Rappaccini's Daughter

I was going to continue with my thoughts and researches on Jack the Ripper, but this morning something else--or should I say some-one else--grabbed my imagination.

Years and years ago (in 1980, long before many of you were born) I watched a show on PBS. Some anthology series, the details of which escape me. This episode showed an adaptation of a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne, one of which I had never heard: Rappaccini's Daughter. Kathleen Beller (she of Dynasty and The Betsy fame) played the title character, and I found myself entranced. Part of that might well have been Miss Beller's considerable beauty, I confess. But even though this was not a really fine production of the tale, the story grabbed me. Grabbed me and would not let go. It still hasn't.

Partially, there was the haunting nature of this doomed love story between a naive young man Giovanni and the sheltered girl Beatrice. But more, there was the complex symbolism and the strange nature of the story which (refreshingly) gives no moral answers to the questions it poses. The garden of Rappaccini is a place of innocence, beauty, and of death. But how much of each does Rappaccini possess? Or anyone else? What could have simply been a tale of a mad scientist whose experiments yield tragic results (akin to Frankenstein, which had been published for many years when Hawthorne penned this tale) becomes something more. Much more. For one thing, Beatrice herself somehow remains a vivid if waifish figure, a courageous one who ultimately sees things perhaps more clearly than any other. One senses that each character -- Giovanni, Rappaccini, his old rival Professor Baglioni -- has their own agenda, one they themselves may not understand fully. Beatrice, on the other hand, for all of her seclusion and mystery (like a placid lake), comes across as straightforward and honest.

Little wonder then more than one artist ended up trying to retell this story in a new medium. Vincent Price starred in a version, part of the anthology movie Twice Told Tales that barely captured the atmosphere and subtle tensions of the original. Some research led to an opera or two plus at least one stage play of the work. Not a lot, though. It isn't a story that lends itself to easy interpretation. Defining the "good guy" and "bad guy" is just about as frustrating as it is in real life. There is no clear-cut moral to be derived, and at its heart the whole thing is a tragedy. Yet the focus of the tale remains so clearly on the title character herself, it seems pointless to spend much time blaming her father for his strange experiment or for the way he tried to soothe her loneliness.

She remains the center of my fascination. So kind and wise-beyond-her-years. Innocent and good, yet deadly through no fault of her own. Lacking choice, she seizes the power of choice firmly. Loving, she sees her loves for all their flaws, still loves them, and acts from that love. One cannot help but feel humbled. Giovanni, one thinks, was not worthy. He did not love her enough, or as purely as could she, a being of pure poison. Hence the paradox -- to be contemplated, but not solved. Not easily, anyway. Nor quickly.

The best version of this story might be the song Running Through The Garden by Fleetwood Mac, sung by the semi-divine Stevie Nicks:

Until she herself
Became the deadliest poison
As she grew older
Ooh, until she herself
Became just as fatal As was her garden

And so you run toward
What you know is wrong
There are too many flowers
To cut down
With all the love I have for your life
For the love I have for your life
Turn around...

Never did I mean to (never did I mean to)
Imprison you (imprison you)
Here in my garden (here in my garden)
Like I am imprisoned (like I am imprisoned)
All the love I have for your life
All the love I have for your life
Turn around (turn around)

Until she herself
Understood her garden
Leaving her heart broken,
No future at all
Until she herself
Became the toxic garden
Always frightened,
No future at all

Never did I mean to (never did I mean to)
Imprison you (imprison you)
Here in my garden (here in my garden)
Like I am imprisoned (like I am imprisoned)
All the love I have for your life
All the love I have for your life
Turn around (turn around)

Running through the garden,
I'm running in brilliant colors
I'm running straight toward, straight toward
What you know is really wrong
Too many flowers here to cut down
For the love I have for your life
Turn around