touchedit。”
But，totheincreasedastonishmentofAnnie，whenthetipofher
father’sfingerwaspressedagainstthatofherhusband，onwhich
thebutterflystillrested，theinsectdroopeditswings，andseemed
onthepointoffallingtothefloor。Eventhebrightspotsofgold
uponitswingsandbody，unlesshereyesdeceivedher，grewdim，and
theglowingpurpletookaduskyhue，andthestarrylustrethat
gleamedaroundtheblacksmith’shandbecamefaint，andvanished。
“Itisdying！itisdying！”criedAnnie，inalarm。
“Ithasbeendelicatelywrought。”saidtheartist，calmly。“AsI
toldyou，ithasimbibedaspiritualessence-callitmagnetism，or
whatyouwill。Inanatmosphereofdoubtandmockery，itsexquisite
susceptibilitysufferstorture，asdoesthesoulofhimwho
instilledhisownlifeintoit。Ithasalreadylostitsbeauty；ina
fewmomentsmore，itsmechanismwouldbeirreparablyinjured。”
“Takeawayyourhand，father！”entreatedAnnie，turningpale。“Here
ismychild；letitrestonhisinnocenthand。There，perhaps，its
lifewillrevive，anditscolorsgrowbrighterthanever。”
Herfather，withanacridsmile，withdrewhisfinger。Thebutterfly
thenappearedtorecoverthepowerofvoluntarymotion；whileitshues
assumedmuchoftheiroriginallustre，andthegleamofstarlight，
whichwasitsmostetherealattribute，againformedahaloroundabout
it。Atfirst，whentransferredfromRobertDanforth’shandtothe
smallfingerofthechild，thisradiancegrewsopowerfulthatit
positivelythrewthelittlefellow’sshadowbackagainstthewall。He，
meanwhile，extendedhisplumphandashehadseenhisfatherand
motherdo，andwatchedthewavingoftheinsect’swingswithinfantine
delight。Nevertheless，therewasacertainoddexpressionofsagacity，
thatmadeOwenWarlandfeelasifherewereoldPeterHovenden，
partially，andbutpartially，redeemedfromhishardscepticisminto
childishfaith。
“Howwisethelittlemonkeylooks！”whisperedRobertDanforthto
hiswife。
“Ineversawsuchalookonachild’sface。”answeredAnnie，
admiringherowninfant，andwithgoodreason，farmorethanthe
artisticbutterfly。“Thedarlingknowsmoreofthemysterythanwe
do。”
Asifthebutterfly，liketheartist，wereconsciousofsomething
notentirelycongenialinthechild’snature，italternately
sparkledandgrewdim。Atlength，itarosefromthesmallhandof
theinfantwithanairymotion，thatseemedtobearitupward
withoutaneffort；asiftheetherealinstincts，withwhichits
master’sspirithadendowedit，impelledthisfairvision
involuntarilytoahighersphere。Hadtherebeennoobstruction，it
mighthavesoaredintothesky，andgrownimmortal。Butitslustre
gleamedupontheceiling；theexquisitetextureofitswingsbrushed
againstthatearthlymedium；andasparkleortwo，asifstardust，
floateddownwardandlayglimmeringonthecarpet。Thenthe
butterflycameflutteringdown，and，insteadofreturningtothe
infant，wasapparentlyattractedtowardstheartist’shand。
“Notso，notso！”murmuredOwenWarland，asifhishandiwork
couldhaveunderstoodhim。“Thouhastgoneforthoutofthymaster’s
heart。Thereisnoreturnforthee！”
Withawaveringmovement，andemittingatremulousradiance，the
butterflystruggled，asitwere，towardstheinfant，andwasabout
toalightuponhisfinger。But，whileitstillhoveredintheair，the
littleChildofStrength，withhisgrandsire’ssharpandshrewd
expressioninhisface，madeasnatchatthemarvellousinsect，and
compresseditinhishand。Anniescreamed！OldPeterHovendenburst
intoacoldandscornfullaugh。Theblacksmith，bymainforce，
unclosedtheinfant’shand，andfoundwithinthepalmasmallheap
ofglitteringfragments，whencetheMysteryofBeautyhadfledfor
ever。AndasforOwenWarland，helookedplacidlyatwhatseemedthe
ruinofhislife’slabor，andwhichyetwasnoruin。Hehadcaughta
farotherbutterflythanthis。Whentheartistrosehighenoughto
achievetheBeautiful，thesymbolbywhichhemadeitperceptibleto
mortalsensesbecameoflittlevalueinhiseyes，whilehisspirit
possesseditselfintheenjoymentofthereality。
byNathanielHawthorne
INTHELATTERPARTofthelastcentury，therelivedamanof
science-aneminentproficientineverybranchofnatural
philosophy-who，notlongbeforeourstoryopens，hadmade
experienceofaspiritualaffinity，moreattractivethanany
chemicalone。Hehadlefthislaboratorytothecareofan
assistant，clearedhisfinecountenancefromthefurnace-smoke，washed
thestainofacidsfromhisfingers，andpersuadedabeautifulwoman
tobecomehiswife。Inthosedays，whenthecomparativelyrecent
discoveryofelectricity，andotherkindredmysteriesofnature，
seemedtoopenpathsintotheregionofmiracle，itwasnotunusual
fortheloveofsciencetorivaltheloveofwoman，initsdepthand
absorbingenergy。Thehigherintellect，theimagination，thespirit，
andeventheheart，mightallfindtheircongenialalimentinpursuits
