第 2 页

I. THE PRISON-DOOR. A THRONG of bearded men, in sad-coloured garments, and grey,steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods, andothers bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, thedoor of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with ironspikes. The founders of a new colony, whatever Utopia of human virtue andhappiness they might originally project, have invariably recognised itamong their earliest practical necessities to allot a portion of thevirgin soil as a cemetery, and another portion as the site of aprison. In accordance with this rule, it may safely be assumed thatthe forefathers of Boston had built the first prison-house somewherein the vicinity of Cornhill, almost as seasonably as they marked outthe first burial-ground, on Isaac Johnson's lot, and round about hisgrave, which subsequently became the nucleus of all the congregatedsepulchres in the old churchyard of King's Chapel. Certain it is that,some fifteen or twenty years after the settlement of the town, thewooden jail was already marked with weather-stains and otherindications of age, which gave a yet darker aspect to itsbeetle-browed and gloomy front. The rust on the ponderous iron-work ofits oaken door looked more antique than anything else in the NewWorld. Like all that pertains to crime, it seemed never to haveknown a youthful era. Before this ugly edifice, and between it and thewheel-track of the street, was a grass-plot, much overgrown withburdock, pig-weed, apple-peru, and such unsightly vegetation, whichevidently found something congenial in the soil that had so earlyborne the black flower of civilised society, a prison. But, on oneside of the portal, and rooted almost at the threshold, was a wildrose-bush, covered, in this month of June, with its delicate gems,which might be imagined to offer their fragrance and fragile beauty tothe prisoner as he went in, and to the condemned criminal as he cameforth to his doom, in token that the deep heart of Nature could pityand be kind to him. This rose-bush, by a strange chance, has been kept alive in history;but whether it had merely survived out of the stern old wilderness, solong after the fall of the gigantic pines and oaks that originallyovershadowed it- or whether, as there is fair authority for believing,it had sprung up under the footsteps of the sainted Ann Hutchinson, asshe entered the prison-door- we shall not take upon us to determine.Finding it so directly on the threshold of our narrative, which is nowabout to issue from that inauspicious portal, we could hardly dootherwise than pluck one of its flowers, and present it to the reader.It may serve, let us hope, to symbolise some sweet moral blossom, thatmay be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a taleof human frailty and sorrow. II. THE MARKET-PLACE. THE grass-plot before the jail, in Prison Lane, on a certainsummer morning, not less than two centuries ago, was occupied by apretty large number of the inhabitants of Boston; all with theireyes intently fastened on the iron-clamped oaken door. Amongst anyother population, or at a later period in the history of NewEngland, the grim rigidity that petrified the bearded physiognomies ofthese good people would have augured some awful business in hand. Itcould have betokened nothing short of the anticipated execution ofsome noted culprit, on whom the sentence of a legal tribunal had butconfirmed the verdict of public sentiment. But, in that early severityof the Puritan character, an inference of this kind could not soindubitably be drawn. It might be, that a sluggish bond-servant, or anundutiful child, whom his parents had given over to the civilauthority, was to be corrected at the whipping-post. It might be, thatan Antinomian, a Quaker, or other heterodox religionist, was to bescourged out of the town, or an idle and vagrant Indian, whom thewhite man's fire-water had made riotous about the streets, was to bedriven with stripes into the shadow of the forest. It might be, too,that a witch, like old Mistress Hibbins, the bitter-tempered widowof the magistrate, was to die upon the gallows. In either case,there was very much the same solemnity of demeanour on the part of thespectators; as befitted a people amongst whom religion and law werealmost identical, and in whose character both were so thoroughlyinterfused, that the mildest and the severest acts of publicdiscipline were alike made venerable and awful. Meagre, indeed, andcold, was the sympathy that a transgressor might look for, from suchbystanders, at the scaffold. On the other hand, a penalty which, inour days, would infer a degree of mocking infamy and ridicule, mightthen be invested with almost as stern a dignity as the punishment ofdeath itself. It was a circumstance to be noted, on the summer morning when ourstory begins its course, that the women, of whom there were several inthe crowd, appeared to take a peculiar interest in whatever penalinfliction might be expected to ensue. The age had not so muchrefinement, that any sense of impropriety restrained the wearers ofpetticoat and farthingale from stepping forth into the public ways,and wedging their not unsubstantial persons, if occasion were, intothe throng nearest to the scaffold at an execution. Morally, as wellas materially, there was a coarser fibre in those wives and maidens ofold English birth and breeding, than in their fair descendants,separated from them by a series of six or seven generations; for,throughout that chain of ancestry, every successive mother hastransmitted to her child a fainter bloom, a more delicate andbriefer beauty, and a slighter physical frame, if not a character ofless force and solidity, than her own. The women who were now standingabout the prison-door stood within less than half a century of theperiod when the man-like Elizabeth had been the not altogetherunsuitable representative of the sex. They were her country-women; andthe beef and ale of their native land, with a moral diet not a whitmore refined, entered largely into their composition. The brightmorning sun, therefore, shone on broad shoulders and well-developedbusts, and on round and ruddy cheeks, that had ripened in thefar-off island, and had hardly yet grown paler or thinner in theatmosphere of New England. There was, moreover, a boldness androtundity of speech among these matrons, as most of them seemed to be,that would startle us at the present day, whether in respect to itspurport or its volume of tone. "Goodwives," said a hard-featured dame of fifty, "I'll tell ye apiece of my mind. It would be greatly for the public behoof, if wewomen, being of mature age and church-members in good repute, shouldhave the handling of such malefactresses as this Hester Prynne. Whatthink ye, gossips? If the hussy stood up for judgment before usfive, that are now here in a knot together, would she come off withsuch a sentence as the worshipful magistrates have awarded? Marry, Itrow not!" "People say," said another, "that the Reverend Master Dimmesdale,her godly pastor, takes it very grievously to heart that such ascandal should have come upon his congregation." "The magistrates are God-fearing gentlemen, but merciful overmuch-that is a truth," added a third autumnal matron. "At the very least,they should have put the brand of a hot iron on Hester Prynne'sforehead. Madam Hester would have winced at that, I warrant me. Butshe- the naughty baggage- little will she care what they put uponthe bodice of her gown! Why, look you, she may cover it with a brooch,or such like heathenish adornment, and so walk the streets as brave asever!" "Ah, but," interposed, more softly, a young wife, holding a child bythe hand, "Let her cover the mark as she will, the pang of it willbe always in her heart." "What do we talk of marks and brands, whether on the bodice of hergown, or the flesh of her forehead?" cried another female, the ugliestas well as the most pitiless of these self-constituted judges. "Thiswoman has brought shame upon us all, and ought to die. Is there notlaw for it? Truly there is, both in the Scripture and thestatute-book. Then let the magistrates, who have made it of no effect,thank themselves if their own wives and daughters go astray!" "Mercy on us, goodwife," exclaimed a man in the crowd, "is thereno virtue in woman, save what springs from a wholesome fear of thegallows? That is the hardest word yet! Hush, now, gossips! for thelock is turning in the prison-door, and here comes Mistress Prynneherself." The door of the jail being flung open from within, there appeared,in the first place, like a black shadow emerging into sunshine, thegrim and grisly presence of the town-beadle, with a sword by his side,and his staff of office in his hand. This personage prefigured andrepresented in his aspect the whole dismal severity of the Puritaniccode of law, which it was his business to administer in its finaland closest application to the offender. Stretching forth the officialstaff in his left hand, he laid his right upon the shoulder of a youngwoman, whom he thus drew forward; until, on the threshold of theprison-door, she repelled him, by an action marked with naturaldignity and force of character, and stepped into the open air, as ifby her own free will. She bore in her arms a child, a baby of somethree months old, who winked and turned aside its little face from thetoo vivid light of day; because its existence, heretofore, had broughtit acquainted only with the grey twilight of a dungeon, or otherdarksome apartment of the prison. When the young woman- the mother of this child- stood fully revealedbefore the crowd, it seemed to be her first impulse to clasp theinfant closely to her bosom; not so much by an impulse of motherlyaffection, as that she might thereby conceal a certain token, whichwas wrought or fastened into her dress. In a moment, however, wiselyjudging that one token of her shame would but poorly serve to hideanother, she took the baby on her arm, and, with a burning blush,and yet a haughty smile, and a glance that would not be abashed,looked around at her townspeople and neighbours. On the breast ofher gown, in fine red cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroideryand fantastic flourishes of gold thread, appeared the letter A. It wasso artistically done, and with so much fertility and gorgeousluxuriance of fancy, that it had all the effect of a last andfitting decoration to the apparel which she wore; and which was of asplendour in accordance with the taste of the age, but greatlybeyond what was allowed by the sumptuary regulations of the colony. The young woman was tall, with a figure of perfect elegance on alarge scale. She had dark and abundant hair, so glossy that it threwoff the sunshine with a gleam, and a face which, besides beingbeautiful from regularity of feature and richness of complexion, hadthe impressiveness belonging to a marked brow and deep black eyes. Shewas ladylike, too, after the manner of the feminine gentility of thosedays; characterised by a certain state and dignity, rather than by thedelicate, evanescent, and indescribable grace, which is now recognisedas its indication. And never had Hester Prynne appeared more ladylike,in the antique interpretation of the term, than as she issued from theprison. Those who had before known her, and had expected to behold herdimmed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, were astonished, and evenstartled, to perceive how her beauty shone out, and made a halo of themisfortune and ignominy in which she was enveloped. It may be true,that, to a sensitive observer, there was something exquisitely painfulin it. Her attire, which, indeed, she had wrought for the occasion, inprison, and had modelled much after her own fancy, seemed to expressthe attitude of her spirit, the desperate recklessness of her mood, byits wild and picturesque peculiarity. But the point which drew alleyes, and, as it were, transfigured the wearer- so that both men andwomen, who had been familiarly acquainted with Hester Prynne, were nowimpressed as if they beheld her for the first time- was that SCARLETLETTER, so fantastically embroidered and illuminated upon her bosom.It had the effect of a spell, taking her out of the ordinary relationswith humanity, and enclosing her in a sphere by herself. "She hath good skill at her needle, that's certain," remarked one ofher female spectators; "but did ever a woman, before this brazenhussy, contrive such a way of showing it! Why, gossips, what is it butto laugh in the faces of our godly magistrates, and make a pride outof what they, worthy gentlemen, meant for a punishment?" "It were well," muttered the most iron-visaged of the old dames, "ifwe stripped Madam Hester's rich gown off her dainty shoulders; andas for the red letter, which she hath stitched so curiously, I'llbestow a rag of mine own rheumatic flannel, to make a fitter one!" "Oh, peace, neighbours, peace!" whispered their youngestcompanion; "do not let her hear you! Not a stitch in thatembroidered letter, but she has felt it in her heart." The grim beadle now made a gesture with his staff. "Make way, good people, make way, in the King's name!" cried he."Open a passage; and, I promise ye, Mistress Prynne shall be set whereman, woman, and child, may have a fair sight of her brave apparel,from this time till an hour past meridian. A blessing on the righteousColony of the Massachusetts, where iniquity is dragged out into thesunshine! Come along, Madam Hester, and show your scarlet letter inthe market-place!" A lane was forthwith opened through the crowd of spectators.Preceded by the beadle, and attended by an irregular procession ofstern-browed men and unkindly-visaged women, Hester Prynne set forthtowards the place appointed for her punishment. A crowd of eager andcurious schoolboys, understanding little of the matter in hand, exceptthat it gave them a half-holiday, ran before her progress, turningtheir heads continually to stare into her face, and at the winkingbaby in her arms, and at the ignominious letter on her breast. Itwas no great distance, in those days, from the prison-door to themarket-place. Measured by the prisoner's experience, however, it mightbe reckoned a journey of some length; for, haughty as her demeanourwas, she perchance underwent an agony from every footstep of thosethat thronged to see her, as if her heart had been flung into thestreet for them all to spurn and trample upon. In our nature, however,there is a provision alike marvellous and merciful, that thesufferer should never know the intensity of what he endures by itspresent torture, but chiefly by the pang that rankles after it. Withalmost a serene deportment, therefore, Hester Prynne passed throughthis portion of her ordeal, and came to a sort of scaffold, at thewestern extremity of the market-place. It stood nearly beneath theeaves of Boston's earliest church, and appeared to be a fixture there. In fact, this scaffold constituted a portion of a penal machine,which now, for two or three generations past, has been merelyhistorical and traditionary among us, but was held, in the old time,to be as effectual an agent, in the promotion of good citizenship,as ever was the guillotine among the terrorists of France. It was,in short, the platform of the pillory; and above it rose the frameworkof that instrument of discipline, so fashioned as to confine the humanhead in its tight grasp, and thus hold it up to the public gaze. Thevery ideal of ignominy was embodied and made manifest in thiscontrivance of wood and iron. There can be no outrage, methinks,against our common nature- whatever be the delinquencies of theindividual- no outrage more flagrant than to forbid the culprit tohide his face for shame; as it was the essence of this punishment todo. In Hester Prynne's instance, however, as not unfrequently in othercases, her sentence bore, that she should stand a certain time uponthe platform, but without undergoing that gripe about the neck andconfinement of the head, the proneness to which was the mostdevilish characteristic of this ugly engine. Knowing well her part,she ascended a flight of wooden steps, and was thus displayed to thesurrounding multitude, at about the height of a man's shouldersabove the street. Had there been a papist among the crowd of Puritans, he might haveseen in this beautiful woman, so picturesque in her attire and mien,and with the infant at her bosom, an object to remind him of the imageof Divine Maternity, which so many illustrious painters have vied withone another to represent; something which should remind him, indeed,but only by contrast, of that sacred image of sinless motherhood,whose infant was to redeem the world. Here, there was the taint ofdeepest sin in the most sacred quality of human life, working sucheffect, that the world was only the darker for this woman's beauty,and the more lost for the infant that she had borne. The scene was not without a mixture of awe, such as must alwaysinvest the spectacle of guilt and shame in a fellow-creature, beforesociety shall have grown corrupt enough to smile, instead ofshuddering, at it. The witnesses of Hester Prynne's disgrace had notyet passed beyond their simplicity. They were stern enough to lookupon her death, had that been the sentence, without a murmur at itsseverity, but had none of the heartlessness of another social state,which would find only a theme for jest in an exhibition like thepresent. Even if there had been a disposition to turn the matterinto ridicule, it must have been repressed and overpowered by thesolemn presence of men no less dignified than the Governor, andseveral of his counsellors, a judge, a general, and the ministers ofthe town; all of whom sat or stood in a balcony of the meetinghouse,looking down upon the platform. When such personages couldconstitute a part of the spectacle, without risking the majesty orreverence of rank and office, it was safely to be inferred that theinfliction of a legal sentence would have an earnest and effectualmeaning. Accordingly, the crowd was sombre and grave. The unhappyculprit sustained herself as best a woman might, under the heavyweight of a thousand unrelenting eyes, all fastened upon her andconcentrated at her bosom. It was almost intolerable to be borne. Ofan impulsive and passionate nature, she had fortified herself toencounter the stings and venomous stabs of public contumely,wreaking itself in every variety of insult; but there was a quality somuch more terrible in the solemn mood of the popular mind, that shelonged rather to behold all those rigid countenances contorted withscornful merriment, and herself the object. Had a roar of laughterburst from the multitude- each man, each woman, each littleshrill-voiced child, contributing their individual parts- HesterPrynne might have repaid them all with a bitter and disdainfulsmile. But, under the leaden infliction which it was her doom toendure, she felt, at moments, as if she must needs shriek out with thefull power of her lungs, and cast herself from the scaffold downupon the ground, or else go mad at once. Yet there were intervals when the whole scene, in which she wasthe most conspicuous object, seemed to vanish from her eyes, or atleast, glimmered indistinctly before them, like a mass ofimperfectly shaped and spectral images. Her mind, and especially hermemory. was preternaturally active, and kept bringing up otherscenes than this roughly hewn street of a little town, on the edgeof the Western wilderness; other faces than were lowering upon herfrom beneath the brims of those steeple-crowned hats. Reminiscences,the most trifling and immaterial, passages of infancy and school-days,sports, childish quarrels, and the little domestic traits of hermaiden years, came swarming back upon her, intermingled withrecollections of whatever was gravest in her subsequent life; onepicture precisely as vivid as another; as if all were of similarimportance, or all alike a play. Possibly, it was an instinctivedevice of her spirit, to relieve itself, by the exhibition of thesephantasmagoric forms, from the cruel weight and hardness of thereality. Be that as it might, the scaffold of the pillory was a point of viewthat revealed to Hester Prynne the entire track along which she hadbeen treading, since her happy infancy. Standing on that miserableeminence, she saw her native village, in old England, and her paternalhome; a decayed house of grey stone, with a poverty-stricken aspect,but retaining a half-obliterated shield of arms over the portal, intoken of antique gentility. She saw her father's face, with its baldbrow, and reverend white beard, that flowed over the old-fashionedElizabethan ruff; her mother's, too, with the look of heedful andanxious love which it always wore in her remembrance, and which,even since her death, had so often laid the impediment of a gentleremonstrance in her daughter's pathway. She saw her own face,glowing with girlish beauty, and illuminating all the interior ofthe dusky mirror in which she had been wont to gaze at it. There shebeheld another countenance, of a man well stricken in years, a pale,thin, scholar-like visage, with eyes dim and bleared by thelamplight that had served them to pore over many ponderous books.Yet those same bleared optics had a strange, penetrating power, whenit was their owner's purpose to read the human soul. This figure ofthe study and the cloister, as Hester Prynne's womanly fancy failednot to recall, was slightly deformed, with the left shoulder atrifle higher than the right. Next rose before her, in memory'spicture-gallery, the intricate and narrow thoroughfares, the tall greyhouses, the huge cathedrals, and the public edifices, ancient indate and quaint in architecture, of a Continental city; where a newlife had awaited her, still in connection with the misshapenscholar; a new life, but feeding itself on time-worn materials, like atuft of green moss on a crumbling wall. Lastly, in lieu of theseshifting scenes, came back the rude market-place of the Puritansettlement, with all the townspeople assembled and levelling theirstern regards at Hester Prynne- yes, at herself- who stood on thescaffold of the pillory, an infant on her arm, and the letter A, inscarlet, fantastically embroidered with gold thread, upon her bosom! Could it be true? She clutched the child so fiercely to herbreast, that it sent forth a cry; she turned her eyes downward atthe scarlet letter, and even touched it with her finger, to assureherself that the infant and the shame were real. Yes!- these wereher realities- all else had vanished! III. THE RECOGNITION. FROM this intense consciousness of being the object of severe anduniversal observation, the wearer of the scarlet letter was atlength relieved, by discerning, on the outskirts of the crowd, afigure which irresistibly took possession of her thoughts. AnIndian, in his native garb, was standing there; but the red men werenot so infrequent visitors of the English settlements, that one ofthem would have attracted any notice from Hester Prynne, at such atime; much less would he have excluded all other objects and ideasfrom her mind. By the Indian's side, and evidently sustaining acompanionship with him, stood a white man, clad in a strangedisarray of civilised and savage costume. He was small in stature, with a furrowed visage, which, as yet,could hardly be termed aged. There was a remarkable intelligence inhis features, as of a person who had so cultivated his mental partthat it could not fail to mould the physical to itself, and becomemanifest by unmistakable tokens. Although, by a seemingly carelessarrangement of his heterogeneous garb, he had endeavoured to concealor abate the peculiarity, it was sufficiently evident to HesterPrynne, that one of this man's shoulders rose higher than the other.Again, at the first instant of perceiving that thin visage, and theslight deformity of the figure, she pressed her infant to her bosomwith so convulsive a force that the poor babe uttered another cry ofpain. But the mother did not seem to hear it. At his arrival in the market-place, and some time before she sawhim, the stranger had bent his eyes on Hester Prynne. It wascarelessly, at first, like a man chiefly accustomed to look inward,and to whom external matters are of little value and import, unlessthey bear relation to something within his mind. Very soon, however,his look became keen and penetrative. A writhing horror twisted itselfacross his features, like a snake gliding swiftly over them, andmaking one little pause, with all its wreathed intervolutions, in opensight. His face darkened with some powerful emotion, which,nevertheless, he so instantaneously controlled by an effort of hiswill, that, save at a single moment, its expression might havepassed for calmness. After a brief space, the convulsion grew almostimperceptible, and finally subsided into the depths of his nature.When he found the eyes of Hester Prynne fastened on his own, and sawthat she appeared to recognise him, he slowly and calmly raised hisfinger, made a gesture with it in the air, and laid it on his lips. Then, touching the shoulder of a townsman who stood next to him,he addressed him, in a formal and courteous manner. "I pray you, good sir," said he, "who is this woman?- andwherefore is she here set up to public shame?" "You must needs be a stranger in this region, friend," answeredthe townsman, looking curiously at the questioner and his savagecompanion, "else you would surely have heard of Mistress HesterPrynne, and her evil doings. She hath raised a great scandal, Ipromise you, in godly Master Dimmesdale's church." "You say truly," replied the other. "I am a stranger, and havebeen a wanderer, sorely against my will. I have met with grievousmishaps by sea and land, and have been long held in bonds among theheathen folk, to the southward; and am now brought hither by thisIndian, to be redeemed out of my captivity. Will it please you,therefore, to tell me of Hester Prynne's- have I her name rightly?- ofthis woman's offences, and what has brought her to yonder scaffold?" "Truly, friend; and methinks it must gladden your heart, afteryour troubles and sojourn in the wilderness," said the townsman, "tofind yourself, at length, in a land where iniquity is searched out,and punished in the sight of rulers and people; as here in our godlyNew England. Yonder woman, sir, you must know, was the wife of acertain learned man, English by birth, but who had long dwelt inAmsterdam, whence, some good time agone, he was minded to cross overand cast in his lot with us of the Massachusetts. To this purpose,he sent his wife before him, remaining himself to look after somenecessary affairs. Marry, good sir, in some two years, or less, thatthe woman has been a dweller here in Boston, no tidings have come ofthis learned gentleman, Master Prynne; and his young wife, look you,being left to her own misguidance-" "Ah!- aha!- I conceive you," said the stranger, with a bitter smile."So learned a man as you speak of should have learned this, too, inhis books. And who, by your favour, sir, may be the father of yonderbabe- it is some three or four months old, I should judge- whichMistress Prynne is holding in her arms?" "Of a truth, friend, that matter remaineth a riddle; and theDaniel who shall expound it is yet a-wanting," answered thetownsman. "Madam Hester absolutely refuseth to speak, and themagistrates have laid their heads together in vain. Peradventure theguilty one stands looking on at this sad spectacle, unknown of man,and forgetting that God sees him." "The learned man," observed the stranger, with another smile,"should come himself, to look into the mystery." "It behooves him well, if he be still in life," responded thetownsman. "Now, good sir, our Massachusetts magistracy, bethinkingthemselves that this woman is youthful and fair, and doubtless wasstrongly tempted to her fall- and that, moreover, as is most likely,her husband may be at the bottom of the sea- they have not been boldto put in force the extremity of our righteous law against her. Thepenalty thereof is death. But in their great mercy and tenderness ofheart, they have doomed Mistress Prynne to stand only a space of threehours on the platform of the pillory, and then and thereafter, for theremainder of her natural life, to wear a mark of shame upon herbosom." "A wise sentence!" remarked the stranger, gravely bowing his head."Thus she will be a living sermon against sin, until the ignominiousletter be engraved upon her tombstone. It irks me, nevertheless,that the partner of her iniquity should not, at least, stand on thescaffold by her side. But he will be known!- he will be known!- hewill be known!" He bowed courteously to the communicative townsman, and,whispering a few words to his Indian attendant, they both made theirway through the crowd. While this passed, Hester Prynne had been standing on herpedestal, still with a fixed gaze towards the stranger; so fixed agaze that, at moments of intense absorption, all other objects inthe visible world seemed to vanish, leaving only him and her. Suchan interview, perhaps, would have been more terrible than even to meethim as she now did, with the hot, mid-day sun burning down upon herface, and lighting up its shame; with the scarlet token of infamy onher breast; with the sin-born infant in her arms; with a whole people,drawn forth as to a festival, staring at the features that should havebeen seen only in the quiet gleam of the fireside, in the happy shadowof a home, or beneath a matronly veil, at church. Dreadful as itwas, she was conscious of a shelter in the presence of thesethousand witnesses. It was better to stand thus, with so manybetwixt him and her, than to greet him, face to face, they twoalone. She fled for refuge, as it were, to the public exposure, anddreaded the moment when its protection should be withdrawn from her.Involved in these thoughts, she scarcely heard a voice behind her,until it had repeated her name more than once, in a loud and solemntone, audible to the whole multitude. "Hearken unto me, Hester Prynne!" said the voice. It has already been noticed, that directly over the platform onwhich Hester Prynne stood was a kind of balcony, or open gallery,appended to the meeting-house. It was the place whence proclamationswere wont to be made, amidst an assemblage of the magistracy, with allthe ceremonial that attended such public observances in those days.Here, to witness the scene which we are describing, sat GovernorBellingham himself, with four sergeants about his chair, bearinghalberds, as a guard of honour. He wore a dark feather in his hat, aborder of embroidery on his cloak, and a black velvet tunic beneath; agentleman advanced in years, with a hard experience written in hiswrinkles. He was not ill fitted to be the head and representative of acommunity, which owed its origin and progress, and its present stateof development, not to the impulses of youth, but to the stern andtempered energies of manhood, and the sombre sagacity of age;accomplishing so much, precisely because it imagined and hoped solittle. The other eminent characters, by whom the chief ruler wassurrounded, were distinguished by a dignity of mien, belonging to aperiod when the forms of authority were felt to possess the sacrednessof Divine institutions. They were, doubtless, good men, just, andsage. But, out of the whole human family, it would not have beeneasy to select the same number of wise and virtuous persons, whoshould be less capable of sitting in judgment on an erring woman'sheart, and disentangling its mesh of good and evil, than the sagesof rigid aspect towards whom Hester Prynne now turned her face. Sheseemed conscious, indeed, that whatever sympathy she might expect, layin the larger and warmer heart of the multitude; for, as she liftedher eyes towards the balcony, the unhappy woman grew pale andtrembled. The voice which had called her attention was that of the reverendand famous John Wilson, the eldest clergyman of Boston, a greatscholar, like most of his contemporaries in the profession, and withala man of kind and genial spirit. This last attribute, however, hadbeen less carefully developed than his intellectual gifts, and was, intruth, rather a matter of shame than self-congratulation with him.There he stood, with a border of grizzled locks beneath his skull-cap;while his grey eyes, accustomed to the shaded light of his study, werewinking, like those of Hester's infant, in the unadulterated sunshine.He looked like the darkly engraved portraits which we see prefixedto old volumes of sermons; and had no more right than one of thoseportraits would have, to step forth, as he now did, and meddle witha question of human guilt, passion, and anguish. "Hester Prynne," said the clergyman, "I have striven with my youngbrother here, under whose preaching of the Word you have beenprivileged to sit"- here Mr. Wilson laid his hand on the shoulder of apale young man beside him- "I have sought, I say, to persuade thisgodly youth, that he should deal with you, here in the face of Heaven,and before these wise and upright rulers, and in hearing of all thepeople, as touching the vileness and blackness of your sin. Knowingyour natural temper better than I, he could the better judge whatarguments to use, whether of tenderness or terror, such as mightprevail over your hardness and obstinacy; insomuch that you shouldno longer hide the name of him who tempted you to this grievousfall. But he opposes to me (with a young man's over-softness, albeitwise beyond his years) that it were wronging the very nature ofwoman to force her to lay open her heart's secrets in such broaddaylight, and in presence of so great a multitude. Truly, as Isought to convince him, the shame lay in the commission of the sin,and not in the showing of it forth. What say you to it, once again,brother Dimmesdale! Must it be thou, or I, that shall deal with thispoor sinner's soul?" There was a murmur among the dignified and reverend occupants of thebalcony; and Governor Bellingham gave expression to its purport,speaking in an authoritative voice, although tempered with respecttowards the youthful clergyman whom he addressed. "Good Master Dimmesdale," said he, "the responsibility of thiswoman's soul lies greatly with you. It behooves you, therefore, toexhort her to repentance, and to confession, as a proof andconsequence thereof." The directness of this appeal drew the eyes of the whole crowdupon the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale; a young clergyman, who had come fromone of the great English universities, bringing all the learning ofthe age into our wild forest-land. His eloquence and religious fervourhad already given the earnest of high eminence in his profession. Hewas a person of very striking aspect, with a white, lofty, andimpending brow, large, brown, melancholy eyes, and a mouth which,unless when he forcibly compressed it, was apt to be tremulous,expressing both nervous sensibility and a vast power ofself-restraint. Notwithstanding his high native gifts and scholar-likeattainments, there was an air about this young minister- anapprehensive, a startled, a half-frightened look- as of a being whofelt himself quite astray and at a loss in the pathway of humanexistence, and could only be at ease in some seclusion of his own.Therefore, so far as his duties would permit, he trod in the shadowybypaths, and thus kept himself simple and childlike; coming forth,when occasion was, with a freshness, and fragrance, and dewy purity ofthought, which, as many people said, affected them like the speechof an angel. Such was the young man whom the Reverend Mr. Wilson and the Governorhad introduced so openly to the public notice, bidding him speak, inthe hearing of all men, to that mystery of a woman's soul, so sacredeven in its pollution. The trying nature of his position drove theblood from his cheek, and made his lips tremulous. "Speak to the woman, my brother," said Mr. Wilson. "It is ofmoment to her soul, and therefore, as the worshipful Governor says,momentous to thine own, in whose charge hers is. Exhort her to confessthe truth!" The Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale bent his head, in silent prayer, as itseemed, and then came forward. "Hester Prynne," said he, leaning over the balcony, and looking downsteadfastly into her eyes, "thou hearest what this good man says,and seest the accountability under which I labour. If thou feelestit to be for thy soul's peace, and that thy earthly punishment willthereby be made more effectual to salvation, I charge thee to speakout the name of thy fellow-sinner and fellow-sufferer! Be not silentfrom any mistaken pity and tenderness for him; for believe me, Hester,though he were to step down from a high place, and stand therebeside thee, on thy pedestal of shame, yet better were it so, thanto hide a guilty heart through life. What can thy silence do forhim, except it tempt him- yea, compel him, as it were- to addhypocrisy to sin? Heaven hath granted thee an open ignominy, thatthereby thou mayest work out an open triumph over the evil withinthee, and the sorrow without. Take heed how thou deniest to him-who, perchance, hath not the courage to grasp it for himself- thebitter, but wholesome, cup that is now presented to thy lips!" The young pastor's voice was tremulously sweet, rich, deep, andbroken. The feeling that it so evidently manifested, rather than thedirect purport of the words, caused it to vibrate within all hearts,and brought the listeners into one accord of sympathy. Even the poorbaby, at Hester's bosom, was affected by the same influence; for itdirected its hitherto vacant gaze towards Mr. Dimmesdale, and heldup its little arms, with a half-pleased, half-plaintive murmur. Sopowerful seemed the minister's appeal, that the people could notbelieve but that Hester Prynne would speak out the guilty name; orelse that the guilty one himself, in whatever high or lowly place hestood, would be drawn forth by an inward and inevitable necessity, andcompelled to ascend the scaffold. Hester shook her head. "Woman, transgress not beyond the limits of Heaven's mercy!" criedthe Reverend Mr. Wilson, more harshly than before. "That little babehath been gifted with a voice, to second and confirm the counsel whichthou hast heard. Speak out the name! That, and thy repentance, mayavail to take the scarlet letter off thy breast." "Never!" replied Hester Prynne, looking, not at Mr. Wilson, but intothe deep and troubled eyes of the younger clergyman. "It is too deeplybranded. Ye cannot take it off. And would that I might endure hisagony, as well as mine!" "Speak, woman!" said another voice, coldly and sternly, proceedingfrom the crowd about the scaffold. "Speak; and give your child afather!" "I will not speak!" answered Hester, turning pale as death, butresponding to this voice, which she too surely recognized. "And mychild must seek a heavenly Father; she shall never know an earthlyone!" "She will not speak!" murmured Mr. Dimmesdale, who, leaning over thebalcony, with his hand upon his heart, had awaited the result of hisappeal. He now drew back, with a long respiration. "Wondrousstrength and generosity of a woman's heart! She will not speak!" Discerning the impractible state of the poor culprit's mind, theelder clergyman, who had carefully prepared himself for theoccasion, addressed to the multitude a discourse on sin, in all itsbranches, but with continual reference to the ignominious letter. Soforcibly did he dwell upon this symbol, for the hour or more duringwhich his periods were rolling over the people's heads, that itassumed new terrors in their imagination, and seemed to derive itsscarlet hue from the flames of the infernal pit. Hester Prynne,meanwhile, kept her place upon the pedestal of shame, with glazedeyes, and an air of weary indifference. She had borne, that morning,all that nature could endure; and as her temperament was not of theorder that escapes from too intense suffering by a swoon, her spiritcould only shelter itself beneath a stony crust of insensibility,while the faculties of animal life remained entire. In this state, thevoice of the preacher thundered remorselessly, but unavailingly,upon her ears. The infant, during the latter portion of her ordeal,pierced the air with its wailings and screams; she strove to hushit, mechanically, but seemed scarcely to sympathise with itstrouble. With the same hard demeanour, she was led back to prison, andvanished from the public gaze within its iron-clamped portal. It waswhispered, by those who peered after her, that the scarlet letterthrew a lurid gleam along the dark passage-way of the interior. IV. THE INTERVIEW. AFTER her return to the prison, Hester Prynne was found to be in astate of nervous excitement that demanded constant watchfulness,lest she should perpetrate violence on herself, or do somehalf-frenzied mischief to the poor babe. As night approached, itproving impossible to quell her insubordination by rebuke or threatsof punishment, Master Brackett, the jailer, thought fit to introduce aphysician. He described him as a man of skill in all Christian modesof physical science, and likewise familiar with whatever the savagepeople could teach, in respect to medicinal herbs and roots thatgrew in the forest. To say the truth, there was much need ofprofessional assistance, not merely for Hester herself, but still moreurgently for the child; who, drawing its sustenance from thematernal bosom, seemed to have drank in with it all the turmoil, theanguish and despair, which pervaded the mother's system. It nowwrithed in convulsions of pain, and was a forcible type, in its littleframe, of the moral agony which Hester Prynne had borne throughout theday. Closely following the jailer into the dismal apartment, appearedthat individual of singular aspect, whose presence in the crowd hadbeen of such deep interest to the wearer of the scarlet letter. He waslodged in the prison, not as suspected of any offence, but as the mostconvenient and suitable mode of disposing of him, until themagistrates should have conferred with the Indian sagamores respectinghis ransom. His name was announced as Roger Chillingworth. The jailer,after ushering him into the room, remained a moment, marvelling at thecomparative quiet that followed his entrance; for Hester Prynne hadimmediately become as still as death, although the child continuedto moan. "Prithee, friend, leave me alone with my patient," said thepractitioner. "Trust me, good jailer, you shall briefly have peacein your house; and, I promise you, Mistress Prynne shall hereafterbe more amenable to just authority than you may have found herheretofore." "Nay, if your worship can accomplish that," answered MasterBrackett, "I shall own you for a man of skill indeed! Verily, thewoman hath been like a possessed one; and there lacks little, that Ishould take in hand to drive Satan out of her with stripes." The stranger had entered the room with the characteristic quietudeof the profession to which he announced himself as belonging. Nordid his demeanour change, when the withdrawal of the prison keeperleft him face to face with the woman, whose absorbed notice of him, inthe crowd, had intimated so close a relation between himself andher. His first care was given to the child; whose cries, indeed, asshe lay writhing on the trundle-bed, made it of peremptory necessityto postpone all other business to the task of soothing her. Heexamined the infant carefully, and then proceeded to unclasp aleathern case, which he took from beneath his dress. It appeared tocontain medical preparations, one of which he mingled with a cup ofwater. "My old studies in alchemy," observed he, "and my sojourn, for abovea year past, among a people well versed in the kindly properties ofsimples, have made a better physician of me than many that claim themedical degree. Here, woman! The child is yours- she is none ofmine- neither will she recognise my voice or aspect as a father's.Administer this draught, therefore, with thine own hand." Hester repelled the offered medicine, at the same time gazing withstrongly marked apprehension into his face. "Wouldst thou avenge thyself on the innocent babe?" whispered she. "Foolish woman!" responded the physician, half coldly, halfsoothingly. "What should ail me, to harm this misbegotten andmiserable babe? The medicine is potent for good; and were it my child-yea, mine own, as well as thine!