The Mortal Immortal

July 16, 1833. --This is a memorable anniversary for me; on it I completemy threehundred and twenty-third year!The Wandering Jew? -- certainly not.More than eighteen centuries havepassed over his head. Incomparison with him, I am a very young Immortal.Am I, then,immortal? This is a question which I have asked myself, by dayandnight, for now three hundred and three years, and yet cannotanswer it.I detected a grey hair amidst my brown locks this veryday -- that surelysignifies decay. Yet it may have remainedconcealed there for three hundredyears -- for some persons havebecome entirely white-headed before twentyyears of age.I willtell my story, and my reader shall judge for me. I will tellmystory, and so contrive to pass some few hours of a longeternity, become sowearisome to me. For ever! Can it be? to livefor ever! I have heard ofenchantments, in which the victims wereplunged into a deep sleep, to wake,after a hundred years, asfresh as ever: I have heard of the Seven Sleepers-- thus to beimmortal would not be so burthensome: but, oh! the weight ofnever-endingtime -- the tedious passage of the still-succeeding hours!Howhappy was the fabled Nourjahad! -- But to my task.All theworld has heard of Cornelius Agrippa. His memory is as immortalashis arts have made me. All the world has also heard of hisscholar, who,unawares, raised the foul fiend during his master'sabsence, and wasdestroyed by him. The report, true or false, ofthis accident, was attendedwith many inconveniences to therenowned philosopher. All his scholars atonce deserted him -- hisservants disappeared. He had no one near him to putcoals on hisever-burning fires while he slept, or to attend to thechangefulcolours of his medicines while he studied. Experimentafterexperiment failed, because one pair of hands wasinsufficient to completethem: the dark spirits laughed at him fornot being able to retain a singlemortal in his service.I was thenvery young -- very poor -- and very much in love. I had beenforabout a year the pupil of Cornelius, though I was absent whenthis accidenttook place. On my return, my friends implored me notto return to thealchymist's abode. I trembled as I listened tothe dire tale they told; Irequired no second warning; and whenCornelius came and offered me a purseof gold if I would remainunder his roof, I felt as if Satan himself temptedme. My teethchattered -- my hair stood on end; -- I ran off as fast asmytrembling knees would permit.My failing steps were directedwhither for two years they had every eveningbeen attracted, -- agently bubbling spring of pure living water, besidewhich lingereda dark-haired girl, whose beaming eyes were fixed on the pathIwas accustomed each night to tread. I cannot remember the hourwhen I didnot love Bertha; we had been neighbours and playmatesfrom infancy, -- herparents, like mine were of humble life, yetrespectable, -- our attachmenthad been a source of pleasure tothem. In an evil hour, a malignant fevercarried off both herfather and mother, and Bertha became an orphan. Shewould havefound a home beneath my paternal roof, but, unfortunately, theoldlady of the near castle, rich, childless, and solitary, declaredherintention to adopt her. Henceforth Bertha was clad in silk --inhabited amarble palace -- and was looked on as being highlyfavoured by fortune. Butin her new situation among her newassociates, Bertha remained true to thefriend of her humblerdays; she often visited the cottage of my father, andwhenforbidden to go thither, she would stray towards the neighbouringwood,and meet me beside its shady fountain.She often declaredthat she owed no duty to her new protectress equal insanctity tothat which bound us. Yet still I was too poor to marry, andshegrew weary of being tormented on my account. She had a haughtybut animpatient spirit, and grew angry at the obstacle thatprevented our union.We met now after an absence, and she had beensorely beset while I was away;she complained bitterly, and almostreproached me for being poor. I repliedhastily, --"I amhonest, if I am poor! -- were I not, I might soon become rich!"Thisexclamation produced a thousand questions. I feared to shock herbyowning the truth, but she drew it from me; and then, casting alook ofdisdain on me, she said, --"You pretend to love, andyou fear to face the Devil for my sake!"I protested that Ihad only dreaded to offend her; -- while she dwelt onthemagnitude of the reward that I should receive. Thus encouraged-- shamed byher -- led on by love and hope, laughing at my laterfears, with quick stepsand a light heart, I returned to acceptthe offers of the alchymist, and wasinstantly installed in myoffice.A year passed away. I became possessed of no