“Whathasbefallenme？”murmuredBeatrice，withalowmoanoutof
herheart。“HolyVirginpityme，apoorheartbrokenchild！”
“Thou！Dostthoupray？”criedGiovanni，stillwiththesame
fiendishscorn。“Thyveryprayers，astheycomefromthylips，taint
theatmospherewithdeath。Yes，yes；letuspray！Letustochurch，
anddipourfingersintheholywaterattheportal！Theythatcome
afteruswillperishasbyapestilence。Letussigncrossesinthe
air！Itwillbescatteringcursesabroadinthelikenessofholy
symbols！”
“Giovanni。”saidBeatricecalmly，forhergriefwasbeyondpassion，
“Whydostthoujointhyselfwithmethusinthoseterriblewords？I，
itistrue，amthehorriblethingthounamestme。Butthou！what
hastthoutodo，savewithoneothershudderatmyhideousmisery，
togoforthoutofthegardenandminglewiththyrace，andforget
thatthereevercrawledonearthsuchamonsteraspoorBeatrice？”
“Dostthoupretendignorance？”askedGiovanni，scowlinguponher。
“Behold！ThispowerhaveIgainedfromthepuredaughterof
Rappaccini！”
Therewasaswarmofsummer-insectsflittingthroughtheair，in
searchofthefoodpromisedbytheflower-odorsofthefatalgarden。
TheycircledroundGiovanni’shead，andwereevidentlyattracted
towardshimbythesameinfluencewhichhaddrawnthem，foran
instant，withinthesphereofseveraloftheshrubs。Hesentfortha
breathamongthem，andsmiledbitterlyatBeatrice，asatleasta
scoreoftheinsectsfelldeadupontheground。
“Iseeit！Iseeit！”shriekedBeatrice。“Itismyfather’sfatal
science？No，no，Giovanni；itwasnotI！Never，never！Idreamed
onlytolovethee，andbewiththeealittletime，andsotolet
theepassaway，leavingbutthineimageinmineheart。For，
Giovanni-believeit-thoughmybodybenourishedwithpoison，my
spiritisGod’screature，andcravesloveasitsdailyfood。Butmy
father！hehasunitedusinthisfearfulsympathy。Yes；spurnme！
treaduponme！killme！Oh，whatisdeath，aftersuchwordsas
thine？ButitwasnotI！NotforaworldofblisswouldIhavedone
it！”
Giovanni’spassionhadexhausteditselfinitsoutburstfromhis
lips。Therenowcameacrosshimasense，mournful，andnotwithout
tenderness，oftheintimateandpeculiarrelationshipbetweenBeatrice
andhimself。Theystood，asitwere，inanuttersolitude，whichwould
bemadenonethelesssolitarybythedensestthrongofhumanlife。
Oughtnot，then，thedesertofhumanityaroundthemtopressthis
insulatedpairclosertogether？Iftheyshouldbecrueltoone
another，whowastheretobekindtothem？Besides，thought
Giovanni，mighttherenotstillbeahopeofhisreturningwithin
thelimitsofordinarynature，andleadingBeatrice-theredeemed
Beatrice-bythehand？Oh，weak，andselfish，andunworthyspirit，
thatcoulddreamofanearthlyunionandearthlyhappinessas
possible，aftersuchdeeplovehadbeensobitterlywrongedaswas
Beatrice’slovebyGiovanni’sblightingwords！No，no；therecould
benosuchhope。Shemustpassheavily，withthatbrokenheart，across
theborders-shemustbatheherhurtsinsomefountofParadise，and
forgethergriefinthelightofimmortality-andtherebewell！
ButGiovannididnotknowit。
“DearBeatrice，saidhe，approachingher，whilesheshrankaway，as
alwaysathisapproach，butnowwithadifferentimpulse-“dearest
Beatrice，ourfateisnotyetsodesperate。Behold！Thereisa
medicine，potent，asawisephysicianhasassuredme，andalmost
divineinitsefficacy。Itiscomposedofingredientsthemost
