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Rappaccini's Daughter

Nathaniel Hawthorne

We do not remember to have seen any translated specimens of theproductions of M. de l'Aubepine -- a fact the less to be wondered at,as his very name is unknown to many of his own countrymen as wellas to the student of foreign literature. As a writer, he seems to occupyan unfortunate position between the Transcendentalists who, underone name or another, have their share in all the current literature of the world! and the great body of pen-and-ink men who address theintellect and sympathies of the multitude. "f not too re#ned, at allevents too remote, too shadowy, and unsubstantial in his modes of development to suit the taste of the latter class, and yet too popularto satisfy the spiritual or metaphysical re$uisitions of the former, he

must necessarily #nd himself without an audience, e%cept here andthere an individual or possibly an isolated cli$ue. &is writings, to dothem ustice, are not altogether destitute of fancy and originality(they might have won him greater reputation but for an inveteratelove of allegory, which is apt to invest his plots and characters withthe aspect of scenery and people in the clouds, and to steal away thehuman warmth out of his conceptions. &is #ctions are sometimeshistorical, sometimes of the present day, and sometimes, so far ascan be discovered, have little or no reference either to time or space."n any case, he generally contents himself with a very slightembroidery of outward manners, -- the faintest possible counterfeit of real life, -- and endeavors to create an interest by some less obviouspeculiarity of the subect. )ccasionally a breath of *ature, a raindropof pathos and tenderness, or a gleam of humor, will #nd its way intothe midst of his fantastic imagery, and make us feel as if, after all, wewere yet within the limits of our native earth. We will only add to thisvery cursory notice that M. de l'Aubepine's productions, if the readerchance to take them in precisely the proper point of view, may amusea leisure hour as well as those of a brighter man( if otherwise, theycan hardly fail to look e%cessively like nonsense. )ur author is voluminous( he continues to write and publish with

as much praiseworthy and indefatigable proli%ity as if his e+orts werecrowned with the brilliant success that so ustly attends those of ugene ue. &is #rst appearance was by a collection of stories in along series of volumes entitled /ontes deu% fois racontees. Thetitles of some of his more recent works we $uote from memory! areas follows0 1e 2oyage /eleste a /hemin de 3er, 4 tom., 5646( 1enouveau 7ere Adam et la nouvelle Mere ve, 8 tom., 5649( :oderic(ou le erpent a l'estomac, 8 tom., 56;<( 1e /ulte du 3eu, a foliovolume of ponderous research into the religion and ritual of the old7ersian =hebers, published in 56;5( 1a oiree du /hateau enspagne, 5 tom., 6vo, 56;8( and 1'Artiste du >eau( ou le 7apillon

Mecani$ue, ? tom., ;to, 56;4. )ur somewhat wearisome perusal of this startling catalogue of volumes has left behind it a certain

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personal a+ection and sympathy, though by no means admiration, forM. de l'Aubepine( and we would fain do the little in our power towardsintroducing him favorably to the American public. The ensuing tale isa translation of his >eatrice( ou la >elle mpoisonneuse, recentlypublished in 1a :evue Anti-Aristocrati$ue. This ournal, edited by the

/omte de >earhaven, has for some years past led the defence of liberal principles and popular rights with a faithfulness and abilityworthy of all praise. A young man, named =iovanni =uasconti, came, very long ago,from the more southern region of "taly, to pursue his studies at the@niversity of 7adua. =iovanni, who had but a scanty supply of goldducats in his pocket, took lodgings in a high and gloomy chamber of an old edi#ce which looked not unworthy to have been the palace of a7aduan noble, and which, in fact, e%hibited over its entrance thearmorial bearings of a family long since e%tinct. The young stranger,who was not unstudied in the great poem of his country, recollectedthat one of the ancestors of this family, and perhaps an occupant of this very mansion, had been pictured by ante as a partaker of theimmortal agonies of his "nferno. These reminiscences andassociations, together with the tendency to heartbreak natural to ayoung man for the #rst time out of his native sphere, caused =iovannito sigh heavily as he looked around the desolate and ill-furnishedapartment. &oly 2irgin, signorB cried old ame 1isabetta, who, won by theyouth's remarkable beauty of person, was kindly endeavoring to givethe chamber a habitable air, what a sigh was that to come out of a

young man's heartB o you #nd this old mansion gloomyC 3or the loveof &eaven, then, put your head out of the window, and you will see asbright sunshine as you have left in *aples. =uasconti mechanically did as the old woman advised, but couldnot $uite agree with her that the 7aduan sunshine was as cheerful asthat of southern "taly. uch as it was, however, it fell upon a gardenbeneath the window and e%pended its fostering inDuences on avariety of plants, which seemed to have been cultivated withe%ceeding care. oes this garden belong to the houseC asked =iovanni. &eaven forbid, signor, unless it were fruitful of better pot herbs

than any that grow there now, answered old 1isabetta. *o( thatgarden is cultivated by the own hands of ignor =iacomo :appaccini,the famous doctor, who, " warrant him, has been heard of as far as*aples. "t is said that he distils these plants into medicines that are aspotent as a charm. )ftentimes you may see the signor doctor at work,and perchance the signora, his daughter, too, gathering the strangeDowers that grow in the garden. The old woman had now done what she could for the aspect of thechamber( and, commending the young man to the protection of thesaints, took her departure =iovanni still found no better occupation than to look down intothe garden beneath his window. 3rom its appearance, he udged it tobe one of those botanic gardens which were of earlier date in 7adua



than elsewhere in "taly or in the world. )r, not improbably, it mightonce have been the pleasure-place of an opulent family( for there wasthe ruin of a marble fountain in the centre, sculptured with rare art,but so wofully shattered that it was impossible to trace the originaldesign from the chaos of remaining fragments. The water, however,

continued to gush and sparkle into the sunbeams as cheerfully asever. A little gurgling sound ascended to the young man's window,and made him feel as if the fountain were an immortal spirit that sungits song unceasingly and without heeding the vicissitudes around it,while one century imbodied it in marble and another scattered theperishable garniture on the soil. All about the pool into which thewater subsided grew various plants, that seemed to re$uire a plentifulsupply of moisture for the nourishment of gigantic leaves, and insome instances, Dowers gorgeously magni#cent. There was one shrubin particular, set in a marble vase in the midst of the pool, that bore aprofusion of purple blossoms, each of which had the lustre andrichness of a gem( and the whole together made a show soresplendent that it seemed enough to illuminate the garden, even hadthere been no sunshine. very portion of the soil was peopled withplants and herbs, which, if less beautiful, still bore tokens of assiduouscare, as if all had their individual virtues, known to the scienti#c mindthat fostered them. ome were placed in urns, rich with old carving,and others in common garden pots( some crept serpent-like along theground or climbed on high, using whatever means of ascent waso+ered them. )ne plant had wreathed itself round a statue of 2ertumnus, which was thus $uite veiled and shrouded in a drapery of

hanging foliage, so happily arranged that it might have served asculptor for a study. While =iovanni stood at the window he heard a rustling behind ascreen of leaves, and became aware that a person was at work in thegarden. &is #gure soon emerged into view, and showed itself to bethat of no common laborer, but a tall, emaciated, sallow, and sickly-looking man, dressed in a scholar's garb of black. &e was beyond themiddle term of life, with gray hair, a thin, gray beard, and a facesingularly marked with intellect and cultivation, but which couldnever, even in his more youthful days, have e%pressed much warmthof heart.

