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'THOU  SHALT  FORGIVE  ME." 


THE 

Scarlet  Letter 

A  ROMANCE 

BY 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne 


VIGNETTE  EDITION.     WITH  ONE  HUNDRED  NEW 
ILL  US  TRA  TIONS 


BY 

Frederick  C.  Gordon 


NEW   YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


IT- 


COPYRIGHT,  1893,  BY 
FREDERICK   A.  STOKES   COMPANY 


PS 


PREFACE 

TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION 


MUCH  to  the  author's  surprise,  and  (if  he  may  say  so 
without  additional  offence)  considerably  to  his 
amusement,  he  finds  that  his  sketch  of  official  life,  intro 
ductory  to  THE  SCARLET  LETTER,  has  created  an  unprece 
dented  excitement  in  the  respectable  community  immedi 
ately  around  him.  It  could  hardly  have  been  more  violent, 
indeed,  had  he  burned  down  the  Custom- House,  and 
quenched  its  last  smoking  ember  in  the  blood  of  a  certain 
venerable  personage,  against  whom  he  is  supposed  to  cher 
ish  a  peculiar  malevolence.  As  the  public  disapprobation 
would  weigh  very  heavily  on  him,  were  he  conscious  of 
deserving  it,  the  author  begs  leave  to  say,  that  he  has  care 
fully  read  over  the  introductory  pages,  with  a  purpose  to 
alter  or  expunge  whatever  might  be  found  amiss,  and  to 
make  the  best  reparation  in  his  power  for  the  atrocities  of 
which  he  has  been  adjudged  guilty.  But  it  appears  to 
him,  that  the  only  remarkable  features  of  the  sketch  are  its 
frank  and  genuine  good-humor,  and  the  general  accuracy 
with  which  he  has  conveyed  his  sincere  impressions  of  the 
characters  therein  described.  As  to  enmity,  or  ill-feeling 
of  any  kind,  personal  or  political,  he  utterly  disclaims  such 


vi  Preface. 

motives.  The  sketch  might,  perhaps,  have  been  wholly 
omitted,  without  loss  to  the  public,  or  detriment  to  the 
book  ;  but,  having  undertaken  to  write  it,  he  conceives 
that  it  could  not  have  been  done  in  a  better  or  kindlier 
spirit,  nor,  so  far  as  his  abilities  availed,  with  a  livelier 
effect  of  truth. 

The  author  is  constrained,  therefore,  to  republish  his 
introductory  sketch  without  the  change  of  a  word. 

SALEM,  March  30,  1850. 


CONTENTS 


THE  CUSTOM- HOUSE. — INTRODUCTORY, 


I.  THE  PRISON-DOOR, 

II.  THE  MARKET-PLACE, 

III.  THE  RECOGNITION, 

IV.  THE  INTERVIEW,       .... 
V.  HESTER  AT  HER  NEEDLE,     . 

VI.  PEARL, 

VII.  THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL, 

VIII.  THE  ELF-CHILD  AND  THE  MINISTER, 

IX.  THE  LEECH,          .... 

X.  THE  LEECH  AND  HIS  PATIENT, 

XL  THE  INTERIOR  OF  A  HEART, 

XII.  THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL,    . 

XIII.  ANOTHER  VIEW  OF  HESTER, 

XIV.  HESTER  AND  THE  PHYSICIAN, 
XV.  HESTER  AND  PEARL,    . 

XVI.  A  FOREST  WALK,      .... 


Vlll 


Contents. 


XVII.  THE  PASTOR  AND  HIS  PARISHIONER,  .         253 

XVIII.  A  FLOOD  OF  SUNSHINE,            .         .  .     266 

XIX.  THE  CHILD  AT  THE  BROOK-SIDE,  .         275 

XX.  THE  MINISTER  IN  A  MAZE,      .         .  .     286 

XXI.  THE  NEW  ENGLAND  HOLIDAY,      .  .         303 

XXII.  THE  PROCESSION,       .         .                  .  .     316 

XXIII.  THE  REVELATION  OF  THE  SCARLET  LETTER,  332 

XXIV.  CONCLUSION,      .         .         .         .         .  .     344 


THE  CUSTOM-HOUSE. 


INTRODUCTORY  TO    "  THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 


'T    is   a  little   remarkable, 
that — though  disinclined 
to  talk  overmuch  of  my 
self    and    my  affairs    at 
the   fireside,  and  to  my 
personal  friends— £an  au-^ 
tobiographical     impulse]] 
should  twice  in  my  life  have  taken 
possession  of  me,  in  addressing  the 
public.       The  first  time    was    three 
or  four  years  since,  when  I  favored 
the  reader — inexcusably,  and  for  no 
earthly  reason,  that  either  the  indul- 
gent  reader  or  the  intrusive  author 
could   imagine — with    a    description 

of  my  way  of  life  in  the  deep  quietude  of  an  Old  Manse. 
And  now — because,  beyond  my  deserts,  I  was  happy 
enough  to  find  a  listener  or  two  on  the  former  occasion — 
I  again  seize  the  public  by  the  button,  and  talk  of  my 
*fthree  years' experience  in  a  Custom-HouseT)  The  example 
of  the  famous  "  P.  P.,  Clerk  of  this  Parish,"  was  never 
more  faithfully  followed.  The  truth  seems  to  be,  how- 


2  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

ever,  that,  when  he  casts  his  leaves  forth  upon  the  wind, 
the  author  addresses,  not  the  many  who  will  fling  aside 
his  volume,  or  never  take  it  up,  but  the  few  who  will 
understand  him,  better  than  most  of  his  schoolmates  and 
lifemates.  [Some  authors,  indeed,  do  far  more  than  this 
and  indulge  themselves  in  such  confidential  depths  of 
revelation  as  could  fittingly  be  addressed,  only  and  ex 
clusively,  to  the  one  heart  and  mind  of  perfect  sympathy ; 
as  if  the  printed  book,  thrown  at  large  on  the  wide  world, 
were  certain  to  find  out  the  divided  segment  of  the  writer's 
own  nature,  and  complete  his  circle  of  existence  by  bring 
ing  him  into  communion  with  it.  It  is  scarcely  decorous, 
however,  to  speak  all,  even  where  we  speak  impersonally. 
But — as  thoughts  are  frozen  and  utterance  benumbed, 
unless  the  speaker  stand  in  some  true  relation  with  his 
audience — it  may  be  pardonable  to  imagine  that  a  friend, 
a  kfnd  and  apprehensive,  though  not  the  closest  friend,  is 
listening  to  our  talk ;  and  then,  a  native  reserve  being 
thawed  by  this  genial  consciousness,  we  may  prate  of  the 
/  circumstances  that  lie  around  us,  and  even  of  ourself,  but 
stilljveerjjhe  inmost  Me  behind  its  veil.  To  this  extent 
and  within  these  limits,  an  author,  methinks,  may  be  auto 
biographical,  without  violating  either  the  reader's  rights  or 
his  own^y 

It  will  be  seen,  likewise,  that  this  Custom-House  sketch 
has  a  certain  propriety,  of  a  kind  always  recognized  in 
literature,  as  explaining  how  a  large  portion  of  the  follow 
ing  pages  came  into  my  possession,  and  as  offering  proofs 
of  the  authenticity  of  a  narrative  therein  contained.  This, 
in  fact, — a  desire  to  put  myself  in  my  true  position  as 
editor,  or  very  little  more,  of  the  most  prolix  amor  ^ 
tales  that  make  up  my  volume, — this,  and  no  other,  y 


The  Custom-House.  3 

true  reason  for   assumin£_a_^^  the 

public.  In  accomplishing  the  main  purpose,  it  has  ap- 
"peared  allowable,  by  a  few  extra  touches,  to  give  a  faint 
representation  of  a  mode  of  life  not  heretofore  described, 
together  with  some  of  the  characters  that  move  in  it, 
among  whom  the  author  happened  to  make  one0 

In  my  native  town  of  Salem,  at  the  head  of  what,  half  a 
century  ago,  in  the  days  olf  old  King  Derby,  was  a  bus 
tling  wharf, — but  which  is  now  burdened  with  decayed 
wooden  warehouses,  and  exhibits  few  or  no  symptoms  of 
commercial  life ;  except,  perhaps,  a  bark  or  brig,  half-way 
down  its  melancholy  length,  discharging  hides  ;  or,  nearer 
at  hand,  a  Nova  Scotia  schooner,  pitching  out  her  cargo 
of  firewood, — at  the  head,  I  say,  of  this  dilapidated  wharf, 
which  the  tide  often  overflows,  and  along  which,  at  the 
base  and  in  the  rear  of  the  row  of  buildings,  the  track  of 
many  languid  years  is  seen  in  a  border  of  unthrifty  grass, 
— here,  with  a  view  from  its  front  windows  adown  this 
not  very  enlivening  prospect,  and  thence  across  the  har 
bor,  stands  a  spacious  edifice  of  brick.  YFrom  the  loftiest 
point  of  its  roof,  during  precisely  three  and  a  half  hours 
of  each  forenoon,  floats  or  droops,  in  breeze  or  calm,  the 
banner  of  the  republic;  but  with  the  thirteen  stripes 
turned  vertically,  instead  of  horizontally,  and  thus  indicat 
ing  that  a  civil,  and  not  a  military  post  of  Uncle  Sam's 
government,  is  here  established.  Its  front  is  ornamented 
with  a  portico  of  a  half  a  dozen  wooden  pillars,  supporting 
a  balcony,  beneath  which  a  flight  of  wide  granite  steps 
descends  towards  the  street.  Over  the  entrance  hovers  an 
enormous  specimen  of  the  American  eagle,  with  outspread 
wings,  a  shield  before  her  breast,  and,  if  I  recollect  aright, 


4  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

a  bunch  of  intermingled  thunderbolts  and  barbed  arrows 
in  each  claw.  With  the  customary  infirmity  of  temper 
that  characterizes  this  unhappy  fowl,  she  appears,  by  the 
fierceness  of  her  beak  and  eye  and  the  general  truculency 
of  her  attitude,  to  threaten  mischief  to  the  inoffensive 
community  ;  and  especially  to  warn  all  citizens,  careful 
of  their  safety,  against  intruding  on  the  premises  which 
she  overshadows  with  her  wings.  Nevertheless,  vixenly  as 
she  looks,  many  people  are  seeking,  at  this  very  moment, 
to  shelter  themselves  under  the  wing  of  the  federal  eagle  ; 
imagining,  I  presume,  that  her  bosom  has  all  the  softness 
and  snugness  of  an  eider-down  pillow.  But  she  has  no 
great  tenderness,  even  in  her  best  of  moods,  and,  sooner 
or  later, — oftener  soon  than  late, — is  apt  to  fling  off  her 
nestlings  with  a  scratch  of  her  claw,  a  dab  of  her  beak,  or 
a  rankling  wound  from  her  barbed  arrows?? 
\  The  pavement  round  about  the  above-described  edifice 
— which  we  may  as  well  name  at  once  as  the  Custom- 
House  of  the  port — has  grass  enough  growing  in  its  chinks 
to  show  that  it  has  not,  of  late  days,  been  worn  by  any 
multitudinous  resort  of  business.  In  some  months  of  the 
year,  however,  there  often  chances  a  forenoon  when 
affairs  move  onward  with  a  livelier  tread.  Such  occasions 
might  remind  the  elderly  citizen  of  that  period,  before  the 
last  war  with  England,  when  Salem  was  a  port  by  itself ; 
not  scorned,  as  she  is  now,  by  her  own  merchants  and 
ship-owners,  who  permit  her  wharves  to  crumble  to  ruin, 
while  their  ventures  go  to  swell,  needlessly  and  impercep 
tibly,  the  mighty  flood  of  commerce  at  New  York  or 
Boston.  On  some  such  morning,  when  three  or  four 
vessels  happen  to  have  arrived  at  once, — usually  from 
Africa  or  South  America, — or  to  be  on  the  verge  of  their 


The  Custom-House.  5 

departure  thitherward,  there  is  a  sound  of  frequent  feet, 
passing  briskly  up  and  down  the  granite  steps.  Here, 
before  his  own  wife  has  greeted  him,  you  may  greet  the 
sea-flushed  ship-master,  just  in  port,  with  his  vessel's 
papers  under  his  arm  in  a  tarnished  tin  box.  Here,  too, 
comes  his  owner,  cheerful  or  sombre,  gracious  or  in  the 
sulks,  accordingly  as  his  scheme  of  the  now  accomplished 
voyage  has  been  realized  in  merchandise  that  will  readily 
be  turned  to  gold,  or  has  buried  him  under  a  bulk  of  in- 
commoclities,  such  as  nobody  will  care  to  rid  him  of. 


"THE  RUSTY  LITTLE  SCHOONERS." 

Here,  likewise, — the  germ  of  the  wrinkled-browed,  grizzly- 
bearded,  careworn  merchant, — we  have  the  smart  young 
clerk,  who  gets  the  taste  of  traffic  as  a  wolf-cub  does  of 
blood,  and  already  sends  adventures  in  his  master's  ships, 
when  he  had  better  be  sailing  mimic  boats  upon  a  mill- 
pond.  Another  figure  in  the  scene  is  the  outward-bound 
sailor,  in  quest  of  a  protection  ;  or  the  recently  arrived 
one,  pale  and.  feeble,  seeking  a  passport  to  the  hospital. 


6  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

Nor  must  we  forget  the  captains  of  the  rusty  little 
schooners  that  bring  firewood*  from  the  British  provinces  ; 
a  rough-looking  set  of  tarpaulins,  without  the  alertness  of 
the  Yankee  aspect,  but  contributing  an  item  of  no  slight 
importance  to  our  decaying  trade. 

Cluster  all  these  individuals  together,  as  they  sometimes 
were,  with  other  miscellaneous  ones  to  diversify  the  group, 
and,  for  the  time  being,  it  made  the  Custom-House  a  stir 
ring  scene.  More  frequently,  however,  on  ascending  the 
steps,  you  would  discern — in  the  entry,  if  it  were  summer 
time,  or  in  their  appropriate  rooms,  if  wintry  or  inclement 
weather — a  row  of  venerable  figures,  sitting  in  old-fash 
ioned  chairs,  which  were  tipped  on  their  hind  legs  back 
against  the  wall.  Oftentimes  they  were  asleep,  but  occa 
sionally  might  be  heard  talking  together,  in  voices  be 
tween  speech  and  a  snore,  and  with  that  lack  of  energy 
that  distinguishes  the  occupants  of  alms-houses,  and  all 
other  human  beings  who  depend  for  subsistence  on 
charity,  on  monopolized  labor,  or  anything  else  but  their 
own  independent  exertions.  These  old  gentlemen — 
seated,  like  Matthew,  at  the  receipt  of  custom,  but  not 
very  liable  to  be  summoned  thence,  like  him,  for  apostolic 
errands — were  Custom-House  officers. 

Furthermore,  on  the  left  hand  as  you  enter  the  front 
door  is  a  certain  room  or  office,  about  fifteen  feet  square, 
and  of  a  lofty  height  :  with  two  of  its  arched  windows 
commanding  a  view  of  the  aforesaid  dilapidated  wharf, 
and  the  third  looking  across  a  narrow  lane,  and  along  a 
portion  of  Derby  Street.  All  three  give  glimpses  of  the 
shops  of  grocers,  block-makers,  slop-sellers,  and  ship- 
chandlers;  around  the  doors  of  which  are  generally  to  be 
seen,  laughing  and  gossiping,  clusters  of  old  salts,  and 


The  Custom-House.  7 

such  other  wharf-rats  as  haunt  the  Wapping  of  a  seaport. 
The  room  ilself  is  cobwebbed,  and  clingy  with  old  paint  ; 
its  floor  is  strewn  with  grey  sand,  in  a  fashion  that  has 
elsewhere  fallen  into  long  disuse  ;  andQt  is  easy  to  con 
clude,  from  the  general  slovenliness  of  the  place,  that  this 
is  a  sanctuary  into  which  womankind,  with  her  tools  of 
magic,  the  broom  and  mop,  has  very  infrequent  access^ 
In  the  way  of  furniture,  there  is  a  stove  with  a  voluminous 
funnel;  an  old  pine  desk,  with  a  three-legged  stool  be 
side  it ;  two  or  three  wooden-bottom  chairs,  exceedingly 
decrepit  and  infirm  ;  and, —  not  to  forget  the  library, — 
on  some  shelves,  a  score  or  two  of  volumes  of  the  Acts  of 
Congress,  and  a  bulky  Digest  of  the  Revenue  Laws.  A 
tin  pipe  ascends  through  the  ceiling,  and  forms  a  medium 
of  vocal  communication  with  other  parts  of  the  edifice. 
And  here,  some  six  months  ago, — pacing  from  corner  to 
corner,  or  lounging  on  the  long-legged  stool,  with  his 
elbow  on  the  desk,  and  his  eyes  wandering  up  and  down 
the  columns  of  the  morning  newspaper, — you  might  have 
recognized,  honored  reader,  the  same  individual  who  wel 
comed  you  into  his  cheery  little  study,  where  the  sunshine 
glimmered  so  pleasantly  through  the  willow  branches,  on 
the  western  side  of  the  Old  Manse.  But  now,  should  you 
go  thither  to  seek  him,  you  would  inquire  in  vain  for  the 
Loco-foco  Surveyor.  The  besom  of  reform  has  swept  him 
out  of  office  ;  and  a  worthier  successor  wears  his  dignity 
and  pockets  his  emoluments? — ^ 

This  old  town  of  Salem — my  native  place,  though  I 
have  dwelt  much  away  from  it,  both  in  boyhood  and 
maturer  'years — possesses,  or  did  possess,  a  hold  on  my 
affections,  the  force  of  which  I  have  never  realized  during 
my  seasons  of  actual  residence  here,  Indeed,  so  far  as 


8  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

its  physical  aspect  is  concerned,  with  its  flat,  unvaried 
surface,  covered  chiefly  with  wooden  houses,  few  or  none 
of  which  pretend  to  architectural  beauty, — its  irregularity, 
which  is  neither  picturesque  nor  quaint,  but  only  tame, — 
its  long  and  lazy  street,  lounging  wearisomely  through  the 
whole  extent  of  the  peninsula,  with  Gallows  Hill  and  New 
Guinea  at  one  end,  and  a  view  of  the  alms-house  at  the 
other, — such  being  the  features  of  my  native  town,  it 
would  be  quite  as  reasonable  to  form  a  sentimental  attach 
ment  to  a  disarranged  checkerboard.  And  yet,  though 
invariably  happiest  elsewhere,  there  is  within  me  a  feeling 
for  old  Salem,  which,  in  lack  of  a  better  phrase,  I  must  be 
content  to  call  affection.  The  sentiment  is  probably 
assignable  to  the  deep  and  aged  roots  which  my  family 
has  struck  into  the  soil.  It  is  now  nearly  two  centuries 
and  a  quarter  since  the  original  Briton,  the  earliest  emi 
grant  of  my  name,  made  his  appearance  in  the  wild  and 
forest-bordered  settlement,  which  has  since  become  a  city. 
And  here  his  descendants  have  been  born  and  died,  and 
have  mingled  their  earthy  substance  with  the  soil ;  until 
no  small  portion  of  it  must  necessarily  be  akin  to  the 
mortal  frame  wherewith,  for  a  little  while,  I  walk  the 
streets.  In  part,  therefore,  the  attachment  which  I  speak 
of  is  the  mere  sensuous  sympathy  of  dust  for  dust.  Few 
of  my  countrymen  can  know  what  it  is  ;  nor,  as  frequent 
transplantation  is  perhaps  better  for  the  stock,  need  they 
consider  it  desirable  to  know. 

'  iBut  the  sentiment  has  likewise  its  moral  quality.  The 
figure  of  that  first  ancestor,  invested  by  family  tradition 
with  a  dim  and  dusky  grandeur,  was  present  to  my  boyish 
imagination,  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember.  It  still 
haunts  me,  and  induces  a  sort  of  home-feeling  with  the. 


The  Custom- House* 


io  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

past,  which  I  scarcely  claim  in  reference  to  the  present 
phase  of  the  town^T  I  seem  to  have  a  stronger  claim  to  a 
residence  here  on  account  of  this  grave,  bearded,  sable- 
cloaked,  and  steeple-crowned  progenitor, — who  came  so 
early,  with  his  Bible  and  his  sword,  and  trode  the  unworn 
street  with  such  a  stately  port,  and  made  so  large  a  figure, 
as  a  man  of  war  and  peace, — a  stronger  claim  than  for 
myself,  whose  name  is  seldom  heard  and  my  face  hardly 
known.  He  was  a  soldier,  legislator,  judge  ;  he  was  a 
ruler  in  the  Church  ;  he  had  all  the  Puritanic  traits,  both 
good  and  evil.  He  was  likewise  a  bitter  persecutor;  as 
witness  the  Quakers,  who  have  remembered  him  in  their 
histories,  and  relate  an  incident  of  his  hard  severity 
towards  a  woman  of  their  sect,  which  will  last  longer,  it  is 
to  be  feared,  than  any  record  of  his  better  deeds,  although 
these  were  many.  His  son,  too,  inherited  the  persecuting 
spirit,  and  made  himself  so  conspicuous  in  the  martyrdom 
of  the  witches,  that  their  blood  may  fairly  be  said  to  have 
left  a  stain  upon  him.  So  deep  a  stain,  indeed,  that  his 
old  dry  bones,  in  the  Charter-Street  burial-ground,  must 
still  retain  it,  if  they  have  not  crumbled  utterly  to  dust  ! 
I  know  not  whether  these  ancestors  of  mine  bethought 
themselves  to  repent,  and  ask  pardon  of  Heaven  for  their 
cruelties;  or  whether  they  are  now  groaning  under  the 
heavy  consequences  of  them,  in  another  state  of  being. 
At  all  events,  I,  the  present  writer,  as  their  representative, 
hereby  take  shame  upon  myself  for  their  sakes,  and  pray 
that  any  curse  incurred  by  them — as  I  have  heard,  and  as 
the  dreary  and  unprosperous  condition  of  the  race,  for 
many  a  long  year  back,  would  argue  to  exist — may  be  now 
and  henceforth  removed. 

Doubtless,  however,  either  of  these   stern    and   black- 


The  Custom-House.  1  1 

browed  Puritans  would  have  thought  it  quite  a  sufficient 
retribution  for  his  sins,  that,  after  so  long  a  lapse  of 
years,  the  old  trunk  of  the  family  tree,  with  so  much  ven 
erable  moss  upon  it,  should  have  borne,  as  its  topmost 
bough,  an  idler  like  myself.  No  aim,  that  I  have  ever 
cherished,  would  they  recognize  as  laudable  ;  no  success 
of  mine  —  if  my  life,  beyond  its  domestic  scope,  had  ever 
been  brightened  by  success  —  would  they  deem  otherwise 
than  worthless,  if  not  positively  disgraceful!^"  What  is 
he  ?  "  murmurs  one  grey  shadow  of'  my  forefathers  to  the 
other.  "  A  writer  of  story-books  !  What  kind  of  a  busi 
ness  in  life,  —  what  mode  of  glorifying  God,  or  being  ser 
viceable  to  mankind  in  his  day  and  generation,  —  may 
that  be  ?  Why,  the  degenerate  fellow  might  as  well  have 
been  a  fiddler!"  Such  are  the  compliments  bandied  be 
tween  my  great-grandsires  and  myself,  across  the  gulf  of 
time  !  And  yet,  let  them  scorn  me  as  they  will,  strong 
traits  of  their  nature  have  intertwined  themselves  with 


Planted  deep,  in  the  town's  earliest  infancy  and  child 
hood  by  these  two  earnest  and  energetic  men,  the  race 
has  ever  since  subsisted  here,  always,  too,  in  respectabil 
ity  ;  never,  so  far  as  I  have  known,  disgraced  by  a  single 
unworthy  member;  but  seldom  or  never,  on  the  other 
hand,  after  the  first  two  generations,  performing  any  mem 
orable  deed,  or  so  much  as  putting  forward  a  claim  to 
public  notice.  Gradually,  they  have  sunk  almost  out  of 
sight;  as  old  houses,  here  and  there  about  the  streets, 
get  covered  half-way  to  the  eaves  by  the  accumulation  of 
new  soil.  From  father  to  son,  for  above  a  hundred  years, 
they  followed  the  sea  ;  agrey-heacled  ship-master,  in  each 
generation,  retiring  from  the  quarter-deck  to  the  home- 


12  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

stead,  while  a  boy  of  fourteen  took  the  hereditary  place 
before  the  mast,  confronting  the  salt  spray  and  the  gale, 
which  had  blustered  against  his  sire  and  grandsire.  The 
boy,  also,  in  due  time,  passed  from  the  forecastle  to  the 
cabin,  spent  a  tempestuous  manhood,  and  returned  from 
his  world-wanderings,  to  grow  old,  and  die,  and  mingle  his 
dust  with  the  natal  earth.  ^J'his  long  connection  of  a 
family  with  one  spot,  as  its  place  of  birth  and  burial,  cre 
ates  a  kindred  between  the  human  being  and  the  locality, 
quite  independent  of  any  charm  in  the  scenery  or  moral 
circumstances  that  surround  him.  It  is  not  love,  but  in 
stinct.  The  new  inhabitant — who  came  himself  from  a 
foreign  land,  or  whose  father  or  grandfather  came — has 
little  claim  to  be  called  a  Salemite  ;  he  has  no  conception 
of  the  oyster-like  tenacity  with  which  an  old  settler,  over 
whom  his  third  century  is  creeping,  clings  to  the  spot 
where  his  successive  generations  have  been  imbeddedj 
It  is  no  matter  that  the  place  is  joyless  for  him  ;  that  he 
is  weary  of  the  old  wooden  houses,  the  mud  and  dust,  the 
dead  level  of  site  and  sentjment,  the  chill  east  wind,  and 
the  chillest  of  social  atmospheres; — all  these,  and  what 
ever  faults  besides  he  may  see  or  imagine,  are  nothing  to 
the  purpose.  The  spell  survives,  and  just  as  powerfully  as 
if  the  natal  spot  were  an  earthly  paradise.  So  has  it  been 
in  my  case.  (/I  felt  it  almost  as  a  destiny  to  make  Salem 
my  home^  so  that  the  mould  of  features  and  cast  of  char 
acter  which  had  all  along  been  familiar  here — ever,  as  one 
representative  of  the  race  lay  down  in  his  grave,  another 
assuming,  as  it  were,  his  sentry-march  along  the  Main 
Street — might  still  in  my  little  day  be  seen  and  recog 
nizecl  in  the  old  town.  Nevertheless,  this  very  sentiment 
is  an  evidence  that  the  connection,  which  has  become  an 


The  Custom-House.  13 

unhealthy  one,  should  at  last  be  severed.  Human  nature 
will  not  flourish,  any  more  than  a. potato,  if  it  be  planted 
and  replanted,  for  too  long  a  series  of  generations,  in  the 
same  worn-out  soil.  My  children  have  had  other  birth 
places,  and,  so  far  as  their  fortunes  may  be  within  my 
control,  shall  strike  their  roots  into  unaccustomed  earth. 


"  THE  OLD  MANSK." 

On  emerging  from  the  Old  Manse,  it  was  chiefly  this 
strange,  indolent,  unjoyous  attachment  for  my  native 
town,  that  brought  me  to  fill  a  place  in  Uncle  Sam's  brick 
edifice,  when  I  might  as  well,  or  better,  have  gone  some 
where  else.  My  doom  was  on  me.  It  was  not  the  first 
time,  nor  the  second,  that  I  had  gone  away, — as  it  seemed, 
permanently, — but  yet  returned,  like  the  bad  half-penny; 


14  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

or  as  if  Salem  were  for  me  the  inevitable  centre  of  the 
universe.  So,  one  fine  morning,  I  ascended  the  flight  of 
granite  steps,  with  the  President's  commission  in  my 
pocket,  and  was  introduced  to  the  corps  of  gentlemen 
who  were  to  aid  me  in  my  weighty  responsibility,  as  chief 
executive  officer  of  the  Custom-House. 