oppositetothosebywhichthyawfulfatherhasbroughtthis
calamityupontheeandme。Itisdistilledofblessedherbs。Shall
wenotquaffittogether，andthusbepurifiedfromevil？”
“Giveitme！”saidBeatrice，extendingherhandtoreceivethe
littlesilverphialwhichGiovannitookfromhisbosom。Sheadded，
withapeculiaremphasis：“Iwilldrink-butdothouawaitthe
result。”
SheputBaglioni’santidotetoherlips；and，atthesamemoment，
thefigureofRappacciniemergedfromtheportal，andcameslowly
towardsthemarblefountain。Ashedrewnear，thepalemanof
scienceseemedtogazewithatriumphantexpressionatthebeautiful
youthandmaiden，asmightanartistwhoshouldspendhislifein
achievingapictureoragroupofstatuary，andfinallybesatisfied
withhissuccess。Hepaused-hisbentformgrewerectwithconscious
power，hespreadouthishandoverthem，intheattitudeofafather
imploringablessinguponhischildren。Butthosewerethesame
handsthathadthrownpoisonintothestreamoftheirlives！
Giovannitrembled。Beatriceshudderedverynervously，andpressed
herhanduponherheart。
“Mydaughter。”saidRappaccini，“thouartnolongerlonelyinthe
world！Pluckoneofthosepreciousgemsfromthysistershrub，andbid
thybridegroomwearitinhisbosom。Itwillnotharmhimnow！My
science，andthesympathybetweentheeandhim，havesowroughtwithin
hissystem，thathenowstandsapartfromcommonmen，asthoudost，
daughterofmyprideandtriumph，fromordinarywomen。Passon，
then，throughtheworld，mostdeartooneanother，anddreadfultoall
besides！”
“Myfather。”saidBeatrice，feebly-andstill，asshespoke，she
keptherhanduponherheart-“whereforedidstthouinflictthis
miserabledoomuponthychild？”
“Miserable！”exclaimedRappaccini。“Whatmeanyou，foolishgirl？
Dostthoudeemitmiserytobeendowedwithmarvellousgifts，
againstwhichnopowernorstrengthcouldavailanenemy？Misery，to
beabletoquellthemightiestwithabreath？Misery，tobeas
terribleasthouartbeautiful？Wouldstthou，then，havepreferredthe
conditionofaweakwoman，exposedtoallevil，andcapableofnone？”
“Iwouldfainhavebeenloved，notfeared，murmuredBeatrice，
sinkingdownupontheground。“Butnowitmattersnot；Iamgoing，
father，wheretheevil，whichthouhaststriventominglewithmy
being，willpassawaylikeadream-likethefragranceofthese
poisonousflowers，whichwillnolongertaintmybreathamongthe
flowersofEden。Farewell，Giovanni！Thywordsofhatredarelikelead
withinmyheart-butthey，too，willfallawayasIascend。Oh，was
therenot，fromthefirst，morepoisoninthynaturethaninmine？”
ToBeatrice-soradicallyhadherearthlypartbeenwroughtuponby
Rappaccini’sskill-aspoisonhadbeenlife，sothepowerful
antidotewasdeath。Andthusthepoorvictimofman’singenuityandof
thwartednature，andofthefatalitythatattendsallsuchefforts
ofpervertedwisdom，perishedthere，atthefeetofherfatherand
Giovanni。Justatthatmoment，ProfessorPietroBaglionilooked
forthfromthewindow，andcalledloudly，inatoneoftriumphmixed
withhorror，tothethunder-strickenmanofscience：“Rappaccini！
Rappaccini！Andisthistheupshotofyourexperiment？”
byNathanielHawthorne
ONESEPTEMBERNIGHTafamilyhadgatheredroundtheirhearth，and
piledithighwiththedriftwoodofmountainstreams，thedryconesof
thepine，andthesplinteredruinsofgreattreesthathadcome
crashingdowntheprecipice。Upthechimneyroaredthefire，and