*othing could e%ceed the intentness with which this scienti#cgardener e%amined every shrub which grew in his path0 it seemed asif he was looking into their inmost nature, making observations inregard to their creative essence, and discovering why one leaf grew inthis shape and another in that, and wherefore such and such Dowersdi+ered among themselves in hue and perfume. *evertheless, in spiteof this deep intelligence on his part, there was no approach tointimacy between himself and these vegetable e%istences. )n thecontrary, he avoided their actual touch or the direct inhaling of theirodors with a caution that impressed =iovanni most disagreeably( forthe man's demeanor was that of one walking among malignantinDuences, such as savage beasts, or deadly snakes, or evil spirits,which, should he allow them one moment of license, would wreak



upon him some terrible fatality. "t was strangely frightful to the youngman's imagination to see this air of insecurity in a person cultivating agarden, that most simple and innocent of human toils, and which hadbeen alike the oy and labor of the unfallen parents of the race. Wasthis garden, then, the den of the present worldC And this man, with

such a perception of harm in what his own hands caused to grow, --was he the AdamC The distrustful gardener, while plucking away the dead leaves orpruning the too lu%uriant growth of the shrubs, defended his handswith a pair of thick gloves. *or were these his only armor. When, in hiswalk through the garden, he came to the magni#cent plant that hungits purple gems beside the marble fountain, he placed a kind of maskover his mouth and nostrils, as if all this beauty did but conceal adeadlier malice( but, #nding his task still too dangerous, he drewback, removed the mask, and called loudly, but in the in#rm voice of a person a+ected with inward disease, >eatriceB >eatriceB &ere am ", my father. What would youC cried a rich and youthfulvoice from the window of the opposite house -- a voice as rich as atropical sunset, and which made =iovanni, though he knew not why,think of deep hues of purple or crimson and of perfumes heavilydelectable. Are you in the gardenC Ees, >eatrice, answered the gardener, and " need your help. oon there emerged from under a sculptured portal the #gure of ayoung girl, arrayed with as much richness of taste as the mostsplendid of the Dowers, beautiful as the day, and with a bloom sodeep and vivid that one shade more would have been too much. he

looked redundant with life, health, and energy( all of which attributeswere bound down and compressed, as it were and girdled tensely, intheir lu%uriance, by her virgin Fone. Eet =iovanni's fancy must havegrown morbid while he looked down into the garden( for theimpression which the fair stranger made upon him was as if here wereanother Dower, the human sister of those vegetable ones, as beautifulas they, more beautiful than the richest of them, but still to betouched only with a glove, nor to be approached without a mask. As>eatrice came down the garden path, it was observable that shehandled and inhaled the odor of several of the plants which her fatherhad most sedulously avoided.

&ere, >eatrice, said the latter, see how many needful oGcesre$uire to be done to our chief treasure. Eet, shattered as " am, my lifemight pay the penalty of approaching it so closely as circumstancesdemand. &enceforth, " fear, this plant must be consigned to your solecharge. And gladly will " undertake it, cried again the rich tones of theyoung lady, as she bent towards the magni#cent plant and openedher arms as if to embrace it. Ees, my sister, my splendour, it shall be>eatrice's task to nurse and serve thee( and thou shalt reward herwith thy kisses and perfumed breath, which to her is as the breath of life. Then, with all the tenderness in her manner that was so strikinglye%pressed in her words, she busied herself with such attentions as the



plant seemed to re$uire( and =iovanni, at his lofty window, rubbed hiseyes and almost doubted whether it were a girl tending her favoriteDower, or one sister performing the duties of a+ection to another. Thescene soon terminated. Whether r. :appaccini had #nished hislabors in the garden, or that his watchful eye had caught the

stranger's face, he now took his daughter's arm and retired. *ight wasalready closing in( oppressive e%halations seemed to proceed fromthe plants and steal upward past the open window( and =iovanni,closing the lattice, went to his couch and dreamed of a rich Dower andbeautiful girl. 3lower and maiden were di+erent, and yet the same,and fraught with some strange peril in either shape. >ut there is an inDuence in the light of morning that tends torectify whatever errors of fancy, or even of udgment, we may haveincurred during the sun's decline, or among the shadows of the night,or in the less wholesome glow of moonshine. =iovanni's #rstmovement, on starting from sleep, was to throw open the window andgaFe down into the garden which his dreams had made so fertile of mysteries. &e was surprised and a little ashamed to #nd how real andmatter-of-fact an a+air it proved to be, in the #rst rays of the sunwhich gilded the dew-drops that hung upon leaf and blossom, and,while giving a brighter beauty to each rare Dower, brought everythingwithin the limits of ordinary e%perience. The young man reoiced that,in the heart of the barren city, he had the privilege of overlooking thisspot of lovely and lu%uriant vegetation. "t would serve, he said tohimself, as a symbolic language to keep him in communion with*ature. *either the sickly and thoughtworn r. =iacomo :appaccini, it

is true, nor his brilliant daughter, were now visible( so that =iovannicould not determine how much of the singularity which he attributedto both was due to their own $ualities and how much to his wonder-working fancy( but he was inclined to take a most rational view of thewhole matter. "n the course of the day he paid his respects to ignor 7ietro>aglioni, professor of medicine in the university, a physician of eminent repute to whom =iovanni had brought a letter of introduction. The professor was an elderly personage, apparently of genial nature, and habits that might almost be called ovial. &e keptthe young man to dinner, and made himself very agreeable by the

freedom and liveliness of his conversation, especially when warmedby a Dask or two of Tuscan wine. =iovanni, conceiving that men of science, inhabitants of the same city, must needs be on familiar termswith one another, took an opportunity to mention the name of r.:appaccini. >ut the professor did not respond with so much cordialityas he had anticipated. "ll would it become a teacher of the divine art of medicine, said7rofessor 7ietro >aglioni, in answer to a $uestion of =iovanni, towithhold due and well-considered praise of a physician so eminentlyskilled as :appaccini( but, on the other hand, " should answer it butscantily to my conscience were " to permit a worthy youth likeyourself, ignor =iovanni, the son of an ancient friend, to imbibeerroneous ideas respecting a man who might hereafter chance to hold



your life and death in his hands. The truth is, our worshipful r.:appaccini has as much science as any member of the faculty -- withperhaps one single e%ception -- in 7adua, or all "taly( but there arecertain grave obections to his professional character. And what are theyC asked the young man.

