Nothing could exceed the intentness with which this scientificgardener examined every shrub which grew in his path; 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 flowersdiffered among themselves in hue and perfume. Nevertheless, in spiteof the deep intelligence on his part, there was no approach tointimacy between himself and these vegetable existences. On thecontrary, he avoided their actual touch, or the direct inhaling oftheir odors, with a caution that impressed Giovanni most disagreeably;for the man's demeanor was that of one walking among malignantinfluences, such as savage beasts, or deadly snakes, or evilspirits, which, should he allow them one moment of license, wouldwreak upon him some terrible fatality. It was strangely frightful tothe young man's imagination, to see this air of insecurity in a personcultivating a garden, that most simple and innocent of human toils,and which had been alike the joy and labor of the unfallen parentsof the race. Was this garden, then, the Eden of the present world? andthis man, with such a perception of harm in what his own handscaused to grow, was he the Adam?
The distrustful gardener, while plucking away the dead leaves orpruning the too luxuriant growth of the shrubs, defended his handswith a pair of thick gloves. Nor were these his only armor. When, inhis walk through the garden, he came to the magnificent plant thathung its purple gems beside the marble fountain, he placed a kind ofmask over his mouth and nostrils, as if all this beauty did butconceal a deadlier malice. But finding his task still too dangerous,he drew back, removed the mask, and called loudly, but in the infirmvoice of a person affected with inward disease:
"Beatrice! Beatrice!"
"Here am I, my father! What would you?" cried a rich and youthfulvoice from the window of the opposite house; a voice as rich as atropical sunset, and which made Giovanni, though he knew not why,think of deep hues of purple or crimson, and of perfumes heavilydelectable- "Are you in the garden?""Yes, Beatrice," answered the gardener, "and I need your help."Soon there emerged from under a sculptured portal the figure of ayoung girl, arrayed with as much richness of taste as the mostsplendid of the flowers, beautiful as the day, and with a bloom sodeep and vivid that one shade more would have been too much. Shelooked redundant with life, health, and energy; all of whichattributes were bound down and compressed, as it were, and girdledtensely, in their luxuriance, by her virgin zone. Yet Giovanni's fancymust have grown morbid, while he looked down into the garden; forthe impression which the fair stranger made upon him was as if herewere another flower, the human sister of those vegetable ones, asbeautiful as they- more beautiful than the richest of them- butstill to be touched only with a glove, nor to be approached withouta mask. As Beatrice came down the garden-path, it was observablethat she handled and inhaled the odor of several of the plants,which her father had most sedulously avoided.
"Here, Beatrice," said the latter- "see how many needful officesrequire to be done to our chief treasure. Yet, shattered as I am, mylife might pay the penalty of approaching it so closely ascircumstances demand. Henceforth, I fear, this plant must be consignedto your sole charge.""And gladly will I undertake it," cried again the rich tones of theyoung lady, as she bent towards the magnificent plant, and openedher arms as if to embrace it. "Yes, my sister, my splendor, it shallbe Beatrice's task to nurse and serve thee; and thou shalt rewardher with thy kisses and perfume breath, which to her is as thebreath of life!"Then, with all the tenderness in her manner that was sostrikingly expressed in her words, she busied herself with suchattentions as the plant seemed to require; and Giovanni, at hislofty window, rubbed his eyes, and almost doubted whether it were agirl tending her favorite flower, or one sister performing theduties of affection to another. The scene soon terminated. WhetherDoctor Rappaccini had finished his labors in the garden, or that hiswatchful eye had caught the stranger's face, he now took hisdaughter's arm and retired. Night was already closing in; oppressiveexhalations seemed to proceed from the plants, and steal upward pastthe open window; and Giovanni, closing the lattice, went to his couch,and dreamed of a rich flower and beautiful girl. Flower and maidenwere different and yet the same, and fraught with some strange perilin either shape.
But there is an influence in the light of morning that tends torectify whatever errors of fancy, or even of judgment, we may haveincurred during the sun's decline, or among the shadows of thenight, or in the less wholesome glow of moonshine. Giovanni's firstmovement on starting from sleep, was to throw open the window, andgaze down into the garden which his dreams had made so fertile ofmysteries. He was surprised, and a little ashamed, to find how realand matter-of-fact an affair it proved to be, in the first rays of thesun, which gilded the dew-drops that hung upon leaf and blossom,and, while giving a brighter beauty to each rare flower, broughteverything within the limits of ordinary experience. The young manrejoiced, that, in the heart of the barren city, he had theprivilege of overlooking this spot of lovely and luxuriant vegetation.