brightenedtheroomwithitsbroadblaze。Thefacesofthefather
andmotherhadasobergladness；thechildrenlaughed；theeldest
daughterwastheimageofHappinessatseventeen；andtheaged
grandmother，whosatknittinginthewarmestplace，wastheimageof
Happinessgrownold。Theyhadfoundthe“herb，heart’s-ease。”inthe
bleakestspotofallNewEngland。Thisfamilyweresituatedinthe
NotchoftheWhiteHills，wherethewindwassharpthroughoutthe
year，andpitilesslycoldinthewinter-givingtheircottageall
itsfreshinclemencybeforeitdescendedonthevalleyoftheSaco。
Theydweltinacoldspotandadangerousone；foramountain
toweredabovetheirheads，sosteep，thatthestoneswouldoften
rumbledownitssidesandstartlethematmidnight。
Thedaughterhadjustutteredsomesimplejestthatfilledthemall
withmirth，whenthewindcamethroughtheNotchandseemedtopause
beforetheircottage-rattlingthedoor，withasoundofwailingand
lamentation，beforeitpassedintothevalley。Foramomentit
saddenedthem，thoughtherewasnothingunusualinthetones。But
thefamilyweregladagainwhentheyperceivedthatthelatchwas
liftedbysometraveller，whosefootstepshadbeenunheardamidthe
drearyblastwhichheraldedhisapproach，andwailedashewas
entering，andwentmoaningawayfromthedoor。
Thoughtheydweltinsuchasolitude，thesepeoplehelddaily
conversewiththeworld。TheromanticpassoftheNotchisagreat
artery，throughwhichthelife-bloodofinternalcommerceis
continuallythrobbingbetweenMaine，ononeside，andtheGreen
MountainsandtheshoresoftheSt。Lawrence，ontheother。The
stage-coachalwaysdrewupbeforethedoorofthecottage。The
way-farer，withnocompanionbuthisstaff，pausedheretoexchange
aword，thatthesenseoflonelinessmightnotutterlyovercomehim
erehecouldpassthroughthecleftofthemountain，orreachthe
firsthouseinthevalley。Andheretheteamster，onhiswayto
Portlandmarket，wouldputupforthenight；and，ifabachelor，might
sitanhourbeyondtheusualbedtime，andstealakissfromthe
mountainmaidatparting。Itwasoneofthoseprimitivetaverns
wherethetravellerpaysonlyforfoodandlodging，butmeetswitha
homelykindnessbeyondallprice。Whenthefootstepswereheard，
therefore，betweentheouterdoorandtheinnerone，thewhole
familyroseup，grandmother，children，andall，asifabouttowelcome
someonewhobelongedtothem，andwhosefatewaslinkedwiththeirs。
Thedoorwasopenedbyayoungman。Hisfaceatfirstworethe
melancholyexpression，almostdespondency，ofonewhotravelsawild
andbleakroad，atnightfallandalone，butsoonbrightenedupwhenhe
sawthekindlywarmthofhisreception。Hefelthisheartspring
forwardtomeetthemall，fromtheoldwoman，whowipedachairwith
herapron，tothelittlechildthatheldoutitsarmstohim。One
glanceandsmileplacedthestrangeronafootingofinnocent
familiaritywiththeeldestdaughter。
“Ah，thisfireistherightthing！”criedhe；“especiallywhen
thereissuchapleasantcircleroundit。Iamquitebenumbed；forthe
Notchisjustlikethepipeofagreatpairofbellows；ithasblowna
terribleblastinmyfaceallthewayfromBartlett。”
“ThenyouaregoingtowardsVermont？”saidthemasterofthehouse，
ashehelpedtotakealightknapsackofftheyoungman’sshoulders。
“Yes；toBurlington，andfarenoughbeyond。”repliedhe。“Imeant
tohavebeenatEthanCrawford’stonight；butapedestrianlingers
alongsucharoadasthis。Itisnomatter；for，whenIsawthis
