Our author is voluminous; he continues to write and publish with as much praiseworthy and indefatigable16 prolixity17 as if his efforts were crowned with the brilliant success that so justly attends those of Eugene Sue. His first appearance was by a collection of stories in a long series of volumes entitled “Contes deux fois racontees.” The titles of some of his more recent works (we quote from memory) are as follows: “Le Voyage Celeste a Chemin de Fer,” 3 tom., 1838; “Le nouveau Pere Adam et la nouvelle Mere18 Eve,” 2 tom., 1839; “Roderic; ou le Serpent a l’estomac,” 2 tom., 1840; “Le Culte du Feu,” a folio volume of ponderous19 research into the religion and ritual of the old Persian Ghebers, published in 1841; “La Soiree du Chateau20 en Espagne,” 1 tom., 8vo, 1842; and “L’Artiste du Beau; ou le Papillon Mecanique,” 5 tom., 4to, 1843. Our somewhat wearisome perusal21 of this startling catalogue of volumes has left behind it a certain personal affection and sympathy, though by no means admiration22, for M. de l’Aubepine; and we would fain do the little in our power towards introducing him favorably to the American public. The ensuing tale is a translation of his “Beatrice; ou la Belle23 Empoisonneuse,” recently published in “La Revue Anti–Aristocratique.” This journal, edited by the Comte de Bearhaven, has for some years past led the defence of liberal principles and popular rights with a faithfulness and ability worthy15 of all praise.
A young man, named Giovanni Guasconti, came, very long ago, from the more southern region of Italy, to pursue his studies at the University of Padua. Giovanni, who had but a scanty24 supply of gold ducats in his pocket, took lodgings25 in a high and gloomy chamber26 of an old edifice27 which looked not unworthy to have been the palace of a Paduan noble, and which, in fact, exhibited over its entrance the armorial bearings of a family long since extinct. The young stranger, who was not unstudied in the great poem of his country, recollected28 that one of the ancestors of this family, and perhaps an occupant of this very mansion30, had been pictured by Dante as a partaker of the immortal31 agonies of his Inferno32. These reminiscences and associations, together with the tendency to heartbreak natural to a young man for the first time out of his native sphere, caused Giovanni to sigh heavily as he looked around the desolate33 and ill-furnished apartment.
“Holy Virgin34, signor!” cried old Dame35 Lisabetta, who, won by the youth’s remarkable36 beauty of person, was kindly37 endeavoring to give the chamber a habitable air, “what a sigh was that to come out of a young man’s heart! Do you find this old mansion gloomy? For the love of Heaven, then, put your head out of the window, and you will see as bright sunshine as you have left in Naples.”
Guasconti mechanically did as the old woman advised, but could not quite agree with her that the Paduan sunshine was as cheerful as that of southern Italy. Such as it was, however, it fell upon a garden beneath the window and expended38 its fostering influences on a variety of plants, which seemed to have been cultivated with exceeding care.
“Does this garden belong to the house?” asked Giovanni.
“Heaven forbid, signor, unless it were fruitful of better pot herbs than any that grow there now,” answered old Lisabetta. “No; that garden is cultivated by the own hands of Signor Giacomo Rappaccini, the famous doctor, who, I warrant him, has been heard of as far as Naples. It is said that he distils39 these plants into medicines that are as potent40 as a charm. Oftentimes you may see the signor doctor at work, and perchance the signora, his daughter, too, gathering41 the strange flowers that grow in the garden.”
The old woman had now done what she could for the aspect of the chamber; and, commending the young man to the protection of the saints, took her departure
Giovanni still found no better occupation than to look down into the garden beneath his window. From its appearance, he judged it to be one of those botanic gardens which were of earlier date in Padua than elsewhere in Italy or in the world. Or, not improbably, it might once have been the pleasure-place of an opulent family; for there was the ruin of a marble fountain in the centre, sculptured with rare art, but so wofully shattered that it was impossible to trace the original design from the chaos42 of remaining fragments. The water, however, continued to gush43 and sparkle into the sunbeams as cheerfully as ever. A little gurgling sound ascended45 to the young man’s window, and made him feel as if the fountain were an immortal spirit that sung its song unceasingly and without heeding46 the vicissitudes47 around it, while one century imbodied it in marble and another scattered48 the perishable49 garniture on the soil. All about the pool into which the water subsided50 grew various plants, that seemed to require a plentiful51 supply of moisture for the nourishment52 of gigantic leaves, and in some instances, flowers gorgeously magnificent. There was one shrub53 in particular, set in a marble vase in the midst of the pool, that bore a profusion54 of purple blossoms, each of which had the lustre55 and richness of a gem56; and the whole together made a show so resplendent that it seemed enough to illuminate57 the garden, even had there been no sunshine. Every portion of the soil was peopled with plants and herbs, which, if less beautiful, still bore tokens of assiduous care, as if all had their individual virtues58, known to the scientific mind that fostered them. Some were placed in urns59, rich with old carving60, and others in common garden pots; some crept serpent-like along the ground or climbed on high, using whatever means of ascent61 was offered them. One plant had wreathed itself round a statue of Vertumnus, which was thus quite veiled and shrouded62 in a drapery of hanging foliage63, so happily arranged that it might have served a sculptor64 for a study.
While Giovanni stood at the window he heard a rustling65 behind a screen of leaves, and became aware that a person was at work in the garden. His figure soon emerged into view, and showed itself to be that of no common laborer66, but a tall, emaciated68, sallow, and sickly-looking man, dressed in a scholar’s garb69 of black. He was beyond the middle term of life, with gray hair, a thin, gray beard, and a face singularly marked with intellect and cultivation70, but which could never, even in his more youthful days, have expressed much warmth of heart.
Nothing could exceed the intentness with which this scientific gardener examined every shrub which grew in his path: it seemed as if he was looking into their inmost nature, making observations in regard to their creative essence, and discovering why one leaf grew in this shape and another in that, and wherefore such and such flowers differed among themselves in hue71 and perfume. Nevertheless, in spite of this deep intelligence on his part, there was no approach to intimacy72 between himself and these vegetable existences. On the contrary, he avoided their actual touch or the direct inhaling73 of their odors with a caution that impressed Giovanni most disagreeably; for the man’s demeanor74 was that of one walking among malignant75 influences, such as savage76 beasts, or deadly snakes, or evil spirits, which, should he allow them one moment of license77, would wreak78 upon him some terrible fatality79. It was strangely frightful80 to the young man’s imagination to see this air of insecurity in a person cultivating a garden, that most simple and innocent of human toils81, and which had been alike the joy and labor67 of the unfallen parents of the race. Was this garden, then, the Eden of the present world? And this man, with such a perception of harm in what his own hands caused to grow — was he the Adam?
The distrustful gardener, while plucking away the dead leaves or pruning83 the too luxuriant growth of the shrubs84, defended his hands with a pair of thick gloves. Nor were these his only armor. When, in his walk through the garden, he came to the magnificent plant that hung its purple gems85 beside the marble fountain, he placed a kind of mask over his mouth and nostrils86, as if all this beauty did but conceal87 a deadlier malice88; but, finding his task still too dangerous, he drew back, removed the mask, and called loudly, but in the infirm voice of a person affected89 with inward disease, “Beatrice! Beatrice!”
“Here am I, my father. What would you?” cried a rich and youthful voice from the window of the opposite house — a voice as rich as a tropical sunset, and which made Giovanni, though he knew not why, think of deep hues90 of purple or crimson91 and of perfumes heavily delectable92. “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 a young girl, arrayed with as much richness of taste as the most splendid of the flowers, beautiful as the day, and with a bloom so deep and vivid that one shade more would have been too much. She looked redundant93 with life, health, and energy; all of which attributes were bound down and compressed, as it were and girdled tensely, in their luxuriance, by her virgin zone. Yet Giovanni’s fancy must have grown morbid94 while he looked down into the garden; for the impression which the fair stranger made upon him was as if here were another flower, the human sister of those vegetable ones, as beautiful as they, more beautiful than the richest of them, but still to be touched only with a glove, nor to be approached without a mask. As Beatrice came down the garden path, it was observable that she handled and inhaled95 the odor of several of the plants which her father had most sedulously96 avoided.