&as my friend =iovanni any disease of body or heart, that he is soin$uisitive about physiciansC said the professor, with a smile. >ut asfor :appaccini, it is said of him -- and ", who know the man well, cananswer for its truth -- that he cares in#nitely more for science than formankind. &is patients are interesting to him only as subects for somenew e%periment. &e would sacri#ce human life, his own among therest, or whatever else was dearest to him, for the sake of adding somuch as a grain of mustard seed to the great heap of his accumulatedknowledge. Methinks he is an awful man indeed, remarked =uasconti,mentally recalling the cold and purely intellectual aspect of :appaccini. And yet, worshipful professor, is it not a noble spiritC Arethere many men capable of so spiritual a love of scienceC =od forbid, answered the professor, somewhat testily( at least,unless they take sounder views of the healing art than those adoptedby :appaccini. "t is his theory that all medicinal virtues are comprisedwithin those substances which we term vegetable poisons. These hecultivates with his own hands, and is said even to have produced newvarieties of poison, more horribly deleterious than *ature, without theassistance of this learned person, would ever have plagued the worldwithal. That the signor doctor does less mischief than might be

e%pected with such dangerous substances is undeniable. *ow andthen, it must be owned, he has e+ected, or seemed to e+ect, amarvellous cure( but, to tell you my private mind, ignor =iovanni, heshould receive little credit for such instances of success, -- they beingprobably the work of chance, -- but should be held strictlyaccountable for his failures, which may ustly be considered his ownwork. The youth might have taken >aglioni's opinions with many grainsof allowance had he known that there was a professional warfare of long continuance between him and r. :appaccini, in which the latterwas generally thought to have gained the advantage. "f the reader be

inclined to udge for himself, we refer him to certain black-letter tractson both sides, preserved in the medical department of the @niversityof 7adua. " know not, most learned professor, returned =iovanni, aftermusing on what had been said of :appaccini's e%clusive Feal forscience, --" know not how dearly this physician may love his art( butsurely there is one obect more dear to him. &e has a daughter. AhaB cried the professor, with a laugh. o now our friend=iovanni's secret is out. Eou have heard of this daughter, whom allthe young men in 7adua are wild about, though not half a doFen haveever had the good hap to see her face. " know little of the ignora>eatrice save that :appaccini is said to have instructed her deeply inhis science, and that, young and beautiful as fame reports her, she is



already $uali#ed to #ll a professor's chair. 7erchance her fatherdestines her for mineB )ther absurd rumors there be, not worthtalking about or listening to. o now, ignor =iovanni, drink o+ yourglass of lachryma. =uasconti returned to his lodgings somewhat heated with the wine

he had $ua+ed, and which caused his brain to swim with strangefantasies in reference to r. :appaccini and the beautiful >eatrice. )nhis way, happening to pass by a Dorist's, he bought a fresh bou$uet of Dowers. Ascending to his chamber, he seated himself near the window, butwithin the shadow thrown by the depth of the wall, so that he couldlook down into the garden with little risk of being discovered. Allbeneath his eye was a solitude. The strange plants were basking inthe sunshine, and now and then nodding gently to one another, as if in acknowledgment of sympathy and kindred. "n the midst, by theshattered fountain, grew the magni#cent shrub, with its purple gemsclustering all over it( they glowed in the air, and gleamed back againout of the depths of the pool, which thus seemed to overDow withcolored radiance from the rich reDection that was steeped in it. At#rst, as we have said, the garden was a solitude. oon, however, -- as=iovanni had half hoped, half feared, would be the case, -- a #gureappeared beneath the anti$ue sculptured portal, and came downbetween the rows of plants, inhaling their various perfumes as if shewere one of those beings of old classic fable that lived upon sweetodors. )n again beholding >eatrice, the young man was even startledto perceive how much her beauty e%ceeded his recollection of it( so

brilliant, so vivid, was its character, that she glowed amid thesunlight, and, as =iovanni whispered to himself, positively illuminatedthe more shadowy intervals of the garden path. &er face being nowmore revealed than on the former occasion, he was struck by itse%pression of simplicity and sweetness, -- $ualities that had notentered into his idea of her character, and which made him ask anewwhat manner of mortal she might be. *or did he fail again to observe,or imagine, an analogy between the beautiful girl and the gorgeousshrub that hung its gemlike Dowers over the fountain, -- aresemblance which >eatrice seemed to have indulged a fantastichumor in heightening, both by the arrangement of her dress and the

selection of its hues. Approaching the shrub, she threw open her arms, as with apassionate ardor, and drew its branches into an intimate embrace --so intimate that her features were hidden in its leafy bosom and herglistening ringlets all intermingled with the Dowers =ive me thy breath, my sister, e%claimed >eatrice( for " am faintwith common air. And give me this Dower of thine, which " separatewith gentlest #ngers from the stem and place it close beside myheart. With these words the beautiful daughter of :appaccini plucked oneof the richest blossoms of the shrub, and was about to fasten it in herbosom. >ut now, unless =iovanni's draughts of wine had bewilderedhis senses, a singular incident occurred. A small orange-colored



reptile, of the liFard or chameleon species, chanced to be creepingalong the path, ust at the feet of >eatrice. "t appeared to =iovanni, --but, at the distance from which he gaFed, he could scarcely have seenanything so minute, -- it appeared to him, however, that a drop or twoof moisture from the broken stem of the Dower descended upon the

liFard's head. 3or an instant the reptile contorted itself violently, andthen lay motionless in the sunshine. >eatrice observed thisremarkable phenomenon and crossed herself, sadly, but withoutsurprise( nor did she therefore hesitate to arrange the fatal Dower inher bosom. There it blushed, and almost glimmered with the daFFlinge+ect of a precious stone, adding to her dress and aspect the oneappropriate charm which nothing else in the world could havesupplied. >ut =iovanni, out of the shadow of his window, bent forwardand shrank back, and murmured and trembled. Am " awakeC &ave " my sensesC said he to himself. What is thisbeingC >eautiful shall " call her, or ine%pressibly terribleC >eatrice now strayed carelessly through the garden, approachingcloser beneath =iovanni's window, so that he was compelled to thrusthis head $uite out of its concealment in order to gratify the intenseand painful curiosity which she e%cited. At this moment there came abeautiful insect over the garden wall( it had, perhaps, wanderedthrough the city, and found no Dowers or verdure among thoseanti$ue haunts of men until the heavy perfumes of r. :appaccini'sshrubs had lured it from afar. Without alighting on the Dowers, thiswinged brightness seemed to be attracted by >eatrice, and lingeredin the air and Duttered about her head. *ow, here it could not be but

that =iovanni =uasconti's eyes deceived him. >e that as it might, hefancied that, while >eatrice was gaFing at the insect with childishdelight, it grew faint and fell at her feet( its bright wings shivered( itwas dead -- from no cause that he could discern, unless it were theatmosphere of her breath. Again >eatrice crossed herself and sighedheavily as she bent over the dead insect. An impulsive movement of =iovanni drew her eyes to the window. There she beheld the beautiful head of the young man -- rather a=recian than an "talian head, with fair, regular features, and aglistening of gold among his ringlets -- gaFing down upon her like abeing that hovered in mid air. carcely knowing what he did, =iovanni

threw down the bou$uet which he had hitherto held in his hand. ignora, said he, there are pure and healthful Dowers. Wearthem for the sake of =iovanni =uasconti. Thanks, signor, replied >eatrice, with her rich voice, that cameforth as it were like a gush of music, and with a mirthful e%pressionhalf childish and half woman-like. " accept your gift, and would fainrecompense it with this precious purple Dower( but if " toss it into theair it will not reach you. o ignor =uasconti must even contenthimself with my thanks. he lifted the bou$uet from the ground, and then, as if inwardlyashamed at having stepped aside from her maidenly reserve torespond to a stranger's greeting, passed swiftly homeward throughthe garden. >ut few as the moments were, it seemed to =iovanni,



when she was on the point of vanishing beneath the sculpturedportal, that his beautiful bou$uet was already beginning to wither inher grasp. "t was an idle thought( there could be no possibility of distinguishing a faded Dower from a fresh one at so great a distance. 3or many days after this incident the young man avoided the