I  doubt  greatly — or  rather,  I  do  not  doubt  at  all — 
whether  any  public  functionary  of  the  United  States, 
either  in  the  civil  or  military  line,  has  ever  had  such  a 
patriarchal  body  of  veterans  under  his  orders  as  myself. 
The  whereabouts  of  the  Oldest  Inhabitant  was  at  once 
settled,  when  I  looked  at  them.  For  upwards  of  twenty 
years  before  this  epoch,  the  independent  position  of  the 
Collector  had  kept  the  Salem  Custom-House  out  of  the 
whirlpool  of  political  vicissitude,  which  makes  the  tenure 
of  office  generally  so  fragile.  A  soldier, — New  England's 
most  distinguished  soldier, — he  stood  firmly  on  the  pedes 
tal  of  his  gallant  services  ;  and,  himself  secure  in  the 
wise  liberality  of  the  successive  administrations  through 
which  he  had  held  office,  he  had  been  the  safety  of  his 
subordinates  in  many  an  hour  of  danger  and  heart-quake. 
General  Miller  was  radically  conservative  ;  a  man  over 
whose  kindly  nature  habit  had  no  slight  influence;  at 
taching  himself  strongly  to  familiar  faces,  and  with  diffi 
culty  moved  to  change,  even  when  change  might  have 
brought  unquestionable  improvement.  Thus,  on  taking 
charge  of  my  department,  I  found  few  but  aged  men. 
They  were  ancient  sea-captains,  for  the  most  part,  who 
after  being  tossed  on  every  sea,  and  standing  up  sturdily 
against  life's  tempestuous  blast,  had  finally  drifted  into 
this  quiet  nook  ;  where,  with  little  to  disturb  them,  except 
the  periodical  terrors  of  a  Presidential  election,  they  one 


The  Custom- House.  15 

and  all  acquired  a  new  lease  of  existence.  Though  by  no 
means  less  liable  than  their  fellow-men  to  age  and  infirmity, 
they  had  evidently  some  talisman  or  other  that  kept  death 
at  bay.  Two  or  three  of  their  number,  as  I  was  assured, 
being  gouty  and  rheumatic,  or  perhaps  bed-ridden,  never 
dreamed  of  making  their  appearance  at  the  Custom- 
House,  during  a  large  part  of  the  year  ;  but,  after  a  tor 
pid  winter,  would  creep  out  into  the  warm  sunshine  of 
May  or  June,  go  lazily  about  what  they  termed  duty,  and, 
at  their  own  leisure  and  convenience,  betake  themselves 
to  bed  again.  I  must  plead  guilty  to  the  charge  of  ab 
breviating  the  official  breath  of  more  than  one  of  these 
venerable  servants  of  the  republicrf  They  were  allowed, 
on  my  representation,  to  rest  from  their  arduous  labors, 
and  soon  afterwards — as  if  their  sole  principle  of  life 
had  been  zeal  for  their  country's  service,  as  I  verily  be 
lieve  it  was — withdrew  to  a  better  world.  It  is  a  pious 
consolation  to  me,  that,  through  my  interference,  a  suffi 
cient  space  was  allowed  them  for  repentance  of  the  evil 
and  corrupt  practices,  into  which,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
every  Custom-House  officer  must  be  supposed  to  fall. 
Neither  the  front  nor  the  back  entrance  of  the  Custom- 
House  opens  on  the  road  to  Paradise/ 


•$ 


''[The  greater  part  of  my  officers  were  Whigs/  It  was 
well  for  their  venerable  brotherhood,  that  the  new  Sur 
veyor  was  not  a  politician,  and,  though  a  faithful  Demo 
crat  in  principle,  neither  received  nor  held  his  office  with 
any  reference  to  political  services.  Had  it  been  otherwise, 
— had  an  active  politician  been  put  into  this  influential 
post,  to  assume  the  easy  task  of  making  head  against  a 
Whig  Collector,  whose  infirmities  withheld  him  from  the 
personal  administration  of  his  office, — hardly  a  man  of 


1 6  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

the  old  corps  would  have  drawn  the  breath  of  official  life, 
within  a  month  after  the  exterminating  angel  had  come  up 
the  Custom-House  steps.  According  to  the  received  code 
in  such  matters,  it  would  have  been  nothing  short  of  duty, 
in  a  politician,  to  bring  every  one  of  those  white  heads 
under  the  axe  of  the  guillotine.  It  was  plain  enough  to 
discern,  that  the  old  fellows  dreaded  some  such  discour 
tesy  at  my  hands.  It  pained,  and  at  the  same  time 
amused  me,  to  behold  the  terrors  that  attended  my 
advent ;  to  see  a  furrowed  cheek,  weather-beaten  by  half 
a  century  of  storm,  turn  ashy  pale  at  the  glance  of  so 
harmless  an  individual  as  myself;  to  detect,  as  one  or 
another  addressed  me,  the  tremor  of  a  voice,  which,  in 
long-past  days,  had  been  wont  to  bellow  through  a  speak 
ing-trumpet,  hoarsely  enough  to  frighten  Boreas  himself 
to  silence.  They  knew,  these  excellent  old  persons,  that, 
by  an  established  rule, — and,  as  regarded  some  of  them, 
weighed  by  their  own  lack  of  efficiency  for  business, — 
they  ought  to  have  given  place  to  younger  men,  more 
orthodox  in  politics,  and  altogether  fitter  than  themselves 
to  serve  our  common  Uncle.  I  knew  it  too,  but  could 
never  quite  find  in  my  heart  to  act  upon  the  knowledge. 
Much  and  deservedly  to  my  own  discredit,  therefore,  and 
considerably  to  the  detriment  of  my  official  conscience, 
they  continued,  during  my  incumbency,  to  creep  about 
the  wharves,  and  loiter  up  and  down  the  Custom-House 
steps.  They  spent  a  good  deal  of  time,  also,  asleep  in 
their  accustomed  corners,  with  their  chairs  tilted  back 
against  the  wall ;  awaking,  however,  once  or  twice  in  a 
forenoon,  to  bore  one  another  with  the  several  thousandth 
repetition  of  old  sea-stories,  an'd  mouldy  jokes,  that  had 
grown  to  be  pass-words  and  countersigns  among  them. 


The  Custom-House.  17 

The  discovery  was  soon  made,  I  imagine,  that  the  new 
Surveyor  had  no  great  harm  in  him.  So,  with  lightsome 
-hearts,  and  the  happy  consciousness  of  being  usefully 
employed, — in  their  own  behalf,  at  least,  if  not  for  our 
beloved  country, — these  good  old  gentlemen  went  through 
the  various  formalities  of  office.  Sagaciously,  under  their 
spectacles,  did  they  peep  into  the  holds  of  vessels ! 
Mighty  was  their  fuss  about  little  matters,  and  marvellous, 
sometimes,  the  obtuseness  that  allowed  greater  ones  to 
slip  between  their  fingers  !  -Whenever  such  a  mischance 
occurred, — when  a  wagon-load  of  valuable  merchandise 
had  been  smuggled  ashore,  at  noonday,  perhaps,  and 
directly  beneath  their  unsuspicious  noses, — nothing  could 
exceed  the  vigilance  and  alacrity  with  which  they  pro 
ceeded  to  lock,  and  double-lock,  and  secure  with  tape  and 
sealing-wax,  all  the  avenues  of  the  delinquent  vessel. 
Instead  of  a  reprimand  for  their  previous  negligence,  the 
case  seemed  rather  to  require  an  eulogium  on  their  praise 
worthy  caution,  after  the  mischief  had  happened  ;  a  grate 
ful  recognition  of  the  promptitude  of  their  zeal,  the 
moment  that  there  was  no  longer  any  remedy  ! 

Unless  people  are  more  than  commonly  disagreeable,  it 
is  my  foolish  habit  to  contract  a  kindness  for  them.  The 
better  part  of  my  companion's  character,  if  it  have  a 
better  part,  is  that  which  usually  comes  uppermost  in  my 
regard,  and  forms  the  type  whereby  I  recognize  the  man. 
As  most  of  these  old  Custom-House  officers  had  good 
traits,  and  as  my  position  in  reference  to  them,  being 
paternal  and  protective,  was  favorable  to  the  growth  of 
friendly  sentiments,  I  soon  grew  to  like  them  all.  It  was 
pleasant  in  the  summer  forenoons, — when  the  fervent 
heat,  that  almost  liquefied  the  rest  of  the  human  family, 


1 8  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

merely  communicated  a  genial  warmth  to  their  half-torpid 
systems, — it  was  pleasant  to  hear  them  chatting  in  the 
back  entry,  a  row  of  them  all  tipped  against  the  wall,  as 
usual  ;  while  the  frozen  witticisms  of  past  generations 
were  thawed  out,  and  came  bubbling  with  laughter  from 
their  lips.  Externally,  the  jollity  of  aged  men  has  much 
in  common  with  the  mirth  of  children  ;  the  intellect,  any 
more  than  a  deep  sense  of  humor,  has  little  to  do  with  the 
matter;  it  is,  with  both,  a  gleam  that  plays  upon  the  sur 
face,  and  imparts  a  sunny  and  cheery  aspect  alike  to  the 
green  branch,  and  grey,  mouldering  trunk.  In  one  case, 
however,  it  is  real  sunshine  ;  in  the  other,  it  more  resem 
bles  the  phosphorescent  glow  of  decaying  wood. 

It  would  be  sad  injustice,  the  reader  must  understand, 
to  represent  all  my  excellent  old  friends  as  in  their 
dotage.  In  the  first  place,  my  coadjutors  were  not  in 
variably  old ;  there  were  men  among  them  in  their 
strength  and  prime,  of  marked  ability  and  energy,  and 
altogether  superior  to  the  sluggish  and  dependent  mode 
of.  life  on  which  their  evil  stars  had  cast  them.  Then, 
moreover,  the  white  locks  of  age  were  sometimes  found 
to  be  the  thatch  of  an  intellectual  tenement  in  good  re 
pair.  But,  as  respects  the  majority  of  my  corps  of  vet 
erans,  there  will  be  no  wrong  done,  if  I  characterize  them 
generally  as  a  set  of  wearisome  old  souls,  who  had  gath 
ered  nothing  worth  preservation  from  their  varied  expe 
rience  of  life.  They  seemed  to  have  flung  away  all  the 
golden  grain  of  practical  wisdom,  which  they  had  enj'oyed 
so  many  opportunities  of  harvesting,  and  most  carefully 
to  have  stored  their  memories  with  the  husks.  They 
spoke  with  far  more  interest  and  unction  of  their  morn 
ing's  breakfast,  or  yesterday's,  to-day's  or  to-morrow's 


The  Custom-House.  19 

dinner,  than  of  the  shipwreck  of  forty  or  fifty  years  ago, 
and  all  the  world's  wonders  which  they  had  witnessed 
with  their  youthful  eyes. 

The  father  of  the  Custom-House — the  patriarch,  not 
only  of  this  little  squad  of  officials,  but,  I  am  bold  to  say, 
of  the  respectable  body  of  tide-waiters  all  over  the 
United  States — was  a  certain  permanent  Inspector.  He 
might  truly  be  termed  a  legitimate  son  of  the  revenue 
system,  dyed  in  the  wool,  or  rather,  born  in  the  purple ; 
since  his  sire,  a  Revolutionary  colonel,  and  formerly  col 
lector  of  the  port,  had  created  an  office  for  him,  and 
appointed  him  to  fill  it,  at  a  period  of  the  early  ages 
which  few  living  men  can  now  remember.  This  Inspec 
tor,  when  I  first  knew  him,  was  a  man  of  fourscore  years, 
or  thereabouts,  and  certainly  one  of  the  most  wonderful 
specimens  of  winter- green  that  you  would  be  likely  to 
discover  in  a  lifetime's  search.  With  his  florid  cheek, 
his  compact  figure,  smartly  arrayed  in  a  bright-buttoned 
blue  coat,  his  brisk  and  vigorous  step,  and  his  hale  and 
hearty  aspect,  altogether,  he  seemed — not  young,  indeed 
— but  a  kind  of  new  contrivance  of  Mother  Nature  in 
the  shape  of  man,  whom  age  and  infirmity  had  no  busi 
ness  to  touch.  His  voice  and  laugh,  which  perpetually 
reechoed  through  the  Custom-House,  had  nothing  of 

o  o 

the  tremulous  quaver  and  cackle  of  an  old  man's  utter 
ance  ;  they  came  strutting  out  of  his  lungs,  like  the  crow 
of  a  cock,  or  the  blast  of  a  clarion.  Looking  at  him 
merely  as  an  animal, — and  there  was  very  little  else  to 
look  at, — he  was  a  most  satisfactory  object,  from  the 
thorough  healthfulness  and  wholesomeness  of  his  system, 
and  his  capacity,  at  that  extreme  age,  to  enjoy  all,  or 
nearly  all,  the  delights  which  he  had  ever  aimed  at,  or 


20  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

conceived  of.  The  careless  security  of  his  life  in  the 
Custom-House,  on  a  regular  income,  and  with  but  slight 
and  infrequent  apprehensions  of  removal,  had  no  doubt 
contributed  to  make  time  pass  lightly  over  him.  The 
original  and  more  potent  causes,  however,  lay  in  the  rare 
perfection  of  his  animal  nature,  the  moderate  proportion 
of  intellect,  and  the  very  trifling  admixture  of  moral  and 
spiritual  ingredients  ;  these  latter  qualities,  indeed,  being 
in  barely  enough  measure  to  keep  the  old  gentleman 
from  walking  on  all-fours.  He  possessed  no  power  of 
thought,  no  depth  of  feeling,  no  troublesome  sensibili 
ties  ;  nothing,  in  short,  but  a  few  commonplace  instincts, 
which,  aided  by  the  cheerful  temper  that  grew  inevitably 
out  of  his  physical  well-being,  did  duty  very  respectably, 
and  to  general  acceptance,  in  lieu  of  a  heart.  He  had 
been  the  husband  of  three  wives,  all  long  since  dead  ; 
the  father  of  twenty  children,  most  of  whom,  at  every  age 
of  chilclhpod  or  maturity,  had  likewise  returned  to  dust. 
Here,  one  would  suppose,  might  have  been  sorrow 
enough  to  imbue  the  sunniest  disposition,  through  and 
through,  with  a  sable  tinge.  Not  so  with  our  old  Inspec 
tor  !  One  brief  sigh  sufficed  to  carry  off  the  entire  bur 
den  of  these  dismal  reminiscences.  The  next  moment, 
he  was  as  ready  for  sport  as  any  unbreeched  infant  ;  far 
readier  than  the  Collector's  junior  clerk,  who,  at  nine 
teen  years,  was  much  the  elder  and  graver  man  of  the 
two. 

I  used  to  watch  and  study  this  patriarchal  personage 
with,  I  think,  livelier  curiosity  than  any  other  form  of 
humanity  there  presented  to  my  notice.  He  was,  in 
truth,  a  rare  phenomenon  ;  so  perfect  in  one  point  of 
view  ;  so  shallow,  so  delusive,  so  impalpable,  such  an 


The  Custom- House.  21 

absolute  nonentity,  in  every  other.  My  conclusion  was 
that  he  had  no  soul,  no  heart,  no  mind  ;  nothing,  as  I 
have  already  said,  but  instincts ;  and  yet,  withal,  so 
cunningly  had  the  few  materials  of  his  character  been  put 
together,  that  there  was  no  painful  perception  of  de 
ficiency,  but,  on  my  part,  an  entire  contentment  with 
what  I  found  in  him.  It  might  be  difficult — and  it  was 
so — to  conceive  how  he  should  exist  hereafter,  so  earthy 
and  sensuous  did  he  seem  ;  but  surely  his  existence  here, 
admitting  that  it  was  to  terminate  with  his  last  breath, 
had  been  not  unkindly  given  ;  with  no  higher  moral 
responsibilities  than  the  beasts  of  the  field,  but  with  a 
larger  scope  of  enjoyment  than  theirs,  and  with  all  their 
blessed  immunity  from  the  dreariness  and  duskiness  of 
age. 

One  point,  in  which  he  had  vastly  the  advantage  over 
his  four-footed  brethren,  was  his  ability  to  recollect  the 
good  dinners  which  it  had  made  no  small  portion  of  the 
happiness  of  his  life  to  eat.  His  gourmandism  was  a 
highly  agreeable  trait ;  and  to  hear  him  talk  of  roast-meat 
was  as  appetizing  as  a  pickle  or  an  oyster.  As  he  pos 
sessed  no  higher  attribute,  and  neither  sacrificed  nor 
vitiated  any  spiritual  endowment  by  devoting  all  his 
energies  and  ingenuities  to  subserve  the  delight  and 
profit  of  his  maw,  it  always  pleased  and  satisfied  me 
to  hear  him  expatiate  on  fish,  poultry,  and  butcher's 
meat,  and  the  most  eligible  methods  of  preparing  them 
for  the  table.  His  reminiscences  of  good  cheer,  how 
ever  ancient  the  date  of  the  actual  banquet,  seemed 
to  bring  the  savor  of  pig  or  turkey  under  one's  very 
nostrils.  There  were  flavors  on  his  palate,  that  had 
lingered  there  not  less  than  sixty  or  seventy  years,  and 


22 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


were  still  apparently  as  fresh  as  that  of  the  mutton-chop 
which  he  had  just  devoured  for  his  breakfast.  I  have 
heard  him  smack  his  lips  over  dinners,  every  guest  at 
which,  except  himself,  had  long  been  food  for  worms. 
It  was  marvellous  to  observe  how  the  ghosts  of  bygone 
meals  were  continually  rising  up  before  him ;  not  in 
anger  or  retribution,  but  as  if  grateful  for  his  former 
appreciation,  and  seeking  to  repudiate  an  endless  series 
of  enjoyment,  at  once  shadowy  and  sensual.  A  tender 
loin  of  beef,  a  hind-quarter  of  veal,  a  sparerib  of  pork,  a 
particular  chicken,  or  a  remarkably  praiseworthy  turkey, 
which  had  perhaps  adorned  his  board  in  the  days  of  the 
elder  Adams,  would  be  remembered  ;  while  all  the  subse 
quent  experience  of  our  race,  and  all  the  events  that 
brightened  or  darkened  his 
individual  career,  had  gone 
over  him  with  as  little  per 
manent  effect  as  the  passing 
breeze.  The  chief  tragic 
event  of  the  old  man's  life,  so 
far  as  I  could  judge,  was  his 
mishap  with  a  certain  goose, 
which  lived  and  died  some 
twenty  or  forty  years  ago  :  a 
goose  of  most  promising 
figure,  but  which,  at  table, 
proved  so  inveterately  tough 
that  the  carving-knife  would 
make  no  impression  on  its 
carcass  ;  and  it  could  only  be 
divided  with  an  axe  and 

"  A  GOOSE  OF  MOST  PROMISING 
handsaw.  FIGTRE/' 


The  Custom- House.  23 

But  it  is  time  to  quit  this  sketch  ;  on  which,  however,  I 
should  be  glad  to  dwell  at  considerably  more  length, 
because,  of  all  men  whom  I  have  ever  known,  this  in 
dividual  was  fittest  to  be  a  Custom-House  officer.  Most 
persons,  owing  to  causes  which  I  may  not  have  space  to 
hint  at,  suffer  moral  detriment  from  this  peculiar  mode  of 
life.  The  old  Inspector  was  incapable  of  it,  and,  were 
he  to  continue  in  office  to  the  end  of  time,  would  be  just 
as  good  as  he  was  then,  and  sit  down  to  dinner  with  just 
as  good  an  appetite. 

There  is  one  likeness,  without  which  my  gallery  of 
Custom-House  portraits  would  be  strangely  incomplete  ; 
but  which  my  comparatively  few  opportunities  for  obser 
vation  enable  me  to  sketch  only  in  the  merest  outline. 
It  is  that  of  the  Collector,  our  gallant  old  General,  who, 
after  his  brilliant  military  service,  subsequently  to  which 
he  had  ruled  over  a  wild  Western  territory,  had  come 
hither,  twenty  years  before,  to  spend  the  decline  of  his 
varied  and  honorable  life.  The  brave  soldier  had  already 
numbered,  nearly  or  quite,  his  threescore  years  and  ten, 
and  was  pursuing  the  remainder  of  his  earthly  march, 
burdened  with  infirmities  which  eyen  the  martial  music  of 
his  own  spirit-stirring  recollections  could  do  little  towards 
lightening.  The  step  was  palsied  now,  that  had  been 
foremost  in  the  charge.  It  was  only  with  the  assistance 
of  a  servant,  and  by  leaning  his  hand  heavily  on  the  iron 
balustrade,  that  he  could  slowly  and  painfully  ascend  the 
Custom-House  steps,  and,  with  a  toilsome  progress  across 
the  floor,  attain  his  customary  chair  beside  the  fireplace. 
There  he  used  to  sit,  gazing  with  a  somewhat  dim  serenity 
of  aspect  at  the  figures  that  came  and  went  ;  amid  the 
rustle  of  papers,  the  administering  of  oaths,  the  discus- 


24  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

sion  of  business,  and  the  casual  talk  of  the  office  ;  all 
which  sounds  and  circumstances  seemed  but  indistinctly 
to  impress  his  senses,  and  hardly  to  make  their  way  into 
his  inner  sphere  of  contemplation.  His  countenance,  in 
this  repose,  was  mild  and  kindly.  If  his  notice  was 
sought,  an  expression  of  courtesy  and  interest  gleamed 
out  upon  his  features  ;  proving  that  there  was  light  within 
him,  and  that  it  was  only  the  outward  medium  of  the 
intellectual  lamp  that  obstructed  the  rays  in  their  passage. 
The  closer  you  penetrated  to  the  substance  of  his  mind, 
the  sounder  it  appeared.  When  no  longer  called  upon 
to  speak,  or  listen,  either  of  which  operations  cost  him 
an  evident  effort,  his  face  would  briefly  subside  into  its 
former  not  uncheerful  quietude.  It  was  not  painful  to 
behold  this  look ;  for,  though  dim,  it  had  not  the  imbe 
cility  of  decaying  age.  The  framework  of  his  nature,  orig 
inally  strong  and  massive,  was  not  yet  crumbled  into 
ruin. 

To  observe  and  define  his  character,  however,  under 
such  disadvantages,  was  as  difficult  a  task  as  to  trace  out 
and  build  up  anew,  in  imagination,  an  old  fortress,  like 
Ticonderoga,  from  a  view  of  its  grey  and  broken  ruins. 
Here  and  there,  perchance,  the  walls  may  remain  almost 
complete  ;  but  elsewhere  may  be  only  a  shapeless  mound, 
cumbrous  with  its  very  strength,  and  overgrown,  through 
long  years  of  peace  and  neglect,  with  grass  and  alien 
weeds. 

Nevertheless,  looking  at  the  old  warrior  with  affection, 
— for,  slight  as  was  the  communication  between  us,  my 
feeling  towards  him,  like  that  of  all  bipeds  and  quadrupeds 
who  knew  him,  might  not  improperly  be  termed  so, — I 
could  discern  the  main  points  of  his  portrait..  It  \va§ 


The  Custom-House.  25 

marked  with  the  noble  and  heroic  qualities  which  showed 
it  to  be  not  by  a  mere  accident,  but  of  good  right,  that  he 
had  won  a  distinguished  name.  His  spirit  could  never,  I 
conceive,  have  been  characterized  by  an  uneasy  activity ; 
it  must,  at  any  period  of  his  life,  have  required  an  impulse 
to  set  him  in  motion  ;  but,  once  stirred  up,  with  obstacles 
to  overcome,  and  an  adequate  object  to  be  attained,  it 
was  not  in  the  man  to  give  out  or  fail.  The  heat  that  had 
formerly  pervaded  his  nature,  and  which  was  not  yet  ex 
tinct,  was  never  of  the  kind  that  flashes  and  flickers  in  a 
blaze,  but,  rather,  a  deep,  red  glow,  as  of  iron  in  a  furnace. 
Weight,  solidity,  firmness;  this  was  the  expression  of  his 
repose,  even  in  such  decay  as  had  crept  untimely  over  him, 
at  the  period  of  which  I  speak.  But  I  could  imagine, 
even  then,  that,  under  some  excitement  which  should  go 
deeply  into  his  consciousness, — roused  by  a  trumpet-peal, 
loud  enough  to  awaken  all  of  his  energies  that  were  not 
dead,  but  only  slumbering, — he  was  yet  capable  of  flinging 
off  his  infirmities  like  a  sick  man's  gown,  dropping  the 
staff  of  age  to  seize  a  battle-sword,  and  starting  up  once 
more  a  warrior.  And,  in  so  intense  a  moment,  his  de 
meanor  would  have  still  been  calm.  Such  an  exhibition, 
however,  was  but  to  be  pictured  in  fancy ;  not  to  be  an 
ticipated,  nor  desired.  What  I  saw  in  him — as  evidently 
as  the  indestructible  ramparts  of  Old  Ticonderoga,  already 
cited  as  the  most  appropriate  simile — were  the  features 
of  stubborn  and  ponderous  endurance,  which  might  well 
have  amounted  to  obstinacy  in  his  earlier  days;  of  in 
tegrity,  that,  like  most  of  his  other  endowments,  lay  in  a 
somewhat  heavy  mass,  and  was  just  as  unmalleable  and 
unmanageable  as  a  ton  of  iron  ore;  and  of  benevolence, 
which,  fiercely  as  he  led  the  bayonets  on  at  Chippewa,  or 


26  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

Fort  Erie,  I  take  to  be  of  quite  as  genuine  a  stamp  as 
what  actuates  any  or  all  the  polemical  philanthropists  ot 
the  age.  He  had  slain  men  with  his  own  hand,  for  aught 
I  know; — certainly,  they  had  fallen,  like  blades  of  grass 
at  the  sweep  of  the  scythe,  before  the  charge  to  which  his 
spirit  imparted  its  triumphant  energy; — but,  be  that  as  it 
might,  there  was  never  in  his  heart  so  much  cruelty  as 
would  have  brushed  the  down  off  a  butterflv's  wing.  I 

./  o 

have  not  known  the  man,  to  whose  innate  kindliness  I 
would  more  confidently  make  an  appeal. 

Many  characteristics — and  those,  too,  which  contribute 
not  the  least  forcibly  to  impart  resemblance  in  a  sketch — 
must  have  vanished,  or  been  obscured,  before  I  met  the 
General.  All  merely  graceful  attributes  are  usually  the 
most  evanescent  ;  nor  does  Nature  adorn  the  human  ruin 
with  blossoms  of  new  beauty,  that  have  their  roots  and 
proper  nutriment  only  in  the  chinks  and  crevices  of  decay, 
as  she  sows  wall-flowers  over  the  ruined  fortress  of  Ticon- 
deroga.  Still,  even  in  respect  of  grace  and  beauty,  there 
were  points  well  worth  noting.  A  ray  of  humor,  now  and 
then,  would  make  its  way  through  the  veil  of  dim  obstruc 
tion,  and  glimmer  pleasantly  upon  our  faces.  A  trait  of 
native  elegance,  seldom  seen  in  the  masculine  character 
after  childhood  or  early  youth,  was  shown  in  the  General's 
fondness  for  the  sight  and  fragrance  of  flowers.  An  old 
soldier  might  be  supposed  to  prize  only  the  bloody  laurel 
on  his  brow  :  but  here  was  one,  who  seemed  to  have  a 
young  girl's  appreciation  of  the  floral  tribe. 

There,  beside  fhe  fireplace,  the  brave  old  General  used 
to  sit  ;  while  the  Surveyor — though  seldom,  when  it  could 
be  avoided,  taking  upon  himself  the  difficult  task  of  en 
gaging  him  in  conversation — was  fond  of  standing  at  a 


The  Custom-House. 


27 


distance   and  watching  his  quiet  and  almost  slumberous 
countenance.     He  seemed  away  from  us,  although  we  saw 
him  but  a  few  yards  off ;  remote,  though  we  passed  close 
beside   his    chair ;  unattainable,    though   we   might   have 
stretched  forth  our  hands  and  touched  his  own.     It  might 
be,  that  he  lived  a  more  real  life  within  his  thoughts,  than 
amid    the    un appropri 
ate  environment  of  the 
Collector's  office.     The 
evolutions    of    the    pa 
rade;  the  tumult  of  the 
battle  ;    the  flourish  of 
old,  heroic  music,  heard 
thirty   years    before  ;— 
such  scenes  and  sounds, 
perhaps,  were  all  alive 
before   his    intellectual 

sense.     Meanwhile,  the  -THE  TUMULT  OF  THE  BATTLE/' 

merchants  and  ship 
masters,  the  spruce  clerks,  and  uncouth  sailors,  entered  and 
departed  ;  the  bustle  of  this  commercial  and  Custom-House 
life  kept  up  its  little  murmur  round  about  him ;  and  neither 
with  the  men  nor  their  affairs  did  the  General  appear  to 
sustain  the  most  distant  relation.  He  was  as  much  out  of 
place  as  an  old  sword — now  rusty,  but  which  had  flashed 
once  in  the  battle's  front,  and  showed  still  a  bright  gleam 
along  its  blade — would  have  been,  among  the  inkstands, 
paper-folders,  and  mahogany  rulers,  on  the  Deputy 
Collector's  desk. 

There  was  one  thing  that  much  aided  me  in  renewing 
and  re-creating  the  stalwart  soldier  of  the  Niagara  frontier, 
— the  man  of  true  and  simple  energy.  It  was  the  recollec- 


28  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

tion  of  those  memorable  words  of  his, — "  I'll  try,  Sir  !  " — 
spoken  on  the  very  verge  of  a  desperate  and  heroic  enter 
prise,  and  breathing  the  soul  and  spirit  of  New  England 
hardihood,  comprehending  all  perils,  and  encountering 
all.  If,  in  our  country,  valor  were  rewarded  by  heraldic 
honor,  this  phrase — which  it  seems  so  easy  to  speak,  but 
which  only  he,  with  such  a  task  of  danger  and  glory  be 
fore  him,  has  ever  spoken — would  be  the  best  and  fittest 
of  all  mottoes  for  the  General's  shield  of  arms. 