insignificantsum of money.Custom had banished my fears. In spite of the mostpainful vigilance, I hadnever detected the trace of a clovenfoot; nor was the studious silence ofour abode ever disturbed bydemoniac howls. I still continued my stoleninterviews withBertha, and Hope dawned on me -- Hope -- but not perfectjoy: forBertha fancied that love and security were enemies, andherpleasure 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 acknowledgeherself to be in the wrong.She would drive me mad with anger, andthen force me to beg her pardon.Sometimes she fancied that I wasnot sufficiently submissive, and then shehad some story of arival, favoured by her protectress. She was surroundedby silk-cladyouths -- the rich and gay. What chance had the sad-robedscholarof Cornelius compared with these?On one occasion, the philosophermade such large demands upon my time, thatI was unable to meether as I was wont. He was engaged in some mighty work,and I wasforced to remain, day and night, feeding his furnaces andwatchinghis chemical preparations. Bertha waited for me in vainat the fountain. Herhaughty spirit fired at this neglect; andwhen at last I stole out during afew short minutes allotted to mefor slumber, and hoped to be consoled byher, she received me withdisdain, dismissed me in scorn, and vowed that anyman shouldpossess her hand rather than he who could not be in two placesatonce for her sake. She would be revenged! And truly she was. Inmy dingyretreat I heard that she had been hunting, attended byAlbert Hoffer. AlbertHoffer was favoured by her protectress, andthe three passed in cavalcadebefore my smoky window. Methoughtthat they mentioned my name; it wasfollowed by a laugh ofderision, as her dark eyes glanced contemptuouslytowards my abode.Jealousy,with all its venom and all its misery, entered my breast. NowIshed a torrent of tears, to think that I should never call hermine; and,anon, I imprecated a thousand curses on her inconstancy.Yet, still I muststir the fires of the alchymist, still attend onthe changes of hisunintelligible medicines.Cornelius had watchedfor three days and nights, nor closed his eyes. Theprogress ofhis alembics was slower than he expected: in spite of hisanxiety,sleep weighted upon his eyelids. Again and again he threwoffdrowsiness with more than human energy; again and again itstole away hissenses. He eyed his crucibles wistfully. "Notready yet," he murmured; "willanother night pass beforethe work is accomplished? Winzy, you are vigilant-- you arefaithful -- you have slept, my boy -- you slept last night.Lookat that glass vessel. The liquid it contains is of a softrose-colour: themoment it begins to change hue, awaken me -- tillthen I may close my eyes.First, it will turn white, and then emitgolden flashes; but wait not tillthen; when the rose-colourfades, 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 thevessel -- do notput it to your lips; it is a philtre -- a philtreto cure love; you wouldnot cease to love your Bertha -- beware todrink!"And he slept. His venerable head sunk on his breast,and I scarce heard hisregular breathing. For a few minutes Iwatched the vessel -- the rosy hue ofthe liquid remainedunchanged. 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 onAlbert. Worthless, detested woman!I would not remain unrevenged-- she should see Albert expire at her feet --she should diebeneath my vengeance. She had smiled in disdain and triumph-- sheknew my wretchedness and her power. Yet what power had she? --thepower of exciting my hate -- my utter scorn -- my -- oh, allbutindifference! Could I attain that -- could I regard her withcareless eyes,transferring my rejected love to one fairer andmore true, that were indeeda victory!A bright flash darted beforemy eyes. I had forgotten the medicine of theadept; I gazed on itwith wonder: flashes of admirable beauty, more brightthan thosewhich the diamond emits when the sun's rays are on it,glancedfrom the surface of the liquid; and odour the mostfragrant and gratefulstole over my sense; the vessel seemed oneglobe of living radiance, lovelyto the eye, and most inviting tothe taste. The first thought, instinctivelyinspired by thegrosser sense, was, I will -- I must drink. I raised thevessel tomy lips. "It will cure me of love -- of torture!"Already I hadquaffed half of the most delicious liquor evertasted by the palate of man,when the philosopher stirred. Istarted -- I dropped the glass -- the fluidflamed and glancedalong the floor, while I felt Cornelius's gripe at mythroat, ashe shrieked aloud, "Wretch! you have destroyed the labour ofmylife!"The philosopher was totally unaware that I had drunkany portion of hisdrug. His idea was, and I gave a tacit