【英文短篇小说】Dr. Heidegger's Experiment

THAT VERY SINGULAR man, old Dr. Heidegger, once invited four venerable friends to meet him in his study. There were three white-bearded gentlemen, Mr. Medbourne, Colonel Killigrew, and Mr. Gascoigne, and a withered 1 gentlewoman, whose name was the Widow Wycherly. They were all melancholy 2 old creatures, who had been unfortunate in life, and whose greatest misfortune it was that they were not long ago in their graves. Mr. Medbourne, in the vigor 3 of his age, had been a prosperous merchant, but had lost his all by a frantic 4 speculation 5, and was now little better than a mendicant 6. Colonel Killigrew had wasted his best years, and his health and substance, in the pursuit of sinful pleasures, which had given birth to a brood of pains, such as the gout, and divers 7 other torments 8 of soul and body. Mr. Gascoigne was a ruined politician, a man of evil fame, or at least had been so till time had buried him from the knowledge of the present generation, and made him obscure instead of infamous 9. As for the Widow Wycherly, tradition tells us that she was a great beauty in her day; but, for a long while past, she had lived in deep seclusion 10, on account of certain scandalous stories which had prejudiced the gentry 11 of the town against her. It is a circumstance worth mentioning that each of these three old gentlemen, Mr. Medbourne, Colonel Killigrew, and Mr. Gascoigne, were early lovers of the Widow Wycherly, and had once been on the point of cutting each other's throats for her sake. And, before proceeding 12 further, I will merely hint that Dr. Heidegger and all his four guests were sometimes thought to be a little beside themselves--as is not unfrequently the case with old people, when worried either by present troubles or woful recollections.
 
"My dear old friends," said Dr. Heidegger, motioning them to be seated, "I am desirous of your assistance in one of those little experiments with which I amuse myself here in my study."
 
If all stories were true, Dr. Heidegger's study must have been a very curious place. It was a dim, old-fashioned chamber 13, festooned with cobwebs, and besprinkled with antique dust. Around the walls stood several oaken bookcases, the lower shelves of which were filled with rows of gigantic folios and black-letter quartos, and the upper with little parchment-covered duodecimos. Over the central bookcase was a bronze bust 14 of Hippocrates, with which, according to some authorities, Dr. Heidegger was accustomed to hold consultations 15 in all difficult cases of his practice. In the obscurest corner of the room stood a tall and narrow oaken closet, with its door ajar, within which doubtfully appeared a skeleton. Between two of the bookcases hung a looking-glass, presenting its high and dusty plate within a tarnished 16 gilt 17 frame. Among many wonderful stories related of this mirror, it was fabled 18 that the spirits of all the doctor's deceased patients dwelt within its verge 19, and would stare him in the face whenever he looked thitherward. The opposite side of the chamber was ornamented 21 with the full-length portrait of a young lady, arrayed in the faded magnificence of silk, satin, and brocade, and with a visage as faded as her dress. Above half a century ago, Dr. Heidegger had been on the point of marriage with this young lady; but, being affected 22 with some slight disorder 23, she had swallowed one of her lover's prescriptions 24, and died on the bridal evening. The greatest curiosity of the study remains 25 to be mentioned; it was a ponderous 26 folio volume, bound in black leather, with massive silver clasps. There were no letters on the back, and nobody could tell the title of the book. But it was well known to be a book of magic; and once, when a chambermaid had lifted it, merely to brush away the dust, the skeleton had rattled 27 in its closet, the picture of the young lady had stepped one foot upon the floor, and several ghastly faces had peeped forth 28 from the mirror; while the brazen 29 head of Hippocrates frowned, and said--"Forbear!"
 
Such was Dr. Heidegger's study. On the summer afternoon of our tale a small round table, as black as ebony, stood in the centre of the room, sustaining a cut-glass vase of beautiful form and elaborate workmanship. The sunshine came through the window, between the heavy festoons of two faded damask curtains, and fell directly across this vase; so that a mild splendor 30 was reflected from it on the ashen 31 visages of the five old people who sat around. Four champagne 32 glasses were also on the table.
 