It  contributes  greatly  towards  a  man's  moral  and  in 
tellectual  health,  to  be  brought  into  habits Tot^crmYpl^TorT^ 
ship  with  individuals  unlike  himself,  who  care  little  for  his 
pursuits,  and  whose  sphere  and  abilities  he  must  go  out 
of  himself  to  appreciate.  The  accidents  of  my  life  have 
often  afforded  me  this  advantage,  but  never  with  more 
fulness  and  variety  than  during  my  continuance  in  office. 
There  was  one  man,  especially,  the  observation  of  whose 
character  gave  me  a  new  idea  of  talent.  His  gifts  were 
emphatically  those  of  a  man  of  business  ;  prompt,  acute, 
clear-minded;  with  an  eye  that  saw  through  all  perplexi 
ties,  and  a  faculty  of  arrangement  that  made  them  vanish, 
as  by  the  waving  of  an  enchanter's  wand.  Bred  up  from 
boyhood  in  the  Custom-House,  it  was  his  proper  field  of 
activity  ;  and  the  many  intricacies  of  business,  so  harass 
ing  to  the  interloper,  presented  themselves  before  him 
with  the  regularity  of  a  perfectly  comprehended  system. 
In  my  contemplation,  he  stood  as  the  ideal  of  his  class. 
He  was,  indeed,  the  Custom-House  in  himself;  or,  at  all 
events,  the  main-spring  that  kept  its  variously  revolving 
wheels  in  motion;  for,  in  an  institution  like  this,  where 
its  officers  are  appointed  to  subserve  their  own  profit  and 
convenience,  and  seldom  with  a  leading  reference  to  their 


The  Custom-House.  29 

fitness  for  the  duty  to  be  performed,  they  must  perforce 
seek  elsewhere  the  dexterity  which  is  not  in  them.  Thus, 
by  an  inevitable  necessity,  as  a  magnet  attracts  steel- 
filings,  so  did  our  man  of  business  draw  to  himself  the 
difficulties  which  everybody  met  with.  With  an  easy 
condescension,  and  kind  forbearance  towards  our  stupid 
ity, — which,  to  his  order  of  mind,  must  have  seemed  little 
short  of  crime, — would  he  forthwith,  by  the  merest  touch 
of  his  finger,  make  the  incomprehensible  as  clear  as  day 
light.  The  merchants  valued  him  not  less  than  we,  his 
esoteric  friends.  His  integrity  was  perfect ;  it  was  a  law 
of  nature  with  him,  rather  than  a  choice  or  a  principle; 
nor  can  it  be  otherwise  than  the  main  condition  of  an  in 
tellect  so  remarkably  clear  and  accurate  as  his,  to  be 
honest  and  regular  in  the  administration  of  affairs.  A 
stain  on  his  conscience,  as  to  any  thing  that  came  within 
the  range  of  his  vocation,  would  trouble  such  a  man  very 
much  in  the  same  way,  though  to  a  far  greater  degree, 
than  an  error  in  the  balance  of  an  account,  or  an  ink-blot 
on  the  fair  page  of  a  book  of  record.  Here,  in  a  word, — 
and  it  is  a  rare  instance  in  my  life, — I  had  met  with  a 
person  thoroughly  adapted  to  the  situation  which  he  held. 
Such  were  some  of  the  people  with  whom  I  now  found 
myself  connected.  I  took  it  in  good  part  at  the  hands  of 
Providence,  that  I  was  thrown  into  a  position  so  little 
akin  to  my  past  habits  ;  and  set  myself  seriously  to  gather 
from  it  whatever  profit  was  to  be  had.  After  my  fellow 
ship  of  toil  and  impracticable  schemes,  with  the  dreamy 
brethren  of  Brook  Farm  ;  after  living  for  three  years 
within  the  subtile  influence  of  an  intellect  like  Emerson's  ; 
after  those  wild,  free  days  on  the  Assabeth,  indulging  fan 
tastic  speculations  beside  our  fire  of  fallen  boughs,  with 


3°  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

Ellery  Charming  ;  after  talking  with  Thoreau  about  pine- 
trees  and  Indian  relics,  in  his  hermitage  at  Walden  ;  after 
growing  fastidious  by  sympathy  with  the  classic  refine 
ment  of  Hillard's  culture  ;  after  becoming  imbued  with 
poetic  sentiment  at  Longfellow's  hearth-stone  ;— it  was 
time,  at  length,  that  I  should  exercise  other  faculties  of  my 
jiature,  and  nourish  myself  with  food  for  which  I  had 
'hitherto  had  little  appetite.  Even  the  old  Inspector  was 
desirable,  as  a  change  of  diet,  to  a  man  who  had  known 
Alcott.  I  looked  upon  it  as  an  evidence,  in  some  meas 
ure,  of  a  system  naturally  well  balanced,  and  lacking  no 
essential  part  of  a  thorough  organization,  that,  with  such 
associates  to  remember,  I  could  mingle  at  once  with  men 
of  altogether  different  qualities,  and  never  murmur  at  the 
change. 

Literature,  its  exertions  and  objects,  were  now  of  little 
moment  in  my  regard  I  cared  not,  at  this  period,  for 
books  ;  they  were  apart  from  me.  Nature, — except  it 
were  human  nature, — the  nature  that  is  developed  in 
earth  and  sky,  was,  in  one  sense,  hidden  from  me  ;  and 
all  the  imaginative  delight,  wherewith  it  had  been  spirit 
ualized,  passed  away  out  of  my  mind.  A  gift,  a  faculty, 
if  it  had  not  departed,  was  suspended  and  inanimate  within 
me.  There  would  have  been  something  sad,  unutterably 
dreary,  in  all  this,  had  I  not  been  conscious  that  it  lay  at 
my  own  option  to  recall  whatever  was  valuable  in  the 
past.  It  might  be  true,  indeed,  that  this  was  a  life  which 
could  not,  with  impunity,  be  lived  too  long;  else  it  might 
make  me  permanently  other  than  I  had  been,  without 
transforming  me  into  any  shape  which  it  would  be  worth 
my  while  to  take.  But  I  never  considered  it  as  other  than 
a  transitory  life.  There  was  always  a  prophetic  instinct, 


The  Custom-House.  31 

a  low  whisper  in  my  ear,  that,  within  no  long  period  and 
whenever  a  new  change  of  custom  should  be  essential  to 
my  good,  a  change  would  come. 

Meanwhile,  there  I  was,  a  Surveyor  of  the  Revenue, 
and,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  understand,  as  good  a 
Surveyor  as  need  be.  A  man  of  thought,  fancy,  and  sen 
sibility,  (had  he  ten  times  the  Surveyor's  proportion  of 
those  qualities,)  may,  at  any  time,  be  a  man  of  affairs,  if 
he  will  only  choose  to  give  himself  the  trouble.  My  fel 
low-officers,  and  the  merchants  and  sea-captains  with 
whom  my  official  duties  brought  me  into  any  manner  of 
connection,  viewed  me  in  no  other  light,  and  probably 
knew  me  in  no  other  character.  None  of  them,  I  pre 
sume,  had  ever  read  a  page  of  my  inditing,  or  would  have 
cared  a  fig  the  more  for  me,  if  they  had  read  them  all ; 
nor  would  it  have  mended  the  matter,  in  the  least,  had 
those  same  unprofitable  pages  been  written  with  a  pen 
like  that  of  Burns  or  of  Chaucer,  each  of  whom  was  a 
Custom-House  officer  in  his  day,  as  well  as  I.  It  is  a 
good  lesson — though  it  may  often  be  a  hard  one — for  a 
man  who  has  dreamed  of  literary  fame,  and  of  making  for 
himself  a  rank  among  the  world's  dignitaries  by  such 
means,  to  step  aside  out  of  the  narrow  circle  in  which  his 
claims  are  recognized,  and  to  find  how  utterly  devoid  of 
significance,  beyond  that  circle,  is  all  that  he  achieves^ 
and  all  he  aims  at.  I  know  not  that  I  especially  needed 
the  lesson,  either  in  the  way  of  warning  or  rebuke;  but, 
at  any  rate,  I  learned  it  thoroughly ;  nor,  it  gives  me 
pleasure  to  reflect,  did  the  truth,  as  it  came  home  to  my 
perception,  ever  cost  me  a  pang,  or  require  to  be  thrown 
off  in  a  sigh.  In  the  way  of  literary  talk,  it  is  true,  the 
Naval  Officer — an  excellent  fellow,  who  came  into  office 


32  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

with  me,  and  went  out  only  a  little  later — would  often  en 
gage  me,  in  a  discussion  about  one  or  the  other  of  his 
favorite  topics,  Napoleon  or  Shakspeare.  The  Collector's 
junior  clerk,  too, — a  young  gentleman  who,  it  was  whis 
pered,  occasionally  covered  a  sheet  of  Uncle  Sam's  letter 
paper  with  what,  (at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards,)  looked 
very  much  like  poetry, — used  now  and  then  to  speak  to 


'  WITH  A  STENCIL  AND  BLACK  PAINT." 


me  of  books,  as  matters  with  which  I  might  possibly  be 
conversant.  This  was  my  all  of  lettered  intercourse  ;  and 
it  was  quite  sufficient  for  my  necessities. 

No  longer  seeking  nor  caring  that  my  name  should  be 
blazoned  abroad  on  title-pages,  I  smiled  to  think  that  it 
had  now  another  kind  of  vogue.  The  Custom-House 


The  Custom-House. 


33 


marker  imprinted  it,  with  a  stencil  and  black  paint,  on 
pepper-bags,  and  baskets  of  anatto,  and  cigar-boxes,  and 
bales  of  all  kinds  of  dutiable  merchandise,  in  testimony 
that  these  commodities  had  paid  the  impost,  and  gone 
regularly  through  the  office.  Borne  on  such  queer  vehicle 
of  fame,  a  knowledge  of  my  existence,  so  far  as  a  name 
conveys  it,  was  carried  where  it  had  never  been  before, 
and,  I  hope,  will  never  go  again. 

But  the  past  was  not  dead.  Once  in  a  great  while,  the 
thoughts,  that  had  seemed  so  vital  and  so  active,  yet  had 
been  put  to  rest  so  quietly,  revived  again.  One  of  the 
most  remarkable  occasions,  when  the  habit  of  bygone 
days  awoke  in  me,  was  that  which  brings  it  within  the 
law  of  literary  propriety  to  offer  the  public  the  sketch 
which  I  am  now  writing. 

In  the  second  story  of  the  Custom-House,  there  is  a 
large  room,  in  which  the  brick-work  and  naked  rafters 
have  never  been  covered  with  panelling  and  plaster. 
The  edifice — originally  projected 
on  a  scale  adapted  to  the  old 
commercial  enterprise  of  the  port, 
and  with  an  idea  of  subsequent 
prosperity  destined  never  to  be 
realized — contains  far  more  space 
than  its  occupants  know  what  to 
do  with.  This  airy  hall,  there 
fore,  over  the  Collector's  apart 
ments,  remains  unfinished  to  this 
day,  and,  in  spite  of  the  aged 
cobwebs  that  festoon  its  dusky 
beams,  appears  Still  to  await  the  -  A  NUMBER  OF  BARRELS, 

labor  of  the  carpenter  and  mason.          ILANOTHERUP°N 


34  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

At  one  end  of  the  room,  in  a  recess,  were  a  number  of 
barrels,  piled  one  upon  another,  containing  bundles  of 
official  documents.  Large  quantities  of  similar  rubbish 
lay  lumbering  the  floor.  It  was  sorrowful  to  think  how 
many  days,  and  weeks,  and  months,  and  years  of  toil, 
had  been  wasted  on  these  musty  papers,  which  were  now 
only  an  encumbrance  on  earth,  and  were  hidden  away  in 
this  forgotten  corner,  never  more  to  be  glanced  at  by 
human  eyes.  But,  then,  what  reams  of  other  manuscripts 
— filled,  not  with  the  clulness  of  official  formalities,  but 
with  the  thought  of  inventive  brains  and  the  rich  effusion 
of  deep  hearts — had  gone  equally  to  oblivion  ;  and  that, 
moreover,  without  serving  a  purpose  in  their  clay,  as  these 
heaped-up  papers  had,  and — saddest  of  all — without  pur 
chasing  for  their  writers  the  comfortable  livelihood  which 
the  clerks  of  the  Custom-House  had  gained  by  these 
worthless  scratchings  of  the  pen  !  Yet  not  altogether 
worthless,  perhaps,  as  materials  of  local  history.  Here, 
no  doubt,  statistics  of  the  former  commerce  of  Salem 
might  be  discovered,  and  memorials  of  her  princely  mer 
chants, — old  King  Derby, — old  Billy  Gray, — old  Simon 
Forrester, — and  many  another  magnate  in  his  clay; 
whose  powdered  head,  however,  was  scarcely  in  the  tomb, 
before  his  mountain-pile  of  wealth  began  to  dwindle.  The 
founders  of  the  greater  part  of  the  families  which  now 
compose  the  aristocracy  of  Salem  might  here  be  traced, 
from  the  petty  and  obscure  beginnings  of  their  traffic,  at 
periods  generally  much  posterior  to  the  Revolution,  up 
ward  to  what  their  children  look  upon  as  long-established 
rank. 

Prior  to  the  Revolution,  there  is  a  dearth  of  records ; 
the  earlier  documents  and  archives  of  the  Custom-House 


The  Custom- House.  35 

having,  probably,  been  carried  off  to  Halifax,  when  all 
the  King's  officials  accompanied  the  British  army  in  its 
flight  from  Boston.  It  has  often  been  a  matter  of  regret 
with  me  ;  for,  going  back,  perhaps,  to  the  clays  of  the  Pro 
tectorate,  those  papers  must  have  contained  many  refer 
ences  to  forgotten  or  remembered  men,  and  to  antique 
customs,  which  would  have  affected  me  with  the  same 
pleasure  as  when  I  used  to  pick  up  Indian  arrow-heads  in 
the  field  near  the  Old  Manse. 


"  VESSELS  THAT  HAD,  LONG  AGO  FOUNDERED  AT  SEA." 

But,  one  idle  and  rainy  day,  it  was  my  fortune  to  make 
a  discovery  of  some  little  interest.  Poking  and  burrow 
ing  into  the  heapecl-up  rubbish  in  the  corner;  unfolding 
one  and  another  document,  and  reading  the  names  of 
vessels  that  had  long  ago  foundered  at  sea  or  rotted  at 
the  wharves,  and  those  of  merchants,  never  heard  of  now 
on  'Change,  nor  very  readily  decipherable  on  their  mossy 
tombstones;  glancing  at  such  matters  with  the  saddened, 
weary,  half-reluctant  interest  which  w^e  bestow  on  the 
corpse  of  dead  activity, — and  exerting  my  fancy,  sluggish 
with  little  use,  to  raise  up  from  these  dry  bones  an  image 
of  the  old  town's  brighter  aspect,  when  India  was  a  new 


36  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

region,  and  only  Salem  knew  the  way  thither, —  I  chanced 
to  lay  my  hand  on  a  small  package,  carefully  clone  up  in 
a  piece  of  ancient  yellow  parchment.  This  envelope  had 
the  air  of  an  official  record  of  some  period  long  past, 
when  clerks  engrossed  their  stiff  and  formal  chirography 
on  more  substantial  materials  than  at  present.  There  was 
something  about  it  that  quickened  an  instinctive  curiosity, 
and  made  me  undo  the  faded  red  tape,  that  tied  up  the 
package,  with  the  sense  that  a  treasure  would  here  be 
brought  to  light.  Unbending  the  rigid  folds  of  the 
parchment  cover,  I  found  it  to  be  a  commission,  under 
the  hand  and  seal  of  Governor  Shirley,  in  favor  of  one 
Jonathan  Pue,  as  Surveyor  of  his  Majesty's  Customs  for 
the  port  of  Salem,  in  the  Province  of  Massachusetts  Bay. 
I  remembered  to  have  read  (probably  in  Felt's  Annals)  a 
notice  of  the  decease  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  about  four 
score  years  ago;  and  likewise,  in  a  newspaper  of  recent 
times,  an  account  of  the  digging  up  of  his  remains  in  the 
little  graveyard  of  St.  Peter's  Church,  during  the  renewal 
of  that  edifice.  Nothing,  if  I  rightly  call  to  mind,  was 
left  of  my  respected  predecessor,  save  an  imperfect  skel 
eton,  and  some  fragments  of  apparel,  and  a  wig  of  ma 
jestic  frizzle;  which,  unlike  the  head,  that  it  once  adorned, 
was  in  very  satisfactory  preservation.  But,  on  examining 
the  papers  which  the  parchment  commission  served  to 
envelop,  I  found  more  traces  of  Mr.  Pue's  mental  part, 
and  the  internal  operations  of  his  head,  than  the  frizzled 
wig  had  contained  of  the  venerable  skull  itself. 

They  were  documents,  in  short,  not  official,  but  of  a 
private  nature,  or,  at  least,  written  in  his  private  capacity, 
and  apparently  with  his  own  hand.  I  could  account  for 
their  being  included  in  the  heap  of  Custom-House  lumber 


The  Custom- House.  37 

only  by  the  fact,  that  Mr.  Pue's  death  had  happened  sud 
denly;  and  that  these  papers,  which  he  probably  kept  in 
his  official  desk,  had  never  come  to  the  knowledge  of  his 
heirs,  or  were  supposed  to  relate  to  the  business  of  the 
revenue.  On  the  transfer  of  the  archives  to  Halifax,  this 
package,  proving  to  be  of  no  public  concern,  was  left  be 
hind,  and  had  remained  ever  since  unopened. 

The  ancient  Surveyor — being  little  molested,  I  suppose, 
at  that  early  day,  with  business  pertaining  to  his  office — 
seems  to  have  devoted  some  of  his  many  leisure  hours  to 
researches  as  a  local  antiquarian,  and  other  inquisitions 
of  a  similar  nature.  These  supplied  material  for  petty 
activity  to  a  mind  that  would  otherwise  have  been  eaten 
up  with  rust.  A  portion  of  his  facts,  by  the  by,  did  me 
good  service  in  the  preparation  of  the  article  entitled 
"  MAIN  STREET,"  included  in  the  present  volume.  The 
remainder  may  perhaps  be  applied  to  purposes  equally 
valuable,  hereafter ;  or  not  impossibly  may  be  worked  up, 
so  far  as  they  go,  into  a  regular  history  of  Salem,  should 
my  veneration  for  the  natal  soil  ever  impel  me  to  so  pious 
a  task.  Meanwhile,  they  shall  be  at  the  command  of 
any  gentleman,  inclined,  and  competent,  to  take  the  un 
profitable  labor  off  my  hands.  As  a  final  disposition,  I 
contemplate  depositing  them  with  the  Essex  Historical 
Society. 

But  the  object  that  most  drew  my  attention,  in  the 
mysterious  package,  was  a  certain  affair  of  fine  red  cloth, 
much  worn  and  faded.  There  were  traces  about  it  of 
gold  embroidery,  which,  however,  was  greatly  frayed  and 
defaced;  so  that  none,  or  very  little  of  the  glitter  was 
left.  It  had  been  wrought,  as  was  easy  to  perceive,  with 
wonderful  skill  of  needlework  ;  and  the  stitch  (as  I  am 


38  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

assured  by  ladies  conversant  with  such  mysteries)  gives 
evidence  of  a  now  forgotten  art,  not  to  be  recovered  even 
by  the  process  of  picking  out  the  threads.  This  rag  of 
scarlet  cloth, — for  time,  and  wear,  and  a  sacrilegious 
moth,  had  reduced  it  to  little  other  than  a  rag, — on  care 
ful  examination,  assumed  the  shape  of  a  letter.  It  was 
the  capital  letter  A.  By  an  accurate  measurement,  each 
limb  proved  to  be  precisely  three  inches  and  a  quarter  in 
length.  It  had  been  intended,  there  could  be  no  doubt, 
as  an  ornamental  article  of  dress  ;  but  how  it  was  to  be 
worn,  or  what  rank,  honor,  and  dignity,  in  by-past  times, 
were  signified  by  it,  was  a  riddle  which  (so  evanescent  are 
the  fashions  of  the  world  in  these  particulars)  I  saw  little 
^hope  of  solving.  And  yet  it  strangely  interested  me. 
My  eyes  fastened  themselves  upon  the  old  scarlet  letter, 
and  would  not  be  turned  aside.  Certainly,  there  was 
some  deep  meaning  in  it,  most  worthy  of  interpretation, 
and  which,  as  it  were,  streamed  forth  from  the  mystic 
symbol,  subtly  communicating  itself  to  my  sensibilities, 

/       but  evading  the  analysis  of  my  mind. 

While  thus  perplexed, — and  cogitating,  among  other 
hypotheses,  whether  the  letter  might  not  have  been  one 
of  those  decorations  which  the  white  men  used  to  con 
trive,  in  order  to  take  the  eyes  of  Indians, — I  happened  to 

/  place  it  on  my  breast.  It  seemed  to  me, — the  reader 
may  smile,  but  must  not  doubt  my  word, — it  seemed  to 
me,  then,  that  I  experienced  a  sensation  not  altogether 
!  physical,  yet  almost  so,  as  of  burning  heat  :  and  as  if  the 
letter  were  not  of  red  cloth,  but  red-hot  iron.  I  shud 
dered,,  and  involuntarily  let  it  fall  upon  the  floor. 

In  the  absorbing  contemplation  of  the  scarlet  letter,  I 
had  hitherto  neglected  to  examine  a  small  roll  of  dingy 


The  Custom-House. 


39 


paper,  around  which  it  had  been  twisted.  This  I  now 
opened,  and  had  the  satisfaction  to  find,  recorded  by  the 
old  Surveyor's  pen,  a  reasonably  complete  explanation  of 
the  whole  affair.  There  were  several  foolscap  sheets, 
containing  many  particulars  respecting  the  life  and  con 
versation  of  one  Hester  Prynne,  who  appeared  to  have 
been  rather  a  noteworthy  personage  in  the  view  of  our 
ancestors.  She  had  flourished  dur 
ing  a  period  between  the  early 
days  of  Massachusetts  and  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
Aged  persons,  alive  in  the  time  of 
Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  and  from  whose 
oral  testimony  he  had  made  up  his 
narrative,  remembered  her,  in  their 
youth,  as  a  very  old,  but  not  decre 
pit  woman,  of  a  stately  and  solemn 
aspect.  It  had  been  her  habit, 
from  an  almost  immemorial  date, 
to  go  about  the  country  as  a  kind 
of  voluntary  nurse,  and  doing 
whatever  miscellaneous  good  she 
might ;  taking  upon  herself,  like 
wise,  to  give  advice  in  all  matters, 
especially  those  of  the  heart  ;  by 
which  means,  as  a  person  of 
such  propensities  inevitably  must, 

she  gained  from  many  people  the  reverence  due  to  an 
angel,  but,  I  should  imagine,  was  looked  upon  by  others 
as  an  intruder  and  a  nuisance.  Prying  farther  into  the 
manuscript,  I  found  the  record  of  other  doings  and  suf 
ferings  of  this  singular  woman,  for  most  of  which  the 


1 A  VERY  OLD,  BUT  NOT 
DECREPIT  WOMAN." 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


reader  is  referred  to  the  story  entitled  "  THE  SCARLET 
LETTER";  and  it  should  be  borne  carefully  in  mind,  that 
the  main  facts  of  that  story  are  authorized  and  authenti 
cated  by  the  document  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue.  The  orig 
inal  papers,  together  with  the  scarlet  letter  itself, — a 
most  curious  relic, — are  still  in  my  possession,  and  shall 
be  freely  exhibited  to  whomsoever,  induced  by  the  great 
interest  of  the  narrative,  may  desire  a  sight  of  them.  I 

must  not  be  understood  as 
affirming,  that,  in  the  dress 
ing  up  of  the  tale,  and 
imagining  the  motives  and 
modes  of  passion  that  in 
fluenced  the  characters 
who  figure  in  it,  I  have 
invariably  confined  myself 
within  the  limits  of  the  old 
Surveyor's  half  a  dozen 
sheets  of  foolscap.  On 
the  contrary,  I  have  al 
lowed  myself,  as  to  such 
points,  nearly  or  altogether 
as  much  license  as  if  the 
facts  had  been  entirely  of 
my  own  invention.  What 
I  contend  for  is  the  au 
thenticity  of  the  outline. 

A^W  I  This     incident    ^called 

my  mind,  in  some  degree, 
to  its  old  track.  There 

seemed    to    be    here    the 
•' JN  His QARBOF^HUNDRED  YEARS       ground    work    o{      a    ta]e 


The  Custom- House.  41 

It  impressed  me  as  if  the  ancient  Surveyor,  in  his  garb 
of  a  hundred  years  gone  by,  and  wearing  his  immortal 
wig, — which  was  buried  with  him,  but  did  not  perish 
in  the  grave — had  met  me  in  the  deserted  chamber 
of  the  Custom-House.  In  his  port  was  the  dignity  of 
one  who  had  borne  his  Majesty's  commission,  and  who 
was  therefore  illuminated  by  a  ray  of  the  splendor  that 
shone  so  dazzlingly  about  the  throne.  How  unlike,  alas  ! 
the  hang-dog  look  of  a  republican  official,  who,  as  the 
servant  of  the  people,  feels  himself  less  than  the  least, 
and  below  the  lowest  of  his  masters.  With  his  own 
ghostly  hand,  the  obscurely  seen,  but  majestic,  figure  had 
imparted  to  me  the  scarlet  symbol,  and  the  little  roll  of 
explanatory  manuscript.  With  his  own  ghostly  voice,  he 
had  exhorted  me,  on  the  sacred  consideration  of  my  filial 
duty  and  reverence  towards  him, — who  might  reasonably 
regard  himself  as  my  official  ancestor, — to  bring  his 
mouldy  and  moth-eaten  lucubrations  before  the  public. 
"  Do  this,"  said  the  ghost  of  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  emphati 
cally  nodding  the  head  that  looked  so  imposing  within 
its  memorable  wig,  "do  this,  and  the  profit  shall  be  all 
your  own  !  You  will  shortly  need  it  ;  for  it  is  not  in 
your  days  as  it  was  in  mine,  when  a  man's  office  was  a 
life-lease,  and  oftentimes  an  heirloom.  But,  I  charge 
you,  in  this  matter  of  old  Mistress  Prynne,  give  to  your 
predecessor's  memory  the  credit  which  will  be  rightfully 
its  due  !  "  And  I  said  to  the  ghost  of  Mr.  Surveyor 
Pue,— "  I  will  !  " 

On  Hester  Prynne's  story,  therefore,  I  bestowed  much 
thought.  It  was  the  subject  of  my  meditations  for  many 
an  hour,  while  pacing  to  and  fro  across  my  room,  or  trav 
ersing,  with  a  hundredfold  repetition,  the  long  extent 


42  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

from  the  front-door  of  the  Custom-House  to  the  side- 
entrance,  and  back  again.  Great  were  the  weariness  and 
annoyance  of  the  old  Inspector  and  the  Weighers  and 
Gaugers,  whose  slumbers  were  disturbed  by  the  unmerci 
fully  lengthened  tramp  of  my  passing  and  returning  foot 
steps.  Remembering  their  own  former  habits,  they  used 
to  say  that  the  Surveyor  was  walking  the  quarter-deck. 
They  probably  fancied  that  my  sole  object — and,  indeed, 
the  sole  object  for  which  a  sane  man  could  ever  put  him 
self  into  voluntary  motion — was,  to  get  an  appetite  for 
dinner.  And  to  say  the  truth,  an  appetite,  sharpened  by 
the  east-wind  that  generally  blew  along  the  passage,  was 
the  only  valuable  result  of  so  much  indefatigable  exercise. 
So  little  adapted  is  the  atmosphere  of  a  Custom-House 
to  the  delicate  harvest  of  fancy  and  sensibility,  that,  had 
I  remained  there  through  ten  Presidencies  yet  to  come, 


b  ON  MY  SEA  SHORE  WALKS." 


The  Custom- House.  43 

I  doubt  whether  the  tale  of  "  The  Scarlet  Letter  "  would 
ever  have  been  brought  before  the  public  eye.  My  imag 
ination  was  a  tarnished  mirror.  It  would  not  reflect,  or 
only  with  miserable  dimness,  the  figures  with  which  I  did 
my  best  to  people  it.  The  characters  of  the  narrative 
would  not  be  warmed  and  rendered  malleable,  by  any 
heat  that  I  could  kindle  at  my  intellectual  forge.  The' 
would  take  neither  the  glow  of  passion  nor  the  tenderness 
of  sentiment,  but  retained  all  the  rigidity  of  dead  corpses, 
and  stared  me  in  the  face  with  a  fixed  and  ghastly  grin 
of  contemptuous  defiance.  "  What  have  you  to  do  with 
us?"  that  expression  seemed  to  say.  "The  little  power 
you  might  once  have  possessed  over  the  tribe  of  unreali 
ties  is  gone  !  You  have  bartered  it  for  a  pittance  of  the 
public  gold.  Go,  then,  and  earn  your  wages  !  "  In  short, 
the  almost  torpid  creatures  of  my  own  fancy  twitted  me 
with  imbecility,  and  not  without  fair  occasion. 

It  was  not  merely  during  the  three  hours  and  a  half 
which  Uncle  Sam  claimed  as  his  share  of  my  daily  life, 
that  this  wretched  numbness  held  possession  of  me.  It 
went  with  me  on  my  sea-shore  walks,  and  rambles  into  the 
country,  whenever — which  was  seldom  and  reluctantly— 
1  bestirred  myself  to  seek  that  invigorating  charm  of 
Nature,  which  used  to  give  me  such  freshness  and  activity 
of  thought,  the  moment  that  I  stepped  across  the  thresh 
old  of  the  Old  Manse.  The  same  torpor,  as  regarded 
the  capacity  for  intellectual  effort,  accompanied  me  home, 
and  weighed  upon  me  in  the  chamber  which  I  most 
absurdly  termed  my  study.  Nor  did  it  quit  me,  when, 
late  at  night,  I  sat  in  the  deserted  parlor,  lighted  only  by 
the  glimmering  coal-fire  and  the  moon,  striving  to  pict 
ure  forth  imaginary  scenes,  which,  the  next  day,  might 


44  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

flow  out  on  the  brightening  page  in  many-hued  descrip 
tion. 

If  the  imaginative  faculty  refused  to  act  at  such  an 
hour,  it  might  well  be  deemed  a  hopeless  case.  Moon 
light,  in  a  familiar  room,  falling  so  white  upon  the  carpet, 
and  showing  all  its  figures  so  distinctly, — making  every 
object  so  minutely  visible,  yet  so  unlike  a  morning  or 
noontide  visibility, — is  a  medium  the  most  suitable  for 
a  romance-writer  to  get  acquainted  with  his  illusive  guests. 
There  is  the  little  domestic  scenery  of  the  well-known 
apartment;  the  chairs,  with  each  its  separate  individual 
ity  ,  the  centre-table,  sustaining  a  work-basket,  a  volume 
or  two,  and  an  extinguished  lamp;  the  sofa  ;  the  book 
case  ;  the  picture  on  the  wall  ; — all  these  details,  so  com 
pletely  seen,  are  so  spiritualized  by  the  unusual  light, 
that  they  seem  to  lose  their  actual  substance,  and  become 
things  of  intellect.  Nothing  is  too  small  or  too  trifling  to 
undergo  this  change,  and  acquire  dignity  thereby.  A 
child's  shoe  ;  the  doll,  seated  in  her  little  wicker  car 
riage ;  the  hobby-horse  ; — whatever,  in  a  word,  has  been 
used  or  played  with,  during  the  day,  is  now  invested  with 
a  quality  of  strangeness  and  remoteness,  though  still 
almost  as  vividly  present  as  by  daylight.  Thus,  there 
fore,  the  floor  of  our  familiar  room  has  become  a  neutral 
territory,  somewhere  between  the  real  world  and  fairy 
land,  where  the  Actual  and  the  Imaginary  may  meet,  and 
each  imbue  itself  with  the  nature  of  the  other.  Ghosts 
might  enter  here,  without  affrighting  us.  It  would  be  too 
much  in  keeping  with  the  scene  to  excite  surprise,  were 
we  to  look  about  us  and  discover  a  form,  beloved,  but 
gone  hence,  now  sitting  quietly  in  a  streak  of  this  magic 
moonshine,  with  an  aspect  that  would  make  us  doubt 


The  Custom- House.  45 

whether  it  had   returned  from  afar,  or  had   never  once 
stirred  from  our  fireside. 