“Here, Beatrice,” said the latter, “see how many needful offices require to be done to our chief treasure. Yet, shattered as I am, my life might pay the penalty of approaching it so closely as circumstances demand. Henceforth, I fear, this plant must be consigned98 to your sole charge.”
“And gladly will I undertake it,” cried again the rich tones of the young lady, as she bent99 towards the magnificent plant and opened her arms as if to embrace it. “Yes, my sister, my splendour, it shall be Beatrice’s task to nurse and serve thee; and thou shalt reward her with 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 strikingly expressed in her words, she busied herself with such attentions as the plant seemed to require; and Giovanni, at his lofty window, rubbed his eyes and almost doubted whether it were a girl tending her favorite flower, or one sister performing the duties of affection to another. The scene soon terminated. Whether Dr. Rappaccini had finished his labors100 in the garden, or that his watchful101 eye had caught the stranger’s face, he now took his daughter’s arm and retired102. Night was already closing in; oppressive exhalations seemed to proceed from the plants and steal upward past the open window; and Giovanni, closing the lattice, went to his couch and dreamed of a rich flower and beautiful girl. Flower and maiden103 were different, and yet the same, and fraught104 with some strange peril105 in either shape.
But there is an influence in the light of morning that tends to rectify106 whatever errors of fancy, or even of judgment107, we may have incurred108 during the sun’s decline, or among the shadows of the night, or in the less wholesome109 glow of moonshine. Giovanni’s first movement, on starting from sleep, was to throw open the window and gaze down into the garden which his dreams had made so fertile of mysteries. He was surprised and a little ashamed to find how real and matter-of-fact an affair it proved to be, in the first rays of the sun which gilded110 the dew-drops that hung upon leaf and blossom, and, while giving a brighter beauty to each rare flower, brought everything within the limits of ordinary experience. The young man rejoiced that, in the heart of the barren city, he had the privilege of overlooking this spot of lovely and luxuriant vegetation. It would serve, he said to himself, as a symbolic112 language to keep him in communion with Nature. Neither the sickly and thoughtworn Dr. Giacomo Rappaccini, it is true, nor his brilliant daughter, were now visible; so that Giovanni could not determine how much of the singularity which he attributed to both was due to their own qualities and how much to his wonder-working fancy; but he was inclined to take a most rational view of the whole matter.
In the course of the day he paid his respects to Signor Pietro Baglioni, professor of medicine in the university, a physician of eminent113 repute to whom Giovanni had brought a letter of introduction. The professor was an elderly personage, apparently114 of genial115 nature, and habits that might almost be called jovial116. He kept the young man to dinner, and made himself very agreeable by the freedom and liveliness of his conversation, especially when warmed by a flask117 or two of Tuscan wine. Giovanni, conceiving that men of science, inhabitants of the same city, must needs be on familiar terms with one another, took an opportunity to mention the name of Dr. Rappaccini. But the professor did not respond with so much cordiality as he had anticipated.
“Ill would it become a teacher of the divine art of medicine,” said Professor Pietro Baglioni, in answer to a question of Giovanni, “to withhold118 due and well-considered praise of a physician so eminently119 skilled as Rappaccini; but, on the other hand, I should answer it but scantily120 to my conscience were I to permit a worthy youth like yourself, Signor Giovanni, the son of an ancient friend, to imbibe121 erroneous ideas respecting a man who might hereafter chance to hold your life and death in his hands. The truth is, our worshipful Dr. Rappaccini has as much science as any member of the faculty122 — with perhaps one single exception — in Padua, or all Italy; but there are certain grave objections to his professional character.”
“And what are they?” asked the young man.
“Has my friend Giovanni any disease of body or heart, that he is so inquisitive123 about physicians?” said the professor, with a smile. “But as for Rappaccini, it is said of him — and I, who know the man well, can answer for its truth — that he cares infinitely124 more for science than for mankind. His patients are interesting to him only as subjects for some new experiment. He would sacrifice human life, his own among the rest, or whatever else was dearest to him, for the sake of adding so much as a grain of mustard seed to the great heap of his accumulated knowledge.”
“Methinks he is an awful man indeed,” remarked Guasconti, mentally recalling the cold and purely125 intellectual aspect of Rappaccini. “And yet, worshipful professor, is it not a noble spirit? Are there many men capable of so spiritual a love of science?”
“God forbid,” answered the professor, somewhat testily126; “at least, unless they take sounder views of the healing art than those adopted by Rappaccini. It is his theory that all medicinal virtues are comprised within those substances which we term vegetable poisons. These he cultivates with his own hands, and is said even to have produced new varieties of poison, more horribly deleterious than Nature, without the assistance of this learned person, would ever have plagued the world withal. That the signor doctor does less mischief127 than might be expected with such dangerous substances is undeniable. Now and then, it must be owned, he has effected, or seemed to effect, a marvellous cure; but, to tell you my private mind, Signor Giovanni, he should receive little credit for such instances of success — they being probably the work of chance, — but should be held strictly129 accountable for his failures, which may justly be considered his own work.”
The youth might have taken Baglioni’s opinions with many grains of allowance had he known that there was a professional warfare130 of long continuance between him and Dr. Rappaccini, in which the latter was generally thought to have gained the advantage. If the reader be inclined to judge for himself, we refer him to certain black-letter tracts131 on both sides, preserved in the medical department of the University of Padua.
“I know not, most learned professor,” returned Giovanni, after musing132 on what had been said of Rappaccini’s exclusive zeal133 for science — “I know not how dearly this physician may love his art; but surely there is one object more dear to him. He has a daughter.”
“Aha!” cried the professor, with a laugh. “So now our friend Giovanni’s secret is out. You have heard of this daughter, whom all the young men in Padua are wild about, though not half a dozen have ever had the good hap29 to see her face. I know little of the Signora Beatrice save that Rappaccini is said to have instructed her deeply in his science, and that, young and beautiful as fame reports her, she is already qualified134 to fill a professor’s chair. Perchance her father destines her for mine! Other absurd rumors135 there be, not worth talking about or listening to. So now, Signor Giovanni, drink off your glass of lachryma.”
Guasconti returned to his lodgings somewhat heated with the wine he had quaffed137, and which caused his brain to swim with strange fantasies in reference to Dr. Rappaccini and the beautiful Beatrice. On his way, happening to pass by a florist’s, he bought a fresh bouquet138 of flowers.
Ascending139 to his chamber, he seated himself near the window, but within the shadow thrown by the depth of the wall, so that he could look down into the garden with little risk of being discovered. All beneath his eye was a solitude140. The strange plants were basking141 in the sunshine, and now and then nodding gently to one another, as if in acknowledgment of sympathy and kindred. In the midst, by the shattered fountain, grew the magnificent shrub, with its purple gems clustering all over it; they glowed in the air, and gleamed back again out of the depths of the pool, which thus seemed to overflow142 with colored radiance from the rich reflection that was steeped in it. At first, as we have said, the garden was a solitude. Soon, however — as Giovanni had half hoped, half feared, would be the case — a figure appeared beneath the antique sculptured portal, and came down between the rows of plants, inhaling their various perfumes as if she were one of those beings of old classic fable143 that lived upon sweet odors. On again beholding144 Beatrice, the young man was even startled to perceive how much her beauty exceeded his recollection of it; so brilliant, so vivid, was its character, that she glowed amid the sunlight, and, as Giovanni whispered to himself, positively146 illuminated147 the more shadowy intervals148 of the garden path. Her face being now more revealed than on the former occasion, he was struck by its expression of simplicity149 and sweetness — qualities that had not entered into his idea of her character, and which made him ask anew what manner of mortal she might be. Nor did he fail again to observe, or imagine, an analogy between the beautiful girl and the gorgeous shrub that hung its gemlike flowers over the fountain — a resemblance which Beatrice seemed to have indulged a fantastic humor 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 a passionate151 ardor152, and drew its branches into an intimate embrace — so intimate that her features were hidden in its leafy bosom153 and her glistening154 ringlets all intermingled with the flowers
“Give me thy breath, my sister,” exclaimed Beatrice; “for I am faint with common air. And give me this flower of thine, which I separate with gentlest fingers from the stem and place it close beside my heart.”