- I could do no better for it." As she still hesitated, being, in fact, in no reasonable state ofmind, he took the infant in his arms, and himself administered thedraught. It soon proved its efficacy, and redeemed the leech's pledge.The moans of the little patient subsided; its convulsive tossingsgradually ceased; and, in a few moments, as is the custom of youngchildren after relief from pain, it sank into a profound and dewyslumber. The physician, as he had a fair right to be termed, nextbestowed his attention on the mother. With calm and intent scrutiny,he felt her pulse, looked into her eyes- a gaze that made her heartshrink and shudder, because so familiar, and yet so strange andcold- and, finally, satisfied with his investigation, proceeded tomingle another draught. "I know not Lethe nor Nepenthe," remarked he; "but I have learnedmany new secrets in the wilderness, and here is one of them- arecipe that an Indian taught me, in requital of some lessons of myown, that were as old as Paracelsus. Drink it! It may be less soothingthan a sinless conscience. That I cannot give thee. But it will calmthe swell and heaving of thy passion, like oil thrown on the wavesof a tempestuous sea." He presented the cup to Hester, who received it with a slow, earnestlook into his face; not precisely a look of fear, yet full of doubtand questioning, as to what his purposes might be. She looked alsoat her slumbering child. "I have thought of death," said she- "have wished for it- wouldeven have prayed for it, were it fit that such as I should pray foranything. Yet, if death be in this cup, I bid thee think again, erethou beholdest me quaff it. See! It is even now at my lips." "Drink, then," replied he, still with the same cold composure. "Dostthou know me so little, Hester Prynne? Are my purposes wont to be soshallow? Even if I imagine a scheme of vengeance, what could I dobetter for my object than to let thee live- than to give theemedicines against all harm and peril of life- so that this burningshame may still blaze upon thy bosom!" As he spoke, he laid his longforefinger on the scarlet letter, which forthwith seemed to scorchinto Hester's breast, as if it had been red-hot. He noticed herinvoluntary gesture, and smiled. "Live, therefore, and bear aboutthy doom with thee, in the eyes of men and women- in the eyes of himwhom thou didst call thy husband- in the eyes of yonder child! And,that thou mayest live, take off this draught." Without further expostulation or delay, Hester Prynne drained thecup, and, at the motion of the man of skill, seated herself on the bedwhere the child was sleeping; while he drew the only chair which theroom afforded, and took his own seat beside her. She could not buttremble at these preparations; for she felt that- having now done allthat humanity, or principle, or, if so it were, a refined cruelty,impelled him to do, for the relief of physical suffering- he wasnext to treat with her as the man whom she had most deeply andirreparably injured. "Hester," said he, "I ask not wherefore, nor how, thou hast falleninto the pit, or say, rather, thou hast ascended to the pedestal ofinfamy, on which I found thee. The reason is not far to seek. It wasmy folly, and thy weakness. I- a man of thought- the bookworm of greatlibraries- a man already in decay, having given my best years tofeed the hungry dream of knowledge- what had I to do with youth andbeauty like thine own! Misshapen from my birth-hour, how could Idelude myself with the idea that intellectual gifts might veilphysical deformity in a young girl's fantasy! Men call me wise. Ifsages were ever wise in their own behoof, I might have foreseen allthis. I might have known that, as I came out of the vast and dismalforest, and entered this settlement of Christian men, the very firstobject to meet my eyes would be thyself, Hester Prynne, standing up, astatue of ignominy, before the people. Nay, from the moment when wecame down the old churchsteps together, a married pair, I might havebeheld the bale-fire of that scarlet letter blazing at the end ofour path!" "Thou knowest," said Hester- for, depressed as she was, she couldnot endure this last quiet stab at the token of her shame- "thouknowest that I was frank with thee. I felt no love, nor feigned any." "True," replied he. "It was my folly! I have said it. But, up tothat epoch of my life, I had lived in vain. The world had been socheerless! My heart was a habitation large enough for many guests, butlonely and chill, and without a household fire. I longed to kindleone! It seemed not so wild a dream- old as I was, and sombre as I was,and misshapen as I was- that the simple bliss, which is scatteredfar and wide, for all mankind to gather up, might yet be mine. And so,Hester, I drew thee into my heart, into its innermost chamber, andsought to warm thee by the warmth which thy presence made there!" "I have greatly wronged thee," murmured Hester. "We have wronged each other," answered he. "Mine was the firstwrong, when I betrayed thy budding youth into a false and unnaturalrelation with my decay. Therefore, as a man who has not thought andphilosophised in vain, I seek no vengeance, plot no evil against thee.Between thee and me the scale hangs fairly balanced. But, Hester,the man lives who has wronged us both! Who is he?" "Ask me not!" replied Hester Prynne, looking firmly into his face."That thou shalt never know!" "Never, sayest thou?" rejoined he, with a smile of dark andself-relying intelligence. "Never know him! Believe me, Hester,there are few things- whether in the outward world, or, to a certaindepth, in the invisible sphere of thought- few things hidden fromthe man who devotes himself earnestly and unreservedly to the solutionof a mystery. Thou mayest cover up thy secret from the pryingmultitude. Thou mayest conceal it, too, from the ministers andmagistrates, even as thou didst this day, when they sought to wrenchthe name out of thy heart, and give thee a partner on thy pedestal.But, as for me, I come to the inquest with other senses than theypossess. I shall seek this man, as I have sought truth in books; asI have sought gold in alchemy. There is a sympathy that will make meconscious of him. I shall see him tremble. I shall feel myselfshudder, suddenly and unawares. Sooner or later, he must needs bemine!" The eyes of the wrinkled scholar glowed so intensely upon her,that Hester Prynne clasped her hands over her heart, dreading lesthe should read the secret there at once. "Thou wilt not reveal his name? Not the less he is mine," resumedhe, with a look of confidence, as if destiny were at one with him. "Hebears no letter of infamy wrought into his garment, as thou dost;but I shall read it on his heart. Yet fear not for him! Think not thatI shall interfere with Heaven's own method of retribution, or, to myown loss, betray him to the gripe of human law. Neither do thouimagine that I shall contrive aught against his life; no, noragainst his fame, if, as I judge, he be a man of fair repute. Lethim live! Let him hide himself in outward honour, if he may! Not theless he shall be mine!" "Thy acts are like mercy," said Hester, bewildered and appalled."But thy words interpret thee as a terror!" "One thing, thou that wast my wife, I would enjoin upon thee,"continued the scholar. "Thou hast kept the secret of thy paramour.Keep, likewise, mine! There are none in this land that know me.Breathe not, to any human soul, that thou didst ever call mehusband! Here, on this wild outskirt of the earth, I shall pitch mytent; for, elsewhere a wanderer, and isolated from human interests,I find here a woman, a man, a child, amongst whom and myself thereexist the closest ligaments. No matter whether of love or hate; nomatter whether of right or wrong! Thou and thine, Hester Prynne,belong to me. My home is where thou art, and where he is. But betrayme not!" "Wherefore dost thou desire it?" inquired Hester, shrinking, shehardly knew why, from this secret bond. "Why not announce thyselfopenly, and cast me off at once?" "It may be," he replied, "because I will not encounter the dishonourthat besmirches the husband of a faithless woman. It may be forother reasons. Enough, it is my purpose to live and die unknown.Let, therefore, thy husband be to the world as one already dead, andof whom no tidings shall ever come. Recognise me not, by word, bysign, by look! Breathe not the secret, above all, to the man thouwottest of. Shouldst thou fail me in this, beware! His fame, hisposition, his life, will be in my hands. Beware!" "I will keep thy secret, as I have his," said Hester. "Swear it!" rejoined he. And she took the oath. "And now, Mistress Prynne," said old Roger Chillingworth, as hewas hereafter to be named, "I leave thee alone; alone with thy infant,and the scarlet letter! How is it, Hester? Doth thy sentence bind theeto wear the token in thy sleep? Art thou not afraid of nightmaresand hideous dreams?" "Why dost thou smile so at me?" inquired Hester, troubled at theexpression of his eyes. "Art thou like the Black Man that haunts theforest round about us? Hast thou enticed me into a bond that willprove the ruin of my soul?" "Not thy soul," he answered, with another smile. "No, not thy soul." V. HESTER AT HER NEEDLE. HESTER PRYNNE'S term of confinement was now at an end. Herprison-door was thrown open, and she came forth into the sunshine,which, falling on all alike, seemed, to her sick and morbid heart,as if meant for no other purpose than to reveal the scarlet letteron her breast. Perhaps there was a more real torture in her firstunattended footsteps from the threshold of the prison, than even inthe procession and spectacle that have been described, where she wasmade the common infamy, at which all mankind was summoned to point itsfinger. Then, she was supported by an unnatural tension of the nerves,and by all the combative energy of her character, which enabled her toconvert the scene into a kind of lurid triumph. It was, moreover, aseparate and insulated event, to occur but once in her lifetime, andto meet which, therefore, reckless of economy, she might call up thevital strength that would have sufficed for many quiet years. The verylaw that condemned her- a giant of stern features, but with vigourto support, as well as to annihilate, in his iron arm- had held herup, through the terrible ordeal of her ignominy. But now, with thisunattended walk from her prison-door, began the daily custom; andshe must either sustain and carry it forward by the ordinary resourcesof her nature, or sink beneath it. She could no longer borrow from thefuture to help her through the present grief. To-morrow would bringits own trial with it; so would the next day, and so would the next;each its own trial, and yet the very same that was now sounutterably grievous to be borne. The days of the far-off future wouldtoil onward, still with the same burden for her to take up, and bearalong with her, but never to fling down; for the accumulating days,and added years, would pile up their misery upon the heap of shame.Throughout them all, giving up her individuality, she would become thegeneral symbol at which the preacher and moralist might point, andin which they might vivify and embody their images of woman'sfrailty and sinful passion. Thus the young and pure would be taught tolook at her, with the scarlet letter flaming on her breast- at her,the child of honourable parents- at her, the mother of a babe, thatwould hereafter be a woman- at her, who had once been innocent- as thefigure, the body, the reality of sin. And over her grave, the infamythat she must carry thither would be her only monument. It may seem marvellous, that, with the world before her- kept byno restrictive clause of her condemnation within the limits of thePuritan settlement, so remote and so obscure- free to return to herbirthplace, or to any other European land, and there hide hercharacter and identity under a new exterior, as completely as ifemerging into another state of being- and having also the passes ofthe dark, inscrutable forest open to her, where the wildness of hernature might assimilate itself with a people whose customs and lifewere alien from the law that had condemned her- it may seemmarvellous, that this woman should still call that place her home,where, and where only, she must needs be the type of shame. Butthere is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable thatit has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beingsto linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some greatand marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and still themore irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it. Her sin,her ignominy, were the roots which she had struck into the soil. Itwas as if a new birth, with stronger assimilations than the first, hadconverted the forest-land, still so uncongenial to every other pilgrimand wanderer, into Hester Prynne's wild and dreary, but life-longhome. All other scenes of earth- even that village of rural England,where happy infancy and stainless maidenhood seemed yet to be in hermother's keeping, like garments put off long ago- were foreign to her,in comparison. The chain that bound her here was of iron links, andgalling to her inmost soul, but could never be broken. It might be, too- doubtless it was so, although she hid the secretfrom herself, and grew pale whenever it struggled out of her heart,like a serpent from its hole- it might be that another feeling kepther within the scene and pathway that had been so fatal. There dwelt,there trode the feet of one with whom she deemed herself connectedin a union, that, unrecognised on earth, would bring them togetherbefore the bar of final judgment, and make that theirmarriage-altar, for a joint futurity of endless retribution. Overand over again, the tempter of souls had thrust this idea uponHester's contemplation, and laughed at the passionate and desperatejoy with which she seized, and then strove to cast it from her. Shebarely looked the idea in the face, and hastened to bar it in itsdungeon. What she compelled herself to believe- what, finally, shereasoned upon, as her motive for continuing a resident of New England-was half a truth, and half a self-delusion. Here, she said to herself,had been the scene of her guilt, and here should be the scene of herearthly punishment; and so, perchance, the torture of her dailyshame would at length purge her soul, and work out another purity thanthat which she had lost; more saint-like, because the result ofmartyrdom. Hester Prynne, therefore, did not flee. On the outskirts of thetown, within the verge of the peninsula, but not in close vicinityto any other habitation, there was a small thatched cottage. It hadbeen built by an earlier settler, and abandoned, because the soilabout it was too sterile for cultivation, while its comparativeremoteness put it out of the sphere of that social activity whichalready marked the habits of the emigrants. It stood on the shore,looking across a basin of the sea at the forest-covered hills, towardsthe west. A clump of scrubby trees, such as alone grew on thepeninsula, did not so much conceal the cottage from view, as seem todenote that here was some object which would fain have been, or atleast ought to be, concealed. In this little, lonesome dwelling,with some slender means that she possessed, and by the license ofthe magistrates, who still kept an inquisitorial watch over her,Hester established herself, with her infant child. A mystic shadowof suspicion immediately attached itself to the spot. Children, tooyoung to comprehend wherefore this woman should be shut out from thesphere of human charities, would creep nigh enough to behold herplying her needle at the cottage-window, or standing in the doorway,or labouring in her little garden, or coming forth along the pathwaythat led townward; and, discerning the scarlet letter on her breast,would scamper off with a strange, contagious fear. Lonely as was Hester's situation, and without a friend on earthwho dared to show himself, she, however, incurred no risk of want. Shepossessed an art that sufficed, even in a land that affordedcomparatively little scope for its exercise, to supply food for herthriving infant and herself. It was the art- then, as now, almostthe only one within a woman's grasp- of needlework. She bore on herbreast, in the curiously embroidered letter, a specimen of herdelicate and imaginative skill, of which the dames of a court mightgladly have availed themselves, to add the richer and more spiritualadornment of human ingenuity to their fabrics of silk and gold.Here, indeed, in the sable simplicity that generally characterised thePuritanic modes of dress, there might be an infrequent call for thefiner productions of her handiwork. Yet the taste of the age,demanding whatever was elaborate in compositions of this kind, did notfail to extend its influence over our stern progenitors, who hadcast behind them so many fashions which it might seem harder todispense with. Public ceremonies, such as ordinations, theinstallation of magistrates, and all that could give majesty to theforms in which a new government manifested itself to the people, were,as a matter of policy, marked by a stately and well-conductedceremonial, and a sombre, but yet a studied magnificence. Deepruffs, painfully wrought bands, and gorgeously embroidered gloves wereall deemed necessary to the official state of men assuming the reinsof power; and were readily allowed to individuals dignified by rank orwealth, even while sumptuary laws forbade these and similarextravagances to the plebeian order. In the array of funerals, too-whether for the apparel of the dead body, or to typify, by manifoldemblematic-devices of sable cloth and snowy lawn, the sorrow of thesurvivors- there was a frequent and characteristic demand for suchlabour as Hester Prynne could supply. Baby-linen- for babies then worerobes of state- afforded still another possibility of toil andemolument. By degrees, nor very slowly, her handiwork became what would nowbe termed the fashion. Whether from commiseration for a woman of somiserable a destiny; or from the morbid curiosity that gives afictitious value even to common or worthless things; or by whateverother intangible circumstance was then, as now, sufficient tobestow, on some persons, what others might seek in vain; or becauseHester really filled a gap which must otherwise have remainedvacant; it is certain that she had ready and fairly requitedemployment for as many hours as she saw fit to occupy with her needle.Vanity, it may be, chose to mortify itself, by putting on, forceremonials of pomp and state, the garments that had been wrought byher sinful hands. Her needle-work was seen on the ruff of theGovernor; military men wore it on their scarfs, and the minister onhis hand; it decked the baby's little cap; it was shut up, to bemildewed and moulder away, in the coffins of the dead. But it is notrecorded that, in a single instance, her skill was called in aid toembroider the white veil which was to cover the pure blushes of abride. The exception indicated the ever relentless vigour with whichsociety frowned upon her sin. Hester sought not to acquire anything beyond a subsistence, of theplainest and most ascetic description, for herself, and a simpleabundance for her child. Her own dress was of the coarsest materialsand the most sombre hue; with only that one ornament- the scarletletter- which it was her doom to wear. The child's attire, on theother hand, was distinguished by a fanciful, or, we might rathersay, a fantastic ingenuity, which served, indeed, to heighten the airycharm that early began to develop itself in the little girl, but whichappeared to have also a deeper meaning. We may speak further of ithereafter. Except for that small expenditure in the decoration ofher infant, Hester bestowed all her superfluous means in charity, onwretches less miserable than herself, and who not infrequentlyinsulted the hand that fed them. Much of the time, which she mightreadily have applied to the better efforts of her art, she employed inmaking coarse garments for the poor. It is probable that there wasan idea of penance in this mode of occupation, and that she offered upa real sacrifice of enjoyment, in devoting so many hours to suchrude handiwork. She had in her nature a rich, voluptuous, Orientalcharacteristic- a taste for the gorgeously beautiful, which, save inthe exquisite productions of her needle, found nothing else, in allthe possibilities of her life, to exercise itself upon. Women derive apleasure, incomprehensible to the other sex, from the delicate toil ofthe needle. To Hester Prynne it might have been a mode ofexpressing, and therefore soothing, the passion of her life. Likeall other joys, she rejected it as sin. This morbid meddling ofconscience with an immaterial matter betokened, it is to be feared, nogenuine and steadfast penitence, but something doubtful, somethingthat might be deeply wrong, beneath. In this manner, Hester Prynne came to have a part to perform inthe world. With her native energy of character, and rare capacity,it could not entirely cast her off, although it had set a mark uponher, more intolerable to a woman's heart than that which branded thebrow of Cain. In all her intercourse with society, however, therewas nothing that made her feel as if she belonged to it. Everygesture, every word, and even the silence of those with whom shecame in contact, implied, and often expressed, that she wasbanished, and as much alone as if she inhabited another sphere, orcommunicated with the common nature by other organs and senses thanthe rest of human kind. She stood apart from moral interests, yetclose beside them, like a ghost that revisits the familiar fireside,and can no longer make itself seen or felt; no more smile with thehousehold joy, nor mourn with the kindred sorrow; or, should itsucceed in manifesting its forbidden sympathy, awakening only terrorand horrible repugnance. These emotions, in fact, and its bitterestscorn besides, seemed to be the sole portion that she retained inthe universal heart. It was not an age of delicacy; and herposition, although she understood it well, and was in little danger offorgetting it, was often brought before her vivid self-perception,like a new anguish, by the rudest touch upon the tenderest spot. Thepoor, as we have already said, whom she sought out to be the objectsof her bounty, often reviled the hand that was stretched forth tosuccour them. Dames of elevated rank, likewise, whose doors sheentered in the way of her occupation, were accustomed to distildrops of bitterness into her heart; sometimes through that alchemyof quiet malice, by which women can concoct a subtile poison fromordinary trifles; and sometimes, also, by a coarser expression, thatfell upon the sufferer's defenceless breast like a rough blow uponan ulcerated wound. Hester had schooled herself long and well; shenever responded to these attacks, save by a flush of crimson that roseirrepressibly over her pale cheek, and again subsided into thedepths of her bosom. She was patient- a martyr, indeed- but sheforbore to pray for her enemies; lest, in spite of her forgivingaspirations, the words of the blessing should stubbornly twistthemselves into a curse. Continually, and in a thousand other ways, did she feel theinnumerable throbs of anguish that had been so cunningly contrived forher by the undying, the ever-active sentence of the Puritantribunal. Clergymen paused in the street to address words ofexhortation, that brought a crowd, with its mingled grin and frown,around the poor, sinful woman. If she entered a church, trusting toshare the Sabbath smile of the Universal Father, it was often hermishap to find herself the text of the discourse. She grew to have adread of children; for they had imbibed from their parents a vagueidea of something horrible in this dreary woman, gliding silentlythrough the town, with never any companion but one only child.Therefore, first allowing her to pass, they pursued her at adistance with shrill cries, and the utterance of a word that had nodistinct purport to their own minds, but was none the less terrible toher, as proceeding from lips that babbled it unconsciously. Itseemed to argue so wide a diffusion of her shame, that all nature knewof it; it could have caused her no deeper pang, had the leaves ofthe trees whispered the dark story among themselves- had the summerbreeze murmured about it- had the wintry blast shrieked it aloud!Another peculiar torture was felt in the gaze of a new eye. Whenstrangers looked curiously at the scarlet letter- and none ever failedto do so- they branded it afresh into Hester's soul; so that,oftentimes, she could scarcely refrain, yet always did refrain, fromcovering the symbol with her hand. But then, again, an accustomedeye had likewise its own anguish to inflict. Its cool stare offamiliarity was intolerable. From first to last, in short, HesterPrynne had always this dreadful agony in feeling a human eye uponthe token; the spot never grew callous; it seemed, on the contrary, togrow more sensitive with daily torture. But sometimes, once in many days, or perchance in many months, shefelt an eye- a human eye- upon the ignominious brand, that seemed togive a momentary relief, as if half of her agony were shared. The nextinstant, back it all rushed again, with still a deeper throb ofpain; for, in that brief interval, she had sinned anew. Had Hestersinned alone? Her imagination was somewhat affected, and, had she been of a softermoral and intellectual fibre, would have been still more so, by thestrange and solitary anguish of her life. Walking to and fro, withthose lonely footsteps, in the little world with which she wasoutwardly connected, it now and then appeared to Hester- if altogetherfancy, it was nevertheless too potent to be resisted- she felt orfancied, then, that the scarlet letter had endowed her with a newsense. She shuddered to believe, yet could not help believing, that itgave her a sympathetic knowledge of the hidden sin in other hearts.She was terror-stricken by the revelations that were thus made. Whatwere they? Could they be other than the insidious whispers of thebad angel, who would fain have persuaded the struggling woman, asyet only half his victim, that the outward guise of purity was but alie, and that, if truth were everywhere to be shown, a scarletletter would blaze forth on many a bosom besides Hester Prynne's?Or, must she receive those intimations- so obscure, yet so distinct-as truth? In all her miserable experience, there was nothing else soawful and so loathsome as this sense. It perplexed, as well as shockedher, by the irreverent inopportuneness of the occasions that broughtit into vivid action. Sometimes the red infamy upon her breast wouldgive a sympathetic throb, as she passed near a venerable minister ormagistrate, the model of piety and justice, to whom that age ofantique reverence looked up, as to a mortal man in fellowship withangels. "What evil thing is at hand?" would Hester say to herself.Lifting her reluctant eyes, there would be nothing human within thescope of view, save the form of this earthly saint! Again, a mysticsisterhood would contumaciously assert itself, as she met thesanctified frown of some matron, who, according to the rumour of alltongues, had kept cold snow within her bosom throughout life. Thatunsunned snow in the matron's bosom, and the burning shame on HesterPrynne's- what had the two in common? Or, once more, the electricthrill would give her warning- "Behold, Hester, here is a companion!"-and, looking up, she would detect the eyes of a young maidenglancing at the scarlet letter, shyly and aside, and quicklyaverted, with a faint, chill crimson in her cheeks; as if her puritywere somewhat sullied by that momentary glance. O Fiend, whosetalisman was that fatal symbol, wouldst thou leave nothing, whether inyouth or age, for this poor sinner to revere?- such loss of faith isever one of the saddest results of sin. Be it accepted as a proof thatall was not corrupt in this poor victim of her own frailty, andman's hard law, that Hester Prynne yet struggled to believe that nofellow-mortal was guilty like herself. The vulgar, who, in those dreary old times, were always contributinga grotesque horror to what interested their imaginations, had astory about the scarlet letter which we might readily work up into aterrific legend. They averred, that the symbol was not mere scarletcloth, tinged in an earthly dye-pot, but was red-hot with infernalfire, and could be seen glowing all alight, whenever Hester Prynnewalked abroad in the night-time. And we must needs say, it searedHester's bosom so deeply, that perhaps there was more truth in therumour than our modern incredulity may be inclined to admit. VI. PEARL. WE have as yet hardly spoken of the infant; that little creature,whose innocent life had sprung, by the inscrutable decree ofProvidence, a lovely and immortal flower, out of the rank luxurianceof a passion. How strange it seemed to the sad woman, as she watchedthe growth, and the beauty that became every day more brilliant, andthe intelligence that threw its quivering sunshine over the tinyfeatures of this child! Her Pearl!- For so had Hester called her;not as a name expressive of her aspect, which had nothing of the calm,white, unimpassioned lustre that would be indicated by the comparison.But she named the infant "Pearl," as being of great price- purchasedwith all she had- her mother's only treasure! How strange, indeed! Manhad marked this woman's sin by a scarlet letter, which had such potentand disastrous efficacy that no human sympathy could reach her, saveit were sinful like herself. God, as a direct consequence of the sinwhich man thus punished, had given her a lovely child, whose place wason that same dishonoured bosom, to connect her parent for ever withthe race and descent of mortals, and to be finally a blessed soul inheaven! Yet these thoughts affected Hester Prynne less with hopethan apprehension. She knew that her deed had been evil; she couldhave no faith, therefore, that its result would be good. Day afterday, she looked fearfully into the child's expanding nature; everdreading to detect some dark and wild peculiarity, that shouldcorrespond with the guiltiness to which she owed her being. Certainly, there was no physical defect. By its perfect shape, itsvigour, and its natural dexterity in the use of all its untried limbs,the infant was worthy to have been brought forth in Eden; worthy tohave been left there, to be the plaything of the angels after theworld's first parents were driven out. The child had a native gracewhich does not invariably coexist with faultless beauty; its attire,however simple, always impressed the beholder as if it were the verygarb that precisely became it best. But little Pearl was not clad inrustic weeds. Her mother, with a morbid purpose that may be betterunderstood hereafter, had bought the richest tissues that could beprocured, and allowed her imaginative faculty its full play in thearrangement and decoration of the dresses which the child wore, beforethe public eye. So magnificent was the small figure, when thusarrayed, and such was the splendour of Pearl's own proper beauty,shining through the gorgeous robes which might have extinguished apaler loveliness, that there was an absolute circle of radiance aroundher, on the darksome cottage floor. And yet a russet gown, torn andsoiled with the child's rude play, made a picture of her just asperfect. Pearl's aspect was imbued with a spell of infinite variety;in this one child there were many children, comprehending the fullscope between the wild-flower prettiness of a peasant-baby, and thepomp, in little, of an infant princess. Throughout all, however, therewas a trait of passion, a certain depth of hue, which she neverlost; and if, in any of her changes, she had grown fainter or paler,she would have ceased to be herself- it would have been no longerPearl! This outward mutability indicated, and did not more than fairlyexpress, the various properties of her inner life. Her nature appearedto possess depth, too, as well as variety; but- or else Hester's fearsdeceived her- it lacked reference and adaptation to the world intowhich she was born. The child could not be made amenable to rules.In giving her existence, a great law had been broken; and the resultwas a being whose elements were perhaps beautiful and brilliant, butall in disorder; or with an order peculiar to themselves, amidst whichthe point of variety and arrangement was difficult or impossible to bediscovered. Hester could only account for the child's character- andeven then most vaguely and imperfectly- by recalling what sheherself had been, during that momentous period while Pearl wasimbibing her soul from the spiritual world, and her bodily framefrom its material of earth. The mother's impassioned state had beenthe medium through which were transmitted to the unborn infant therays of its moral Life; and, however white and clear originally,they had taken the deep stains of crimson and gold, the fierylustre, the black shadow, and the untempered light, of the interveningsubstance. Above all, the warfare of Hester's spirit, at that epoch,was perpetuated in Pearl. She could recognise her wild, desperate,defiant mood, the flightiness of her temper, and even some of the verycloud-shapes of gloom and despondency that had brooded in her heart.They were now illuminated by the morning radiance of a young child'sdisposition, but, later in the day of earthly existence, might beprolific of the storm and whirlwind. The discipline of the family, in those days, was of a far more rigidkind than now. The frown, the harsh rebuke, the frequent applicationof the rod, enjoined by Scriptural authority, were used, not merely inthe way of punishment for actual offences, but as a wholesomeregimen for the growth and promotion of all childish virtues. HesterPrynne, nevertheless, the lonely mother of this one child, ranlittle risk of erring on the side of undue severity. Mindful, however,of her own errors and misfortunes, she early sought to impose atender, but strict control over the infant immortality that wascommitted to her charge. But the task was beyond her skill. Aftertesting both smiles and frowns, and proving that neither mode oftreatment possessed any calculable influence, Hester was ultimatelycompelled to stand aside, and permit the child to be swayed by her ownimpulses. Physical compulsion or restraint was effectual, of course,while it lasted. As to any other kind of discipline, whether addressedto her mind or heart, little Pearl might or might not be within itsreach, in accordance with the caprice that ruled the moment. Hermother, while Pearl was yet an infant, grew acquainted with acertain peculiar look, that warned her when it would be labourthrown away to insist, persuade, or plead. It was a look sointelligent, yet inexplicable, so perverse, sometimes so malicious,but generally accompanied by a wild flow of spirits, that Hester couldnot help questioning, at such moments, whether Pearl was a humanchild. She seemed rather an airy sprite, which, after playing itsfantastic sports for a little while upon the cottage-floor, would flitaway with a mocking smile. Whenever that look appeared in her wild,bright, deeply black eyes, it invested her with a strange remotenessand intangibility; it was as if she were hovering in the air and mightvanish, like a glimmering light, that comes we know not whence, andgoes we know not whither. Beholding it, Hester was constrained to rushtowards the child- to pursue the little elf in the flight which sheinvariably began- to snatch her to her bosom, with a close pressureand earnest kisses- not so much from overflowing love, as to assureherself that Pearl was flesh and blood, and not utterly delusive.But Pearl's laugh, when she was caught, though full of merriment andmusic, made her mother more doubtful than before. Heart-smitten at this bewildering and baffling spell, that sooften came between herself and her sole treasure, whom she hadbought so dear, and who was all her world, Hester sometimes burst intopassionate tears. Then, perhaps- for there was no foreseeing how itmight affect her- Pearl would frown, and clench her little fist, andharden her small features into a stern, unsympathising look ofdiscontent. Not seldom, she would laugh anew, and louder thanbefore, like a thing incapable and unintelligent of human sorrow.Or- but this more rarely happened- she would be convulsed with arage of grief, and sob out her love for her mother, in broken words,and seem intent on proving that she had a heart, by breaking it. YetHester was hardly safe in confiding herself to that gustytenderness; it passed, as suddenly as it came. Brooding over all thesematters, the mother felt like one who has evoked a spirit, but, bysome irregularity in the process of conjuration, has failed to win themaster-word that should control this new and incomprehensibleintelligence. Her only real comfort was when the child lay in theplacidity of sleep. Then she was sure of her, and tasted hours ofquiet, sad, delicious happiness; until- perhaps with that perverseexpression glimmering from beneath her opening lids- little Pearlawoke! How soon- with what strange rapidity, indeed!- did Pearl arrive atan age that was capable of social intercourse, beyond the mother'sever-ready smile and nonsense-words! And then what a happiness wouldit have been, could Hester Prynne have heard her clear, birdlike voicemingling with the uproar of other childish voices, and havedistinguished and unravelled her own darling's tones, amid all theentangled outcry of a group of sportive children! But this could neverbe. Pearl was a born outcast of the infantile world. An imp of evil,emblem and product of sin, she had no right among christenedinfants. Nothing was more remarkable than the instinct, as itseemed, with which the child comprehended her loneliness; thedestiny that had drawn an inviolable circle round about her; the wholepeculiarity, in short, of her position in respect to other children.Never, since her release from prison, had Hester met the public gazewithout her. In all her walks about the town, Pearl, too, was there;first as the babe in arms, and afterwards as the little girl, smallcompanion of her mother, holding a forefinger with her whole grasp,and tripping along at the rate of three or four footsteps to one ofHester's. She saw the children of the settlement, on the grassy marginof the street, or at the domestic thresholds, disporting themselves insuch grim fashion as the Puritanic nurture would permit; playing atgoing to church, perchance; or at scourging Quakers; or takingscalps in a sham-fight with the Indians; or scaring one another withfreaks of imitative witchcraft. Pearl saw, and gazed intently, butnever sought to make acquaintance. If spoken to, she would not speakagain. If the children gathered about her, as they sometimes did,Pearl would grow positively terrible in her puny wrath, snatching upstones to fling at them, with shrill, incoherent exclamations, thatmade her mother tremble, because they had so much the sound of awitch's anathemas in some unknown tongue. The truth was, that the little Puritans, being of the mostintolerant brood that ever lived, had a vague idea of somethingoutlandish, unearthly, or at variance with ordinary fashions, in themother and child; and therefore scorned them in their hearts, andnot unfrequently reviled them with their tongues. Pearl felt thesentiment, and requited it with the bitterest hatred that can besupposed to rankle in a childish bosom. These outbreaks of a fiercetemper had a kind of value, and even comfort, for her mother;because there was at least an intelligible earnestness in the mood,instead of the fitful caprice that so often thwarted her in thechild's manifestations. It appalled her, nevertheless, to discern hereagain, a shadowy reflection of the evil that had existed in herself.All this enmity and passion had Pearl inherited, by inalienable right,out of Hester's heart. Mother and daughter stood together in thesame circle of seclusion from human society; and in the nature ofthe child seemed to be perpetuated those unquiet elements that haddistracted Hester Prynne before Pearl's birth, but had since begunto be soothed away by the softening influences of maternity. At home, within and around her mother's cottage, Pearl wanted nota wide and various circle of acquaintance. The spell of life wentforth from her ever creative spirit, and communicated itself to athousand objects, as a torch kindles a flame wherever it may beapplied. The unlikeliest materials- a stick, a bunch of rags, aflower- were the puppets of Pearl's witchcraft, and, withoutundergoing any outward change, became spiritually adapted towhatever drama occupied the stage of her inner world. Her onebaby-voice served a multitude of imaginary personages, old andyoung, to talk withal. The pine-trees, aged, black and solemn, andflinging groans and other melancholy utterances on the breeze,needed little transformation to figure as Puritan elders; theugliest weeds of the garden were their children, whom Pearl smote downand uprooted, most unmercifully. It was wonderful, the vast variety offorms into which she threw her intellect, with no continuity,indeed, but darting up and dancing, always in a state of preternaturalactivity- soon sinking down, as if exhausted by so rapid andfeverish a tide of life- and succeeded by other shapes of a similarwild energy. It was like nothing so much as the phantasmagoric play ofthe northern lights. In the mere exercise of the fancy, however, andthe sportiveness of a growing mind, there might be little more thanwas observable in other children of bright faculties; except as Pearl,in the dearth of human playmates, was thrown more upon the visionarythrong which she created. The singularity lay in the hostilefeelings with which the child regarded all these offspring of herown heart and mind. She never created a friend, but seemed always tobe sowing broadcast the dragon's teeth, whence sprung a harvest ofarmed enemies, against whom she rushed to battle. It was inexpressiblysad- then what depth of sorrow to a mother, who felt in her ownheart the cause!- to observe, in one so young, this constantrecognition of an adverse world, and so fierce a training of theenergies that were to make good her cause, in the contest that mustensue. Gazing at Pearl, Hester Prynne often dropped her work upon herknees, and cried out with an agony which she would fain have hidden,but which made utterance for itself, betwixt speech and a groan, "OFather in heaven- if Thou art still my Father- what is this beingwhich I have brought into the world!" And Pearl, overbearing theejaculation, or aware, through some more subtile channel, of thosethrobs of anguish, would turn her vivid and beautiful little face uponher mother, smile with sprite-like intelligence, and resume her play. One peculiarity of the child's deportment remains yet to be told.The very first thing which she had noticed, in her life, was- what?-not the mother's smile, responding to it, as other babies do, bythat faint, embryo smile of the little mouth, remembered so doubtfullyafterwards, and with such fond discussion whether it were indeed asmile. By no means! But that first object of which Pearl seemed tobecome aware was- shall we say it?- the scarlet letter on Hester'sbosom! One day, as her mother stooped over the cradle, the infant'seyes had been caught by the glimmering of the gold embroidery aboutthe letter; and, putting up her little hand, she grasped at it,smiling, not doubtfully, but with a decided gleam, that gave herface the look of a much older child. Then, gasping for breath, didHester Prynne clutch the fatal token, instinctively endeavouring totear it away; so infinite was the torture inflicted by the intelligenttouch of Pearl's baby hand. Again, as if her mother's agonised gesturewere meant only to make sport for her, did little Pearl look intoher eyes, and smile! From that epoch, except when the child wasasleep, Hester had never felt a moment's safety; not a moment's calmenjoyment of her. Weeks, it is true, would sometimes elapse, duringwhich Pearl's gaze might never once be fixed upon the scarletletter; but then, again, it would come at unawares, like the stroke ofsudden death, and always with that peculiar smile, and oddexpression of the eyes. Once, this freakish, elvish cast came into the child's eyes, whileHester was looking at her own image in them, as mothers are fond ofdoing; and, suddenly- for women in solitude, and with troubled hearts,are pestered with unaccountable delusions- she fancied that shebeheld, not her own miniature portrait, but another face, in the smallblack mirror of Pearl's eye. It was a face fiend-like, full of smilingmalice, yet bearing the semblance of features that she had knownfull well, though seldom with a smile, and never with malice inthem. It was as if an evil spirit possessed the child, and had justthen peeped forth in mockery. Many a time afterwards had Hester beentortured, though less vividly, by the same illusion. In the afternoon of a certain summer's day, after Pearl grew bigenough to run about, she amused herself with gathering handfuls ofwild-flowers, and flinging them, one by one, at her mother's bosom;dancing up and down, like a little elf, whenever she hit the scarletletter. Hester's first motion had been to cover her bosom with herclasped hands. But, whether from pride or resignation, or a feelingthat her penance might best be wrought out by this unutterable pain,she resisted the impulse, and sat erect, pale as death, lookingsadly into little Pearl's wild eyes. Still came the battery offlowers, almost invariably hitting the mark, and covering the mother'sbreast with hurts for which she could find no balm in this world,nor knew how to seek it in another. At last, her shot being allexpended, the child stood still and gazed at Hester, with thatlittle laughing image of a fiend peeping out- or, whether it peeped orno, her mother so imagined it- from the unsearchable abyss of herblack eyes. "Child, what art thou?" cried the mother. "Oh, I am your little Pearl!" answered the child. But, while she said it, Pearl laughed, and began to dance up anddown, with the humorsome gesticulation of a little imp, whose nextfreak might be to fly up the chimney. "Art thou my child, in very truth?" asked Hester. Nor did she put the question altogether idly, but, for the moment,with a portion of genuine earnestness; for, such was Pearl's wonderfulintelligence, that her mother half doubted whether she were notacquainted with the secret spell of her existence, and might not nowreveal herself. "Yes; I am little Pearl!" repeated the child, continuing her antics. "Thou art not my child! Thou art no Pearl of mine!" said the mother,half playfully; for it was often the case that a sportive impulse cameover her, in the midst of her deepest suffering. "Tell me, then,what thou art, and who sent thee hither?" "Tell me, mother!" said the child seriously, coming up to Hester,and pressing herself close to her knees. "Do thou tell me!" "Thy Heavenly Father sent thee!" answered Hester Prynne. But she said it with a hesitation that did not escape theacuteness of the child. Whether moved only by her ordinaryfreakishness, or because an evil spirit prompted her, she put up hersmall forefinger, and touched the scarlet letter. "He did not send me!" cried she positively. "I have no HeavenlyFather!" "Hush, Pearl, hush! Thou must not talk so!" answered the mother,suppressing a groan. "He sent us all into this world. He sent even me,thy mother. Then, much more, thee! Or, if not, thou strange and elfishchild, whence didst thou come?" "Tell me! Tell me!" repeated Pearl, no longer seriously, butlaughing, and capering about the floor. "It is thou that must tellme!" But Hester could not resolve the query, being herself in a dismallabyrinth of doubt. She remembered- betwixt a smile and a shudder- thetalk of the neighbouring townspeople; who, seeking vainly elsewherefor the child's paternity, and observing some of her old attributes,had given out that poor little Pearl was a demon offspring; such as,ever since old Catholic times, had occasionally been seer, on earth,through the agency of their mother's sin, and to promote some foul andwicked purpose. Luther, according to the scandal of his monkishenemies, was a brat of that hellish breed; nor was Pearl the onlychild to whom this inauspicious origin was assigned among the NewEngland Puritans. VII. THE GOVERNOR'S HALL. HESTER PRYNNE went, one day, to the mansion of GovernorBellingham, with a pair of gloves, which she had fringed andembroidered to his order, and which were to be worn on some greatoccasion of state; for, though the chances of a popular election hadcaused this former ruler to descend a step or two from the highestrank, he still held an honourable and influential place among thecolonial magistracy. Another and far more important reason than the delivery of a pair ofembroidered gloves impelled Hester, at this time, to seek an interviewwith a personage of so much power and activity in the affairs of thesettlement. It had reached her ears, that there was a design on thepart of some of the leading inhabitants, cherishing the more rigidorder of principles in religion and government, to deprive her ofher child. On the supposition that Pearl, as already hinted, was ofdemon origin, these good people not unreasonably argued that aChristian interest in the mother's soul required them to remove such astumbling-block from her path. If the child, on the other hand, werereally capable of moral and religious growth, and possessed theelements of ultimate salvation, then, surely, it would enjoy all thefairer prospect of these advantages, by being transferred to wiser andbetter guardianship than Hester Prynne's. Among those who promoted thedesign, Governor Bellingham was said to be one of the most busy. Itmay appear singular, and, indeed, not a little ludicrous, that anaffair of this kind, which, in later days, would have been referred tono higher jurisdiction than that of the selectmen of the town,should then have been a question publicly discussed, and on whichstatesmen of eminence took sides. At that epoch of pristinesimplicity, however, matters of even slighter public interest, andof far less intrinsic weight, than the welfare of Hester and herchild, were strangely mixed up with the deliberations of legislatorsand acts of state. The period was hardly, if at all, earlier than thatof our story, when a dispute concerning the right of property in apig, not only caused a fierce and bitter contest in the legislativebody of the colony, but resulted in an important modification of theframework itself of the legislature. Full of concern, therefore- but so conscious of her own right thatit seemed scarcely an unequal match between the public, on the oneside, and a lonely woman, backed by the sympathies of nature, on theother- Hester Prynne set forth from her solitary cottage. LittlePearl, of course, was her companion. She was now of an age to runlightly along by her mother's side, and, constantly in motion, frommorn till sunset, could have accomplished a much longer journey thanthat before her. Often, nevertheless, more from caprice thannecessity, she demanded to be taken up in arms; but was soon asimperious to be set down again, and frisked onward before Hester onthe grassy pathway, with many a harmless trip and tumble. We havespoken of Pearl's rich and luxuriant beauty; a beauty that shonewith deep and vivid tints; a bright complexion, eyes possessingintensity both of depth and glow, and hair already of a deep, glossybrown, and which, in after years, would be nearly akin to black. Therewas fire in her and throughout her; she seemed the unpremeditatedoffshoot of a passionate moment. Her mother, in contriving the child'sgarb, had allowed the gorgeous tendencies of her imagination theirfull play; arraying her in a crimson velvet tunic, of a peculiarcut, abundantly embroidered with fantasies and flourishes of goldthread. So much strength of colouring, which must have given a wan andpallid aspect to cheeks of a fainter bloom, was admirably adapted toPearl's beauty, and made her the very brightest little jet of flamethat ever danced upon the earth. But it was a remarkable attribute of this garb, and, indeed, ofthe child's whole appearance, that it irresistibly and inevitablyreminded the beholder of the token which Hester Prynne was doomed towear upon her bosom. It was the scarlet letter in another form; thescarlet letter endowed with life! The mother herself- as if the redignominy were so deeply scorched into her brain that all herconceptions assumed its form- had carefully wrought out thesimilitude; lavishing many hours of morbid ingenuity, to create ananalogy between the object of her affection and the emblem of herguilt and torture. But, in truth, Pearl was the one, as well as theother; and only in consequence of that identity had Hester contrivedso perfectly to represent the scarlet letter in her appearance. As the two wayfarers came within the precincts of the town, thechildren of the Puritans looked up from their play- or what passed forplay with those sombre little urchins- and spake gravely one toanother- "Behold, verily, there is the woman of the scarlet letter; and, of atruth, moreover, there is the likeness of the scarlet letter runningalong by her side! Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!" But Pearl, who was a dauntless child, after frowning, stamping herfoot, and shaking her little hand with a variety of threateninggestures, suddenly made a rush at the knot of her enemies, and putthem all to flight. She resembled, in her fierce pursuit of them, aninfant pestilence- the scarlet fever, or some such half-fledgedangel of judgment- whose mission was to punish the sins of therising generation. She screamed and shouted, too, with a terrificvolume of sound, which, doubtless, caused the hearts of thefugitives to quake within them. The victory accomplished, Pearlreturned quietly to her mother, and looked up, smiling, into her face. Without further adventure, they reached the dwelling of GovernorBellingham. This was a large wooden house, built in a fashion of whichthere are specimens still extant in the streets of our elder towns;now moss-grown, crumbling to decay, and melancholy at heart with themany sorrowful or joyful occurrences, remembered or forgotten, thathave happened, and passed away, within their dusky chambers. Then,however, there was the freshness of the passing year on itsexterior, and the cheerfulness, gleaming forth from the sunny windows,of a human habitation, into which death had never entered. It had,indeed, a very cheery aspect; the walls being overspread with a kindof stucco, in which fragments of broken glass were intermixed; sothat, when the sunshine fell aslant-wise over the front of theedifice, it glittered and sparkled as if diamonds had been flungagainst it by the double handful. The brilliancy might have befittedAladdin's palace, rather than the mansion of a grave old Puritanruler. It was further decorated with strange and seeminglycabalistic figures and diagrams, suitable to the quaint taste of theage, which had been drawn in the stucco when newly laid on, and hadnow grown hard and durable, for the admiration of after times. Pearl, looking at this bright wonder of a house, began to caperand dance, and imperatively required that the whole breadth ofsunshine should be stripped off its front, and given her to play with. "No, my little Pearl!" said her mother. "Thou must gather thineown sunshine. I have none to give thee!" They approached the door; which was of an arched form, and flankedon each side by a narrow tower or projection of the edifice, in bothof which were lattice-windows, with wooden shutters to close over themat need. Lifting the iron hammer that hung at the portal, HesterPrynne gave a summons, which was answered by one of the Governor'sbond-servants; a free-born Englishman, but now a seven years' slave.During that term he was to be the property of his master, and asmuch a commodity of bargain and sale as an ox, or a joint-stool. Theserf wore the blue coat, which was the customary garb of serving-menat that period, and long before, in the old hereditary halls ofEngland. "Is the worshipful Governor Bellingham within?" inquired Hester. "Yea, forsooth," replied the bond-servant, staring with wide-openeyes at the scarlet letter, which, being a new-comer in the country,he had never before seen. "Yea, his honourable worship is within.But he hath a godly minister or two with him, and likewise a leech. Yemay not see his worship now." "Nevertheless, I will enter," answered Hester Prynne; and thebond-servant, perhaps judging from the decision of her air, and theglittering symbol in her bosom, that she was a great lady in the land,offered no opposition. So the mother and little Pearl were admitted into the hall ofentrance. With many variations, suggested by the nature of hisbuilding-materials, diversity of climate, and a different mode ofsocial life, Governor Bellingham had planned his new habitationafter the residences of gentlemen of fair estate in his native land.Here, then, was a wide and reasonably lofty hall, extending throughthe whole depth of the house and forming a medium of generalcommunication, more or less directly, with all the other apartments.At one extremity, this spacious room was lighted by the windows of thetwo towers, which formed a small recess on either side of theportal. At the other end, though partly muffled by a curtain, it wasmore powerfully illuminated by one of those embowed hall-windows whichwe read of in old books, and which was provided with a keep andcushioned seat. Here, on the cushion, lay a folio tome, probably ofthe Chronicles of England, or other such substantial literature;even as, in our own days, we scatter gilded volumes on thecentre-table, to be turned over by the casual guest. The furnitureof the hall consisted of some ponderous chairs, the backs of whichwere elaborately carved with wreaths of oaken flowers; and likewisea table in the same taste; the whole being of the Elizabethan age,or perhaps earlier, and heirlooms, transferred hither from theGovernor's paternal home. On the table- in token that the sentiment ofold English hospitality had not been left behind- stood a large pewtertankard, at the bottom of which, had Hester or Pearl peeped into it,they might have seen the frothy remnant of a recent draught of ale. On the wall hung a row of portraits, representing the forefathers ofthe Bellingham lineage, some with armour on their breasts, andothers with stately ruffs and robes of peace. All were characterisedby the sternness and severity which old portraits so invariably puton; as if they were the ghosts, rather than the pictures, ofdeparted worthies, and were gazing with harsh and intolerant criticismat the pursuits and enjoyments of living men. At about the centre of the oaken panels, that lined the hall, wassuspended a suit of mail, not, like the pictures, an ancestralrelic, but of the most modern date; for it had been manufactured bya skilful armourer in London, the same year in which GovernorBellingham came over to New England. There was a steel headpiece, acuirass, a gorget, and greaves, with a pair of gauntlets and a swordhanging beneath; all, and especially the helmet and breastplate, sohighly burnished as to glow with white radiance, and scatter anillumination everywhere about upon the floor. This bright panoplywas not meant for mere idle show, but had been worn by the Governor onmany a solemn muster and training field, and had glittered,moreover, at the head of a regiment in the Pequod war. For, thoughbred a lawyer, and accustomed to speak of Bacon, Coke, Noye, andFinch, as his professional associates, the exigencies of this newcountry had transformed Governor Bellingham into a soldier, as well asa statesman and ruler. Little Pearl- who was as greatly pleased with the gleaming armour asshe had been with the glittering frontispiece of the house- spent sometime looking into the polished mirror of the breastplate. "Mother," cried she, "I see you here. Look! Look!" Hester looked, by way of humouring the child; and she saw that,owing to the peculiar effect of this convex mirror, the scarlet letterwas represented in exaggerated and gigantic proportions, so as to begreatly the most prominent feature of her appearance. In truth, sheseemed absolutely hidden behind it. Pearl pointed upward, also, at asimilar picture in the head-piece; smiling at her mother, with theelfish intelligence that was so familiar an expression on her smallphysiognomy. That look of naughty merriment was likewise reflectedin the mirror, with so much breadth and intensity of effect, that itmade Hester Prynne feel as if it could not be the image of her ownchild, but of an imp who was seeking to mould itself into Pearl'sshape. "Come along, Pearl," said she, drawing her away. "Come and look intothis fair garden. It may be, we shall see flowers there; morebeautiful ones than we find in the woods." Pearl, accordingly, ran to the bow-window, at the farther end of thehall, and looked along the vista of a garden-walk, carpeted withclosely shaven grass, and bordered with some rude and immature attemptat shrubbery. But the proprietor appeared already to haverelinquished, as hopeless, the effort to perpetuate on this side ofthe Atlantic, in a hard soil and amid the close struggle forsubsistence, the native English taste for ornamental gardening.Cabbages grew in plain sight; and a pumpkin vine, rooted at somedistance, had run across the intervening space, and deposited one ofits gigantic products directly beneath the hall-window; as if towarn the Governor that this great lump of vegetable gold was as richan ornament as New England earth would offer him. There were a fewrose-bushes, however, and a number of apple-trees, probably thedescendants of those planted by the Reverend Mr. Blackstone, the firstsettler of the peninsula; that half mythological personage, whorides through our early annals, seated on the back of a bull. Pearl, seeing the rose-bushes, began to cry for a red rose, andwould not be pacified. "Hush, child, hush!" said her mother earnestly. "Do not cry, dearlittle Pearl! I hear voices in the garden. The Governor is coming, andgentlemen along with him!" In fact, adown the vista of the garden avenue, a number of personswere seen approaching towards the house. Pearl, in utter scorn ofher mother's attempt to quiet her, gave an eldritch scream, and thenbecame silent; not from any notion of obedience, but because the quickand mobile curiosity of her disposition was excited by theappearance of these new personages. VIII. THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTER. GOVERNOR BELLINGHAM, in a loose gown and easy cap- much as elderlygentlemen loved to endue themselves with, in their domestic privacy-walked foremost, and appeared to be showing off his estate, andexpatiating on his projected improvements. The wide circumference ofan elaborate ruff, beneath his grey beard, in the antiquated fashionof King James' reign, caused his head to look not a little like thatof John the Baptist in a charger. The impression made by his aspect,so rigid and severe, and frost-bitten with more than autumnal age, washardly in keeping with the appliances of worldly enjoyment wherewithhe had evidently done his utmost to surround himself. But it is anerror to suppose that our grave forefathers- though accustomed tospeak and think of human existence as a state merely of trial andwarfare, and though unfeignedly prepared to sacrifice goods and lifeat the behest of duty- made it a matter of conscience to reject suchmeans of comfort, or even luxury, as lay fairly within their grasp.This creed was never taught, for instance, by the venerable pastor,John Wilson, whose beard, white as a snow-drift, was seen overGovernor Bellingham's shoulder; while its wearer suggested thatpears and peaches might yet be naturalised in the New England climate,and that purple grapes might possibly be compelled to flourish,against the sunny garden-wall. The old clergyman, nurtured at the richbosom of the English Church, had a long-established and legitimatetaste for all good and comfortable things; and however stern hemight show himself in the pulpit, or in his public reproof of suchtransgressions as that of Hester Prynne, still, the genial benevolenceof his private life had won him warmer affection than was accordedto any of his professional contemporaries. Behind the Governor and Mr. Wilson came two other guests; one theReverend Arthur Dimmesdale, whom the reader may remember as havingtaken a brief and reluctant part in the scene of Hester Prynne'sdisgrace; and, in close companionship with him, old RogerChillingworth, a person of great skill in physic, who, for two orthree years past, had been settled in the town. It was understood thatthis learned man was the physician as well as friend of the youngminister, whose health had severely suffered, of late, by his toounreserved self-sacrifice to the labours and duties of the pastoralrelation. The Governor, in advance of his visitors, ascended one or two steps,and, throwing open the leaves of the great hall-window, foundhimself close to little Pearl. The shadow of the curtain fell onHester Prynne, and partially concealed her. "What have we here?" said Governor Bellingham, looking with surpriseat the scarlet little figure before him. "I profess, I have never seenthe like, since my days of vanity, in old King James' time, when I waswont to esteem it a high favour to be admitted to a court mask!There used to be a swarm of these small apparitions, in holidaytime; and we called them children of the Lord of Misrule. But howgat such a guest into my hall?" "Ay, indeed!" cried good old Mr. Wilson. "What little bird ofscarlet plumage may this be? Methinks I have seen just such figures,when the sun has been shining through a richly painted window, andtracing out the golden and crimson images across the floor. But thatwas in the old land. Prithee, young one, who art thou, and what hasailed thy mother to bedizen thee in this strange fashion? Art thou aChristian child- ha? Dost know thy catechism? Or art thou one of thosenaughty elfs or fairies, whom we thought to have left behind us,with other relics of Papistry, in merry old England?" "I am mother's child," answered the scarlet vision, "and my nameis Pearl!" "Pearl?- Ruby, rather!- or Coral!- or Red Rose, at the very least,judging from thy hue!" responded the old minister, putting forth hishand in a vain attempt to pat little Pearl on the cheek. "But where isthis mother of thine? Ah! I see," he added; and, turning to GovernorBellingham, whispered, "This is the selfsame child of whom we haveheld speech together; and behold here the unhappy woman, HesterPrynne, her mother!" "Sayest thou so?" cried the Governor. "Nay, we might have judgedthat such a child's mother must needs be a scarlet woman, and a worthytype of her of Babylon! But she comes at a good time; and we will lookinto this matter forthwith." Governor Bellingham stepped through the window into the hall,followed by his three guests. "Hester Prynne," said he, fixing his naturally stern regard on thewearer of the scarlet letter, "there hath been much questionconcerning thee, of late. The point hath been weightily discussed,whether we, that are of authority and influence, do well discharge ourconsciences by trusting an immortal Soul, such as there is in yonderchild, to the guidance of one who hath stumbled and fallen amid thepitfalls of this world. Speak thou, the child's own mother! Were itnot, thinkest thou, for thy little one's temporal and eternal welfare,that she be taken out of thy charge, and clad soberly, and disciplinedstrictly, and instructed in the truths of heaven and earth? What canstthou do for the child, in this kind?" "I can teach my little Pearl what I have learned from this!"answered Hester Prynne, laying her finger on the red token. "Woman, it is thy badge of shame!" replied the stern magistrate. "Itis because of the stain which that letter indicates, that we wouldtransfer thy child to other hands." "Nevertheless," said the mother calmly, though growing more pale,"this badge hath taught me- it daily teaches me- it is teaching meat this moment- lessons whereof my child may be the wiser andbetter, albeit they can profit nothing to thyself." "We will judge warily," said Bellingham, "and look well what weare about to do. Good Master Wilson, I pray you, examine this Pearl-since that is her name- and see whether she hath had such Christiannurture as befits a child of her age." The old minister seated himself in an arm-chair, and made aneffort to draw Pearl betwixt his knees. But the child, unaccustomed tothe touch or familiarity of any but her mother, escaped through theopen window, and stood on the upper step, looking like a wild tropicalbird, of rich plumage, ready to take flight into the upper air. Mr.Wilson, not a little astonished at this outbreak- for he was agrandfatherly sort of personage, and usually a vast favourite withchildren- essayed, however, to proceed with the examination. "Pearl," said he, with great solemnity, "thou must take heed toinstruction, that so, in due season, thou mayest wear in thy bosom thepearl of great price. Canst thou tell me, my child, who made thee?" Now Pearl knew well enough who made her; for Hester Prynne, thedaughter of a pious home, very soon after her talk with the childabout her Heavenly Father, had begun to inform her of those truthswhich the human spirit, at whatever stage of immaturity, imbibeswith such eager interest. Pearl, therefore, so large were theattainments of her three years' lifetime, could have borne a fairexamination in the New England Primer, or the first column of theWestminster Catechisms, although unacquainted with the outward form ofeither of those celebrated works. But that perversity, which allchildren have more or less of, and of which little Pearl had a tenfoldportion, now, at the most inopportune moment, took thorough possessionof her, and closed her lips, or impelled her to speak words amiss.After putting her finger in her mouth, with many ungracious refusalsto answer good Mr. Wilson's question, the child finally announced thatshe had not been made at all, but had been plucked by her mother offthe bush of wild roses that grew by the prison-door. This fantasy was probably suggested by the near proximity of theGovernor's red roses, as Pearl stood outside of the window; togetherwith her recollection of the prison rose-bush, which she had passed incoming hither. Old Roger Chillingworth, with a smile on his face, whisperedsomething in the young clergyman's ear. Hester Prynne looked at theman of skill, and even then, with her fate hanging in the balance, wasstartled to perceive what a change had come over his features- howmuch uglier they were- how his dark complexion seemed to have grownduskier, and his figure more misshapen- since the days when she hadfamiliarly known him. She met his eyes for an instant, but wasimmediately constrained to give all her attention to the scene nowgoing forward. "This is awful!" cried the Governor, slowly recovering from theastonishment into which Pearl's response had thrown him. "Here is achild of three years old, and she cannot tell who made her! Withoutquestion, she is equally in the dark as to her soul, its presentdepravity and future destiny! Methinks, gentlemen, we need inquireno further!" Hester caught hold of Pearl, and drew her forcibly into her arms,confronting the old Puritan magistrate with almost a fierceexpression. Alone in the world, cast off by it, and with this soletreasure to keep her heart alive, she felt that she possessedindefeasible rights against the world, and was ready to defend them tothe death. "God gave me the child!" cried she. "He gave her in requital ofall things else, which ye had taken from me. She is my happiness!- sheis my torture, none the less! Pearl keeps me here in life! Pearlpunishes me too! See ye not, she is the scarlet letter, only capableof being loved, and so endowed with a millionfold the power ofretribution for my sin? Ye shall not take her! I will die first!" "My poor woman," said the not unkind old minister, "the childshall be well cared for!- far better than thou canst do it!" "God gave her into my keeping," repeated Hester Prynne, raisingher voice almost to a shriek. "I will not give her up!"- And here,by a sudden impulse, she turned to the young clergyman, Mr.Dimmesdale, at whom, up to this moment, she had seemed hardly somuch as once to direct her eyes.- "Speak thou for me!" cried she."Thou wast my pastor, and hadst charge of my soul, and knowest mebetter than these men can. I will not lose the child! Speak for me!Thou knowest- for thou hast sympathies which these men lack- thouknowest what is in my heart, and what are a mother's rights, and howmuch the stronger they are, when that mother has but her child and thescarlet letter! Look thou to it! I will not lose the child! Look toit!" At this wild and singular appeal, which indicated that HesterPrynne's situation had provoked her to little less than madness, theyoung minister at once came forward, pale, and holding his hand overhis heart, as was his custom whenever his peculiarly nervoustemperament was thrown into agitation. He looked now more careworn andemaciated than as we described him at the scene of Hester's publicignominy; and whether it were his failing health, or whatever thecause might be, his large dark eyes had a world of pain in theirtroubled and melancholy depth. "There is truth in what she says," began the minister, with avoice sweet, tremulous, but powerful, insomuch that the hallre-echoed, and the hollow armour rang with it- "truth in what Hestersays, and in the feeling which inspires her! God gave her the child,and gave her, too, an instinctive knowledge of its nature andrequirements- both seemingly so peculiar- which no other mortalbeing can possess. And, moreover, is there not a quality of awfulsacredness in the relation between this mother and this child?" "Ay!- how is that, good Master Dimmesdale?" interrupted theGovernor. "Make that plain, I pray you!" "It must be even so," resumed the minister. "For, if we deem itotherwise, do we not thereby say that the Heavenly Father, the Creatorof all flesh, hath lightly recognised a deed of sin, and made of noaccount the distinction between unhallowed lust and holy love? Thischild of its father's guilt and its mother's shame hath come fromthe hand of God, to work in many ways upon her heart, who pleads soearnestly, and with such bitterness of spirit, the right to keepher. It was meant for a blessing; for the one blessing of her life! Itwas meant, doubtless, as the mother herself hath told us, for aretribution too; a torture to be felt at many an unthought-ofmoment; a pang, a sting, an ever-recurring agony, in the midst of atroubled joy! Hath she not expressed this thought in the garb of thepoor child, so forcibly reminding us of that red symbol which searsher bosom?" "Well said again!" cried good Mr. Wilson. "I feared the woman had nobetter thought than to make a mountebank of her child!" "Oh, not so!- not so!" continued Mr. Dimmesdale. "She recognises,believe me, the solemn miracle which God hath wrought, in theexistence of that child. And may she feel, too- what, methinks, is thevery truth- that this boon was meant, above all things else, to keepthe mother's soul alive, and to preserve her from blacker depths ofsin into which Satan might else have sought to plunge her! Thereforeit is good for this poor, sinful woman that she hath an infantimmortality, a being capable of eternal joy or sorrow, confided to hercare- to be trained up by her to righteousness- to remind her, atevery moment, of her fall- but yet to teach her, as it were by theCreator's sacred pledge, that, if she bring the child to heaven, thechild also will bring its parent thither! Herein is the sinful motherhappier than the sinful father. For Hester Prynne's sake, then, and noless for the poor child's sake, let us leave them as Providence hathseen fit to place them!" "You speak, my friend, with a strange earnestness," said old RogerChillingworth, smiling at him. "And there is a weighty import in what my young brother hathspoken," added the Reverend Mr. Wilson. "What say you, worshipfulMaster Bellingham? Hath he not pleaded well for the poor woman?" "Indeed hath he," answered the magistrate, "and hath adduced sucharguments, that we will even leave the matter as it now stands; solong, at least, as there shall be no further scandal in the woman.Care must be had, nevertheless, to put the child to due and statedexamination in the catechism, at thy hands or Master Dimmesdale's.Moreover, at a proper season, the tithing-men must take heed thatshe go both to school and to meeting." The young minister, on ceasing to speak, had withdrawn a few stepsfrom the group, and stood with his face partially concealed in theheavy folds of the window-curtain; while the shadow of his figure,which the sunlight cast upon the floor, was tremulous with thevehemence of his appeal. Pearl, that wild and flighty little elf,stole softly towards him, and taking his hand in the grasp of both herown, laid her cheek against it; a caress so tender, and withal sounobtrusive, that her mother, who was looking on, asked herself, "Isthat my Pearl?" Yet she knew that there was love in the child's heart,although it mostly revealed itself in passion, and hardly twice in herlifetime had been softened by such gentleness as now. The minister-for, save the long-sought regards of woman, nothing is sweeter thanthese marks of childish preference, accorded spontaneously by aspiritual instinct, and therefore seeming to imply in us somethingtruly worthy to be loved- the minister looked round, laid his handon the child's head, hesitated an instant, and then kissed her brow.Little Pearl's unwonted mood of sentiment lasted no longer; shelaughed, and went capering down the hall, so airily, that old Mr.Wilson raised a question whether even her tiptoes touched the floor. "The little baggage had witchcraft in her, I profess," said he toMr. Dimmesdale. "She needs no old woman's broomstick to fly withal!" "A strange child!" remarked old Roger Chillingworth. "It is easyto see the mother's part in her. Would it be beyond a philosopher'sresearch, think ye, gentlemen, to analyse that child's nature, and,from its make and mould, to give a shrewd guess at the father?" "Nay; it would be sinful, in such a question, to follow the clewof profane philosophy," said Mr. Wilson. "Better to fast and pray uponit; and still better, it may be, to leave the mystery as we find it,unless Providence reveal it of its own accord. Thereby, every goodChristian man hath a title to show a father's kindness towards thepoor, deserted babe." The affair being so satisfactorily concluded, Hester Prynne, withPearl, departed from the house. As they descended the steps, it isaverred that the lattice of a chamber-window was thrown open, andforth into the sunny day was thrust the face of Mistress Hibbins,Governor Bellingham's bitter-tempered sister, and the same who, afew years later, was executed as a witch. "Hist, hist!" said she, while her ill-omened physiognomy seemed tocast a shadow over the cheerful newness of the house. "Wilt thou gowith us to-night? There will be a merry company in the forest; and Iwell-nigh promised the Black Man that comely Hester Prynne should makeone." "Make my excuse to him, so please you!" answered Hester, with atriumphant smile. "I must tarry at home, and keep watch over my littlePearl. Had they taken her from me, I would willingly have gone withthee into the forest, and signed my name in the Black Man's booktoo, and that with mine own blood!" "We shall have thee there anon!" said the witch-lady, frowning, asshe drew back her head. But here- if we suppose this interview betwixt Mistress Hibbinsand Hester Prynne to be authentic, and not a parable- was already anillustration of the young minister's argument against sundering therelation of a fallen mother to the offspring of her frailty. Even thusearly had the child saved her from Satan's snare. IX. THE LEECH. UNDER the appellation of Roger Chillingworth, the reader willremember, was hidden another name, which its former wearer hadresolved should never more be spoken. It has been related, how, in thecrowd that witnessed Hester Prynne's ignominious exposure, stood aman, elderly, travel-worn, who, just emerging from the perilouswilderness, beheld the woman, in whom he hoped to find embodied thewarmth and cheerfulness of home, set up as a type of sin before thepeople. Her matronly fame was trodden under all men's feet. Infamy wasbabbling around her in the public market-place. For her kindred,should the tidings ever reach them, and for the companions of herunspotted life, there remained nothing but the contagion of herdishonour; which would not fail to be distributed in strict accordanceand proportion with the intimacy and sacredness of their previousrelationship. Then why- since the choice was with himself- shouldthe individual, whose connection with the fallen woman had been themost intimate and sacred of them all, come forward to vindicate hisclaim to an inheritance so little desirable? He resolved not to bepilloried beside her on her pedestal of shame. Unknown to all butHester Prynne, and possessing the lock and key of her silence, hechose to withdraw his name from the roll of mankind, and as regardedhis former ties and interests, to vanish out of life as completelyas if he indeed lay at the bottom of the ocean, whither rumour hadlong ago consigned him. This purpose once effected, new interestswould immediately spring up, and likewise a new purpose; dark, it istrue, if not guilty, but of force enough to engage the full strengthof his faculties. In pursuance of this resolve, he took up his residence in thePuritan town, as Roger Chillingworth, without other introductionthan the learning and intelligence of which he possessed more than acommon measure. As his studies, at a previous period of his life,had made him extensively acquainted with the medical science of theday, it was as a physician that he presented himself, and as suchwas cordially received. Skilful men, of the medical and chirurgicalprofession, were of rare occurrence in the colony. They seldom, itwould appear, partook of the religious zeal that brought otheremigrants across the Atlantic. In their researches into the humanframe, it may be that the higher and more subtile faculties of suchmen were materialised, and that they lost the spiritual view ofexistence amid the intricacies of that wondrous mechanism, whichseemed to involve art enough to comprise all of life within itself. Atall events, the health of the good town of Boston, so far asmedicine had aught to do with it, had hitherto lain in theguardianship of an aged deacon and apothecary, whose piety and godlydeportment were stronger testimonials in his favour than any that hecould have produced in the shape of a diploma. The only surgeon wasone who combined the occasional exercise of that noble art with thedaily and habitual flourish of a razor. To such a professional bodyRoger Chillingworth was a brilliant acquisition. He soon manifestedhis familiarity with the ponderous and imposing machinery of antiquephysic; in which every remedy contained a multitude of far-fetched andheterogeneous ingredients, as elaborately compounded as if theproposed result had been the Elixir of Life. In his Indiancaptivity, moreover, he had gained much knowledge of the properties ofnative herbs and roots; nor did he conceal from his patients, thatthese simple medicines, Nature's boon to the untutored savage, hadquite as large a share of his own confidence as the Europeanpharmacopoeia, which so many learned doctors had spent centuries inelaborating. This learned stranger was exemplary, as regarded, at least, theoutward forms of a religious life, and, early after his arrival, hadchosen for his spiritual guide the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. Theyoung divine, whose scholar-like renown still lived in Oxford, wasconsidered by his more fervent admirers as little less than aheavenly-ordained apostle, destined, should he live and labour for theordinary term of life, to do as great deeds for the now feeble NewEngland Church, as the early Fathers had achieved for the infancy ofthe Christian faith. About this period, however, the health of Mr.Dimmesdale had evidently begun to fail. By those best acquaintedwith his habits, the paleness of the young minister's cheek wasaccounted for by his too earnest devotion to study, his scrupulousfulfilment of parochial duty, and, more than all, by the fasts andvigils of which he made a frequent practice, in order to keep thegrossness of this earthly state from clogging and obscuring hisspiritual lamp. Some declared, that, if Mr. Dimmesdale were reallygoing to die, it was cause enough, that the world was not worthy to beany longer trodden by his feet. He himself, on the other hand, withcharacteristic humility, avowed his belief, that, if Providence shouldsee fit to remove him, it would be because of his own unworthinessto perform its humblest mission here on earth. With all thisdifference of opinion as to the cause of his decline, there could beno question of the fact. His form grew emaciated; his voice, thoughstill rich and sweet, had a certain melancholy prophecy of decay init; he was often observed, on any slight alarm or other suddenaccident, to put his hand over his heart, with first a flush andthen a paleness, indicative of pain. Such was the young clergyman's condition, and so imminent theprospect that his dawning light would be extinguished, all untimely,when Roger Chillingworth made his advent to the town. His firstentry on the scene, few people could tell whence, dropping down, itwere, out of the sky, or starting from the nether earth, had an aspectof mystery, which was easily heightened to the miraculous. He wasnow known to be a man of skill; it was observed that he gatheredherbs, and the blossoms of wild-flowers, and dug up roots, and pluckedoff twigs from the forest-trees like one acquainted with hiddenvirtues in what was valueless to common eyes. He was heard to speak ofSir Kenelm Digby, and other famous men- whose scientific attainmentswere esteemed hardly less than supernatural- as having been hiscorrespondents or associates. Why, with such rank in the learnedworld, had he come hither? What could he, whose sphere was in greatcities, be seeking in the wilderness? In answer to this query, arumour gained ground- and, however absurd, was entertained by somevery sensible people- that Heaven had wrought an absolute miracle,by transporting an eminent Doctor of Physic, from a German university,bodily through the air, and setting him down at the door of Mr.Dimmesdale's study! Individuals of wiser faith, indeed, who knewthat Heaven promotes its purposes without aiming at the stage-effectof what is called miraculous interposition, were inclined to see aprovidential hand in Roger Chillingworth's so opportune arrival. This idea was countenanced by the strong interest which thephysician ever manifested in the young clergyman; he attachedhimself to him as a parishioner, and sought to win a friendly regardand confidence from his naturally reserved sensibility. He expressedgreat alarm at his pastor's state of health, but was anxious toattempt the cure, and, if early undertaken, seemed not despondent of afavourable result. The elders, the deacons, the motherly dames, andthe young and fair maidens, of Mr. Dimmesdale's flock, were alikeimportunate that he should make trial of the physician's franklyoffered skill. Mr. Dimmesdale gently repelled their entreaties. "I need no medicine," said he. But how could the young minister say so, when, with every successiveSabbath, his cheek was paler and thinner, and his voice more tremulousthan before- when it had now become a constant habit, rather than acasual gesture, to press his hand over his heart? Was he weary ofhis labours? Did he wish to die? These questions were solemnlypropounded to Mr. Dimmesdale by the elder ministers of Boston andthe deacons of his church, who, to use their own phrase, "dealt withhim" on the sin of rejecting the aid which Providence so manifestlyheld out. He listened in silence, and finally promised to conferwith the physician. "Were it God's will," said the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, when, infulfilment of this pledge, he requested old Roger Chillingworth'sprofessional advice, "I could be well content, that my labours andmy sorrows, and my sins and my pains, should shortly end with me,and what is earthly of them be buried in my grave, and the spiritualgo with me to my eternal state, rather than that you should put yourskill to the proof in my behalf." "Ah," replied Roger Chillingworth, with that quietness which,whether imposed or natural, marked all his deportment, "it is thusthat a young clergyman is apt to speak. Youthful men, not having takena deep root, give up their hold of life so easily! And saintly men,who walk with God on earth, would fain be away, to walk with Him onthe golden pavements of the New Jerusalem." "Nay," rejoined the young minister, putting his hand to his heart,with a flush of pain flitting over his brow, "were I worthier towalk there, I could be better content to toil here." "Good men ever interpret themselves too meanly," said the physician. In this manner, the mysterious old Roger Chillingworth became themedical adviser of the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. As not only thedisease interested the physician, but he was strongly moved to lookinto the character and qualities of the patient, these two men, sodifferent in age, came gradually to spend much time together. Forthe sake of the minister's health, and to enable the leech to gatherplants with healing balm in them, they took long walks on thesea-shore, or in the forest; mingling various talk with the plashand murmur of the waves, and the solemn wind-anthem among thetree-tops. Often, likewise, one was the guest of the other, in hisplace of study and retirement. There was a fascination for theminister in the company of the man of science, in whom he recognisedan intellectual cultivation of no moderate depth or scope; togetherwith a range and freedom of ideas, that he would have vainly lookedfor among the members of his own profession. In truth, he wasstartled, if not shocked, to find this attribute in the physician. Mr.Dimmesdale was a true priest, a true religionist, with the reverentialsentiment largely developed, and an order of mind that impelled itselfpowerfully along the track of a creed, and wore its passagecontinually deeper with the lapse of time. In no state of societywould he have been what is called a man of liberal views; it wouldalways be essential to his peace to feel the pressure of a faith abouthim, supporting, while it confined him within its iron framework.Not the less, however, though with a tremulous enjoyment, did hefeel the occasional relief of looking at the universe through themedium of another kind of intellect than those with which hehabitually held converse. It was as if a window were thrown open,admitting a freer atmosphere into the close and stifled study, wherehis life was wasting itself away, amid lamplight, or obstructedday-beams, and the musty fragrance, be it sensual or moral, thatexhales from books. But the air was too fresh and chill to be longbreathed with comfort. So the minister, and the physician with him,withdrew again within the limits of what their church defined asorthodox. Thus Roger Chillingworth scrutinised his patient carefully, bothas he saw him in his ordinary life, keeping an accustomed pathway inthe range of thoughts familiar to him, and as he appeared whenthrown amidst other moral scenery, the novelty of which might call outsomething new to the surface of his character. He deemed it essential,it would seem, to know the man, before attempting to do him good.Wherever there is a heart and an intellect, the diseases of thephysical frame are tinged with the peculiarities of these. In ArthurDimmesdale, thought and imagination were so active, and sensibility sointense, that the bodily infirmity would be likely to have itsgroundwork there. So Roger Chillingworth- the man of skill, the kindand friendly physician- strove to go deep into his patient's bosom,delving among his principles, prying into his recollections, andprobing everything with a cautious touch, like a treasure-seeker ina dark cavern. Few secrets can escape an investigator, who hasopportunity and license to undertake such a quest, and skill to followit up. A man burdened with a secret should especially avoid theintimacy of his physician. If the latter possess native sagacity,and a nameless something more- let us call it intuition; if he show nointrusive egotism, nor disagreeably prominent characteristics of hisown; if he have the power, which must be born with him, to bring hismind into such affinity with his patient's, that this last shallunawares have spoken what he imagines himself only to have thought; ifsuch revelations be received without tumult, and acknowledged not sooften by an uttered sympathy as by silence, an inarticulate breath,and here and there a word, to indicate that all is understood; if tothese qualifications of a confidant be joined the advantagesafforded by his recognised character as a physician- then, at someinevitable moment, will the soul of the sufferer be dissolved, andflow forth in a dark, but transparent stream, bringing all itsmysteries into the daylight. Roger Chillingworth possessed all, or most, of the attributesabove enumerated. Nevertheless, time went on; a kind of intimacy, aswe have said, grew up between these two cultivated minds, which had aswide a field as the whole sphere of human thought and study, to meetupon; they discussed every topic of ethics and religion, of publicaffairs, and private character; they talked much, on both sides, ofmatters that seemed personal to themselves; and yet no secret, such asthe physician fancied must exist there, ever stole out of theminister's consciousness into his companion's ear. The latter hadhis suspicions, indeed, that even the nature of Mr. Dimmesdale'sbodily disease had never fairly been revealed to him. It was a strangereserve! After a time, at a hint from Roger Chillingworth, the friends of Mr.Dimmesdale effected an arrangement by which the two were lodged in thesame house; so that every ebb and flow of the minister's life-tidemight pass under the eye of his anxious and attached physician.There was much joy throughout the town, when this greatly desirableobject was attained. It was held to be the best possible measure forthe young clergyman's welfare: unless, indeed, as often urged bysuch as felt authorised to do so, he had selected some one of the manyblooming damsels, spiritually devoted to him, to become his devotedwife. This latter step, however, there was no present prospect thatArthur Dimmesdale would be prevailed upon to take; he rejected allsuggestions of the kind, as if priestly celibacy were one of hisarticles of church-discipline. Doomed by his own choice, therefore, asMr. Dimmesdale so evidently was, to eat his unsavoury morsel always atanother's board, and endure the lifelong