The  somewhat  dim  coal-fire  has  an  essential  influence 
in  producing  the  effect  which  I  would  describe.  It 
throws  its  unobtrusive  tinge  throughout  the  room,  with  a 
faint  ruddiness  upon  the  walls  and  ceiling,  and  a  reflected 
gleam  from  the  polish  of  the  furniture.  This  warmer 
light  mingles  itself  with  the  cold  spirituality  of  the  moon 
beams,  and  communicates,  as  it  were,  a  heart  and  sensi 
bilities  of  human  tenderness  to  the  forms  which  fancy  sum 
mons  up.  It  converts  them  from  snow-images  into  men 
and  women.  Glancing  at  the  looking-glass,  we  behold — 
deep  within  its  haunted  verge — the  smouldering  glow  of 
the  half-extinguished  anthracite,  the  white  moonbeams  on 
the  floor,  and  a  repetition  of  all  the  gleam  and  shadow  of 
the  picture,  with  one  remove  farther  from  the  actual,  and 
nearer  to  the  imaginative.  Then,  at  such  an  hour,  and 
with  this  scene  before  him,  if  a  man,  sitting  all  alone, 
cannot  dream  strange  things,  and  make  them  look  like 
truth,  he  need  never  try  to  write  romances. 

Bur,  for  myself,  during  the  whole  of  my  Custom-House"" 
experience,  moonlight  and  sunshine,  and  the  glow  of  fire 
light,  were  just  alike  in  my  regard;  and  neither  of  them 
was  of  one  whit  more  avail  than  the  twinkle  of  a  tallow- 
candle.  An  entire  class  of  susceptibilities,  and  a  gift 
connected  with  them, — of  no  great  richness  or  value,  but 
the  best  I  had, — was  gone  from  me. 

It  is  my  belief,  however,  that,  had  I  attempted  a  dif 
ferent  order  of  composition,  my  faculties  would  not  have 
been  found  so  pointless  and  inefficacious.  I  might,  for 
instance,  have  contented  myself  .with  writing  out  the  nar 
ratives  of  a  veteran  ship-master,  one  of  the  Inspectors, 


46  The   Scarlet  Letter, 

whom  I  should  be  most  ungrateful  not  to  mention  ;  since 
scarcely  a  day  passed  that  he  did  not  stir  me  to  laughter 
and  admiration  by  his  marvellous  gifts  as  a  story-teller. 
Could  I  have  preserved  the  picturesque  force  of  his  style, 
and  the  humorous  coloring  which  nature  taught  him  how 
to  throw  over  his  descriptions,  the  result,  I  honestly  be 
lieve,  would  have  been  something  new  in  literature.  Or  I 
might  readily  have  found  a  more  serious  task.  It  was  a 
folly,  with  the  materiality  of  this  daily  life  pressing  so  in 
trusively  upon  me,  to  attempt  to  fling  myself  back  into 
another  age;  or  to  insist  on  creating  the  semblance  of  a 
world  out  of  airy  matter,  when,  at  every  moment,  the  im 
palpable  beauty  of  my  soap-bubble  was  broken  by  the 
rude  contact  of  some  actual  circumstance.  The  wiser 
effort  would  have  been,  to  diffuse  thought  and  imagina 
tion  through  the  opaque  substance  of  to-day,  and  thus  to 
make  it  a  bright  transparency  ;  to  spiritualize  the  burden 
that  began  to  weigh  so  heavily  ;  to  seek,  resolutely,  the 
true  and  indestructible  value  that  lay  hidden  in  the  petty 
and  wearisome  incidents,  and  ordinary  characters,  with 
which  I  \vas  now  conversant.  The  fault  was  mine.  The 
page  of  life  that  was  spread  out  before  me  seemed  dull 
and  commonplace,  only  because  I  had  not  fathomed  its 
deeper  import.  A  better  book  than  I  shall  ever  write 
was  there  ;  leaf  after  leaf  presenting  itself  to  me,  just  as 
it  was  written  out  by  the  reality  of  the  flitting  hour,  and 
vanishing  as  fast  as  written,  only  because  my  brain  wanted 
the  insight  and  my  hand  the  cunning  to  transcribe  it.  At 
some  future  day,  it  may  be,  I  shall  remember  a  few  scat 
tered  fragments  and  broken  paragraphs,  and  write  them 
down,  and  find  the  letters  turn  to  gold  upon  the  page. 
These  perceptions  have  come  too  late.  At  the  instant, 


2Yu  Custom-House.  47 

I  was  only  conscious  that  what  would  have  been  a  pleasure 
once  was  now  a  hopeless  toil.  There  was  no  occasion  to 
make  much  moan  about  this  state  of  affairs.  I  had  ceased 
was  all.  But,  nevertheless,  it  is  anything  but  agreeable 
to  be  a  writer  of  tolerably  poor  tales  and  essays,  and  had 
become  a  tolerably  good  Surveyor  of  the  Customs.  That 
to  be  haunted  by  a  suspicion  that  one's  intellect  is 
dwindling  away ;  or  exhaling,  without  your  consciousness, 
like  ether  out  of  a  phial;  so  that,  at  every  glance,  you 
find  a  smaller,  and  less  volatile  residuum.  Ot"  the  fact, 
there  could  be  no  doubt ;  and,  examining  myself  and 
others,  I  was  led  to  conclusions  in  reference  to  the  effect 
of  public  office  on  the  character,  not  very  favorable  to 
the  mode  of  life  in  question.  In  some  other  form,  per 
haps,  I  may  hereafter  develop  these  effects.  Suffice  it 
here  to  say,  that  a  Custoin-House  officer,  of  long  contin 
uance,  can  hardly  be  a  very  praiseworthy  or  respectable 
personage,  for  many  reasons  ;  one  of  the  n,  the  tenure  by 
which  he  holds  his  situation,  and  another,  the  very  nature 
of  his  business,  which — though,  I  trust,  an  honest  one — is 
of  such  a  sort  that  he  does  not  share  in  the  united  effort 
of  mankind. 

An  effect — which  I  believe  to  be  observable,  more  or 
less,  in  every  individual  who  has  occupied  the  position — 
is,  that,  while  he  leans  on  the  mighty  arm  of  the  Republic, 
his  own  proper  strength  departs  from  him.  He  loses,  in  an 
extent  proportioned  to  the  weakness  or  force  of  his  origi 
nal  nature,  the  capability  of  self-support,  [f  he  possess 
an  unusual  share  of  native  energy,  or  the  enervating 
magic  of  place  do  not  operate  too  long  upon  him,  his  for 
feited  powers  may  be  redeemable.  The  ejected  officer — 
fortunate  in  the  unkindly  shove  that  sends  him  forth  be- 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


times,  to  struggle  amid  a  struggling  world — may  return  to 
himself,  and  become  all  that  he  has  ever  been.  But  this 
seldom  happens.  He  usually  keeps  his  ground  just  long 
enough  for  his  own  ruin,  and  is  then  thrust  out,  with  sinews 
all  unstrung,  to  totter  along  the  difficult  footpath  of  life  as 
he  best  may.  Conscious  of  his  own  infirmity, — that  his 
tempered  steel  and  elasticity  are  lost, — he  for  ever  after 
wards  looks  wistfully  about  him  in  quest  of  support  exter 
nal  to  himself.  His  pervading  and  continual  hope — a 
hallucination,  which,  in  the  face  of  all  discouragement,  and 
making  light  of  impossibilities,  haunts  him  while  he  lives, 
and,  I  fancy,  like  the  convulsive  throes  of  the  cholera,  tor 
ments  him  for  a  brief  space  after  death — is,  that  finally, 
and  in  no  long  time,  by  some  happy  coincidence  of  cir 
cumstances,  he  shall  be  restored  to  office.  This  faith 
more  than  any  thing  else,  steals  the  pith  and  availability 
out  of  whatever  enterprise  he  may  dream  of  undertaking. 
Why  should  he  toil  and  moil,  and  be  at  so  much  trouble 
to  pick  himself  up  out  of  the  mud, 
when,  in  a  little  while  hence,  the 
strong  arm  of  his  Uncle  will  raise 

o 

and  support  him  ?  Why  should  he 
work  for  his  living  here,  or  go  to 
dig  gold  in  California,  when  he  is 
so  soon  to  be  made  happy,  at 
monthly  intervals,  with  a  little  pile 
of  glittering  coin  out  of  his  Uncle's 
pocket  ?  It  is  sadly  curious  to  ob 
serve  how  slight  a  taste  of  office 
suffices  to  infect  a  poor  fellow  with 
this  singular  disease.  Uncle  Sam's 
gold — meaning  no  disrespect  to  the 


'  DIG  GOLD  IN  CALI 
FORNIA.'1 


The  Custom- House.  49 

worthy  old  gentleman — has,  in  this  respect,  a  quality  of 
enchantment  like  that  of  the  Devil's  wages.  Whoever 
touches  it  should  look  well  to  himself,  or  he  may  find  the 
bargain  to  go  hard  against  him,  involving,  if  not  his  soul, 

O  O  c>  O ' 

yet  many  of  its  better  attributes;  its  sturdy  force,  its 
courage  and  constancy,  its  truth,  its  self-reliance,  and  all 
that  gives  the  emphasis  to  manly  character. 

Here  was  a  fine  prospect  in  the  distance  !  Not  that  the 
Surveyor  brought  the  lesson  home  to  himself,  or  admitted 
that  he  could  be  so  utterly  undone,  either  by  continuance 
in  office,  or  ejectment.  Yet  my  reflections  were  not  the 
most  comfortable.  I  began  to  grow  melancholy  and  rest 
less  ;  continually  prying  into  my  mind,  to  discover  which 
of  its  poor  properties  were  gone,  and  what  degree  of  det 
riment  had  already  accrued  to  the  remainder.  I  endeav 
ored  to  calculate  how  much  longer  I  could  stay  in  the  \/ 
Custom-House,  and  yet  go  forth  a  man.  To  confess  the 
truth,  it  was  my  greatest  apprehension, — as  it  would  never 
be  a  measure  of  policy  to  turn  out  so  quiet  an  individual 
as  myself,  and  it  being  hardly  in  the  nature  of  a  public 
officer  to  resign, — it  was  my  chief  trouble,  therefore,  that 
I  was  likely  to  grow  grey  and  decrepit  in  the  Surveyor- 
ship,  and  become  much  such  another  animal  as  the  old 
Inspector.  Might  it  not,  in  the  tedious  lapse  of  official 
life  that  lay  before  me,  finally  be  with  me  as  it  was  with 
this  venerable  friend, — to  make  the  dinner-hour  the  nu 
cleus  of  the  day,  and  to  spend  the  rest  of  it,  as  an  old  dog 
spends  it,  asleep  in  the  sunshine  or  in  the  shade  ?  A  dreary 
look-forward  this,  for  a  man  who  felt  it  to  be  the  best  defi 
nition  of  happiness  to  live  throughout  the  whole  range  of 
his  faculties  and  sensibilities  !  But,  all  this  while,  I  was 
giving  myself  very  unnecessary  alarm.  Providence  had 


50  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

meditated  be:ter  things  for  me  than  I  could  possibly  im 
agine  for  myself. 

A  remarkable  event  of  the  third  year  of  my  Surveyor- 
ship — to  adopt  the  tone  of  "  P.  P.v — was  the  election  of 
General  Taylor  to  the  Presidency.  It  is  essential,  in 
order  to  a  complete  estimate  of  the  advantages  of  official 
life,  to  view  the  incumbent  at  the  in-coming  of  a  hostile 
administration.  His  position  is  then  one  of  the  most 
singularly  irksome,  and,  in  every  contingency,  disagree 
able,  that  a  wretched  mortal  can  possibly  occupy  ;  with 
seldom  an  alternative  of  good,  on  either  hand,  although 
what  presents  itself  to  him  as  the  worst  event  may  very 
probably  be  the  best.  But  it  is  a  strange  experience,  to 
a  man  of  pride  and  sensibility,  to  know  that  his  interests 
are  within  the  control  of  individuals  who  neither  love  nor 
understand  him,  and  by  whom,  since  one  or  the  other 
must  needs  happen,  he  would  rather  be  injured  than 
obliged.  Strange,  too,  for  one  who  has  kept  his  calmness 

O  O      -  '  I 

throughout  the  contest,  to  observe  the  bloodthirstiness 
that  is  developed  in  the  hour  of  triumph,  and  to  be  con 
scious  that  he  is  himself  among  its  objects  !  There  are 
few  uglier  traits  of  human  nature  than  this  tendency — 
which  I  now  witnessed  in  men  no  worse  than  their  neigh 
bors — to  grow  cruel,  merely  because  they  possessed  the 
power  of  inflicting  harm.  If  the  guillotine,  as  applied  to 
office-holders,  were  a  literal  fact,  instead  of  one  of  the 
most  apt  of  metaphors,  it  is  my  sincere  belief,  that  the  ac 
tive  members  of  the  victorious  party  were  sufficiently  ex 
cited  to  have  chopped  off  all  our  heads,  and  have  thanked 
Heaven  for  the  opportunity  !  It  appears  to  me — who 
have  been  a  calm  and  curious  observer,  as  well  in  vic 
tory  as  defeat — that  this  fierce  and  bitter  spirit  of  malice 


The  Custom-House.  51 

and  revenge  has  never  distinguished  the  many  triumphs 
of  my  own  party  as  it  now  did  that  of  the  Whigs.  The 
Democrats  take  the  offices,  as  a  general  rule,  because 
they  need  them,  and  because  the  practice  of  many  years 
has  made  it  the  law. of  political  warfare,  which,  unless  a 
different  system  be  proclaimed,  it  were  weakness  and 
cowardice  to  murmur  at.  But  the  long  habit  of  victory 
has  made  them  generous.  They  know  how  to  spare,  when 

they  see  occasion  :  and  when   they  strike,  the  axe  may  be 

j  •  j  j 

sharp,  indeed,  but  its  edge  is  seldom  poisoned  with  ill- 
will  ;  nor  is  it  their  custom  ignominiously  to  kick  the 
head  which  they  have  just  struck  off. 

In  short,  unpleasant  as  was  my  predicament,  at  best, 
I  saw  much  reason  to  congratulate  myself  that  I  was  on 
the  losing  side,  rather  than  the  triumphant  one.  If, 
heretofore,  I  had  been  none  of  the  warmest  of  partisans, 
I  began  now,  at  this  season  of  peril  and  adversity,  to  be 
pretty  acutely  sensible  with  which  party  my  predilections 
lay  ;  nor  was  it  without  something  like  regret  and  shame, 
that,  according  to  a  reasonable  calculation  of  chances,  I 
saw  my  own  prospect  of  retaining  office  to  be  better  than 
those  of  my  Democratic  brethren.  But  who  can  see  an 
inch  into  futurity,  beyond  his  nose  ?  My  own  head  was 
the  first  that  fell  ! 

The  moment  when  a  man's  head  drops  off  is  seldom  or 
never,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  precisely  the  most  agree 
able  of  his  life.  Nevertheless,  like  the  greater  part  of 
our  misfortunes,  even  so  serious  a  contingency  brings  its 
remedy  and  consolation  with  it,  if  the  sufferer  will  but 
make  the  best,  rather  than  the  worst,  of  the  accident 
which  has  befallen  him.  In  my  particular  case,  the  con 
solatory  topics  were  close  at  hand,  and,  indeed,  had  sug- 


52  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

gested  themselves  to  my  meditations  a  considerable  time 
before  it  was  requisite  to  use  them.  In  view  of  my  pre 
vious  weariness  of  office,  and  vague  thoughts  of  resigna 
tion,  my  fortune  somewhat  resembled  that  of  a  person 
who  should  entertain  an  idea  of  committing  suicide,,  and, 
although  beyond  his  hopes,  meet  with  the  good  hap  to 
be  murdered.  In  the  Custom-House,  as  before  in  the 
Old  Manse,  I  had  spent  three  years  ;  a  term  long  enough 
to  rest  a  weary  brain  ;  long  enough  to  break  off  old  intel 
lectual  habits,  and  make  room  for  new  ones  ;  long  enough 
and  too  long,  to  have  lived  in  an  unnatural  state,  doing 
what  was  really  of  no  advantage  nor  delight  to  any  human 
being,  and  withholding  myself  from  toil  that  would,  at 
least,  have  stilled  an  unquiet  impulse  in  me.  Then,  more 
over,  as  regarded  his  unceremonious  ejectment,  the  late 
Surveyor  was  not  altogether  ill-pleased  to  be  recognized 
by  the  Whigs  as  an  enemy  ;  since  his  inactivity  in  politi 
cal  affairs, — his  tendency  to  roam,  at  will,  in  that  broad 
and  quiet  field  where  all  mankind  may  meet,  rather  than 
confine  himself  to  those  narrow  paths  where  brethren  of 
the  same  household  must  diverge  from  one  another, — 
had  sometimes  made  it  questionable  with  his  brother 
Democrats  whether  he  was  a  friend.  Now,  after  he  had 
\won  the  crown  of  martyrdom,  (though  with  no  longer  a 
head  to  wear  it  on,)  the  point  might  be  looked  upon  as 
settled.  Finally,  little  heroic  as  he  was,  it  seemed  more 
decorous  to  be  overthrown  in  the  downfall  of  the  party 
with  which  he  had  been  content  to  stand,  than  to  remain 
a  forlorn  survivor,  when  so  many  worthier  men  were  fall 
ing;  and,  at  last,  after  subsisting  for  four  years  on  the 
mercy  of  a  hostile  administration,  to  be  compelled  then 
to  define  his  position  anew,  and  claim  the  yet  more  humil- 
ating  mercy  of  a  friendly  one. 


The  Custom-House.  53 

Meanwhile  the  press  had  taken  up  my  affair,  and  kept 
me,  for  a  week  or  two,  careering  through  the  public 
prints,  in  my  decapitated  state,  like  Irving's  Headless 
Horseman  ;  ghastly  and  grim,  and  longing  to  be  buried, 
as  a  politically  dead  man  ought.  So  much  for  my  figura 
tive  self.  The  real  human  being,  all  this  time,  with  his 
head  safely  on  his  shoulders,  had  brought  himself  to  the 
comfortable  conclusion,  that  every  thing  was  for  the  best; 
and,  making  an  investment  in  ink,  paper,  and  steel  pens, 
had  opened  his  long-disused  writing  desk,  and  was  again 
a  literary  man. 

Now  it  was,  that  the  lucubrations  of  my  ancient  pred 
ecessor,  Mr.  Surveyor  Pue,  came  into  play.  Rusty 
through  long  idleness,  some  little  space  was  requisite  be 
fore  my  intellectual  machinery  could  be  brought  to  work 
upon  the  tale,  with  an  effect  in  any  degree  satisfactory. 
Even  yet,  though  rny  thoughts  were  ultimately  much  ab 
sorbed  in  the  task,  it  wears,  to  my  eye,  a  stern  and  some 
bre  aspect;  too  much  ungladdened  by  genial  sunshine; 
too  little  relieved  by  the  tender  and  familiar  influences 
which  soften  almost  every  scene  of  nature  and  real  life 
and,  undoubtedly,  should  soften  every  picture  of  them, 
This  uncaptivating  effect  is  perhaps  clue  to  the  period  of 
hardly  accomplished  revolution,  and  still  seething  turmoil, 
in  which  the  story  shaped  itself.  It  is  no  indication, 
however,  of  a  lack  of  cheerfulness  in  the  writer's  mind  ; 
for  he  was  happier,  while  straying  through  the  gloom  of 
these  sunless  fantasies,  than  at  any  time  since,  he  had 
quitted  the  Old  Manse.  Some  of  the  briefer  articles, 
which  contribute  to  make  up  the  volume,  have  likewise 
been  written  since  my  involuntary  withdrawal  from  the 
toils  and  honors  of  public  life,  and  the  remainder  are 


54  77uf  Scarlet  Letter. 

gleaned  from  annuals  and  magazines,  of  such  antique 
date  that  they  have  gone  round  the  circle,  and  come  back 
to  novelty  again.*  Keeping  up  the  metaphor  of  the  po 
litical  guillotine,  the  whole  may  be  considered  as  the 
POSTHUMOUS  PAPERS  OF  A  DECAPITATED  SURVEYOR;  and 
the  sketch  which  I  am  now  bringing  10  a  close,  if  too  auto 
biographical  for  a  modest  person  to  publish  in  his  life 
time,  will  readily  be  excused  in  a  gentleman  who  writes 
from  beyond  the  grave.  Peace  be  with  all  the  world  ! 
My  blessing  on  my  friends  !  My  forgiveness  to  my  ene 
mies  !  For  I  am  in  the  realm  of  quiet  ! 

The  life  of  the  Custom-House  lies  like  a  dream  behind 
me.  The  old  Inspector, — who,  by  the  by,  I  regret  to  say, 
Was  overthrown  and  killed  by  a  horse,  some  time  ago  ; 
else  he  would  certainly  have  lived  for  ever. — he,  and  all 
those  other  venerable  personages  who  sat  with  him  at  the 
receipt  of  custom,  are  but  shadows  in  my  view  ;  white- 
headed  and  wrinkled  images,  which  my  fancy  used  to 
sport  with,  and  has  now  flung  aside  for  ever.  The  mer 
chants, — Pingree,  Phillips,  Shepard,  Upton,  Kimball,  Ber 
tram,  Hunt, — these,  and  many  other  names,  which  had 
such  a  classic  familiarity  for  my  ear  six  months  ago, — 
these  men  of  traffic,  who  seemed  to  occupy  so  important 
a  position  in  the  world, — how  little  time  has  it  required 
to  disconnect  me  from  them  all,  not  merely  in  act,  but  rec 
ollection  !  It  is  with  an  effort  that  I  recall  the  figures 
and  appellations  of  these  few.  Soon,  likewise,  my  old 
native  town  will  loom  upon  me  through  the  haze  of  mem- 


*  At  the  time  of  writing  this  article,  the  author  intended  to  publish, 
along  with  "The  Scarlet  Letter/'  several  shorter  tales  and  sketches, 
these  it  has  been  thought  advisable  to  defer. 


The  Custom-House.  55 

ory,  a  mist  brooding  over  and  around  it  ;  as  if  it  were  no 
portion  of  the  real  earth,  but  an  overgrown  village  in 
cloud-land,  with  only  imaginary  inhabitants  to  people  its 
wooden  houses,  and  walk  its  homely  lanes,  and  the  un- 
picturesque  prolixity  of  its  main  street.  Henceforth,  it 


"  WAS  OVERTHROWN  AND  KILLED  BY  A  HORSE. " 

ceases  to  be  a  reality  of  my  life.  I  am  a  citizen  of  some 
where  else.  My  good  townspeople  will  not  much  regret 
me  ;  for — though  it  has  been  as  dear  an  object  as  any,  in 
my  literary  efforts,  to  be  of  some  importance  in  their  eyes, 
and  to  win  myself  a  pleasant  memory  in  this  abode  and 
burial-place  of  so  many  of  my  forefathers — there  has 
never  been,  for  me,  the  genial  atmosphere  which  a  literary 
man  requires,  in  order  to  ripen  the  best  harvest  of  his 


56  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

mind.  I  shall  do  better  amongst  other  faces  ;  and  these 
familiar  ones,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  will  do  just  as  well 
without  me. 

It  may  be,  however, — O  transporting  and  triumphant 
thought ! — that  the  great-grandchildren  of  the  present  race 
may  sometimes  think  kindly  of  the  scribbler  of  bygone 
days,  when  the  antiquary  of  days  to  come,  among  the  sites 
memorable  in  the  town's  history,  shall  point  out  the  lo 
cality  of  THE  TOWN-PUMP  1 


THE  SCARLET  LETTER. 


I. 

THE    PRISON-DOOR. 

THRONG  of  bearded  men, 
in     sad-colored     garments, 
and   grey,    steeple-crowned 
hats,   intermixed    with    wo 
men,  some    wearing  hoods 
and   others  bareheaded,    was    assem 
bled  in  front  of  a  wooden  edifice,  the 
door  of   which  was   heavily  timbered 
with     oak,    and    studded    with    iron 
spikes. 

The  founders  of  a  new  colony, 
whatever  Utopia  of  human  virtue  and 
happiness  they  might  originally  pro 
ject,  have  invariably  recognized  it 
among  their  earliest  practical  necessi 
ties  to  allot  a  portion  of  the  virgin 
soil  as  a  cemetery,  and  another  portion  as  the  site  of  a 
prison.  In  accordance  with  this  rule,  it  may  safely  be 
assumed  that  the  forefathers  of  Boston  had  built  the  first 


58  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

prison-house  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Cornhill,  almost 
as  seasonably  as  they  marked  out  the  first  burial-ground, 
on  Isaac  Johnson's  lot,  and  round  about  his  grave,  which 
subsequently  became  the  nucleus  of  all  the  congregated 
sepulchres  in  the  old  church-yard  of  King's  Chapel.  Cer 
tain  it  is,  that,  some  fifteen  or  twenty  years  after  the  settle 
ment  of  the  town,  the  wooden  jail  was  already  marked  with 
weather-stains  and  other  indications  of  age,  which  gave  a 
yet  darker  aspect  to  its  beetle-browed  and  gloomy  front. 
The  rust  on  the  ponderous  iron-work  of  its  oaken  door 
looked  more  antique  than  anything  else  in  the  New  World. 
Like  all  that  pertains  to  crime,  it  seemed  never  to  have 
known  a  youthful  era.  Before  this  ugly  edifice,  and  be 
tween  it  and  the  wheel-track  of  the  street,  was  a  grass- 
plot,  much  overgrown  with  burdock,  pigweed,  apple-peru, 
and  such  unsightly  vegetation,  which  evidently  found 
something  congenial  in  the  soil  that  had  so  early  borne 
the  black  flower  of  civilized  society,  a  prison.  But,  on 
one  side  of  the  portal,  and  rooted  almost  at  the  threshold, 
was  a  wild  rose-bush,  covered,  in  this  month  of  June,  with 
its  delicate  gems,  which  might  be  imagined  to  offer  their 
fragrance  and  fragile  beauty  to  the  prisoner  as  he  went  in, 
and  to  the  condemned  criminal  as  he  came  forth  to  his  • 
doom,  in  token  that  the  deep  heart  of  Nature  could  pity 
and  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,  so  long  after  the  fall  of  the 
gigantic  pines  and  oaks  that  originally  overshadowed  it 
— or  whether,  as  there  is.  fair  authority  for  believing,  it 
had  sprung  up  under  the  footsteps  of  the  sainted  Ann 
Hutchinson,  as  she  entered  the  prison-door, — we  shall 


The  Prison-Door.  59 

not  take  upon  us  to  determine.  Finding  it  so  directly  on 
the  threshold  of  our  narrative,  which  is  now  about  to 
issue  from  that  inauspicious  portal,  we  could  hardly  do 
otherwise  than  pluck  one  of  its  flowers,  and  present  it  to 
the  reader.  It  may  serve,  let  us  hope,  to  symbolize  some 
sweet  blossom,  that  may  be  found  alonp:  the  track,  or 
relieve  the  darkening  close  of  a  tale  of  human  frajltv 
and  sorrow. 


II. 


$ 

A 


THE    MARKET-PLACE. 

HE  grass-plot,  before  the  jail, 
in  Prison  Lane,  on  a  cer 
tain  summer  morning,  not 
less  than  two  centuries 
ago,  was  occupied  by  a 
pretty  large  number  of  the  inhabi- 
.  tants  of  Boston  ;  all  with  their 
eyes  intently  fastened  on  the  iron- 
clamped  oaken  door.  Amongst  any  other 
population,  or  at  a  later  period  in  the  history 
of  New  England,  the  grim  rigidity  that  petrified 
the  bearded  physiognomies  of  these  good 
people  would  have  argued  some  awful  busi 
ness  in  hand.  It  could  have  betokened  noth 
ing  short  of  the  anticipated  execution  of  some 
noted  culprit,  on  whom  the  sentence  of  a  legal  tribunal  had 
but  confirmed  the  verdict  of  public  sentiment.  But,  in  that 
early  s.eY.erity  of  the  Puritan  character,  an  inference  of 
this  kind  could  not  so  indubitably  be  drawn.  It  might 
be  that  a  sluggish  bond-servant,  or  an  undutiful  child, 
whom  his  parents  had  given  over  to  the  civil  authority, 
was  to  be  corrected  at  the  whipping-post.  It  might  be, 
that  an  Antinomian,  a  Quaker,  or  other  heterodox  relig- 


The  Market-  Place.  61 


ionist  ''\?li£i£;(l  out  of  tlie  town>  or  an 

vagrain  .ai^ri.  whom  the  white  man's  fire-water  had 
made  riotous  about  the  streets,  was  to  be  driven  with 
stripes  into  the  shadow  of  the  forest.  It  might  be,  too, 
that  a  witch,  like  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  bitter-tem 
pered  widow  of  the  magistrate,  was  to  die  upon  the  gal 
lows.  In  either  case,  there  was  very  much  the  same  so 
lemnity  of  demeanor  on  the  part  of  the  spectators  ;  as 
befitted  a  people  amongst  whom  religion  and  law  wereS 
almost  identical,  and  in  whose  character  both  were  sc 
thoroughly  intertused,  lluil  the  mildi^l  dud  the  seveieslN 


acts  of  public  discipline  were  alike  made  venerable 
awfuh.  Meagre,  indeed,  and  colcPwas  the  sympathy  that 
a  transgressor  might  look  for,  from  such  bystanders,  at 
the  scaffold.  On  the  other  hand,  a  penalty,  which,  in  our 
days,  would  infer  a  degree  of  mocking  infamy  and  ridicule, 
might  then  be  invested  with  almost  as  stern  a  dignity  as 
the  punishment  of  death  itself. 