which，assomeoftheirardentvotariesbelieved，wouldascendfrom
onestepofpowerfulintelligencetoanother，untilthephilosopher
shouldlayhishandonthesecretofcreativeforce，andperhaps
makenewworldsforhimself。WeknownotwhetherAylmerpossessedthis
degreeoffaithinman’sultimatecontrolovernature。Hehad
devotedhimself，however，toounreservedlytoscientificstudies，ever
tobeweanedfromthembyanysecondpassion。Hisloveforhisyoung
wifemightprovethestrongerofthetwo；butitcouldonlybeby
intertwiningitselfwithhisloveofscience，andunitingthestrength
ofthelattertoitsown。
Suchanunionaccordinglytookplace，andwasattendedwithtruly
remarkableconsequences，andadeeplyimpressivemoral。Oneday，
verysoonaftertheirmarriage，Aylmersatgazingathiswife，with
atroubleinhiscountenancethatgrewstronger，untilhespoke。
“Georgiana。”saidhe，“hasitneveroccurredtoyouthatthemark
uponyourcheekmightberemoved？”
“No，indeed，saidshe，smiling；butperceivingtheseriousnessof
hismanner，sheblusheddeeply。“Totellyouthetruth，ithasbeenso
oftencalledacharm，thatIwassimpleenoughtoimagineitmight
beso。”
“Ah，uponanotherface，perhapsitmight。”repliedherhusband。
“Butneveronyours！No，dearestGeorgiana，youcamesonearlyperfect
fromthehandofNature，thatthisslightestpossibledefect-whichwe
hesitatewhethertotermadefectorabeauty-shocksme，asbeingthe
visiblemarkofearthlyimperfection。”
“Shocksyou，myhusband！”criedGeorgiana，deeplyhurt；atfirst
reddeningwithmomentaryanger，butthenburstingintotears。“Then
whydidyoutakemefrommymother’sside？Youcannotlovewhatshocks
you！”
Toexplainthisconversation，itmustbementioned，that，inthe
centreofGeorgiana’sleftcheek，therewasasingularmark，deeply
interwoven，asitwere，withthetextureandsubstanceofherface。In
theusualstateofhercomplexion-ahealthy，thoughdelicatebloom-
themarkworeatintofdeepercrimson，whichimperfectlydefined
itsshapeamidthesurroundingrosiness。Whensheblushed，it
graduallybecamemoreindistinct，andfinallyvanishedamidthe
triumphantrushofblood，thatbathedthewholecheekwithits
brilliantglow。But，ifanyshiftingemotioncausedhertoturn
pale，therewasthemarkagain，acrimsonstainuponthesnow，inwhat
Aylmersometimesdeemedanalmostfearfuldistinctness。Itsshapebore
notalittlesimilaritytothehumanhand，thoughofthesmallest
pigmysize。Georgiana’sloverswerewonttosay，thatsomefairy，at
herbirth-hour，hadlaidhertinyhandupontheinfant’scheek，and
leftthisimpressthere，intokenofthemagicendowmentsthatwereto
givehersuchswayoverallhearts。Manyadesperateswainwould
haveriskedlifefortheprivilegeofpressinghislipstothe
mysterioushand。Itmustnotbeconcealed，however，thatthe
impressionwroughtbythisfairysign-manualvariedexceedingly，
accordingtothedifferenceoftemperamentinthebeholders。Some
fastidiouspersons-buttheywereexclusivelyofherownsex-affirmed
thattheBloodyHand，astheychosetocallit，quitedestroyedthe
effectofGeorgiana’sbeauty，andrenderedhercountenanceeven
hideous。Butitwouldbeasreasonabletosay，thatoneofthosesmall
bluestains，whichsometimesoccurinthepureststatuarymarble，
wouldconverttheEveofPowerstoamonster。Masculineobservers，
ifthebirthmarkdidnotheightentheiradmiration，contented
themselveswithwishingitaway，thattheworldmightpossessone
livingspecimenofidealloveliness，withoutthesemblanceofa
flaw。Afterhismarriage-forhethoughtlittleornothingofthe
matterbefore-Aylmerdiscoveredthatthiswasthecasewithhimself。
Hadshebeenlessbeautiful-ifEnvy’sselfcouldhavefound
aughtelsetosneerat-hemighthavefelthisaffectionheightenedby
theprettinessofthismimichand，nowvaguelyportrayed，nowlost，
nowstealingforthagain，andglimmeringtoandfrowitheverypulse
ofemotionthatthrobbedwithinherheart。But，seeingherotherwise
soperfect，hefoundthisonedefectgrowmoreandmoreintolerable，
witheverymomentoftheirunitedlives。Itwasthefatalflawof
humanity，whichNature，inoneshapeoranother，stampsineffaceably
onallherproductions，eithertoimplythattheyaretemporaryand
finite，orthattheirperfectionmustbewroughtbytoilandpain。The
CrimsonHandexpressedtheineludiblegripe，inwhichmortality
clutchesthehighestandpurestofearthlymould，degradingthem
intokindredwiththelowest，andevenwiththeverybrutes，likewhom
theirvisibleframesreturntodust。Inthismanner，selectingitas
thesymbolofhiswife’sliabilitytosin，sorrow，decay，anddeath，
Aylmer’ssombreimaginationwasnotlonginrenderingthebirthmark
afrightfulobject，causinghimmoretroubleandhorrorthanever
Georgiana’sbeauty，whetherofsoulorsense，hadgivenhimdelight。
Atalltheseasonswhichshouldhavebeentheirhappiest，he