window that looked into r. :appaccini's garden, as if something uglyand monstrous would have blasted his eyesight had he been betrayedinto a glance. &e felt conscious of having put himself, to a certaine%tent, within the inDuence of an unintelligible power by thecommunication which he had opened with >eatrice. The wisest coursewould have been, if his heart were in any real danger, to $uit hislodgings and 7adua itself at once( the ne%t wiser, to have accustomedhimself, as far as possible, to the familiar and daylight view of >eatrice -- thus bringing her rigidly and systematically within thelimits of ordinary e%perience. 1east of all, while avoiding her sight,ought =iovanni to have remained so near this e%traordinary beingthat the pro%imity and possibility even of intercourse should give akind of substance and reality to the wild vagaries which hisimagination ran riot continually in producing. =uasconti had not adeep heart -- or, at all events, its depths were not sounded now( buthe had a $uick fancy, and an ardent southern temperament, whichrose every instant to a higher fever pitch. Whether or no >eatricepossessed those terrible attributes, that fatal breath, the aGnity withthose so beautiful and deadly Dowers which were indicated by what=iovanni had witnessed, she had at least instilled a #erce and subtlepoison into his system. "t was not love, although her rich beauty was a

madness to him( nor horror, even while he fancied her spirit to beimbued with the same baneful essence that seemed to pervade herphysical frame( but a wild o+spring of both love and horror that hadeach parent in it, and burned like one and shivered like the other.=iovanni knew not what to dread( still less did he know what to hope(yet hope and dread kept a continual warfare in his breast, alternatelyvan$uishing one another and starting up afresh to renew the contest.>lessed are all simple emotions, be they dark or brightB "t is the luridintermi%ture of the two that produces the illuminating blaFe of theinfernal regions. ometimes he endeavored to assuage the fever of his spirit by a

rapid walk through the streets of 7adua or beyond its gates0 hisfootsteps kept time with the throbbings of his brain, so that the walkwas apt to accelerate itself to a race. )ne day he found himself arrested( his arm was seiFed by a portly personage, who had turnedback on recogniFing the young man and e%pended much breath inovertaking him. ignor =iovanniB tay, my young friendB cried he. &ave youforgotten meC That might well be the case if " were as much alteredas yourself. "t was >aglioni, whom =iovanni had avoided ever since their #rstmeeting, from a doubt that the professor's sagacity would look toodeeply into his secrets. ndeavoring to recover himself, he stared



forth wildly from his inner world into the outer one and spoke like aman in a dream. Ees( " am =iovanni =uasconti. Eou are 7rofessor 7ietro >aglioni.*ow let me passB *ot yet, not yet, ignor =iovanni =uasconti, said the professor,

smiling, but at the same time scrutiniFing the youth with an earnestglance. WhatB did " grow up side by side with your fatherC and shallhis son pass me like a stranger in these old streets of 7aduaC tandstill, ignor =iovanni( for we must have a word or two before we part. peedily, then, most worshipful professor, speedily, said=iovanni, with feverish impatience. oes not your worship see that "am in hasteC *ow, while he was speaking there came a man in black along thestreet, stooping and moving feebly like a person in inferior health. &isface was all overspread with a most sickly and sallow hue, but yet sopervaded with an e%pression of piercing and active intellect that anobserver might easily have overlooked the merely physical attributesand have seen only this wonderful energy. As he passed, this persone%changed a cold and distant salutation with >aglioni, but #%ed hiseyes upon =iovanni with an intentness that seemed to bring outwhatever was within him worthy of notice. *evertheless, there was apeculiar $uietness in the look, as if taking merely a speculative, not ahuman interest, in the young man. "t is r. :appacciniB whispered the professor when the strangerhad passed. &as he ever seen your face beforeC *ot that " know, answered =iovanni, starting at the name.

&e &A seen youB he must have seen youB said >aglioni, hastily.3or some purpose or other, this man of science is making a study of you. " know that look of hisB "t is the same that coldly illuminates hisface as he bends over a bird, a mouse, or a butterDy, which, inpursuance of some e%periment, he has killed by the perfume of aDower( a look as deep as *ature itself, but without *ature's warmth of love. ignor =iovanni, " will stake my life upon it, you are the subectof one of :appaccini's e%perimentsB Will you make a fool of meC cried =iovanni, passionately. T&AT,signor professor, were an untoward e%periment. 7atienceB patienceB replied the imperturbable professor. " tell

thee, my poor =iovanni, that :appaccini has a scienti#c interest inthee. Thou hast fallen into fearful handsB And the ignora >eatrice, --what part does she act in this mysteryC >ut =uasconti, #nding >aglioni's pertinacity intolerable, here brokeaway, and was gone before the professor could again seiFe his arm.&e looked after the young man intently and shook his head. This must not be, said >aglioni to himself. The youth is the sonof my old friend, and shall not come to any harm from which thearcana of medical science can preserve him. >esides, it is tooinsu+erable an impertinence in :appaccini, thus to snatch the lad outof my own hands, as " may say, and make use of him for his infernale%periments. This daughter of hisB "t shall be looked to. 7erchance,most learned :appaccini, " may foil you where you little dream of itB



Meanwhile =iovanni had pursued a circuitous route, and at lengthfound himself at the door of his lodgings. As he crossed the thresholdhe was met by old 1isabetta, who smirked and smiled, and wasevidently desirous to attract his attention( vainly, however, as theebullition of his feelings had momentarily subsided into a cold and

dull vacuity. &e turned his eyes full upon the withered face that waspuckering itself into a smile, but seemed to behold it not. The olddame, therefore, laid her grasp upon his cloak. ignorB signorB whispered she, still with a smile over the wholebreadth of her visage, so that it looked not unlike a grotes$ue carvingin wood, darkened by centuries. 1isten, signorB There is a privateentrance into the gardenB What do you sayC e%claimed =iovanni, turning $uickly about, asif an inanimate thing should start into feverish life. A privateentrance into r. :appaccini's gardenC &ushB hushB not so loudB whispered 1isabetta, putting her handover his mouth. Ees( into the worshipful doctor's garden, where youmay see all his #ne shrubbery. Many a young man in 7adua wouldgive gold to be admitted among those Dowers. =iovanni put a piece of gold into her hand. how me the way, said he. A surmise, probably e%cited by his conversation with >aglioni,crossed his mind, that this interposition of old 1isabetta mightperchance be connected with the intrigue, whatever were its nature,in which the professor seemed to suppose that r. :appaccini wasinvolving him. >ut such a suspicion, though it disturbed =iovanni, was

inade$uate to restrain him. The instant that he was aware of thepossibility of approaching >eatrice, it seemed an absolute necessity of his e%istence to do so. "t mattered not whether she were angel ordemon( he was irrevocably within her sphere, and must obey the lawthat whirled him onward, in ever-lessening circles, towards a resultwhich he did not attempt to foreshadow( and yet, strange to say,there came across him a sudden doubt whether this intense intereston his part were not delusory( whether it were really of so deep andpositive a nature as to ustify him in now thrusting himself into anincalculable position( whether it were not merely the fantasy of ayoung man's brain, only slightly or not at all connected with his heart.