It  was  a  circumstance  to  be  noted,  on  the  summer 
morning  when  our  story  begins  its  course,  that  the  women, 
of  whom  there  were  several  in  the  crowd,  appeared  to 
take  a  peculiar  interest  in  whatever  penal  infliction  might 
be  expected  to  ensue.  The  age  had  not  so  much  refine 
ment,  that  any  sense  of  impropriety  restrained  the  wear 
ers  of  petticoat  and  farthingale  from  stepping  forth  into 
the  public  ways,  and  wedging  their  not  unsubstantial  per 
sons,  if  occasion  were,  into  the  throng  nearest  to  the  scaf 
fold  at  an  execution.  Morally,  as  well  as  materially, 
there  was  a  coarser  fibre  in  those  wives  and  maidens  of 
old  English  birth  and  breeding,  than  in  their  fair  descend 
ants,  separated  from  them  by  a  series  of  six  or  seven  gen 
erations  ;  for,  throughout  that  chain  of  ancestry,  every 


62  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

successive  mother  has  transmitted  to  her  child  a  fainter 
bloom,  a  more  delicate  and  briefer  beauty,  and  a  slighter 
physical  frame,  if  not  a  character  of  less  force  and  solid 
ity,  than  her  own.  The  women  who  were  now  standing 
about  the  prison-door  stood  within  less  than  half  a  cen- 
ury  of  the  period  when  the  man-like  Elizabeth  had  been 
the  not  altogether  unsuitable  representative  of  the  sex. 
They  were  her  countrywomen  ;  and  (lie  beef  and  ale  of 
their  native  land,  with  a  moral  diet  not  a  whit  more 
refined,  entered  largely  into  their  composition;  The 
bright  morning  sun,  therefore,  shone  on  broad  shoulders 
and  well-developed  busts,  and  on  round  and  ruddy  cheeks, 
that  had  ripened  in  the  far-off  island,  and  had  hardly  yet 
grown  paler  or  thinner  in  the  atmosphere  of  New  Eng 
land.  There  was,  moreover,  a  boldness  and  rotundity  of 
speech  among  these  matrons,  as  most  of  them  seemed  to 
be,  that  would  startle  us  at  the  present  day,  whether  in 
respect  to  its  purport  or  its  volume  of  tone. 

"  Goodwives,"  said  a  hard-featured  dame  of  fifty,  "  I'll 
tell  ye  a  piece  of  my  mind.  It  would  be  greatly  for  the 
public  behoof,  if  we  women,  being  of  mature  age  and 
church-members  in  good  repute,  should  have  the  handling 
of  such  malefactresses  as  this  Hester  Prynne.  What 
think  ye,  gossips  ?  If  the  hussy  stood  up  for  judgment 
before  us  five,  that  are  now  here  in  a  knot  together,  would 
she  come  off  with  such  a  sentence  as  the  worshipful  mag- 
istrates  have  awarded  ?  Marry,  I  trow  not  !  " 

"  People  say,"  said  another,  "that  the  Reverend  Mas 
ter  Dimmesdale,  her  godly  pastor,  takes  it  very  grievously 
to  heart  that  such  a  scandal  should  have  come  upon  his 
congregation." 

"  The  magistrates  are  God-fearing  gentlemen,  but  mer- 


The  Market-Place. 


kI'LL  TELL  YE  A  PIECE  OF  MY  MIND.  ' 


64  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

ciful  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's  forehead.  Madam 
Hester  would  have  winced  at  that,  I  warrant  me.  But 
she, — the  naughty  baggage, — little  will  she  care  what  they 
put  upon  the  bodice  of  her  gown  !  Why,  look  you,  she 
may  cover  it  with  a  brooch,  or  such  like  heathenish  adorn 
ment,  and  so  walk  the  streets  as  brave  as  ever  !  " 

"Ah,  but,"  interposed,  more  softly,  a  young  wife,  hold 
ing  a  child  by  the  hand,  "  let  her  cover  the  mark  as  she 
will,  the  pang  of  it  will  be  always  in  her  heart." 

"What  do  we  talk  of  marks  and  brands,  whether  on  the 
bodice  of  her  gown,  or  the  flesh  of  her  forehead?"  cried* 
another  female,  the  ugliest  as  well  as  the  most  pitiless  of 
these  self-constituted  judges.  "  This  woman  has  brought 
shame  upon  us  all,  and  ought  to  die.  Is  there  no  law  for 
it  ?  Truly,  there  is,  both  in  the  Scripture  and  the  statute- 
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  there  no  virtue  in  woman,  save  what  springs 
from  a  wholesome  fear  of  the  gallows  ?  That  is  the  hard 
est  word  yet  !  Hush,  now,  gossips  !  for  the  lock  is  turning 
in  the  prison-door,  and  here  comes  Mistress  Prynne  her 
self." 

The  door  of  the  jail  being  flung  open  from  within,  there 

;      appeared,  in  the  first  place,  like  a  black  shadow  emerging 

/     into  sunshine,  the  grim  and  grisly  presence  of  the  town- 

\    beadle,  with  a  sword  by  his  side,  and  his  staff  of  office  in 

A   his  hand.     This  personage  prefigured  and  represented  in 

\his  aspect  the  whole  dismal  severity  of  the  Puritanic  code 

A  ~ 


The  Market-Place. 


of  law,  which  it  was  his  business  to  administer  in  its  final 
and  closest  application  to  the  offender.  Stretching  forth 
the  official  staff  in  his  left  hand,  he  laid  his  right  upon  the 

shoulder  of  a  young  wo 
man,  whom  he  thus  drew 
forward;    until,    on     the 
threshold  of  the  prison- 
door,  sjie  repelled  Jhim, 
by  an  action  marked  with 
dignity     and      force     of 
character,    and    stepped 
into  the  open  air,   as   if 
by    her    own     free    will. 
She  bore  in  her  arms  a 
child,    a    baby    of    some 
three    months    old,    \vho 
winked  and  turned  aside 
its  little    face    from    the 
too   vivid    light   of  day 
because     its     existence 
heretofore,   had  b rough 
it   acquainted  only   witl 
the    grey    twilight    of    a^ 
dungeon,  or  other  dark- , 
some    apartment   of    the 
prison.  rr;*": 

When  the  young  wo 
man—the  mother  of  this 
child — stood  fully  re 
vealed  before  the  crowd, 
it  seemed  to  be  her  first  impulse  to  clasp  the  infant  closely 
to  her  bosom  ;  not  so  .much  by  an  impulse  of  motherly  af- 


"THE  TOWN-BEADLE,  WITH  A  SWORD  BY 

His  SIDE,  AND  His  STAFF  OF  OFFICE 

IN  His  HAND." 


66  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

fection,  as  that  she  might  thereby  conceal  a  certain  token, 
which  was  wrought  or  fastened  into  her  dress.  In  a  mo 
ment,  however,  wisely  judging  that  one  token  of  her  shame 
•  would  but  poorly  serve  to  hide  another,  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  neighbors.  On  the  breast 
of  her  gown,  in  fine  red  cloth,  surrounded  with  an  elabo 
rate  embroidery  and  fantastic  flourishes  of  gold-thread,  ap 
peared  the  letter  A.  It  was  so  artistically  done,  and  with 
so  much  fertility  and  gorgeous  luxuriance  of  fancy,  that  it 
had  all  the  effect  of  a  last  and  fitting  decoration  to  the 
apparel  which  she  wore  ;  and  which  was  of  a  splendor  in 
accordance  with  the  taste  of  the  age,  but  greatly  beyond 
what  was  allowed  by  the  sumptuary  regulations  of  the 
colony. 

The  young  woman  was  tall,  with  a  figure  of  perfect 
elegance  on  a  large  scale.  She  had  dark  and  abundant 
hair,  so  glossy  that  it  threw  off  the  sunshine  with  a  gleam, 
and  a  face  which,  besides  being  beautiful  from  regularity 
of  feature  and  richness  of  complexion,  had  the  impres- 
siveness  belonging  to  a  marked  brow  and  deep  black  eyes. 
She  was  lady-like,  too,  after  the  manner  of  the  feminine 
gentility  of  those  days  ;  characterized  by  a  certain  state 
and  dignity,  rather  than  by  the  delicate,  evanescent,  and 
indescribable  grace,  which  is  now  recognized  as  its  indi 
cation.  And  never  had  Hester  Prynne  appeared  more 
lady-like,  in  the  antique  interpretation  of  the  term,  than 
as  she  issued  from  the  prison.  Those  who  had  before 
known  her,  and  had  expected  to  behold  her  dimmed  and 
obscured  by  a  disastrous  cloud,  were  astonished,  and 
even  startled,  to  perceive  how  her  beauty  shone  out,  and 


The  Market-Place.  67 

made  a  halo  of  the  misfortune  and  ignominy  in  which  she 
was  enveloped.  It  may  be  true,  that,  to  a  sensitive 
observer,  there  was  something  exquisitely  painful  in  it. 
Her  attire,  which,  indeed,  she  had  wrought  for  the  occa 
sion,  in  prison,  and  had  modelled  much  after  her  own 
fancy,  seemed  to  express  the  attitude  of  her  spirit,  the 
desperate  recklessness  of  her  mood,  by  its  wild  and  pict 
uresque  peculiarity.  But  the  point  which  drew  all  eyes, 
and,  as  it  were,  transfigured  the  wearer, — so  that  both 
men  and  women,  who  had  been  familiarly  acquainted  with 
Hester  Prynne,  were  now  impressed  as  if  they  beheld  her 
for  the  first  time, — was  that  SCARLET  LETTER,  so  fantasti 
cally  embroidered  and  illuminated  upon  her  bosom.  It 
had  the  effect  of  a  spell,  taking  her  out  of  the  ordinary 
relations  with  humanity,  and  enclosing  her  in  a  sphere 
by  herself. 

"  She  hath  good  skill  at  her  needle,  that's  certain," 
remarked  one  of  her  female  spectators  ;  "  but  did  ever  a 
woman,  before  this  brazen  hussy,  contrive  such  a  way  of 
showing  it  !  Why,  gossips,  what  is  it  but  to  laugh  in  the 
faces  of  our  godly  magistrates,  and  make  a  pride  out  of 
what  they,  worthy  gentlemen,  meant  for  a  punishment  ?  " 

"  It  were  well,"  muttered  the  most  iron  visaged  of  the 
old  dames,  "  if  we  stripped  Madam  Hester's  rich  gown 
off  her  dainty  shoulders;  and  as  for  the  red  letter,  which 
she  hath  stitched  so  curiously,  I'll  bestow  a  rag  of  mine 
own  rheumatic  flannel,  to  make  a  fitter  one  !  " 

"  O,  peace,  neighbors,  peace!"  whispered  their  young 
est  companion.  "Do  not  let  her  hear  you!  Not  a 
stitch  in  that  embroidered  letter,  but  she  has  felt  it  in  her 
heart." 

The  grim  beadle  now  made  a  gesture  with  his  staff. 


68  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

"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  where  man,  woman,  and 
child  may  have  a  fair  sight  of  her  brave  apparel,  from 
this  time  till  an  hour  past  meridian.  A  blessing  on  the 
righteous  Colony  of  the  Massachusetts,  where  iniquity  is 
dragged  out  into  the  sunshine  !  Come  along,  Madam 
Hester,  and  show  your  scarlet  letter  in  the  market 
place  !  " 

A  lane  was  forthwith  opened  through  the  crowd  of 
spectators.  Preceded  by  the  beadle,  and  attended  by  an 
irregular  procession  of  stern-browed  men  and  unkindly- 
visaged  women,  Hester  Prynne  set  forth  towards  the 
place  appointed  for  her  punishment.  A  crowd  of  eager 
and  curious  schoolboys,  understanding  little  of  the  matter 
in  hand,  except  that  it  gave  them  a  half-holiday,  ran  be 
fore  her  progress,  turning  their  heads  continually  to  stare 
into  her  face,  and  at  the  winking  baby  in  her  arms,  and 
at  the  ignominious  letter  on  her  breast.  .  It  was  no  great 
distance,  in  those  days,  from  the  prison-door  to  the 
market-place.  Measured  by  the  prisoner's  experience, 
however,  it  might  be  reckoned  a  journey  of  some  length  ; 
for,  haughty  as  her  demeanor  was,  she  perchance  under 
went  an  agony  from  every  footstep  of  those  that  thronged 
to  see  her,  as  if  her  heart  had  been  flung  into  the  street 
for  them  all  to  spurn  and  trample  upon.  In  our  nature, 
however,  there  is  a  provision,  alike  marvellous  and  merci 
ful,  that  the  sufferer  should  never  know  the  intensity  of 
what  he  endures  by  its  present  torture,  but  chiefly  by  the 
pang  that  rankles  after-it.  With  almost  a  serene  deport 
ment,  therefore,  Hester  Prynne  passed  through  this  por 
tion  of  her  ordeal,  and  came  to  a  sort  of  scaffold,  at  the 


The  Market-Place.  69 

western  extremity  of  the  market-place.  It  stood  nearly 
beneath  the  eaves  of  Boston's  earliest  church,  and  ap 
peared  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  merely  historical  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 
framework  of  that  instrument  of  discipline,  so  fashioned 
as  to  confine  the  human  head  in  its  tight  grasp,  and  thus 
hold  it  up  to  the  public  gaze.  The  very  ideal  of  igno 
miny  was  embodied  and  made  manifest  in  this  contriv 
ance  of  wood  and  iron.  There  can  be  no  outrage,  me- 
thinks,  against  our  common  nature, — whatever  be  the 
delinquencies  of  the  individual, — no  outrage  more  flagrant 
than  to  forbid  the  culprit  to  hide  his  face  for  shame  ;  as 
it  was  the  essence  of  this  punishment  to  do.  In  Hester 
Pry«ne's  instance,  however,  as  not  unfrequently  in  other 
cases,  her  sentence  bore,  that  she  should  stand  a  certain 
time  upon  the  platform,  but  without  undergoing  that  gripe 
about  the  neck  and  confinement  of  the  head,  the  prone- 
ness  to  which  was  the  most  devilish  characteristic  of  this 
ugly  engine.  Knowing  well  her  part,  she  ascended  a 
flight  of  wooden  steps,  and  was  thus  displayed  to  the  sur 
rounding  multitude,  at  about  the  height  of  a  man's  shoul 
ders  above  the  street. 

Had  there  been  a  Papist  among  the  crowd  of  Puritans, 
he  might  have  seen  in  this  beautiful  woman,  so  pictur 
esque  in  her  attire  a-ft^UwvieH-,- and  with  the  infant  at  her 
bosom,  an  object  to  remind  him  of  the  image  of  Divine 


The   Scarlet  Letter. 


WITH  THE  INFANT  AT  HER  BOSOM." 


The  Market- Place.  71 

Maternity,  which  so  many  illustrious  painters  have  vied 
with  one  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  of  deepest  sin  in 
the  most  sacred  quality  of  human  life,  working  such 
effect,  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  always  invest  the  spectacle  of  guilt  and  shame  in  a 
fellow-creature,  before  society  shall  have  grown  corrupt 
enough  to  smile,  instead  of  shuddering,  at  it.  The  wit 
nesses  of  Hester  Prynne's  disgrace  had  not  yet  passed 
beyond  their  simplicity.  They  were  stern  enough  to  look 
upon  her  death,  had  that  been  the  sentence,  without  a 
murmur  at  Us  severity,  but  had  none  of  the  heartlessness 
of  another  social  state,  which  would  find  only  a  theme  for 
jest  in  an  exhibition  like  the  present..  Even  had  there 
been  a  disposition  to  turn  the  matter  into  ridicule,  it  must 
have  been  repressed  and  overpowered  by  the  solemn 
presence  of  men  no  less  dignified  than  the  Governor,  and 
several  of  his  counsellors,  a  judge,  a  general,  and  the 
ministers  of  the  town ;  all  of  whom  sat  or  stood  in  a  bal 
cony  of  the  meeting-house,  looking  down  upon  the  plat 
form.  When  such  personages  could  constitute  a  part  of 
the  spectacle,  without  risking  the  majesty  or  reverence  of 
rank  and  office,  it  was  safely  to  be  inferred  that  the  in 
fliction  of  a  legal  sentence  would  have  an  earnest  and  ef 
fectual  meaning.  Accordingly,  the  crowd  was  sombre 
and  grave.  The  unhappy  culprit  sustained  herself  as  best 
a  woman  might,  under  the  heavy  weight  of  a  thousand 


72  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

unrelenting  eyes,  all  fastened  upon  her,  and  concentrated 
at  her  bosom.  It  was  almost  too  intolerable  to  be  borne. 
Of  an  impulsive  and  passionate  nature,  she  had  fortified 
herself  to  encounter  the  stings  and  venomous  stabs  of  pub 
lic  contumely,  wreaking  itself  in  every  variety  of  insult ;  but 
there  was  a  quality  so  much  more  terrible  in  the  solemn 
mood  of  the  popular  mind,  that  she  longed  rather  to  be 
hold  all  those  rigid^countenances  contorted  with  scornful 
merriment,  and  herself  the  object.  Had  a  roar  of  laughter 
burst  from  the  multitude, — each  man,  each  woman,  each 
little  shrill-voiced  child,  contributing  their  individual  parts, 
— Hester  Prynne  might  have  repaid  them  all  with  a  bitter 
and  disdainful  smile.  But,  under  the  leaden  infliction 
which  it  was  her  doom  to  endure,  she  felt,  at  moments,  as 
if  she  must  needs  shriek  out  with  the  full  power  of  her 
lungs,  and  cast  herself  from  the  scaffold  down  upon  the 
ground,  or  else  go  mad  at  once. 

Yet  there  were  intervals  when  the  whole  scene,  in  which 
she  was  the  most  conspicuous  object,  seemed  to  vanish 
from  her  eyes,  or,  at  least,  glimmered  indistinctly  before 
them,  like  a  mass  of  imperfectly  shaped  and  spectral 
images.  Her  mind,  and  especially  her  memory,  was  pre- 
ternaturally  active,  and  kept  bringing  up  other  scenes 
than  this  roughly  hewn  street  of  a  little  town,  on  the  edge 
of  the  Western  wilderness  ;  other  faces  than  were  lower 
ing  upon  her  from  beneath  the  brims  of  those  steeple- 
crowned  hats.  Reminiscences,  the  most  trifling  and  im 
material,  passages  of  infancy  and  school-days,  sports, 
childish  quarrels,  and  the  little  domestic  traits  of  her 
maiden  years,  came  swarming  back  upon  her,  intermingled 
with  recollections  of  whatever  was  gravest  in  her  subse 
quent  life  ;  one  picture  precisely  as  vivid  as  another;  as 


T/ie  Market- Place. 


73 


if  all  were  of  similar  importance,  or  all  alike  a  play.  Pos 
sibly,  it  was  an  instinctive  device  of  her  spirit,  to  relieve 
itself,  by  the  exhibition  of  these  phantasmagoric  forms, 
from  the  cruel  weight  and  hardness  of  the  reality. 


M      , 

r- 

F™     w 

"A  DECAYED  HOUSE  OF  GREY  STONE.'' 


Be  that  as  it  might,  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory  was  a 
point  of  view  that  revealed  to  Hester  Prynne  the  entire 
track  along  which  she  had  been  treading,  since  her  happy 
infancy.  Standing  on  that  miserable  .eminence,  she  saw 


74  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

again  her  native  village,  in  Old  England,  and  her  paternal 
home  ;  a  decayed  house  of  grey  stone,  with  a  poverty- 
stricken  aspect,  but  retaining  a  half-obliterated  shield  of 
arms  over  the  portal,  in  token  of  antique  gentility.  She 
saw  her  father's  face,  with  its  bald  brow,  and  reverend 
white  beard,  that  flowed  over  the  old-fashioned  Eliza 
bethan  ruff;  her  mother's,  too,  with  the  look  of  heedful 
and  arixious  love  which  it  always  wore  in  her  remem 
brance,  and  which,  ever  since  her  death,  had  so  often 
laid  the  impediment  of  a  gentle  remonstrance  in  her 
daughter's  pathway.  She  saw  her  own  face,  glowing  with 
girlish  beauty,  and  illuminating  all  the  interior  of  the 
dusky  mirror  in  which  she  had  been  wont  to  gaze  at  it. 
There  she  beheld  another  countenance,  of  a  man  well 
stricken  in  years,  a  pale,  thin,  scholar-like  visage,  with 
eyes  dim  and  bleared  by  the  lamp-light  that  had  served 
them  to  pore  over  many  ponderous  books.  Yet  those 
same  bleared  optics  had  a  strange,  penetrating  power, 
when  it  was  their  owner's  purpose  to  read  the  human  soul. 
This  figure  of  the  study  and  the  cloister,  as  Hester 
Prynne's  womanly  fancy  failed  not  to  recall,  was  slightly 
deformed,  with  the  left  shoulder  a  trifle  higher  than  the 
right.  Next  rose  before  her,  in  memory's  picture-gallery, 
the  intricate  and  narrow  thoroughfares,  the  tall,  grey 
houses,  the  huge  cathedrals,  and  the  public  edifices,  an 
cient  in  date  and  quaint  in  architecture,  of  a  Continental 
city;  where  a  new  life  had  awaited  her,  still  in  connection 
with  the  misshapen  scholar  ;  a  new  life,  but  feeding  itself 
on  time-worn  materials,  like  a  tuft  of  green  moss  on  a 
crumbling  wall.  Lastly,  in  lieu  of  these  shifting  scenes, 
came  back  the  rude  market-place  of  the  Puritan  settle 
ment,  with  all  the  towns-people  assembled  and  levelling 


The  Market- Place.  75 

their  stern  regards  at  Hester  Prynne, — yes,  at  herself, — 
who  stood  on  the  scaffold  of  the  pillory,  an  infant  on  her 
arm,  and  the  letter  A,  in  scarlet,  fantastically  embroidered 
with  gold  thread,  upon  her  bosom  ! 

Could  it  be  true  ?  She  clutched  the  child  so  fiercely  to 
her  breast,  that  it  sent  forth  a  cry;  she  turned  her  eyes 
downward  at  the  scarlet  letter,  and  even  touched  it  with 
her  finger,  to  assure  herself  that  the  infant  and  the  shame 
were  real.  Yes! — these  were  her  realities, — all  else  had 
vanished ! 


III. 


THE    RECOGNITION. 

ROM  this  intense  con 
sciousness  of  being 
the  object  of  severe 
and  universal  obser 
vation,  the  wearer  of 
the  scarlet  letter  was 
at  length  relieved  by 
discerning,  on  the 
outskirts  of  the 
crowd,  a  figure  which  irresistibly  took 
possession  of  her  thoughts.  An  In 
dian,  in  his  native  garb,  was  standing 
there  ;  but  the  red  men  were  not  so 
infrequent  visitors  of  the  English 
settlements,  that  one  of  them  would 
have  attracted  any  notice  from  Hester  Prynne,  at  such 
a  time  ;  much  less  would  he  have  excluded  all  other 
objects  and  ideas  from  her  mind.  By  the  Indian's  side, 
and  evidently  sustaining  a  companionship  with  him,  stood 
a  white  man,  clad  in  a  strange  disarray  of  civilized  and 
savage  costume. 

He  was  small  in  stature,  with  a  furrowed  visage,  which 
as  yet,  could  hardly  be  termed  aged.     There   was  a  re- 


The  Recognition.  77 

markable  intelligence  in  his  features,  as  of  a  person  who 
had  so  cultivated  his  mental  part  that  it  could  not  fail  to 
mould  the  physical  to  itself,  and  become  manifest  by  un 
mistakable  tokens.  Although,  by  a  seemingly  careless 
arrangement  of  his  heterogeneous  garb,  he  had  endeav 
ored  to  conceal  or  abate  the  peculiarity,  it  was  sufficiently 
evident  to  Hester  Prynne,  that  one  of  this  man's  shoul 
ders  rose  higher  than  the  other.  Again,  at  the  first  instant 
of  perceiving  that  thin  visage,  and  the  slight  deformity 
of  the  figure,  she  pressed  her  infant  to  her  bosom,  with  so 
convulsive  a  force  that  the  poor  babe  uttered  another 
cry  of  pain.  But  the  mother  did  not  seem  to  hear  it. 

At  his  arrival  in  the  market-place,  and  some  time  be 
fore  she  saw  him,  the  stranger  had  bent  his  eyes  on 
Hester  Prynne.  It  was  carelessly,  at  first,  like  a  man 
chiefly  accustomed  to  look  inward,  and  to  whom  external 
matters  are  of  little  value  and  import, 'unless  they  bear  re 
lation  to  something  within  his  mind.  Very  soon,  how 
ever,  his  look  became  keen  and  penetrative.  A  writhing 
horror  twisted  itself  across  his  features,  like  a  snake 
gliding  swiftly  over  them,  and  making  one  little  pause, 
with  all  its  wreathed  intervolutions  in  open  sight.  His 
face  darkened  with  some  powerful  emotion,  which,  never 
theless,  he  so  instantaneously  controlled  by  an  effort  of 
his  will,  that,  save  at  a  single  moment,  its  expression 
might  have  passed  for  calmness.  After  a  brief  space, 
the  convulsion  grew  almost  imperceptible,  and  finally 
subsided  into  the  depths  of  his  nature.  When  he  found 
the  eyes  of  Hester  Prynne  fastened  on  his  own,  and  saw 
that  she  appeared  to  recognize  him,  he  slowly  and  calmly 
raised  his  finger,  made  a  gesture  with  it  in  the  air,  and 
laid  it  on  his  lips. 


78  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

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  ? 
— and  wherefore  is  she  here  set  up  to  public  shame  ?  " 

"You  must  needs  be  a  stranger  in  this  region,  friend," 
answered  the  townsman,  looking  curiously  at  the  ques 
tioner  and  his  savage  companion  ;  "  else  you  would  surely 
have  heard  of  Mistress  Hester  Prynne,  and  her  evil  do 
ings.  She  hath  raised  a  great  scandal,  I  promise  you,  in 
godly  Master  Dimmesdale's  church." 

"You  say  truly,"  replied  the  other.  "  I  am  a  stranger, 
and  have  been  a  wanderer,  sorely  against  my  will.  I 
have  met  with  grievous  mishaps  by  sea  and  land,  and 
have  been  long  held  in  bonds  among  the  heathen  folk,  to 
the  southward  ;  and  am  now  brought  hither  by  this  In 
dian,  to  be  redeemed  out  of  my  captivity.  Will  it  please 
you,  therefore,  to  tell  me  of  Hester  Prynne's, — have  I  her 
name  rightly  ? — of  this  woman's  offences,  and  what  has 
brought  her  to  yonder  scaffold?" 

"Truly,  friend,  and  methinks  it  must  gladden  your 
heart,  after  your  troubles  and  sojourn  in  the  wilderness," 
said  the  townsman,  "  to  find  yourself,  at  length,  in  a  land 
where  iniquity  is  searched  out,  and  punished  in  the  sight 
of  rulers  and  people  ;  as  here  in  our  godly  New  England. 
Yonder  woman,  Sir,  you  must  know,  was  the  wife  of  a 
certain  learned  man,  English  by  birth,  but  who  had  long 
dwelt  in  Amsterdam,  whence,  some  good  time  agone,  he 
was  minded  to  cross  over  and  cast  in  his  lot  with  us  of 
the  Massachusetts.  To  this  purpose,  he  sent  his  wife  be 
fore  him,  remaining  himself  to  look  after  some  necessary 
affairs.  Marry,  good  Sir,  in  some  two  years,  or  less,  that 


The  Recognition.  79 

the  woman  has  been  a  dweller  here  in  Boston,  no  tidings 
have  come  of  this  learned  gentleman,  Master  Prynne; 
and  his  young  wife,  look  you,  being  left  to  her  own  mis 
guidance " 

"  Ah  ! — aha  ! — I  conceive  yon,"  said  the  stranger,  with 
a  bitter  smile.  "  So  learned  a  man  as  you  speak  of 
should  have  learned  this  too  in  his  books.  And  who,  by 
your  favor,  Sir,  may  be  the  father  of  yonder  babe — it  is 
some  three  or  four  months  old,  I  should  judge — which 
Mistress  Prynne  is  holding  in  her  arms  ?  " 

"Of  a  truth,  friend,  that  matter  remaineth  a  riddle; 
and  the  Daniel  who  shall  expound  it  is  yet  a-wanting," 
answered  the  townsman.  "  Madam  Hester  absolutely  re- 
fuseth  to  speak,  and  the  magistrates  have  laid  their  heads 
together  in  vain.  Peradventure  the  guilty  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 
the  townsman.  "Now,  good  Sir,  our  Massachusetts 
magistracy,  bethinking  themselves  that  this  woman  is 
youthful  and  fair,  and  doubtless  was  strongly  tempted  to 
her  fall ;— and  that,  moreover,  as  is  most  likely,  her  hus 
band  may  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ; — they  have  not 
been  bold  to  put  in  force  the  extremity  of  our  righteous 
law  against  her.  The  penalty  thereof  is  death.  But  in 
their  great  mercy  and  tenderness  of  heart,  they  have 
doomed  Mistress  Prynne  to  stand  only  a  space  of  three 
hours  on  the  platform  of  the  pillory,  and  then  and  there 
after,  for  the  remainder  of  her  natural  life,  to  wear  a 
mark  of  shame  upon  her  bosom." 


8o 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


"  A  wise  sentence ! "  remarked  the  stranger,  gravely 
bowing  his  head.  "  Thus  she  will  be  a  living  sermon 
against  sin,  until  the  ignominious  letter  be  engraved  upon 
her  tombstone.  It  irks  me,  nevertheless,  that  the  partner 
of  her  iniquity  should  not,  at  least,  stand  on  the  scaffold 
by  her  side.  But  he  will  be  known  ! — he  will  be  known  ! 
— he  will  be  known  !  " 


'SAT  GOVERNOR  BELLINGHAM." 


He  bowed  courteously  to  the  communicative  townsman, 
and,  whispering  a  few  words  to  his  Indian  attendant, 
they  both  made  their  way  through  the  crowd. 

While   this  passed,  Hester  Prynne  had  been   standing 


The  Recognition.  81 

on  her  pedestal,  still  with  a  fixed  gaze  towards  the 
stranger;  so  fixed  a  gaze,  that,  at  moments  of  intense 
absorption,  all  other  objects  in  the  visible  world  seemed 
to  vanish,  leaving  only  him  and  her.  Such  an  interview, 
perhaps,  would  have  been  more  terrible  than  even  to 
meet  him  as  she  now  did,  with  the  hot,  midday  sun  burn 
ing  down  upon  her  face,  and  lighting  up  its  shame  ;  with 
the  scarlet  token  of  infamy  on  her  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 
have  been  seen  only  in  the  quiet  gleam  of  the  fireside,  in 
the  happy  shadow  of  a  home,  or  beneath  a  matronly  veil, 
at  church.  Dreadful  as  it  was,  she  was  conscious  of  a 
shelter  in  the  presence  of  these  thousand  witnesses.  It 
was  better  to  stand  thus,  with  so  many  betwixt  him  and 
her,  than  to  greet  him  face  to  face,  they  two  alone.  She 
fled  for  refuge,  as  it  were,  to  the  public  exposure,,  and 
dreaded  the  moment  when  its  protection  should  be  with 
drawn  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  solemn  tone,  audible  to  the 
whole  multitude. 