With these words the beautiful daughter of Rappaccini plucked one of the richest blossoms of the shrub, and was about to fasten it in her bosom. But now, unless Giovanni’s draughts156 of wine had bewildered his senses, a singular incident occurred. A small orange-colored reptile157, of the lizard158 or chameleon159 species, chanced to be creeping along the path, just at the feet of Beatrice. It appeared to Giovanni — but, at the distance from which he gazed, he could scarcely have seen anything so minute — it appeared to him, however, that a drop or two of moisture from the broken stem of the flower descended160 upon the lizard’s head. For an instant the reptile contorted itself violently, and then lay motionless in the sunshine. Beatrice observed this remarkable phenomenon and crossed herself, sadly, but without surprise; nor did she therefore hesitate to arrange the fatal flower in her bosom. There it blushed, and almost glimmered161 with the dazzling effect of a precious stone, adding to her dress and aspect the one appropriate charm which nothing else in the world could have supplied. But Giovanni, out of the shadow of his window, bent forward and shrank back, and murmured and trembled.
“Am I awake? Have I my senses?” said he to himself. “What is this being? Beautiful shall I call her, or inexpressibly terrible?”
Beatrice now strayed carelessly through the garden, approaching closer beneath Giovanni’s window, so that he was compelled to thrust his head quite out of its concealment162 in order to gratify the intense and painful curiosity which she excited. At this moment there came a beautiful insect over the garden wall; it had, perhaps, wandered through the city, and found no flowers or verdure among those antique haunts of men until the heavy perfumes of Dr. Rappaccini’s shrubs had lured163 it from afar. Without alighting on the flowers, this winged brightness seemed to be attracted by Beatrice, and lingered in the air and fluttered about her head. Now, here it could not be but that Giovanni Guasconti’s eyes deceived him. Be that as it might, he fancied that, while Beatrice was gazing at the insect with childish delight, it grew faint and fell at her feet; its bright wings shivered; it was dead — from no cause that he could discern, unless it were the atmosphere of her breath. Again Beatrice crossed herself and sighed heavily as she bent over the dead insect.
An impulsive164 movement of Giovanni drew her eyes to the window. There she beheld165 the beautiful head of the young man — rather a Grecian than an Italian head, with fair, regular features, and a glistening of gold among his ringlets — gazing down upon her like a being that hovered166 in mid12 air. Scarcely knowing what he did, Giovanni threw down the bouquet which he had hitherto held in his hand.
“Signora,” said he, “there are pure and healthful flowers. Wear them for the sake of Giovanni Guasconti.”
“Thanks, signor,” replied Beatrice, with her rich voice, that came forth97 as it were like a gush of music, and with a mirthful expression half childish and half woman-like. “I accept your gift, and would fain recompense it with this precious purple flower; but if I toss it into the air it will not reach you. So Signor Guasconti must even content himself with my thanks.”
She lifted the bouquet from the ground, and then, as if inwardly ashamed at having stepped aside from her maidenly167 reserve to respond to a stranger’s greeting, passed swiftly homeward through the garden. But few as the moments were, it seemed to Giovanni, when she was on the point of vanishing beneath the sculptured portal, that his beautiful bouquet was already beginning to wither168 in her grasp. It was an idle thought; there could be no possibility of distinguishing a faded flower from a fresh one at so great a distance.
For many days after this incident the young man avoided the window that looked into Dr. Rappaccini’s garden, as if something ugly and monstrous169 would have blasted his eyesight had he been betrayed into a glance. He felt conscious of having put himself, to a certain extent, within the influence of an unintelligible170 power by the communication which he had opened with Beatrice. The wisest course would have been, if his heart were in any real danger, to quit his lodgings and Padua itself at once; the next wiser, to have accustomed himself, as far as possible, to the familiar and daylight view of Beatrice — thus bringing her rigidly171 and systematically172 within the limits of ordinary experience. Least of all, while avoiding her sight, ought Giovanni to have remained so near this extraordinary being that the proximity173 and possibility even of intercourse174 should give a kind of substance and reality to the wild vagaries175 which his imagination ran riot continually in producing. Guasconti had not a deep heart — or, at all events, its depths were not sounded now; but he had a quick fancy, and an ardent176 southern temperament177, which rose every instant to a higher fever pitch. Whether or no Beatrice possessed178 those terrible attributes, that fatal breath, the affinity179 with those so beautiful and deadly flowers which were indicated by what Giovanni had witnessed, she had at least instilled180 a fierce and subtle poison into his system. It was not love, although her rich beauty was a madness to him; nor horror, even while he fancied her spirit to be imbued181 with the same baneful182 essence that seemed to pervade183 her physical frame; but a wild offspring of both love and horror that had each parent in it, and burned like one and shivered like the other. Giovanni knew not what to dread184; still less did he know what to hope; yet hope and dread kept a continual warfare in his breast, alternately vanquishing185 one another and starting up afresh to renew the contest. Blessed are all simple emotions, be they dark or bright! It is the lurid186 intermixture of the two that produces the illuminating187 blaze of the infernal regions.
Sometimes he endeavored to assuage188 the fever of his spirit by a rapid walk through the streets of Padua or beyond its gates: his footsteps kept time with the throbbings of his brain, so that the walk was apt to accelerate itself to a race. One day he found himself arrested; his arm was seized by a portly personage, who had turned back on recognizing the young man and expended much breath in overtaking him.
“Signor Giovanni! Stay, my young friend!” cried he. “Have you forgotten me? That might well be the case if I were as much altered as yourself.”
It was Baglioni, whom Giovanni had avoided ever since their first meeting, from a doubt that the professor’s sagacity would look too deeply into his secrets. Endeavoring to recover himself, he stared forth wildly from his inner world into the outer one and spoke190 like a man in a dream.
“Yes; I am Giovanni Guasconti. You are Professor Pietro Baglioni. Now let me pass!”
“Not yet, not yet, Signor Giovanni Guasconti,” said the professor, smiling, but at the same time scrutinizing191 the youth with an earnest glance. “What! did I grow up side by side with your father? and shall his son pass me like a stranger in these old streets of Padua? Stand still, Signor Giovanni; for we must have a word or two before we part.”
“Speedily, then, most worshipful professor, speedily,” said Giovanni, with feverish192 impatience193. “Does not your worship see that I am in haste?”
Now, while he was speaking there came a man in black along the street, stooping and moving feebly like a person in inferior health. His face was all overspread with a most sickly and sallow hue, but yet so pervaded194 with an expression of piercing and active intellect that an observer might easily have overlooked the merely physical attributes and have seen only this wonderful energy. As he passed, this person exchanged a cold and distant salutation with Baglioni, but fixed195 his eyes upon Giovanni with an intentness that seemed to bring out whatever was within him worthy of notice. Nevertheless, there was a peculiar9 quietness in the look, as if taking merely a speculative196, not a human interest, in the young man.
“It is Dr. Rappaccini!” whispered the professor when the stranger had passed. “Has he ever seen your face before?”
“Not that I know,” answered Giovanni, starting at the name.
“He HAS seen you! he must have seen you!” said Baglioni, hastily. “For some purpose or other, this man of science is making a study of you. I know that look of his! It is the same that coldly illuminates197 his face as he bends over a bird, a mouse, or a butterfly, which, in pursuance of some experiment, he has killed by the perfume of a flower; a look as deep as Nature itself, but without Nature’s warmth of love. Signor Giovanni, I will stake my life upon it, you are the subject of one of Rappaccini’s experiments!”
