The Alchemist's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

to me a matter of great urgency. If we could restore a rose, what else might be possible?
    So we set about devising a method that would apply the most ancient art of alchemy to the most modern discoveries about plants. We would take the ashes of a rose and restore it to life by adding the fundamental ingredients of life itself: heat, warmth, and the alchemical elixir. The latter we would brew in our laboratory; for advice on the former, we needed a modern authority, and who better than the new incumbent, Reverend Shales, who, according to Mrs. Gill, had already impressed freeholders in the village with his knowledge about fertilizing and resting the soil?
    He was invited to call at eleven o’clock one morning. Presumably he had to show himself in through the kitchen passage, because he appeared suddenly at the library door. I had been told to make a record of the interview and was seated at a little table by the window. Instead of ignoring me, as any of my father’s other visitors would have done, Shales came up and bowed. I pushed back my chair, stumbled, and was supported by his steady hand. Before I could do more than glance into his eyes, my father had called, “Shales,” and directed him to an upright chair by the fire.
    Shales folded his long frame onto the narrow seat and held himself well back from the blaze. A copy of his book lay between them.
    “I am very pleased with this volume, Shales,” said my father, “and wish to question you further about your findings on the purpose of sap, and the properties in sunlight that enable a plant to grow. I note from your introduction that you see the signature of the hand of God in each plant . I wonder if you could expand on that.”
    “Only that the more I study even the smallest, humblest part of Creation, the more I marvel at the detail and ingenuity in the design.”
    “I thought you might be referring to another kind of signature—the signature that is the key to uniqueness—the key to life itself.”
    A long pause. A sigh. I couldn’t see Shales’s face, just his cheekbone. “I wonder if you are referring to the alchemical meaning of signature.”
    My father leaned forward on his staff, which was propped between his knees. “You know of it then.”
    Another pause. “When I accepted this living at Selden, I made it very clear that I would have nothing to do with alchemy.”
    “I am hoping to convert you. This year I am conducting an experiment with plants, the first, I believe, of its kind since the work of Du Chesne on regeneration.”
    “Regeneration. Palingenesis. Sir, I cannot support you in this.”
    “I don’t ask for support. Merely for cooperation.”
    “I cannot. I regard this kind of experiment as a form of blasphemy. Nature renews life. There is no need for any kind of meddling.”
    My pen faltered. Meddling . I couldn’t write that.
    My father’s hand approached his wig, a dangerous sign. “You sound like the church fathers who condemned Galileo. The old system with the earth at the center suited them, so they wouldn’t look at any other. Galileo couldn’t prove his alternative theory, so they won their case.”
    “I am not relying just on observation or on what suits me. I know that nature already restores itself. When a rose dies, a new rose grows from another part of the stem. If you come to my house—and I hope that both you and your daughter will be frequent visitors—I will show you any number of extraordinary experiments. I will show you how to graft a rose and how a plant takes in water through its branches as well as its roots, but I will not participate in alchemy.”
    My hand trembled as my father plucked his wig from his head, replaced it, banged his staff, would not look at Shales. “So. So we stop at what we know and see. We look no further. Very good, Shales.”
    “In this case, yes. We are not dealing with objects or even stars. In this case we are dealing with death itself.”
    “What we observe to be