"My dear old friends," repeated Dr. Heidegger, "may I reckon on your aid in performing an exceedingly curious experiment?"
 
Now Dr. Heidegger was a very strange old gentleman, whose eccentricity 33 had become the nucleus 34 for a thousand fantastic stories. Some of these fables 35, to my shame be it spoken, might possibly be traced back to my own veracious 37 self; and if any passages of the present tale should startle the reader's faith, I must be content to bear the stigma 38 of a fiction monger.
 
When the doctor's four guests heard him talk of his proposed experiment, they anticipated nothing more wonderful than the murder of a mouse in an air pump, or the examination of a cobweb by the microscope, or some similar nonsense, with which he was constantly in the habit of pestering 39 his intimates. But without waiting for a reply, Dr. Heidegger hobbled across the chamber, and returned with the same ponderous folio, bound in black leather, which common report affirmed to be a book of magic. Undoing 40 the silver clasps, he opened the volume, and took from among its black-letter pages a rose, or what was once a rose, though now the green leaves and crimson 41 petals 42 had assumed one brownish hue 43, and the ancient flower seemed ready to crumble 44 to dust in the doctor's hands.
 
"This rose, said Dr. Heidegger, with a sigh, "this same withered and crumbling 45 flower, blossomed five and fifty years ago. It was given me by Sylvia Ward 20, whose portrait hangs yonder; and I meant to wear it in my bosom 46 at our wedding. Five and fifty years it has been treasured between the leaves of this old volume. Now, would you deem it possible that this rose of half a century could ever bloom again?"
 
"Nonsense!" said the Widow Wycherly, with a peevish 47 toss of her head. "You might as well ask whether an old woman's wrinkled face could ever bloom again."
 
"See!" answered Dr. Heidegger.
 
He uncovered the vase, and threw the faded rose into the water which it contained. At first, it lay lightly on the surface of the fluid, appearing to imbibe 48 none of its moisture. Soon, however, a singular change began to be visible. The crushed and dried petals stirred, and assumed a deepening tinge 49 of crimson, as if the flower were reviving from a deathlike slumber 50; the slender stalk and twigs 51 of foliage 52 became green; and there was the rose of half a century, looking as fresh as when Sylvia Ward had first given it to her lover. It was scarcely full blown; for some of its delicate red leaves curled modestly around its moist bosom, within which two or three dewdrops were sparkling.
 
"That is certainly a very pretty deception 53," said the doctor's friends; carelessly, however, for they had witnessed greater miracles at a conjurer's show; "pray how was it effected?"
 
"Did you never hear of the 'Fountain of Youth'?" asked Dr. Heidegger, "which Ponce de Leon, the Spanish adventurer, went in search of two or three centuries ago?"
 
"But did Ponce de Leon ever find it?" said the Widow Wycherly.
 
"No, answered Dr. Heidegger, "for he never sought it in the right place. The famous Fountain of Youth, if I am rightly informed, is situated 54 in the southern part of the Floridian peninsula, not far from Lake Macaco. Its source is overshadowed by several gigantic magnolias, which, though numberless centuries old, have been kept as fresh as violets by the virtues 56 of this wonderful water. An acquaintance of mine, knowing my curiosity in such matters, has sent me what you see in the vase."
 
"Ahem!" said Colonel Killigrew, who believed not a word of the doctor's story: "and what may be the effect of this fluid on the human frame?"
 
"You shall judge for yourself, my dear colonel," replied Dr. Heidegger; "and all of you, my respected friends, are welcome to so much of this admirable fluid as may restore to you the bloom of youth. For my own part, having had much trouble in growing old, I am in no hurry to grow young again. With your permission, therefore, I will merely watch the progress of the experiment."
 