&e paused, hesitated, turned half about, but again went on. &iswithered guide led him along several obscure passages, and #nallyundid a door, through which, as it was opened, there came the sightand sound of rustling leaves, with the broken sunshine glimmeringamong them. =iovanni stepped forth, and, forcing himself through theentanglement of a shrub that wreathed its tendrils over the hiddenentrance, stood beneath his own window in the open area of r.:appaccini's garden. &ow often is it the case that, when impossibilities have come topass and dreams have condensed their misty substance into tangiblerealities, we #nd ourselves calm, and even coldly self-possessed, amidcircumstances which it would have been a delirium of oy or agony toanticipateB 3ate delights to thwart us thus. 7assion will choose his own



time to rush upon the scene, and lingers sluggishly behind when anappropriate adustment of events would seem to summon hisappearance. o was it now with =iovanni. ay after day his pulseshad throbbed with feverish blood at the improbable idea of aninterview with >eatrice, and of standing with her, face to face, in this

very garden, basking in the )riental sunshine of her beauty, andsnatching from her full gaFe the mystery which he deemed the riddleof his own e%istence. >ut now there was a singular and untimelye$uanimity within his breast. &e threw a glance around the garden todiscover if >eatrice or her father were present, and, perceiving thathe was alone, began a critical observation of the plants. The aspect of one and all of them dissatis#ed him( theirgorgeousness seemed #erce, passionate, and even unnatural. Therewas hardly an individual shrub which a wanderer, straying by himself through a forest, would not have been startled to #nd growing wild, asif an unearthly face had glared at him out of the thicket. everal alsowould have shocked a delicate instinct by an appearance of arti#cialness indicating that there had been such commi%ture, and, asit were, adultery, of various vegetable species, that the productionwas no longer of =od's making, but the monstrous o+spring of man'sdepraved fancy, glowing with only an evil mockery of beauty. Theywere probably the result of e%periment, which in one or two cases hadsucceeded in mingling plants individually lovely into a compoundpossessing the $uestionable and ominous character thatdistinguished the whole growth of the garden. "n #ne, =iovannirecogniFed but two or three plants in the collection, and those of a

kind that he well knew to be poisonous. While busy with thesecontemplations he heard the rustling of a silken garment, and,turning, beheld >eatrice emerging from beneath the sculpturedportal. =iovanni had not considered with himself what should be hisdeportment( whether he should apologiFe for his intrusion into thegarden, or assume that he was there with the privity at least, if not bythe desire, of r. :appaccini or his daughter( but >eatrice's mannerplaced him at his ease, though leaving him still in doubt by whatagency he had gained admittance. he came lightly along the pathand met him near the broken fountain. There was surprise in her face,

but brightened by a simple and kind e%pression of pleasure. Eou are a connoisseur in Dowers, signor, said >eatrice, with asmile, alluding to the bou$uet which he had Dung her from thewindow. "t is no marvel, therefore, if the sight of my father's rarecollection has tempted you to take a nearer view. "f he were here, hecould tell you many strange and interesting facts as to the nature andhabits of these shrubs( for he has spent a lifetime in such studies, andthis garden is his world. And yourself, lady, observed =iovanni, if fame says true, -- youlikewise are deeply skilled in the virtues indicated by these richblossoms and these spicy perfumes. Would you deign to be myinstructress, " should prove an apter scholar than if taught by ignor:appaccini himself.



Are there such idle rumorsC asked >eatrice, with the music of apleasant laugh. o people say that " am skilled in my father's scienceof plantsC What a est is thereB *o( though " have grown up amongthese Dowers, " know no more of them than their hues and perfume(and sometimes methinks " would fain rid myself of even that small

knowledge. There are many Dowers here, and those not the leastbrilliant, that shock and o+end me when they meet my eye. >ut pray,signor, do not believe these stories about my science. >elieve nothingof me save what you see with your own eyes. And must " believe all that " have seen with my own eyesC asked=iovanni, pointedly, while the recollection of former scenes made himshrink. *o, signora( you demand too little of me. >id me believenothing save what comes from your own lips. "t would appear that >eatrice understood him. There came a deepDush to her cheek( but she looked full into =iovanni's eyes, andresponded to his gaFe of uneasy suspicion with a $ueenlikehaughtiness. " do so bid you, signor, she replied. 3orget whatever you mayhave fancied in regard to me. "f true to the outward senses, still itmay be false in its essence( but the words of >eatrice :appaccini'slips are true from the depths of the heart outward. Those you maybelieve. A fervor glowed in her whole aspect and beamed upon =iovanni'sconsciousness like the light of truth itself( but while she spoke therewas a fragrance in the atmosphere around her, rich and delightful,though evanescent, yet which the young man, from an inde#nable

reluctance, scarcely dared to draw into his lungs. "t might be the odorof the Dowers. /ould it be >eatrice's breath which thus embalmed herwords with a strange richness, as if by steeping them in her heartC Afaintness passed like a shadow over =iovanni and Ditted away( heseemed to gaFe through the beautiful girl's eyes into her transparentsoul, and felt no more doubt or fear. The tinge of passion that had colored >eatrice's manner vanished(she became gay, and appeared to derive a pure delight from hercommunion with the youth not unlike what the maiden of a lonelyisland might have felt conversing with a voyager from the civiliFedworld. vidently her e%perience of life had been con#ned within the

limits of that garden. he talked now about matters as simple as thedaylight or summer clouds, and now asked $uestions in reference tothe city, or =iovanni's distant home, his friends, his mother, and hissisters -- $uestions indicating such seclusion, and such lack of familiarity with modes and forms, that =iovanni responded as if to aninfant. &er spirit gushed out before him like a fresh rill that was ustcatching its #rst glimpse of the sunlight and wondering at thereDections of earth and sky which were Dung into its bosom. Therecame thoughts, too, from a deep source, and fantasies of a gemlikebrilliancy, as if diamonds and rubies sparkled upward among thebubbles of the fountain. ver and anon there gleamed across theyoung man's mind a sense of wonder that he should be walking sideby side with the being who had so wrought upon his imagination,



whom he had idealiFed in such hues of terror, in whom he hadpositively witnessed such manifestations of dreadful attributes, -- thathe should be conversing with >eatrice like a brother, and should #ndher so human and so maidenlike. >ut such reDections were onlymomentary( the e+ect of her character was too real not to make itself

familiar at once. "n this free intercourse they had strayed through the garden, andnow, after many turns among its avenues, were come to theshattered fountain, beside which grew the magni#cent shrub, with itstreasury of glowing blossoms. A fragrance was di+used from it which=iovanni recogniFed as identical with that which he had attributed to>eatrice's breath, but incomparably more powerful. As her eyes fellupon it, =iovanni beheld her press her hand to her bosom as if herheart were throbbing suddenly and painfully. 3or the #rst time in my life, murmured she, addressing the shrub," had forgotten thee. " remember, signora, said =iovanni, that you once promised toreward me with one of these living gems for the bou$uet which " hadthe happy boldness to Ding to your feet. 7ermit me now to pluck it asa memorial of this interview. &e made a step towards the shrub with e%tended hand( but>eatrice darted forward, uttering a shriek that went through his heartlike a dagger. he caught his hand and drew it back with the wholeforce of her slender #gure. =iovanni felt her touch thrilling through his#bres. Touch it notB e%claimed she, in a voice of agony. *ot for thy lifeB

"t is fatalB Then, hiding her face, she Ded from him and vanished beneath thesculptured portal. As =iovanni followed her with his eyes, he beheldthe emaciated #gure and pale intelligence of r. :appaccini, who hadbeen watching the scene, he knew not how long, within the shadow of the entrance. *o sooner was =uasconti alone in his chamber than the image of >eatrice came back to his passionate musings, invested with all thewitchery that had been gathering around it ever since his #rst glimpseof her, and now likewise imbued with a tender warmth of girlishwomanhood. he was human( her nature was endowed with all gentle

and feminine $ualities( she was worthiest to be worshipped( she wascapable, surely, on her part, of the height and heroism of love. Thosetokens which he had hitherto considered as proofs of a frightfulpeculiarity in her physical and moral system were now eitherforgotten, or, by the subtle sophistry of passion transmitted into agolden crown of enchantment, rendering >eatrice the more admirableby so much as she was the more uni$ue. Whatever had looked uglywas now beautiful( or, if incapable of such a change, it stole away andhid itself among those shapeless half ideas which throng the dimregion beyond the daylight of our perfect consciousness. Thus did hespend the night, nor fell asleep until the dawn had begun to awakethe slumbering Dowers in r. :appaccini's garden, whither =iovanni'sdreams doubtless led him. @p rose the sun in his due season, and,