“Will you make a fool of me?” cried Giovanni, passionately198. “THAT, signor professor, were an untoward199 experiment.”
“Patience! patience!” replied the imperturbable200 professor. “I tell thee, my poor Giovanni, that Rappaccini has a scientific interest in thee. Thou hast fallen into fearful hands! And the Signora Beatrice — what part does she act in this mystery?”
But Guasconti, finding Baglioni’s pertinacity201 intolerable, here broke away, and was gone before the professor could again seize his arm. He looked after the young man intently and shook his head.
“This must not be,” said Baglioni to himself. “The youth is the son of my old friend, and shall not come to any harm from which the arcana of medical science can preserve him. Besides, it is too insufferable an impertinence in Rappaccini, thus to snatch the lad out of my own hands, as I may say, and make use of him for his infernal experiments. This daughter of his! It shall be looked to. Perchance, most learned Rappaccini, I may foil you where you little dream of it!”
Meanwhile Giovanni had pursued a circuitous202 route, and at length found himself at the door of his lodgings. As he crossed the threshold he was met by old Lisabetta, who smirked203 and smiled, and was evidently desirous to attract his attention; vainly, however, as the ebullition of his feelings had momentarily subsided into a cold and dull vacuity204. He turned his eyes full upon the withered205 face that was puckering206 itself into a smile, but seemed to behold145 it not. The old dame, therefore, laid her grasp upon his cloak.
“Signor! signor!” whispered she, still with a smile over the whole breadth of her visage, so that it looked not unlike a grotesque208 carving in wood, darkened by centuries. “Listen, signor! There is a private entrance into the garden!”
“What do you say?” exclaimed Giovanni, turning quickly about, as if an inanimate thing should start into feverish life. “A private entrance into Dr. Rappaccini’s garden?”
“Hush209! hush! not so loud!” whispered Lisabetta, putting her hand over his mouth. “Yes; into the worshipful doctor’s garden, where you may see all his fine shrubbery. Many a young man in Padua would give gold to be admitted among those flowers.”
Giovanni put a piece of gold into her hand.
“Show me the way,” said he.
A surmise210, probably excited by his conversation with Baglioni, crossed his mind, that this interposition of old Lisabetta might perchance be connected with the intrigue211, whatever were its nature, in which the professor seemed to suppose that Dr. Rappaccini was involving him. But such a suspicion, though it disturbed Giovanni, was inadequate212 to restrain him. The instant that he was aware of the possibility of approaching Beatrice, it seemed an absolute necessity of his existence to do so. It mattered not whether she were angel or demon213; he was irrevocably within her sphere, and must obey the law that whirled him onward214, in ever-lessening circles, towards a result which he did not attempt to foreshadow; and yet, strange to say, there came across him a sudden doubt whether this intense interest on his part were not delusory; whether it were really of so deep and positive a nature as to justify215 him in now thrusting himself into an incalculable position; whether it were not merely the fantasy of a young man’s brain, only slightly or not at all connected with his heart.
He paused, hesitated, turned half about, but again went on. His withered guide led him along several obscure passages, and finally undid216 a door, through which, as it was opened, there came the sight and sound of rustling leaves, with the broken sunshine glimmering217 among them. Giovanni stepped forth, and, forcing himself through the entanglement218 of a shrub that wreathed its tendrils over the hidden entrance, stood beneath his own window in the open area of Dr. Rappaccini’s garden.
How often is it the case that, when impossibilities have come to pass and dreams have condensed their misty219 substance into tangible220 realities, we find ourselves calm, and even coldly self-possessed, amid circumstances which it would have been a delirium221 of joy or agony to anticipate! Fate delights to thwart222 us thus. Passion will choose his own time to rush upon the scene, and lingers sluggishly223 behind when an appropriate adjustment of events would seem to summon his appearance. So was it now with Giovanni. Day after day his pulses had throbbed224 with feverish blood at the improbable idea of an interview with Beatrice, and of standing225 with her, face to face, in this very garden, basking in the Oriental sunshine of her beauty, and snatching from her full gaze the mystery which he deemed the riddle226 of his own existence. But now there was a singular and untimely equanimity227 within his breast. He threw a glance around the garden to discover if Beatrice or her father were present, and, perceiving that he was alone, began a critical observation of the plants.
The aspect of one and all of them dissatisfied him; their gorgeousness seemed fierce, passionate, and even unnatural228. There was hardly an individual shrub which a wanderer, straying by himself through a forest, would not have been startled to find growing wild, as if an unearthly face had glared at him out of the thicket229. Several also would have shocked a delicate instinct by an appearance of artificialness indicating that there had been such commixture, and, as it were, adultery, of various vegetable species, that the production was no longer of God’s making, but the monstrous offspring of man’s depraved fancy, glowing with only an evil mockery of beauty. They were probably the result of experiment, which in one or two cases had succeeded in mingling230 plants individually lovely into a compound possessing the questionable231 and ominous232 character that distinguished233 the whole growth of the garden. In fine, Giovanni recognized but two or three plants in the collection, and those of a kind that he well knew to be poisonous. While busy with these contemplations he heard the rustling of a silken garment, and, turning, beheld Beatrice emerging from beneath the sculptured portal.
Giovanni had not considered with himself what should be his deportment; whether he should apologize for his intrusion into the garden, or assume that he was there with the privity at least, if not by the desire, of Dr. Rappaccini or his daughter; but Beatrice’s manner placed him at his ease, though leaving him still in doubt by what agency he had gained admittance. She came lightly along the path and met him near the broken fountain. There was surprise in her face, but brightened by a simple and kind expression of pleasure.
“You are a connoisseur234 in flowers, signor,” said Beatrice, with a smile, alluding235 to the bouquet which he had flung her from the window. “It is no marvel128, therefore, if the sight of my father’s rare collection has tempted236 you to take a nearer view. If he were here, he could tell you many strange and interesting facts as to the nature and habits of these shrubs; for he has spent a lifetime in such studies, and this garden is his world.”
“And yourself, lady,” observed Giovanni, “if fame says true — you likewise are deeply skilled in the virtues indicated by these rich blossoms and these spicy237 perfumes. Would you deign238 to be my instructress, I should prove an apter scholar than if taught by Signor Rappaccini himself.”
“Are there such idle rumors?” asked Beatrice, with the music of a pleasant laugh. “Do people say that I am skilled in my father’s science of plants? What a jest is there! No; though I have grown up among these flowers, I know no more of them than their hues and perfume; and sometimes methinks I would fain rid myself of even that small knowledge. There are many flowers here, and those not the least brilliant, that shock and offend me when they meet my eye. But pray, signor, do not believe these stories about my science. Believe nothing of me save what you see with your own eyes.”
“And must I believe all that I have seen with my own eyes?” asked Giovanni, pointedly239, while the recollection of former scenes made him shrink. “No, signora; you demand too little of me. Bid me believe nothing save what comes from your own lips.”
It would appear that Beatrice understood him. There came a deep flush to her cheek; but she looked full into Giovanni’s eyes, and responded to his gaze of uneasy suspicion with a queenlike haughtiness240.
“I do so bid you, signor,” she replied. “Forget whatever you may have fancied in regard to me. If true to the outward senses, still it may be false in its essence; but the words of Beatrice Rappaccini’s lips are true from the depths of the heart outward. Those you may believe.”
A fervor241 glowed in her whole aspect and beamed upon Giovanni’s consciousness like the light of truth itself; but while she spoke there was a fragrance242 in the atmosphere around her, rich and delightful243, though evanescent, yet which the young man, from an indefinable reluctance244, scarcely dared to draw into his lungs. It might be the odor of the flowers. Could it be Beatrice’s breath which thus embalmed245 her words with a strange richness, as if by steeping them in her heart? A faintness passed like a shadow over Giovanni and flitted away; he seemed to gaze through the beautiful girl’s eyes into her transparent246 soul, and felt no more doubt or fear.