chill which must be his lotwho seeks to warm himself only at another's fireside, it trulyseemed that this sagacious, experienced, benevolent old physician,with his concord of paternal and reverential love for the youngpastor, was the very man, of all mankind, to be constantly withinreach of his voice. The new abode of the two friends was with a pious widow, of goodsocial rank, who dwelt in a house covering pretty nearly the site onwhich the venerable structure of King's Chapel has since been built.It had the graveyard, originally Isaac Johnson's home-field, on oneside, and so was well adapted to call up serious reflections, suitedto their respective employments, in both minister and man of physic.The motherly care of the good widow assigned to Mr. Dimmesdale a frontapartment, with a sunny exposure, and heavy window-curtains, to createa noon-tide shadow, when desirable. The walls were hung round withtapestry, said to be from the Gobelin looms, and, at all events,representing the Scriptural story of David and Bathsheba, and Nathanthe Prophet, in colours still unfaded, but which made the fair womanof the scene almost as grimly picturesque as the woe-denouncingseer. Here, the pale clergyman piled up his library, rich withparchment-bound folios of the Fathers, and the lore of Rabbis, andmonkish erudition, of which the Protestant divines, even while theyvilified and decried that class of writers, were yet constrained oftento avail themselves. On the other side of the house, old RogerChillingworth arranged his study and laboratory; not such as amodern man of science would reckon even tolerably complete, butprovided with a distilling apparatus, and the means of compoundingdrugs and chemicals, which the practised alchemist knew well how toturn to purpose. With such commodiousness of situation, these twolearned persons sat themselves down, each in his own domain, yetfamiliarly passing from one apartment to the other, and bestowing amutual and not incurious inspection into one another's business. And the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale's best discerning friends, aswe have intimated, very reasonably imagined that the hand ofProvidence had done all this, for the purpose- besought in so manypublic, and domestic, and secret prayers- of restoring the youngminister to health. But- it must now be said- another portion of thecommunity had latterly begun to take its own view of the relationbetwixt Mr. Dimmesdale and the mysterious old physician. When anuninstructed multitude attempts to see with its eyes, it isexceedingly apt to be deceived. When, however, it forms itsjudgment, as it usually does, on the intuitions of its great andwarm heart, the conclusions thus attained are often so profound and sounerring, as to possess the character of truths supernaturallyrevealed. The people, in the case of which we speak, could justify itsprejudice against Roger Chillingworth by no fact or argument worthy ofserious refutation. There was an aged handicraftsman, it is true,who had been a citizen of London at the period of Sir ThomasOverbury's murder, now some thirty years agone; he testified to havingseen the physician, under some other name, which the narrator of thestory had now forgotten, in company with Doctor Forman, the famous oldconjurer, who was implicated in the affair of Overbury. Two or threeindividuals hinted, that the man of skill, during his Indiancaptivity, had enlarged his medical attainments by joining in theincantations of the savage priests; who were universallyacknowledged to be powerful enchanters, often performing seeminglymiraculous cures by their skill in the black art. A large number-and many of these were persons of such sober sense and practicalobservation that their opinions would have been valuable in othermatters- affirmed that Roger Chillingworth's aspect had undergone aremarkable change while he had dwelt in town, and especially since hisabode with Mr. Dimmesdale. At first, his expression had been calm,meditative, scholar-like. Now, there was something ugly and evil inhis face, which they had not previously noticed, and which grewstill the more obvious to sight, the oftener they looked upon him.According to the vulgar idea, the fire in his laboratory had beenbrought from the lower regions, and was fed with infernal fuel; andso, as might be expected, his visage was getting sooty with the smoke. To sum up the matter, it grew to be a widely diffused opinion,that the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, like many other personages ofespecial sanctity, in all ages of the Christian world, was hauntedeither by Satan himself, or Satan's emissary, in the guise of oldRoger Chillingworth. This diabolical agent had the Divinepermission, for a season, to burrow into the clergyman's intimacy, andplot against his soul. No sensible man, it was confessed, coulddoubt on which side the victory would turn. The people looked, with anunshaken hope, to see the minister come forth out of the conflict,transfigured with the glory which he would unquestionably win.Meanwhile, nevertheless, it was sad to think of the perchance mortalagony through which he must struggle towards his triumph. Alas! to judge from the gloom and terror in the depths of the poorminister's eyes, the battle was a sore one, and the victory anythingbut secure. X. THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT. OLD Roger Chillingworth, throughout life, had been calm intemperament, kindly, though not of warm affections, but ever, and inall his relations with the world, a pure and upright man. He had begunan investigation, as he imagined, with the severe and equalintegrity of a judge, desirous only of truth, even as if thequestion involved no more than the air-drawn lines and figures of ageometrical problem, instead of human passions, and wrongs inflictedon himself. But, as he proceeded, a terrible fascination, a kind offierce, though still calm, necessity seized the old man within itsgripe, and never set him free again, until he had done all itsbidding. He now dug into the poor clergyman's heart, like a minersearching for gold; or, rather, like a sexton delving into a grave,possibly in quest of a jewel that had been buried on the dead man'sbosom, but likely to find nothing save mortality and corruption.Alas for his own soul, if these were what he sought! Sometimes, a light glimmered out of the physician's eyes, burningblue and ominous, like the reflection of a furnace, or, let us say,like one of those gleams of ghastly fire that darted from Bunyan'sawful doorway in the hill-side, and quivered on the pilgrim's face.The soil where this dark miner was working had perchance shownindications that encouraged him. "This man," said he, at one such moment, to himself, "pure as theydeem him- all spiritual as he seems- hath inherited a strong animalnature from his father or his mother. Let us dig a little farther inthe direction of this vein!" Then, after long search into the minister's dim interior, andturning over many precious materials, in the shape of high aspirationsfor the welfare of his race, warm love of souls, pure sentiments,natural piety, strengthened by thought and study, and illuminated byrevelation- all of which invaluable gold was perhaps no better thanrubbish to the seeker- he would turn back, discouraged, and beginhis quest towards another point. He groped along as stealthily, withas cautious a tread, and as wary an outlook, as a thief entering achamber where a man lies only half asleep- or, it may be, broad awake-with purpose to steal the very treasure which this man guards as theapple of his eye. In spite of his premeditated carefulness, thefloor would now and then creak; his garments would rustle; theshadow of his presence, in a forbidden proximity, would be thrownacross his victim. In other words, Mr. Dimmesdale, whose sensibilityof nerve often produced the effect of spiritual intuition, wouldbecome vaguely aware that something inimical to his peace had thrustitself into relation with him. But old Roger Chillingworth, too, hadperceptions that were almost intuitive; and when the minister threwhis startled eyes towards him, there the physician sat; his kind,watchful, sympathising, but never intrusive friend. Yet Mr. Dimmesdale would perhaps have seen this individual'scharacter more perfectly, if a certain morbidness, to which sickhearts are liable, had not rendered him suspicious of all mankind.Trusting no man as his friend, he could not recognise his enemy whenthe latter actually appeared. He therefore still kept up a familiarintercourse with him, daily receiving the old physician in hisstudy; or visiting the laboratory, and, for recreation's sake,watching the processes by which weeds were converted into drugs ofpotency. One day, leaning his forehead on his hand, and his elbow on the sillof the open window, that looked towards the graveyard, he talkedwith Roger Chillingworth, while the old man was examining a bundleof unsightly plants. "Where," asked he, with a look askance at them- for it was theclergyman's peculiarity that he seldom, nowadays, lookedstraight-forth at any object, whether human or inanimate- "where, mykind doctor, did you gather those herbs, with such a dark, flabbyleaf?" "Even in the graveyard here at hand," answered the physician,continuing his employment. "They are new to me. I found them growingon a grave, which bore no tombstone, nor other memorial of the deadman, save these ugly weeds, that have taken upon themselves to keephim in remembrance. They grew out of his heart, and typify, it may be,some hideous secret that was buried with him, and which he had donebetter to confess during his lifetime." "Perchance," said Mr. Dimmesdale, "he earnestly desired it, butcould not." "And wherefore?" rejoined the physician. "Wherefore not; since allthe powers of nature call so earnestly for the confession of sin, thatthese black weeds have sprung up out of a buried heart, to makemanifest an unspoken crime?" "That, good sir, is but a fantasy of yours," replied the minister."There can be, if I forebode aright, no power, short of the Divinemercy, to disclose, whether by uttered words, or by type or emblem,the secrets that may be buried with a human heart. The heart, makingitself guilty of such secrets, must perforce hold them until the daywhen all hidden things shall be revealed. Nor have I so read orinterpreted Holy Writ, as to understand that the disclosure of humanthoughts and deeds, then to be made, is intended as a part of theretribution. That, surely, were a shallow view of it. No; theserevelations, unless I greatly err, are meant merely to promote theintellectual satisfaction of all intelligent beings, who will standwaiting, on that day, to see the dark problem of this life made plain.A knowledge of men's hearts will be needful to the completest solutionof that problem. And I conceive, moreover, that the hearts holdingsuch miserable secrets as you speak of will yield them up, at thatlast day, not with reluctance, but with a joy unutterable." "Then why not reveal them here?" asked Roger Chillingworth, glancingquietly aside at the minister. "Why should not the guilty onessooner avail themselves of this unutterable solace?" "They mostly do," said the clergyman, griping hard at his breast, asif afflicted with an importunate throb of pain. "Many, many a poorsoul hath given its confidence to me, not only on the deathbed, butwhile strong in life, and fair in reputation. And ever, after suchan outpouring, oh, what a relief have I witnessed in those sinfulbrethren! even as in one who at last draws free air, after longstifling with his own polluted breath. How can it be otherwise? Whyshould a wretched man, guilty, we will say, of murder, prefer tokeep the dead corpse buried in his own heart, rather than fling itforth at once, and let the universe take care of it?" "Yet some men bury their secrets thus," observed the calm physician. "True; there are such men," answered Mr. Dimmesdale. "But, not tosuggest more obvious reasons, it may be that they are kept silent bythe very constitution of their nature. Or- can we not suppose it?-guilty as they may be, retaining, nevertheless, a zeal for God's gloryand man's welfare, they shrink from displaying themselves black andfilthy in the view of men; because, thenceforward, no good can beachieved by them; no evil of the past be redeemed by better service.So, to their own unutterable torment, they go about among theirfellow-creatures, looking pure as new-fallen snow; while theirhearts are all speckled and spotted with iniquity of which they cannotrid themselves." "These men deceive themselves," said Roger Chillingworth, withsomewhat more emphasis than usual, and making a slight gesture withhis forefinger. "They fear to take up the shame that rightfullybelongs to them. Their love for man, their zeal for God's service-these holy impulses may or may not coexist in their hearts with theevil inmates to which their guilt has unbarred the door, and whichmust needs propagate a hellish breed within them. But, if they seek toglorify God, let them not lift heavenward their unclean hands! If theywould serve their fellow-men, let them do it by making manifest thepower and reality of conscience, in constraining them to penitentialself-abasement! Wouldst thou have me to believe, O wise and piousfriend, that a false show can be better- can be more for God'sglory, or man's welfare- than God's own truth? Trust me, such mendeceive themselves!" "It may be so," said the young clergyman, indifferently, aswaiving a discussion that he considered irrelevant or unseasonable. Hehad a ready faculty, indeed, of escaping from any topic thatagitated his too sensitive and nervous temperament. "But, now, I wouldask of my well-skilled physician, whether, in good sooth, he deemsme to have profited by his kindly care of this weak frame of mine?" Before Roger Chillingworth could answer, they heard the clear,wild laughter of a young child's voice, proceeding from the adjacentburial-ground. Looking instinctively from the open window- for itwas summer-time- the minister beheld Hester Prynne and little Pearlpassing along the footpath that traversed the enclosure. Pearllooked as beautiful as the day, but was in one of those moods ofperverse merriment which, whenever they occurred, seemed to remove herentirely out of the sphere of sympathy or human contact. She nowskipped irreverently from one grave to another; until, coming to thebroad, flat, armorial tombstone of a departed worthy- perhaps of IsaacJohnson himself- she began to dance upon it. In reply to hermother's command and entreaty that she would behave more decorously,little Pearl paused to gather the prickly burrs from a tall burdockwhich grew beside the tomb. Taking a handful of these, she arrangedthem along the lines of the scarlet letter that decorated the maternalbosom, to which the burrs, as their nature was, tenaciously adhered.Hester did not pluck them off. Roger Chillingworth had by this time approached the window, andsmiled grimly down. "There is no law, nor reverence for authority, no regard for humanordinances or opinions, right or wrong, mixed up with that child'scomposition," remarked her, as much to himself as to his companion. "Isaw her, the other day, bespatter the Governor himself with water,at the cattle-trough in Spring Lane. What, in Heaven's name, is she?Is the imp altogether evil? Hath she affections? Hath she anydiscoverable principle of being?" "None- save the freedom of a broken law," answered Mr. Dimmesdale,in a quiet way, as if he had been discussing the point within himself."Whether capable of good I know not." The child probably overheard their voices; for, looking up to thewindow, with a bright, but naughty smile of mirth and intelligence,she threw one of the prickly burrs at the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. Thesensitive clergyman shrunk, with nervous dread, from the lightmissile. Detecting his emotion, Pearl clapped her little hands, in themost extravagant ecstasy. Hester Prynne, likewise, had involuntarilylooked up; and all these four persons, old and young, regarded oneanother in silence, till the child laughed aloud, and shouted, "Comeaway, mother! Come away, or yonder old Black Man will catch you! Hehath got hold of the minister already. Come away, mother, or he willcatch you! But he cannot catch little Pearl!" So she drew her mother away, skipping, dancing, and friskingfantastically, among the hillocks of the dead people, like acreature that had nothing in common with a bygone and buriedgeneration, nor owned herself akin to it. It was as if she had beenmade afresh, out of new elements, and must perforce be permitted tolive her own life, and be a law unto herself, without hereccentricities being reckoned to her for a crime. "There goes a woman," resumed Roger Chillingworth, after a pause,"who, be her demerits what they may, hath none of that mystery ofhidden sinfulness which you deem so grievous to be borne. Is HesterPrynne the less miserable, think you, for that scarlet letter on herbreast?" "I do verily believe it," answered the clergyman. "Nevertheless, Icannot answer for her. There was a look of pain in her face, which Iwould gladly have been spared the sight of. But still, methinks, itmust needs be better for the sufferer to be free to show his pain,as this poor woman Hester is, than to cover it all up in his heart." There was another pause; and the physician began anew to examine andarrange the plants which he had gathered. "You inquired of me, a little time agone," said he, at length, "myjudgment as touching your health." "I did," answered the clergyman, "and would gladly learn it. Speakfrankly, I pray you, be it for life or death." "Freely, then, and plainly," said the physician, still busy with hisplants, but keeping a wary eye on Mr. Dimmesdale, "the disorder is astrange one; not so much in itself, nor as outwardly manifested- in sofar, at least, as the symptoms have been laid open to myobservation. Looking dally at you, my good sir, and watching thetokens of your aspect, now for months gone by, I should deem you a mansore sick, it may be, yet not so sick but that an instructed andwatchful physician might well hope to cure you. But- I know not whatto say- the disease is what I seem to know, yet know it not." "You speak in riddles, learned sir," said the pale minister,glancing aside out of the window. "Then, to speak more plainly," continued the physician, "and I cravepardon, sir- should it seem to require pardon- for this needfulplainness of my speech. Let me ask, as your friend- as one havingcharge, under Providence, of your life and physical well-being- hathall the operation of this disorder been fairly laid open and recountedto me?" "How can you question it?" asked the minister. "Surely, it werechild's play, to call in a physician, and then hide the sore!" "You would tell me, then, that I know all?" said Roger Chillingworthdeliberately, and fixing an eye, bright with intense andconcentrated intelligence, on the minister's face. "Be it so! But,again! He to whom only the outward and physical evil is laid open,knoweth, oftentimes, but half the evil which be is called upon tocure. A bodily disease, which we look upon as whole and entirewithin itself, may, after all, be but a symptom of some ailment in thespiritual part. Your pardon, once again, good sir, if my speech givethe shadow of offence. You, sir, of all men whom I have known, arehe whose body is the closest conjoined, and imbued, and identified, soto speak, with the spirit whereof it is the instrument." "Then I need ask no further," said the clergyman, somewhat hastilyrising from his chair. "You deal not, I take it, in medicine for thesoul!" "Thus, a sickness," continued Roger Chillingworth going on, in anunaltered tone, without heeding the interruption, but standing upand confronting the emaciated and white-cheeked minister, with hislow, dark, and misshapen figure- "a sickness, a sore place, if we mayso call it, in your spirit, hath immediately its appropriatemanifestation in your bodily frame. Would you, therefore, that yourphysician heal the bodily evil? How may this be, unless you firstlay open to him the wound or trouble in your soul?" "No!- not to thee!- not to an earthly physician!" cried Mr.Dimmesdale passionately, and turning his eyes, full and bright, andwith a kind of fierceness, on old Roger Chillingworth. "Not to thee!But, if it be the soul's disease, then do I commit myself to the onePhysician of the soul! He, if it stand with His good pleasure, cancure; or He can kill! Let Him do with me as, in His justice andwisdom, He shall see good. But who art thou, that meddlest in thismatter?- that dares thrust himself between the sufferer and his God?" With a frantic gesture, he rushed out of the room. "It is as well to have made this step," said Roger Chillingworthto himself, looking after the minister, with a grave smile. "Thereis nothing lost. We shall be friends again anon. But see, now, howpassion takes hold upon this man, and hurrieth him out of himself!As with one passion, so with another! He hath done a wild thing erenow, this pious Master Dimmesdale, in the hot passion of his heart!" It proved not difficult to re-establish the intimacy of the twocompanions, on the same footing and in the same degree asheretofore. The young clergyman, after a few hours of privacy, wassensible that the disorder of his nerves had hurried him into anunseemly outbreak of temper, which there had been nothing in thephysician's words to excuse or palliate. He marvelled, indeed, atthe violence with which he had thrust back the kind old man, whenmerely proffering the advice which it was his duty to bestow, andwhich the minister himself had expressly sought. With these remorsefulfeelings, he lost no time in making the amplest apologies, andbesought his friend still to continue the care, which, if notsuccessful in restoring him to health, had, in all probability, beenthe means of prolonging his feeble existence to that hour. RogerChillingworth readily assented, and went on with his medicalsupervision of the minister; doing his best for him, in all goodfaith, but always quitting the patient's apartment, at the close ofa professional interview, with a mysterious and puzzled smile upon hislips. This expression was invisible in Mr. Dimmesdale's presence,but grew strongly evident as the physician crossed the threshold. "A rare case!" he muttered. "I must needs look deeper into it. Astrange sympathy betwixt soul and body! Were it only for the art'ssake, I must search this matter to the bottom!" It came to pass, not long after the scene above recorded, that theReverend Mr. Dimmesdale, at noon-day, and entirely unawares, fell intoa deep, deep slumber, sitting in his chair, with a largeblack-letter volume open before him on the table. It must have beena work of vast ability in the somniferous school of literature. Theprofound depth of the minister's repose was the more remarkable,inasmuch as he was one of those persons whose sleep, ordinarily, is aslight, as fitful, and as easily scared away, as a small bird hoppingon a twig. To such an unwonted remoteness, however, had his spirit nowwithdrawn into itself, that he stirred not in his chair, when oldRoger Chillingworth, without any extraordinary precaution, came intothe room. The physician advanced directly in front of his patient,laid his hand upon his bosom, and thrust aside the vestment, that,hitherto, had always covered it even from the professional eye. Then, indeed, Mr. Dimmesdale shuddered, and slightly stirred. After a brief pause, the physician turned away. But, with what a wild look of wonder, joy, and horror! With what aghastly rapture, as it were, too mighty to be expressed only by theeye and features, and therefore bursting forth through the wholeugliness of his figure, and making itself even riotously manifest bythe extravagant gestures with which he threw up his arms towards theceiling, and stamped his foot upon the floor! Had a man seen old RogerChillingworth, at that moment of his ecstasy, he would have had noneed to ask how Satan comports himself, when a precious human soulis lost to heaven, and won into his kingdom. But what distinguished the physician's ecstasy from Satan's wasthe trait of wonder in it! XI. THE INTERIOR OF A HEART. AFTER the incident last described, the intercourse between theclergyman and the physician, though externally the same, was really ofanother character than it had previously been. The intellect ofRoger Chillingworth had now a sufficiently plain path before it. Itwas not, indeed, precisely that which he had laid out for himself toread. Calm, gentle, passionless, as he appeared, there was yet, wefear, a quiet depth of malice, hitherto latent, but active now, inthis unfortunate old man, which led him to imagine a more intimaterevenge than any mortal had ever wreaked upon an enemy. To makehimself the one trusted friend, to whom should be confided all thefear, the remorse, the agony, the ineffectual repentance, the backwardrush of sinful thoughts, expelled in vain! All that guilty sorrow,hidden from the world, whose great heart would have pitied andforgiven, to be revealed to him, the Pitiless, to him, theUnforgiving! All that dark treasure to be lavished on the very man, towhom nothing else could so adequately pay the debt of vengeance. The clergyman's shy and sensitive reserve had balked this scheme.Roger Chillingworth, however, was inclined to be hardly, if at all,less satisfied with the aspect of affairs, which Providence- using theavenger and his victim for its own purposes, and, perchance,pardoning, where it seemed most to punish- had substituted for hisblack devices. A revelation, he could almost say, had been grantedto him. It mattered little, for his object, whether celestial, or fromwhat other region. By its aid, in all the subsequent relations betwixthim and Mr. Dimmesdale, not merely the external presence, but the veryinmost soul, of the latter seemed to be brought out before his eyes,so that he could see and comprehend its every movement. He became,thenceforth, not a spectator only, but a chief actor, in the poorminister's interior world. He could play upon him as he chose. Wouldhe arouse him with a throb of agony? The victim was for ever on therack; it needed only to know the spring that controlled the engine-and the physician knew it well! Would be startle him with sudden fear?As at the waving of a magician's wand, uprose a grisly phantom- uprosea thousand phantoms- in many shapes, of death, or more awful shame,all flocking round about tie clergyman, and pointing with theirfingers at his breast! All this was accomplished with a subtlety so perfect, that theminister, though he had constantly a dim perception of some evilinfluence watching over him, could never gain a knowledge of itsactual nature. True, he looked doubtfully, fearfully- even, attimes, with horror and the bitterness of hatred- at the deformedfigure of the old physician. His gestures, his gait, his grizzledbeard, his slightest and most indifferent acts, the very fashion ofhis garments, were odious in the clergyman's sight; a token implicitlyto be relied on, of a deeper antipathy in the breast of the latterthan he was willing to acknowledge to himself. For, as it wasimpossible to assign a reason for such distrust and abhorrence, so Mr.Dimmesdale, conscious that the poison of one morbid spot was infectinghis heart's entire substance, attributed all his presentiments to noother cause. He took himself to task for his bad sympathies inreference to Roger Chillingworth, disregarded the lesson that heshould have drawn from them, and did his best to root them out. Unableto accomplish this, he nevertheless, as a matter of principle,continued his habits of social familiarity with the old man, andthus gave him constant opportunities for perfecting the purpose towhich- poor, forlorn creature that he was, and more wretched thanhis victim- the avenger had devoted himself. While thus suffering under bodily disease, and gnawed and torturedby some black trouble of the soul, and given over to themachinations of his deadliest enemy, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale hadachieved a brilliant popularity in his sacred office. He won it,indeed, in great part, by his sorrows. His intellectual gifts, hismoral perceptions, his power of experiencing and communicatingemotion, were kept in a state of preternatural activity by the prickand anguish of his daily life. His fame, though still on its upwardslope, already overshadowed the soberer reputations of hisfellow-clergymen, eminent as several of them were. There were scholarsamong them, who had spent more years in acquiring abstruse lore,connected with the divine profession, than Mr. Dimmesdale had lived;and who might well, therefore, be more profoundly versed in such solidand valuable attainments than their youthful brother. There weremen, too, of a sturdier texture of mind than his, and endowed with afar greater share of shrewd, hard, iron, or granite understanding;which, duly mingled with a fair proportion of doctrinal ingredient,constitutes a highly respectable, efficacious, and unamiable varietyof the clerical species. There were others, again, true saintlyfathers, whose faculties had been elaborated by weary toil among theirbooks, and by patient thought, and etherealised, moreover, byspiritual communications with the better world, into which theirpurity of life had almost introduced these holy personages, with theirgarments of mortality still clinging to them. All that they lacked wasthe gift that descended upon the chosen disciples at Pentecost, intongues of flame; symbolising, it would seem, not the power ofspeech in foreign and unknown languages, but that of addressing thewhole human brotherhood in the heart's native language. These fathers,otherwise so apostolic, lacked Heaven's last and rarest attestation oftheir office, the Tongue of Flame. They would have vainly sought-had they ever dreamed of seeking- to express the highest truthsthrough the humblest medium of familiar words and images. Their voicescame down, afar and indistinctly, from the upper heights where theyhabitually dwelt. Not improbably, it was to this latter class of men that Mr.Dimmesdale, by many of his traits of character, naturally belonged. Tothe high mountain-peaks of faith and sanctity he would have climbed,had not the tendency been thwarted by the burden, whatever it mightbe, of crime or anguish, beneath which it was his doom to totter. Itkept him down, on a level with the lowest; him, the man of etherealattributes, whose voice the angels might else have listened to andanswered! But this very burden it was, that gave him sympathies sointimate with the sinful brotherhood of mankind; so that his heartvibrated in unison with theirs, and received their pain into itself,and sent its own throb of pain through a thousand other hearts, ingushes of sad, persuasive eloquence. Oftenest persuasive, butsometimes terrible! The people knew not the power that moved themthus. They deemed the young clergyman a miracle of holiness. Theyfancied him the mouthpiece of Heaven's messages of wisdom, and rebuke,and love. In their eyes, the very ground on which he trod wassanctified. The virgins of his church grew pale around him, victims ofa passion so imbued with religious sentiment that they imagined itto be all religion, and brought it openly, in their white bosoms, astheir most acceptable sacrifice before the altar. The aged membersof his flock, beholding Mr. Dimmesdale's frame so feeble, while theywere themselves so rugged in their infirmity, believed that he wouldgo heavenward before them, and enjoined it upon their children, thattheir old bones should be buried close to their young pastor's holygrave. And, all this time, perchance, when poor Mr. Dimmesdale wasthinking of his grave, he questioned with himself whether the grasswould ever grow on it, because an accursed thing must there be buried! It is inconceivable, the agony with which this public venerationtortured him! It was his genuine impulse to adore the truth, and toreckon all things shadow-like, and utterly devoid of weight orvalue, that had not its divine essence as the life within theirlife. Then, what was he?- a substance?- or the dimmest of all shadows?He longed to speak out, from his own pulpit, at the full height of hisvoice, and tell the people what he was. "I, whom you behold in theseblack garments of the priesthood- I, who ascend the sacred desk, andturn my pale face heavenward, taking upon myself to hold communion, inyour behalf, with the Most High Omniscience- I, in whose daily lifeyou discern the sanctity of Enoch- I, whose footsteps, as you suppose,leave a gleam along my earthly track, whereby the pilgrims thatshall come after me may be guided to the regions of the blest- I,who have laid the hand of baptism upon your children- I, who havebreathed the parting prayer over your dying friends, to whom theAmen sounded faintly from a world which they had quitted- I, yourpastor, whom you so reverence and trust, am utterly a pollution anda lie!" More than once, Mr. Dimmesdale had gone into the pulpit, with apurpose never to come down its steps, until he should have spokenwords like the above. More than once, he had cleared his throat, anddrawn in the long, deep, and tremulous breath, which, when sentforth again, would come burdened with the black secret of his soul.More than once- nay, more than a hundred times- he had actuallyspoken! Spoken! But how? He had told his hearers that he wasaltogether vile, a viler companion of the vilest, the worst ofsinners, an abomination, a thing of unimaginable iniquity; and thatthe only wonder was, that they did not see his wretched bodyshrivelled up before their eyes, by the burning wrath of the Almighty!Could there be plainer speech than this? Would not the people start upin their seats, by a simultaneous impulse, and tear him down out ofthe pulpit which he defiled? Not so, indeed! They heard it all, anddid but reverence him the more. They little guessed what deadlypurport lurked in those self-condemning words. "The godly youth!" saidthey among themselves. "The saint on earth! Alas, if he discern suchsinfulness in his own white soul, what horrid spectacle would hebehold in thine or mine!" The minister well knew- subtle, butremorseless hypocrite that he was!- the light in which his vagueconfession would be viewed. He had striven to put a cheat upon himselfby making the avowal of a guilty conscience, but had gained only oneother sin, and a self-acknowledged shame, without the momentary reliefof being self-deceived. He had spoken the very truth, andtransformed it into the veriest falsehood. And yet, by theconstitution of his nature, he loved the truth, and loathed the lie,as few men ever did. Therefore, above all things else, he loathedhis miserable self! His inward trouble drove him to practices more in accordance withthe old, corrupted faith of Rome, than with the better light of theChurch in which he had been born and bred. In Mr. Dimmesdale'ssecret closet, under lock and key, there was a bloody scourge.Oftentimes, this Protestant and Puritan divine had plied it on his ownshoulders; laughing bitterly at himself the while, and smiting so muchthe more pitilessly because of that bitter laugh. It was his custom,too, as it has been that of many other pious Puritans, to fast- not,however, like them, in order to purify the body and render it thefitter medium of celestial illumination, but rigorously, and until hisknees trembled beneath him, as an act of penance. He kept vigils,likewise, night after night, sometimes in utter darkness; sometimeswith a glimmering lamp; and sometimes, viewing his own face in alooking-glass, by the most powerful light which he could throw uponit. He thus typified the constant introspection wherewith he tortured,but could not purify, himself. In these lengthened vigils, his brainoften reeled, and visions seemed to flit before him; perhaps seendoubtfully, and by a faint light of their own, in the remote dimnessof the chamber, or more vividly, and close beside him, within thelooking-glass. Now it was a herd of diabolic shapes, that grinnedand mocked at the pale minister, and beckoned him away with them;now a group of shining angels, who flew upward heavily, assorrow-laden, but grew more ethereal as they rose. Now came the deadfriends of his youth, and his white-bearded father, with asaint-like frown, and his mother, turning her face away as shepassed by. Ghost of a mother- thinnest fantasy of a mother- methinksshe might yet have thrown a pitying glance towards her son! And now,through the chamber which these spectral thoughts had made so ghastly,glided Hester Prynne, leading along little Pearl, in her scarlet garb,and pointing her forefinger, first at the scarlet letter on her bosom,and then at the clergyman's own breast. None of these visions ever quite deluded him. At any moment, by aneffort of his will, he could discern substances through their mistylack of substance, and convince himself that they were not solid intheir nature, like yonder table of carved oak, or that big, square,leathern-bound and brazen-clasped volume of divinity. But, for allthat, they were, in one sense, the truest and most substantialthings which the poor minister now dealt with. It is the unspeakablemisery of a life so false as his, that it steals the pith andsubstance out of whatever realities there are around us, and whichwere meant by Heaven to be the spirit's joy and nutriment. To theuntrue man, the whole universe is false- it is impalpable- it shrinksto nothing within his grasp. And he himself, in so far as he showshimself in a false light, becomes a shadow, or, indeed, ceases toexist. The only truth that continued to give Mr. Dimmesdale a realexistence on this earth, was the anguish in his inmost soul, and theundissembled expression of it in his aspect. Had he once found powerto smile, and wear a face of gaiety, there would have been no suchman! On one of those ugly nights, which we have faintly hinted at, butforborne to picture forth, the minister started from his chair. Anew thought had struck him. There might be a moment's peace in it.Attiring himself with as much care as if it had been for publicworship, and precisely in the same manner, he stole softly down thestaircase, undid the door, and issued forth. XII. THE MINISTER'S VIGIL. WALKING in the shadow of a dream, as it were, and perhaps actuallyunder the influence of a species of somnambulism, Mr Dimmesdalereached the spot, where, now so long since, Hester Prynne had livedthrough her first hours of public ignominy. The same platform orscaffold, black and weather-stained with the storm or sunshine ofseven long years, and foot-worn, too, with the tread of manyculprits who had since ascended it, remained standing beneath thebalcony of the meeting-house. The minister went up the steps. It was an obscure night of early May. An unvaried pall of cloudmuffled the whole expanse of sky from zenith to horizon. If the samemultitude which had stood as eye-witnesses while Hester Prynnesustained her punishment could now have been summoned forth, theywould have discerned no face above the platform, nor hardly theoutline of a human shape, in the dark grey of the midnight. But thetown was all asleep. There was no peril of discovery. The ministermight stand there, if it so pleased him, until morning should reddenin the east, without other risk than that the dank and chill night-airwould creep into his frame, and stiffen his joints with rheumatism,and clog his throat with catarrh and cough; thereby defrauding theexpectant audience of to-morrow's prayer and sermon. No eye couldsee him, save that ever-wakeful one which had seen him in hiscloset, wielding the bloody scourge. Why, then, had he come hither?Was it but the mockery of penitence? A mockery, indeed, but in whichhis soul trifled with itself! A mockery at which angels blushed andwept, while fiends rejoiced, with jeering laughter! He had been drivenhither by the impulse of that Remorse which dogged him everywhere, andwhose own sister and closely linked companion was that Cowardice whichinvariably drew him back, with her tremulous gripe, just when theother impulse had hurried him to the verge of a disclosure. Poor,miserable man! what right had infirmity like his to burden itself withcrime? Crime is for the iron-nerved, who have their choice either toendure it, or, if it press too hard, to exert their fierce andsavage strength for a good purpose, and fling it off at once! Thisfeeble and most sensitive of spirits could do neither, yet continuallydid one thing or another, which intertwined, in the sameinextricable knot, the agony of heaven-defying guilt and vainrepentance. And thus, while standing on the scaffold, in this vain show ofexpiation, Mr. Dimmesdale was overcome with a great horror of mind, asif the universe were gazing at a scarlet token on his naked breast,right over his heart. On that spot, in very truth, there was, andthere had long been, the gnawing and poisonous tooth of bodily pain.Without any effort of his will, or power to restrain himself, heshrieked aloud; an outcry that went pealing through the night, and wasbeaten back from one house to another, and reverberated from the hillsin the background; as if a company of devils, detecting so much miseryand terror in it, had made a plaything of the sound, and were bandyingit to and fro. "It is done!" muttered the minister, covering his face with hishands. "The whole town will awake, and hurry forth, and find me here!" But it was not so. The shriek had perhaps sounded with a fargreater power, to his own startled ears, than it actually possessed.The town did not awake; or, if it did, the drowsy slumberers mistookthe cry either for something frightful in a dream, or for the noise ofwitches; whose voices, at that period, were often heard to pass overthe settlements or lonely cottages, as they rode with Satan throughthe air. The clergyman, therefore, hearing no symptoms of disturbance,uncovered his eyes and looked about him. At one of the chamber-windowsof Governor Bellingham's mansion, which stood at some distance, on theline of another street, he beheld the appearance of the old magistratehimself, with a lamp in his hand, a white night-cap on his head, and along white gown enveloping his figure. He looked like a ghost,evoked unseasonably from the grave. The cry had evidently startledhim. At another window of the same house, moreover, appeared oldMistress Hibbins, the Governor's sister, also with a lamp, which, eventhus far off, revealed the expression of her sour and discontentedface. She thrust forth her head from the lattice, and looked anxiouslyupward. Beyond the shadow of a doubt, this venerable witch-lady hadheard Mr. Dimmesdale's outcry, and interpreted it, with itsmultitudinous echoes and reverberations, as the clamour of thefiends and night-hags, with whom she was well known to make excursionsinto the forest. Detecting the gleam of Governor Bellingham's lamp, the old ladyquickly extinguished her own, and vanished. Possibly, she went upamong the clouds. The minister saw nothing further of her motions. Themagistrate, after a wary observation of the darkness- into which,nevertheless, he could see but little farther than he might into amill-stone- retired from the window. The minister grew comparatively calm. His eyes, however, were soongreeted by a little, glimmering light, which, at first a long way off,was approaching up the street. It threw a gleam of recognition on herea post, and there a garden-fence, and here a latticed windowpane,and there a pump, with its full trough of water, and here, again, anarched door of oak, with an iron knocker, and a rough log for thedoor-step. The Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale noted all these minuteparticulars, even while firmly convinced that the doom of hisexistence was stealing onward, in the footsteps which he now heard;and that the gleam of the lantern would fall upon him, in a fewmoments more, and reveal his long-hidden secret. As the light grewnearer, he beheld, within its illuminated circle, his brotherclergyman- or, to speak more accurately, his professional father, aswell as highly valued friend- the Reverend Mr. Wilson; who, as Mr.Dimmesdale now conjectured, had been praying at the bedside of somedying man. And so he had. The good old minister came freshly fromthe death-chamber of Governor Winthrop, who had passed from earth toheaven within that very hour. And now, surrounded, like the saint-likepersonages of olden times, with a radiant halo, that glorified himamid this gloomy night of sin- as if the departed Governor had lefthim an inheritance of his glory, or as if he had caught upon himselfthe distant shine of the celestial city, while looking thitherwardto see the triumphant pilgrim pass within its gates- now, in short,good Father Wilson was moving homeward, aiding his footsteps with alighted lantern! The glimmer of this luminary suggested the aboveconceits to Mr. Dimmesdale, who smiled- nay, almost laughed at them-and then wondered if he were going mad. As the Reverend Mr. Wilson passed beside the scaffold, closelymuffling his Geneva cloak about him with one arm, and holding thelantern before his breast with the other, the minister could hardlyrestrain himself from speaking. "A good evening to you, venerable Father Wilson! Come up hither, Ipray you, and pass a pleasant hour with me!" Good heavens! Had Mr. Dimmesdale actually spoken? For one instant,he believed that these words had passed his lips. But they wereuttered only within his imagination. The venerable Father Wilsoncontinued to step slowly onward, looking carefully at the muddypathway before his feet, and never once turning his head toward theguilty platform. When the light of the glimmering lantern had fadedquite away, the minister discovered, by the faintness which cameover him, that the last few moments had been a crisis of terribleanxiety; although his mind had made an involuntary effort to relieveitself by a kind of lurid playfulness. Shortly afterwards, the like grisly sense of the humorous againstole in among the solemn phantoms of his thought. He felt his limbsgrowing stiff with the unaccustomed chilliness of the night, anddoubted whether he should be able to descend the steps of thescaffold. Morning would break, and find him there. The neighbourhoodwould begin to rouse itself. The earliest riser, coming forth in thedim twilight, would perceive a vaguely defined figure aloft on theplace of shame; and, half crazed betwixt alarm and curiosity, wouldgo, knocking from door to door, summoning all the people