assentto it, that I had raised thevessel from curiosity, and that,frightened at its brightness, and theflashes of intense light itgave forth, I had let it fall. I neverundeceived him. The fire ofthe medicine was quenched -- the fragrance diedaway -- he grewcalm, as a philosopher should under the heaviest trials,anddismissed me to rest.I will not attempt to describe the sleepof glory and bliss which bathed mysoul in paradise during theremaining hours of that memorable night. Wordswould be faint andshallow types of my enjoyment, or of the gladness thatpossessedmy bosom when I woke. I trod air -- my thoughts were in heaven.Earthappeared heaven, and my inheritance upon it was to be one tranceofdelight. "This it is to be cured of love," I thought;"I will see Berthathis day, and she will find her lover coldand regardless; too happy to bedisdainful, yet how utterlyindifferent to her!"The hours danced away. The philosopher,secure that he had once succeeded,and believing that he mightagain, began to concoct the same medicine oncemore. He was shutup with his books and drugs, and I had a holiday. Idressed myselfwith care; I looked in an old but polished shield whichserved mefor a mirror; methoughts my good looks had wonderfully improved.Ihurried beyond the precincts of the town, joy in my soul, thebeauty ofheaven and earth around me. I turned my steps toward thecastle -- I couldlook on its lofty turrets with lightness ofheart, for I was cured of love.My Bertha saw me afar off, as Icame up the avenue. I know not what suddenimpulse animated herbosom, but at the sight, she sprung with a lightfawn-like bounddown the marble steps, and was hastening towards me. But Ihadbeen perceived by another person. The old high-born hag, whocalledherself her protectress, and was her tyrant, had seen mealso; she hobbled,panting, up the terrace; a page, as ugly asherself, 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!"Berthaclasped her hands -- her eyes were still bent on myapproachingfigure. I saw the contest. How I abhorred the oldcrone who checked the kindimpulses of my Bertha's softening heart.Hitherto, respect for her rank hadcaused me to avoid the lady ofthe castle; now I disdained such trivialconsiderations. I wascured of love, and lifted above all human fears; Ihastenedforwards, and soon reached the terrace. How lovely Bertha looked!hereyes flashing fire, her cheeks glowing with impatience and anger,shewas a thousand times more graceful and charming than ever. Ino longer loved-- oh no! I adored -- worshipped -- idolized her!Shehad that morning been persecuted, with more than usual vehemence,toconsent to an immediate marriage with my rival. She wasreproached with theencouragement that she had shown him -- shewas threatened with being turnedout of doors with disgrace andshame. Her proud spirit rose in arms at thethreat; but when sheremembered the scorn that she had heaped upon me, andhow,perhaps, she had thus lost one whom she now regarded as heronlyfriend, she wept with remorse and rage. At that moment Iappeared. "Oh,Winzy!" she exclaimed, "take me toyour mother's cot; swiftly let me leavethe detested luxuries andwretchedness of this noble dwelling -- take me topoverty andhappiness."I clasped her in my arms with transport. The olddame was speechless withfury, and broke forth into invective onlywhen we were far on the road to mynatal cottage. My motherreceived the fair fugitive, escaped from a giltcage to nature andliberty, with tenderness and joy; my father, who lovedher,welcomed her heartily; it was a day of rejoicing, which did notneedthe addition of the celestial potion of the alchymist tosteep me indelight.Soon after this eventful day, I became thehusband of Bertha. I ceased to bethe scholar of Cornelius, but Icontinued 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 andjoylessremedy for evils which seem blessings to the memory), hadinspired me withcourage and resolution, thus winning for me aninestimable treasure in myBertha.I often called to mind thatperiod of trance-like inebriation with wonder.The drink ofCornelius had not fulfilled the task for which he affirmed thatithad been prepared, but its effects were more potent and blissfulthanwords can express. They had faded by degrees, yet theylingered long -- andpainted life in hues of splendour. Berthaoften wondered at my lightness ofheart and unaccustomed gaiety;for, before, I had been rather serious, oreven sad, in mydisposition. She loved me the better for my cheerful temper,andour days were winged by joy.Five years afterwards I was suddenlysummoned to the bedside of the dyingCornelius. He had sent for mein haste, conjuring my instant presence. Ifound him stretched onhis pallet, enfeebled