While he spoke 36, Dr. Heidegger had been filling the four champagne glasses with the water of the Fountain of Youth. It was apparently 57 impregnated with an effervescent gas, for little bubbles were continually ascending 58 from the depths of the glasses, and bursting in silvery spray at the surface. As the liquor diffused 59 a pleasant perfume, the old people doubted not that it possessed 60 cordial and comfortable properties; and though utter sceptics as to its rejuvenescent power, they were inclined to swallow it at once. But Dr. Heidegger besought 61 them to stay a moment.
 
"Before you drink, my respectable old friends," said he, "it would be well that, with the experience of a lifetime to direct you, you should draw up a few general rules for your guidance, in passing a second time through the perils 62 of youth. Think what a sin and shame it would be, if, with your peculiar 63 advantages, you should not become patterns of virtue 55 and wisdom to all the young people of the age!"
 
The doctor's four venerable friends made him no answer, except by a feeble and tremulous laugh; so very ridiculous was the idea that, knowing how closely repentance 64 treads behind the steps of error, they should ever go astray again.
 
"Drink, then," said the doctor, bowing: "I rejoice that I have so well selected the subjects of my experiment."
 
With palsied hands, they raised the glasses to their lips. The liquor, if it really possessed such virtues as Dr. Heidegger imputed 65 to it, could not have been bestowed 66 on four human beings who needed it more wofully. They looked as if they had never known what youth or pleasure was, but had been the offspring of Nature's dotage 67, and always the gray, decrepit 68, sapless, miserable 69 creatures, who now sat stooping round the doctor's table, without life enough in their souls or bodies to be animated 70 even by the prospect 71 of growing young again. They drank off the water, and replaced their glasses on the table.
 
Assuredly there was an almost immediate 72 improvement in the aspect of the party, not unlike what might have been produced by a glass of generous wine, together with a sudden glow of cheerful sunshine brightening over all their visages at once. There was a healthful suffusion 73 on their cheeks, instead of the ashen hue that had made them look so corpse-like. They gazed at one another, and fancied that some magic power had really begun to smooth away the deep and sad inscriptions 74 which Father Time had been so long engraving 75 on their brows. The Widow Wycherly adjusted her cap, for she felt almost like a woman again.
 
"Give us more of this wondrous 76 water!" cried they, eagerly. "We are younger--but we are still too old! Quick--give us more!"
 
"Patience, patience!" quoth Dr. Heidegger, who sat watching the experiment with philosophic 77 coolness. "You have been a long time growing old. Surely, you might be content to grow young in half an hour! But the water is at your service."
 
Again he filled their glasses with the liquor of youth, enough of which still remained in the vase to turn half the old people in the city to the age of their own grandchildren. While the bubbles were yet sparkling on the brim, the doctor's four guests snatched their glasses from the table, and swallowed the contents at a single gulp 78. Was it delusion 79? even while the draught 80 was passing down their throats, it seemed to have wrought 81 a change on their whole systems. Their eyes grew clear and bright; a dark shade deepened among their silvery locks, they sat around the table, three gentlemen of middle age, and a woman, hardly beyond her buxom 82 prime.
 
"My dear widow, you are charming!" cried Colonel Killigrew, whose eyes had been fixed 83 upon her face, while the shadows of age were flitting from it like darkness from the crimson daybreak.
 
The fair widow knew, of old, that Colonel Killigrew's compliments were not always measured by sober truth; so she started up and ran to the mirror, still dreading 84 that the ugly visage of an old woman would meet her gaze. Meanwhile, the three gentlemen behaved in such a manner as proved that the water of the Fountain of Youth possessed some intoxicating 85 qualities; unless, indeed, their exhilaration of spirits were merely a lightsome dizziness caused by the sudden removal of the weight of years. Mr. Gascoigne's mind seemed to run on political topics, but whether relating to the past, present, or future could not easily be determined 86, since the same ideas and phrases have been in vogue 87 these fifty years. Now he rattled forth full-throated sentences about patriotism 88, national glory, and the people's right; now he muttered some perilous 89 stuff or other, in a sly and doubtful whisper, so cautiously that even his own conscience could scarcely catch the secret; and now, again, he spoke in measured accents, and a deeply deferential 90 tone, as if a royal ear were listening to his well-turned periods. Colonel Killigrew all this time had been trolling forth a jolly bottle song, and ringing his glass in symphony with the chorus, while his eyes wandered toward the buxom figure of the Widow Wycherly. On the other side of the table, Mr. Medbourne was involved in a calculation of dollars and cents, with which was strangely intermingled a project for supplying the East Indies with ice, by harnessing a team of whales to the polar icebergs 91.
 