The tinge247 of passion that had colored Beatrice’s manner vanished; she became gay, and appeared to derive248 a pure delight from her communion with the youth not unlike what the maiden of a lonely island might have felt conversing249 with a voyager from the civilized250 world. Evidently her experience of life had been confined within the limits of that garden. She talked now about matters as simple as the daylight or summer clouds, and now asked questions in reference to the city, or Giovanni’s distant home, his friends, his mother, and his sisters — questions indicating such seclusion251, and such lack of familiarity with modes and forms, that Giovanni responded as if to an infant. Her spirit gushed252 out before him like a fresh rill that was just catching253 its first glimpse of the sunlight and wondering at the reflections of earth and sky which were flung into its bosom. There came thoughts, too, from a deep source, and fantasies of a gemlike brilliancy, as if diamonds and rubies254 sparkled upward among the bubbles of the fountain. Ever and anon there gleamed across the young man’s mind a sense of wonder that he should be walking side by side with the being who had so wrought255 upon his imagination, whom he had idealized in such hues of terror, in whom he had positively witnessed such manifestations256 of dreadful attributes — that he should be conversing with Beatrice like a brother, and should find her so human and so maidenlike. But such reflections were only momentary257; the effect of her character was too real not to make itself familiar at once.
In this free intercourse they had strayed through the garden, and now, after many turns among its avenues, were come to the shattered fountain, beside which grew the magnificent shrub, with its treasury258 of glowing blossoms. A fragrance was diffused259 from it which Giovanni recognized as identical with that which he had attributed to Beatrice’s breath, but incomparably more powerful. As her eyes fell upon it, Giovanni beheld her press her hand to her bosom as if her heart were throbbing189 suddenly and painfully.
“For the first time in my life,” murmured she, addressing the shrub, “I had forgotten thee.”
“I remember, signora,” said Giovanni, “that you once promised to reward me with one of these living gems for the bouquet which I had the happy boldness to fling to your feet. Permit me now to pluck it as a memorial of this interview.”
He made a step towards the shrub with extended hand; but Beatrice darted260 forward, uttering a shriek261 that went through his heart like a dagger262. She caught his hand and drew it back with the whole force of her slender figure. Giovanni felt her touch thrilling through his fibres.
“Touch it not!” exclaimed she, in a voice of agony. “Not for thy life! It is fatal!”
Then, hiding her face, she fled from him and vanished beneath the sculptured portal. As Giovanni followed her with his eyes, he beheld the emaciated figure and pale intelligence of Dr. Rappaccini, 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 of Beatrice came back to his passionate musings, invested with all the witchery that had been gathering around it ever since his first glimpse of her, and now likewise imbued with a tender warmth of girlish womanhood. She was human; her nature was endowed with all gentle and feminine qualities; she was worthiest263 to be worshipped; she was capable, surely, on her part, of the height and heroism264 of love. Those tokens which he had hitherto considered as proofs of a frightful peculiarity in her physical and moral system were now either forgotten, or, by the subtle sophistry265 of passion transmitted into a golden crown of enchantment266, rendering267 Beatrice the more admirable by so much as she was the more unique. Whatever had looked ugly was now beautiful; or, if incapable268 of such a change, it stole away and hid itself among those shapeless half ideas which throng269 the dim region beyond the daylight of our perfect consciousness. Thus did he spend the night, nor fell asleep until the dawn had begun to awake the slumbering270 flowers in Dr. Rappaccini’s garden, whither Giovanni’s dreams doubtless led him. Up rose the sun in his due season, and, flinging his beams upon the young man’s eyelids271, awoke him to a sense of pain. When thoroughly272 aroused, he became sensible of a burning and tingling273 agony in his hand — in his right hand — the very hand which Beatrice had grasped in her own when he was on the point of plucking one of the gemlike flowers. On the back of that hand there was now a purple print like that of four small fingers, and the likeness274 of a slender thumb upon his wrist.
Oh, how stubbornly does love — or even that cunning semblance150 of love which flourishes in the imagination, but strikes no depth of root into the heart — how stubbornly does it hold its faith until the moment comes when it is doomed275 to vanish into thin mist! Giovanni wrapped a handkerchief about his hand and wondered what evil thing had stung him, and soon forgot his pain in a reverie of Beatrice.
After the first interview, a second was in the inevitable277 course of what we call fate. A third; a fourth; and a meeting with Beatrice in the garden was no longer an incident in Giovanni’s daily life, but the whole space in which he might be said to live; for the anticipation278 and memory of that ecstatic hour made up the remainder. Nor was it otherwise with the daughter of Rappaccini. She watched for the youth’s appearance, and flew to his side with confidence as unreserved as if they had been playmates from early infancy279 — as if they were such playmates still. If, by any unwonted chance, he failed to come at the appointed moment, she stood beneath the window and sent up the rich sweetness of her tones to float around him in his chamber and echo and reverberate280 throughout his heart: “Giovanni! Giovanni! Why tarriest thou? Come down!” And down he hastened into that Eden of poisonous flowers.
But, with all this intimate familiarity, there was still a reserve in Beatrice’s demeanor, so rigidly and invariably sustained that the idea of infringing281 it scarcely occurred to his imagination. By all appreciable282 signs, they loved; they had looked love with eyes that conveyed the holy 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 even spoken love in those gushes283 of passion when their spirits darted forth in articulated breath like tongues of long-hidden flame; and yet there had been no seal of lips, no clasp of hands, nor any slightest caress284 such as love claims and hallows. He had never touched one of the gleaming ringlets of her hair; her garment — so marked was the physical barrier between them — had never been waved against him by a breeze. On the few occasions when Giovanni had seemed tempted to overstep the limit, Beatrice grew so sad, so stern, and withal wore such a look of desolate separation, shuddering286 at itself, that not a spoken word was requisite287 to repel288 him. At such times he was startled at the horrible suspicions that rose, monster-like, out of the caverns289 of his heart and stared him in the face; his love grew thin and faint as the morning mist, his doubts alone had substance. But, when Beatrice’s face brightened again after the momentary shadow, she was transformed at once from the mysterious, questionable being whom he had watched with so much awe290 and horror; she was now the beautiful and unsophisticated girl whom he felt that his spirit knew with a certainty beyond all other knowledge.
A considerable time had now passed since Giovanni’s last meeting with Baglioni. One morning, however, he was disagreeably surprised by a visit from the professor, whom he had scarcely thought of for whole weeks, and would willingly have forgotten still longer. Given up as he had long been to a pervading292 excitement, he could tolerate no companions except upon condition of their perfect sympathy with his present state of feeling. Such sympathy was not to be expected from Professor Baglioni.
The visitor chatted carelessly for a few moments about the gossip of the city and the university, and then took up another topic.
“I have been reading an old classic author lately,” said he, “and met with a story that strangely interested me. Possibly you may remember it. It is of an Indian prince, who sent a beautiful woman as a present to Alexander the Great. She was as lovely as the dawn and gorgeous as the sunset; but what especially distinguished her was a certain rich perfume in her breath — richer than a garden of Persian roses. Alexander, as was natural to a youthful conqueror294, fell in love at first sight with this magnificent stranger; but a certain sage207 physician, happening to be present, discovered a terrible secret in regard to her.”
“And what was that?” asked Giovanni, turning his eyes downward to avoid those of the professor
“That this lovely woman,” continued Baglioni, with emphasis, “had been nourished with poisons from her birth upward, until her whole nature was so imbued with them that she herself had become the deadliest poison in existence. Poison was her element of life. With that rich perfume of her breath she blasted the very air. Her love would have been poison — her embrace death. Is not this a marvellous tale?”
“A childish fable,” answered Giovanni, nervously295 starting from his chair. “I marvel how your worship finds time to read such nonsense among your graver studies.”
“By the by,” said the professor, looking uneasily about him, “what singular fragrance is this in your apartment? Is it the perfume of your gloves? It is faint, but delicious; and yet, after all, by no means agreeable. Were I to breathe it long, methinks it would make me ill. It is like the breath of a flower; but I see no flowers in the chamber.”