goodfire，andallyourcheerfulfaces，Ifeltasifyouhadkindled
itonpurposeforme，andwerewaitingmyarrival。SoIshallsitdown
amongyou，andmakemyselfathome。”
Thefrank-heartedstrangerhadjustdrawnhischairtothefire
whensomethinglikeaheavyfootstepwasheardwithout，rushingdown
thesteepsideofthemountain，aswithlongandrapidstrides，and
takingsuchaleapinpassingthecottageastostriketheopposite
precipice。Thefamilyheldtheirbreath，becausetheyknewthe
sound，andtheirguestheldhisbyinstinct。
“Theoldmountainhasthrownastoneatus，forfearweshould
forgethim。”saidthelandlord，recoveringhimself。“Hesometimesnods
hisheadandthreatenstocomedown；butweareoldneighbors，and
agreetogetherprettywelluponthewhole。Besideswehaveasure
placeofrefugehardbyifheshouldbecomingingoodearnest。”
Letusnowsupposethestrangertohavefinishedhissupperof
bear’smeat；and，byhisnaturalfelicityofmanner，tohaveplaced
himselfonafootingofkindnesswiththewholefamily，sothatthey
talkedasfreelytogetherasifhebelongedtotheirmountainbrood。
Hewasofaproud，yetgentlespirit-haughtyandreservedamongthe
richandgreat；buteverreadytostoophisheadtothelowly
cottagedoor，andbelikeabrotherorasonatthepoorman’s
fireside。InthehouseholdoftheNotchhefoundwarmthandsimplicity
offeeling，thepervadingintelligenceofNewEngland，andapoetryof
nativegrowth，whichtheyhadgatheredwhentheylittlethoughtof
itfromthemountainpeaksandchasms，andattheverythresholdof
theirromanticanddangerousabode。Hehadtravelledfarandalone；
hiswholelife，indeed，hadbeenasolitarypath；for，withthe
loftycautionofhisnature，hehadkepthimselfapartfromthose
whomightotherwisehavebeenhiscompanions。Thefamily，too，
thoughsokindandhospitable，hadthatconsciousnessofunityamong
themselves，andseparationfromtheworldatlarge，which，inevery
domesticcircle，shouldstillkeepaholyplacewherenostranger
mayintrude。Butthiseveningapropheticsympathyimpelledthe
refinedandeducatedyouthtopourouthisheartbeforethesimple
mountaineers，andconstrainedthemtoanswerhimwiththesamefree
confidence。Andthusitshouldhavebeen。Isnotthekindredofa
commonfateaclosertiethanthatofbirth？
Thesecretoftheyoungman’scharacterwasahighandabstracted
ambition。Hecouldhavebornetoliveanundistinguishedlife，butnot
tobeforgotteninthegrave。Yearningdesirehadbeentransformed
tohope；andhope，longcherished，hadbecomelikecertainty，that，
obscurelyashejourneyednow，aglorywastobeamonallhispathway-
thoughnot，perhaps，whilehewastreadingit。Butwhenposterity
shouldgazebackintothegloomofwhatwasnowthepresent，they
wouldtracethebrightnessofhisfootsteps，brighteningasmeaner
gloriesfaded，andconfessthatagiftedonehadpassedfromhis
cradletohistombwithnonetorecognizehim。
“Asyet。”criedthestranger-hischeekglowingandhiseye
flashingwithenthusiasm-“asyet，Ihavedonenothing。WereIto
vanishfromtheearthtomorrow，nonewouldknowsomuchofmeas
you：thatanamelessyouthcameupatnightfallfromthevalleyofthe
Saco，andopenedhishearttoyouintheevening，andpassedthrough
theNotchbysunrise，andwasseennomore。Notasoulwouldask，’Who
washe？Whitherdidthewanderergo？’ButIcannotdietillIhave
achievedmydestiny。Then，letDeathcome！Ishallhavebuiltmy
monument！”
