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| Perseus with the Head of Medusa by Benvenuto Cellini |
I will take a step back from our course’s
chronology to propose an alternate interpretation of Hawthorne’s Rappaccini’s
Daughter, a story I greatly enjoyed at face-value but believe hides a wildly
divergent – and subversive – meaning.
My interpretation centers on Signor
Pietro Baglioni, Giovanni Guasconti’s mentor, and the crucial role his rivalry
with Rappaccini plays in the tale.
Rivalry is, without a doubt, a theme in
Rappaccini’s Daughter: between a protective father and a potential lover,
between scientist and nature, and between research via legitimate academic
channels versus occult practices. The theme of rivalry is most poignant in the
dynamics between Rappaccini and Baglioni, for instance when Baglioni responds
testily to Giovanni’s question of whether Rappaccini’s obsessive love of
science “is it not a noble spirit? Are there many men capable of so spiritual a
love of science?” (Hawthorne, Rappaccini’s Daughter)
Two seemingly throw-away details come to
light as crucial elements through which to explore this rivalry. The first is a
warning from the narrator for Giovanni – and us – not to place blind trust in
Baglioni’s words:
“The youth might have taken Baglioni’s
opinions with many grains of allowance had he known that there was a
professional warfare of long continuance between him and Dr. Rappaccini, in
which the latter was generally thought to have gained the advantage.”
(Hawthorne, Rappaccini’s Daughter)
The second is the vessel that carries the
antidote created by Baglioni to neutralize Beatrice: a silver vase created by
Benvenuto Cellini. Aside from being one of the greatest Florentine artists
during the Mannerist period, Cellini is also remembered in history books as a
liar, a rapist, a murderer and a ruthless competitor.
His autobiography marks him as supremely
arrogant and assured of his greatness above that of his peers. He candidly
narrates the lengths he sought to undercut rival artists, like Pompeo da
Milano, whom he murdered. Lest anyone think of this rather entrepreneurial
decision to off a competitor as an isolated event, Cellini had killed three
people before him.
Hervey Cleckley, the godfather of studies
on psychopathy (his 1941 work The Mask of
Sanity: An Attempt to Clarify Some Issues About the So-Called Psychopathic
Personality remains unparalleled in the field) labelled Cellini as the
historical artist that most closely falls within the definition of a
pyschopath:
“In the lives of many painters,
sculptors, poets and other writers who have gained a place in history we find
reports of inconsistency and irresponsibility that sometimes do suggest the
typical psychopath. Benvenuto Cellini, whose story has been recorded in such
detail by his own hand, seems in more respects, perhaps, than any other
creative artist who gained lasting renown to have followed a pattern similar to
that of my patients.” (Cleckley, The Mask of Sanity)
So it may not be a stretch to theorize
that when Baglioni delivers a potion to ‘cure’ Beatrice in a vase sculpted by
Cellini, what he is really doing is kicking off a plan to sabotage his greatest
rival by murdering his daughter. How easy would it have been for this competent
scientist to concoct a lethal mixture capable of killing Beatrice, Rappaccini’s
greatest achievement and weapon?
Outside of this interpretation,
Baglioni’s character seems superfluous at best. He is included in the story
only to warn Giovanni of Rappaccini’s evil nature, even though we’ve been
advised not to trust him. Why then, is this secondary character so deserving
of delivering the final denouement? He appears so suddenly, so unaccountably, and
speaks in such righteous fashion! “Rappaccini! Rappaccini! and is THIS the
upshot of your experiment!” he says, ‘in a tone of triumph mixed with horror,’
framing it as an exclamation rather than a question. (Hawthorne, Rappaccini’s
Daughter)
Should this interpretation bear any
weight, it becomes fascinating that, in this tale of terribly faulty humans, it
is Baglioni that comes across as the one and only truly evil one!

I actually read an essay that agreed with your interpretation when I was researching my own. I found it intriguing but wrote about something else.
ReplyDeleteI think this is the essay: http://www.jstor.org/stable/363910
If you can't access that (it may be freely available but I can't remember) let me know and I can email it to you if you'd like to read it.
Well it makes sense to me, but even if it didn't, you write so beautifully I wouldn't care. Love the idea of finding a new interpretation in tiny, seemingly throw away details.
ReplyDeleteFence – How great that you came across an essay with an argument similar to my own. It makes me feel validated, so thank you for sharing this knowledge with me. I would absolutely love to read the whole article (sadly, my access to jstor ceased after I graduated) but am wary of posting my email address here (lest it gets harvested by spambots). I will try to think of a solution – perhaps by getting in touch with you via the coursera forums.
ReplyDeleteLaraine – your words are always so lovely. It makes me sad to think that I will no longer be exposed to your thoughtful queries and wisdom regarding our readings once the course is over. I guess I will just have to web-stalk you and Ulrich. By the way, will you be taking the Greek and Roman Mythology class? Here's to hoping!