just said the same thing of _Rappaccini's Daughter_--for so even and
complete is Hawthorne's power, that, with few exceptions, each work of
his, like Benvenuto's, seems the most characteristic and felicitous.
In this story, a scholar marries a beautiful woman, upon whose face is
a mark which has hitherto seemed to be only a greater charm. Yet in
one so lovely the husband declares that, although it is the slightest
possible defect, it is yet the mark of earthly imperfection, and he
proceeds to lavish all the resources of science to procure its
removal. But it will not disappear; and at last he tells her that the
crimson hand "has clutched its grasp" into her very being, and that
there is mortal danger in trying the only means of removal that
remains. She insists that it shall be tried. It succeeds; but it
removes the stain and her life together. So in _Rappaccini's
Daughter_. The old philosopher nourishes his beautiful child upon the
poisonous breath of a flower. She loves, and her lover is likewise
bewitched. In trying to break the spell, she drinks an antidote which
kills her. The point of interest in both stories is the subtile
connection, in the first, between the beauty of Georgiana and the
taint of the birth-mark; and, in the second, the loveliness of
Beatrice and the poison of the blossom.

This, also, is the key of his last romance, _The Marble Faun_, one of
the most perfect works of art in literature, whose marvellous spell
begins with the very opening words: "Four individuals, in whose
fortunes we should be glad to interest the reader, happened to be
standing in one of the saloons of the sculpture-gallery in the Capitol
at Rome." When these words are read, the mind familiar with Hawthorne
is already enthralled. "What a journey is beginning, not a step of
which is trodden, and yet the heart palpitates with apprehension!
Through what delicate, rosy lights of love, and soft, shimmering