even to death; all of life thatyet remainedanimated his piercing eyes, and they were fixed on a glassvessel,full of roseate liquid."Behold," he said, in a brokenand inward voice, "the vanity of humanwishes! a second timemy hopes are about to be crowned, a second time theyare destroyed.Look at that liquor -- you may remember five years ago Ihadprepared the same, with the same success; -- then, as now, mythirsting lipsexpected to taste the immortal elixir -- you dashedit from me! and atpresent it is too late."He spoke withdifficulty, and fell back on his pillow. I could not helpsaying,--"How, revered master, can a cure for love restore you tolife?"A faint smile gleamed across his face as I listenedearnestly to hisscarcely intelligible answer."A cure forlove and for all things -- the Elixir of Immortality. Ah! if nowImight drink, I should live for ever!"As he spoke, a goldenflash gleamed from the fluid; a well-rememberedfragrance stoleover the air; he raised himself, all weak as he was --strengthseemed miraculously to re-enter his frame -- he stretched forthhishand -- a loud explosion startled me -- a ray of fire shot upfrom theelixir, and the glass vessel which contained it wasshivered to atoms! Iturned my eyes towards the philosopher; hehad fallen back -- his eyes wereglassy -- his features rigid --he was dead!But I lived, and was to live for ever! So said theunfortunate alchymist,and for a few days I believed his words. Iremembered the gloriousintoxication that had followed my stolendraught. I reflected on the changeI had felt in my frame -- in mysoul. The bounding elasticity of the one --the buoyant lightnessof the other. I surveyed myself in a mirror, and couldperceive nochange in my features during the space of the five years whichhadelapsed. I remembered the radiant hues and grateful scent ofthatdelicious beverage -- worthy the gift it was capable ofbestowing -- I was,then, IMMORTAL!A few days after I laughed atmy credulity. The old proverb, that "a prophetis leastregarded in his own country," was true with respect to meand mydefunct master. I loved him as a man -- I respected him asa sage -- but Iderided the notion that he could command thepowers of darkness, and laughedat the superstitious fears withwhich he was regarded by the vulgar. He wasa wise philosopher,but had no acquaintance with any spirits but those cladin fleshand blood. His science was simply human; and human science, Isoonpersuaded myself, could never conquer nature's laws so far asto imprisonthe soul for ever within its carnal habitation.Cornelius had brewed asoul-refreshing drink -- more inebriatingthan wine -- sweeter and morefragrant than any fruit: itpossessed probably strong medicinal powers,imparting gladness tothe heart and vigour to the limbs; but its effectswould wear out;already they were diminished in my frame. I was a luckyfellow tohave quaffed health and joyous spirits, and perhaps a longlife,at my master's hands; but my good fortune ended there:longevity was fardifferent from immortality.I continued toentertain this belief for many years. Sometimes a thoughtstoleacross me -- Was the alchymist indeed deceived? But myhabitualcredence was, that I should meet the fate of all thechildren of Adam at myappointed time -- a little late, but stillat a natural age. Yet it wascertain that I retained a wonderfullyyouthful look. I was laughed at for myvanity in consulting themirror so often, but I consulted it in vain -- mybrow wasuntrenched -- my cheeks -- my eyes -- my whole person continuedasuntarnished as in my twentieth year.I was troubled. I looked atthe faded beauty of Bertha -- I seemed more likeher son. Bydegrees our neighbors began to make similar observations, andIfound at last that I went by the name of the Scholar bewitched.Berthaherself grew uneasy. She became jealous and peevish, and atlength she beganto question me. We had no children; we were allin all to each other; andthough, as she grew older, her vivaciousspirit became a little allied toill-temper, and her beauty sadlydiminished, I cherished her in my heart asthe mistress Iidolized, the wife I had sought and won with such perfectlove.Atlast our situation became intolerable: Bertha was fifty -- Itwenty yearsof age. I had, in very shame, in some measure adoptedthe habits of advancedage; I no longer mingled in the dance amongthe young and gay, but my heartbounded along with them while Irestrained my feet; and a sorry figure I cutamong the Nestors ofour village. But before the time I mention, things werealtered --we were universally shunned; we were -- at least, I was --reportedto have kept up an iniquitous acquaintance with some of myformermaster's supposed friends. Poor Bertha was