As for the Widow Wycherly, she stood before the mirror courtesying and simpering to her own image, and greeting it as the friend whom she loved better than all the world beside. She thrust her face close to the glass, to see whether some long-remembered wrinkle or crow's foot had indeed vanished. She examined whether the snow had so entirely 92 melted from her hair that the venerable cap could be safely thrown aside. At last, turning briskly away, she came with a sort of dancing step to the table.
 
"My dear old doctor," cried she, "pray favor me with another glass!"
 
"Certainly, my dear madam, certainly!" replied the complaisant 93 doctor; "see! I have already filled the glasses."
 
There, in fact, stood the four glasses, brimful of this wonderful water, the delicate spray of which, as it effervesced 94 from the surface, resembled the tremulous glitter of diamonds. It was now so nearly sunset that the chamber had grown duskier than ever; but a mild and moonlike splendor gleamed from within the vase, and rested alike on the four guests and on the doctor's venerable figure. He sat in a high-backed, elaborately-carved, oaken arm-chair, with a gray dignity of aspect that might have well befitted that very Father Time, whose power had never been disputed, save by this fortunate company. Even while quaffing 96 the third draught of the Fountain of Youth, they were almost awed 97 by the expression of his mysterious visage.
 
But, the next moment, the exhilarating gush 98 of young life shot through their veins 99. They were now in the happy prime of youth. Age, with its miserable train of cares and sorrows and diseases, was remembered only as the trouble of a dream, from which they had joyously 100 awoke. The fresh gloss 101 of the soul, so early lost, and without which the world's successive scenes had been but a gallery of faded pictures, again threw its enchantment 102 over all their prospects 103. They felt like new-created beings in a new-created universe.
 
"We are young! We are young!" they cried exultingly 104.
 
Youth, like the extremity 105 of age, had effaced 106 the strongly-marked characteristics of middle life, and mutually assimilated them all. They were a group of merry youngsters, almost maddened with the exuberant 107 frolicsomeness 108 of their years. The most singular effect of their gayety was an impulse to mock the infirmity and decrepitude 109 of which they had so lately been the victims. They laughed loudly at their old-fashioned attire 110, the wide-skirted coats and flapped waist-coats of the young men, and the ancient cap and gown of the blooming girl. One limped across the floor like a gouty grandfather; one set a pair of spectacles astride of his nose, and pretended to pore over the black-letter pages of the book of magic; a third seated himself in an arm-chair, and strove to imitate the venerable dignity of Dr. Heidegger. Then all shouted mirthfully, and leaped about the room. The Widow Wycherly--if so fresh a damsel could be called a widow--tripped up to the doctor's chair, with a mischievous 111 merriment in her rosy 112 face.
 
"Doctor, you dear old soul," cried she, "get up and dance with me!" And then the four young people laughed louder than ever, to think what a queer figure the poor old doctor would cut.
 
"Pray excuse me," answered the doctor quietly. "I am old and rheumatic, and my dancing days were over long ago. But either of these gay young gentlemen will be glad of so pretty a partner."
 
"Dance with me, Clara!" cried Colonel Killigrew.
 
"No, no, I will be her partner!" shouted Mr. Gascoigne.
 
"She promised me her hand, fifty years ago!" exclaimed Mr. Medbourne.
 