to behold theghost- as he needs must think it- of some defunct transgressor. Adusky tumult would flap its wings from one house to another. Then- themorning light still waxing stronger- old patriarchs would rise up ingreat haste, each in his flannel gown, and matronly dames, withoutpausing to put off their night-gear. The whole tribe of decorouspersonages, who had never heretofore been seen with a single hair oftheir heads awry, would start into public view, with the disorder of anightmare in their aspects. Old Governor Bellingham would comegrimly forth, with his King James ruff fastened askew; and MistressHibbins, with some twigs of the forest clinging to her skirts, andlooking sourer than ever, as having hardly got a wink of sleep afterher night ride; and good Father Wilson, too, after spending half thenight at a death-bed, and liking ill to be disturbed, thus early,out of his dreams about the glorified saints. Hither, likewise,would come the elders and deacons of Mr Dimmesdale's church, and theyoung virgins who so idolised their minister, and had made a shrinefor him in their white bosoms; which now, by-the-bye, in their hurryand confusion, they would scantily have given themselves time to coverwith their kerchiefs. All people, in a word, would come stumbling overtheir thresholds, and turning up their amazed and horror-strickenvisages around the scaffold. Whom would they discern there, with thered eastern light upon his brow? Whom, but the Reverend ArthurDimmesdale, half frozen to death, overwhelmed with shame, and standingwhere Hester Prynne had stood! Carried away by the grotesque horror of this picture, theminister, unawares, and to his own infinite alarm, burst into agreat peal of laughter. It was immediately responded to by a light,airy, childish laugh, in which, with a thrill of the heart- but heknew not whether of exquisite pain, or pleasure as acute- herecognised the tones of little Pearl. "Pearl! Little Pearl!" cried he, after a moment's pause; then,suppressing his voice- "Hester! Hester Prynne! Are you there?" "Yes; it is Hester Prynne!" she replied, in a tone of surprise;and the minister heard her footsteps approaching from the sidewalk,along which she had been passing. "It is I, and my little Pearl." "Whence come you, Hester?" asked the minister. "What sent youhither?" "I have been watching at a death-bed," answered Hester Prynne- "atGovernor Winthrop's death-bed, and have taken his measure for arobe, and am now going homeward to my dwelling." "Come up hither, Hester, thou and little Pearl," said the ReverendMr. Dimmesdale. "Ye have both been here before, but I was not withyou. Come up hither once again, and we will stand all three together!" She silently ascended the steps, and stood on the platform,holding little Pearl by the hand. The minister felt for the child'sother hand, and took it. The moment that he did so, there came whatseemed a tumultuous rush of new life, other life than his own, pouringlike a torrent into his heart, and hurrying through all his veins,as if the mother and the child were communicating their vital warmthto his half-torpid system. The three formed an electric chain. "Minister!" whispered little Pearl. "What wouldst thou say, child?" asked Mr. Dimmesdale. "Wilt thou stand here with mother and me, to-morrow noontide?"inquired Pearl. "Nay; not so, my little Pearl," answered the minister; for, with thenew energy of the moment, all the dread of public exposure, that hadso long been the anguish of his life, had returned upon him; and hewas already trembling at the conjunction in which- with a strange joy,nevertheless- he now found himself. "Not so, my child. I shall,indeed, stand with thy mother and thee one other day, but notto-morrow." Pearl laughed, and attempted to pull away her hand. But the ministerheld it fast. "A moment longer, my child!" said he. "But wilt thou promise," asked Pearl, "to take my hand, and mother'shand, to-morrow noontide?" "Not then, Pearl," said the minister, "but another time." "And what other time?" persisted the child. "At the great judgment day," whispered the minister- and,strangely enough, the sense that he was a professional teacher ofthe truth impelled him to answer the child so. "Then, and there,before the judgment-seat, thy mother, and thou, and I, must standtogether. But the daylight of this world shall not see our meeting!" Pearl laughed again. But, before Mr. Dimmesdale had done speaking, a light gleamed farand wide over all the muffled sky. It was doubtless caused by one ofthose meteors which the night-watcher may so often observe burning outto waste, in the vacant regions of the atmosphere. So powerful was itsradiance, that it thoroughly illuminated the dense medium of cloudbetwixt the sky and earth. The great vault brightened, like the domeof an immense lamp. It showed the familiar scene of the street, withthe distinctness of mid-day, but also with the awfulness that isalways imparted to familiar objects by an unaccustomed light. Thewooden houses, with their jutting stories and quaint gable-peaks;the door-steps and thresholds, with the early grass springing up aboutthem; the garden-plots, black with freshly turned earth; thewheel-track, little worn, and, even in the market-place, margined withgreen on either side all- were visible, but with a singularity ofaspect that seemed to give another moral interpretation to thethings of this world than they had ever borne before. And therestood the minister, with his hand over his heart; and Hester Prynne,with the embroidered letter glimmering on her bosom; and little Pearl,herself a symbol, and the connecting link between those two. Theystood in the noon of that strange and solemn splendour, as if itwere the light that is to reveal all secrets, and the daybreak thatshall unite all who belong to one another. There was witchcraft in little Pearl's eyes; and her face, as sheglanced upward at the minister, wore that naughty smile which made itsexpression frequently so elvish. She withdrew her hand from Mr.Dimmesdale's, and pointed across the street. But he clasped both hishands over his breast, and cast his eyes towards the zenith. Nothing was more common, in those days, than to interpret allmeteoric appearances, and other natural phenomena, that occurredwith less regularity than the rise and set of sun and moon, as so manyrevelations from a supernatural source. Thus, a blazing spear, a swordof flame, a bow, or a sheaf of arrows, seen in the midnight sky,prefigured Indian warfare. Pestilence was known to have been forebodedby a shower of crimson light. We doubt whether any marked event, forgood or evil, ever befell New England, from its settlement down toRevolutionary times, of which the inhabitants had not beenpreviously warned by some spectacle of this nature. Not seldom, it hadbeen seen by multitudes. Oftener, however, its credibility rested onthe faith of some lonely eye-witness, who beheld the wonder throughthe coloured, magnifying, and distorting medium of his imagination,and shaped it more distinctly in his afterthought. It was, indeed, amajestic idea, that the destiny of nations should be revealed, inthese awful hieroglyphics, on the cope of heaven. A scroll so widemight not be deemed too expansive for Providence to write a people'sdoom upon. The belief was a favourite one with our forefathers, asbetokening that their infant commonwealth was under a celestialguardianship of peculiar intimacy and strictness. But what shall wesay, when an individual discovers a revelation, addressed to himselfalone, on the same vast sheet of record! In such a case, it could onlybe the symptom of a highly disordered mental state, when a man,rendered morbidly self-contemplative by long, intense, and secretpain, had extended his egotism over the whole expanse of nature, untilthe firmament itself should appear no more than a fitting page for hissoul's history and fate! We impute it, therefore, solely to the disease in his own eye andheart, that the minister, looking upward to the zenith, beheld therethe appearance of an immense letter- the letter A- marked out in linesof dull red light. Not but the meteor may have shown itself at thatpoint, burning duskily through a veil of cloud; but with no such shapeas his guilty imagination gave it; or, at least, with so littledefiniteness, that another's guilt might have seen another symbol init. There was a singular circumstance that characterised Mr.Dimmesdale's psychological state at this moment. All the time thathe gazed upward to the zenith, he was, nevertheless, perfectly awarethat little Pearl was pointing her finger towards old RogerChillingworth, who stood at no great distance from the scaffold. Theminister appeared to see him, with the same glance that discernedthe miraculous letter. To his features, as to all other objects, themeteoric light imparted a new expression; or it might well be that thephysician was not careful then, as at all other times, to hide themalevolence with which he looked upon his victim. Certainly, if themeteor kindled up the sky, and disclosed the earth, with anawfulness that admonished Hester Prynne and the clergyman of the dayof judgment, then might Roger Chillingworth have passed with themfor the arch-fiend, standing there with a smile and scowl, to claimhis own. So vivid was the expression, or so intense the minister'sperception of it, that it seemed still to remain painted on thedarkness, after the meteor had vanished, with an effect as if thestreet and all things else were at once annihilated. "Who is that man, Hester?" gasped Mr. Dimmesdale, overcome withterror. "I shiver at him! Dost thou know the man? I hate him, Hester!" She remembered her oath, and was silent. "I tell thee, my soul shivers at him!" muttered the ministeragain. "Who is he? Who is he? Canst thou do nothing for me? I have anameless horror of the man!" "Minister," said little Pearl, "I can tell thee who he is!" "Quickly, then, child!" said the minister, bending his ear closeto her lips. "Quickly!- and as low as thou canst whisper." Pearl mumbled something into his ear, that sounded, indeed, likehuman language, but was only such gibberish as children may be heardamusing themselves with, by the hour together. At all events, if itinvolved any secret information in regard to old RogerChillingworth, it was in a tongue unknown to the erudite clergyman,and did but increase the bewilderment of his mind. The elvish childthen laughed aloud. "Dost thou mock me now?" said the minister. "Thou wast not bold!- thou wast not true!" answered the child. "Thouwouldst not promise to take my hand, and mother's hand, to-morrownoontide!" "Worthy sir," answered the physician, who had now advanced to thefoot of the platform. "Pious Master Dimmesdale! can this be you? Well,well, indeed! We men of study, whose heads are in our books, have needto be straitly looked after! We dream in our waking moments, andwalk in our sleep. Come, good sir, and my dear friend, I pray you, letme lead you home!" "How knewest thou that I was here?" asked the minister fearfully. "Verily, and in good faith," answered Roger Chillingworth, "I knewnothing of the matter. I had spent the better part of the night at thebedside of the worshipful Governor Winthrop, doing what my poorskill might to give him ease. He going home to a better world, I,likewise, was on my way homeward, when this strange light shone out.Come with me, I beseech you, reverend sir; else you will be poorlyable to do Sabbath duty to-morrow. Aha! see now, how they troublethe brain- these books!- these books! You should study less, good sir,and take a little pastime; or these night-whimseys will grow uponyou." "I will go home with you," said Mr. Dimmesdale. With a chill despondency, like one awaking, all nerveless, from anugly dream, be yielded himself to the physician, and was led away. The next day, however, being the Sabbath, he preached a discoursewhich was held to be the richest and most powerful, and the mostreplete with heavenly influences, that had ever proceeded from hislips. Souls, it is said, more souls than one, were brought to thetruth by the efficacy of that sermon, and vowed within themselves tocherish a holy gratitude towards Mr. Dimmesdale throughout the longhereafter. But, as he came down the pulpit steps, the grey-beardedsexton met him, holding up a black glove, which the ministerrecognised as his own. "It was found," said the sexton, "this morning, on the scaffoldwhere evil-doers are set up to public shame. Satan dropped it there, Itake it, intending a scurrilous jest against your reverence. But,indeed, he was blind and foolish, as he ever and always is. A purehand needs no glove to cover it!" "Thank you, my good friend," said the minister gravely, but startledat heart; for, so confused was his remembrance, that he had almostbrought himself to look at the events of the past night asvisionary. "Yes, it seems to be my glove, indeed!" "And, since Satan saw fit to steal it, your reverence must needshandle him without gloves, henceforward," remarked the old sexton,grimly smiling. "But did your reverence hear of the portent that wasseen last night?- a great red letter in the sky- the letter A, whichwe interpret to stand for Angel. For, as our good Governor Winthropwas made an angel this past night, it was doubtless held fit thatthere should be some notice thereof!" "No," answered the minister, "I had not heard of it." XIII. ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER. IN her late singular interview with Mr. Dimmesdale, Hester Prynnewas shocked at the condition to which she found the clergyman reduced.His nerve seemed absolutely destroyed. His moral force was abased intomore than childish weakness. It grovelled helpless on the ground, evenwhile his intellectual faculties retained their pristine strength,or had perhaps acquired a morbid energy, which disease only could havegiven them. With her knowledge of a train of circumstances hidden fromall others, she could readily infer that, besides the legitimateaction of his own conscience, a terrible machinery had been brought tobear, and was still operating, on Mr. Dimmesdale's well-being andrepose. Knowing what this poor fallen man had once been, her wholesoul was moved by the shuddering terror with which he had appealedto her- the outcast woman- for support against his instinctivelydiscovered enemy. She decided, moreover, that he had a right to herutmost aid. Little accustomed, in her long seclusion from society,to measure her ideas of right and wrong by any standard external toherself, Hester saw- or seemed to see- that there lay aresponsibility upon her, in reference to the clergyman, which she owedto no other, nor to the whole world besides. The links that united herto the rest of human kind- links of flowers, or silk, or gold, orwhatever the material- had all been broken. Here was the iron linkof mutual crime, which neither he nor she could break. Like allother ties, it brought along with it its obligations. Hester Prynne did not now occupy precisely the same position inwhich we beheld her during the earlier periods of her ignominy.Years had come and gone. Pearl was now seven years old. Her mother,with the scarlet letter on her breast, glittering in its fantasticembroidery, had long been a familiar object to the townspeople. Asis apt to be the case when a person stands out in any prominencebefore the community, and, at the same time, interferes neither withpublic nor individual interests and convenience, a species ofgeneral regard had ultimately grown up in reference to HesterPrynne. It is to the credit of human nature, that, except where itsselfishness is brought into play, it loves more readily than it hates.Hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed tolove, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritationof the original feeling of hostility. In this matter of Hester Prynne,there was neither irritation nor irksomeness. She never battled withthe public, but submitted, uncomplainingly, to its worst usage; shemade no claim upon it, in requital for what she suffered; she didnot weigh upon its sympathies. Then, also, the blameless purity of herlife during all these years in which she had been set apart to infamy,was reckoned largely in her favour. With nothing now to lose, in thesight of mankind, and with no hope, and seemingly no wish, ofgaining anything, it could only be a genuine regard for virtue thathad brought back the poor wanderer to its paths. It was perceived, too, that while Hester never put forward eventhe humblest title to share in the world's privileges- further than tobreathe the common air, and earn daily bread for little Pearl andherself by the faithful labour of her hands- she was quick toacknowledge her sisterhood with the race of man, whenever benefitswere to be conferred. None so ready as she to give of her littlesubstance to every demand of poverty; even though the bitter-heartedpauper threw back a gibe in requital of the food brought regularlyto his door, or the garments wrought for him by the fingers that couldhave embroidered a monarch's robe. None so self-devoted as Hester,when pestilence stalked through the town. In all seasons ofcalamity, indeed, whether general or of individuals, the outcast ofsociety at once found her place. She came, not as a guest, but as arightful inmate into the household that was darkened by trouble; as ifits gloomy twilight were a medium in which she was entitled to holdintercourse with her fellow-creatures. There glimmered the embroideredletter, with comfort in its unearthly ray. Elsewhere the token of sin,it was the taper of the sick-chamber. It had even thrown its gleam, inthe sufferer's hard extremity, across the verge of time. It hadshown him where to set his foot, while the light of earth was fastbecoming dim, and ere the light of futurity could reach him. In suchemergencies, Hester's nature showed itself warm and rich; awell-spring of human tenderness, unfailing to every real demand, andinexhaustible by the largest. Her breast, with its badge of shame, wasbut the softer pillow for the head that needed one. She wasself-ordained a Sister of Mercy; or, we may rather say, the world'sheavy hand had so ordained her, when neither the world nor shelooked forward to this result. The letter was the symbol of hercalling. Such helpfulness was found in her- so much power to do, andpower to sympathise- that many people refused to interpret the scarletA by its original signification. They said that it meant Able; sostrong was Hester Prynne, with a woman's strength. It was only the darkened house that could contain her. When sunshinecame again, she was not there. Her shadow had faded across thethreshold. The helpful inmate had departed, without one backwardglance to gather up the meed of gratitude, if any were in the heartsof those whom she had served so zealously. Meeting them in the street,she never raised her head to receive their greeting. If they wereresolute to accost her, she laid her finger on the scarlet letterand passed on. This might be pride, but was so like humility, thatit produced all the softening influence of the latter quality on thepublic mind. The public is despotic in its temper; it is capable ofdenying common justice, when too strenuously demanded as a right;but quite as frequently it awards more than justice when the appeal ismade, as despots love to have it made, entirely to its generosity.Interpreting Hester Prynne's deportment as an appeal of this nature,society was inclined to show its former victim a more benigncountenance than she cared to be favoured with, or, perchance, thanshe deserved. The rulers, and the wise and learned men of the community, werelonger in acknowledging the influence of Hester's good qualitiesthan the people. The prejudices which they shared in common with thelatter were fortified in themselves by an iron framework of reasoning,that made it a far tougher labour to expel them. Day by day,nevertheless, their sour and rigid wrinkles were relaxing intosomething which, in the due course of years, might grow to be anexpression of almost benevolence. Thus it was with the men of rank, onwhom their eminent position imposed the guardianship of the publicmorals. Individuals in private life, meanwhile, had quite forgivenHester Prynne for her frailty; nay, more, they had begun to lookupon the scarlet letter as the token, not of that one sin, for whichshe had borne so long and dreary a penance, but of her many good deedssince. "Do you see that woman with the embroidered badge?" theywould say to strangers. "It is our Hester- the town's own Hester-who is so kind to the poor, so helpful to the sick, so comfortableto the afflicted!" Then, it is true, the propensity of human nature totell the very worst of itself, when embodied in the person of another,would constrain them to whisper the black scandal of bygone years.It was none the less a fact, however, that, in the eyes of the verymen who spoke thus, the scarlet letter had the effect of the crosson a nun's bosom. It imparted to the wearer a kind of sacredness,which enabled her to walk securely amid all peril. Had she fallenamong thieves, it would have kept her safe. It was reported, andbelieved by many, that an Indian had drawn his arrow against thebadge, and that the missile struck it, but fell harmless to theground. The effect of the symbol- or, rather, of the position in respectto society that was indicated by it- on the mind of Hester Prynneherself, was powerful and peculiar. All the light and graceful foliageof her character had been withered up by this red-hot brand, and hadlong ago fallen away, leaving a bare and harsh outline, which mighthave been repulsive, had she possessed friends or companions to berepelled by it. Even the attractiveness of her person had undergonea similar change. It might be partly owing to the studied austerity ofher dress, and partly to the lack of demonstration in her manners.It was a sad transformation, too, that her rich and luxuriant hair hadeither been cut off, or was so completely hidden by a cap, that nota shining lock of it ever once gushed into the sunshine. It was due inpart to all these causes, but still more to something else, that thereseemed to be no longer anything in Hester's face for Love to dwellupon; nothing in Hester's form, though majestic and statue-like,that Passion would ever dream of clasping in its embrace; nothing inHester's bosom, to make it ever again the pillow of Affection. Someattribute had departed from her, the permanence of which had beenessential to keep her a woman. Such is frequently the fate, and suchthe stern development, of the feminine character and person, whenthe woman has encountered, and lived through, an experience ofpeculiar severity. If she be all tenderness, she will die. If shesurvive, the tenderness will either be crushed out of her, or- and theoutward semblance is the same- crushed so deeply into her heart thatit can never show itself more. The latter is perhaps the truesttheory. She who has once been woman, and ceased to be so, might at anymoment become a woman again, if there were only the magic touch toeffect the transfiguration. We shall see whether Hester Prynne wereafterwards so touched, and so transfigured. Much of the marble coldness of Hester's impression was to beattributed to the circumstance, that her life had turned, in a greatmeasure, from passion and feeling, to thought. Standing alone in theworld- alone, as to any dependence on society, and with little Pearlto be guided and protected- alone, and hopeless of retrieving herposition, even had she not scorned to consider it desirable- shecast away the fragments of a broken chain. The world's law was nolaw for her mind. It was an age in which the human intellect, newlyemancipated, had taken a more active and a wider range than for manycenturies before. Men of the sword had overthrown nobles and kings.Men bolder than these had overthrown and rearranged- not actually, butwithin the sphere of theory, which was their most real abode- thewhole system of ancient prejudice, wherewith was linked much ofancient principle. Hester Prynne imbibed this spirit. She assumed afreedom of speculation, then common enough on the other side of theAtlantic, but which our forefathers, had they known it, would haveheld to be a deadlier crime than that stigmatised by the scarletletter. In her lonesome cottage by the seashore, thoughts visited her,such as dared to enter no other dwelling in New England; shadowyguests, that would have been as perilous as demons to theirentertainer could they have been seen so much as knocking at her door. It is remarkable, that persons who speculate the most boldly oftenconform with the most perfect quietude to the external regulationsof society. The thought suffices them, without investing itself in theflesh and blood of action. So it seemed to be with Hester. Yet, hadlittle Pearl never come to her from the spiritual world, it might havebeen far otherwise. Then, she might have come down to us in history,hand in hand with Ann Hutchinson, as the foundress of a religioussect. She might, in one of her phases, have been a prophetess. Shemight, and not improbably would, have suffered death from the sterntribunals of the period, for attempting to undermine the foundationsof the Puritan establishment. But, in the education of her child,the mother's enthusiasm of thought had something to wreak itself upon.Providence, in the person of this little girl, had assigned toHester's charge the germ and blossom of womanhood, to be cherished anddeveloped amid a host of difficulties. Everything was against her. Theworld was hostile. The child's own nature had something wrong in it,which continually betokened that she had been born amiss- theeffluence of her mother's lawless passion- and often impelled Hesterto ask, in bitterness of heart, whether it were for ill or good thatthe poor little creature had been born at all. Indeed, the same dark question often rose into her mind, withreference to the whole race of womanhood. Was existence worthaccepting, even to the happiest among them? As concerned her ownindividual existence, she had long ago decided in the negative, anddismissed the point as settled. A tendency to speculation, though itmay keep woman quiet, as it does man, yet makes her sad. She discerns,it may be, such a hopeless task before her. As a first step, the wholesystem of society is to be torn down, and built up anew. Then, thevery nature of the opposite sex, or its long hereditary habit, whichhas become like nature, is to be essentially modified, before womancan be allowed to assume what seems a fair and suitable position.Finally, all other difficulties being obviated, woman cannot takeadvantage of these preliminary reforms, until she herself shall haveundergone a still mightier change; in which, perhaps, the etherealessence, wherein she has her truest life, will be found to haveevaporated. A woman never overcomes these problems by any exerciseof thought. They are not to be solved, or only in one way. If herheart chance to come uppermost, they vanish. Thus, Hester Prynne,whose heart had lost its regular and healthy throb, wandered without aclew in the dark labyrinth of mind; now turned aside by aninsurmountable precipice; now starting back from a deep chasm. Therewas wild and ghastly scenery all around her, and a home and comfortnowhere. At times, a fearful doubt strove to possess her soul, whetherit were not better to send Pearl at once to heaven, and go herselfto such futurity as Eternal Justice should provide. The scarlet letter had not done its office. Now, however, her interview with the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, on thenight of his vigil, had given her a new theme of reflection, andheld up to her an object that appeared worthy of any exertion andsacrifice for its attainment. She had witnessed the intense miserybeneath which the minister struggled, or, to speak more accurately,had ceased to struggle. She saw that he stood on the verge oflunacy, if he had not already stepped across it. It was impossibleto doubt, that, whatever painful efficacy there might be in the secretsting of remorse, a deadlier venom had been infused into it by thehand that proffered relief. A secret enemy had been continually by hisside, under the semblance of a friend and helper, and had availedhimself of the opportunities thus afforded for tampering with thedelicate springs of Mr. Dimmesdale's nature. Hester could not butask herself, whether there had not originally been a defect oftruth, courage, and loyalty, on her own part, in allowing the ministerto be thrown into a position where so much evil was to be foreboded,and nothing auspicious to be hoped. Her only justification lay inthe fact, that she had been able to discern no method of rescuinghim from a blacker ruin than had overwhelmed herself, except byacquiescing in Roger Chillingworth's scheme of disguise. Under thatimpulse, she had made her choice, and had chosen, as it nowappeared, the more wretched alternative of the two. She determinedto redeem her error, so far as it might yet be possible.Strengthened by years of hard and solemn trial, she felt herself nolonger so inadequate to cope with Roger Chillingworth as on thatnight, abased by sin, and half maddened by the ignominy that was stillnew, when they had talked together in the prison-chamber. She hadclimbed her way, since then, to a higher point. The old man, on theother hand, had brought himself nearer to her level, or perhapsbelow it, by the revenge which he had stooped for. In fine, Hester Prynne resolved to meet her former husband, and dowhat might be in her power for the rescue of the victim on whom he hadso evidently set his gripe. The occasion was not long to seek. Oneafternoon, walking with Pearl in a retired part of the peninsula,she beheld the old physician, with a basket on one arm, and a staff inthe other hand, stooping along the ground, in quest of roots and herbsto concoct his medicines withal. XIV. HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN. HESTER bade little Pearl run down to the margin of the water, andplay with the shells and tangled seaweed, until she should have talkedawhile with yonder gatherer of herbs. So the child flew away like abird, and, making bare her small white feet, went pattering alongthe moist margin of the sea. Here and there she came to a full stop,and peeped curiously into a pool, left by the retiring tide as amirror for Pearl to see her face in. Forth peeped at her, out of thepool, with dark, glistening curls around her head, and an elf-smile inher eyes, the image of a little maid, whom Pearl, having no otherplaymate, invited to take her hand, and run a race with her. But thevisionary little maid, on her part, beckoned likewise, as if to say,"This is a better place! Come thou into the pool!" And Pearl, steppingin, mid-leg deep, beheld her own white feet at the bottom; while,out of a still lower depth, came the gleam of a kind of fragmentarysmile, floating to and fro in the agitated water. Meanwhile, her mother had accosted the physician. "I would speak a word with you," said she- "a word that concernsus much." "Aha! and is it Mistress Hester that has a word for old RogerChillingworth?" answered he, raising himself from his stoopingposture. "With all my heart! Why, mistress, I hear good tidings ofyou, on all hands! No longer ago than yester-eve, a magistrate, a wiseand godly man, was discoursing of your affairs, Mistress Hester, andwhispered me that there had been question concerning you in thecouncil. It was debated whether or no, with safety to the common weal,yonder scarlet letter might be taken off your bosom. On my life,Hester, I made my entreaty to the worshipful magistrate that itmight be done forthwith!" "It lies not in the pleasure of the magistrates to take off thisbadge." calmly replied Hester. "Were I worthy to be quit of it, itwould fall away of its own nature, or be transformed into somethingthat should speak a different purport." "Nay, then, wear it, if it suit you better," rejoined he. "A womanmust needs follow her own fancy touching the adornment of herperson. The letter is gaily embroidered, and shows right bravely onyour bosom!" All this while, Hester had been looking steadily at the old man, andwas shocked, as well as wonder-smitten, to discern what a change hadbeen wrought upon him within the past seven years. It was not somuch that he had grown older; for though the traces of advancinglife were visible, he bore his age well, and seemed to retain a wiryvigour and alertness. But the former aspect of an intellectual andstudious man, calm and quiet, which was what she best remembered inhim, had altogether vanished, and been succeeded by an eager,searching, almost fierce, yet carefully guarded look. It seemed tobe his wish and purpose to mask this expression with a smile; butthe latter played him false, and flickered over his visage soderisively, that the spectator could see his blackness all thebetter for it. Ever and anon, too, there came a glare of red light outof his eyes; as if the old man's soul were on fire, and kept onsmouldering duskily within his breast, until, by some casual puff ofpassion, it was blown into a momentary flame. This he repressed, asspeedily as possible, and strove to look as if nothing of the kind hadhappened. In a word, old Roger Chillingworth was a striking evidence ofman's faculty of transforming himself into a devil, if he will only,for a reasonable space of time, undertake a devil's office. Thisunhappy person had effected such a transformation, by devotinghimself, for seven years, to the constant analysis of a heart fullof torture, and deriving his enjoyment thence, and adding fuel tothose fiery tortures which he analysed and gloated over. The scarlet letter burned on Hester Prynne's bosom. Here was anotherruin, the responsibility of which came partly home to her. "What see you in my face," asked the physician, "that you look at itso earnestly?" "Something that would make me weep, if there were any tears bitterenough for it," answered she. "But let it pass! It is of yondermiserable man that I would speak." "And what of him?" cried Roger Chillingworth eagerly, as if he lovedthe topic, and were glad of an opportunity to discuss it with the onlyperson of whom he could make a confidant. "Not to hide the truth,Mistress Hester, my thoughts happen just now to be busy with thegentleman. So speak freely; and I will make answer." "When we last spake together," said Hester, "now seven years ago, itwas your pleasure to extort a promise of secrecy, as touching theformer relation betwixt yourself and me. As the life and good fameof yonder man were in your hands, there seemed no choice to me, saveto be silent, in accordance with your behest. Yet it was not withoutheavy misgivings that I thus bound myself; for, having cast off allduty towards other human beings, there remained a duty towards him;and something whispered me that I was betraying it, in pledging myselfto keep your counsel. Since that day, no man is so near to him as you.You tread behind his every footstep. You are beside him, sleepingand waking. You search his thoughts. You burrow and rankle in hisheart! Your clutch is on his life, and you cause him to die daily aliving death; and still he knows you not. In permitting this, I havesurely acted a false part by the only man to whom the power was leftme to be true!" "What choice had you?" asked Roger Chillingworth. "My finger,pointed at this man, would have hurled him from his pulpit into adungeon- thence, peradventure, to the gallows!" "It had been better so!" said Hester Prynne. "What evil have I done the man?" asked Roger Chillingworth again. "Itell thee, Hester Prynne, the richest fee that ever physician earnedfrom monarch could not have bought such care as I have wasted onthis miserable priest! But for my aid, his life would have burned awayin torments, within the first two years after the perpetration ofhis crime and thine. For, Hester, his spirit lacked the strengththat could have borne up, as thine has, beneath a burden like thyscarlet letter. Oh, I could reveal a goodly secret! But enough! Whatart can do, I have exhausted on him. That he now breathes, andcreeps upon earth, is owing all to me!" "Better he had died at once!" said Hester Prynne. "Yea, woman, thou sayest truly!" cried old Roger Chillingworth,letting the lurid fire of his heart blaze out before her eyes. "Betterhad he died at once! Never did mortal suffer what this man hassuffered. And all, all, in the sight of his worst enemy! He has beenconscious of me. He has felt an influence dwelling always upon himlike a curse. He knew, by some spiritual sense- for the Creator nevermade another being so sensitive as this- he knew that no friendly handwas pulling at his heart-strings, and that an eye was lookingcuriously into him, which sought only evil, and found it. But heknew not that the eye and hand were mine! With the superstition commonto his brotherhood, he fancied himself given over to a fiend, to betortured with frightful dreams, and desperate thoughts, the sting ofremorse, and despair of pardon; as a foretaste of what awaits himbeyond the grave. But it was the constant shadow of my presence!-the closest propinquity of the man whom he had most vilely wronged!-and who had grown to exist only by this perpetual poison of the direstrevenge! Yea, indeed!- he did not err!- there was a fiend at hiselbow! A mortal man, with once a human heart, has become a fiend forhis especial torment!" The unfortunate physician, while uttering these words, lifted hishands with a look of horror, as if he had beheld some frightful shape,which he could not recognise, usurping the place of his own image in aglass. It was one of those moments- which sometimes occur only atthe interval of years- when a man's moral aspect is faithfullyrevealed to his mind's eye. Not improbably, he had never before viewedhimself as he did now. "Hast thou not tortured him enough?" said Hester, noticing the oldman's look. "Has he not paid thee all?" "No!- no!- he has but increased the debt!" answered the physician;and as he proceeded, his manner lost its fiercer characteristics,and subsided into gloom. "Dost thou remember me, Hester, as I was nineyears agone? Even then, I was in the autumn of my days, nor was it theearly autumn. But all my life had been made up of earnest, studious,thoughtful, quiet years, bestowed faithfully for the increase ofmine own knowledge, and faithfully, too, though this latter object wasbut casual to the other- faithfully for the advancement of humanwelfare. No life had been more peaceful and innocent than mine; fewlives so rich with benefits conferred. Dost thou remember me? Was Inot, though you might deem me cold, nevertheless a man thoughtfulfor others, craving little for himself- kind, true, just, and ofconstant, if not warm affections? Was I not all this?" "All this, and more," said Hester. "And what am I now?" demanded he, looking into her face, andpermitting the whole evil within him to be written on his features. "Ihave already told thee what I am! A fiend! Who made me so?" "It was myself!" cried Hester, shuddering. "It was I, not lessthan he. Why hast thou not avenged thyself on me?" "I have left thee to the scarlet letter," replied RogerChillingworth. "If that have not avenged me, I can do no more!" He laid his finger on it, with a smile. "It has avenged thee!" answered Hester Prynne. "I judged no less," said the physician. "And now, what wouldstthou with me touching this man?" "I must reveal the secret," answered Hester firmly. "He must discernthee in thy true character. What may be the result, I know not. Butthis long debt of confidence, due from me to him, whose bane andruin I have been, shall at length be paid. So far as concerns theoverthrow or preservation of his fair fame and his earthly state,and perchance his life, he is in thy hands. Nor do I- whom the scarletletter has disciplined to truth, though it be the truth of red-hotiron, entering into the soul- nor do I perceive such advantage inhis living any longer a life of ghastly emptiness, that I shallstoop to implore thy mercy. Do with him as thou wilt! There is no goodfor him- no good for me- no good for thee! There is no good for littlePearl! There is no path to guide us out of this dismal maze." "Woman, I could well-nigh pity thee!" said Roger Chillingworth,unable to restrain a thrill of admiration too; for there was a qualityalmost majestic in the despair which she expressed. "Thou hadstgreat elements. Peradventure, hadst thou met earlier with a betterlove than mine, this evil had not been. I pity thee, for the good thathas been wasted in thy nature!" "And I thee," answered Hester Prynne, "for the hatred that hastransformed a wise and just man to a fiend! Wilt thou yet purge it outof thee, and be once more human? If not for his sake, then doublyfor thine own! Forgive, and leave his further retribution to the Powerthat claims it! I said, but now, that there could be no good event forhim, or thee, or me, who are here wandering together in this gloomymaze of evil, and stumbling, at every step, over the guilt wherewithwe have strewn our path. It is not so! There might be good for thee,and thee alone, since thou hast been deeply wronged, and hast it atthy will to pardon. Wilt thou give up that only privilege? Wilt thoureject that priceless benefit?" "Peace, Hester, peace!" replied the old man, with gloomysternness. "It is not granted me to pardon. I have no such power asthou tellest me of. My old faith, long forgotten, comes back to me,and explains all that we do, and all we suffer. By thy first stepawry, thou didst plant the germ of evil; but since that moment, it hasall been a dark necessity. Ye that have wronged me are not sinful,save in a kind of typical illusion; neither am I fiend-like, whohave snatched a fiend's office from his hands. It is our fate. Let theblack flower blossom as it may! Now go thy ways, and deal as thou wiltwith yonder man." He waved his hand and betook himself again to his employment ofgathering herbs. XV. HESTER AND PEARL. SO Roger Chillingworth- a deformed old figure, with a face thathaunted men's memories longer than they liked- took leave of HesterPrynne, and went stooping away along the earth. He gathered here andthere an herb, or grubbed up a root, and put it into the basket on hisarm. His grey beard almost touched the ground, as he crept onward.Hester gazed after him a little while, looking with a half fantasticcuriosity to see whether the tender grass of early spring would not beblighted beneath him, and show the wavering track of his footsteps,sere and brown, across its cheerful verdure. She wondered what sort ofherbs they were, which the old man was so sedulous to gather. Wouldnot the earth, quickened to an evil purpose by the sympathy of hiseye, greet him with poisonous shrubs, of species hitherto unknown,that would start up under his fingers? Or might it suffice him, thatevery wholesome growth should be converted into somethingdeleterious and malignant at his touch? Did the sun, which shone sobrightly everywhere else, really fall upon him? Or was there, as itrather seemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with hisdeformity, whichever way he turned himself? And whither was he nowgoing? Would he not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren andblasted spot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadlynightshade, dogwood, henbane, and whatever else of vegetablewickedness the climate could produce, all flourishing with hideousluxuriance? Or would he spread bat's wings and flee away, looking somuch the uglier, the higher he rose towards heaven? "Be it sin or no," said Hester Prynne bitterly, as she still gazedafter him, "I hate the man!" She upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome orlessen it. Attempting to do so, she thought of those long-past days,in a distant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from theseclusion of his study, and sit down in the firelight of their home,and in the light of her nuptial smile. He needed to bask himself inthat smile, he said, in order that the chill of so many lonely hoursamong his books might be taken off the scholar's heart. Such sceneshad once appeared not otherwise than happy, but now, as viewed throughthe dismal medium of her subsequent life, they classed themselvesamong her ugliest remembrances. She marvelled how such scenes couldhave been! She marvelled how she could ever have been wrought uponto marry him! She deemed it her crime most to be repented of, that shehad ever endured, and reciprocated, the lukewarm grasp of his hand,and had suffered the smile of her lips and eyes to mingle and meltinto his own. And it seemed a fouler offence committed by RogerChillingworth, than any which had since been done him, that, in thetime when her heart knew no better, he had persuaded her to fancyherself happy by his side. "Yes, I hate him!" repeated Hester, more bitterly than before. "Hebetrayed me! He has done me worse wrong than I did him!" Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along withit the utmost passion of her heart! Else it may be their miserablefortune, as it was Roger Chillingworth's, when some mightier touchthan their own may have awakened all her sensibilities, to bereproached even for the calm content, the marble image of happiness,which they will have imposed upon her as the warm reality. ButHester ought long ago to have done with this injustice. What did itbetoken? Had seven long years, under the torture of the scarletletter, inflicted so much of misery, and wrought out no repentance? The emotions of that brief space, while she stood gazing after thecrooked figure of old Roger Chillingworth, threw a dark light onHester's state of mind, revealing much that she might not otherwisehave acknowledged to herself. He being gone, she summoned back her child. "Pearl! Little Pearl! Where are you?" Pearl, whose activity of spirit never flagged, had been at no lossfor amusement while her mother talked with the old gatherer ofherbs. At first, as already told, she had flirted fancifully withher own image in a pool of water, beckoning the phantom forth, and- asit declined to venture- seeking a passage for herself into itssphere of impalpable earth and unattainable sky. Soon finding,however, that either she or the image was unreal, she turned elsewherefor better pastime. She made little boats out of birch-bark, andfreighted them with snail-shells, and sent out more ventures on themighty deep than any merchant in New England; but the larger part ofthem foundered near the shore. She seized a live horse-shoe by thetail, and made prize of several five-fingers, and laid out ajelly-fish to melt in the warm sun. Then she took up the white foam,that streaked the line of the advancing tide, and threw it upon thebreeze, scampering after it, with winged footsteps, to catch the greatsnowflakes ere they fell. Perceiving a flock of beach-birds, thatfed and fluttered along the shore, the naughty child picked up herapron full of pebbles, and, creeping from rock to rock after thesesmall sea-fowl, displayed remarkable dexterity in pelting them. Onelittle grey bird, with a white breast, Pearl was almost sure, had beenhit by a pebble, and fluttered away with a broken wing. But then theelf-child sighed, and gave up her sport; because it grieved her tohave done harm to a little being that was as wild as the sea-breeze,or as wild as Pearl herself. Her final employment was to gather sea-weed, of various kinds, andmake herself a scarf, or mantle, and a head-dress, and thus assume theaspect of a little mermaid. She inherited her mother's gift fordevising drapery and costume. As the last touch to her mermaid garb,Pearl took some eel-grass, and imitated, as best she could, on her ownbosom, the decoration with which she was so familiar on hermother's. A letter- the letter A- but freshly green, instead ofscarlet! The child bent her chin upon her breast, and contemplatedthis device with strange interest; even as if the one only thing forwhich she had been sent into the world was to make out its hiddenimport. "I wonder if mother will ask me what it means?" thought Pearl. Just then, she heard her mother's voice, and flitting along aslightly as one of the little sea-birds, appeared before Hester Prynne,dancing, laughing, and pointing her finger to the ornament upon herbosom. "My little Pearl," said Hester, after a moment's silence, "the greenletter, and on thy childish bosom, has no purport. But dost thou know,my child, what this letter means which thy mother is doomed to wear?" "Yes, mother," said the child. "It is the great letter A. Thouhast taught me in the horn-book." Hester looked steadily into her little face; but, though there wasthat singular expression which she had so often remarked in herblack eyes, she could not satisfy herself whether Pearl reallyattached any meaning to the symbol. She felt a morbid desire toascertain the point. "Dost thou know, child, wherefore thy mother wears this letter?" "Truly do I!" answered Pearl, looking brightly into her mother'sface. "It is for the same reason that the minister keeps his hand overhis heart!" "And what reason is that?" asked Hester, half smiling at theabsurd incongruity of the child's observation; but, on secondthoughts, turning pale. "What has the letter to do with any heart,save mine?" "Nay, mother, I have told all I know," said Pearl, more seriouslythan she was wont to speak. "Ask yonder old man whom thou hast beentalking with! It may be he can tell. But in good earnest now, motherdear, what does this scarlet letter mean?- and why dost thou wear iton thy bosom?- and why does the minister keep his hand over hisheart?" She took her mother's hand in both her own, and gazed into hereyes with an earnestness that was seldom seen in her wild andcapricious character. The thought occurred to Hester, that the childmight really be seeking to approach her with childlike confidence, anddoing what she could, and as intelligently as she knew how, toestablish a meeting-point of sympathy. It showed Pearl in anunwonted aspect. Heretofore, the mother, while loving her child withthe intensity of a soul affection, had schooled herself to hope forlittle other return than the waywardness of an April breeze; whichspends its time in airy sport, and has its gusts of inexplicablepassion, and is petulant in its best of moods, and chills oftener thancaresses you, when you take it to your bosom; in requital of whichmisdemeanours, it will sometimes, of its own vague purpose, kissyour cheek with a kind of doubtful tenderness, and play gently withyour hair, and then be gone about its other idle business, leaving adreamy pleasure at your heart. And this, moreover, was a mother'sestimate of the child's disposition. Any other observer might haveseen few but unamiable traits, and have given them a far darkercolouring. But now the idea came strongly into Hester's mind, thatPearl, with her remarkable precocity and acuteness, might already haveapproached the age when she could be made a friend, and entrusted withas much of her mother's sorrows as could be imparted, withoutirreverence either to the parent or the child. In the little chaosof Pearl's character, there might be seen emerging- and could havebeen, from the very first- the steadfast principles of anunflinching courage- an uncontrollable will- a sturdy pride, whichmight be disciplined into self-respect- and a bitter scorn of manythings, which, when examined, might be found to have the taint offalsehood in them. She possessed affections, too, though hithertoacrid and disagreeable, as are the richest flavours of unripe fruit.With all these sterling attributes, thought Hester, the evil which sheinherited from her mother must be great indeed, if a noble woman donot grow out of this elfish child. Pearl's inevitable tendency to hover about the enigma of the scarletletter seemed an innate quality of her being. From the earliestepoch of her conscious life, she had entered upon this as herappointed mission. Hester had often fancied that Providence had adesign of justice and retribution, in endowing the child with thismarked propensity; but never, until now, had she bethought herselfto ask, whether, linked with that design, there might not likewisebe a purpose of mercy and beneficence. If little Pearl wereentertained with faith and trust, as a spirit messenger no less thanan earthly child, might it not be her errand to soothe away the sorrowthat lay cold in her mother's heart, and converted it into a tomb?-and to help her to overcome the passion, once so wild, and even yetneither dead nor asleep, but only imprisoned within the same tomb-likeheart? Such were some of the thoughts that now stirred in Hester's mind,with as much vivacity of impression as if they had actually beenwhispered into her ear. And there was little Pearl, all this while,holding her mother's hand in both her own, and turning her faceupward, while she put these searching questions, once, and again,and still a third time. "What does the letter mean, mother?- and why dost thou wear it?- andwhy does the minister keep his hand over his heart?" "What shall I say?" thought Hester to herself. "No! If this be theprice of the child's sympathy, I cannot pay it." Then she spoke aloud. "Silly Pearl," said she, "what questions are these? There are manythings in this world that a child must not ask about. What know I ofthe minister's heart? And as for the scarlet letter, I wear it for thesake of its gold thread." In all the seven bygone years, Hester Prynne had never before beenfalse to the symbol on her bosom. It may be that it was the talismanof a stern and severe, but yet a guardian spirit, who now forsook her;as recognising that, in spite of his strict watch over her heart, somenew evil had crept into it, or some old one had never been expelled.As for little Pearl, the earnestness soon passed out of her face. But the child did not see fit to let the matter drop. Two or threetimes, as her mother and she went homeward, and as often atsuppertime, and while Hester was putting her to bed, and once aftershe seemed to be fairly asleep, Pearl looked up, with mischiefgleaming in her black eyes. "Mother," said she, "what does the scarlet letter mean?" And the next morning, the first indication the child gave of beingawake was by popping up her head from the pillow, and making thatother inquiry, which she had so unaccountably connected with herinvestigations about the scarlet letter- "Mother!- mother!- why does the minister keep his hand over hisheart?" "Hold thy tongue, naughty child!" answered her mother, with anasperity that she had never permitted to herself before. "Do not teaseme; else I shall shut thee into the dark closet!" XVI. A FOREST WALK. HESTER PRYNNE remained constant in her resolve to make known toMr. Dimmesdale, at whatever risk of present pain or ulteriorconsequences, the true character of the man who had crept into hisintimacy. For several days, however, she vainly sought anopportunity of addressing him in some of the meditative walks whichshe knew him to be in the habit of taking, along the shores of thepeninsula, or on the wooded hills of the neighbouring country. Therewould have been no scandal, indeed, nor peril to the holy whiteness ofthe clergyman's good fame, had she visited him in his own study; wheremany a penitent, ere now, had confessed sins of perhaps as deep adye as the one betokened by the scarlet letter. But, partly that shedreaded the secret or undisguised interference of old RogerChillingworth, and partly that her conscious heart imputed suspicionwhere none could have been felt, and partly that both the minister andshe would need the whole wide world to breathe in, while they talkedtogether- for all these reasons, Hester never though of meeting him inany narrower privacy than beneath the open sky. At last, while attending in a sick-chamber, whither the Reverend Mr.Dimmesdale had been summoned to make a prayer, she learnt that hehad gone, the day before, to visit the Apostle Eliot, among his Indianconverts. He would probably return, by a certain hour, in theafternoon of the morrow. Betimes, therefore, the next day, Hester tooklittle Pearl- who was necessarily the companion of all her mother'sexpeditions, however inconvenient her presence- and set forth. The road, after the two wayfarers had crossed from the peninsulato the mainland, was no other than a footpath. It straggled onwardinto the mystery of the primeval forest. This hemmed it in sonarrowly, and stood so black and dense on either side, and disclosedsuch imperfect glimpses of the sky above, that, to Hester's mind, itimaged not amiss the moral wilderness in which she had so long beenwandering. The day was chill and sombre. Overhead was a grey expanseof cloud, slightly stirred, however, by a breeze; so that a gleam offlickering sunshine might now and then be seen at its solitary playalong the path. This flitting cheerfulness was always at the fartherextremity of some long vista through the forest. The sportivesunlight- feebly sportive, at best, in the predominant pensivenessof the day and scene- withdrew itself as they came nigh, and leftthe spots where it had danced the drearier, because they had hopedto find them bright. "Mother," said little Pearl, "the sunshine does not love you. Itruns away and hides itself, because it is afraid of something onyour bosom. Now, see! There it is, playing, a good way off. Standyou here, and let me run and catch it. I am but a child. It will notflee from me; for I wear nothing on my bosom yet!" "Nor ever will, my child, I hope," said Hester. "And why not, mother?" asked Pearl, stopping short just at thebeginning of her race. "Will not it come of its own accord, when Iam a woman grown?" "Run away, child," answered her mother, "and catch the sunshine!It will soon be gone." Pearl set forth, at a great pace, and, as Hester smiled to perceive,did actually catch the sunshine, and stood laughing in the midst ofit, all brightened by its splendour, and scintillating with thevivacity excited by rapid motion. The light lingered about thelonely child, as if glad of such a playmate, until her mother haddrawn almost nigh enough to step into the magic circle too. "It will go now," said Pearl, shaking her head. "See!" answered Hester, smiling. "Now I can stretch out my hand, andgrasp some of it." As she attempted to do so, the sunshine vanished; or, to judgefrom the bright expression that was dancing on Pearl's features, hermother could have fancied that the child had absorbed it into herself,and would give it forth again, with a gleam about her path, as theyshould plunge into some gloomier shade. There was no other attributethat so much impressed her with a sense of new and untransmittedvigour in Pearl's nature, as this never-failing vivacity of spirits;she had not the disease of sadness, which almost all children, inthese latter days, inherit, with the scrofula, from the troubles oftheir ancestors. Perhaps this too was a disease, and but the reflex ofthe wild energy with which Hester had fought against her sorrows,before Pearl's birth. It was certainly a doubtful charm, imparting ahard, metallic lustre to the child's character. She wanted- whatsome people want throughout life- a grief that should deeply touchher, and thus humanise and make her capable of sympathy. But there wastime enough yet for little Pearl. "Come, my child!" said Hester, looking about her from the spot wherePearl had stood still in the sunshine. "We will sit down a littleway within the wood, and rest ourselves." "I am not aweary, mother," replied the little girl. "But you may sitdown, if you will tell me a story meanwhile." "A story, child!" said Hester. "And about what?" "Oh, a story about the Black Man," answered Pearl, taking hold ofher mother's gown, and looking up, half earnestly, half mischievously,into her face. "How he haunts this forest, and carries a book withhim- a big, heavy book, with iron clasps; and how this ugly BlackMan offers his book and an iron pen to everybody that meets him hereamong the trees; and they are to write their names with their ownblood. And then he sets his mark on their bosoms! Didst thou ever meetthe Black Man, mother?" "And who told you this story, Pearl?" asked her mother,recognising a common superstition of the period. "It was the old dame in the chimney-corner, at the house where youwatched last night," said the child. "But she fancied me asleepwhile she was talking of it. She said that a thousand and a thousandpeople had met him here, and had written in his book, and have hismark on them. And that ugly-tempered lady, old Mistress Hibbins, wasone. And, mother, the old dame said that this scarlet letter was theBlack Man's mark on thee, and that it glows like a red flame when thoumeetest him at midnight, here in the dark wood. Is it true, mother?And dost thou go to meet him in the night-time?" "Didst thou ever awake, and find thy mother gone?" asked Hester. "Not that I remember," said the child. "If thou fearest to leaveme in our cottage, thou mightest take me along with thee. I would verygladly go! But, mother, tell me now! Is there such a Black Man? Anddidst thou ever meet him? And is this his mark?" "Wilt thou let me be at peace if I once tell thee?" asked hermother. "Yes, if thou tellest me all," answered Pearl. "Once in my life I met the Black Man!" said her mother. "Thisscarlet letter is his mark!" Thus conversing, they entered sufficiently deep into the wood tosecure themselves from the observation of any casual passenger alongthe forest track. Here they sat down on a luxuriant heap of moss;which, at some epoch of the preceding century, had been a giganticpine, with its roots and trunk in the darksome shade, and its headaloft in the upper atmosphere. It was a little dell where they hadseated themselves, with a leaf-strewn bank rising gently on eitherside, and a brook flowing through the midst, over a bed of fallenand drowned leaves. The trees impending over it had flung down greatbranches, from time to time, which choked up the current, andcompelled it to form eddies and black depths at some points; while, inits swifter and livelier passages, there appeared a channel-way ofpebbles, and brown, sparkling sand. Letting the eyes follow alongthe course of the stream, they could catch the reflected light fromits water, at some short distance within the forest, but soon lost alltraces of it amid the bewilderment of tree-trunks and underbrush,and here and there a huge rock covered over with grey lichens. Allthese giant trees and boulders of granite seemed intent on making amystery of the course of this small brook; fearing, perhaps, that,with its never-ceasing loquacity, it should whisper tales out of theheart of the old forest whence it flowed, or mirror its revelations onthe smooth surface of a pool. Continually, indeed, as it stole onward,the streamlet kept up a babble, kind, quiet, soothing, but melancholy,like the voice of a young child that was spending its infancywithout playfulness, and knew not how to be merry among sadacquaintance and events of sombre hue. "O brook! O foolish and tiresome little brook!" cried Pearl, afterlistening awhile to its talk. "Why art thou so sad? Pluck up a spirit,and do not be all the time sighing and murmuring!" But the brook, in the course of its little lifetime among theforest-trees, had gone through so solemn an experience that it couldnot help talking about it, and seemed to have nothing else to say.Pearl resembled the brook inasmuch as the current of her life gushedfrom a well-spring as mysterious, and had flowed through scenesshadowed as heavily with gloom. But, unlike the little stream, shedanced and sparkled, and prattled airily along her course. "What does this sad little brook say, mother?" inquired she. "If thou hadst a sorrow of thine own, the brook might tell thee ofit," answered her mother, "even as it is telling me of mine! Butnow, Pearl, I hear a footstep along the path, and the noise of oneputting aside the branches. I would have thee betake thyself toplay, and leave me to speak with him that comes yonder." "Is it the Black Man?" asked Pearl. "Wilt thou go and play, child?" repeated her mother. "But do notstray far into the wood. And take heed that thou come at my firstcall." "Yes, mother," answered Pearl. "But if it be the Black Man, wiltthou not let me stay a moment, and look at him, with his big bookunder his arm?" "Go, silly child!" said her mother impatiently. "It is no Black Man!Thou canst see him now, through the trees. It is the minister!" "And so it is!" said the child. "And, mother, he has his hand overhis heart! Is it because, when the minister wrote his name in thebook, the Black Man set his mark in that place? But why does he notwear it outside his bosom, as thou dost, mother?" "Go now, child, and thou shalt tease me as thou wilt anothertime," cried Hester Prynne. "But do not stray far. Keep where thoucanst hear the babble of the brook." The child went singing away, following up the current of thebrook, and striving to mingle a more lightsome cadence with itsmelancholy voice. But the little stream would not be comforted, andstill kept telling its unintelligible secret of some very mournfulmystery that had happened- or making a prophetic lamentation aboutsomething that was yet to happen- within the verge of the dismalforest. So Pearl, who had enough of shadow in her own little life,chose to break off all acquaintance with this repining brook. Sheset herself, therefore, to gathering violets and wood-anemones, andsome scarlet columbines that she found growing in the crevices of ahigh rock. When her elf-child had departed, Hester Prynne made a step or twotowards the track that led through the forest, but still remainedunder the deep shadow of the trees. She beheld the ministeradvancing along the path, entirely alone, and leaning on a staff whichhe had cut by the wayside. He looked haggard and feeble, andbetrayed a nerveless despondency in his air, which had never soremarkably characterised him in his walks about the settlement, nor inany other situation where he deemed himself liable to notice. Hereit was woefully visible, in this intense seclusion of the forest,which of itself would have been a heavy trial to the spirits. Therewas a listlessness in his gait; as if he saw no reason for takingone step farther, nor felt any desire to do so, but would have beenglad, could he be glad of anything, to fling himself down at theroot of the nearest tree, and lie there passive, for evermore. Theleaves might bestrew him, and the soil gradually accumulate and form alittle hillock over his frame, no matter whether there were life in itor no. Death was too definite an object to be wished for, or avoided. To Hester's eye, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale exhibited no symptom ofpositive and vivacious suffering, except that, as little Pearl hadremarked, he kept his hand over his heart. XVII. THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER. SLOWLY as the minister walked, he had almost gone by, beforeHester Prynne could gather voice enough to attract his observation. Atlength, she succeeded. "Arthur Dimmesdale!" she said, faintly at first; then louder, buthoarsely: "Arthur Dimmesdale!" "Who speaks?" answered the minister. Gathering himself quickly up, he stood more erect, like a mantaken by surprise in a mood to which he was reluctant to havewitnesses. Throwing his eyes anxiously in the direction of thevoice, he indistinctly beheld a form under the trees, clad in garmentsso, sombre, and so little relieved from the grey twilight into whichthe clouded sky and the heavy foliage had darkened the noontide,that he knew not whether it were a woman or a shadow. It may be,that his pathway through life was haunted thus, by a spectre thathad stolen out from among his thoughts. He made a step nigher, and discovered the scarlet letter. "Hester! Hester Prynne!" said he. "Is it thou? Art thou in life?" "Even so!" she answered. "In such life as has been mine theseseven years past! And thou, Arthur Dimmesdale, dost thou yet live?" It was no wonder that they thus questioned one another's actualand bodily existence, and even doubted of their own. So strangelydid they meet, in the dim wood, that it was like the firstencounter, in the world beyond the grave, of two spirits who hadbeen intimately connected in their former life, but now stood coldlyshuddering, in mutual dread; as not yet familiar with their state, norwonted to the companionship of disembodied beings. Each a ghost, andawe-stricken at the other ghost! They were awe-stricken likewise atthemselves; because the crisis flung back to them their consciousness,and revealed to each heart its history and experience, as life neverdoes, except at such breathless epochs. The soul beheld its featuresin the mirror of the passing moment. It was with fear, andtremulously, and, as it were, by a slow, reluctant necessity, thatArthur Dimmesdale put forth his hand, chill as death, and touchedthe chill hand of Hester Prynne. The grasp, cold as it was, tookaway what was dreariest in the interview. They now felt themselves, atleast, inhabitants of the same sphere. Without a word more spoken- neither he nor she assuming theguidance, but with an unexpressed consent- they glided back into theshadow of the woods, whence Hester had emerged, and sat down on theheap of moss where she and Pearl had before been sitting. When theyfound voice to speak, it was, at first, only to utter remarks andinquiries such as any two acquaintances might have made, about thegloomy sky, the threatening storm, and, next, the health of each. Thusthey went onward, not boldly, but step by step, into the themes thatwere brooding deepest in their hearts. So long estranged by fate andcircumstances, they needed something slight and casual to runbefore, and throw open the doors of intercourse, so that their realthoughts might be led across the threshold. After a while, the minister fixed his eyes on Hester Prynne's. "Hester," said he, "hast thou found peace?" She smiled drearily, looking down upon her bosom. "Hast thou?" she asked. "None!- nothing but despair!" he answered. "What else could I lookfor, being what I am, and leading such a life as mine? Were I anatheist- a man devoid of conscience- a wretch with coarse and brutalinstincts- I might have found peace, long ere now. Nay, I never shouldhave lost it! But, as matters stand with my soul, whatever of goodcapacity there originally was in me, all of God's gifts that werethe choicest have become the ministers of spiritual torment. Hester, Iam most miserable." "The people reverence thee," said Hester. "And surely thou workestgood among them! Doth this bring thee no comfort?" "More misery, Hester!- only the more misery!" answered theclergyman, with a bitter smile. "As concerns the good which I mayappear to do, I have no faith in it. It must needs be a delusion. Whatcan a ruined soul, like mine, effect towards the redemption of othersouls?- or a polluted soul, towards their purification? And as for thepeople's reverence, would that it were turned to scorn and hatred!Canst thou deem it, Hester, a consolation, that I must stand up inmy pulpit, and meet so many eyes turned upward to my face, as if thelight of heaven were beaming from it!- must see my flock hungry forthe truth, and listening to my words as if a tongue of Pentecostwere speaking!- and then look inward, and discern the black reality ofwhat they idolise? I have laughed, in bitterness and agony of heart,at the contrast between what I seem and what I am! And Satan laughs atit!" "You wrong yourself in this," said Hester gently. "You have deeplyand sorely repented. Your sin is left behind you, in the days longpast. Your present life is not less holy, in very truth, than it seemsin people's eyes. Is there no reality in the penitence thus sealed andwitnessed by good works? And wherefore should it not bring you peace?" "No, Hester, no!" replied the clergyman. "There is no substance init! It is cold and dead, and can do nothing for me! Of penance, I havehad enough! Of penitence, there has been none! Else, I should long agohave thrown off these garments of mock holiness, and have shown myselfto mankind as they will see me at the judgment-seat. Happy are you,Hester, that wear the scarlet letter openly upon your bosom! Mineburns in secret! Thou little knowest what a relief it is, after thetorment of a seven years' cheat, to look into an eye that recognisesme for what I am! Had I one friend- or were it my worst enemy!- towhom, when sickened with the praises of all other men, I could dailybetake myself, and be known as the vilest of all sinners, methinksmy soul might keep itself alive thereby. Even thus much of truth wouldsave me! But, now, it is all falsehood!- all emptiness!- all death!" Hester Prynne looked into his face, but hesitated to speak. Yet,uttering his long-restrained emotions so vehemently as he did, hiswords here offered her the very point of circumstances in which tointerpose what she came to say. She conquered her fears, and spoke. "Such a friend as thou hast even now wished for," said she, "withwhom to weep over thy sin, thou has in me, the partner of it!" Againshe hesitated, but brought out the words with an effort, "Thou hastlong had such an enemy, and dwellest with him, under the same roof!" The minister started to his feet, gasping for breath, andclutching at his heart, as if he would have torn it out of his bosom. "Ha! What sayest thou!" cried he. "An enemy! And under mine ownroof! What mean you?" Hester Prynne was now fully sensible of the deep injury for whichshe was responsible to this unhappy man, in permitting him to liefor so many years, or, indeed, for a single moment, at the mercy ofone whose purposes could not be other than malevolent. The verycontiguity of his enemy, beneath whatever mask the latter mightconceal himself, was enough to disturb the magnetic sphere of abeing so sensitive as Arthur Dimmesdale. There had been a periodwhen Hester was less alive to this consideration; or, perhaps, inthe misanthropy of her own trouble, she left the minister to bear whatshe might picture to herself as a more tolerable doom. But of late,since the night of his vigil, all her sympathies towards him hadbeen both softened and invigorated. She now read his heart moreaccurately. She doubted not, that the continual presence of RogerChillingworth the secret poison of his malignity, infecting all theair about him- and his authorised interference, as a physician, withthe minister's physical and spiritual infirmities- that these badopportunities had been turned to a cruel purpose. By means of them,the sufferer's conscience had been kept in an irritated state, thetendency of which was, not to cure by wholesome pain, but todisorganise and corrupt his spiritual being. Its result, on earth,could hardly fail to be insanity, and hereafter, that eternalalienation from the Good and True, of which madness is perhaps theearthly type. Such was the ruin to which she had brought the man, once- nay, whyshould we not speak it?- still so passionately loved! Hester felt thatthe sacrifice of the clergyman's good name, and death itself, as shehad already told Roger Chillingworth, would have been infinitelypreferable to the alternative which she had taken upon herself tochoose. And now, rather than have had this grievous wrong toconfess, she would gladly have lain down on the forest-leaves, anddied there, at Arthur Dimmesdale's feet. "O Arthur," cried she, "forgive me! In all things else, I havestriven to be true! Truth was the one virtue which I might have heldfast, and did hold fast, through all extremity; save when thy good-thy life thy fame- were put in question! Then I consented to adeception. But a lie is never good, even though death threaten onthe other side! Dost thou not see what I would say? That old man!- thephysician!- he whom they call Roger Chillingworth!- he was myhusband!" The minister looked at her, for an instant, with all that violenceof passion, which- intermixed, in more shapes than one, with hishigher, purer, softer qualities- was, in fact, the portion of himwhich the Devil claimed, and through which he sought to win therest. Never was there a blacker or a fiercer frown than Hester nowencountered. For the brief space that it lasted, it was a darktransfiguration. But his character had been so much enfeebled bysuffering, that even its lower energies were incapable of more thana temporary struggle. He sank down on the ground, and buried hisface in his hands. "I might have known it," murmured he. "I did know it! Was not thesecret told me, in the natural recoil of my heart, at the firstsight of him, and as often as I have seen him since? Why did I notunderstand? O Hester Prynne, thou little, little knowest all thehorror of this thing! And the shame!- the indelicacy!- the horribleugliness of this exposure of a sick and guilty heart to the very eyethat would gloat over it? Woman, woman, thou are accountable for this!I cannot forgive thee!" "Thou shalt forgive me!" cried Hester, flinging herself on thefallen leaves beside him. "Let God punish! Thou shalt forgive!" With sudden and desperate tenderness, she threw her arms around him,and pressed his head against her bosom; little caring though his cheekrested on the scarlet letter. He would have released himself, butstrove in vain to do so. Hester would not set him free, lest he shouldlook her sternly in the face. All the world had frowned on her- forseven long years had it frowned upon this lonely woman- and stillshe bore it all, nor ever once turned away her firm, sad eyes. Heaven,likewise, had frowned upon her, and she had not died. But the frown ofthis pale, weak, sinful, and sorrow-stricken man was what Hester couldnot bear, and live! "Wilt thou yet forgive me?" she repeated, over and over again. "Wiltthou not frown? Wilt thou forgive?" "I do forgive you, Hester," replied the minister, at length, witha deep utterance, out of an abyss of sadness, but no anger. "Ifreely forgive you now. May God forgive us both! We are not, Hester,the worst sinners in the world. There is one worse than even thepolluted priest! That old man's revenge has been blacker than mysin. He has violated, in cold blood, the sanctity of a human heart.Thou and I, Hester, never did so!" "Never, never!" whispered she. "What we did had a consecration ofits own. We felt it so! We said so to each other! Hast thouforgotten it?" "Hush, Hester!" said Arthur Dimmesdale, rising from the ground. "No;I have not forgotten!" They sat down again, side by side, and hand clasped in hand, onthe mossy trunk of the fallen tree. Life had never brought them agloomier hour; it was the point whither their pathway had so long beentending, and darkening ever, as it stole along; and yet it encloseda charm that made them linger upon it, and claim another, and another,and, after all, another moment. The forest was obscure around them,and creaked with a blast that was passing through it. The boughswere tossing heavily above their heads; while one solemn old treegroaned dolefully to another, as if telling the sad story of thepair that sat beneath, or constrained to forbode evil to come. And yet they lingered. How dreary looked the forest-track that ledbackward to the settlement, where Hester Prynne must take up again theburden of her ignominy, and the minister the hollow mockery of hisgood name! So they lingered an instant longer. No golden light hadever been so precious as the gloom of this dark forest. Here, seenonly by his eyes, the scarlet letter need not burn into the bosom ofthe fallen woman! Here, seen only by her eyes, Arthur Dimmesdale,false to God and man, might be for one moment true! He started at a thought that suddenly occurred to him. "Hester," cried he, "here is a new horror! Roger Chillingworth knowsyour purpose to reveal his true character. Will he continue, then,to keep our secret? What will now be the course of his revenge?" "There is a strange secrecy in his nature," replied Hesterthoughtfully; "and it has grown upon him by the hidden practices ofhis revenge. I deem it not likely that he will betray the secret. Hewill doubtless seek other means of satiating his dark passion." "And I!- how am I to live longer, breathing the same air with thisdeadly enemy?" exclaimed Arthur Dimmesdale, shrinking withinhimself, and pressing his hand nervously against his heart- agesture that had grown involuntary with him. "Think for me, Hester!Thou art strong. Resolve for me!" "Thou must dwell no longer with this man," said Hester, slowly andfirmly. "Thy heart must be no longer under his evil eye!" "It were far worse than death!" replied the minister. "But how toavoid it? What choice remains to me? Shall I lie down again on thesewithered leaves, where I cast myself when thou didst tell me what hewas? Must I sink down there, and die at once?" "Alas, what a ruin has befallen thee!" said Hester, with thetears, gushing into her eyes. "Wilt thou die for very weakness?There is no other cause!" "The judgment of God is on me," answered the conscience-strickenpriest. "It is too mighty for me to struggle with!" "Heaven would show mercy," rejoined Hester, "hadst thou but thestrength to take advantage of it." "Be thou strong for me!" answered he. "Advise me what to do." "Is the world, then, so narrow?" exclaimed Hester Prynne, fixing herdeep eyes on the minister's, and instinctively exercising a magneticpower over a spirit so shattered and subdued that it could hardly holditself erect. "Doth the universe lie within the compass of yondertown, which only a little time ago was but a leaf-strewn desert, aslonely as this around us? Whither leads yonder forest-track?Backward to the settlement, thou sayest! Yes; but onward, too!Deeper it goes, and deeper, into the wilderness, less plainly to beseen at every step; until, some few miles hence, the yellow leaveswill show no vestige of the white man's tread. There thou art free! Sobrief a journey would bring thee from a world where thou hast beenmost wretched, to one where thou mayest still be happy! Is there notshade enough in all this boundless forest to hide thy heart from thegaze of Roger Chillingworth?" "Yes, Hester; but only under the fallen leaves!" replied theminister, with a sad smile. "Then there is the broad pathway of the sea!" continued Hester."It brought thee hither. If thou so choose, it will bear thee backagain. In our native land, whether in some remote rural village orin vast London- or, surely, in Germany, in France, in pleasantItaly- thou wouldst be beyond his power and knowledge! And what hastthou to do with all these iron men, and their opinions? They have keptthy better part in bondage too long already!" "It cannot be!" answered the minister, listening as if he werecalled upon to realise a dream. "I am powerless to go! Wretched andsinful as I am, I have had no other thought than to drag on my earthlyexistence in the sphere where Providence hath placed me. Lost as myown soul is, I would still do what I may for other human souls! I darenot quit my post, though an unfaithful sentinel, whose sure rewardis death and dishonour, when his dreary watch shall come to an end!" "Thou art crushed under this seven years' weight of misery," repliedHester, fervently resolved to buoy him up with her own energy. "Butthou shalt leave it all behind thee! It shall not cumber thy steps, asthou treadest along the forest-path; neither shalt thou freight theship with it, if thou prefer to cross the sea. Leave this wreck andruin here where it hath happened. Meddle no more with it! Begin allanew! Hast thou exhausted possibility in the failure of this onetrial? Not so! The future is yet full of trial and success. There ishappiness to be enjoyed! There is good to be done! Exchange this falselife of thine for a true one. Be, if thy spirit summon thee to sucha mission, the teacher and apostle of the red men. Or- as is morethy nature- be a scholar and a sage among the wisest and the mostrenowned of the cultivated world. Preach! Write! Act! Do anything,save to lie down and die! Give up this name of Arthur Dimmesdale,and make thyself another, and a high one, such as thou canst wearwithout fear or shame. Why wouldst thou tarry so much as one other dayin the torments that have so gnawed into thy life!- that have madethee feeble to will and to do!- that will leave thee powerless even torepent! Up, and away!" "O Hester!" cried Arthur Dimmesdale, in whose eyes a fitful light,kindled by her enthusiasm, flashed up and died away, "thou tellestof running a race to a man whose knees are tottering beneath him! Imust die here! There is not the strength or courage left me to ventureinto the wide, strange, difficult world, alone!" It was the last expression of the despondency of a broken spirit. Helacked energy to grasp the better fortune that seemed within hisreach. He repeated the word. "Alone, Hester!" "Thou shalt not go alone!" answered she, in a deep whisper. Then, all was spoken! XVIII. A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE. ARTHUR DIMMESDALE gazed into Hester's face with a look in which hopeand joy shone out, indeed, but with fear betwixt them, and a kind ofhorror at her boldness, who had spoken what he vaguely hinted at,but dared not speak. But Hester Prynne, with a mind of native courage and activity, andfor so long a period not merely estranged, but outlawed, from society,had habituated herself to such latitude of speculation as wasaltogether foreign to the clergyman. She had wandered, without rule orguidance, in a moral wilderness; as vast, as intricate and shadowy, asthe untamed forest, amid the gloom of which they were now holding acolloquy that was to decide their fate. Her intellect and heart hadtheir home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freelyas the wild Indian in his woods. For years past she had looked fromthis estranged point of view at human institutions, and whateverpriests or legislators had established; criticising all with hardlymore reverence than the Indian would feel for the clerical band, thejudicial robe, the pillory, the gallows, the fireside, or thechurch. The tendency of her fate and fortunes had been to set herfree. The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where otherwomen dared not tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been herteachers- stern and wild ones- and they had made her strong, buttaught her much amiss. The minister, on the other hand, had never gone through anexperience calculated to lead him beyond the scope of generallyreceived laws; although, in a single instance, he had so fearfullytransgressed one of the most sacred of them. But this had been a sinof passion, not of principle, nor even purpose. Since that wretchedepoch, he had watched, with morbid zeal and minuteness, not hisacts- for those it was easy to arrange- but each breath of emotion,and his every thought. At the head of the social system, as theclergyman of that day stood, he was only the more trammelled by itsregulations, its principles, and even its prejudices. As a priest, theframework of his order inevitably hemmed him in. As a man who had oncesinned, but who kept his conscience all alive and painfullysensitive by the fretting of an unhealed wound, he might have beensupposed safer within the line of virtue than if he had never sinnedat all. Thus, we seem to see that, as regarded Hester Prynne, the wholeseven years of outlaw and ignominy had been little other than apreparation for this very hour. But Arthur Dimmesdale! Were such a manonce more to fall, what plea could be urged in extenuation of hiscrime? None; unless it avail him somewhat, that he was broken downby long and exquisite suffering; that his mind was darkened andconfused by the very remorse which harrowed it; that, betweenfleeing as an avowed criminal, and remaining as a hypocrite,conscience might find it hard to strike the balance; that it was humanto avoid the peril of death and infamy, and the inscrutablemachinations of an enemy; that, finally, to this poor pilgrim, onhis dreary and desert path, faint, sick, miserable, there appeared aglimpse of human affection and sympathy, a new life, and a true one,in exchange for the heavy doom which he was now expiating. And bethe stern and sad truth spoken, that the breach which guilt has oncemade into the human soul is never, in this mortal state, repaired.It may be watched and guarded; so that the enemy shall not force hisway again into the citadel, and might even, in his subsequentassaults, select some other avenue, in preference to that where he hadformerly succeeded. But there is still the ruined wall, and, nearit, the stealthy tread of the foe that would win over again hisunforgotten triumph. The struggle, if there were one, need not be described. Let itsuffice, that the clergyman resolved to flee, and not alone. "If, in all these past seven years," thought he, "I could recall oneinstant of peace or hope, I would yet endure, for the sake of thatearnest of Heaven's mercy. But now- since I am irrevocably doomed-wherefore should I not snatch the solace allowed to the condemnedculprit before his execution? Or, if this be the path to a betterlife, as Hester would persuade me, I surely give up no fairer prospectby pursuing it! Neither can I any longer live without hercompanionship; so powerful is she to sustain- so tender to soothe! OThou to whom I dare not lift mine eyes, wilt Thou yet pardon me!" "Thou wilt go!" said Hester calmly, as he met her glance. The decision once made, a glow of strange enjoyment threw itsflickering brightness over the trouble of his breast. It was theexhilarating effect- upon a prisoner just escaped from the dungeonof his own heart- of breathing the wild, free atmosphere of anunredeemed, unchristianised, lawless region. His spirit rose, as itwere, with a bound, and attained a nearer prospect of the sky, thanthroughout all the misery which had kept him grovelling on theearth. Of a deeply religious temperament, there was inevitably a tingeof the devotional in his mind. "Do I feel joy again?" cried he, wondering at himself. "Methoughtthe germ of it was dead in me! O Hester, thou art my better angel! Iseem to have flung myself- sick, sin-stained, and sorrow-blackened-down upon these forest-leaves, and to have risen up all made anew, andwith new powers to glorify Him that hath been merciful! This isalready the better life! Why did we not find it sooner?" "Let us not look back," answered Hester Prynne. "the past is gone!Wherefore should we linger upon it now? See! With this symbol, Iundo it all, and make it as it had never been!" So speaking, she undid the clasp that fastened the scarlet letter,and, taking it from her bosom, threw it to a distance among thewithered leaves. The mystic token alighted on the hither verge ofthe stream. With a hand's breadth farther flight it would havefallen into the water, and have given the little brook another woeto carry onward, besides the unintelligible tale which it still keptmurmuring about. But there lay the embroidered letter, glittering likea lost jewel, which some ill-fated wanderer might pick up, andthenceforth be haunted by strange phantoms of guilt, sinkings of theheart, and unaccountable misfortune. The stigma gone, Hester heaved a long, deep sigh, in which theburden of shame and anguish departed from her spirit. Oh, exquisiterelief! She had not known the weight, until she felt the freedom! Byanother impulse, she took off the formal cap that confined her hair;and down it fell upon her shoulders, dark and rich, with at once ashadow and a light in its abundance, and imparting the charm ofsoftness to her features. There played around her mouth, and beamedout of her eyes, a radiant and tender smile, that seemed gushingfrom the very heart of womanhood. A crimson flush was glowing on hercheek, that had been long so pale. Her sex, her youth, and the wholerichness of the beauty, came back from what men call the irrevocablepast, and clustered themselves, with her maiden hope, and ahappiness before unknown, within the magic circle of this hour. And,as if the gloom of the earth and sky had been but the effluence ofthese two mortal hearts, it vanished with their sorrow. All at once,as with a sudden smile of heaven, forth burst the sunshine, pouringa very flood into the obscure forest, gladdening each green leaf,transmuting the yellow fallen ones to gold, and gleaming adown thegrey trunks of the solemn trees. The objects that had made a shadowhitherto, embodied the brightness now. The course of the littlebrook might be traced by its merry gleam afar into the wood's heart ofmystery, which had become a mystery of joy. Such was the sympathy of Nature- that wild, heathen Nature of theforest, never subjugated by human law, nor illumined by highertruth- with the bliss of these two spirits! Love, whether newlyborn, or aroused from a death-like slumber, must always create asunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance, that it overflowsupon the outward world. Had the forest still kept its gloom, itwould have been bright in Hester's eyes, and bright in ArthurDimmesdale's! Hester looked at him with the thrill of another joy. "Thou must know Pearl!" said she. "Our little Pearl! Thou hastseen her- yes, I know it!