The aspect of one and all of them dissatisfied him; theirgorgeousness seemed fierce, passionate, and even unnatural. Therewas hardly an individual shrub which a wanderer, straying by himselfthrough a forest, would not have been startled to find growing wild,as if an unearthly face had glared at him out of the thicket. Several,also, would have shocked a delicate instinct by an appearance ofartificialness, indicating that there had been such commixture, and,as it were, adultery of various vegetable species, that the productionwas no longer of God's making, but the monstrous offspring of man'sdepraved fancy, glowing with only an evil mockery of beauty. They wereprobably the result of experiment, which, in one or two cases, hadsucceeded in mingling plants individually lovely into a compoundpossessing the questionable and ominous character that distinguishedthe whole growth of the garden. In fine, Giovanni recognized but twoor three plants in the collection, and those of a kind that he wellknew to be poisonous. While busy with these contemplations, he heardthe rustling of a silken garment, and turning, beheld Beatriceemerging from beneath the sculptured portal.
Giovanni had not considered with himself what should be hisdeportment; whether he should apologize for his intrusion into thegarden, or assume that he was there with the privity, at least, if notby the desire, of Doctor Rappaccini or his daughter. But Beatrice'smanner placed him at his ease, though leaving him still in doubt bywhat agency he had gained admittance. She came lightly along the path,and met him near the broken fountain. There was surprise in herface, but brightened by a simple and kind expression of pleasure.
"You are a connoisseur in flowers, Signor," said Beatrice with asmile, alluding to the bouquet which he had flung her from the window.
"It is no marvel, therefore, if the sight of my father's rarecollection has tempted you to take a nearer view. If he were here,he could tell you many strange and interesting facts as to thenature and habits of these shrubs, for he has spent a life-time insuch 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 richblossoms, and these spicy perfumes. Would you deign to be myinstructress, I should prove an apter scholar than under SignorRappaccini himself.""Are there such idle rumors?" asked Beatrice, with the music of apleasant laugh. "Do people say that I am skilled in my father'sscience of plants? What a jest is there! No; though I have grown upamong these flowers, I know no more of them than their hues andperfume; and sometimes, methinks I would fain rid myself of eventhat small knowledge. There are many flowers here, and those not theleast brilliant, that shock and offend me, when they meet my eye. But,pray, Signor, do not believe these stories about my science. Believenothing of me save what you see with your own eyes.""And must I believe all that I have seen with my own eyes?" askedGiovanni pointedly, while the recollection of former scenes made himshrink. "No, Signora, you demand too little of me. Bid me believenothing, save what comes from your own lips."It would appear that Beatrice understood him. There came a deepflush to her cheek; but she looked full into Giovanni's eyes, andresponded to his gaze of uneasy suspicion with a queen-likehaughtiness.
I do so bid you, Signor!" she replied. "Forget whatever you mayhave fancied in regard to me. If true to the outward senses, stillit may be false in its essence. But the words of Beatrice Rappaccini'slips are true from the heart outward. Those you may believe!"A fervor glowed in her whole aspect, and beamed upon Giovanni'sconsciousness like the light of truth itself. But while she spoke,there was a fragrance in the atmosphere around her rich anddelightful, though evanescent, yet which the young man, from anindefinable reluctance, scarcely dared to draw into his lungs. Itmight be the odor of the flowers. Could it be Beatrice's breath, whichthus embalmed her words with a strange richness, as if by steepingthem in her heart? A faintness passed like a shadow over Giovanni, andflitted away; he seemed to gaze through the beautiful girl's eyes intoher transparent soul, and felt no more doubt or fear.
The tinge of passion that had colored Beatrice's manner vanished;she became gay, and appeared to derive a pure delight from hercommunion with the youth, not unlike what the maiden of a lonelyisland might have felt, conversing with a voyager from the civilizedworld. Evidently her experience of life had been confined within thelimits of that garden. She talked now about matters as simple as theday-light or summer-clouds, and now asked questions in reference tothe city, or Giovanni's distant home, his friends, his mother, and hissisters; questions indicating such seclusion, and such lack offamiliarity with modes and forms, that Giovanni responded as if toan infant. Her spirit gushed out before him like a fresh rill, thatwas just catching its first glimpse of the sunlight, and wondering, atthe reflections of earth and sky which were flung into its bosom.
There came thoughts, too, from a deep source, and fantasies of agem-like brilliancy, as if diamonds and rubies sparkled upward amongthe bubbles of the fountain. Ever and anon, there gleamed across theyoung man's mind a sense of wonder, that he should be walking sideby side with the being who had so wrought upon his imagination- whomhe had idealized in such hues of terror- in whom he had positivelywitnessed such manifestations of dreadful attributes- that he shouldbe conversing with Beatrice like a brother, and should find her sohuman and so maiden-like. But such reflections were only momentary;the effect of her character was too real, not to make itselffamiliar at once.