pitied, butdeserted. I wasregarded with horror and detestation.What was tobe done? we sat by our winter fire -- poverty had madeitselffelt, for none would buy the produce of my farm; and oftenI had been forcedto journey twenty miles to some place where Iwas not known, to dispose ofour property. It is true, we hadsaved something for an evil day -- that daywas come.We sat by ourlone fireside -- the old-hearted youth and his antiquatedwife.Again Bertha insisted on knowing the truth; she recapitulated allshehad ever heard said about me, and added her own observations.She conjuredme to cast off the spell; she described how much morecomely grey hairs werethan my chestnut locks; she descanted onthe reverence and respect due toage -- how preferable to theslight regard paid to mere children: could Iimagine that thedespicable gifts of youth and good looks outweigheddisgrace,hatred and scorn? Nay, in the end I should be burnt as a dealerinthe black art, while she, to whom I had not deigned tocommunicate anyportion of my good fortune, might be stoned as myaccomplice. At length sheinsinuated that I must share my secretwith her, and bestow on her likebenefits to those I myselfenjoyed, or she would denounce me -- and then sheburst into tears.Thusbeset, methought it was the best way to tell the truth. I reveledit astenderly as I could, and spoke only of a very long life, notof immortality-- which representation, indeed, coincided bestwith my own ideas. When Iended I rose and said,--"And now,my Bertha, will you denounce the lover of your youth? -- Youwillnot, I know. But it is too hard, my poor wife, that youshould suffer for myill-luck and the accursed arts of Cornelius.I will leave you -- you havewealth enough, and friends willreturn in my absence. I will go; young as Iseem and strong as Iam, I can work and gain my bread among strangers,unsuspected andunknown. I loved you in youth; God is my witness that Iwould notdesert you in age, but that your safety and happiness require it."Itook my cap and moved toward the door; in a moment Bertha's armswereround 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 yousay, among strangers we shall beunsuspected and safe. I am not soold as quite to shame you, my Winzy; and Idaresay the charm willsoon wear off, and, with the blessing of God, youwill become moreelderly-looking, as is fitting; you shall not leave me."Ireturned the good soul's embrace heartily. "I will not, myBertha; but foryour sake I had not thought of such a thing. Iwill be your true, faithfulhusband while you are spared to me,and do my duty by you to the last."The next day we preparedsecretly for our emigration. We were obliged tomake greatpecuniary sacrifices -- it could not be helped. We realized asumsufficient, at least, to maintain us while Bertha lived; and,without sayingadieu to any one, quitted our native country totake refuge in a remote partof western France.It was a cruelthing to transport poor Bertha from her native village, andthefriends of her youth, to a new country, new language, new customs.Thestrange secret of my destiny rendered this removal immaterialto me; but Icompassionated her deeply, and was glad to perceivethat she foundcompensation for her misfortunes in a variety oflittle ridiculouscircumstances. Away from all tell-talechroniclers, she sought to decreasethe apparent disparity of ourages by a thousand feminine arts -- rouge,youthful dress, andassumed juvenility of manner. I could not be angry. DidI notmyself wear a mask? Why quarrel with hers, because it waslesssuccessful? I grieved deeply when I remembered that this wasmy Bertha, whomI had loved so fondly and won with such transport-- the dark-eyed,dark-haired girl, with smiles of enchantingarchness and a step like a fawn-- this mincing, simpering,jealous old woman. I should have revered hergrey locks andwithered cheeks; but thus! -- It was my work, I knew; but Ididnot the less deplore this type of human weakness.Her jealouslynever slept. Her chief occupation was to discover that, inspiteof outward appearances, I was myself growing old. I verilybelievethat the poor soul loved me truly in her heart, but neverhad woman sotormenting a mode of displaying fondness. She woulddiscern wrinkles in myface and decrepitude in my walk, while Ibounded along in youthful vigour,the youngest looking of twentyyouths. I never dared address another woman.On one occasion,fancying that the belle of the village regarded me withfavouringeyes, she brought me a grey wig. Her constant discourse amongheracquaintances was, that though I looked so young, there wasruin at workwithin my frame; and she affirmed that the worstsymptom about me was myapparent health. My youth was a disease,she said, and I