They all gathered round her. One caught both her hands in his passionate 113 grasp--another threw his arm about her waist--the third buried his hand among the glossy 114 curls that clustered beneath the widow's cap. Blushing, panting, struggling, chiding 115, laughing, her warm breath fanning each of their faces by turns, she strove to disengage herself, yet still remained in their triple embrace. Never was there a livelier picture of youthful rivalship, with bewitching beauty for the prize. Yet, by a strange deception, owing to the duskiness of the chamber, and the antique dresses which they still wore, the tall mirror is said to have reflected the figures of the three old, gray, withered grandsires, ridiculously contending for the skinny ugliness of a shrivelled grandam.
 
But they were young: their burning passions proved them so. Inflamed 116 to madness by the coquetry of the girl-widow, who neither granted nor quite withheld 117 her favors, the three rivals began to interchange threatening glances. Still keeping hold of the fair prize, they grappled fiercely at one another's throats. As they struggled to and fro, the table was overturned, and the vase dashed into a thousand fragments. The precious Water of Youth flowed in a bright stream across the floor, moistening the wings of a butterfly, which, grown old in the decline of summer, had alighted there to die. The insect fluttered lightly through the chamber, and settled on the snowy head of Dr. Heidegger.
 
"Come, come, gentlemen! come, Madam Wycherly," exclaimed the doctor, "I really must protest against this riot."
 
They stood still and shivered; for it seemed as if gray Time were calling them back from their sunny youth, far down into the chill and darksome vale of years. They looked at old Dr. Heidegger, who sat in his carved arm-chair, holding the rose of half a century, which he had rescued from among the fragments of the shattered vase. At the motion of his hand, the four rioters resumed their seats; the more readily, because their violent exertions 118 had wearied them, youthful though they were.
 
"My poor Sylvia's rose!" ejaculated Dr. Heidegger, holding it in the light of the sunset clouds; "it appears to be fading again."
 
And so it was. Even while the party were looking at it, the flower continued to shrivel up, till it became as dry and fragile as when the doctor had first thrown it into the vase. He shook off the few drops of moisture which clung to its petals.
 
"I love it as well thus as in its dewy freshness," observed he, pressing the withered rose to his withered lips. While he spoke, the butterfly fluttered down from the doctor's snowy head, and fell upon the floor.
 
His guests shivered again. A strange chillness, whether of the body or spirit they could not tell, was creeping gradually over them all. They gazed at one another, and fancied that each fleeting 119 moment snatched away a charm, and left a deepening furrow 120 where none had been before. Was it an illusion? Had the changes of a lifetime been crowded into so brief a space, and were they now four aged 121 people, sitting with their old friend, Dr. Heidegger?
 
"Are we grown old again, so soon?" cried they, dolefully.
 
In truth they had. The Water of Youth possessed merely a virtue more transient than that of wine. The delirium 122 which it created had effervesced away. Yes! they were old again. With a shuddering 123 impulse, that showed her a woman still, the widow clasped her skinny hands before her face, and wished that the coffin 124 lid were over it, since it could be no longer beautiful.
 
"Yes, friends, ye are old again," said Dr. Heidegger, "and lo! the Water of Youth is all lavished 125 on the ground. Well--I bemoan 126 it not; for if the fountain gushed 127 at my very doorstep, I would not stoop to bathe my lips in it--no, though its delirium were for years instead of moments. Such is the lesson ye have taught me!"
 
But the doctor's four friends had taught no such lesson to themselves. They resolved forthwith to make a pilgrimage to Florida, and quaff 95 at morning, noon, and night, from the Fountain of Youth.
NOTE. In an English review, not long since, I have been accused of plagiarizing 128 the idea of this story from a chapter in one of the novels of Alexandre Dumas. There has undoubtedly 129 been a plagiarism 130 on one side or the other; but as my story was written a good deal more than twenty years ago, and as the novel is of considerably 131 more recent date, I take pleasure in thinking that M. Dumas has done me the honor to appropriate one of the fanciful conceptions of my earlier days. He is heartily 132 welcome to it; nor is it the only instance, by many, in which the great French romancer has exercised the privilege of commanding genius by confiscating 133 the intellectual property of less famous people to his own use and behoof.