In this free intercourse, they had strayed through the garden,and now, after many turns among its avenues, were come to theshattered fountain, beside which grew the magnificent shrub with itstreasury of glowing blossoms. A fragrance was diffused from it,which Giovanni recognized as identical with that which he hadattributed to Beatrice's breath, but incomparably more powerful. Asher eyes fell upon it, Giovanni beheld her press her hand to herbosom, as if her heart were throbbing suddenly and painfully.
"For the first time in my life," murmured she, addressing theshrub, "I had forgotten thee!""I remember, Signora," said Giovanni, "that you once promised toreward me with one of these living gems for the bouquet, which I hadthe happy boldness to fling to your feet. Permit me now to pluck it asa memorial of this interview."He made a step towards the shrub, with extended hand. ButBeatrice darted forward, uttering a shriek that went through his heartlike a dagger. She caught his hand, and drew it back with the wholeforce of her slender figure. Giovanni felt her touch thrilling throughhis fibres.
"Touch it not!" exclaimed she, in a voice of agony. "Not for thylife! It is fatal!"Then, hiding her face, she fled from him, and vanished beneaththe sculptured portal. As Giovanni followed her with his eyes, hebeheld the emaciated figure and pale intelligence of DoctorRappaccini, who had been watching the scene, he knew not how long,within the shadow of the entrance.
No sooner was Guasconti alone in his chamber, than the image ofBeatrice came back to his passionate musings, invested with all thewitchery that had been gathering around it ever since his firstglimpse of her, and now likewise imbued with a tender warmth ofgirlish womanhood. She was human: her nature was endowed with allgentle and feminine qualities; she was worthiest to be worshipped; shewas capable, surely, on her part, of the height and heroism of love.
Those tokens, which he had hitherto considered as proofs of afrightful peculiarity in her physical and moral system, were noweither forgotten, or, by the subtle sophistry of passion, transmutedinto a golden crown of enchantment, rendering Beatrice the moreadmirable, by so much as she was the more unique. Whatever hadlooked ugly, was now beautiful; or, if incapable of such a change,it stole away and hid itself among those shapeless half-ideas, whichthrong the dim region beyond the daylight of our perfectconsciousness. Thus did Giovanni spend the night, nor fell asleep,until the dawn had begun to awake the slumbering flowers in DoctorRappaccini's garden, whither his dreams doubtless led him. Up rose thesun in his due season, and flinging his beams upon the young man'seyelids, awoke him to a sense of pain. When thoroughly aroused, hebecame sensible of a burning and tingling agony in his hand- in hisright hand- the very hand which Beatrice had grasped in her own,when he was on the point of plucking one of the gem-like flowers. Onthe back of that hand there was now a purple print, like that offour small fingers, and the likeness of a slender thumb upon hiswrist.
Oh, how stubbornly does love- or even that cunning semblance oflove which flourishes in the imagination, but strikes no depth of rootinto the heart- how stubbornly does it hold its faith, until themoment come, when it is doomed to vanish into thin mist! Giovanniwrapt a handkerchief about his hand, and wondered what evil thinghad stung him, and soon forgot his pain in a reverie of Beatrice.
After the first interview, a second was in the inevitable course ofwhat we call fate. A third; a fourth; and a meeting with Beatrice inthe garden was no longer an incident in Giovanni's daily life, but thewhole space in which he might be said to live; for the anticipationand memory of that ecstatic hour made up the remainder. Nor was itotherwise with the daughter of Rappaccini. She watched for the youth'sappearance, and flew to his side with confidence as unreserved as ifthey had been playmates from early infancy- as if they were suchplaymates still. If, by any unwonted chance, he failed to come atthe appointed moment, she stood beneath the window, and sent up therich sweetness of her tones to float around him in his chamber, andecho and reverberate throughout his heart- "Giovanni! Giovanni! Whytarriest thou? Come down!" And down he hastened into that Eden ofpoisonous flowers.
But, with all this intimate familiarity, there was still areserve in Beatrice's demeanor, so rigidly and invariably sustained,that the idea of infringing it scarcely occurred to his imagination.