"  Hearken  unto  me,  Hester  Prynne,"  said  the  voice. 

It  has  already  been  noticed,  that  directly  over  the 
platform  on  which  Hester  Prynne  stood  was  a  kind  of 
balcony,  or  open  gallery,  appended  to  the  meeting-house. 
It  was  the  place  whence  proclamations  were  wont  to  be 
made,  amidst  an  assemblage  of  the  magistracy,  with  all 
the  ceremonial  that  attended  such  public  observances  in 
those  days.  Here,  to  witness  the  scene  which  we  are 
describing,  sat  Governor  Bellingham  himself,  with  four 
sergeants  about  his  chair,  bearing  halberds,  as  a  guard 


82  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

of  honor.  He  wore  a  dark  feather  in  his  hat,  a  border 
of  embroidery  on  his  cloak,  and  a  black  velvet  tunic 
beneath  ;  a  gentleman  advanced  in  years,  and  with  a 
hard  experience  written  in  his  wrinkles.  He  was  not  ill 
fitted  to  be  the  head  and  representative  of  a  community, 
which  owed  its  origin  and  progress,  and  its  present  state 
of  development,  not  to  the  impulses  of  youth,  but  to  the 
stern  and  tempered  energies  of  manhood,  and  the  sombre 
sagacity  of  age  ;  accomplishing  so  much,  precisely  be 
cause  it  imagined  and  hoped  so  little.  The  other  emi 
nent  characters,  by  whom  the  chief  ruler  was  surrounded, 
were  distinguished  by  a  dignity  of  mien,  belonging  to  a 
period  when  the  forms  of  authority  were  felt  to  possess 
the  sacredness  of  divine  institutions.  They  were,  doubt 
less,  good  men,  just,  and  sage.  But,  out  of  the  whole 
human  family,  it  would  not  have  been  easy  to  select  the 
same  number  of  wise  and  virtuous  persons,  who  should 
be  less  capable  of  sitting  in  judgment  on  an  erring 
woman's  heart,  and  disentangling  its  mesh  of  good  and 
evil,  than  the  sages  of  rigid  aspect  towards  whom  Hester 
Prynne  now  turned  her  face.  She  seemed  conscious, 
indeed,  that  whatever  sympathy  she  might  expect  lay  in 
the  larger  and  warmer  heart  of  the  multitude  ;  for,  as  she 
lifted  her  eyes  towards  the  balcony,  the  unhappy  woman 
grew  pale  and  trembled. 

The  voice  which  had  called  her  attention  was  that  of  . 
the  reverend  and  famous  John  Wilson,  the  eldest  clergy 
man  of  Boston,  a  great  scholar,  like  most  of  his  contem 
poraries  in  the  profession,  and  withal  a  man  of  kind  and 
genial  spirit.  This  last  attribute,  however,  had  been  less 
carefully  developed  than  his  intellectual  gifts,  and  was, 
'in  truth,  rather  a  matter  of  shame  than  self-congratula- 


The  Recognition. 


tion  with  him.  There  he  stood,  with  a  border  of  grizzled 
locks  beneath  his  skull-cap ;  while  his  grey  eyes,  accus 
tomed  to  the  shaded  light  of  his  study,  were  winking, 
like  those  of  Hester's  infant,  in  the  unadulterated  sun 
shine.  He  looked  like  the  darkly  engraved  portraits 
which  we  see  prefixed  to  old  volumes  of  sermons  ;  and 
had  no  more  right  than  one  of  those  portraits  would  have, 
to  step  forth,  as  he  now 
did,  and  meddle  with  a 
question  of  human  guilt, 
passion,  and  anguish. 

."Hester  Prynne,"  said 
the  clergyman,  "  I  have** 
striven  with  my  young 
brother  here,  under  whose 
preaching  of  the  word  you 
have  been  privileged  to 
sit," — here  Mr.  Wilson 
laid  his  hand  on  the 
shoulder  of  a  pale  young 
man  beside  him, — "  I  have 
sought,  I  say,  to  persuade 
this  goodly  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  the  people,  as  touching  the 
vileness  and  blackness  of  your  sin.  Knowing  your  nat 
ural  temper  better  than  I,  he  could  the  better  judge  what 
arguments  to  use,  whether  of  tenderness  or  terror,  such  as 
might  prevail  over  your  hardness  and  obstinacy  ;  inso 
much  that  you  should  no  longer  hide  the  name  of  him 
who  tempted  you  to  this  grievous  fall.  But  he  opposes 
to  me,  with  a  young  man's  over-softness,  albeit  wise  be- 


'THE  ELDEST  CLERGYMAN  OF  BOSTON." 


84  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

yond  his  years,)  that  it  were  wronging  the  very  nature 
of  woman  to  force  her  to  lay  open  her  heart's  secrets  in 
such  broad  daylight,  and  in  presence  of  so  great  a  mul 
titude.  Truly,  as  I  sought  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  Dim- 
mesdale  ?  Must  it  be  thou  or  I  that  shall  deal  with  this 
poor  sinner's  soul  ?  " 

There  was  a  murmur  among  the  dignified  and  reverend 
occupants  of  the  balcony;  and  Governor  Bellingham  gave 
expression  to  its  purport,  speaking  in  an  authoritative 
voice,  although  tempered  with  respect  towards  the  youthful 
clergyman  whom  he  addressed. 

"  Good  Master  Dimmesdale,"  said  he,  "  the  responsi 
bility  of  this  woman's  soul  lies  greatly  with  you.  It  be 
hooves  you,  therefore,  to  exhort  her  to  repentance,  and  to 
confession,  as  a  proof  and  consequence  thereof." 

The  directness  of  this  appeal  drew  the  eyes  of  the  whole 
crowd  upon  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale ;  a  young 
clergyman,  who  had  come  from  one  of  the  great  English 
universities,  bringing  all  the  learning  of  the  age  into  our 
wild  forest-land.  His  eloquence  and  religious  fervor  had 
already  given  the  earnest  of  high  eminence  in  his  profes 
sion.  He  was  a  person  of  very  striking  aspect,  with  a 
white,  lofty,  and  impending  brow,  large,  brown,  melan 
choly  eyes,  and  a  mouth  which,  unless  when  he  forcibly 
compressed  it.  was  apt  to  be  tremulous,  expressing  both 
nervous  sensibility  and  a  vast  power  of  self-restraint. 
Notwithstanding  his  high  native  gifts  and  scholar-like 
attainments,  there  was  an  air  about  this  young  minister, 
— an  apprehensive,  a  startled,  a  half-frightened  look, — as 
of  a  being  who  felt  himself  quite  astray  and  at  a  loss 


The  Recognition.  85 

in  the  pathway  of  human  existence,  and  could  only  be  at 
ease  in  some  seclusion  of  his  own.  Therefore,  so  far  as 
his  duties  would  permit,  he  trode  in  the  shadowy  bypaths, 
and  thus  kept  himself  simple  and  childlike;  coming  forth, 
when  occasion  was,  with  a  freshness,  and  fragrance,  and 
dewy  purity  of  thought,  which,  as  many  people  said,  af 
fected  them  like  the  speech  of  an  angel. 

Such  was  the  young  man  whom  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wil 
son  and  the  Governor  had  introduced  so  openly  to  the 
public  notice,  bidding  him  speak,  in  the  hearing  of  all 
men,  to  that  mystery  of  a  woman's  soul,  so  sacred  even  in 
its  pollution.  The  trying  nature  of  his  position  drove  the 
blood  from  his  cheek,  and  made  his  lips  tremulous. 

"  Speak  to  the  woman,  my  brother,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 
"  It  is  of  moment  to  her  soul,  and  therefore,  as  the  wor 
shipful  Governor  says,  momentous  to  thine  own,  in  whose 
charge  hers  is.  Exhort  her  to  confess  the  truth  !  " 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  bent  his  head,  in  silent 
prayer,  as  it  seemed,  and  then  came  forward. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  said  he,  leaning  over  the  balcony, 
and  looking  down  steadfastly  into  her  eyes,  "  thou  near 
est  what  this  good  man  says,  and  seest  the  accountability 
under  which  I  labor.  If  thou  feelest  it  to  be  for  thy 
soul's  peace,  and  that  thy  earthly  punishment  will  thereby 
be  made  more  effectual  to  salvation,  I  charge  thee  to 
speak  out  the  name  of  thy  fellow-sinner  and  fellow-suf 
ferer !  Be  not  silent  from  any  mistaken  pity  and  tender 
ness  for  him  ;  for,  believe  me,  Hester,  though  he  were  to 
step  clown  from  a  high  place,  and  stand  there  beside  thee, 
on  thy  pedestal  of  shame,  yet  better  were  it  so,  than  to 
hide  a  guilty  heart  through  life.  What  can  thy  silence  do 
for  him,  except  it  tempt  him — yea,  compel  him,  as  it  were 


86 


The  Scarlet 


— to  add  hypocrisy  to  sin  ?  Heaven  hath  granted  thee 
an  open  ignominy,  that  thereby  thou  mayest  work  out  an 
open  triumph  over  the  evil  within  thee,  and  the  sorrow 

without.  Take  heed  how 
thou  deniest  to  him — who, 
perchance,  hath  not  the  cour 
age  to  grasp  it  for  himself — 
the  bitter,  but  wholesome, 
cup  that  is  now  presented 
to  thy  lips!  " 

The  young  pastor's  voice 
was  tremulously  sweet,  rich, 
deep,  and  broken.  The  feel 
ing  that  it  so  evidently  man 
ifested,  rather  than  the  direct 
purport  of  the  words,  caused 
it  to  vibrate  within  all  hearts 
and  brought  the  listeners  into 
one  accord  of  sympathy. 
Even  the  poor  baby,  at  Hes 
ter's  bosom,  was  affected  by 
the  same  influence ;  for  it 
directed  its  hitherto  vacant 
gaze  towards  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale,  and  held  up  its  little 
arms,  with  a  half  pleased, 
half  plaintive  murmur.  So 
powerful  seemed  the  minis 
ter's  appeal,  that  the  people  could  not  believe  but  that 
Hester  Prynne  would  speak  out  the  guilty  name ;  or 
else  that  the  guilty  one  himself,  in  whatever  high  or 
lowly  place  he  stood,  would  be  drawn  forth  by  an  inward 


'  LEANING  OVER  THE  BALCONY.  " 


The  Recogni  87 

and  inevitable  necessity,  and  c  jlled  to  ascend  the 
scaffold. 

Hester  shook  her  head. 

"  Woman,  transgress  not  beyond  the  limits  of  Heaven's 

mercy!"  cried  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson,  more  harshly 

xEu-O 
than  before.     "  That  little  babe  hath  been  gifted  with  a 

voice,  to  second  and  confirm  the  counsel  which  thou  hast 
heard.  Speak  out  the  name  !  That,  and  thy  repentance, 
may  avail  to  take  the  scarlet  letter  off  thy  breast." 

"  Never!  "  replied  Hester  Prynne,  looking,  not  at  Mr. 
Wilson,  but  into  the  deep  and  troubled  eyes  of  the 
younger  clergyman.  "  It  is  too  deeply  branded.  Ye 
cannot  take  it  off.  And  would  that  I  might  endure  his 
agony,  as  well  as  mine  !  " 

"  Speak,  woman  ! "  said  another  voice,  coldly  and 
sternly,  proceeding  from  the  crowd  about  the  scaffold. 
"  Speak  ;  and  give  your  child  a  father  !  " 

"  I  will  not  speak  ! "  answered  Hester,  turning  pale  as 
death,  but  responding  to  this  voice,  which  she  too  surely 
recognized.  "  And  my  child  must  seek  a  heavenly  father  ; 
she  shall  never  know  an  earthly  one  !  " 

"  She  will  not  speak  !  "  murmured  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
who,  leaning  over  the  balcony,  with  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  had  awaited  the  result  of  his  appeal.  He  now  drew 
back,  with  a  long  respiration.  "Wondrous  strength  and 
generosity  of  a  woman's  heart !  She  will  not  speak  ! " 

Discerning  the  impracticable  state  of  the  poor  culprit's 
mind,  the  elder  clergyman,  who  had  carefully  prepared 
himself  for  the  occasion,  addressed  to  the  multitude  a  dis 
course  on  sin,  in  all  its  branches,  but  with  continual  refer- , 
ence,  to  the  ignominious  letter.  So  forcibly  did  he  dwell 
upon  this  symbol,  for  the  hour  or  more  during  which  his 


88  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

periods  were  rolling  over  the  people's  heads,  that  it 
assumed  new  terrors  in  their  imagination,  and  seemed 
to  derive  its  scarlet  hue  from  the  flames  of  the  infernal 
pit.  Hester  Prynne,  meanwhile,  kept  her  place  upon  the 
pedestal  of  shame,  with  glazed  eyes,  and  an  air  of  weary 
indifference.  She  had  borne,  that  morning,  all  that  na 
ture  could  endure;  and  as  her  temperament  was  not  of. 
the  order  that  escapes  from  too  intense  suffering  by  a% 
swoon,  her  spirit  could  only  shelter  itself  beneath  a  stony 
crust  of  insensibility,  while  the  faculties  of  animal  life 
remained  entire.  In  this  state,  the  voice  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  hush  it,  mechanically,  but  seemed  scarcely  to  sympa 
thize  with  its  trouble.  With  the  same  hard  demeanor,  she 
was  led  back  to  prison,  and  vanished  from  the  public  gaze 
within  its  iron-clamped  portal.  It  was  whispered,  by 
those  who  peered  after  her,  that  the  scarlet  letter  threw  a 
lurid  gleam  along  the  dark  passage-way  of  the  interior, 


IV. 

THE    INTERVIEW. 

FTER  her  return 
to    the    prison, 
Hester   Prynne 
was  found  to  be 
in    a    state    of 
nervous     excitement 
that     demanded     con 
stant  watchfulness,  lest 
she   should    perpetrate 
violence  on  herself,  or 
do    some    half-frenzied 
mischief    to    the    poor 
babe.        As    night   ap 
proached,     it     proving 
impossible  to  quell  her 

insubordination  by  rebuke  or  threats  of  punishment, 
Master  Brackett,  the  jailer,  thought  fit  to  introduce  a  phy 
sician.  He  described  him  as  a  man  of  skill  in  all  Christian 
modes  of  physical  science,  and  likewise  familiar  with 
whatever  the  savage  people  could  teach,  in  respect  to 
medicinal  herbs  and  roots  that  grew  in  the  forest.  To  say 
the  truth,  there  was  much  need  of  professional  as 
sistance,  not  merely  for  Hester  herself,  but  still  more 


90  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

urgently  for  the  child  ;  who,  drawing  its  sustenance  from 
the  maternal  bosom,  seemed  to  have  drank  in  with  it  all 
the  turmoil,  the  anguish,  and  despair,  which  pervaded 
the  mother's  system.  It  now  writhed  in  convulsions  of 
pain,  and  was  a  forcible  type,  in  its  little  frame,  of  the  moral 
agony  which  Hester  Prynne  had  borne  throughout  the 
clay. 

Closely  following  the  jailer  into  the  dismal  apartment, 
appeared  that  individual,  of  singular  aspect,  whose  pres 
ence  in  the  crowd  had  been  of  such  deep  interest  to  the 
wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter.  He  was  lodged  in  the  prison, 
not  as  suspected  of  any  offence,  but  as  the  most  conven 
ient  and  suitable  mode  of  disposing  of  him,  until  the  mag 
istrates  should  have  conferred  with  the  Indian  sagamores 
respecting  his  ransom.  His  name  was  announced  as  Ro 
ger  Chillingworth.  The  jailer,  after  ushering  him  into 
the  room,  remained  a  moment,  marvelling  at  the  compara 
tive  quiet  that  followed  his  entrance  ;  for  Hester  Prvnne 
had  immediately  become  as  still  as  death,  although  the 
child  continued  to  moan. 

"  Prithee,  friend,  leave  me  alone  with  my  patient,"  said 
the  practitioner.  "  Trust  me,  good  jailer,  you  shall  briefly 
have  peace  in  your  house  ;  and,  I  promise  you,  Mistress 
Prvnne  shall  hereafter  be  more  amenable  to  just  author 
ity  than  you  may  have  found  her  heretofore." 

"  Nay,  if  your  worship  can  accomplish  that,"  answered 
Master  Brackett,  "  I  shall  own  you  for  a  man  of  skill  in 
deed  !  Verily,  the  woman  hath  been  like  a  possessed  one  ; 
'and  there  lacks  little,  that  I  should  take  in  hand  to  drive 
Satan  out  of  her  with  stripes." 

The  stranger  had  entered  the  room  with  the  character 
istic  quietude  of  the  profession  to  which  he  announced 


The  Interview.  91 

himself  as  belonging.  Nor  did  his  demeanor  change, 
when  the  withdrawal  of  the  prison-keeper  left  him  face  to 
face  with  the  woman,  whose  absorbed  notice  of  him,  in 
the  crowd,  had  intimated  so  close  a  relation  between  him 
self  and  her.  His  first  care  was  given  to  the  child  ;  whose 
cries,  indeed,  as  she  lay  writhing  on  the  trundle-bed,  made 
it  of  peremptory  necessity  to  postpone  all  other  business 


"  WHICH  HE  MINGLED  WITH  A  CUP  OP  WATER." 

to  the  task  of  soothing  her.  He  examined  the  infant  care 
fully,  and  then  proceeded  to  unclasp  a  leathern  case, 
which  he  took  from  beneath  his  dress.  It  appeared  to 
contain  certain  medical  preparations,  one  of  which  he 
mingled  with  a  cup  of  water. 

"  My  old  studies  in  alchemy,"  observed  he,  "  and  my 
sojourn,  for  above  a  year  past,  among  a  people  well  versed 


92  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

in  the  kindly  properties  of  simples,  have  made  a  better 
physician  of  me  than  many  that  claim  the  medical  degree. 
Here,  woman!  The  child  is  yours, — she  is  none  of  mine, 
— neither  will  she  recognize  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  with  strongly  marked  apprehension  into  his  face. 

"Wouldst  thou  avenge  thyself  on  the  innocent  babe  ?" 
whispered  she. 

"  Foolish  woman  !  "  responded  the  physician,  half  coldly, 
half  soothingly.  "  What  should  ail  me  to  harm  this  mis 
begotten  and  miserable  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  of  mind,  he  took  the  infant  in  his  arms,  and  himself 
administered  the  draught.  It  soon  proved  its  efficacy. 
and  redeemed  the  leech's  pledge.  The  moans  of  the  little 
patient  subsided  ;  its  convulsive  tossjngs  gradually  ceased; 
and  in  a  few  moments,  as  is  the  custom  of  young  children 
after  relief  from  pain,  it  sank  into  a  profound  and  dewy 
slumber.  The  physician,  as  he  had  a  fair  right  to  be 
termed,  next  bestowed  his  attention  on  the  mother. 
With  calm  and  intent  scrutiny,  he  felt  her  pulse,  looked 
into  her  eyes, — a  gaze  that  made  her  heart  shrink  and 
shudder,  because  so  familiar,  and  yet  so  strange  and  cold, 
— and,  finally,  satisfied  with  his  investigation,  proceeded 
to  mingle  another  draught. 

"  I  know  not  Lethe  nor  Nepenthe,"  remarked  he  ;  "but 
I  have  learned  many  new  secrets  in  the  wilderness,  and 
here  is  one  of  them, — a  recipe  that  an  Indian  taught  me, 


The  Interview.  93 

in  requital  of  some  lessons  of  my  own,  that  were  as  old 
Paracelsus.  Drink  it !  It  may  be  less  soothing  than  a 
sinless  conscience.  That  I  cannot  give  thee.  But  it  will 
calm  the  swell  and  heaving  of  thy  passion,  like  oil  thrown 
on  the  waves  of  a  tempestuous  sea." 

He  presented  the  cup  to  Hester,  who  received  it  with  a 
slow,  earnest  look  into  his  face  ;  not  precisely  a  look  of 
fear,  yet  full  of  doubt  and  questioning,  as  to  what  his  pur 
poses  might  be.  She  looked  also  at  her  slumbering  child. 

"  I  have  thought  of  death,"  said  she, — "  have  wished  for 
it, — would  even  have  prayed  for  it,  were  it  fit  that  such  as 
I  should  pray  for  any  thing.  Yet,  if  death  be  in  this  cup, 
I  bid  thee  think  again,  ere  thou  beholdest  me  quaff  it. 
See  !  It  is  even  now  at  my  lips." 

"  Drink  then,"  replied  he,  still  with  the  same  cold  com 
posure.  "Dost  thou  know  me  so  little,  Hester  Prynne? 
Are  my  purposes  wont  to  be  so  shallow  ?  Even  if  I  im 
agine  a  scheme  of  vengeance,  what  could  I  do  better  for 

O  O  ' 

my  object  than  to  let  thee  live, — than  to  give  thee  medi 
cines  against  all  harm  and  peril  of  life, — so  that  this  burn 
ing  shame  may  still  blaze  upon  thy  bosom  ?  " — As  he 
spoke,  he  laid  his  long  forefinger  on  the  scarlet  letter, 
which  forthwith  seemed  to  scorch  into  Hester's  breast,  as 
if  it  had  been  red-hot.  He  noticed  her  involuntary  gest 
ure,  and  smiled. — "  Live,  therefore,  and  bear  about  thy 
doom  with  thee,  in  the  eyes  of  men  and  women, — in  the 
eyes  of  him  whom  thou  didst  call  thy  husband, — in  the 
eyes  of  yonder  child  I  And,  that  thou  mayest  live,  take 
off  this  draught." 

Without  further  expostulation  or  delay,  Hester  Prynne 
drained  the  cup,  and,  at  the  motion  of  the  man  of  skill, 
seated  herself  on  the  bed  where  the  child  was  sleeping ; 


94  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

while  he  drew,  the  only  chair  which  the  room  afforded,  and 
took  his  own  seat  beside  her.  She  could  not  but  tremble 
at  these  preparations  ;  for  she  felt  that — having  now  done 
all  that  humanity,  or  principle,  or,  if  so  it  were,  a  refined 
cruelty,  impelled  him  to  do,  for  the  relief  of  physical 
suffering — he  was  next  to  treat  with  her  as  the  man  whom 
she  had  most  deeply  and  irreparably  injured. 

"  Hester,"  said  he,  "  I  ask  not  wherefore,  nor  how, 
thou  hast  fallen  into  the  pit,  or  say  rather,  them  hast 
ascended  to  the  pedestal  of  infamy,  on  which  I  found 
thee.  The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  It  was  my  folly, 
and  thy  weakness.  I, — a  man  of  thought, — the  book 
worm  of  great  libraries, — a  man  already  in  decay,  having 
given  my  best  years  to  feed  the  hungry  dream  of  knowl 
edge, — what  had  I  to  do  with  youth  and  beauty  like  thine 
own  !  Misshapen  from  my  birth-hour,  how  could  I  delude 
myself  with  the  idea  that  intellectual  gifts  might  veil 
physical  deformity  in  a  young  girl's  fantasy  !  Men  call 
me  wise.  If  sages  were  ever  wise  in  their  own  behoof,  I 
might  have  foreseen  all  this.  I  might  have  known  that, 
as  I  came  out  of  the  vast  and  dismal  forest,  and  entered 
this  settlement  of  Christian  men,  the  very  first  object  to 
meet  my  eyes  would  be  thyself,  Hester  Prynne,  standing 
up,  a  statue  of  ignominy,  before  the  people.  Nay,  from 
the  moment  when  we  came  down  the  old  church-steps 
together,  a  married  pair,  I  might  have  beheld  the  bale-fire 
of  that  scarlet  letter  blazing  at  the  end  of  our  path  !  " 

"Thou  knowest,"  said  Hester, — for,  depressed  as  she 
was,  she  could  not  endure  this  last  quiet  stab  at  the  token 
of  her  shame, — "  thou  knowest  that  I  was  frank  with  thee. 
I  felt  no  love,  nor  feigned  any." 

"  True,"  replied  he.     "  It  was  my  folly  !     I  have  said  it. 


The  lulerrirw.  95 

But,  up  to  that  epoch  of  my  life,  I  had  lived  in  vain. 
The  world  had  been  so  cheerless  !  My  heart  was  a  habi 
tation  large  enough  for  many  guests,  but  lonely  and  chill, 
and  without  a  household  fire.  I  longed  to  kindle  one! 
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  scattered  far  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,  and  sought  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  first  wrong,  when  I  betrayed  thy  budding  youth 
into  a  false  and  unnatural  relation  with  my  decay.  There 
fore,  as  a  man  who  has  not  thought  and  philosophized  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  and  self-relying  intelligence.  "  Never  know  him  ! 
Believe  me,  Hester,  there  are  few  things, — whether  in  the 
outward  world,  or,  to  a  certain  depth,  in  the  invisible 
sphere  of  thought, — few  things  hidden  from  the  man,  who 
devotes  himself  earnestly  and  unreservedly  to  the  solution 
of  a  mystery.  Thou  mayest  cover  up  thy  secret  from  the 
prying  multitude.  Thou  mayest  conceal  it,  too,  from  the 
ministers  and  magistrates,,  even  as  thou  didst  this  day, 
when  they  sought  to  wrench  the  name  out  of  thy  heart, 


g6  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

and  give  thee  a  partner  on  thy  pedestal.  But,  as  for  me, 
I  come  to  the  inquest  with  other  senses  than  they  possess. 
I  shall  seek  this  man,  as  I  have  sought  truth  in  books ;  as 
I  have  sought  gold  in  alchemy.  There  is  a  sympathy  that 
will  make  me  conscious  of  him.  I  shall  see  him  tremble. 
I  shall  feel  myself  shudder,  suddenly  and  unawares. 
Sooner  or  later,  he  must  needs  be  mine  !  " 

The  eyes  of  the  wrinkled  scholar  glowed  so  intensely 
upon  her,  that  Hester  Prynne  clasped  her  hands  over  her 
heart,  dreading  lest  he  should  read  the  secret  there  at 
once. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  reveal  his  name  ?  Not  the  less  he  is 
mine,"  resumed  he,  with  a  look  of  confidence,  as  if  destiny 
were  at  one  with  him.  "  He  bears  no  letter  of  infamy 
Vvrought  into  his  garment,  as  thou  dost ;  but  I  shall  read 
It  on  his  heart.  Yet  fear  not  for  him  !  Think  not  that  I 
shall  interfere  with  Heaven's  own  method  of  retribution, 
or,  to  my  own  loss,  betray  him  to  the  gripe  of  human  law. 
Neither  do  thou  imagine  that  I  shall  contrive  aught 
against  his  life  ;  no,  nor  against  his  fame,  if,  as  I  judge, 
he  be  a  man  of  fair  repute.  Let  him  live  !  Let  him  hide 
himself  in  outward  honor,  if  he  may !  Not  the  less  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  me  husband  !  Here, 
on  this  wild  outskirt  of  the  earth,  I  shall  pitch  my  tent; 
for,  elsewhere  a  wanderer,  and  isolated  from  human 


The  Interview. 


97 


'  AND  SHE  TOOK  THE  OATH.  " 


98  Tht   Scarlet  Letter. 

interests,  I  find  here  a  woman,  a  man,  a  child,  amongst 
whom  and  myself  there  exist  the  closest  ligaments.  No 
matter  whether  of  love  or  hate ;  no  matter  whether  of 
right  or  wrong!  Thou  and  thine,  Hester  Prynne,  belong 
to  me.  My  home  is  where  thou  art,  and  where  he  is. 
But  betray  me  not ! ;> 

"Wherefore  dost  thou  desire  it?"  inquired  Hester, 
shrinking,  she  hardly  knew  why,  from  this  secret  bond- 
"  Why  not  announce  thyself  openly,  and  cast  me  off  at 
once  ? " 

"  It  may  be,5J  he  replied,  "  because  I  will  not  encounter 
the  dishonor  that  besmirches  the  husband  of  a  faithless 
woman.  It  may  be  for  other  reasons.  Enough,  it  is  my 
purpose  to  live  and  die  unknown.  Let,  therefore,  thy 
husband  be  to  the  world  as  one  already  dead,  and  of  whom 
no  tidings  shall  ever  come.  Recognize  me  not,  by  word, 
by  sign,  by  look !  Breathe  not  the  secret,  above  all,  to 
the  man  thou  wottest  of.  Shouldst  thou  fail  me  in  this, 
beware  !  His  fame,  his  position,  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  Chilling- 
worth,  as  he  was  hereafter  to  be  named,  "  I  leave  thee 
alone;  alone  with  thy  infant,  and  the  scarlet  letter! 
How  is  it,  Hester?  Doth  thy  sentence  bind  thee  to 
wear  the  token  in  thy  sleep  ?  Art  thou  not  afraid  of 
nightmares  and  hideous  dreams  ?  " 

"  Why  dost  thou  smile  so  at  me  ?  "  inquired  Hester, 
troubled  at  the  expression  of  his  eyes.  "  Art  thou  like 
the  Black  Man  that  haunts  the  forest  round  about  us?  ' 


The  Interview.  99 

/« 

Hast  them  enticed  me  into  a  bond  that  will  prove  the  ruin 
of  my  soul  ? '? 

"  Not    thy    soul,"   he    answered,   with    another    smile. 
"  No,  not  thine  !  " 


V. 


HESTER   AT     HER    NEEDLE. 


