers we shall beunsuspected and safe. I am not so old as quite to shame you, my Winzy; and Idaresay the charm will soon wear off, and, with the blessing of God, youwill become more elderly-looking, as is fitting; you shall not leave me."I returned the good soul's embrace heartily. "I will not, my Bertha; but foryour sake I had not thought of such a thing. I will be your true, faithfulhusband while you are spared to me, and do my duty by you to the last."The next day we prepared secretly for our emigration. We were obliged tomake great pecuniary sacrifices -- it could not be helped. We realized a sumsufficient, at least, to maintain us while Bertha lived; and, without sayingadieu to any one, quitted our native country to take refuge in a remote partof western France.It was a cruel thing to transport poor Bertha from her native village, andthe friends of her youth, to a new country, new language, new customs. Thestrange secret of my destiny rendered this removal immaterial to me; but Icompassionated her deeply, and was glad to perceive that she foundcompensation for her misfortunes in a variety of little ridiculouscircumstances. Away from all tell-tale chroniclers, she sought to decreasethe apparent disparity of our ages by a thousand feminine arts -- rouge,youthful dress, and assumed juvenility of manner. I could not be angry. DidI not myself wear a mask? Why quarrel with hers, because it was lesssuccessful? I grieved deeply when I remembered that this was my Bertha, whomI had loved so fondly and won with such transport -- the dark-eyed,dark-haired girl, with smiles of enchanting archness and a step like a fawn-- this mincing, simpering, jealous old woman. I should have revered hergrey locks and withered cheeks; but thus! -- It was my work, I knew; but Idid not the less deplore this type of human weakness.Her jealously never slept. Her chief occupation was to discover that, inspite of outward appearances, I was myself growing old. I verily believethat the poor soul loved me truly in her heart, but never had woman sotormenting a mode of displaying fondness. She would discern wrinkles in myface and decrepitude in my walk, while I bounded along in youthful vigour,the youngest looking of twenty youths. I never dared address another woman.On one occasion, fancying that the belle of the village regarded me withfavouring eyes, she brought me a grey wig. Her constant discourse among heracquaintances was, that though I looked so young, there was ruin at workwithin my frame; and she affirmed that the worst symptom about me was myapparent health. My youth was a disease, she said, and I ought at all timesto prepare, if not for a sudden and awful death, at least to awake somemorning white-headed and bowed down with all the marks of advanced years. Ilet her talk -- I often joined in her conjectures. Her warnings chimed inwith my never-ceasing speculations concerning my state, and I took anearnest, though painful, interest in listening to all that her quick wit andexcited imagination could say on the subject.Why dwell on these minute circumstances? We lived on for many long years.Bertha became bedrid and paralytic; I nursed her as a mother might a child.She grew peevish, and still harped upon one string -- of how long I shouldsurvive her. It has ever been a source of consolation to me, that Iperformed my duty scrupulously towards her. She had been mine in youth, shewas mine in age; and at last, when I heaped the sod over her corpse, I weptto feel that I had lost all that really bound me to humanity.Since then how many have been my cares and woes, how few and empty myenjoyments! I pause here in my history -- I will pursue it no further. Asailor without rudder or compass, tossed on a stormy sea -- a traveller loston a widespread heath, without landmark or stone to guide him -- such I havebeen: more lost, more hopeless than either. A nearing ship, a gleam fromsome far cot, may save them; but I have no beacon except the hope of death.Death! mysterious, ill-visaged friend of weak humanity! Why alone of allmortals have you cast me from your sheltering fold? Oh, for the peace of thegrave! the deep silence of the iron-bound tomb! that thought would cease towork in my brain, and my heart beat no more with emotions varied only by newforms of sadness!Am I immortal? I return to my first question. In the first place, is it notmore probably that the beverage of the alchymist was fraught rather withlongevity than eternal life? Such is my hope. And then be it remembered,that I only drank half of the potion prepared by him. Was not the wholenecessary to complete the charm? To have drained half the Elixir ofImmortality is but to be half-immortal -- my For-ever is thus truncated andnull.But again, who shall number the years of the half of eternity? I often tryto imagine by what rule the infinite may be divided. Sometimes I fancy ageadvancing upon me. One grey hair I have found. Fool! do I lament? Yes, thefear of age and death often creeps coldly into my heart; and the more Ilive, the more I dread death, even while I abhor life. Such an enigma is man-- born to perish -- when he wars, as I do, against the established laws ofhis nature.But for this anomaly of feeling surely I might die: the medicine of thealchymist would not be proof against fire -- sword -- and the stranglingwaters. I have gazed upon the blue depths of many a placid lake, and thetumultuous rushing of many a mighty river, and have said, peace inhabitsthose waters; yet I have turned my steps away, to live yet another day. Ihave asked myself, whether suicide would be a crime in one to whom thus onlythe portals of the other world could be opened. I have done all, exceptpresenting myself as a soldier or duelist, an objection of destruction to my-- no, not my fellow mortals, and therefore I have shrunk away. They are notmy fellows. The inextinguishable power of life in my frame, and theirephemeral existence, places us wide as the poles asunder. I could not raisea hand against the meanest or the most powerful among them.Thus have I lived on for many a year -- alone, and weary of myself --desirous of death, yet never dying -- a mortal immortal. Neither ambitionnor avarice can enter my mind, and the ardent love that gnaws at my heart,never to be returned -- never to find an equal on which to expend itself --lives there only to torment me.This very day I conceived a design by which I may end all -- withoutself-slaughter, without making another man a Cain -- an expedition, whichmortal frame can never survive, even endued with the youth and strength thatinhabits mine. Thus I shall put my immortality to the test, and rest forever -- or return, the wonder and benefactor of the human species.Before I go, a miserable vanity has caused me to pen these pages. I wouldnot die, and leave no name behind. Three centuries have passed since Iquaffed the fatal beverage; another year shall not elapse before,encountering gigantic dangers -- warring with the powers of frost in theirhome -- beset by famine, toil, and tempest -- I yield this body, tootenacious a cage for a soul which thirsts for freedom, to the destructiveelements of air and water; or, if I survive, my name shall be recorded asone of the most famous among the sons of men; and, my task achieved, I shalladopt more resolute means, and, by scattering and annihilating the atomsthat compose my frame, set at liberty the life imprisoned within, and socruelly prevented from soaring from this dim earth to a sphere morecongenial to its immortal essence.