“Nor are there any,” replied Giovanni, who had turned pale as the professor spoke; “nor, I think, is there any fragrance except in your worship’s imagination. Odors, being a sort of element combined of the sensual and the spiritual, are apt to deceive us in this manner. The recollection of a perfume, the bare idea of it, may easily be mistaken for a present reality.”
“Ay; but my sober imagination does not often play such tricks,” said Baglioni; “and, were I to fancy any kind of odor, it would be that of some vile111 apothecary296 drug, wherewith my fingers are likely enough to be imbued. Our worshipful friend Rappaccini, as I have heard, tinctures his medicaments with odors richer than those of Araby. Doubtless, likewise, the fair and learned Signora Beatrice would minister to her patients with draughts as sweet as a maiden’s breath; but woe297 to him that sips298 them!”
Giovanni’s face evinced many contending emotions. The tone in which the professor alluded299 to the pure and lovely daughter of Rappaccini was a torture to his soul; and yet the intimation of a view of her character opposite to his own, gave instantaneous distinctness to a thousand dim suspicions, which now grinned at him like so many demons300. But he strove hard to quell301 them and to respond to Baglioni with a true lover’s perfect faith.
“Signor professor,” said he, “you were my father’s friend; perchance, too, it is your purpose to act a friendly part towards his son. I would fain feel nothing towards you save respect and deference302; but I pray you to observe, signor, that there is one subject on which we must not speak. You know not the Signora Beatrice. You cannot, therefore, estimate the wrong — the blasphemy303, I may even say — that is offered to her character by a light or injurious word.”
“Giovanni! my poor Giovanni!” answered the professor, with a calm expression of pity, “I know this wretched girl far better than yourself. You shall hear the truth in respect to the poisoner Rappaccini and his poisonous daughter; yes, poisonous as she is beautiful. Listen; for, even should you do violence to my gray hairs, it shall not silence me. That old fable of the Indian woman has become a truth by the deep and deadly science of Rappaccini and in the person of the lovely Beatrice.”
Giovanni groaned304 and hid his face
“Her father,” continued Baglioni, “was not restrained by natural affection from offering up his child in this horrible manner as the victim of his insane zeal for science; for, let us do him justice, he is as true a man of science as ever distilled305 his own heart in an alembic. What, then, will be your fate? Beyond a doubt you are selected as the material of some new experiment. Perhaps the result is to be death; perhaps a fate more awful still. Rappaccini, with what he calls the interest of science before his eyes, will hesitate at nothing.”
“It is a dream,” muttered Giovanni to himself; “surely it is a dream.”
“But,” resumed the professor, “be of good cheer, son of my friend. It is not yet too late for the rescue. Possibly we may even succeed in bringing back this miserable306 child within the limits of ordinary nature, from which her father’s madness has estranged307 her. Behold this little silver vase! It was wrought by the hands of the renowned308 Benvenuto Cellini, and is well worthy to be a love gift to the fairest dame in Italy. But its contents are invaluable309. One little sip293 of this antidote310 would have rendered the most virulent311 poisons of the Borgias innocuous. Doubt not that it will be as efficacious against those of Rappaccini. Bestow312 the vase, and the precious liquid within it, on your Beatrice, and hopefully await the result.”
Baglioni laid a small, exquisitely313 wrought silver vial on the table and withdrew, leaving what he had said to produce its effect upon the young man’s mind.
“We will thwart Rappaccini yet,” thought he, chuckling314 to himself, as he descended the stairs; “but, let us confess the truth of him, he is a wonderful man — a wonderful man indeed; a vile empiric, however, in his practice, and therefore not to be tolerated by those who respect the good old rules of the medical profession.”
Throughout Giovanni’s whole acquaintance with Beatrice, he had occasionally, as we have said, been haunted by dark surmises315 as to her character; yet so thoroughly had she made herself felt by him as a simple, natural, most affectionate, and guileless creature, that the image now held up by Professor Baglioni looked as strange and incredible as if it were not in accordance with his own original conception. True, there were ugly recollections connected with his first glimpses of the beautiful girl; he could not quite forget the bouquet that withered in her grasp, and the insect that perished amid the sunny air, by no ostensible316 agency save the fragrance of her breath. These incidents, however, dissolving in the pure light of her character, had no longer the efficacy of facts, but were acknowledged as mistaken fantasies, by whatever testimony317 of the senses they might appear to be substantiated318. There is something truer and more real than what we can see with the eyes and touch with the finger. On such better evidence had Giovanni founded his confidence in Beatrice, though rather by the necessary force of her high attributes than by any deep and generous faith on his part. But now his spirit was incapable of sustaining itself at the height to which the early enthusiasm of passion had exalted319 it; he fell down, grovelling320 among earthly doubts, and defiled321 therewith the pure whiteness of Beatrice’s image. Not that he gave her up; he did but distrust. He resolved to institute some decisive test that should satisfy him, once for all, whether there were those dreadful peculiarities322 in her physical nature which could not be supposed to exist without some corresponding monstrosity of soul. His eyes, gazing down afar, might have deceived him as to the lizard, the insect, and the flowers; but if he could witness, at the distance of a few paces, the sudden blight323 of one fresh and healthful flower in Beatrice’s hand, there would be room for no further question. With this idea he hastened to the florist’s and purchased a bouquet that was still gemmed324 with the morning dew-drops.
It was now the customary hour of his daily interview with Beatrice. Before descending325 into the garden, Giovanni failed not to look at his figure in the mirror — a vanity to be expected in a beautiful young man, yet, as displaying itself at that troubled and feverish moment, the token of a certain shallowness of feeling and insincerity of character. He did gaze, however, and said to himself that his features had never before possessed so rich a grace, nor his eyes such vivacity326, nor his cheeks so warm a hue of superabundant life.
“At least,” thought he, “her poison has not yet insinuated327 itself into my system. I am no flower to perish in her grasp.”
With that thought he turned his eyes on the bouquet, which he had never once laid aside from his hand. A thrill of indefinable horror shot through his frame on perceiving that those dewy flowers were already beginning to droop328; they wore the aspect of things that had been fresh and lovely yesterday. Giovanni grew white as marble, and stood motionless before the mirror, staring at his own reflection there as at the likeness of something frightful. He remembered Baglioni’s remark about the fragrance that seemed to pervade the chamber. It must have been the poison in his breath! Then he shuddered329 — shuddered at himself. Recovering from his stupor330, he began to watch with curious eye a spider that was busily at work hanging its web from the antique cornice of the apartment, crossing and recrossing the artful system of interwoven lines — as vigorous and active a spider as ever dangled331 from an old ceiling. Giovanni bent towards the insect, and emitted a deep, long breath. The spider suddenly ceased its toil82; the web vibrated with a tremor332 originating in the body of the small artisan. Again Giovanni sent forth a breath, deeper, longer, and imbued with a venomous feeling out of his heart: he knew not whether he were wicked, or only desperate. The spider made a convulsive gripe with his limbs and hung dead across the window.
“Accursed! accursed!” muttered Giovanni, addressing himself. “Hast thou grown so poisonous that this deadly insect perishes by thy breath?”
At that moment a rich, sweet voice came floating up from the garden
“Giovanni! Giovanni! It is past the hour! Why tarriest thou? Come down!”
“Yes,” muttered Giovanni again. “She is the only being whom my breath may not slay333! Would that it might!”
He rushed down, and in an instant was standing before the bright and loving eyes of Beatrice. A moment ago his wrath334 and despair had been so fierce that he could have desired nothing so much as to wither her by a glance; but with her actual presence there came influences which had too real an existence to be at once shaken off: recollections of the delicate and benign335 power of her feminine nature, which had so often enveloped336 him in a religious calm; recollections of many a holy and passionate outgush of her heart, when the pure fountain had been unsealed from its depths and made visible in its transparency to his mental eye; recollections which, had Giovanni known 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 Beatrice was a heavenly angel. Incapable as he was of such high faith, still her presence had not utterly337 lost its magic. Giovanni’s rage was quelled338 into an aspect of sullen339 insensibility. Beatrice, with a quick spiritual sense, immediately felt that there was a gulf340 of blackness between them which neither he nor she could pass. They walked on together, sad and silent, and came thus to the marble fountain and to its pool of water on the ground, in the midst of which grew the shrub that bore gem-like blossoms. Giovanni was affrighted at the eager enjoyment341 — the appetite, as it were — with which he found himself inhaling the fragrance of the flowers.