ESTER  PRYNNE'S  term 
of  confinement  was  now 
at  an  end.  Her  prison- 
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 
letter  on  her  breast.  Per 
haps  there  was  a  more  real 
torture  in  her  first  unattended  footsteps  from  the  threshold 
of  the  prison,  than  even  in  the  procession  and  spectacle 
that  have  been  described,  where  she  was  made  the  common 
infamy,  at  which  all  mankind  was  summoned  to  point  its 
finger.  Then,  she  was  supported  by  an  unnatural  tension 
of  the  nerves,  and  by  all  the  combative  energy  of  her  char 
acter,  which  enabled  her  to  convert  the  scene  into  a  kind  of 
lurid  triumph.  It  wa*.  moreover,  a  separate  and  insulated 
event,  to  occur  but  once  in  her  lifetime,  and  to  meet 
which,  therefore,  reckless  of  economy,  she  might  call  up 
the  vital  strength  that  would  have  sufficed  for  many  quiet 


Hester  at  Her  Needle.  101 


years.     The  very^  law^  that    conxlfrmnftcl  her^-a  giant  of 
fe  a  t  uTe'sTb  ut  with  vigor  to  support,,  as  well  as  to  an 


nihilate*  in  liis  iron  arm  —  had  held  her  upTJjirough  the 
terrible  ordeal  of  her  ignominy.  But  now,  with  this  un 
attended  walk  from  her  prison-door,  began  the  daily  cus 
tom,  and  she  must  either  sustain  and  carry  it  forward  by 
the  ordinary  resources  of  her  nature,  or  sink  beneath  it. 
She  could  no  longer  borrow  from  the  future,  to  help  her 
through  the  present  grief.  To-morrow  would  bring  its  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  so  unutterably  grievous  to  be  borne.  The  days  of  the 
far-off  future  would  toil  onward,  still  with  the  same  bur 
den  for  her  to  take  up,  and  bear  along  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  the  general  symbol  at  which  the  preacher 
and  moralist  might  point,  and  in  which  they  might  vivify 
and  embody  their  images  of  woman's  frailty  and  sinful 
passion.  Thus  the  young  and  pure  would  be  taught  to 
look  at  her,  with  the  scarlet  letter  flaming  on  her  breast, 
—  at  her,  the  child  of  honorable  parents,  —  at  her,  the 
mother  of  a  babe,  that  would  hereafter  be  a  woman,  —  at 
her,  who  had  once  been  innocent,  —  as  the  figure,  the 
body,  the  reality  of  sin.  And  over  her  g7ave,"fh~e~TriTamy~ 
that  she  must  carry  thither  would  be  her  only  monu 
ment. 

It  may  seem  marvellous,  that,  with  the  world  before 
her,  —  kept  by  no  restrictive  clause  of  her  condemnation 
within  the  limits  of  the  Puritan  settlement,  so  remote  and 
so  obscure,  —  free  to  return  to  her  birth-place,  or  to  any 


102  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

other  European  land,  and  there  hide  her  character  and 
identity  under  a  new  exterior,  as  completely  as  if  emerg 
ing  into  another  state  of  being, — and  having  also  the 
passes  of  the  dark,  inscrutable  forest  open  to  her,  where 
the  wildness  of  her  nature  might  assimilate  itself  with  a 
people  whose  customs  and  life  were  alien  from  the  law 
that  had  condemned  her, — it  may  seem  marvellous,  that 
this  woman  should  still  call  that  place  her  home,  where, 
and  where  only,  she  must  needs  be  the  type  of  shame. 
But  there  is  a  fatality,  a  feeling  so  irresistible  and  inevi 
table  that  it  has  the  force  of  doom,  which  almost  invari 
ably  compels  human  beings  to  linger  around  and  haunt, 
ghost-like,  the  spot  where  some  great  and  marked  event 
has  given  the  color  to  their  lifetime  ;  and  still  the  more 
irresistibly,  the  darker  the  tinge  that  saddens  it.  Her 
sin,  her  ignominy,  were  the  roots  which  she  had  struck 
into  the  soil.  It  was  as  if  a  new  birth,  with  stronger  as 
similations  than  the  first,  had  converted  the  forest-land, 
x  still  so  uncongenial  to  every  other  pilgrim  and  wanderer, 
unto  Hester  Prynne's  wild  and  dreary,  but  life-long  home. 
I  All  other  scenes  of  earth — even  that  village  of  rural  En£- 

£?  o 

lland,  where  happy  infancy  and  stainless  maidenhood 
seemed  yet  to  be  in  her  mother's  keeping,  like  garments 
put  off  long  ago — were  foreign  to  her  in  comparison. 
The  chain  that  bound  her  here  was  of  iron  links,  and 
galling  to  her  inmost  soul,  but  never  could  be  bro 
ken. 

It  might  be,  too, — doubtless  it  was  so,  although  she 
hid  the  secret  from  herself,  and  grew  pale  whenever  it 
struggled  out  of  her  heart,  like  a  serpent  from  its  hole, — 
it  might  be  that  another  feeling  kept  her  within  the  scene 
and  pathway,  that  had  been  so  fatal.  There  dwelt,  there 


Hester  at  Her  Needle.  103 

trocle  the  feet  of  one  with  whom  she  deemed  herself  con 
nected  in  a  union,  that,  unrecognized  on  earth,  would 
bring  them  together  before  the  bar  of  final  judgment,  and 
make  that  their  marriage-altar,  for  a  joint  futurity  of  end 
less  retribution.  Over  and  over  again,  the  tempter  of 
souls  had  thrust  this  idea  upon  Hester's  contemplation, 
and  laughed  at  the  passionate  and  desperate  joy  with 
which  she  seized,  and  then  strove  to  cast  it  from  her. 
She  barely  looked  the  idea  in  the  face,  and  hastened  to 
bar  it  in  its  dungeon.  What  she  compelled  herself  to 
believe, — what,  finally,  she  reasoned  upon,  as  her  motive 
for  continuing  a  resident  of  New  England, — was  half  a 
truth,  and  half  a  self-delusion.  Here,  she  said  to  her 
self,  had  been  the  scene  of  her  guilt,  and  here  should  be 
the  scene  of  her  earthly  punishment ;  and  so,  perchance, 
the  torture  of  her  daily  shame  would  at  length  purge  her 
soul,  and  work  out  another  purity  than  that  which  she 
had  lost;  more  saint-like,  because  the  result  of  martyr 
dom. 

Hester  Prynne,  therefore,  did  not  flee.  On  the  out 
skirts  of  the  town,  within  the  verge  of  the  peninsula,  but 
not  in  close  vicinity  to  any  other  habitation,  there  was  a 


;'  A  SMALL  THATCHED  COTTAGE." 


104  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

small  thatched  cottage.  It  had  been  built  by  an  earlier 
settler,  and  abandoned,  because  the  soil  about  it  was  too 
sterile  for  cultivation,  while  its  comparative  remoteness 
put  it  out  of  the  sphere  of  that  social  activity  which  al 
ready  marked  the  habits  of  the  emigrants.  It  stood  on 
the  shore,  looking  across  a  basin  of  the  sea  at  the  forest- 
covered  hills,  towards  the  west.  A  clump  of  scrubby 
trees,  such  as  alone  grew  on  the  peninsula,  did  not  so 
much  conceal  the  cottage  from  view,  as  seem  to  denote 
that  here  was  some  object  which  would,  fain  have  been, 
or  at  least  ought  to  be,  concealed.  In  this  little,  lonesome 
dwelling,  with  some  slender  means  that  she  possessed, 
and  by  the  license  of  the  magistrates,  who  still  kept  an 
inquisitorial  watch  over  her,  Hester  established  herself, 
with  her  infant  child.  A  mystic  shadow  of  suspicion  im 
mediately  attached  itself  to  the  spot.  Children,  too  young 
to  comprehend  wherefore  this  woman  should  be  shut  out 
from  the  sphere  of  human  charities,  would  creep  nigh 
enough  to  behold  her  plying  her  needle  at  the  cottage 
window,  or  standing  in  the  door-way,  or  laboring  in  her 
little  garden,  or  coming  forth  along  the  pathway  that  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  earth  who  dared  to  show  himself,  she,  however,  in 
curred  no  risk  of  want.  She  possessed  an  art  that  sufficed, 
even  in  a  land  that  afforded  comparatively  little  sco'pe  for 
its  exercise,  to  supply  food  for  her  thriving  infant  and  her 
self.  It  was  the  art — then,  as  now,  almost  the  only  one 
within  a  woman's  grasp — of  needle-work.  She  bore  on 
her  breast,  in  the  curiously  embroidered  letter,  a  specimen 


Hester  at  Her  Needle. 


'  LABORING  IN  HER  LITTLE  GARDEN.1 


io6  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

of  her  delicate  and  imaginative  skill,  of  which  the  dames 
of  a  court  might  gladly  have  availed  themselves,  to  add 
the  richer  and  more  spiritual  adornment  of  human  inge 
nuity  to  their  fabrics  of  silk  and  gold.  Here,  indeed,  in 
the  sable  simplicity  that  generally  characterized  the  Puri 
tanic  modes  of  dress,  there  might  be  an  infrequent  call 
for  the  finer  productions  of  her  handiwork.  Yet  the  taste 
of  the  age,  demanding  whatever  was  elaborate  in  composi 
tions  of  this  kind,  did  not  fail  to  extend  its  influence  over 
our  stern  progenitors,  who  had  cast  behind  them  so  many 
fashions  which  it  might  seem  harder  to  dispense  with. 
Public  ceremonies,  such  as  ordinations,  the  installation 
of  magistrates,  and  all  that  could  give  majesty  to  the  forms 
in  which  a  new. government  manifested  itself  to  the  people, 
were,  as  a  matter  of  policy,  marked  by  a  stately  and  well- 
conducted  ceremonial,  and  a  sombre,  but  yet  a  studied 
magnificence.  Deep  ruffs,  painfully  wrought  bands,  and 
gorgeously  embroidered  gloves,  were  all  deemed  neces 
sary  to  the  official  state  of  men  assuming  the  reins  of 
power;  and  were  readily  allowed  to  individuals  dignified 
by  rank  or  wealth,  even  while  sumptuary  laws  forbade 
these  and  similar  extravagances  to  the  plebeian  order. 
In  the  array  of  funerals,  too, — whether  for  the  apparel 
of  the  dead  body,  or  to  typify,  by  manifold  emblematic 
devices  of  sable  cloth  and  snowy  lawn,  the  sorrow  of  the 
survivors,— there  was  a  frequent  and  characteristic  demand 
for  such  labor  as  Hester  Prynne  could  supply.  Baby- 
linen — for  babies  then  wore  robes  of  state — afforded  still 
another  possibility  of  toil  and  emolument. 

By  degrees,  nor  very  slowly,  her  handiwork  became 
what  would  now  be  termed  the  fashion.  Whether  from 
commiseration  for  a  woman  of  so  miserable  a  destiny  ;  or 


Hester  at  Her  Needle.  107 

from  the  morbid  curiosity  that  gives  a  fictitious  value  even 
to  common  or  worthless  things ;  or  by  whatever  other  in 
tangible  circumstance  was  then,  as  now,  sufficient  to  be 
stow,  on  some  persons,  what  others  might  seek  in  vain  ; 
or  because  Hester  really  filled  a  gap  which  must  otherwise 
have  remained  vacant  ;  it  is  certain  that  she  had  ready 
and  fairly  requited  employment  for  as  many  hours  as  she 
saw  fit  to  occupy  with  her  needle.  Vanity,  it  may  be, 
chose  to  mortify  itself,  by  putting  on,  for  ceremonials  of 
pomp  and  state,  the  garments  that  had  been  wrought  by 
her  sinful  hands.  Her  needle-work  was  seen  on  the  ruff 
of  the  Governor;  military  men  wore  it  on  their  scarfs,  and 
the  minister  on  his  band  ;  it  decked  the  baby's  little  cap; 
it  was  shut  up,  to  be  mildewed  and  moulder  away,  in  the 
coffin  of  the  dead.  But  it  is  not  recorded  that,  in  a  single 
instance,  her  skill  was  called  in  aid  to  embroider  the  white 
veil  which  was  to  cover  the  pure  blushes  of  a  bride.  The 
exception  indicated  the  ever  relentless  vigor  with  which 
society  frowned  upon  her  sin. 

Plester  sought  not  to  acquire  anything  beyond  a  subsist 
ence,  of:  the  plainest  and  most  ascetic  description,  for 
herself,  and  a  simple  .abundance  for  her  child.  Her  own 
dress  was  of  the  coarsest  materials  and  the  most  sombre 
hue  ;  with  only  that  one  ornament, — the  scarlet  letter, — 
which  it  was  her  doom  to  wear.  The  child's  attire,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  distinguished  by  a  fanciful,  or,  we  might 
rather  say,  a  fantastic  ingenuity,  which  served,  indeed,  to 
heighten  the  airy  charm  that  early  began  to  develop  itself 
in  the  little  girl,  but  which  appeared  to  have  also  a  deeper 
meaning.  We  may  speak  further  of  it  hereafter.  Except 
for  that  small  expenditure  in  the  decoration  of  her  infant, 
Hester  bestowed  all  her  superfluous  means  in  charity,  on 


io8  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

wretches  less  miserable  than  herself,  and  who  not  un fre 
quently  insulted  the  hand  that  fed  them.  Much  of  the 
time,  which  she  might  readily  have  applied  to  the  better 
efforts  of  her  art,  she  employed  in  making  coarse  garments 
for  the  poor.  It  is  probable  that  there  was  an  idea  of 
penance  in  this  mode  of  occupation,  and  that  she  offered 
up  a  real  sacrifice  of  enjoyment,  in  devoting  so  many 
hours  to  such  rude  handiwork.  She  had  in  her  nature  a 
rich,  voluptuous,  Oriental  characteristic, — a  taste  for  the 
gorgeously  beautiful,  which,  save  in  the  exquisite  produc 
tions  of  her  needle,  found  nothing  else,  in  all  the  possibil 
ities  of  her  life,  to  exercise  itself  upon.  Women  derive  a 
pleasure,  incomprehensible  to  the  other  sex,  from  the  deli 
cate  toil  of  the  needle.  To  Hester  Prynne  it  might  have 
been  a  mode  of  expressing,  and  therefore  soothing,  the 
passion  of  her  life.  Like  all  other  joys,  she  rejected  it  as 
sin.  This  morbid  meddling  of  conscience  with  an  imma 
terial  matter  betokened,  it  is  to  be  feared,  no  genuine 
and  steadfast  penitence,  but  something  doubtful,  some 
thing  that  might  be  deeply  wrong,  beneath. 
*  In  this  manner,  Hester  Prynne  came  to  have  a  part  to 
perform  in  the  world.  With  her  native  energy  of  char 
acter,  and  rare  capacity,  it  could  not  entirely  cast  her  off, 
although  it  had  set  a  mark  upon  her,  more  intolerable  to 
a  woman's  heart  than  that  which  branded  the  brow  of 
Cain.  In  all  her  intercourse  with  society,  however,  there 
was  nothing  that  made  her  feel  as  if  she  belonged  to  it. 
Every  gesture,  every  word,  and  even  the  silence  of  those 
with  whom  she  came  in  contact,  implied,  and  often  ex 
pressed,  that  she  was  banished,  and  as  much  alone  as  if 
she  inhabited  another  sphere,  or  communicated  with  the 
common  nature  by  other  organs  and  senses  than  the  rest 


Hester  at  Her  Needle.  109 

of  human  kind.  She  stood  apart  from  mortal  interests, 
yet  close  beside  them,  like  a  ghost  that  revisits  the  famil 
iar  fireside,  and  can  no  longer  make  itself  seen  or  felt ; 
no  more  smile  with  the  household  joy,  nor  mourn  with  the 
kindred  sorrow  ;  or,  should  it  succeed  in  manifesting  its 
forbidden  sympathy,  awakening  only  terror  and  horrible 
repugnance.  These  emotions,  in  fact,  and  its  bitterest 
scorn  besides,  seemed  to  be  the  sole  portion  that  she 
retained  in  the  universal  heart.  It  was  not  an  age  of  del 
icacy;  and  her  position,  although  she  understood  it  well, 
and  was  in  little  danger  of  forgetting  it,  was  often  brought 
before  her  vivid  self-perception,  like  a  new  anguish,  by 
the  rudest  touch  upon  the  tenderest  spot.  The  poor,  as 
we  have  already  said,  whom  she  sought  out  to  be  the 
objects  of  her  bounty,  often  reviled  the  hand  that  was 
stretched  forth  to  succor  them.  Dames  of  elevated  rank, 
likewise,  whose  doors  she  entered  in  the  way  of  her  occu 
pation,  were  accustomed  to  distil  drops  of  bitterness  into 
her  heart;  sometimes  through  that  alchemy  of  quiet  mal 
ice,  by  which  women  can  concoct  a  subtile  poison  from 
ordinary  trifles  ;  and  sometimes,  also,  by  a  coarser  ex 
pression,  that  fell  upon  the  sufferer's  defenceless  breast 
like  a  rough  blow  upon  an  ulcerated  wound.  Hester  had 
schooled  herself  long  and  well ;  she  never  responded  to 
these  attacks,  save  by  a  flush  of  crimson  that  rose  irre- 
pressibly  over  her  pale  cheek,  and  again  subsided  into 
the  depths  of  her  bosom.  She  was  patient, — a  martyr, 
indeed, — but  she  forbore  to  pray  for  her.  enemies;  lest, 
in  spite  of  her  forgiving  aspirations,  the  words  of  the  bless 
ing  should  stubbornly  twist  themselves  into  a  curse. 

Continually,  and  in  a  thousand  other  ways,  did  she  feel 
the    innumerable    throbs    of    anguish  that  had    been    so 


no  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

cunningly  contrived  for  her  by  the  undying,  the  ever-ac 
tive  sentence  of  the  Puritan  tribunal.  Clergymen  paused 
in  the  street  to  address  words  of  exhortation,  that  brought 
a  crowd,  with  its  mingled  grin  and  frown,  around  the 
poor,  sinful  woman.  If  she_.en  tered_a_cjnurh  , 


to  share  the  Sabbath  smile  of  the  Universal  Father,  it 
was  often  her  mishap  to  find  herself  the  text  of  the  dis- 
'  course.  She  grew  to  have  a  dread  of  children  ;  for  they 
had  imbibed  from  their  parents  a  vague  idea  of  something 
horrible  in  this  dreary  woman,  gliding  silently  through  the 
town,  with  never  any  companion  but  one  only  child. 
Therefore,  first  allowing  her  to  pass,  they  pursued  her  at 
a  distance  with  shrill  cries,  and  the  utterance  of  a  word 
that  had  no  distinct  purport  to  their  own  minds,  but  was 
none  the  less  terrible  to  her,  as  proceeding  from  lips  that 
babbled  it  unconsciously.  It  seemed  to  argue  so  wide  a 
diffusion  of  her  shame,  that  all  nature  knew  of  it  ;  it 
could  have  caused  her  no  deeper  pang,  had  the  leaves  of 
the  trees  whispered  the  dark  story  among  themselves,  — 
had  the  summer  breeze  murmured  about  it,  —  had  the 
wintry  blast  shrieked  it  aloud!  Another  peculiar  torture 
was  felt  in  the  gaze  of  a  new  eye.  When  strangers 
looked  curiously  at  the  scarlet  letter,  —  and  none  ever 
failed  to  do  so,  —  they  branded  it  afresh  into  Hester's 
soul  ;  so  that,  oftentimes,  she  could  scarcely  refrain,  yet 
always  did  refrain,  from  covering  the  symbol  with  her 
hando  But  then,  again,  an  accustomed  eye  had  likewise 
its  own  anguish  to  inflict.  Its  cool  stare  of  familiarity  was 
intolerable.  From  first  to  last,  in  short,  Hester  Prynne 
had  always  this  dreadful  agony  in  feeling  a  human  eye 
upon  the  token  ;  the  spot  never  grew  callous  ;  it  seemed, 
on  the  contrary,  to  grow  more  sensitive  with  daily  torture. 


Hester  at  Her  Needle.  in 

But  sometimes,  once  in  many  days,  or  perchance  in 
many  months,  she  felt  an  eye  —  a  human  eye  —  upon  the 
ignominious  brand,  that  seemed  to  give  a  momentary 
relief,  as  if  half  of  her  agony  were  shared.  The  next 
instant,  back  it  all  rushed  again,  with  still  a  deeper  throb 
of  pain  ;  for,  in  that  brief  interval,  she  had  sinned  anew. 
Had  Hester  sinned  alone  ? 

Her  imagination  was  somewhat  affected,  and,  had  she 
been  of  a  softer  moral  and  intellectual  fibre,  would  have 
been  still  more  so,  by  the  strange  and  solitary  anguish  of 
her  life.  Walking  to  and  fro,  with  those  lonely  footsteps, 
in  the  little  world  with  which  she  was  outwardly  con 
nected,  it  now  and  then  appeared  to  Hester,  —  if  alto 
gether  fancy,  it  was  nevertheless  too  potent  to  be  resisted, 
—  she  felt  or  fancied,  then,  that  the  scarlet  letter  had 
endowed  her  with  a  new  sense.  She  shuddered  to 
believe,  yet  could  not  help  believing,  that  it  gave  her  a 
sympathetic  knowledge  of  the  hidden  sin  in  other  hearts. 
She  was  terror-stricken  by  the  revelations  that  were  thus 
made.  What  were  they?  Could 


insidious  whispers  of  tjhje.  Kajj  anffiL  \iLbix^^uld~foire-  have 
persuaded  the  struggling  woman,  as  yet  only  half  his  vic 
tim,  that  the  outward  guise  of  purity  was  but  a  lie,  and 
that,  if  truth  were  everywhere  to  be  shown,  a  scarlet  let 
ter  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  so  awful  and  so  loath 
some  as  this  sense.  It  perplexed,  as  well  as  shocked  her, 
by  the  irreverent  inopportuneness  of  the  occasions  that 
brought  it  into  vivid  action.  Sometimes  the  red  infamy 
upon  her  breast  would  give  a  sympathetic  throb,  as  she 


ii2  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

passed  near  a  venerable  minister  or  magistrate,  the  model 
of  piety  and  justice,  to  whom  that  age  of  antique  rever 
ence  looked  up,  as  to  a  mortal  man  in  fellowship  with 
angels.  "  What  evil  thing  is  at  hand  ?  "  would  Hester 
say  to  herself.  Lifting  her  reluctant  eyes,  there  would  be 
nothing  human  within  the  scope  of  view,  save  the  form  of 
this  earthly  saint !  Again,  a  mystic"  sisterhood  would 
contumaciously  assert  itself,  as  she  met  the  sanctified 
frown  of  some  matron,  who,  according  to  the  rumor  of  all 
tongues,  had  kept  cold  snow  within  her  bosom  throughout 
life.  That  unsunned  snow  in  the  matron's  bosom,  and 
the  burning  shame  on  Hester  Prynne's — what  had  the  two 
in  common  ?  Or,  once  more,  the  electric  thrill  would 
give  her  warning, — "  Behold,  Hester,  here  is  a  compan 
ion  !  " — and,  looking  up,  she  would  detect  the  eyes  of  a 
young  maiden  glancing  at  the  scarlet  letter,  shyly  and 
aside,  and  quickly  averted,  with  a  faint,  chill  crimson  in 
her  cheeks  ;  as  if  her  purity  were  somewhat  sullied  by 
that  momentary  glance.  O  Fiend,  whose  talisman  was 
that  fatal  symbol,  wouldst  thou  leave  nothing,  whether  in 
youth  or  age,  for  this  poor  sinner  to  revere  ? — Such  loss 
of  faith  is  ever  one  of  the  saddest  results  of  sin.  Be  it 
accepted  as  a  proof  that  all  was  not  corrupt  in  this  poor 
victim  of  her  own  frailty,  and  man's  hard  law,  that  Hes 
ter  Prynne  yet  struggled  to  believe  that  no  fellow-mortal 
was  guilty  like  herself.  • 

The  vulgar,  who,  in  those  dreary  old  times,  were  always 

contributing  a  grotesque  horror  to  what  interested   their 

imaginations,  had  a  story  about  the  scarlet  letter  which 

/  we  might  readily   work  up   into  a  terrific  legend.     They 

I  averred,  that  the  symbol  was  not  mere  scarlet  cloth, 
tinged  in  an  earthly  dye-pot,  but  was  red-hot  with  infer- 


Hester  at  Her  Needle. 


'  HER  PURITY  WERE  SOMEWHAT  SULLIED  BY  THAT  MOMENTARY  GLANCE."  * 


H4  The  Scar  Jet  Letter. 

nal  fire,  and  could  be  seen  glowing  all  alight,  whenever 
Hester  Pryrme  walked  abroad  in  the  night-time.  And  we 
must  needs  say,  it  seared  Hester's  bosom  so  deeply,  that 
perhaps  there  was  more  truth  in  the  rumor  than  our 
modern  incredulity  may  be  inclined  to  admit. 


VI. 


PEARL. 

E  have  as  yet  hardly  spoken 
of  the  infant;  that  little 
creature,  whose  innocent 
life  had  sprung,  by  the 
inscrutable  decree  of 
Providence,  a  lovely  and  immortal 
flower,  out  of  the  rank  luxuriance  of 
a  guilty  passion.  How  strange  it 
seemed  to  the  sad  woman,  as  she 
watched  the  growth,  and  the  beauty 
that  became  every  day  more  brilliant, 
and  the  intelligence  that  threw  its 
quivering  sunshine  over  the  tiny 
features  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,  un- 
impassioned  lustre  that  would  be  indicated  by  the  com 
parison.  But  she  named  the  infant  "  Pearl,"  as  being  of 
gre  at  pn£eJ-=Lpj]jicjTasecI  _yt\  th, all  .she,  had ,— her,  mothe  r!s 
only  treasure  !  _How_ strange,  indeed  !  _Man  had  marked 
this  woman's  sin  by  a  scarlet  letter,  which  had  such  po 
tent  and  disastrous  efficj.cj^^rmt_jno_Jiuji^n s}iiipathy 

could  reach Jier+_§ave  it  were  sinful  Jike  herself^  God,  as 


r 


n  6  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

a  direct  consequence_of Jhe  sin.  which  man  thus  punished, 
had  given  'hei^ajoyely  child,  whjQs^j)lace  was  on  that 
same  dishonored  bosom,  to  connect  her  parent  for  ever 
with  the  race  and  descent  of  mortals,  and  to  be  finally  a 
blessecT  soul  "in  heaven  |  Yet  these  thoughts  affected 
Hester  Pryjme  less  with  hope  than  apprehension.  She 
knew  that  her  deed  had  been  evil  ;  she  could  have  no 
faith,  therefore,  that  its  result  would  be  good.  Day  after 
day,  she  looked  fearfully  into  the  child's  expanding  nature  ; 
ever  dreading  to  detect  some  dark  and  wild  peculiarity, 
.that  should  correspond  with  the  guiltiness  to  which  she 
owed  her  being. 

Certainly,  there  was  no  physical  defect.  By  its  perfect 
" shape,  its  vigor,  and  its  natural  dexterity  in  the  use  of 
all  its  untried  limbs,  the  infant  was  worthy  to  have  been 
brought  forth  in  Eden  ;  worthy  to  have  been  left  there, 
to  be  the  plaything  of  the  angels,  after  the  world's  first 
parents  were  driven  out.  The  child  had  a  native  grace 
which  does  not  invariably  coexist  with  faultless  beauty  ; 
its  attire,  however  simple,  always  impressed  the  beholder 
as  if  it  were  the  very  garb  that  precisely  became  it  best. 
But  little  Pearl  was  not  clad  in  rustic  weeds.  Her 
mother,  with  a  morbid  purpose  that  may  be  better  under 
stood  hereafter,  had  bought  the  richest  tissues  that  could 
be  procured,  and  allowed  her  imaginative  faculty  its  full 
play  in  the  arrangement  and  decoration  of  the  dresses 
which  the  child  wore,  before  the  public  eye.  So  magnifi 
cent  was  the  small  figure,  when  thus  arrayed,  and  such 
was  the  splendor  of  Pearl's  own  proper  beauty,  shining 
through  the  gorgeous  robes  which  might  have  extinguished 
a  paler  loveliness,  that  there  was  an  absolute  circle  of  ra 
diance  around  her,  on  the  darksome  cottage  floor.  And 


PearL  1 1 7 

yet  a  russet  gown,  torn  and  soiled  with  the  child's  rude 
play,  made  a  picture  of  her  just  as  perfect.  Pearl's  as 
pect  was  imbued  with  a  spell  of  infinite  variety  ;  in  this 
one  child  there  were  many  children,  comprehending  the 
full  scope  between  the  wild-flower  prettiness  of  a  peasant- 
baby,  and  the  pomp,  in  little,  of  an  infant  princess. 
Throughout  all,  however,  there  was  a  trait  of  passion,  a 
certain  depth  of  hue,  which  she  never  lost;  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  longer 
Pearl  ! 

This  outward  mutability  indicated,  and  did  not  more 
than  fairly  express,  the  various  properties  of  her  inner 
life.  Her  nature  appeared  to  possess  depth,  too,  as  well 
as  variety  ;  but — or  else  Hester's  fears  deceived  her — 
it  lacked  reference  and  adaptation  to  the  world  into 
which  she  was  born.  The  child  could  not  be  made  amen 
able  to  rules.  In  giving  her  existence,  a  great  law  had 
been  broken  ;  and  the  result  was  a  being  whose  elements 
were  perhaps  beautiful  and  brilliant,  but  all  in  disorder; 
or  with  an  order  peculiar  to  themselves,  amidst  which  the^ 
point  of  variety  and  arrangement  was  difficult  or  impos 
sible  to  be  discovered.  Hester  could  only  account  for 
the  child's  character — and  even  then  most  vaguely  and 
imperfectly — by  recalling  what  she  herself  had  been,  dur 
ing  that  momentous  period  while  Pearl  was  imbibing  her 
soul  from  the  spiritual  world,  and  her  bodily  frame  from 
its  material  of  earth.  The  mother's  impassioned  state 
had  been  the  medium  through  which  were  transmitted 
to  the  unborn  infant  the  rays  of  its  moral  life  ;  and,  how 
ever  white  and  clear  originally,  they  had  taken  the  deep 
stains  of  crimson  and  gold,  the  fiery  lustre,  the  black 


n8  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

shadow,  and  the  untempered  light,  of  the  intervening 
substance.  Above  all,  the  warfare  of  Hester's  spirit,  at 
that  epoch,  was  perpetuated  in  Pearl.  She  could  recog 
nize  her  wild,  desperate,  defiant  mood,  the  flightiness  of 
her  temper,  and  even  some  of  the  very  cloud-shapes  of 
gloom  and  despondency  that  had  brooded  in  her  heart. 
They  were  now  illuminated  by  the  morning  radiance  of  a 
young  child's  disposition,  but,  later  in  the  day  of  earthly 
existence,  might  be  prolific  of  the  storm  and  whirlwind. 