ought at all timesto prepare, if not for a suddenand awful death, at least to awake somemorning white-headed andbowed down with all the marks of advanced years. Ilet her talk --I often joined in her conjectures. Her warnings chimed inwith mynever-ceasing speculations concerning my state, and I tookanearnest, though painful, interest in listening to all that herquick wit andexcited imagination could say on the subject.Whydwell on these minute circumstances? We lived on for many longyears.Bertha became bedrid and paralytic; I nursed her as amother might a child.She grew peevish, and still harped upon onestring -- of how long I shouldsurvive her. It has ever been asource of consolation to me, that Iperformed my duty scrupulouslytowards her. She had been mine in youth, shewas mine in age; andat last, when I heaped the sod over her corpse, I weptto feelthat I had lost all that really bound me to humanity.Since thenhow many have been my cares and woes, how few and emptymyenjoyments! I pause here in my history -- I will pursue it nofurther. Asailor without rudder or compass, tossed on a stormysea -- a traveller loston a widespread heath, without landmark orstone to guide him -- such I havebeen: more lost, more hopelessthan either. A nearing ship, a gleam fromsome far cot, may savethem; but I have no beacon except the hope of death.Death!mysterious, ill-visaged friend of weak humanity! Why alone ofallmortals have you cast me from your sheltering fold? Oh, forthe peace of thegrave! the deep silence of the iron-bound tomb!that thought would cease towork in my brain, and my heart beat nomore with emotions varied only by newforms of sadness!Am Iimmortal? I return to my first question. In the first place, isit notmore probably that the beverage of the alchymist wasfraught rather withlongevity than eternal life? Such is my hope.And then be it remembered,that I only drank half of the potionprepared by him. Was not the wholenecessary to complete thecharm? To have drained half the Elixir ofImmortality is but to behalf-immortal -- my For-ever is thus truncated andnull.But again,who shall number the years of the half of eternity? I often trytoimagine by what rule the infinite may be divided. Sometimes Ifancy ageadvancing upon me. One grey hair I have found. Fool! doI lament? Yes, thefear of age and death often creeps coldly intomy heart; and the more Ilive, the more I dread death, even whileI abhor life. Such an enigma is man-- born to perish -- when hewars, as I do, against the established laws ofhis nature.But forthis anomaly of feeling surely I might die: the medicine ofthealchymist would not be proof against fire -- sword -- and thestranglingwaters. I have gazed upon the blue depths of many aplacid lake, and thetumultuous rushing of many a mighty river,and have said, peace inhabitsthose waters; yet I have turned mysteps away, to live yet another day. Ihave asked myself, whethersuicide would be a crime in one to whom thus onlythe portals ofthe other world could be opened. I have done all,exceptpresenting myself as a soldier or duelist, an objection ofdestruction to my-- no, not my fellow mortals, and therefore Ihave shrunk away. They are notmy fellows. The inextinguishablepower of life in my frame, and theirephemeral existence, placesus wide as the poles asunder. I could not raisea hand against themeanest or the most powerful among them.Thus have I lived on formany a year -- alone, and weary of myself --desirous of death,yet never dying -- a mortal immortal. Neither ambitionnor avaricecan enter my mind, and the ardent love that gnaws at myheart,never to be returned -- never to find an equal on which toexpend itself --lives there only to torment me.This very day Iconceived a design by which I may end all -- withoutself-slaughter,without making another man a Cain -- an expedition, whichmortalframe can never survive, even endued with the youth and strengththatinhabits mine. Thus I shall put my immortality to the test,and rest forever -- or return, the wonder and benefactor of thehuman species.Before I go, a miserable vanity has caused me topen these pages. I wouldnot die, and leave no name behind. Threecenturies have passed since Iquaffed the fatal beverage; anotheryear 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 asoul which thirsts for freedom, to the destructiveelements of airand water; or, if I survive, my name shall be recorded asone ofthe most famous among the sons of men; and, my task achieved, Ishalladopt more resolute means, and, by scattering andannihilating the atomsthat compose my frame, set at liberty thelife imprisoned within, and socruelly prevented from soaring fromthis dim earth to a sphere morecongenial to its immortal essence.