“Beatrice,” asked he, abruptly342, “whence came this shrub?”
“My father created it,” answered she, with simplicity.
“Created it! created it!” repeated Giovanni. “What mean you, Beatrice?”
“He is a man fearfully acquainted with the secrets of Nature,” replied Beatrice; “and, at the hour when I first drew breath, this plant sprang from the soil, the offspring of his science, of his intellect, while I was but his earthly child. Approach it not!” continued she, observing with terror that Giovanni was drawing nearer to the shrub. “It has qualities that you little dream of. But I, dearest Giovanni — I grew up and blossomed with the plant and was nourished with its breath. It was my sister, and I loved it with a human affection; for, alas343! — hast thou not suspected it? — there was an awful doom276.”
Here Giovanni frowned so darkly upon her that Beatrice paused and trembled. But her faith in his tenderness reassured344 her, and made her blush that she had doubted for an instant.
“There was an awful doom,” she continued, “the effect of my father’s fatal love of science, which estranged me from all society of my kind. Until Heaven sent thee, dearest Giovanni, oh, how lonely was thy poor Beatrice!”
“Was it a hard doom?” asked Giovanni, fixing his eyes upon her.
“Only of late have I known how hard it was,” answered she, tenderly. “Oh, yes; but my heart was torpid345, and therefore quiet.”
Giovanni’s rage broke forth from his sullen gloom like a lightning flash out of a dark cloud.
“Accursed one!” cried he, with venomous scorn and anger. “And, finding thy solitude wearisome, thou hast severed346 me likewise from all the warmth of life and enticed347 me into thy region of unspeakable horror!”
“Giovanni!” exclaimed Beatrice, turning her large bright eyes upon his face. The force of his words had not found its way into her mind; she was merely thunderstruck.
“Yes, poisonous thing!” repeated Giovanni, beside himself with passion. “Thou hast done it! Thou hast blasted me! Thou hast filled my veins348 with poison! Thou hast made me as hateful, as ugly, as loathsome349 and deadly a creature as thyself — a world’s wonder of hideous350 monstrosity! Now, if our breath be happily as fatal to ourselves as to all others, let us join our lips in one kiss of unutterable hatred351, and so die!”
“What has befallen me?” murmured Beatrice, with a low moan out of her heart. “Holy Virgin, pity me, a poor heart-broken child!”
“Thou — dost thou pray?” cried Giovanni, still with the same fiendish scorn. “Thy very prayers, as they come from thy lips, taint291 the atmosphere with death. Yes, yes; let us pray! Let us to church and dip our fingers in the holy water at the portal! They that come after us will perish as by a pestilence352! Let us sign crosses in the air! It will be scattering353 curses abroad in the likeness of holy symbols!”
“Giovanni,” said Beatrice, calmly, for her grief was beyond passion, “why dost thou join thyself with me thus in those terrible words? I, it is true, am the horrible thing thou namest me. But thou — what hast thou to do, save with one other shudder285 at my hideous misery354 to go forth out of the garden and mingle155 with thy race, and forget there ever crawled on earth such a monster as poor Beatrice?”
“Dost thou pretend ignorance?” asked Giovanni, scowling355 upon her. “Behold! this power have I gained from the pure daughter of Rappaccini.
There was a swarm356 of summer insects flitting through the air in search of the food promised by the flower odors of the fatal garden. They circled round Giovanni’s head, and were evidently attracted towards him by the same influence which had drawn357 them for an instant within the sphere of several of the shrubs. He sent forth a breath among them, and smiled bitterly at Beatrice as at least a score of the insects fell dead upon the ground.
“I see it! I see it!” shrieked358 Beatrice. “It is my father’s fatal science! No, no, Giovanni; it was not I! Never! never! I dreamed only to love thee and be with thee a little time, and so to let thee pass away, leaving but thine image in mine heart; for, Giovanni, believe it, though my body be nourished with poison, my spirit is God’s creature, and craves359 love as its daily food. But my father — he has united us in this fearful sympathy. Yes; spurn360 me, tread upon me, kill me! Oh, what is death after such words as thine? But it was not I. Not for a world of bliss361 would I have done it.”
Giovanni’s passion had exhausted362 itself in its outburst from his lips. There now came across him a sense, mournful, and not without tenderness, of the intimate and peculiar relationship between Beatrice and himself. They stood, as it were, in an utter solitude, which would be made none the less solitary363 by the densest364 throng of human life. Ought not, then, the desert of humanity around them to press this insulated pair closer together? If they should be cruel to one another, who was there to be kind to them? Besides, thought Giovanni, might there not still be a hope of his returning within the limits of ordinary nature, and leading Beatrice, the redeemed365 Beatrice, by the hand? O, weak, and selfish, and unworthy spirit, that could dream of an earthly union and earthly happiness as possible, after such deep love had been so bitterly wronged as was Beatrice’s love by Giovanni’s blighting366 words! No, no; there could be no such hope. She must pass heavily, with that broken heart, across the borders of Time — she must bathe her hurts in some fount of paradise, and forget her grief in the light of immortality367, and THERE be well.
But Giovanni did not know it.
“Dear Beatrice,” said he, approaching her, while she shrank away as always at his approach, but now with a different impulse, “dearest Beatrice, our fate is not yet so desperate. Behold! there is a medicine, potent, as a wise physician has assured me, and almost divine in its efficacy. It is composed of ingredients the most opposite to those by which thy awful father has brought this calamity368 upon thee and me. It is distilled of blessed herbs. Shall we not quaff136 it together, and thus be purified from evil?”
“Give it me!” said Beatrice, extending her hand to receive the little silver vial which Giovanni took from his bosom. She added, with a peculiar emphasis, “I will drink; but do thou await the result.”
She put Baglioni’s antidote to her lips; and, at the same moment, the figure of Rappaccini emerged from the portal and came slowly towards the marble fountain. As he drew near, the pale man of science seemed to gaze with a triumphant369 expression at the beautiful youth and maiden, as might an artist who should spend his life in achieving a picture or a group of statuary and finally be satisfied with his success. He paused; his bent form grew erect370 with conscious power; he spread out his hands over them in the attitude of a father imploring371 a blessing372 upon his children; but those were the same hands that had thrown poison into the stream of their lives. Giovanni trembled. Beatrice shuddered nervously, and pressed her hand upon her heart.
“My daughter,” said Rappaccini, “thou art no longer lonely in the world. Pluck one of those precious gems from thy sister shrub and bid thy bridegroom wear it in his bosom. It will not harm him now. My science and the sympathy between thee and him have so wrought within his system that he now stands apart from common men, as thou dost, daughter of my pride and triumph, from ordinary women. Pass on, then, through the world, most dear to one another and dreadful to all besides!”
“My father,” said Beatrice, feebly — and still as she spoke she kept her hand upon her heart — “wherefore didst thou inflict373 this miserable doom upon thy child?”
“Miserable!” exclaimed Rappaccini. “What mean you, foolish girl? Dost thou deem it misery to be endowed with marvellous gifts against which no power nor strength could avail an enemy — misery, to be able to quell the mightiest374 with a breath — misery, to be as terrible as thou art beautiful? Wouldst thou, then, have preferred the condition of a weak woman, exposed to all evil and capable of none?”
“I would fain have been loved, not feared,” murmured Beatrice, sinking down upon the ground. “But now it matters not. I am going, father, where the evil which thou hast striven to mingle with my being will pass away like a dream-like the fragrance of these poisonous flowers, which will no longer taint my breath among the flowers of Eden. Farewell, Giovanni! Thy words of hatred are like lead within my heart; but they, too, will fall away as I ascend44. Oh, was there not, from the first, more poison in thy nature than in mine?”
