Giovanni's Fate

“Rappaccini! Rappaccini! And is this the upshot of your experiment?”

Rappaccini turned his grim countenance to the window and peered sourly upon the face of Professor Pietro Baglioni. He remained silent, leaning down to take the half-empty vial from Beatrice’s hand, and glared at Giovanni. “This will not be your fate,” he hissed. “You have destroyed my creation, so you now become my prisoner!” With these harsh words, the mad scientist left the garden, his gait hurried but methodical. He would no doubt dispose of the precious antidote quickly.

Giovanni sighed in morose self-defeat. Beatrice’s last words rang in his ears. “Oh, was there not, from the first, more poison in thy nature than in mine?” Too late had he realized his folly; too late had he realized that the poisoned angel had indeed spoken the truth! Her lethal sting had not been of her design, yet he had condemned her for it! He found himself holding her body, clinging to her lifeless form as if he could somehow breath the venom back into it. But no miracle occurred, and Beatrice remained dead.

Turning his head, Giovanni gazed at the window. Baglioni had disappeared. He had been used. He had been a pawn in Baglioni’s scheme to undo Rappaccini, but indeed, had the man truly been undone? Beatrice had been his masterpiece, but he had successfully cloned her in him, for he now carried the stigma that would forever prevent him from contacting the outside world. Rappaccini had been correct. Giovanni was indeed his slave.

“No! There must be a way!” Giovanni murmured under his breath fervently. He had given up on Beatrice so easily, but he would not give up on himself. He had no wish to die in this garden! Rushing to the gate that he had so often entered the poison paradise from, he rattled it on its hinges, but to no avail. The gate had been heavily padlocked, perhaps by the order of Rappaccini after Giovanni had entered the garden to speak with the doctor’s daughter. A quick investigation of the walls revealed that they couldn’t be scaled, for the vines were not strong enough and the fences were tipped with sharp pikes. There were no other passageways or doors out of the garden except the one leading to Rappaccini’s house, which was well-locked and probably guarded. Having exhausted his few options, Giovanni returned to the center of the garden, his small glimmer of hope extinguished.

His eyes came to rest on Beatrice’s sister, the plant he had so often spied her by during his daily vigils. It was quickly losing its bright purple hue, and Giovanni realized it was slowly changing to match the drab brown of his clothes. True despair began to claim him. Was he to be a prisoner here forever? Was there no way of escaping this garden, of perhaps regaining some semblance of life in the outside world? Was he a fool and a dreamer to believe that he could ever go back?

Giovanni lay down beside Beatrice’s sister. The body of his human flower was already rejoining the earth, slowly melting away into oblivion. Giovanni closed his eyes and tried not to weep, praying to wake up from a nightmare.

****

It was nighttime when Giovanni awoke. Beatrice’s body had completely disintegrated. He was filled with revulsion, and wanted to move away from it, but suddenly, he heard a footstep. Giovanni lay very still, knowing that there could be only one person in the garden. Rappaccini. If he could somehow get past him and into the house, perhaps he could escape. He had barely been trapped for a day, and already his heart ached for the open streets and bazaars of Italy.

Giovanni braced his hands against the ground, preparing to run. He could make it the door. He had to. It wasn’t far. Up the stairs, through the house, and he was free. His body was tense, and for a moment he hesitated. “If you don’t go now, you don’t go at all,” he murmured to himself, and then he moved, crashing through the foliage and heading for the stone stairs. He heard Rappaccini scream from somewhere to the side of him, and then the old man was in front of him on the stairs.

“You must not leave! You cannot survive outside this garden!” Not knowing what else to do, Giovanni put up his hands, laying them both on the scientist’s face. He screamed as the poison seeped into his skin, and Giovanni felt great satisfaction in knowing he had infected Rappaccini with the same curse as Beatrice had inflicted upon him. He continued towards the house, quickly threading his way through the dark, unfamiliar halls until coming to a massive front door. He pushed at it with all his strength, not noticing the acid burn marks left by his palms.

As Giovanni stumbled out into the street, he rejoiced at his luck. He had done it! He had escaped from the garden of evil, and redemption was now at hand. Perhaps he could find a cure for Rappaccini’s cruel invention. Perhaps…

“Stop! Fiend!” Giovanni turned at the sound of the voice, and saw a large group of men standing behind him with torches. One man dragged a body into the dim light, throwing it down before him. Giovanni realized it was the doctor. But… he was dead! His face was partially burnt away, right… right where Giovanni had touched him.

Giovanni looked at his hands. In horror, he realized that while Beatrice’s touch had rendered him as poisonous as she, the nature by which he had acquired his ailment made him truly fatal to others. Now the mob was rallying around him, screaming to the others to be careful and not to touch him.

“No!” he screamed. “You don’t understand! It’s not my fault, I…” He felt the first stab from behind. The men were using spears so as not to get too close. The poison running through his veins burned as it ran out onto his skin, and Giovanni knew he was going to die.

As the life ebbed away from him, Giovanni realized the truth of Beatrice’s final words. There was more poison in his nature than hers. She had only desired a companion, and had never wished to harm him. But his selfish wish to be free had caused him to harm others, and in escaping the garden, he had been trying to escape the impossible.

He had been trying to escape himself.