Dinging his beams upon the young man's eyelids, awoke him to asense of pain. When thoroughly aroused, he became sensible of aburning and tingling agony in his hand -- in his right hand -- the veryhand which >eatrice had grasped in her own when he was on thepoint of plucking one of the gemlike Dowers. )n the back of that hand

there was now a purple print like that of four small #ngers, and thelikeness of a slender thumb upon his wrist. )h, how stubbornly does love, -- or even that cunning semblanceof love which Dourishes in the imagination, but strikes no depth of root into the heart, -- how stubbornly does it hold its faith until themoment comes when it is doomed to vanish into thin mistB =iovanniwrapped a handkerchief about his hand and wondered what evil thinghad stung him, and soon forgot his pain in a reverie of >eatrice. After the #rst interview, a second was in the inevitable course of what we call fate. A third( a fourth( and a meeting with >eatrice in thegarden was no longer an incident in =iovanni's daily life, but thewhole space in which he might be said to live( for the anticipation andmemory of that ecstatic hour made up the remainder. *or was itotherwise with the daughter of :appaccini. he watched for theyouth's appearance, and Dew to his side with con#dence asunreserved as if they had been playmates from early infancy -- as if they were such playmates still. "f, by any unwonted chance, he failedto come at the appointed moment, she stood beneath the windowand sent up the rich sweetness of her tones to Doat around him in hischamber and echo and reverberate throughout his heart0 =iovanniB=iovanniB Why tarriest thouC /ome downB And down he hastened

into that den of poisonous Dowers. >ut, with all this intimate familiarity, there was still a reserve in>eatrice's demeanor, so rigidly and invariably sustained that the ideaof infringing it scarcely occurred to his imagination. >y all appreciablesigns, they loved( they had looked love with eyes that conveyed theholy secret from the depths of one soul into the depths of the other,as if it were too sacred to be whispered by the way( they had evenspoken love in those gushes of passion when their spirits darted forthin articulated breath like tongues of long-hidden Dame( and yet therehad been no seal of lips, no clasp of hands, nor any slightest caresssuch as love claims and hallows. &e had never touched one of the

gleaming ringlets of her hair( her garment -- so marked was thephysical barrier between them -- had never been waved against himby a breeFe. )n the few occasions when =iovanni had seemedtempted to overstep the limit, >eatrice grew so sad, so stern, andwithal wore such a look of desolate separation, shuddering at itself,that not a spoken word was re$uisite to repel him. At such times hewas startled at the horrible suspicions that rose, monster-like, out of the caverns of his heart and stared him in the face( his love grew thinand faint as the morning mist, his doubts alone had substance. >ut,when >eatrice's face brightened again after the momentary shadow,she was transformed at once from the mysterious, $uestionable beingwhom he had watched with so much awe and horror( she was now the



beautiful and unsophisticated girl whom he felt that his spirit knewwith a certainty beyond all other knowledge. A considerable time had now passed since =iovanni's last meetingwith >aglioni. )ne morning, however, he was disagreeably surprisedby a visit from the professor, whom he had scarcely thought of for

whole weeks, and would willingly have forgotten still longer. =iven upas he had long been to a pervading e%citement, he could tolerate nocompanions e%cept upon condition of their perfect sympathy with hispresent state of feeling. uch sympathy was not to be e%pected from7rofessor >aglioni. The visitor chatted carelessly for a few moments about the gossipof the city and the university, and then took up another topic. " have been reading an old classic author lately, said he, andmet with a story that strangely interested me. 7ossibly you mayremember it. "t is of an "ndian prince, who sent a beautiful woman asa present to Ale%ander the =reat. he was as lovely as the dawn andgorgeous as the sunset( but what especially distinguished her was acertain rich perfume in her breath -- richer than a garden of 7ersianroses. Ale%ander, as was natural to a youthful con$ueror, fell in loveat #rst sight with this magni#cent stranger( but a certain sagephysician, happening to be present, discovered a terrible secret inregard to her. And what was thatC asked =iovanni, turning his eyes downwardto avoid those of the professor That this lovely woman, continued >aglioni, with emphasis, hadbeen nourished with poisons from her birth upward, until her whole

nature was so imbued with them that she herself had become thedeadliest poison in e%istence. 7oison was her element of life. Withthat rich perfume of her breath she blasted the very air. &er lovewould have been poison -- her embrace death. "s not this amarvellous taleC A childish fable, answered =iovanni, nervously starting from hischair. " marvel how your worship #nds time to read such nonsenseamong your graver studies. >y the by, said the professor, looking uneasily about him, whatsingular fragrance is this in your apartmentC "s it the perfume of yourglovesC "t is faint, but delicious( and yet, after all, by no means

agreeable. Were " to breathe it long, methinks it would make me ill. "tis like the breath of a Dower( but " see no Dowers in the chamber. *or are there any, replied =iovanni, who had turned pale as theprofessor spoke( nor, " think, is there any fragrance e%cept in yourworship's imagination. )dors, being a sort of element combined of thesensual and the spiritual, are apt to deceive us in this manner. Therecollection of a perfume, the bare idea of it, may easily be mistakenfor a present reality. Ay( but my sober imagination does not often play such tricks,said >aglioni( and, were " to fancy any kind of odor, it would be thatof some vile apothecary drug, wherewith my #ngers are likely enoughto be imbued. )ur worshipful friend :appaccini, as " have heard,tinctures his medicaments with odors richer than those of Araby.



oubtless, likewise, the fair and learned ignora >eatrice wouldminister to her patients with draughts as sweet as a maiden's breath(but woe to him that sips themB =iovanni's face evinced many contending emotions. The tone inwhich the professor alluded to the pure and lovely daughter of

:appaccini was a torture to his soul( and yet the intimation of a viewof her character opposite to his own, gave instantaneous distinctnessto a thousand dim suspicions, which now grinned at him like so manydemons. >ut he strove hard to $uell them and to respond to >aglioniwith a true lover's perfect faith. ignor professor, said he, you were my father's friend(perchance, too, it is your purpose to act a friendly part towards hisson. " would fain feel nothing towards you save respect anddeference( but " pray you to observe, signor, that there is one subecton which we must not speak. Eou know not the ignora >eatrice. Eoucannot, therefore, estimate the wrong -- the blasphemy, " may evensay -- that is o+ered to her character by a light or inurious word. =iovanniB my poor =iovanniB answered the professor, with acalm e%pression of pity, " know this wretched girl far better thanyourself. Eou shall hear the truth in respect to the poisoner :appacciniand his poisonous daughter( yes, poisonous as she is beautiful. 1isten(for, even should you do violence to my gray hairs, it shall not silenceme. That old fable of the "ndian woman has become a truth by thedeep and deadly science of :appaccini and in the person of the lovely>eatrice. =iovanni groaned and hid his face

&er father, continued >aglioni, was not restrained by naturala+ection from o+ering up his child in this horrible manner as thevictim of his insane Feal for science( for, let us do him ustice, he is astrue a man of science as ever distilled his own heart in an alembic.What, then, will be your fateC >eyond a doubt you are selected as thematerial of some new e%periment. 7erhaps the result is to be death(perhaps a fate more awful still. :appaccini, with what he calls theinterest of science before his eyes, will hesitate at nothing. "t is a dream, muttered =iovanni to himself( surely it is adream. >ut, resumed the professor, be of good cheer, son of my friend.