To Beatrice — so radically375 had her earthly part been wrought upon by Rappaccini’s skill — as poison had been life, so the powerful antidote was death; and thus the poor victim of man’s ingenuity376 and of thwarted377 nature, and of the fatality that attends all such efforts of perverted378 wisdom, perished there, at the feet of her father and Giovanni. Just at that moment Professor Pietro Baglioni looked forth from the window, and called loudly, in a tone of triumph mixed with horror, to the thunderstricken man of science,“Rappaccini! Rappaccini! and is THIS the upshot of your experiment!”
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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2
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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3
clique
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| n.朋党派系，小集团 | |
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4
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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5
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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6
inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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7
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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8
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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9
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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10
peculiarity
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| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
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11
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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12
mid
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| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
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13
cursory
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| adj.粗略的；草率的；匆促的 | |
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14
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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15
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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16
indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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17
prolixity
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| n.冗长，罗嗦 | |
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18
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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19
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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20
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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21
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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22
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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23
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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24
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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25
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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26
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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27
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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28
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
hap
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| n.运气；v.偶然发生 | |
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30
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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31
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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32
inferno
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| n.火海；地狱般的场所 | |
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33
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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34
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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35
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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36
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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37
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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38
expended
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| v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 )；使用（钱等）做某事；用光；耗尽 | |
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39
distils
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| v.蒸馏( distil的第三人称单数 )；从…提取精华 | |
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40
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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41
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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42
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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43
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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44
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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45
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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47
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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48
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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49
perishable
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| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
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50
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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51
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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52
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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53
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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54
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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55
lustre
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| n.光亮，光泽；荣誉 | |
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56
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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57
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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58
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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59
urns
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| n.壶( urn的名词复数 )；瓮；缸；骨灰瓮 | |
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60
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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61
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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62
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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63
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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64
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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65
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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66
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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67
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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68
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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69
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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70
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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71
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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72
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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73
inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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74
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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75
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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76
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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77
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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78
wreak
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| v.发泄；报复 | |
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79
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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80
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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81
toils
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| 网 | |
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82
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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83
pruning
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| n.修枝，剪枝，修剪v.修剪（树木等）( prune的现在分词 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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84
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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85
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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86
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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87
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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88
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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89
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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90
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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91
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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92
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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93
redundant
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| adj.多余的，过剩的；(食物)丰富的；被解雇的 | |
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94
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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95
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
sedulously
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| ad.孜孜不倦地 | |
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97
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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98
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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99
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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100
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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101
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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102
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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103
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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104
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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105
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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106
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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107
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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108
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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109
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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110
gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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111
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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112
symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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113
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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114
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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115
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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116
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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117
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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118
withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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119
eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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120
scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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121
imbibe
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| v.喝，饮；吸入，吸收 | |
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122
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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123
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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124
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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125
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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126
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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127
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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128
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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129
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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130
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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131
tracts
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| 大片土地( tract的名词复数 )； 地带； （体内的）道； （尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的）短文 | |
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132
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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133
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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134
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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135
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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136
quaff
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| v.一饮而尽；痛饮 | |
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137
quaffed
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| v.痛饮( quaff的过去式和过去分词 )；畅饮；大口大口将…喝干；一饮而尽 | |
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138
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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139
ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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140
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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141
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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142
overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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143
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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144
beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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145
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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146
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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147
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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148
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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149
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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150
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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151
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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152
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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153
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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154
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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155
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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156
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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157
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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158
lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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159
chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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160
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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161
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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163
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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164
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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165
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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166
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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167
maidenly
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| adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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168
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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169
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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170
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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171
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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172
systematically
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| adv.有系统地 | |
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173
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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174
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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175
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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176
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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177
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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178
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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179
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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180
instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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181
imbued
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| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
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182
baneful
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| adj.有害的 | |
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183
pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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184
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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185
vanquishing
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| v.征服( vanquish的现在分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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186
lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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187
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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188
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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189
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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190
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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191
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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192
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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193
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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194
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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196
speculative
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| adj.思索性的，暝想性的，推理的 | |
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197
illuminates
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| v.使明亮( illuminate的第三人称单数 )；照亮；装饰；说明 | |
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198
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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199
untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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200
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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201
pertinacity
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| n.执拗，顽固 | |
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202
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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203
smirked
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| v.傻笑( smirk的过去分词 ) | |
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204
vacuity
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| n.(想象力等)贫乏，无聊，空白 | |
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205
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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206
puckering
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的现在分词 )；小褶纹；小褶皱 | |
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207
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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208
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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209
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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210
surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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211
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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212
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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213
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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214
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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215
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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216
Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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217
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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218
entanglement
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| n.纠缠，牵累 | |
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219
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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220
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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221
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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222
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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223
sluggishly
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| adv.懒惰地；缓慢地 | |
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224
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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225
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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226
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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227
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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228
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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229
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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230
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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231
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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232
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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233
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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234
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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235
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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236
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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237
spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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238
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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239
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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240
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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241
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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242
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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243
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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244
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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245
embalmed
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| adj.用防腐药物保存（尸体）的v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的过去式和过去分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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246
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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247
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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248
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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249
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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250
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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251
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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252
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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253
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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254
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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255
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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256
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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257
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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258
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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259
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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260
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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261
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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262
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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263
worthiest
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| 应得某事物( worthy的最高级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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264
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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265
sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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266
enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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267
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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268
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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269
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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270
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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271
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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272
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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273
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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274
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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275
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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276
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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277
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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278
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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279
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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280
reverberate
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| v.使回响，使反响 | |
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281
infringing
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| v.违反（规章等）( infringe的现在分词 )；侵犯（某人的权利）；侵害（某人的自由、权益等） | |
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282
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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283
gushes
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| n.涌出，迸发( gush的名词复数 )v.喷，涌( gush的第三人称单数 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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284
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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285
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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286
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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287
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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288
repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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289
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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290
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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291
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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292
pervading
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
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293
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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294
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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295
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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296
apothecary
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| n.药剂师 | |
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297
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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298
sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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299
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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300
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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301
quell
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| v.压制，平息，减轻 | |
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302
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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303
blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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304
groaned
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|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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305
distilled
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|
| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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306
miserable
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|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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307
estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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308
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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309
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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310
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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311
virulent
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|
| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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312
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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313
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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314
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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315
surmises
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|
| v.臆测，推断( surmise的第三人称单数 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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316
ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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317
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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318
substantiated
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| v.用事实支持（某主张、说法等），证明，证实( substantiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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319
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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320
grovelling
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|
| adj.卑下的，奴颜婢膝的v.卑躬屈节，奴颜婢膝( grovel的现在分词 )；趴 | |
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321
defiled
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|
| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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322
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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323
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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324
gemmed
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| 点缀（gem的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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325
descending
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|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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326
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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327
insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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328
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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329
shuddered
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|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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330
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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331
dangled
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|
| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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332
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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333
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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334
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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335
benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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336
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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337
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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338
quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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339
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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340
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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341
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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342
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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343
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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344
reassured
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|
| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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345
torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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346
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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347
enticed
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| 诱惑，怂恿( entice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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348
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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349
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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350
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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351
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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352
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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353
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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354
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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355
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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356
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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357
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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358
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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359
craves
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| 渴望，热望( crave的第三人称单数 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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360
spurn
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| v.拒绝，摈弃；n.轻视的拒绝；踢开 | |
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361
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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362
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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363
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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364
densest
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| 密集的( dense的最高级 )； 密度大的； 愚笨的； （信息量大得）难理解的 | |
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365
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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366
blighting
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| 使凋萎( blight的现在分词 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
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367
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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368
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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369
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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370
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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371
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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372
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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373
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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374
mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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375
radically
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| ad.根本地，本质地 | |
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376
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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377
thwarted
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|
| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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378
perverted
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| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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