- but thou wilt see her now with othereyes. She is a strange child! I hardly comprehend her! But thou wiltlove her dearly, as I do, and wilt advise me how to deal with her." "Dost thou think the child will be glad to know me?" asked theminister, somewhat uneasily. "I have long shrunk from children,because they often show a distrust- a backwardness to be familiar withme. I have even been afraid of little Pearl!" "Ah, that was sad!" answered the mother. "But she will love theedearly, and thou her. She is not far off. I will call her! Pearl!Pearl!" "I see the child," observed the minister. "Yonder she is, standingin a streak of sunshine, a good way off, on the other side of thebrook, So thou thinkest the child will love me?" Hester smiled, and again called to Pearl, who was visible, at somedistance, as the minister had described her, like abright-apparelled vision, in a sunbeam, which fell down upon herthrough an arch of boughs. The ray quivered to and fro, making herfigure dim or distinct- now like a real child, now like a child'sspirit- as the splendour went and came again. She heard her mother'svoice, and approached slowly through the forest. Pearl had not found the hour pass wearisomely, while her mothersat talking with the clergyman. The great black forest- stern as itshowed itself to those who brought the guilt and troubles of the worldinto its bosom- became the playmate of the lonely infant, as well asit knew how. Sombre as it was, it put on the kindest of its moods towelcome her. It offered her the partridge-berries, the growth of thepreceding autumn, but ripening only in the spring, and now red asdrops of blood upon the withered leaves. These Pearl gathered, and waspleased with their wild flavour. The small denizens of thewilderness hardly took pains to move out of her path. A partridge,indeed, with a brood of ten behind her, ran forward threatingly, butsoon repented of her fierceness, and clucked to her young ones notto be afraid. A pigeon, alone on a low branch, allowed Pearl to comebeneath, and uttered a sound as much of greeting as alarm. A squirrel,from the lofty depths of his domestic tree, chattered either inanger or merriment- for a squirrel is such a choleric and humorouslittle personage, that it is hard to distinguish between his moods- sohe chattered at the child, and flung down a nut upon her head. Itwas a last year's nut, and already gnawed by his sharp tooth. A fox,startled from his sleep by her light footstep on the leaves, lookedinquisitively at Pearl, as doubting whether it were better to stealoff, or renew his nap on the same spot. A wolf, it is said- but herethe tale has surely lapsed into the improbable- came up, and smeltof Pearl's robe, and offered his savage head to be patted by her hand.The truth seems to be, however, that the mother-forest, and these wildthings which it nourished, all recognised a kindred wildness in thehuman child. And she was gentler here than in the grassy-margined streets ofthe settlement, or in her mother's cottage. The flowers appeared toknow it; and one and another whispered as she passed, "Adorn thyselfwith me, thou beautiful child, adorn thyself with me!"- and, to pleasethem, Pearl gathered the violets, and anemones, and columbines, andsome twigs of the freshest green, which the old trees held down beforeher eyes. With these she decorated her hair, and her young waist,and became a nymph-child, or an infant dryad, or whatever else wasin closest sympathy with the antique wood. In such guise had Pearladorned herself, when she heard her mother's voice, and came slowlyback. Slowly; for she saw the clergyman! XIX. THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE. "THOU wilt love her dearly," repeated Hester Prynne, as she andthe minister sat watching little Pearl. "Dost thou not think herbeautiful? And see with what natural skill she has made those simpleflowers adorn her! Had she gathered pearls, and diamonds, andrubies, in the wood, they could not have become her better. She is asplendid child! But I know whose brow she has!" "Dost thou know, Hester," said Arthur Dimmesdale, with an unquietsmile, "that this dear child, tripping about always at thy side,hath caused me many an alarm? Methought- O Hester, what a thought isthat, and how terrible to dread it!- that my own features werepartly repeated in her face, and so strikingly that the world mightsee them! But she is mostly thine!" "No, no! Not mostly!" answered the mother, with a tender smile. "Alittle longer and thou needest not be afraid to trace whose childshe is. But how strangely beautiful she looks, with those wild flowersin her hair! It is as if one of the fairies, whom we left in ourdear old England, had decked her out to meet us." It was with a feeling which neither of them had ever beforeexperienced, that they sat and watched Pearl's slow advance. In herwas visible the tie that united them. She had been offered to theworld, these seven years past, as the living hieroglyphic, in whichwas revealed the secret they so darkly sought to hide- all writtenin this symbol- all plainly manifest- had there been a prophet ormagician skilled to read the character of flame! And Pearl was theoneness of their being. Be the foregone evil what it might, howcould they doubt that their earthly lives and future destinies wereconjoined, when they beheld at once the material union, and thespiritual idea, in whom they met, and were to dwell immortallytogether? Thoughts like these- and perhaps other thoughts, whichthey did not acknowledge or define- threw an awe about the child, asshe came onward. "Let her see nothing strange- no passion nor eagerness- in thy wayof accosting her," whispered Hester. "Our Pearl is a fitful andfantastic little elf, sometimes. Especially, she is seldom tolerant ofemotion, when she does not fully comprehend the why and wherefore. Butthe child hath strong affections! She loves me, and will love thee!" "Thou canst not think," said the minister, glancing aside atHester Prynne, "how my heart dreads this interview, and yearns for it!But, in truth, as I already told thee, children are not readily won tobe familiar with me. They will not climb my knee, nor prattle in myear, nor answer to my smile; but stand apart, and eye me strangely.Even little babes, when I take them in my arms, weep bitterly. YetPearl, twice in her little lifetime, hath been kind to me! The firsttime- thou knowest it well! The last was when thou ledst her with theeto the house of yonder stern old Governor." "And thou didst plead so bravely in her behalf and mine!" answeredthe mother. "I remember it; and so shall little Pearl. Fear nothing!She may be strange and shy at first, but will soon learn to lovethee!" By this time Pearl had reached the margin of the brook, and stood onthe farther side, gazing silently at Hester and the clergyman, whostill sat together on the mossy tree-trunk, waiting to receive her.Just where she had paused, the brook chanced to form a pool, so smoothand quiet that it reflected a perfect image of her little figure, withall the brilliant picturesqueness of her beauty, in its adornment offlowers and wreathed foliage, but more refined and spiritualisedthan the reality. This image, so nearly identical with the livingPearl, seemed to communicate somewhat of its own shadowy andintangible quality to the child herself. It was strange, the way inwhich Pearl stood, looking so steadfastly at them through the dimmedium of the forest-gloom; herself, meanwhile, all glorified with aray of sunshine, that was attracted thitherward as by a certainsympathy. In the brook beneath stood another child- another and thesame- with likewise its ray of golden light. Hester felt herself, insome indistinct and tantalising manner, estranged from Pearl; as ifthe child, in her lonely, ramble through the forest, had strayed outof the sphere in which she and her mother dwelt together, and wasnow vainly seeking to return to it. There was both truth and error in the impression; the child andmother were estranged, but through Hester's fault, not Pearl's.Since the latter rambled from her side, another inmate had beenadmitted within the circle of the mother's feelings, and so modifiedthe aspect of them all, that Pearl, the returning wanderer, couldnot find her wonted place, and hardly knew where she was. "I have a strange fancy," observed the sensitive minister, "thatthis brook is the boundary between two worlds, and that thou canstnever meet thy Pearl again. Or is she an elfish spirit, who, as thelegends of our childhood taught us, is forbidden to cross a runningstream? Pray hasten her; for this delay has already imparted atremor to my nerves." "Come, dearest child!" said Hester encouragingly, and stretching outboth her arms. "How slow thou art! When hast thou been so sluggishbefore now? Here is a friend of mine, who must be thy friend also.Thou wilt have twice as much love, henceforward, as thy mother alonecould give thee! Leap across the brook, and come to us. Thou canstleap like a young deer!" Pearl, without responding in any manner to these honey-sweetexpressions, remained on the other side of the brook. Now she fixedher bright, wild eyes on her mother, now on the minister, and nowincluded them both in the same glance; as if to detect and explainto herself the relation which they bore to one another. For someunaccountable reason, as Arthur Dimmesdale felt the child's eyesupon himself, his hand- with that gesture so habitual as to havebecome involuntary- stole over his heart. At length, assuming asingular air of authority, Pearl stretched out her hand, with thesmall forefinger extended, and pointing evidently towards her mother'sbreast. And beneath, in the mirror of the brook, there was theflower-girdled and sunny image of little Pearl, pointing her smallforefinger too. "Thou strange child, why dost thou not come to me?" exclaimedHester. Pearl still pointed with her forefinger; and a frown gathered on herbrow; the more impressive from the childish, the almost baby-likeaspect of the features that conveyed it. As her mother still keptbeckoning to her, and arraying her face in a holiday suit ofunaccustomed smiles, the child stamped her foot with a yet moreimperious look and gesture. In the brook, again, was the fantasticbeauty of the image, with its reflected frown, its pointed finger, andimperious gesture, giving emphasis to the aspect of little Pearl. "Hasten, Pearl; or I shall be angry with thee!" cried Hester Prynne,who, however inured to such behaviour on the elf-child's part at otherseasons, was naturally anxious for a more seemly deportment now. "Leapacross the brook, naughty child, and run hither! Else I must come tothee!" But Pearl, not a whit startled at her mother's threats, any morethan mollified by her entreaties, now suddenly burst into a fit ofpassion, gesticulating violently, and throwing her small figure intothe most extravagant contortions. She accompanied this wild outbreakwith piercing shrieks, which the woods reverberated on all sides; sothat, alone as she was in her childish and unreasonable wrath, itseemed as if a hidden multitude were lending her their sympathy andencouragement. Seen in the brook, once more, was the shadowy wraith ofPearl's image, crowned and girdled with flowers, but stamping itsfoot, wildly gesticulating, and, in the midst of all, still pointingits small forefinger at Hester's bosom! "I see what ails the child," whispered Hester to the clergyman,and turning pale in spite of a strong effort to conceal her troubleand annoyance. "Children will not abide any, the slightest, changein the accustomed aspect of things that are daily before their eyes.Pearl misses something which she has always seen me wear!" "I pray you," answered the minister, "if thou hast any means ofpacifying the child, do it forthwith! Save it were the cankeredwrath of an old witch, like Mistress Hibbins," added he, attempting tosmile, "I know nothing that I would not sooner encounter than thispassion in a child. In Pearl's young beauty, as in the wrinkled witch,it has a preternatural effect. Pacify her, if thou lovest me!" Hester turned again towards Pearl, with a crimson blush upon hercheek, a conscious glance aside at the clergyman, and then a heavysigh; while, even before she had time to speak, the blush yielded to adeadly pallor. "Pearl," said she sadly, "look down at thy feet! There- beforethee!- the hither side of the brook!" The child turned her eyes to the point indicated; and there laythe scarlet letter, so close upon the margin of the stream, that thegold embroidery was reflected in it. "Bring it hither!" said Hester. "Come thou and take it up!" answered Pearl. "Was ever such a child!" observed Hester, aside to the minister."Oh, I have much to tell thee about her! But, in very truth, she isright as regards this hateful token. I must bear its torture yet alittle longer- only a few days longer- until we shall have left thisregion, and look back hither as to a land which we have dreamed of.The forest cannot hide it! The mid-ocean shall take it from my hand,and swallow it up for ever!" With these words, she advanced to the margin of the brook, took upthe scarlet letter, and fastened it again into her bosom. Hopefully,but a moment ago, as Hester had spoken of drowning it in the deep sea,there was a sense of inevitable doom upon her, as she thus receivedback this deadly symbol from the hand of fate. She had flung it intoinfinite space!- she had drawn an hour's free breath!- and hereagain was the scarlet misery, glittering on the old spot! So it everis, whether thus typified or no, that an evil deed invests itself withthe character of doom. Hester next gathered up the heavy tresses ofher hair, and confined them beneath her cap. As if there were awithering spell in the sad letter, her beauty, the warmth and richnessof her womanhood, departed, like fading sunshine; and a grey shadowseemed to fall across her. When the dreary change was wrought, she extended her hand to Pearl. "Dost thou know thy mother now, child?" asked she reproachfully, butwith a subdued tone. "Wilt thou come across the brook, and own thymother, now that she has her shame upon her- now that she is sad?" "Yes; now I will!" answered the child, bounding across the brook,and clasping Hester in her arms. "Now thou art my mother indeed! And Iam thy little Pearl!" In a mood of tenderness that was not usual with her, she drew downher mother's head, and kissed her brow and both her cheeks. Butthen- by a kind of necessity that always impelled this child toalloy whatever comfort she might chance to give with a throb ofanguish- Pearl put up her mouth, and kissed the scarlet letter too! "That was not kind!" said Hester. "When thou hast shown me alittle love, thou mockest me!" "Why doth the minister sit yonder?" asked Pearl. "He waits to welcome thee," replied her mother. "Come thou, andentreat his blessing! He loves thee, my little Pearl, and loves thymother too. Wilt thou not love him? Come! he longs to greet thee!" "Doth he love us?" said Pearl, looking up, with acuteintelligence, into her mother's face. "Will he go back with us, handin hand, we three together into the town?" "Not now, dear child," answered Hester. "But in days to come he willwalk hand in hand with us. We will have a home and fireside of ourown; and thou shalt sit upon his knee; and he will teach thee manythings, and love thee dearly. Thou wilt love him; wilt thou not?" "And will he always keep his hand over his heart?" inquired Pearl. "Foolish child, what a question is that!" exclaimed her mother."Come and ask his blessing!" But, whether influenced by the jealousy that seems instinctivewith every petted child towards a dangerous rival, or from whatevercaprice of her freakish nature, Pearl would show no favour to theclergyman. It was only by an exertion of force that her mother broughther up to him, hanging back, and manifesting her reluctance by oddgrimaces; of which, ever since her babyhood, she had possessed asingular variety, and could transform her mobile physiognomy into aseries of different aspects, with a new mischief in them, each andall. The minister- painfully embarrassed, but hoping that a kiss mightprove a talisman to admit him into the child's kindlier regards-bent forward, and impressed one on her brow. Hereupon, Pearl brokeaway from her mother, and, running to the brook, stooped over it,and bathed her forehead, until the unwelcome kiss was quite washedoff, and diffused through a long lapse of the gliding water. Shethen remained apart, silently watching Hester and the clergyman: whilethey talked together, and made such arrangements as were suggestedby their new position, and the purposes soon to be fulfilled. And now this fateful interview had come to a close. The dell wasto be left a solitude among its dark, old trees, which, with theirmultitudinous tongues, would whisper long of what had passed there,and no mortal be the wiser. And the melancholy brook would add thisother tale to the mystery with which its little heart was alreadyoverburdened, and whereof it still kept up a murmuring babble, withnot a whit more cheerfulness of tone than for ages heretofore. XX. THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. AS the minister departed, in advance of Hester Prynne and littlePearl, he threw a backward glance; half expecting that he shoulddiscover only some faintly traced features or outline of the motherand the child, slowly fading into the twilight of the woods. Sogreat a vicissitude in his life could not at once be received as real.But there was Hester, clad in her grey robe, still standing beside thetree-trunk, which some blast had overthrown a long antiquity ago,and which time had ever since been covering with moss, so that thesetwo fated ones, with earth's heaviest burden on them, might theresit down together, and find a single hour's rest and solace. And therewas Pearl, too, lightly dancing from the margin of the brook- now thatthe intrusive third person was gone- and taking her old place by hermother's side. So the minister had not fallen asleep, and dreamed! In order to free his mind from this indistinctness and duplicityof impression, which vexed it with a strange disquietude, herecalled and more thoroughly defined the plans which Hester andhimself had sketched for their departure. It had been determinedbetween them, that the Old World, with its crowds and cities,offered them a more eligible shelter and concealment than the wilds ofNew England, or all America, with its alternatives of an Indianwigwam, or the few settlements of Europeans, scattered thinly alongthe seaboard. Not to speak of the clergyman's health, so inadequate tosustain the hardships of a forest life, his native gifts, his culture,and his entire development, would secure him a home only in themidst of civilisation and refinement; the higher the state, the moredelicately adapted to it the man. In furtherance of this choice, it sohappened that a ship lay in the harbour; one of those questionablecruisers, frequent at that day, which, without being absolutelyoutlaws of the deep, yet roamed over its surface with a remarkableirresponsibility of character. This vessel had recently arrived fromthe Spanish Main, and, within three days' time, would sail forBristol. Hester Prynne- whose vocation, as a self-enlisted Sister ofCharity, had brought her acquainted with the captain and crew- couldtake upon herself to secure the passage of two individuals and achild, with all the secrecy which circumstances rendered more thandesirable. The minister had inquired of Hester, with no little interest, theprecise time at which the vessel might be expected to depart. It wouldprobably be on the fourth day from the present. "That is mostfortunate!" he had then said to himself. Now, why the Reverend Mr.Dimmesdale considered it so very fortunate, we hesitate to reveal.Nevertheless- to hold nothing back from the reader- it was because, onthe third day from the present, he was to preach the ElectionSermon; and, as such an occasion formed an honourable epoch in thelife of a New England clergyman, he could not have chanced upon a moresuitable mode and time of terminating his professional career. "Atleast, they shall say of me," thought this exemplary man, "that Ileave no public duty unperformed, nor ill performed!" Sad, indeed,that an introspection so profound and acute as this poor minister'sshould be so miserably deceived! We have had, and may still have,worse things to tell of him; but none, we apprehend, so pitiably weak;no evidence, at once so slight and irrefragable, of a subtledisease, that had long since begun to eat into the real substance ofhis character. No man, for any considerable period, can wear oneface to himself and another to the multitude, without finallygetting bewildered as to which may be the true. The excitement of Mr. Dimmesdale's feelings, as he returned from hisinterview with Hester, lent him unaccustomed physical energy, andhurried him townward at a rapid pace. The pathway among the woodsseemed wilder, more uncouth with its rude natural obstacles and lesstrodden by the foot of man than he remembered it on his outwardjourney. But he leaped across the plashy places, thrust himselfthrough the clinging underbrush, climbed the ascent, plunged intothe hollow, and overcame, in short, all the difficulties of the track,with an unweariable activity that astonished him. He could not butrecall how feebly, and with what frequent pauses for breath, he hadtoiled over the same ground, only two days before. As he drew near thetown, he took an impression of change from the series of familiarobjects that presented themselves. It seemed not yesterday, not one,nor two, but many days, or even years ago, since he had quittedthem. There, indeed, was each former trace of the street, as heremembered it, and all the peculiarities of the houses, with the duemultitude of gable-peaks, and a weather-cock at every point wherehis memory suggested one. Not the less, however, came thisimportunately obtrusive sense of change. The same was true as regardedthe acquaintances whom he met, and all the well-known shapes ofhuman life, about the little town. They looked neither older noryounger now; the beards of the aged were no whiter, nor could thecreeping babe of yesterday walk on his feet to-day; it wasimpossible to describe in what respect they differed from theindividuals on whom he had so recently bestowed a parting glance;and yet the minister's deepest sense seemed to inform him of theirmutability. A similar impression struck him most remarkably, as hepassed under the walls of his own church. The edifice had so verystrange, and yet so familiar, an aspect, that Mr. Dimmesdale's mindvibrated between two ideas; either that he had seen it only in a dreamhitherto, or that he was merely dreaming about it now. This phenomenon, in the various shapes which it assumed, indicatedno external change, but so sudden and important a change in thespectator of the familiar scene, that the intervening space of asingle day had operated on his consciousness like the lapse ofyears. The minister's own will, and Hester's will, and the fate thatgrew between them, had wrought this transformation. It was the sametown as heretofore; but the same minister returned not from theforest. He might have said to the friends who greeted him, "I am notthe man for whom you take me! I left him yonder in the forest,withdrawn into a secret dell, by a mossy tree-trunk, and near amelancholy brook! Go, seek your minister, and see if his emaciatedfigure, his thin cheek, his white, heavy, pain-wrinkled brow, be notflung down there, like a cast-off garment!" His friends, no doubt,would still have insisted with him- "Thou art thyself the man!"- butthe error would have been their own, not his. Before Mr. Dimmesdale reached home, his inner man gave him otherevidences of a revolution in the sphere of thought and feeling. Intruth, nothing short of a total change of dynasty and moral code, inthat interior kingdom, was adequate to account for the impulses nowcommunicated to the unfortunate and startled minister. At every stephe was incited to do some strange, wild, wicked thing or other, with asense that it would be at once involuntary and intentional; in spiteof himself, yet growing out of a profounder self than that whichopposed the impulse. For instance, he met one of his own deacons.The good old man addressed him with the paternal affection andpatriarchal privilege, which his venerable age, his upright and holycharacter, and his station in the Church, entitled him to use; and,conjoined with this, the deep, almost worshipping respect, which theminister's professional and private claims alike demanded. Never wasthere a more beautiful example of how the majesty of age and wisdommay comport with the obeisance and respect enjoined upon it, as from alower social rank, and inferior order of endowment, towards ahigher. Now, during a conversation of some two or three momentsbetween the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale and this excellent andhoary-bearded deacon, it was only by the most careful self-controlthat the former could refrain from uttering certain blasphemoussuggestions that rose into his mind, respecting thecommunion-supper. He absolutely trembled and turned pale as ashes,lest his tongue should wag itself, in utterance of these horriblematters, and plead his own consent for so doing, without his havingfairly given it. And, even with this terror in his heart, he couldhardly avoid laughing, to imagine how the sanctified old patriarchaldeacon would have been petrified by his minister's impiety. Again, another incident of the same nature. Hurrying along thestreet, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale encountered the eldest femalemember of his church; a most pious and exemplary old dame; poor,widowed, lonely, and with a heart as full of reminiscences about herdead husband and children, and her dead friends of long ago, as aburial-ground is full of storied gravestones. Yet all this, whichwould else have been such heavy sorrow, was made almost a solemn joyto her devout old soul, by religious consolations and the truths ofScripture, wherewith she had fed herself continually for more thanthirty years. And, since Mr. Dimmesdale had taken her in charge, thegood grandam's chief earthly comfort- which, unless it had beenlikewise a heavenly comfort, could have been none at all- was tomeet her pastor, whether casually, or of set purpose, and be refreshedwith a word of warm, fragrant, heaven-breathing Gospel truth, from hisbeloved lips, into her dulled, but rapturously attentive ear. But,on this occasion, up to the moment of putting his lips to the oldwoman's ear, Mr. Dimmesdale, as the great enemy of souls would haveit, could recall no text of Scripture, nor aught else, except a brief,pithy, and, as it then appeared to him, unanswerable argumentagainst the immortality of the human soul. The instilment thereof intoher mind would probably have caused this aged sister to drop downdead, at once, as by the effect of an intensely poisonous infusion.What he really did whisper, the minister could never afterwardsrecollect. There was, perhaps, a fortunate disorder in hisutterance, which failed to impart any distinct idea to the goodwidow's comprehension, or which Providence interpreted after amethod of its own. Assuredly, as the minister looked back, he beheldan expression of divine gratitude and ecstasy that seemed like theshine of the celestial city on her face, so wrinkled and ashy pale. Again, a third instance. After parting from the old church-member,he met the youngest sister of them all. It was a maiden newly won- andwon by the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale's own sermon, on the Sabbathafter his vigil, to barter the transitory pleasures of the world forthe heavenly hope, that was to assume brighter substance as lifegrew dark around her, and which would gild the utter gloom withfinal glory. She was fair and pure as a lily that had bloomed inParadise. The minister knew well that he was himself enshrinedwithin the stainless sanctity of her heart, which hung its snowycurtains about his image, imparting to religion the warmth of love,and to love a religious purity. Satan, that afternoon, had surelyled the poor young girl away from her mother's side, and thrown herinto the pathway of this sorely tempted, or- shall we not rather say?-this lost and desperate man. As she drew nigh, the arch-fiendwhispered him to condense into small compass and drop into hertender bosom a germ of evil that would be sure to blossom darkly soon,and bear black fruit betimes. Such was his sense of power over thisvirgin soul, trusting him as she did, that the minister felt potent toblight all the field of innocence with but one wicked look, anddevelop all its opposite with but a word. So- with a mightier strugglethan he had yet sustained- he held his Geneva cloak before his face,and hurried onward, making no sign of recognition, and leaving theyoung sister to digest his rudeness as she might. She ransacked herconscience- which was full of harmless little matters, like herpocket, or her workbag- and took herself to task, poor thing! for athousand imaginary faults; and went about her household duties withswollen eyelids the next morning. Before the minister had time to celebrate his victory over this lasttemptation, he was conscious of another impulse, more ludicrous, andalmost as horrible. It was- we blush to tell it- it was to stopshort in the road, and teach some very wicked words to a knot oflittle Puritan children who were playing there, and had but just begunto talk. Denying himself this freak, as unworthy of his cloth, hemet a drunken seaman, one of the ship's crew from the Spanish Main.And here, since he had so valiantly forborne all other wickedness,poor Mr. Dimmesdale longed, at least to shake hands with the tarryblackguard, and recreate himself with a few improper jests, such asdissolute sailors so abound with, and a volley of good, round,solid, satisfactory, and heaven-defying oaths! It was not so much abetter principle, as partly his natural good taste, and still more hisbuckramed habit of clerical decorum, that carried him safely throughthe latter crisis. "What is it that haunts and tempts me thus?" cried the minister tohimself, at length, pausing in the street, and striking his handagainst his forehead. "Am I mad? or am I given over utterly to thefiend? Did I make a contract with him in the forest, and sign itwith my blood? And does he now summon me to its fulfilment, bysuggesting the performance of every wickedness which his most foulimagination can conceive?" At the moment when the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale thus communed withhimself, and struck his forehead with his hand, old MistressHibbins, the reputed witch-lady, is said to have been passing by.She made a very grand appearance; having on a high head-dress, arich gown of velvet, and a ruff done up with the famous yellow starch,of which Ann Turner, her especial friend, had taught her the secret,before this last good lady had been hanged for Sir Thomas Overbury'smurder. Whether the witch had read the minister's thoughts, or no, shecame to a full stop, looked shrewdly into his face, smiled craftily,and- though little given to converse with clergymen- began aconversation. "So, reverend sir, you have made a visit into the forest,"observed the witch-lady, nodding her high head-dress at him. "The nexttime, I pray you to allow me only a fair warning, and I shall be proudto bear you company. Without taking overmuch upon myself, my good wordwill go far towards gaining any strange gentleman a fair receptionfrom yonder potentate you wot of!" "I profess, madam," answered the clergyman, with a graveobeisance, such as the lady's rank demanded, and his own good-breedingmade imperative- "I profess, on my conscience and character, that Iam utterly bewildered as touching the purport of your words! I wentnot into the forest to seek a potentate; neither do I, at any futuretime, design a visit thither, with a view to gaining the favour ofsuch personage. My one sufficient object was to greet that piousfriend of mine, the Apostle Eliot, and rejoice with him over themany precious souls he hath won from heathendom!" "Ha, ha, ha!" cackled the old witch-lady, still nodding her highhead-dress at the minister. "Well, well, we must needs talk thus inthe daytime! You carry it off like an old hand! But at midnight, andin the forest, we shall have other talk together!" She passed on with her aged stateliness, but often turning backher head and smiling at him, like one willing to recognise a secretintimacy of connection. "Have I then sold myself," thought the minister, "to the fiend whom,if men say true, this yellow-starched and velveted old hag haschosen for her prince and master!" The wretched minister! He had made a bargain very like it! Temptedby a dream of happiness, he had yielded himself, with deliberatechoice, as he had never done before, to what he knew was deadly sin.And the infectious poison of that sin had been thus rapidly diffusedthroughout his moral system. It had stupefied all blessed impulses,and awakened into vivid life the whole brotherhood of bad ones. Scorn,bitterness, unprovoked malignity, gratuitous desire of ill, ridiculeof whatever was good and holy, all awoke, to tempt, even while theyfrightened him. And his encounter with old Mistress Hibbins, if itwere a real incident, did but show his sympathy and fellowship withwicked mortals, and the world of perverted spirits. He had, by this time, reached his dwelling, on the edge of theburial-ground, and, hastening up the stairs, took refuge in his study.The minister was glad to have reached this shelter, without firstbetraying himself to the world by any of those strange and wickedeccentricities to which he had been continually impelled while passingthrough the streets. He entered the accustomed room, and looked aroundhim on its books, its windows, its fireplace, and the tapestriedcomfort of the walls, with the same perception of strangeness that hadhaunted him throughout his walk from the forest-dell into the town,and thitherward. Here he had studied and written; here, gone throughfast and vigil, and come forth half alive; here striven to pray; here,borne a hundred thousand agonies! There was the Bible, in its rich oldHebrew, with Moses and the Prophets speaking to him, and God's voicethrough all! There, on the table, with the inky pen beside it, wasan unfinished sermon, with a sentence broken in the midst, where histhoughts had ceased to gush out upon the page, two days before. Heknew that it was himself, the thin and white-cheeked minister, who haddone and suffered these things, and written thus far into the ElectionSermon! But he seemed to stand apart, and eye this former self withscornful, pitying, but half-envious curiosity. That self was gone.Another man had returned out of the forest; a wiser one; with aknowledge of hidden mysteries which the simplicity of the former nevercould have reached. A bitter kind of knowledge that! While occupied with these reflections, a knock came at the door ofthe study, and the minister said, "Come in!"- not wholly devoid ofan idea that he might behold an evil spirit. And so he did! It was oldRoger Chillingworth that entered. The minister stood, white andspeechless, with one hand on the Hebrew Scriptures, and the otherspread upon his breast. "Welcome home, reverend sir," said the physician. "And how found youthat godly man, the Apostle Eliot? But methinks, dear sir, you lookpale; as if the travel through the wilderness had been too sore foryou. Will not my aid be requisite to put you in heart and strengthto preach your Election Sermon?" "Nay, I think not so," rejoined the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. "Myjourney, and the sight of the holy Apostle yonder, and the free airwhich I have breathed, have done me good, after so long confinement inmy study. I think to need no more of your drugs, my kind physician,good though they be, and administered by a friendly hand." All this time, Roger Chillingworth was looking at the ministerwith the grave and intent regard of a physician towards his patient.But, in spite of his outward show, the latter was almost convincedof the old man's knowledge, or, at least, his confident suspicion,with respect to his own interview with Hester Prynne. The physicianknew then, that, in the minister's regard, he was no longer atrusted friend, but his bitterest enemy. So much being known, it wouldappear natural that a part of it should be expressed. It issingular, however, how long a time often passes before words embodythings; and with what security two persons, who choose to avoid acertain subject, may approach its very verge, and retire withoutdisturbing it. Thus, the minister felt no apprehension that RogerChillingworth would touch, in express words, upon the real positionwhich they sustained towards one another. Yet did the physician, inhis dark way, creep frightfully near the secret. "Were it not better," said he, "that you use my poor skill to-night?Verily, dear sir, we must take pains to make you strong and vigorousfor this occasion of the Election discourse. The people look for greatthings from you; apprehending that another year may come about, andfind their pastor gone." "Yea, to another world," replied the minister, with piousresignation. "Heaven grant it be a better one; for, in good sooth, Ihardly think to tarry with my flock through the flitting seasons ofanother year! But, touching your medicine, kind sir, in my presentframe of body, I need it not." "I joy to hear it," answered the physician. "It may be that myremedies, so long administered in vain, begin now to take dueeffect. Happy man were I, and well deserving of New England'sgratitude, could I achieve this cure!" "I thank you from my heart, most watchful friend," said the ReverendMr. Dimmesdale, with a solemn smile. "I thank you, and can but requiteyour good deeds with my prayers." "A good man's prayers are golden recompense!" rejoined old RogerChillingworth, as he took his leave. "Yea, they are the current goldcoin of the New Jerusalem, with the King's own mint, mark on them!" Left alone, the minister summoned a servant of the house, andrequested food, which, being set before him, he ate with ravenousappetite. Then, flinging the already written pages of the ElectionSermon into the fire, he forthwith began another, which he wrotewith such an impulsive flow of thought and emotion, that he fanciedhimself inspired; and only wondered that Heaven should see fit totransmit the grand and solemn music of its oracles through so foulan organ-pipe as he. However, leaving that mystery to solve itself, orgo unsolved for ever, he drove his task onward, with earnest haste andecstasy. Thus the night fled away, as if it were winged steed, andhe careering on it; morning came, and peeped, blushing, through thecurtains; and at last sunrise threw a golden beam into the study andlaid it right across the minister's bedazzled eyes. There he was, withthe pen still between his fingers, and a vast immeasurable tract ofwritten space behind him! XXI. THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY. BETIMES in the morning of the day on which the new Governor was toreceive his office at the hands of the people, Hester Prynne andlittle Pearl came into the market-place. It was already throngedwith the craftsmen and other plebeian inhabitants of the town, inconsiderable numbers; among whom, likewise, were many rough figures,whose attire of deer-skins marked them as belonging to some of theforest settlements, which surrounded the little metropolis of thecolony. On this public holiday, as on all other occasions, for seven yearspast, Hester was clad in a garment of coarse grey cloth. Not more byits hue than by some indescribable peculiarity in its fashion, ithad the effect of making her fade personally out of sight and outline;while, again, the scarlet letter brought her back from this twilightindistinctness, and revealed her under the moral aspect of its ownillumination. Her face, so long familiar to the townspeople, showedthe marble quietude which they were accustomed to behold there. It waslike a mask; or, rather, like the frozen calmness of a dead woman'sfeatures; owing this dreary resemblance to the fact that Hester wasactually dead, in respect to any claim of sympathy, and had departedout of the world with which she still seemed to mingle. It might be, on this one day, that there was an expression unseenbefore, nor, indeed, vivid enough to be detected now; unless somepreternaturally gifted observer should have first read the heart,and have afterwards sought a corresponding development in thecountenance and mien. Such a spiritual seer might have conceived,that, after sustaining the gaze of the multitude through sevenmiserable years as a necessity, a penance, and something which itwas a stern religion to endure, she now, for one last time more,encountered it freely and voluntarily, in order to convert what had solong been agony into a kind of triumph. "Look your last on the scarletletter and its wearer!"