"t is not yet too late for the rescue. 7ossibly we may even succeed inbringing back this miserable child within the limits of ordinary nature,from which her father's madness has estranged her. >ehold this littlesilver vaseB "t was wrought by the hands of the renowned >envenuto/ellini, and is well worthy to be a love gift to the fairest dame in "taly.>ut its contents are invaluable. )ne little sip of this antidote wouldhave rendered the most virulent poisons of the >orgias innocuous.oubt not that it will be as eGcacious against those of :appaccini.>estow the vase, and the precious li$uid within it, on your >eatrice,and hopefully await the result. >aglioni laid a small, e%$uisitely wrought silver vial on the tableand withdrew, leaving what he had said to produce its e+ect upon theyoung man's mind.



We will thwart :appaccini yet, thought he, chuckling to himself,as he descended the stairs( but, let us confess the truth of him, he isa wonderful man -- a wonderful man indeed( a vile empiric, however,in his practice, and therefore not to be tolerated by those who respectthe good old rules of the medical profession.

Throughout =iovanni's whole ac$uaintance with >eatrice, he hadoccasionally, as we have said, been haunted by dark surmises as toher character( yet so thoroughly had she made herself felt by him asa simple, natural, most a+ectionate, and guileless creature, that theimage now held up by 7rofessor >aglioni looked as strange andincredible as if it were not in accordance with his own originalconception. True, there were ugly recollections connected with his #rstglimpses of the beautiful girl( he could not $uite forget the bou$uetthat withered in her grasp, and the insect that perished amid thesunny air, by no ostensible agency save the fragrance of her breath. These incidents, however, dissolving in the pure light of her character,had no longer the eGcacy of facts, but were acknowledged asmistaken fantasies, by whatever testimony of the senses they mightappear to be substantiated. There is something truer and more realthan what we can see with the eyes and touch with the #nger. )nsuch better evidence had =iovanni founded his con#dence in>eatrice, though rather by the necessary force of her high attributesthan by any deep and generous faith on his part. >ut now his spiritwas incapable of sustaining itself at the height to which the earlyenthusiasm of passion had e%alted it( he fell down, grovelling amongearthly doubts, and de#led therewith the pure whiteness of >eatrice's

image. *ot that he gave her up( he did but distrust. &e resolved toinstitute some decisive test that should satisfy him, once for all,whether there were those dreadful peculiarities in her physical naturewhich could not be supposed to e%ist without some correspondingmonstrosity of soul. &is eyes, gaFing down afar, might have deceivedhim as to the liFard, the insect, and the Dowers( but if he couldwitness, at the distance of a few paces, the sudden blight of one freshand healthful Dower in >eatrice's hand, there would be room for nofurther $uestion. With this idea he hastened to the Dorist's andpurchased a bou$uet that was still gemmed with the morning dew-drops.

"t was now the customary hour of his daily interview with >eatrice.>efore descending into the garden, =iovanni failed not to look at his#gure in the mirror, -- a vanity to be e%pected in a beautiful youngman, yet, as displaying itself at that troubled and feverish moment,the token of a certain shallowness of feeling and insincerity of character. &e did gaFe, however, and said to himself that his featureshad never before possessed so rich a grace, nor his eyes suchvivacity, nor his cheeks so warm a hue of superabundant life. At least, thought he, her poison has not yet insinuated itself intomy system. " am no Dower to perish in her grasp. With that thought he turned his eyes on the bou$uet, which he hadnever once laid aside from his hand. A thrill of inde#nable horror shotthrough his frame on perceiving that those dewy Dowers were already



beginning to droop( they wore the aspect of things that had beenfresh and lovely yesterday. =iovanni grew white as marble, and stoodmotionless before the mirror, staring at his own reDection there as atthe likeness of something frightful. &e remembered >aglioni's remarkabout the fragrance that seemed to pervade the chamber. "t must

have been the poison in his breathB Then he shuddered -- shudderedat himself. :ecovering from his stupor, he began to watch with curiouseye a spider that was busily at work hanging its web from the anti$uecornice of the apartment, crossing and recrossing the artful system of interwoven lines -- as vigorous and active a spider as ever dangledfrom an old ceiling. =iovanni bent towards the insect, and emitted adeep, long breath. The spider suddenly ceased its toil( the webvibrated with a tremor originating in the body of the small artisan.Again =iovanni sent forth a breath, deeper, longer, and imbued with avenomous feeling out of his heart0 he knew not whether he werewicked, or only desperate. The spider made a convulsive gripe withhis limbs and hung dead across the window. AccursedB accursedB muttered =iovanni, addressing himself.&ast thou grown so poisonous that this deadly insect perishes by thybreathC At that moment a rich, sweet voice came Doating up from thegarden =iovanniB =iovanniB "t is past the hourB Why tarriest thouC /omedownB Ees, muttered =iovanni again. he is the only being whom mybreath may not slayB Would that it mightB

&e rushed down, and in an instant was standing before the brightand loving eyes of >eatrice. A moment ago his wrath and despair hadbeen so #erce that he could have desired nothing so much as towither her by a glance( but with her actual presence there cameinDuences which had too real an e%istence to be at once shaken o+0recollections of the delicate and benign power of her feminine nature,which had so often enveloped him in a religious calm( recollections of many a holy and passionate outgush of her heart, when the purefountain had been unsealed from its depths and made visible in itstransparency to his mental eye( recollections which, had =iovanniknown how to estimate them, would have assured him that all this

ugly mystery was but an earthly illusion, and that, whatever mist of evil might seem to have gathered over her, the real >eatrice was aheavenly angel. "ncapable as he was of such high faith, still herpresence had not utterly lost its magic. =iovanni's rage was $uelledinto an aspect of sullen insensibility. >eatrice, with a $uick spiritualsense, immediately felt that there was a gulf of blackness betweenthem which neither he nor she could pass. They walked on together,sad and silent, and came thus to the marble fountain and to its poolof water on the ground, in the midst of which grew the shrub thatbore gem-like blossoms. =iovanni was a+righted at the eagerenoyment -- the appetite, as it were -- with which he found himself inhaling the fragrance of the Dowers. >eatrice, asked he, abruptly, whence came this shrubC



