Лучшие любовные истории / The Best Love Stories - стр. 8
“There are not any,” replied Giovanni, who had turned pale as the professor spoke; “I do not think, there is any fragrance except in your imagination. The recollection of a perfume, the idea of it, may easily be mistaken for a present reality.”
“Ay; but my sober imagination does not often play such tricks,” said Baglioni. “Our friend Rappaccini, as I have heard, makes medicines with rich odors. Doubtless, the learned Signora Beatrice would give her patients draughts as sweet as a girl’s breath; but woe to him that sips them![24]”
Giovanni’s face showed many emotions. The tone in which the professor spoke of the lovely daughter of Rappaccini was hard for him to hear; and yet the view of her character opposite to his own gave way to a thousand suspicions. But he tried hard not to pay attention to them and to respond to Baglioni with a true lover’s perfect faith.
“Signor professor,” said he, “you were my father’s friend; perhaps, too, you want to behave like a true friend of his son. I should feel nothing towards you save respect; but, signor, there is one subject on which we must not speak. You do not know the Signora Beatrice.”
“Giovanni! my poor Giovanni!” answered the professor, with an expression of pity, “I know this girl better than yourself. You must hear the truth about the poisoner Rappaccini and his poisonous daughter; yes, as poisonous as she is beautiful. Listen; for, even should you do violence to my gray hairs, it shall not silence me.[25] That old tale of the Indian woman has become a truth by the deadly science of Rappaccini and in the person of the lovely Beatrice.”
Giovanni hid his face.
“Her father’s natural love for his child,” continued Baglioni, “did not stop him from making her the victim of his insane zeal for science; for, let us do him justice,[26] he is as true a man of science. 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, will hesitate at nothing.”
“It is a dream,” murmured Giovanni to himself; “it must be a dream.”
“But,” said the professor, “cheer up, son of my friend. It is not yet too late for the rescue. Possibly we may even bring back this miserable child within the limits of ordinary nature, from which her father’s madness has taken her. Look at this little silver vase! It was made by the hands of the famous Benvenuto Cellini,[27] and is worthy to be a love gift to the most beautiful girl in Italy. But its contents are invaluable. One little sip of this antidote would make the most virulent poisons of the Borgias[28] harmless. I do not doubt that it will be as effective against those of Rappaccini. Give the vase to your Beatrice, and wait for the result.”
Baglioni put a small silver vase on the table and went out, leaving what he had said to produce its effect upon the young man’s mind.
“We will fight Rappaccini,” thought he, as he went down the stairs; “but, to tell the truth of him, he is a wonderful man – a wonderful man not to be tolerated by those