The mordant

There are several mechanical means, like the movie films and phonograph records, to preserve youthful charms or a gorgeous voice or expressions of brilliant minds, but there is no growth, or even variation. What if some scientist should discover the secret of indefinite prolongation of life and a young body? Off-hand such a discovery would seem to be a boon to humanity. But is it? Consider the question carefully. Our new author apparently has, and gives us the results of his consideration in an excellent short story of scientific fiction.

If the priests of ancient Egypt had discovered the mordant the awe-inspiring mummy would doubtless have been superseded by something more provocative of wonder--the human body preserved in its entirety.

Our museums would hold the bodies of men and women looking as though they slept--Egyptian princesses and Pharaohs would be before us in reality.

Without doubt, the morticians of our day would have made much of MacDowell’s discovery of the mordant. There are still many people on whom the idea of death has such an effect that the holding of a body in a perpetual state of non-decay would seem to them the equivalent of an eternal and beautiful sleep. Death to such people would be no more to be dreaded than healthy slumber--provided they knew that they were to remain intact, bodily.

MacDowell had different ideas about the matter. He sought for the mordant in his quiet little laboratories in the Black Hills, not because he wished to achieve preservation, but because he desired to see what might happen to those to whom a life of perpetual youth was given.

MacDowell believed in a soul and a God. Therefore he was not interested in the desires of those who wish the body to be preserved after death has made flesh useless.

I first met MacDowell before the world had accepted him. I knew that a follower of the celebrated Adams was in the city. I had always been interested in the Adams’ concept of disease and its cure. A good story, I thought, for the paper. Therefore I made especial effort to meet the scientist, MacDowell.

I was excited as I sped with my story to the city desk. Here was a man who was doing much more to eradicate disease than man had dreamed could be done. But the desk turned it down. Another advertisement by another quack.

Time and again I attempted to place the achievements of MacDowell before the public. No one would believe me. That is why the story of the mordant has not been told. The public, which denounces the newspaper for the sensational tales which it prints, would be surprised if it should learn how conservative the editorial desk can be upon occasion.

MacDowell in his earlier years as a scientist traveled about the country a great deal. His tours brought him to Youngstown three or four times a year. He always called me over the ’phone soon after his arrival and as speedily as I could leave my work, I would hurry to his hotel bedroom, where I would find him working, always working, with the strange instruments he had invented.

I enjoyed intensely these talks with the quiet, wonderful man. No one, by looking at his kindly face, would have thought of him as being above the average in intellect and achievement. Little could they dream that he was the greatest scientist of all time. There was no pretense in him. Sandy Scotch hair rode stridently above a sandy Scotch face. But, different from those of most Scotchmen, his lips were spread in an almost perpetual half-smile of forgiveness and condonement. The human race was hardly to be understood in its small achievement by this man so lonely in his genius--so far in the vanguard of science that he marched a lone soldier--often the victim of wounds inflicted by his comrades at the rear, even ranking officers of science with epaulets and medals of honor bestowed upon them by an appreciative public. The human race was hardly to be understood by him, but with his half-smile he forgave its sins of commission and omission.

“I have found a mordant,” he announced one time. The fact was of no immediate interest to me. I knew the name “mordant” was given to a substance which would fix a dye on cloth and give it a permanency of color that would baffle the effects of many washings and the bleaching rays of sunlight. Other significance I could not as yet realize.

“You can help me in testing it,” he stated. I was ready, for, having helped him in many of his tests, my sympathy with his work made me faithful even at times when the experiments failed to achieve the results he anticipated.

His thoughtful face took on a quizzical look. “If you realized the import of what I am saying you would not lie back in your chair in such evident boredom. Many have sought what I have been seeking.” He paused and eyed me curiously. “My mordant is equivalent to a draught from the fountain of youth.”

I leaned forward in my chair. Here was a great story. I knew from past experience that I could not use it--could not, though my words be winged by fire, get it past the conservatism of the city editor’s desk, but nevertheless, my whole being throbbed to cadences of exaltation. Few know the fire that sings through the veins of a reporter when something new is made accessible to him.

“But how--what is it--have you?” My words tumbled forth breathlessly upon one another. Then calming myself I asked, half-sarcastically, “Has the object of Ponce de Leon’s search been found?”

“Not quite,” he smiled. His manner shamed me for my agitation and for my sarcasm. “This is nothing that can give life to a person through the centuries. I do not say that such a treatment could not be given, but I doubt the wisdom of perpetrating such a curse upon the human race which has enough tragedy within a normal lifetime.”

He thrummed his long fingers idly on the arm of the chair in which he lounged as though he were not speaking of amazing things.

“I have an ether rate which, when incorporated with any living object, will retard the development of old age. At the same time I do not wish to put a stop to the rich mental and spiritual development which comes through the years. Imagine the rounded beauty of a woman grown wise and kind with years and yet possessing the sweet grace, the bright and flashing eyes, the rounded form of youth.” His eyes grew bright as though he were envisioning loves of his early youth made beautiful again.

“Have you tried it?” I, seasoned reporter who interviewed presidents and movie stars without undue excitement, sat forward in my chair--my heart beating with swift, rapid strokes--my mind whirling with the thought of a race kept perpetually and beautifully young.

“On no person--on a plant. Let us apply the mordant to the daisy in your buttonhole. It still looks in excellent condition. The mordant applied would put the artificial flower makers out of business. The import of my inventions is tremendous. With this machine of mine,” he touched an instrument lovingly, solemnly, “the economic conditions of the world could be turned upside down.”

Right here I can say that the daisy is still in my possession--is still in very excellent condition--except where I have broken a petal or two. Several years ago I showed it to the curator of the New York Metropolitan Museum. He thought it was a fresh flower. I convinced him that it was not by leaving the daisy in his possession for a month. I had great difficulty in taking it from him. He was willing to pay me heavily. It would have a place all its own. My name could be blazoned across the case in which it was to be shown.

But I had enough money on which to exist and the daisy was precious to me. I have a love for the mysterious, the unusual, which amounts to a passion. In my possession are many strange objects assembled through the years. Many leisure hours I have spent with them--wondering, marveling--feeling immensity spin past me and the inscrutable approach interpretation. And the most loved of this collection is the daisy, for it is tied up with remembrances as well as with wonder.

“I am striving to produce a state of continuous youth in people,” continued MacDowell. “True, I can keep them well. That I have already demonstrated to you. But they grow old. I do not wish to keep them from death--that is not my desire. But why should flesh become such a wretched thing to gaze upon? The mordant, I believe, will keep youth intact.”