My father created it, answered she, with simplicity. /reated itB created itB repeated =iovanni. What mean you,>eatriceC &e is a man fearfully ac$uainted with the secrets of *ature,replied >eatrice( and, at the hour when " #rst drew breath, this plant

sprang from the soil, the o+spring of his science, of his intellect, while" was but his earthly child. Approach it notB continued she, observingwith terror that =iovanni was drawing nearer to the shrub. "t has$ualities that you little dream of. >ut ", dearest =iovanni, -- " grew upand blossomed with the plant and was nourished with its breath. "twas my sister, and " loved it with a human a+ection( for, alasB -- hastthou not suspected itC -- there was an awful doom. &ere =iovanni frowned so darkly upon her that >eatrice pausedand trembled. >ut her faith in his tenderness reassured her, and madeher blush that she had doubted for an instant. There was an awful doom, she continued, the e+ect of myfather's fatal love of science, which estranged me from all society of my kind. @ntil &eaven sent thee, dearest =iovanni, oh, how lonelywas thy poor >eatriceB Was it a hard doomC asked =iovanni, #%ing his eyes upon her. )nly of late have " known how hard it was, answered she,tenderly. )h, yes( but my heart was torpid, and therefore $uiet. =iovanni's rage broke forth from his sullen gloom like a lightningDash out of a dark cloud. Accursed oneB cried he, with venomous scorn and anger. And,#nding thy solitude wearisome, thou hast severed me likewise from all

the warmth of life and enticed me into thy region of unspeakablehorrorB =iovanniB e%claimed >eatrice, turning her large bright eyes uponhis face. The force of his words had not found its way into her mind(she was merely thunderstruck. Ees, poisonous thingB repeated =iovanni, beside himself withpassion. Thou hast done itB Thou hast blasted meB Thou hast #lledmy veins with poisonB Thou hast made me as hateful, as ugly, asloathsome and deadly a creature as thyself -- a world's wonder of hideous monstrosityB *ow, if our breath be happily as fatal toourselves as to all others, let us oin our lips in one kiss of unutterable

hatred, and so dieB What has befallen meC murmured >eatrice, with a low moan outof her heart. &oly 2irgin, pity me, a poor heart-broken childB Thou, -- dost thou prayC cried =iovanni, still with the same#endish scorn. Thy very prayers, as they come from thy lips, taintthe atmosphere with death. Ees, yes( let us prayB 1et us to church anddip our #ngers in the holy water at the portalB They that come after uswill perish as by a pestilenceB 1et us sign crosses in the airB "t will bescattering curses abroad in the likeness of holy symbolsB =iovanni, said >eatrice, calmly, for her grief was beyond passion,why dost thou oin thyself with me thus in those terrible wordsC ", it istrue, am the horrible thing thou namest me. >ut thou, -- what hastthou to do, save with one other shudder at my hideous misery to go



forth out of the garden and mingle with thy race, and forget thereever crawled on earth such a monster as poor >eatriceC ost thou pretend ignoranceC asked =iovanni, scowling upon her.>eholdB this power have " gained from the pure daughter of :appaccini.

There was a swarm of summer insects Ditting through the air insearch of the food promised by the Dower odors of the fatal garden. They circled round =iovanni's head, and were evidently attractedtowards him by the same inDuence which had drawn them for aninstant within the sphere of several of the shrubs. &e sent forth abreath among them, and smiled bitterly at >eatrice as at least a scoreof the insects fell dead upon the ground. " see itB " see itB shrieked >eatrice. "t is my father's fatal scienceB*o, no, =iovanni( it was not "B *everB neverB " dreamed only to lovethee and be with thee a little time, and so to let thee pass away,leaving but thine image in mine heart( for, =iovanni, believe it,though my body be nourished with poison, my spirit is =od's creature,and craves love as its daily food. >ut my father, -- he has united us inthis fearful sympathy. Ees( spurn me, tread upon me, kill meB )h, whatis death after such words as thineC >ut it was not ". *ot for a world of bliss would " have done it. =iovanni's passion had e%hausted itself in its outburst from hislips. There now came across him a sense, mournful, and not withouttenderness, of the intimate and peculiar relationship between>eatrice and himself. They stood, as it were, in an utter solitude,which would be made none the less solitary by the densest throng of

human life. )ught not, then, the desert of humanity around them topress this insulated pair closer togetherC "f they should be cruel toone another, who was there to be kind to themC >esides, thought=iovanni, might there not still be a hope of his returning within thelimits of ordinary nature, and leading >eatrice, the redeemed>eatrice, by the handC ), weak, and sel#sh, and unworthy spirit, thatcould dream of an earthly union and earthly happiness as possible,after such deep love had been so bitterly wronged as was >eatrice'slove by =iovanni's blighting wordsB *o, no( there could be no suchhope. he must pass heavily, with that broken heart, across theborders of Time -- she must bathe her hurts in some fount of paradise,

and forget her grief in the light of immortality, and T&: be well. >ut =iovanni did not know it. ear >eatrice, said he, approaching her, while she shrank awayas always at his approach, but now with a di+erent impulse, dearest>eatrice, our fate is not yet so desperate. >eholdB there is a medicine,potent, as a wise physician has assured me, and almost divine in itseGcacy. "t is composed of ingredients the most opposite to those bywhich thy awful father has brought this calamity upon thee and me. "tis distilled of blessed herbs. hall we not $ua+ it together, and thusbe puri#ed from evilC =ive it meB said >eatrice, e%tending her hand to receive the littlesilver vial which =iovanni took from his bosom. he added, with apeculiar emphasis, " will drink( but do thou await the result.



he put >aglioni's antidote to her lips( and, at the same moment,the #gure of :appaccini emerged from the portal and came slowlytowards the marble fountain. As he drew near, the pale man of science seemed to gaFe with a triumphant e%pression at the beautifulyouth and maiden, as might an artist who should spend his life in

achieving a picture or a group of statuary and #nally be satis#ed withhis success. &e paused( his bent form grew erect with consciouspower( he spread out his hands over them in the attitude of a fatherimploring a blessing upon his children( but those were the samehands that had thrown poison into the stream of their lives. =iovannitrembled. >eatrice shuddered nervously, and pressed her hand uponher heart. My daughter, said :appaccini, thou art no longer lonely in theworld. 7luck one of those precious gems from thy sister shrub and bidthy bridegroom wear it in his bosom. "t will not harm him now. Myscience and the sympathy between thee and him have so wroughtwithin his system that he now stands apart from common men, asthou dost, daughter of my pride and triumph, from ordinary women.7ass on, then, through the world, most dear to one another anddreadful to all besidesB My father, said >eatrice, feebly, -- and still as she spoke she kepther hand upon her heart, --wherefore didst thou inDict this miserabledoom upon thy childC MiserableB e%claimed :appaccini. What mean you, foolish girlCost thou deem it misery to be endowed with marvellous gifts againstwhich no power nor strength could avail an enemy -- misery, to be

able to $uell the mightiest with a breath -- misery, to be as terrible asthou art beautifulC Wouldst thou, then, have preferred the condition of a weak woman, e%posed to all evil and capable of noneC " would fain have been loved, not feared, murmured >eatrice,sinking down upon the ground. >ut now it matters not. " am going,father, where the evil which thou hast striven to mingle with my beingwill pass away like a dream-like the fragrance of these poisonousDowers, which will no longer taint my breath among the Dowers of den. 3arewell, =iovanniB Thy words of hatred are like lead within myheart( but they, too, will fall away as " ascend. )h, was there not, fromthe #rst, more poison in thy nature than in mineC

To >eatrice, -- so radically had her earthly part been wrought uponby :appaccini's skill, -- as poison had been life, so the powerfulantidote was death( and thus the poor victim of man's ingenuity andof thwarted nature, and of the fatality that attends all such e+orts of perverted wisdom, perished there, at the feet of her father and=iovanni. Hust at that moment 7rofessor 7ietro >aglioni looked forthfrom the window, and called loudly, in a tone of triumph mi%ed withhorror, to the thunderstricken man of science,:appacciniB:appacciniB and is T&" the upshot of your e%perimentB

rappaccini s daughter

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