- the people's victim and life-long bond-slave,as they fancied her, might say to them. "Yet a little while, and shewill be beyond your reach! A few hours longer, and the deep,mysterious ocean will quench and hide for ever the symbol which yehave caused to burn upon her bosom!" Nor were it an inconsistencytoo improbable to be assigned to human nature, should we suppose afeeling of regret in Hester's mind, at the moment when she was aboutto win her freedom from the pain which had been thus deeplyincorporated with her being. Might there not be an irresistible desireto quaff a last, long, breathless draught of the cup of wormwood andaloes, with which nearly all her years of womanhood had beenperpetually flavoured? The wine of life, henceforth to be presented toher lips, must be indeed rich, delicious, and exhilarating, in itschased and golden beaker; or else leave an inevitable and wearylanguor, after the lees of bitterness wherewith she had beendrugged, as with a cordial of intensest potency. Pearl was decked out with airy gaiety. It would have been impossibleto guess that this bright and sunny apparition owed its existence tothe shape of gloomy grey; or that a fancy, at once so gorgeous andso delicate as must have been requisite to contrive the child'sapparel, was the same that had achieved a task perhaps more difficult,in imparting so distinct a peculiarity to Hester's simple robe. Thedress, so proper was it to little Pearl, seemed an effluence, orinevitable development and outward manifestation of her character,no more to be separated from her than the many-hued brilliancy froma butterfly's wing, or the painted glory from the leaf of a brightflower. As with these, so with the child; her garb was all of one ideawith her nature. On this eventful day, moreover, there was a certainsingular inquietude and excitement in her mood, resembling nothingso much as the shimmer of a diamond, that sparkles and flashes withthe varied throbbings of the breast on which it is displayed. Childrenhave always a sympathy in the agitations of those connected with them;always, especially, a sense of any trouble or impending revolution, ofwhatever kind, in domestic circumstances; and therefore Pearl, who wasthe gem on her mother's unquiet bosom, betrayed, by the very danceof her spirits, the emotions which none could detect in the marblepassiveness of Hester's brow. This effervescence made her flit with a birdlike movement, ratherthan walk by her mother's side. She broke continually into shouts of awild, inarticulate, and sometimes piercing music. When they reachedthe market-place, she became still more restless, on perceiving thestir and bustle that enlivened the spot; for it was usually morelike the broad and lonesome green before a village meetinghouse,than the centre of a town's business. "Why, what is this, mother?" cried she. "Wherefore have all thepeople left their work to-day? Is it a play-day for the whole world?See, there is the blacksmith! He has washed his sooty face, and put onhis Sabbath-day clothes, and looks as if he would gladly be merry,if any kind body would only teach him how! And there is MasterBrackett, the old jailer, nodding and smiling at me. Why does he doso, mother?" "He remembers thee a little babe, my child," answered Hester. "He should not nod and smile at me for all that- the black, grim,ugly-eyed old man!" said Pearl. "He may nod at thee, if he will; forthou art clad in grey, and wearest the scarlet letter. But see,mother, how many faces of strange people, and Indians among them,and sailors! What have they all come to do, here in the market-place?" "They wait to see the procession pass," said Hester. "For theGovernor and the magistrates are to go by, and the ministers, andall the great people and good people, with the music and thesoldiers marching before them." "And will the minister be there?" asked Pearl. "And will he hold outboth his hands to me, as when thou ledst me to him from thebrook-side?" "He will be there, child," answered her mother. "But he will notgreet thee to-day; nor must thou greet him." "What a strange, sad man is he!" said the child, as if speakingpartly to herself. "In the dark night-time he calls us to him, andholds thy hand and mine, as when we stood with him on the scaffoldyonder! And in the deep forest, where only the old trees can hear, andthe strip of sky see it, he talks with thee, sitting on a heap ofmoss! And he kisses my forehead, too, so that the little brook wouldhardly wash it off! But here, in the sunny day, and among all thepeople, he knows us not; nor must we know him! A strange, sad man ishe, with his hand always over his heart!" "Be quiet, Pearl! Thou understandest not these things," said hermother. "Think not now of the minister, but look about thee, and seehow cheery is everybody's face to-day. The children have come fromtheir schools, and the grown people from their workshops and theirfields, on purpose to be happy. For, to-day, a new man is beginning torule over them; and so- as has been the custom of mankind ever since anation was first gathered- they make merry and rejoice; as if a goodand golden year were at length to pass over the poor old world!" It was as Hester said, in regard to the unwonted jollity thatbrightened the faces of the people. Into this festal season of theyear- as it already was, and continued to be during the greater partof two centuries- the Puritans compressed whatever mirth and publicjoy they deemed allowable to human infirmity; thereby so fardispelling the customary cloud, that, for the space of a singleholiday, they appeared scarcely more grave than most other communitiesat a period of general affliction. But we perhaps exaggerate the grey or sable tinge, which undoubtedlycharacterised the mood and manners of the age. The persons now inthe market-place of Boston had not been born to an inheritance ofPuritanic gloom. They were native Englishmen, whose fathers hadlived in the sunny richness of the Elizabethan epoch; a time whenthe life of England, viewed as one great mass, would appear to havebeen as stately, magnificent, and joyous, as the world has everwitnessed. Had they followed their hereditary taste, the New Englandsettlers would have illustrated all events of public importance bybonfires, banquets, pageantries, and processions. Nor would it havebeen impracticable, in the observance of majestic ceremonies, tocombine mirthful recreation with solemnity, and give, as it were, agrotesque and brilliant embroidery to the great robe of state, which anation, at such festivals, puts on. There was some shadow of anattempt of this kind in the mode of celebrating the day on which thepolitical year of the colony commenced. The dim reflection of aremembered splendour, a colourless and manifold diluted repetitionof what they had beheld in proud old London- we will not say at aroyal coronation, but at a Lord Mayor's show- might be traced in thecustoms which our forefathers instituted, with reference to the annualinstallation of magistrates. The fathers and founders of thecommonwealth- the statesman, the priest, and the soldier- deemed ita duty then to assume the outward state and majesty, which, inaccordance with antique style, was looked upon as the proper garb ofpublic or social eminence. All came forth to move in procession beforethe people's eye, and thus impart a needed dignity to the simpleframework of a government so newly constructed. Then, too, the people were countenanced, if not encouraged, inrelaxing the severe and close application to their various modes ofrugged industry, which, at all other times, seemed of the same pieceand material with their religion. Here, it is true, were none of theappliances which popular merriment would so readily have found inthe England of Elizabeth's time, or that of James- no rude shows ofa theatrical kind; no minstrel, with his harp and legendary ballad,nor gleeman, with an ape dancing to his music; no juggler, with histricks of mimic witchcraft; no Merry Andrew, to stir up themultitude with jests, perhaps hundreds of years old, but stilleffective, by their appeals to the very broadest sources of mirthfulsympathy. All such professors of the several branches of jocularitywould have been sternly repressed, not only by the rigid discipline oflaw, but by the general sentiment which gives law its vitality. Notthe less, however, the great, honest face of the people smiled-grimly, perhaps, but widely too. Nor were sports wanting, such asthe colonists had witnessed, and shared in, long ago, at the countryfairs and on the village-greens of England; and which it was thoughtwell to keep alive on this new soil, for the sake of the courage andmanliness that were essential in them. Wrestling-matches, in thedifferent fashions of Cornwall and Devonshire, were seen here andthere about the market-place; in one corner, there was a friendly boutat quarterstaff; and- what attracted most interest of all- on theplatform of the pillory, already so noted in our pages, two masters ofdefence were commencing an exhibition with the buckler and broadsword.But, much to the disappointment of the crowd, this latter business wasbroken off by the interposition of the town beadle, who had no idea ofpermitting the majesty of the law to be violated by such an abuse ofone of its consecrated places. It may not be too much to affirm, on the whole (the people beingthen in the first stages of joyless deportment, and the offspring ofsires who had known how to be merry, in their day), that they wouldcompare favourably, in point of holiday keeping, with theirdescendants, even at so long an interval as ourselves. Their immediateposterity, the generation next to the early emigrants, wore theblackest shade of Puritanism, and so darkened the national visage withit, that all the subsequent years have not sufficed to clear it up. Wehave yet to learn again the forgotten art of gaiety. The picture of human life in the market-place, though its generaltint was the sad grey, brown, or black of the English emigrants, wasyet enlivened by some diversity of hue. A party of Indians- in theirsavage finery of curiously embroidered deer-skin robes,wampum-belts, red and yellow ochre, and feathers, and armed with thebow and arrow and stone-headed spear- stood apart, with countenancesof inflexible gravity, beyond what even the Puritan aspect couldattain. Nor, wild as were these painted barbarians, were they thewildest feature of the scene. This distinction could more justly beclaimed by some mariners-a part of the crew of the vessel from theSpanish Main- who had come ashore to see the humours of ElectionDay. They were rough-looking desperadoes, with sun-blackened faces,and an immensity of beard; their wide, short trousers were confinedabout the waist by belts, often clasped with a rough plate of gold,and sustaining always a long knife, and, in some instances, a sword.From beneath their broad-brimmed hats of palm-leaf, gleamed eyeswhich, even in good-nature and merriment, had a kind of animalferocity. They transgressed, without fear or scruple, the rules ofbehaviour that were binding on all others; smoking tobacco under thebeadle's very nose, although each whiff would have cost a townsman ashilling; and quaffing, at their pleasure, draughts of wine oraqua-vitae from pocket-flasks, which they freely tendered to thegaping crowd around them. It remarkably characterised the incompletemorality of the age, rigid as we call it, that a license was allowedthe seafaring class, not merely for their freaks on shore, but for farmore desperate deeds on their proper element. The sailor of that daywould go near to be arraigned as a pirate in our own. There could belittle doubt, for instance, that this very ship's crew, though nounfavourable specimens of the nautical brotherhood, had been guilty,as we should phrase it, of depredations on the Spanish commerce,such as would have perilled all their necks in a modern court ofjustice. But the sea in those old times, heaved, swelled, and foamed, verymuch at its own will, or subject only to the tempestuous wind, withhardly any attempts at regulation by human law. The buccaneer on thewave might relinquish his calling, and become at once, if he chose,a man of probity and piety on land; nor, even in the full career ofhis reckless life, was he regarded as a personage with whom it wasdisreputable to traffic, or casually associate. Thus, the Puritanelders, in their black cloaks, starched bands, and steeple-crownedhats, smiled not unbenignantly at the clamour and rude deportment ofthese jolly seafaring men; and it excited neither surprise noranim-adversion, when so reputable a citizen as old RogerChillingworth, the physician, was seen to enter the market-place, inclose and familiar talk with the commander of the questionable vessel. The latter was by far the most showy and gallant figure, so far asapparel went, anywhere to be seen among the multitude. He wore aprofusion of ribbons on his garment, and gold lace on his hat, whichwas also encircled by a gold chain, and surmounted with a feather.There was a sword at his side, and a sword-cut on his forehead, which,by the arrangement of his hair, he seemed anxious rather to displaythan hide. A landsman could hardly have worn this garb and shownthis face, and worn and shown them both with such a galliard air,without undergoing stern question before a magistrate, and probablyincurring fine or imprisonment, or perhaps an exhibition in thestocks. As regarded the shipmaster, however, all was looked upon aspertaining to the character, as to a fish his glistening scales. After parting from the physician, the commander of the Bristolship strolled idly through the market-place; until, happening toapproach the spot where Hester Prynne was standing, he appeared torecognise, and did not hesitate to address her. As was usually thecase wherever Hester stood, a small vacant area- a sort of magiccircle- had formed itself about her, into which, though the peoplewere elbowing one another at a little distance, none ventured, or feltdisposed to intrude. It was a forcible type of the moral solitude inwhich the scarlet letter enveloped its fated wearer; partly by her ownreserve, and partly by the instinctive, though no longer sounkindly, withdrawal of her fellow-creatures. Now, if never before, itanswered a good purpose, by enabling Hester and the seaman to speaktogether without the risk of being overheard; and so changed wasHester Prynne's repute before the public, that the matron in town mosteminent for rigid morality could not have held such intercourse withless result of scandal than herself. "So, mistress," said the mariner, "I must bid the steward make readyone more berth than you bargained for! No fear of scurvy orship-fever, this voyage! What with the ship's surgeon and this otherdoctor, our only danger will be from drug or pill; more by token, asthere is a lot of apothecary's stuff aboard, which I traded for with aSpanish vessel." "What mean you?" inquired Hester, startled more than she permittedto appear. "Have you another passenger?" "Why, know you not," cried the shipmaster, "that this physicianhere- Chillingworth, he calls himself- is minded to try mycabin-fare with you? Ay, ay, you must have known it; for he tells mehe is of your party, and a close friend to the gentleman you spoke of-he that is in peril from these sour old Puritan rulers!" "They know each other well, indeed," replied Hester, with a mienof calmness, though in the utmost consternation. "They have long dwelttogether." Nothing further passed between the mariner and Hester Prynne. But,at that instant, she beheld old Roger Chillingworth himself,standing in the remotest corner of the market-place, and smiling onher; a smile which- across the wide and bustling square, and throughall the talk and laughter, and various thoughts, moods, andinterests of the crowd- conveyed secret and fearful meaning. XXII. THE PROCESSION. BEFORE Hester Prynne could call together her thoughts, andconsider what was practicable to be done in this new and startlingaspect of affairs, the sound of military music was heard approachingalong a contiguous street. It denoted the advance of the procession ofmagistrates and citizens, on its way towards the meeting-house; where,in compliance with a custom thus early established, and ever sinceobserved, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale was to deliver an ElectionSermon. Soon the head of the procession showed itself with a slow andstately march, turning a corner, and making its way across themarket-place. First came the music. It comprised a variety ofinstruments, perhaps imperfectly adapted to one another, and playedwith no great skill; but yet attaining the great object for which theharmony of drum and clarion addresses itself to the multitude- thatof imparting a higher and more heroic air to the scene of life thatpasses before the eye. Little Pearl at first clapped her hands, butthen lost, for an instant, the restless agitation that had kept her ina continual effervescence throughout the morning; she gazedsilently, and seemed to be borne upward, like a floating sea-bird,on the long heaves and swells of sound. But she was brought back toher former mood by the shimmer of the sunshine on the weapons andbright armour of the military company, which followed after the music,and formed the honorary escort of the procession. This body ofsoldiery- which still sustains a corporate existence, and marches downfrom past ages with an ancient and honourable fame- was composed of nomercenary materials. Its ranks were filled with gentlemen, who feltthe stirrings of martial impulse, and sought to establish a kind ofCollege of Arms, where, as in an association of Knights Templars, theymight learn the science, and, so far as peaceful exercise wouldteach them, the practices of war. The high estimation then placed uponthe military character might be seen in the lofty port of eachindividual member of the company. Some of them, indeed, by theirservices in the Low Countries and on other fields of European warfare,had fairly won their title to assume the name and pomp of soldiership.The entire array, moreover, clad in burnished steel, and withplumage nodding over their bright morions, had a brilliancy ofeffect which no modern display can aspire to equal. And yet the men of civil eminence, who came immediately behind themilitary escort, were better worth a thoughtful observer's eye. Evenin outward demeanour, they showed a stamp of majesty that made thewarrior's haughty stride look vulgar, if not absurd. It was an agewhen what we call talent had far less consideration than now, butthe massive materials which produce stability and dignity of charactera great deal more. The people possessed, by hereditary right, thequality of reverence; which, in their descendants, if it survive atall, exists in smaller proportion, and with a vastly diminished force,in the selection and estimate of public men. The change may be forgood or ill, and is partly, perhaps, for both. In that old day, theEnglish settler on these rude shores- having left king, nobles, andall degrees of awful rank behind, while still the faculty andnecessity of reverence were strong in him- bestowed it on the whitehair and venerable brow of age; on long-tried integrity; on solidwisdom and sad-coloured experience; on endowments of that grave andweighty order which gives the idea of permanence, and comes underthe general definition of respectability. These primitive statesmen,therefore- Bradstreet, Endicott, Dudley, Bellingham, and theircompeers- who were elevated to power by the early choice of thepeople, seem to have been not often brilliant, but distinguished bya ponderous sobriety, rather than activity of intellect. They hadfortitude and self-reliance, and, in time of difficulty or peril,stood up for the welfare of the state like a line of cliffs againsta tempestuous tide. The traits of character here indicated were wellrepresented in the square cast of countenance and large physicaldevelopment of the new colonial magistrates. So far as a demeanourof natural authority was concerned, the mother country need not havebeen ashamed to see these foremost men of an actual democracyadopted into the House of Peers, or made the Privy Council of thesovereign. Next in order to the magistrates came the young and eminentlydistinguished divine, from whose lips the religious discourse of theanniversary was expected. His was the profession, at that era, inwhich intellectual ability displayed itself far more than in politicallife; for- leaving a higher motive out of the question- it offeredinducements powerful enough, in the almost worshipping respect ofthe community, to win the most aspiring ambition into its service.Even political power- as in the case of Increase Mather- was withinthe grasp of a successful priest. It was the observation of those who beheld him now, that never,since Mr. Dimmesdale first set his foot on the New England shore,had he exhibited such energy as was seen in the gait and air withwhich he kept his pace in the procession. There was no feebleness ofstep, as at other times; his frame was not bent; nor did his hand restominously upon his heart. Yet, if the clergyman were rightly viewed,his strength seemed not of the body. It might be spiritual, andimparted to him by angelic ministrations. It might be the exhilarationof that potent cordial, which is distilled only in the furnace-glow ofearnest and long-continued thought. Or, perchance, his sensitivetemperament was invigorated by the loud and piercing music, thatswelled heavenward, and uplifted him on its ascending wave.Nevertheless, so abstracted was his look, it might be questionedwhether Mr. Dimmesdale even heard the music. There was his body,moving onward, and with an unaccustomed force. But where was his mind?Far and deep in its own region, busying itself, with preternaturalactivity, to marshal a procession of stately thoughts that were soonto issue thence; and so he saw nothing, heard nothing, knew nothing,of what was around him; but the spiritual element took up the feebleframe, and carried it along, unconscious of the burden, and convertingit to spirit like himself. Men of uncommon intellect, who have grownmorbid, possess this occasional power of mighty effort, into whichthey throw the life of many days, and then are lifeless for as manymore. Hester Prynne, gazing steadfastly at the clergyman, felt a drearyinfluence come over her, but wherefore or whence she knew not;unless that he seemed so remote from her own sphere, and utterlybeyond her reach. One glance of recognition, she had imagined, mustneeds pass between them. She thought of the dim forest, with itslittle dell of solitude, and love, and anguish, and the mossytree-trunk, where, sitting hand in hand, they had mingled their sadand passionate talk with the melancholy murmur of the brook. Howdeeply had they known each other then! And was this the man? Shehardly knew him now! He, moving proudly past, enveloped, as it were,in the rich music, with the procession of majestic and venerablefathers; he, so unattainable in his worldly position, and still moreso in that far vista of his unsympathising thoughts, through which shenow beheld him! Her spirit sank with the idea that all must havebeen a delusion, and that, vividly as she had dreamed it, therecould be no real bond betwixt the clergyman and herself. And thus muchof woman was there in Hester, that she could scarcely forgive him-least of all now, when the heavy footstep of their approaching Fatemight be heard, nearer, nearer, nearer!- for being able socompletely to withdraw himself from their mutual world; while shegroped darkly, and stretched forth her cold hands, and found him not. Pearl either saw and responded to her mother's feelings, orherself felt the remoteness and intangibility that had fallen aroundthe minister. While the procession passed, the child was uneasy,fluttering up and down, like a bird on the point of taking flight.When the whole had gone by, she looked up into Hester's face. "Mother," said she, "was that the same minister that kissed me bythe brook?" "Hold thy peace, dear little Pearl!" whispered her mother. "Wemust not always talk in the market-place of what happens to us inthe forest." "I could not be sure that it was he; so strange he looked,"continued the child. "Else I would have run to him, and bid him kissme now, before all the people; even as he did yonder among the darkold trees. What would the minister have said, mother? Would he haveclapped his hand over his heart, and scowled on me, and bid mebegone?" "What should he say, Pearl?" answered Hester, "save that it was notime to kiss, and that kisses are not to be given in the market-place?Well for thee, foolish child, that thou didst not speak to him!" Another shade of the same sentiment, in reference to Mr. Dimmesdale,was expressed by a person whose eccentricities- or insanity, as weshould term it- led her to do what few of the townspeople would haveventured on; to begin a conversation with the wearer of the scarletletter, in public. It was Mistress Hibbins, who, arrayed in greatmagnificence, with a triple ruff, a broidered stomacher, a gown ofrich velvet, and a gold-headed cane, had come forth to see theprocession. As this ancient lady had the renown (which subsequentlycost her no less a price than her life) of being a principal actorin all the works of necromancy that were continually going forward,the crowd gave way before her, and seemed to fear the touch of hergarment, as if it carried the plague among its gorgeous folds. Seen inconjunction with Hester Prynne- kindly as so many now felt towards thelatter- the dread inspired by Mistress Hibbins was doubled, and causeda general movement from that part of the market-place in which the twowomen stood. "Now, what mortal imagination could conceive it!" whispered theold lady, confidentially, to Hester. "Yonder divine man! That saint onearth, as the people uphold him to be, and as- I must needs say- hereally looks! Who, now, that saw him pass in the procession, wouldthink how little while it is since he went forth out of his study-chewing a Hebrew text of Scripture in his mouth, I warrant- to take anairing in the forest! Aha! we know what that means, Hester Prynne!But, truly, forsooth, I find it hard to believe him the same man. Manya church-member saw I, walking behind the music, that has danced inthe same measure with me, when Somebody was fiddler, and, it might be,an Indian powwow or a Lapland wizard changing hands with us! That isbut a trifle, when a woman knows the world. But this minister! Couldstthou surely tell, Hester, whether he was the same man that encounteredthee on the forest-path?" "Madam, I know not of what you speak," answered Hester Prynne,feeling Mistress Hibbins to be of infirm mind; yet strangelystartled and awe-stricken by the confidence with which she affirmeda personal connection between so many persons (herself among them) andthe Evil One. "It is not for me to talk lightly of a learned and piousminister of the Word, like the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale!" "Fie, woman, fie!" cried the old lady, shaking her finger at Hester."Dost thou think I have been to the forest so many times, and have yetno skill to judge who else has been there? Yea; though no leaf ofthe wild garlands, which they wore while they danced, be left in theirhair! I know thee, Hester; for I behold the token. We may all see itin the sunshine; and it glows like a red flame in the dark. Thouwearest it openly; so there need be no question about that. But thisminister! Let me tell thee, in thine ear! When the Black Man seesone of his own servants, signed and sealed, so shy of owning to thebond as is the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, he hath a way of orderingmatters so that the mark shall be disclosed in open daylight to theeyes of all the world! What is it that the minister seeks to hide,with his hand always over his heart? Ha, Hester Prynne!" "What is it, good Mistress Hibbins?" eagerly asked little Pearl."Hast thou seen it?" "No matter, darling!" responded Mistress Hibbins, making Pearl aprofound reverence. "Thou thyself wilt see it, one time or another.They say, child, thou art of the lineage of the Prince of the Air!Wilt thou ride with me, some fine night, to see thy father? Thenthou shalt know wherefore the minister keeps his hand over his heart!" Laughing so shrilly that all the market-place could hear her, theweird old gentlewoman took her departure. By this time the preliminary prayer had been offered in themeeting-house, and the accents of the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale wereheard commencing his discourse. An irresistible feeling kept Hesternear the spot. As the sacred edifice was too much thronged to admitanother auditor, she took up her position close beside the scaffold ofthe pillory. It was in sufficient proximity to bring the wholesermon to her ears, in the shape of an indistinct, but varied,murmur and flow of the minister's very peculiar voice. The vocal organ was in itself a rich endowment; insomuch that alistener, comprehending nothing of the language in which thepreacher spoke, might still have been swayed to and fro by the meretone and cadence. Like all other music, it breathed passion andpathos, and emotions high or tender, in a tongue native to the humanheart, wherever educated. Muffled as the sound was by its passagethrough the church walls, Hester Prynne listened with such intentness,and sympathised so intimately, that the sermon had throughout ameaning for her, entirely apart from its indistinguishable words.These, perhaps, if more distinctly heard, might have been only agrosser medium, and have clogged the spiritual sense. Now she caughtthe low undertone, as of the wind sinking down to repose itself;then ascended with it, as it rose through progressive gradations ofsweetness and power, until its volume seemed to envelop her with anatmosphere of awe and solemn grandeur. And yet, majestic as thevoice sometimes became, there was for ever in it an essentialcharacter of plaintiveness; a loud or low expression of anguish- thewhisper, or the shriek, as it might be conceived, of sufferinghumanity, that touched a sensibility in every bosom! At times thisdeep strain of pathos was all that could be heard, and scarcely heard,sighing amid a desolate silence. But even when the minister's voicegrew high and commanding- when it gushed irrepressibly upward- when itassumed its utmost breadth and power, so overfilling the church asto burst its way through the solid walls, and diffuse itself in theopen air- still, if the auditor listened intently, and for thepurpose, he could detect the same cry of pain. What was it? Thecomplaint of a human heart, sorrow-laden, perchance guilty, tellingits secret, whether of guilt or sorrow, to the great heart of mankind;beseeching its sympathy or forgiveness- at every moment- in eachaccent- and never in vain! It was this profound and continualundertone that gave the clergyman his most appropriate power. During all this time, Hester stood, statue-like, at the foot ofthe scaffold. If the minister's voice had not kept her there, therewould nevertheless have been an inevitable magnetism in that spot,whence she dated the first hour of her life of ignominy. There was asense within her- to ill-defined to be made a thought, but weighingheavily on her mind- that her whole orb of life, both before andafter, was connected with this spot, as with the one point that gaveit unity. Little Pearl, meanwhile, had quitted her mother's side, and wasplaying at her own will about the market-place. She made the sombrecrowd cheerful by her erratic and glistening ray; even as a bird ofbright plumage illuminates a whole tree of dusty foliage, by dartingto and fro, half seen and half concealed amid the twilight of theclustering leaves. She had an undulating, but, oftentimes, a sharp andirregular movement. It indicated the restless vivacity of herspirit, which to-day was doubly indefatigable in its tiptoe dance,because it was played upon and vibrated with her mother's disquietude.Whenever Pearl saw anything to excite her ever active and wanderingcuriosity, she flew thitherward, and, as we might say, seized uponthat man or thing as her own property, so far as she desired it; butwithout yielding the minutest degree of control over her motions inrequital. The Puritans looked on, and, if they smiled, were none theless inclined to pronounce the child a demon offspring, from theindescribable charm of beauty and eccentricity that shone throughher little figure, and sparkled with its activity. She ran andlooked the wild Indian in the face; and he grew conscious of anature wilder than his own. Thence, with native audacity, but stillwith a reserve as characteristic, she flew into the midst of a groupof mariners, the swarthy-cheeked wild men of the ocean, as the Indianswere of the land; and they gazed wonderingly and admiringly atPearl, as if a flake of the sea-foam had taken the shape of a littlemaid, and were gifted with a soul of the sea-fire, that flashesbeneath the prow in the night-time. One of these seafaring men- the shipmaster, indeed, who had spokento Hester Prynne- was so smitten with Pearl's aspect, that heattempted to lay hands upon her, with purpose to snatch a kiss.Finding it as impossible to touch her as to catch a humming-bird inthe air, he took from his hat the gold chain that was twisted aboutit, and threw it to the child. Pearl immediately twined it aroundher neck and waist, with such happy skill, that, once seen there, itbecame a part of her, and it was difficult to imagine her without it. "Thy mother is yonder woman with the scarlet letter," said theseaman. "Wilt thou carry her a message from me?" "If the message pleases me, I will," answered Pearl. "Then tell her," rejoined he, "that I spake again with theblack-a-visaged, hump-shouldered old doctor, and he engages to bringhis friend, the gentleman she wots of, aboard with him. So let thymother take no thought, save for herself and thee. Wilt thou tellher this, thou witch-baby?" "Mistress Hibbins says my father is the Prince of the Air!" criedPearl, with a naughty smile. "If thou callest me that ill name, Ishall tell him of thee; and he will chase thy ship with a tempest!" Pursuing a zigzag course across the market-place, the child returnedto her mother, and communicated what the mariner had said. Hester'sstrong, calm, steadfastly enduring spirit almost sank, at last, onbeholding this dark and grim countenance of an inevitable doom, which-at the moment when a passage seemed to open for the minister andherself out of their labyrinth of misery- showed itself, with anunrelenting smile, right in the midst of their path. With her mind harassed by the terrible perplexity in which theshipmaster's intelligence involved her, she was also subjected toanother trial. There were many people present, from the countryround about, who had often heard scarlet letter, and to whom it hadbeen made terrific by a hundred false or exaggerated rumours, butwho had never beheld it with their own bodily eyes. These, afterexhausting other modes of amusement, now thronged about HesterPrynne with rude and boorish intrusiveness. Unscrupulous as it was,however, it could not bring them nearer than a circuit of severalyards. At that distance they accordingly stood, fixed there by thecentrifugal force of the repugnance which the mystic symbolinspired. The whole gang of sailors, likewise, observing the pressof spectators, and learning the purport of the scarlet letter, cameand thrust their sunburnt and desperado-looking faces into the ring.Even the Indians were affected by a sort of cold shadow of the whiteman's curiosity, and, gliding through the crowd, fastened theirsnake-like black eyes on Hester's bosom; conceiving, perhaps, that thewearer of this brilliantly embroidered badge must needs be a personageof high dignity among her people. Lastly the inhabitants of the town(their own interest in this worn-out subject languidly revivingitself, by sympathy with what they saw others feel) lounged idly tothe same quarter, and tormented Hester Prynne, perhaps more than allthe rest, with their cool, well-acquainted gaze at her familiar shame.Hester saw and recognised the self-same faces of that group ofmatrons, who had awaited her forthcoming from the prison-door, sevenyears ago; all save one, the youngest and only compassionate amongthem, whose burial-robe she had since made. At the final hour, whenshe was so soon to fling aside the burning letter, it had strangelybecome the centre of more remark and excitement, and was thus madeto sear her breast more painfully, than at any time since the firstday she put it on. While Hester stood in that magic circle of ignominy, where thecunning cruelty of her sentence seemed to have fixed her for ever, theadmirable preacher was looking down from the sacred pulpit upon anaudience, whose very inmost spirits had yielded to his control. Thesainted minister in the church! The woman of the scarlet letter in themarket-place! What imagination would have been irreverent enough tosurmise that the same scorching stigma was on them both! XXIII. THE REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER. THE eloquent voice, on which the souls of the listening audience hadbeen borne aloft as on the swelling waves of the sea, at length cameto a pause. There was a momentary silence, profound as what shouldfollow the utterance of oracles. Then ensued a murmur andhalf-hushed tumult; as if the auditors, released from the high spellthat had transported them into the region of another's mind, werereturning into themselves, with all their awe and wonder still heavyon them. In a moment more, the crowd began to gush forth from thedoors of the church. Now that there was an end, they needed otherbreath, more fit to support the gross and earthly life into which theyrelapsed, than that atmosphere which the preacher had converted intowords of flame, and had burdened with the rich fragrance of histhought. In the open air their rapture broke into speech. The street andthe market-place absolutely babbled, from side to side, with applausesof the minister. His hearers could not rest until they had told oneanother of what each knew better than he could tell or hear. Accordingto their united testimony, never had man spoken in so wise, so high,and so holy a spirit, as he that spake this day; nor had inspirationever breathed through mortal lips more evidently than it did throughhis. Its influence could be seen, as it were, descending upon him, andpossessing him, and continually lifting him out of the writtendiscourse that lay before him, and filling him with ideas that musthave been as marvellous to himself as to his audience. His subject, itappeared, had been the relation between the Deity and thecommunities of mankind, with a special reference to the New Englandwhich they were here planting in the wilderness. And, as he drewtowards the close, a spirit as of prophecy had come upon him,constraining him to its purpose as mightily as the old prophets ofIsrael were constrained; only with this difference, that, whereasthe Jewish seers had denounced judgments and ruin on their country, itwas his mission to foretell a high and glorious destiny for thenewly gathered people of the Lord. But, throughout it all, and throughthe whole discourse, there had been a certain deep, sad undertone ofpathos, which could not be interpreted otherwise than as the naturalregret of one soon to pass away. Yes; their minister whom they soloved- and who so loved them all, that he could not departheavenward without a sigh- had the foreboding of untimely death uponhim, and would soon leave them in their tears! This idea of histransitory stay on earth gave the last emphasis to the effect whichthe preacher had produced; it was as if an angel, in his passage tothe skies, had shaken his bright wings over the people for an instant-at once a shadow and a splendour- and had shed down a shower of goldentruths upon them. Thus, there had come to the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale- as to most men,in their various spheres, though seldom recognised until they see itfar behind them- an epoch of life more brilliant and full of triumphthan any previous one, or that any which could hereafter be. He stood,at this moment, on the very proudest eminence of superiority, to whichthe gifts of intellect, rich lore, prevailing eloquence, and areputation of whitest sanctity, could exalt a clergyman in NewEngland's earliest days, when the professional character was of itselfa lofty pedestal. Such was the position which the minister occupied,as he bowed his head forward on the cushions of the pulpit, at theclose of his Election Sermon. Meanwhile Hester Prynne was standingbeside the scaffold of the pillory, with the scarlet letter stillburning on her breast! Now was heard again the clangour of the music, and the measuredtramp of the military escort, issuing from the church-door. Theprocession was to be marshalled thence to the town-hall, where asolemn banquet would complete the ceremonies of the day. Once more, therefore, the train of venerable and majestic fatherswas seen moving through a broad pathway of the people, who drew backreverently, on either side, as the Governor and magistrates, the oldand wise men, the holy ministers, and all that were eminent andrenowned, advanced into the midst of them. When they were fairly inthe market-place, their presence was greeted by a shout. This-though doubtless it might acquire additional force and volume from thechild- like loyalty which the age awarded to its rulers- was felt tobe an irrepressible outburst of enthusiasm kindled in the auditorsby that high strain of eloquence which was yet reverberating intheir ears. Each felt the impulse in himself, and, in the same breath,caught it from his neighbour. Within the church, it had hardly beenkept down; beneath the sky, it pealed upward to the zenith. There werehuman beings enough, and enough of highly wrought and symphoniousfeeling, to produce that more impressive sound than the organ tones ofthe blast, or the thunder, or the roar of the sea, even that mightyswell of many voices, blended into one great voice by the universalimpulse which makes likewise one vast heart out of the many. Never,from the soil of New England, had gone up such a shout! Never, onNew England soil, had stood the man so honoured by his mortal brethrenas the preacher! How fared it with him then? Were there not the brilliant particlesof a halo in the air about his head! So etherealised by spirit as hewas, and so apotheosised by worshipping admirers, did his footsteps,in the procession, really tread upon the dust of earth? As the ranks of military men and civil fathers moved onward, alleyes were turned towards the point where the minister was seen toapproach among them. The shout died into a murmur, as one portion ofthe crowd after another obtained a glimpse of him. How feeble and palehe looked, amid all his triumph! The energy- or say, rather, theinspiration which had held him up, until he should have deliveredthe sacred message that brought its own strength along with it fromheaven- was withdrawn, now that it had so faithfully performed itsoffice. The glow, which they had just before beheld burning on hischeek, was extinguished, like a flame that sinks down hopelessly amongthe late-decaying embers. It seemed hardly the face of a man alive,with such a deathlike hue; it was hardly a man with life in him,that tottered on his path so nervelessly, yet tottered, and did notfall! One of his clerical brethren- it was the venerable John Wilson-observing the state in which Mr. Dimmesdale was left by the retiringwave of intellect and sensibility, stepped forward hastily to offerhis support. The minister tremulously, but decidedly, repelled the oldman's arm. He still walked onward, if that movement could be sodescribed, which rather resembled the wavering effort of an infant,with its mother's arms in view, outstretched to tempt him forward. Andnow, almost imperceptible as were the latter steps of his progress, hehad come opposite the well-remembered and weather-darkened scaffold,where, long since, with all that dreary lapse of time between,Hester Prynne had encountered the world's ignominious stare. Therestood Hester, holding little Pearl by the hand! And there was thescarlet letter on her breast! The minister here made a pause; althoughthe music still played the stately and rejoicing march to which theprocession moved. It summoned him onward- onward to the festival!- buthere he made a pause. Bellingham, for the last few moments, had kept an anxious eye uponhim. He now left his own place in the procession, and advanced to giveassistance; judging, from Mr. Dimmesdale's aspect, that he mustotherwise inevitably fall. But there was something in the latter'sexpression that warned back the magistrate, although a man not readilyobeying the vague intimations that pass from one spirit to another.The crowd, meanwhile, looked on with awe and wonder. This earthlyfaintness was, in their view, only another phase of the ministers'celestial strength; nor would it have seemed a miracle too high tobe wrought for one so holy, had he ascended before their eyes,waxing dimmer and brighter, and fading at last into the light ofheaven! He turned towards the scaffold, and stretched forth his arms. "Hester," said he, "come hither! Come, my little Pearl!" It was a ghastly look with which he regarded them; but there wassomething at once tender and strangely triumphant in it. The child,with the bird-like motion which was one of her characteristics, flewto him, and clasped her arms about his knees. Hester Prynne- slowly,as if impelled by inevitable fate, and against her strongest will-likewise drew near, but paused before she reached him. At thisinstant, old Roger Chillingworth thrust himself through the crowd- or,perhaps, so dark, disturbed, and evil was his look, he rose up outof some nether region- to snatch back his victim from what he soughtto do! Be that as it might, the old man rushed forward, and caught theminister by the arm. "Madman, hold! what is your purpose?" whispered he. "Wave backthat woman! Cast off this child! All shall be well! Do not blackenyour fame, and perish in dishonour. I can yet save you! Would youbring infamy on your sacred profession?" "Ha, tempter! Methinks thou art too late!" answered the minister,encountering his eye, fearfully, but firmly. "Thy power is not what itwas! With God's help, I shall escape thee now!" He again extended his hand to the woman of the scarlet letter. "Hester Prynne," cried he, with a piercing earnestness, "in the nameof Him, so terrible and so merciful, who gives me grace, at thislast moment, to do what- for my own heavy sin and miserable agony- Iwithheld myself from doing seven years ago, come hither now, and twinethy strength about me! Thy strength, Hester; but let it be guided bythe will which God hath granted me! This wretched and wronged oldman is opposing it with all his might!- with all his own might, andthe fiend's! Come, Hester, come! Support me up yonder scaffold!" The crowd was in a tumult. The men of rank and dignity, who stoodmore immediately around the clergyman, were so taken by surprise,and so perplexed as to the purport of what they saw- unable to receivethe explanation which most readily presented itself, or to imagine anyother- that they remained silent and inactive spectators of thejudgment which Providence seemed about to work. They beheld theminister, leaning on Hester's shoulder, and supported by her armaround him, approach the scaffold, and ascend its steps; while stillthe little hand of the sin-born child was clasped in his. Old RogerChillingworth followed, as one intimately connected with the dramaof guilt and sorrow in which they had all been actors, and wellentitled, therefore, to be present at its closing scene. "Hadst thou sought the whole earth over," said he, looking darkly atthe clergyman, "there was no one place so secret- no high place norlowly place, where thou couldst have escaped me- save on this veryscaffold!" "Thanks be to Him who hath led me hither" answered the minister. Yet he trembled, and turned to Hester with an expression of doubtand anxiety in his eyes, not the less evidently betrayed, that therewas a feeble smile upon his lips. "Is not this better," murmured he, "than what we dreamed of in theforest?" "I know not! I know not!" she hurriedly replied. "Better? Yea; so wemay both die, and little Pearl die with us!" "For thee and Pearl, be it as God shall order," said the minister;"and God is merciful! Let me now do the will which He hath madeplain before my sight. For, Hester, I am a dying man. So let me makehaste to take my shame upon me!" Partly supported by Hester Prynne, and holding one hand of littlePearl's, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale turned to the dignified andvenerable rulers; to the holy ministers, who were his brethren; to thepeople, whose great heart was thoroughly appalled, yet overflowingwith tearful sympathy, as knowing that some deep life-matter- which,if full of sin, was full of anguish and repentance likewise- was nowto be laid open to them. The sun, but little past its meridian,shone down upon the clergyman, and gave a distinctness to hisfigure, as he stood out from all the earth, to put in his plea ofguilty at the bar of Eternal Justice. "People of New England!" cried he, with a voice that rose over them,high, solemn, and majestic- yet had always a tremor through it, andsometimes a shriek, struggling up out of a fathomless depth of remorseand woe- "ye, that have loved me!- ye, that have deemed me holy-behold me here, the one sinner of the world! At last!- at last!- Istand upon the spot where, seven years since, I should have stood;here, with this woman, whose arm, more than the little strengthwherewith I have crept hitherward, sustains me, at this dreadfulmoment, from grovelling down upon my face! Lo, the scarlet letterwhich Hester wears! Ye have all shuddered at it! Wherever her walkhath been- wherever, so miserably burdened, she may have hoped to findrepose- it hath cast a lurid gleam of awe and horrible repugnanceround about her. But there stood one in the midst of you, at whosebrand of sin and infamy ye have not shuddered!" It seemed, at this point, as if the minister must leave theremainder of his secret undisclosed. But he fought back the bodilyweakness- and, still more, the faintness of heart- that was strivingfor the mastery with him. He threw off all assistance, and steppedpassionately forward a pace before the woman and the child. "It was on him!" he continued, with a kind of fierceness; sodetermined was he to speak out the whole. "God's eye beheld it! Theangels were forever pointing at it! The Devil knew it well, andfretted it continually with the touch of his burning finger! But hehid it cunningly from men, and walked among you with the mien of aspirit, mournful, because so pure in a sinful world!- and sad, becausehe missed his heavenly kindred! Now, at the death-hour, he stands upbefore you! He bids you look again at Hester's scarlet letter! Hetells you, that, with all its mysterious horror, it is but theshadow of what he bears on his own breast, and that even this, his ownred stigma, is no more than the type of what has seared his inmostheart! Stand any here that question God's judgment on a sinner?Behold! Behold a dreadful witness of it!" With a convulsive motion, he tore away the ministerial band frombefore his breast. It was revealed! But it were irreverent to describethat revelation. For an instant, the gaze of the horror-strickenmultitude was concentred on the ghastly miracle; while the ministerstood, with a flush of triumph in his face, as one who, in thecrisis of acutest pain, had won a victory. Then, down he sank upon thescaffold! Hester partly raised him, and supported his head against herbosom. Old Roger Chillingworth knelt down beside him, with a blank,dull countenance, out of which the life seemed to have departed. "Thou hast escaped me!" he repeated more than once. "Thou hastescaped me!" "May God forgive thee!" said the minister. "Thou, too, hast deeplysinned!"