Rappaccini Short Story

Rappaccini looked between Professor Pietro Baglioni and his daughter that lie dead before him. His demeanor shifted from that of a calculating scientist to an impassive, unfeeling man. The blank stare upon the doctor’s face was unnerving; his face was like a plain wall, stationary and yielding no emotion. Giovanni too afraid to say anything looked up at the window in hope of a rescue from Professor Baglioni, but instead he found an empty window frame. Giovanni felt abandoned by his father’s friend, and to think he relied on his help in a significantly horrid situation, like he found himself in, only to find the embodiment of abandonment. Moments drug by like hours--each passing second became more excruciating to endure. The doctor remained

He wanted to bury her, to lay her in her final resting place, so he decided to return to Rappaccini’s garden at nightfall. Once the clock struck ten, Giovanni crept out of his apartment and toward the secret entrance of the dreaded garden. Through the night he searched restlessly, and once he felt daring enough, he entered the home of Rappaccini. Each hall was searched, not a corridor was left untouched by the man driven by heartbreak. At the stroke of midnight, Giovanni felt tired and hopeless. He was ready to give up all hope, but he found a stairwell leading up the main tower of the home. As he climbed the stairs, he was struck with a strange chill. Finally, he reached a door, and upon opening it, he noticed a beautiful white bed with drapery delicately placed all around it. Slowly, Giovanni drew back the curtains, only to notice lying in the bed was Beatrice! He exclaimed to her body, “Oh my dear Beatrice! I 'm sorry for my hateful words that were filled with more vile than the poison that runs through my veins! How I miss you so; may we someday meet

Praying and sobbing over her, Giovanni remained in the room vacant of mercy for his heart. Throughout the night, Giovanni cried out. As the clock stuck the morning hour of three, Giovanni was struck with a feeling of uneasiness. Giovanni looked around the room, feeling as if he was being watched. He looked upon Beatrice’s countenance and noticed a rosy hue on her cheeks. “Beatrice?” Giovanni exclaimed, filled with confusion and hope. Tears of joy seeped out of his eyes onto the skin of Beatrice, and her eyelids appeared to move with the slightest flutter. Giovanni’s heart began to race. Could it be? Could she be