The  discipline  of  the  family,  in  those  days,  was  of  a  far 
more  rigid  kind  than  now.  The  frown,  the  harsh  rebuke, 
the  frequent  application  of  the  rod,  enjoined  by  Scriptural 
authority,  were  used,  not  merely  in  the  way  of  punishment 
for  actual  offences,  but  as  a  wholesome  regimen  for  the 
growth  and  promotion  of  all  childish  virtues.  Hester 
Pry  line,  nevertheless,  the  lonely  mother  of  this  one  child, 
ran  little  risk  of  erring  on  the  side  of  undue  severity. 
Mindful,  however,  of  her  own  errors  and  misfortunes,  she 
early  sought  to  impose  a  tender,  but  strict  control  over  the 
infant  immortality  that  was  committed  to  her  charge.  But 
the  task  was  beyond  her  skill.  After  testing  both  smiles 
and  frowns,  and  proving  that  neither  mode  of  treatment 
possessed  any  calculable  influence,  Hester  was  ultimately 
compelled  to  stand  aside,  and  permit  the  child  to  be 
swayed  by  her  own  impulses.  Physical  compulsion  or  re 
straint  was  effectual,  of  course,  while  it  lasted.  As  to  any 
other  kind  of  discipline,  whether  addressed  to  her  mind 
or  heart,  little  Pearl  might  or  might  not  be  within  its 
reach,  in  accordance  with  the  caprice  that  ruled  the  mo 
ment.  Her  mother,  while  Pearl  was  yet  an  infant,  grew 
acquainted  with  a  certain  peculiar  look,  that  warned  her 
when  it  would  be  labor  thrown  away  to  insist,  persuade, 


Pearl. 


119 


or  plead.  It  was  a  look  so  intelligent,  yet  inexplicable, 
so  perverse,  sometimes  so  malicious,  but  generally  ac 
companied  by  a  wild  flow  of  spirits,  that  Hester  could  not 
help  questioning,  at  such  moments,  whether  Pearl  was  a 
human  child.  She  seemed  rather  an  airy  sprite,  which, 
after  playing  its  fantastic  sports  for  a  little  while  upon 
the  cottage-floor,  would  flit  away  with  a  mocking  smile. 


u  To  SNATCH  HER  TO  HER  BOSOM." 


Whenever  that  look  appeared  in  her  wild,  bright,  deeply 
black  eyes,  it  invested  her  with  a  strange  remoteness  and 
intangibility ;  it  was  as  if  she  were  hovering  in  the  air  and 
might  vanish,  like  a  glimmering  light  that  comes  we  know 
not  whence,  and  goes  we  know  not  whither.  Beholding 
it,  Hester  was  constrained  to  rush  towards  the  child-, — to 


120  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

pursue  the  little  elf  in  the  flight  which  she  invariably  be 
gan, — to  snatch  her  to  her  bosom,  with  a  close  pressure 
and  earnest  kisses, — not  so  much  from  overflowing  love, 
as  to  assure  herself  that  Pearl  was  flesh  and  blood,  and 
not  utterly  delusive.  But  Pearl's  laugh,  when  she  was 
caught,  though  full  of  merriment  and  music,  made  her 
mother  more  doubtful  than  before. 

Heart-smitten  at  this  bewildering  and  baffling  spell, 
that  so  often  came  between  herself  and  her  sole  treasure, 
whom  she  had  bought  so  dear,  and  who  was  all  her  world, 
Hester  sometimes  burst  into  passionate  tears.  Then, 
perhaps, — for  there  was  no  foreseeing  how  it  might  affect 
her, — Pearl  would  frown,  and  clinch  her  little  fist,  and 
harden  her  small  features  into  a  stern,  unsympathizing 
look  of  discontent.  Not  seldom,  she  would  laugh  anew, 
and  louder  than  before,  like  a  thing  incapable  and  unin 
telligent  of  human  sorrow.  Or — but  this  more  rarely 
happened — she  would  be  convulsed  with  a  rage  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.  Yet  Hester  was  hardly  safe  in  confiding  herself  to 
that  gusty  tenderness  ;  it  passed,  as  suddenly  as  it  came. 
Brooding  over  all  these  matters,  the  mother  felt  like  one 
who  has  evoked  a  spirit,  but,  by  some  irregularity  in  the 
process  of  conjuration,  has  failed  to  win  the  mastejxwoid 
that  should  control  this  new  and  incomprehensible  intelli 
gence.  Her  only  real  comfort  was  when  the  child  lay  in 
the  placidity  of  sleep.  Then  she  was  sure  of  her,  and 
tasted  hours  of  quiet,  sad,  delicious  happiness ;  until — 
perhaps  with  that  perverse  expression  glimmering  from 
beneath  her  opening  lids — little  Pearl  awoke  ! 

H<5w  soon — with  what  strange  rapidity,  indeed  ! — did 


PearL  121 

Pearl  arrive  at  an  age  that  was  capable  of  social  inter 
course,  beyond  the  mother's  ever-ready  smile  and  non 
sense-words  !  And  then  what  a  happiness  would  it  have 
been,  could  Hester  Prynne  have  heard  her  clear,  bird-like 
voice  mingling  with  the  uproar  of  other  childish  voices, 
and  have  distinguished  and  unravelled  her  own  darling's 
tones,  amid  all  the  entangled  outcry  of  a  group  of  sport 
ive  children  !  But  this  could  never  be.  Pearl  was  a  born 
\outcast  of  the  infantile- world.  An  imp  of  evil,  emblem 
land  product  of  sin,  she  had  no  right  among  christened  in 
fants.  Nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  instinct, 
as  it  seemed,  with  which  the  child  comprehended  her 
loneliness  ;  the  destiny  that  had  drawn  an  inviolable  circle 
round  about  her ;  the  whole  peculiarity,  in  short,  of  her 
position  in  respect  to  other  children.  Never,  since  her 
release  from  prison,  had  Hester  met  the  public  gaze  with 
out  her.  In  all  her  walks  about  the  town,  Pearl,  too,  was 
there  ;  first  as  the  babe  in  arms,  and  afterwards  as  the 
little  girl,  small  companion  of  her  mother,  holding  a  fore 
finger  with  her  whole  grasp,  and  tripping  along  at  the  rate 
of  three  or  four  footsteps  to  one  of  Hester's.  She  saw 
the  children  of  the  settlement,  on  the  grassy  margin  of  the 
street,  or  at  the  domestic  thresholds, disporting  themselves" 
in  such  g^rim  fashion  as  the  Puritanic  nurture  w^nld  p^r-,j 
mit ;  playing  at  going  to  church,  perchance  ;  or  at  scourg- « 
ing  Quakers;  or  taking  scalps  in  a  sham-fight  with  the 
Indians;  or  scaring  one  another  with  freaks  of  imitative 
witchcraft.  Pearl  saw,  and  gazed  intently,  but  never 
sought  to  make  acquaintance.  If  spoken  to,  she  would 
not  speak  again.  If  the  children  gathered  about  her,  as 
they  sometimes  did,  Pearl  would  grow  positively  terrible 
in  her  puny  wrath,  snatching  up  stones  to  fling  at  them, 


122  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

with  shrill,  incoherent  exclamations  that  made  her  mother 
tremble,  because  they  had  so  much  the  sound  of  a  witch's 
anathemas  in  some  unknown  tongue. 

The  truth  was,  that  the  little  Puritans,  being  of  the 
most  intolerant  brood  that  ever  lived,  had  got  a  vague 
idea  of  something  outlandish,  unearthly,  or  at  variance 
with  ordinary  fashions,  in  the  mother  and  child  ;  and  there 
fore  scorned  them  in  their  hearts,  and  not  unfrequently 
reviled  them  with  their  tongues.  Pearl  felt  the  sentiment, 
and  requited  it  with  the  bitterest  hatred  that  can  be  sup 
posed  to  rankle  in  a  childish  bosom.  These  outbreaks  of 
a  fierce  temper  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  the  child's  manifestations.  It 
appalled  her,  nevertheless,  to  discern  here,  again,  a  shad 
owy  reflection  of  the  evil  that  had  existed  in  herself.  All 
this  enmity  and  passion  had  Pearl  inherited,  by  inaliena 
ble  right,  out  of  Hester's  heart.  Mother  and  daughter 
stood  together  in  the  same  circle  of  seclusion  from  human 
society;  and  in  the  nature  of  the  child  seemed  to  be  per 
petuated  those  unquiet  elements  that  had  distracted  Hes 
ter  Prynne  before  Pearl's  birth,  but  had  since  begun  to  be 
soothed  away  by  the  softening  influences  of  maternity. 

At  home,  within  and  around  her  mother's  cottage, 
Pearl  wanted  not  a  wide  and  various  circle  of  acquaint 
ance.  The  spell  of  life  went  forth  from  her  ever  creative 
spirit,  and  communicated  itself  to  a  thousand  objects,  as 
a  torch  kindles  a  flame  wherever  it  may  be  applied. 
The  unlikeliest  materials,  a  stick,  a  bunch  of  rags,  a 
flower,  were  the  puppets  of  Pearl's  witchcraft,  and,  .with 
out  undergoing  any  outward  change,  became  spiritually 


Pearl. 


123 


adapted  to  whatever  drama  occupied  the  stage  of  her 
inner  world.  Her  one  baby-voice  served  a  multitude  of 
imaginary  personages,  old  and  young,  to  talk  withal. 
The  pine-trees,  aged,  black,  and  solemn,  and  flinging 
groans  and  other  melancholy  utterances  on  the  breeze, 


'  SMOTE  DOWN  AND  UPROOTED." 


needed  little  transformation  to  figure  as  Puritan  elders  ; 
the  ugliest  weeds  of  the  garden  were  their  children, 
whom  Pearl  smote  down  and  uprooted,  most  unmerci- 


124  The  Scarlet  Letter* 

fully.  It  was  wonderful,  the  vast  variety  of  forms  into 
which  she  threw  her  intellect,  with  no  continuity,  indeed, 
but  darting  up  and  dancing,  always  in  a  state  of  preter 
natural  activity, — soon  sinking  down,  as  if  exhausted  by 
so  rapid  and  feverish  a  tide  of  life, — and  succeeded  by 
other  shapes  of  a  similar  wild  energy.  It  was  like  noth 
ing  so  much  as  the  phantasmagoric  play  of  the  northern 
lights.  In  the  mere  exercise  of  the  fancy,  however,  and 
the  sportiveness  of  a  growing  mind,  there  might  be  little 
more  than  was  observable  in  other  children  of  bright 
faculties ;  except  as  Pearl,  in  the  dearth  of  human  play 
mates,  was  thrown  more  upon  the  visionary  throng  which 
she  created.  The  singularity  lay  in  the  hostile  feelings  with 
which  the  child  regarded  all  these  offspring  of  her  own 
heart  and  mind.  She  never  created  a  friend,  but  seemed 
always  to  be  sowing  broadcast  the  dragon's  teeth,  whence 
sprung  a  harvest  of  armed  enemies,  against  whom  she 
rushed  to  battle.  It  was  inexpressibly  sad — then  what 
depth  of  sorrow  to  a  mother,  who  felt  in  her  own  heart  the 
cause! — to  observe,  in  one  so  young,  this  constant  recog 
nition  of  an  adverse  world,  and  so  fierce  a  training  of  the 
energies  that  were  to  make  good  her  cause,  in  the  contest 
that  must  ensue. 

Gazing  at  Pearl,  Hester  Prynne  often  dropped  her 
work  upon  her  knees,  and  cried  out  with  an  agony 
which  she  would  fain  have  hidden,  but  which  made 
utterance  for  itself,  betwixt  speech  and  a  groan, — "  O 
Father  in  Heaven, — if  Thou  art  still  my  FathSr, — what 
is  this  being  which  I  have  brought  into  the  world  !"  And 
Pearl,  overhearing  the  ejaculation,  or  aware,  through 
some  more  subtile  channel,  of  those  throbs  of  anguish, 
would  turn  her  vivid  and  beautiful  little  face  upon  her 


Pearl.  125 

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,  respond- ' 
ing  to  it,  as  other  babies  do,  by  that  faint  embryo  smile 
of  the  little  mouth,  remembered  so  doubtfully  afterwards, 
and  with  such  fond  discussion  whether  it  were  indeed  a 
smile.  By  no  means  !  But  that  first  object  of  which 
Pearl  seemed  to  become  aware  was — shall  we  say  it  ? — 
the  scarlet  letter  on  Hester's  bosom  !  One  day,  as  her 
mother  stooped  over  the  cradle,  the  infant's  eyes  had 
been  caught  by  the  glimmering  of  the  gold  embroidery 
about  the  letter ;  and,  putting  up  her  little  hand,  she 
grasped  at  it,  smiling,  not  doubtfully,  but  with  a  decided 
gleam  that  gave  her  face  the  look  of  a  much  older  child. , 
Then,  gasping  for  breath,  did  Hester  Prynne  clutch  the 
fatal  token,  instinctively  endeavoring  to  tear  it  away ;  so 
infinite  was  the  torture  inflicted  by  the  intelligent  touch 
of  Pearl's  baby-hand.  Again,  as  if  her  mother's  agonized 
gesture  were  meant  only  to  make  sport  for  her,  did  little 
Pearl  look  into  her  eyes,  and  smile  !  From  that  epoch, 
except  when  the  child  was  asleep,  Hester  had  never  felt 
a  moment's  safety;  not  a  moment's  calm  enjoyment  of 
her.  Weeks,  it  is  true,  would  sometimes  elapse,  during 
which  Pearl's  gaze  might  never  once  be  fixed  upon  the 
scarlet  letter ;  but  then,  again,  it  would  come  at  un 
awares,  like  the  stroke  of  sudden  death,  and  always  with 
that  peculiar  smile,  and  an  odd  expression  of  the  eyes. 

Once,  this  freakish,  elvish  cast  came  into  the  child's  eyes, 
while  Hester  was  looking  at  her  own  image  in  them,  as 
mothers  are  fond  of  doing :  and,  suddenly, — for  women 


126  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

in  solitude,  and  with  troubled  hearts,  are  pestered  with  un 
accountable  delusions, — she  fancied  that  she  beheld,  not 
her  own  miniature  portrait,  but  another  face  in  the  small 
black  mirror  of  Pearl's  eye.  It  was  a  face,  fiend-like, 
full  of  smiling  malice,  yet  bearing  the  semblance  of  fea 
tures  that  she  hafl  known  full  well,  though  seldom  with  a 
smile,  and  never  with  malice  in  them.  It  was  as  if  an 
evil  spirit  possessed  the  child,  and  had  just  then  peeped 
forth  in  mockery.  Many  a  time  afterwards  had  Hester 
been  tortured,  though  less  vividly,  by  the  same  allusion. 

In  the  afternoon  of  a  certain  summer's  day,  after  Pearl 
grew  big  enough  to  run  about,  she  amused  herself  with 
gathering  handfuls  of  wild-flowers,  and  flinging  them, 
one  by  one,  at  her  mother's  bosom  ;  dancing  up  and 
down,  like  a  little  elf,  whenever  she  hit  the  scarlet  letter. 
Hester's  first  motion  had  been  to  cover  her  bosom  with 
her  clasped  hands.  But,  whether  from  pride  or  resigna 
tion,  or  a  feeling  that  her  penance  might  best  be  wrought 
out  by  this  unutterable  pain,  she  resisted  the  impulse, 
and  sat  erect,  pale  as  death,  looking  sadly  into  little 
Pearl's  wild  eyes.  Still  came  the  battery  of  flowers,  al 
most  invariably  hitting  the  mark,  and  covering  the  moth 
er's  breast  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  all  expended,  the  child  stood  still  and 
gazed  at  Hester,  with  that  little,  laughing  image  of  a  fiend 
peeping  out — or,  whether  it  peeped  or  no,  her  mother 
so  imagined  it — from  the  unsearchable  abyss  of  her 
black  eyes. 

"  Child,  what  art  thou  ?  "  cried  the  mother. 

"  O,  I  am  your  little  Pearl  !  "  answered  the  child. 

But,    while  she  said  it,    Pearl    laughed    and    began  to 


Pearl. 


127 


dance  up  and  down  with  the  humor- 
some  gesticulation  of  a  little  imp, 
whose  next  freak  might  be  to  fly  up 
the  chimney. 

"  Art    thou    my    child    in 
very  truth  ?  "  asked  Hester. 

Nor  did  she  put  the  ques 
tion  altogether  idly,  but,  for 


"STILL  CAME  THE  BATTERY  OF  FLOWERS." 


the  moment,  with  a  portion  of  genuine  earnestness  ;  for, 
such  was  Pearl's  wonderful  intelligence,  that  her  mother 
half  doubted  whether  she  were  not  acquainted  with  the 
secret  spell  of  her  existence,  and  might  not  now  reveal 
herself. 

"  Yes ;  I  am   little  Pearl  !  "  repeated  the  child,  continu 
ing  her  antics. 


128  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  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  came  over  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  the 
acuteness  of  the  child.  Whether  moved  only  by  her  ordi 
nary  freakishness,  or  because  an  evil  spirit  prompted  her, 
she  put  up  her  small  forefinger,  and  touched  the  scarlet 
letter. 

"  He  did  not  send  me  !  "  cried  she,  positively.  "  I  have 
no  Heavenly  Father  !  " 

"  Hush,  Pearl,  hush  !  Thou  must  not  talk  so  !  "  an 
swered  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  elfish 
child,  whence  didst  thou  come  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  !  Tell  me  !  "  repeated  Pearl,  no  longer  seri 
ously,  but  laughing,  and  capering  about  the  floor.  "  It  is 
thou  that  must  tell  me  ! " 

But  Hester  could  not  resolve  the  query,  being  herself 
in  a  dismal  labyrinth  of  doubt.  She  remembered — be 
twixt  a  smile  and  a  shudder — the  talk  of  the  neighboring 
townspeople  ;  who,  seeking  vainly  elsewhere  for  the  child's 
paternity,  and  observing  some  of  her  odd  attributes,  had 
given  out  that  poor  little  Pearl  was  a  demon  offspring ; 
such  as,  ever  since  old  Catholic  times,  had  occasionally 


Pearl.  129 

been  seen  on  earth,  through  the  agency  of  their  mother's 
sin,  and  to  promote  some  foul  and  wicked  purpose.  Lu 
ther,  according  to  the  scandal  of  his  monkish  enemies,  was 
a  brat  of  that  hellish  breed  ;  nor  was  Pearl  the  only  child 
to  whom  this  inauspicious  origin  was  assigned,  among  the 
New  England  Puritans. 


VII. 

THE  GOVERNOR'S  HALL. 

ESTER  PRYNNEwent, 
one  clay,  to  the  mansion 
of     Governor    Belling- 
ham,    with    a    pair    of 
gloves,  which  she  had 
fringed  and  embroidered  to 
his  order,  and  which  were  to 
be  worn  on  some  great  occa 
sion  of  state ;  for,  though  the 
chances  of  a  popular  election 
had  caused  this  former  ruler 
to    descend    a   step    or   two 
from  the  highest  rank,  he  still 
held    an    honorable    and  in 
fluential    place     among    the 
colonial  magistracy. 

Another  and  far  more  im 
portant  reason  than  the  delivery  of  a  pair  of  embroidered 
gloves  impelled  Hester,  at  this  time,  to  seek  an  interview 
with  a  personage  of  so  much  power  and  activity  in  the 
affairs  <i£  the  settlement.  It  had  reached  her  ears,  that 
there  was  a  design  on  the  part  of  some  of  the  leading 
inhabitants,  cherishing  the  more  rigid  order  of  principles 


The  Governor's  Hall.  131 

in  religion  and  government,  to  deprive  her  of  her  child. 
On  the  supposition  that  Pearl,  as  already  hinted,  was 
of  demon  origin,  these  good  people  not  unreasonably 
argued  that  a  Christian  interest  in  the  mother's  soul 

o 

required   them   to   remove    such  a  stumbling-block  from 
her   path.     If  the  child,  on  the   other  hand,  were  really 
capable  of    moral    and    religious   growth,   and   possessed 
the  elements  of  ultimate  salvation,  then,  surely,  it  would 
enjoy   all    the    fairer    prospect   of   these    advantages    by 
being  transferred  to  wiser  and  better  guardianship  than 
Hester  Prynne's.     Among   those  who    promoted    the  de 
sign,  Governor  Bellingham  was  said  to  be  one  of  the  most 
busy.     It  may  appear  singular,  and,  indeed,  not  a  little 
ludicrous,  that  an  affair  of  this  kind,  which,  in  later  clays, 
would  have  been  referred  to  no  higher  jurisdiction   than 
that  of  the  selectmen  of  the  town,  should  then  have  been 
question  publicly  discussed,  and  on   which  statesmen  of\ 
eminence  took  sides.     At  that  epoch  of  pristine  ! 
however,  matters  of  even  slighter  public  interest, 
far  less  intrinsic  weight  than  the_welfare  of  He^r-amPX 


tesmen  or\ 
dmpdkjty.rK 
>st,  and  ot 


her  child,  wej^  strangely  mixed  up  with  the_jdeHberations 
of  je^islators__and  a£is_jiL^Laie.  The  period  was  hardly,*^ 
if  at  all,  earlier  than  that  of  our  story,  when  a  dispute 
concerning  the  right  of  property  in  a  pig,  not  only  caused 
a  fierce  and  bitter  contest  in  the  legislative  body  of  the 
colony,  but  resulted  in  an  important  modification  of  the 
framework  itself  of  the  legislature. 

Full  of  concern,  therefore, — but  so  conscious  of  her 
own  right,  that  it  seemed  scarcely  an  unequal  match 
between  the  public,  on  the  one  side,  and  a  lonely  woman, 
backed  by  the  sympathies  of  nature,  on  the  other, — Hes 
ter  Prynne  set  forth  from  her  solitary  cottage.  Little 


132  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

Pearl,  of  course,  was  her  companion.  She  was  now  of  an 
age  to  run  lightly  along  by  her  mother's  side,  and,  con 
stantly  in  motion  from  morn  till  sunset,  could  have  accom 
plished  a  much  longer  journey  than  that  before  her. 
Often,  nevertheless,  more  from  caprice  than  necessity, 
she  demanded  to  be  taken  up  in  arms,  but  was  soon  as 
imperious  to  be  set  down  again,  and  frisked  onward 
before  Hester  on  the  grassy  pathway,  with  many  a  harm 
less  trip  and  tumble.  We  have  spoken  of  Pearl's  rich 
and  luxuriant  beauty ;  a  beauty  that  shone  with  deep  and 
vivid  tints;  a  bright  complexion,  eyes  possessing  inten 
sity  both  of  depth  and  glow,  and  hair  already  of  a  deep, 
glossy  brown,  and  which,  in  after  years,  would  be  nearly 
akin  to  black.  There  was  fire  in  her  and  throughout  her  ; 
she  seemed  the  unpremeditated  offshoot  of  a  passionate 
moment.  Her  mother,  in  contriving  the  child's  garb,  had 
allowed  the  gorgeous  tendencies  of  her  imagination  their 
full  play  ;  arraying  her  in  a  crimson  velvet  tunic,  of  a 
peculiar  cut,  abundantly  embroidered  with  fantasies  and 
flourishes  of  gold  thread.  So  much  strength  of  coloring, 
which  must  have  given  a  wan  and  pallid  aspect  to  cheeks 
of  a  fainter  bloom,  was  admirably  adapted  to  Pearl's 
beauty,  and  made  her  the  very  brightest  little  jet  of  flame 
that  ever  danced  upon  the  earth. 

But  it  was  a  remarkable  attribute  of  this  garb,  and, 
indeed,  of  the  child's  whole  appearance,  that  it  irresisti 
bly  and  inevitably  reminded  the  beholder  of  the  token 
which  Hester  Prynne  was  doomed  to  wear  upon  her 
bosom.  It  was  the  g^arl^fWipr  in  arj^thpr  form;  the_ 
scarlet  letter  endowed  with  life  !  The  mother  herself — 
as7F~TnirTed  ignominy  were  so  deeply  scorched  into  her 
brain,  that  all  her  conceptions  assumed  its  form — had  care- 


The  Governor's  Hall.  133 

fully  wrought  out  the  similitude  ;  lavishing  many  hours  of 
morbid  ingenuity,  to  create  an  analogy  between  the  object 
of  her  affection,  and  the  emblem  of  her  guilt  and  torture. 
But,  in  truth,  Pearl  was  the  one,  as  well  as  the  other ^ 
and  only  in  consequence  of  that  identity  had  Hester  con 
trived  so  perfectly  to  represent  the  scarlet  letter  in  her 
appearance. 

As  the  two  wayfarers  came  within  the  precincts  of  the 
town,  the  children  of  the  Puritans  looked  up  from  their 
play, — or  what  passed  for  play  with  those  sombre  little 
urchins, — and  spake  gravely  one  to  another  : — 

"  Behold,  verily,  there  is  the  woman  of  the  scarlet  let 
ter  ;  and,  of  a  truth,  moreover,  there  is  the  likeness  of  the 
scarlet  letter  running  along  by  her  side !  Come,  there 
fore,  and  let  us  fling  mud  at  them  !  " 

But  Pearl,  who  was  a  dauntless  child,  after  frowning, 
stamping  her  foot,  and  shaking  her  little  hand  with  a  va 
riety  of  threatening  gestures,  suddenly  made  a  rush  at  the 
knot  of  her  enemies,  and  put  them  all  to  flight. 
resembled,  in  her  fierce  pursuit  of  them,  ^n  infant  peg-j 
t^ence^thejscarlet  fever,  or  some  such  half-fledged  ^ 
gel  of  judgment. — whose,  mission  was  to  punish  the  sins 
of  the  rising  generation.  She  screamed  and  shouted, 
too,  with  a  terrific  volume  of  sound,  which  doubtless 
caused  the  hearts  of  the  fugitives  to  quake  within  them. 
The  victory  accomplished,  Pearl  returned  quietly  to  her 
mother,  and  looked  up  smiling  into  her  face. 

Without  further  adventure,  they  reached  the  dwelling 
of  Governor  Bellingham.  This  was  a  large  wooden 
house,  built  in  a  fashion  of  which  there  are  specimens 
still  extant  in  the  streets  of  our  elder  towns  ;  now  moss- 
grown,  crumbling  to  decay,  and  melancholy  at  heart  with 


134  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

the  many  sorrowful  or  joyful  occurrences,  remembered  or 
forgotten,  that  have  happened,  and  passed  away,  within 
their  dusky  chambers.  Then,  however,  there  was  the 
freshness  of  the  passing  year  on  its  exterior,  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  over 
spread  with  a  kind  of  stucco,  in  which  fragments  of  bro 
ken  glass  were  plentifully  intermixed  ;  so  that,  when  the 
sunshine  fell  aslant-wise  over  the  front  of  the  edifice,  it 
glittered  and  sparkled  as  if  diamonds  had  been  flung 
against  it  by  the  double  handful.  The  brilliancy  might 
have  befitted  Aladdin's  palace,  rather  than  the  mansion 
of  a  grave  old  Puritan  ruler.  It  was  further  decorated  ' 
with  strange  and  seemingly  cabalistic  figures  and  dia 
grams,  suitable  to  the  quaint  taste  of  the  age,  which  had 
been  drawn  in  the  stucco  when  newly  laid  on,  and  had 
now  grown  hard  and  durable,  for  the  admiration  of  after 
times. 

Pearl,  looking  at  this  bright  wonder  of  a  house,  began 
to  caper  and  dance,  and  imperatively  required  that  the 
whole  breadth  of  sunshine  should  be  stripped  off  its  front, 
and  given  her  to  play  with. 

''No,  my  little  Pearl  !  "  said  her  mother.  "Thou  must 
gather  thine  own  sunshine.  I  have  none  to  give  thee !  " 

They  approached  the  door  ;  which  was  of  an  arched 
form,  and  flanked  on  each  side  by  a  narrow  tower  or  pro 
jection  of  the  edifice,  in  both  of  which  were  lattice-win 
dows,  with  wooden  shutters  to  close  over  them  at  need. 
Lifting  the  iron  hammer  that  hung  at  the  portal,  Hester 
Prynne  gave  a  summons,  which  was  answered  by  one  of 
the  Governor's  bond-servants  ;  a  free-born  Englishman, 


The  Governor  s  Hall. 


135 


i, 


but  now  a  seven   years'  slave.     During  that  term  he  was; 
to  be  the  property  of  his  master,  and  as  jmichja _comrnod-  j 
ity  oT  bargain  andsale  amTox,  or   a  joint-stool.     The 
serf  wore  thFblueTcoat,  which   was  the  customary  garb  of 
serving-men   at  that  period,  and  long 
before,  in  the  old  hereditary  halls  of 
England. 

"  Is  the  worshipful  Gov 
ernor  Bellingham  within?'' 
inquired  Hester. 

"  Yea,  forsooth,"  replied 
the  bond-servant,  staring 
with  wide-open  eyes  at  the 
scarlet  letter,  which,  being 
a  new-comer  in  the  coun- 
J  try,  he  had  never  before 

iw  jK*  seen.    "  Yea,  his  honorable 

Mfr  worship  is  within.     But  he 

^^^riflfttfll  hath    a   godly  minister  or 

^§&   :        two  with  him,  and  like- 
»*,        wise  a  leech.      Ye  may 

,.,-~-*r*^*w      not     see     his    worship 

„ 
-    v  now. 

u  Nevertheless,  I  will 

"•  FLANKED  ON  EACH  SIDE  BY  A 

NARROW  TOWER."  enter,     answered  Hes 

ter    Prynne ;    and    the 

bond-servant,  perhaps  judging  from  the  decision  of  her  air 
and  the  glittering  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  of  entrance.  With  many  variations,  suggested  by 
the  nature  of  his  building-materials,  diversity  of  climate, 


136 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


and  a  different  mode  of  social  life,  Governor  Bellingham 
had  planned  his  new  habitation  after  the  residences  of 
gentlemen  of  fair  estate  in  his  native  land.  Here,  then, 
was  a  wide  and  reasonably  lofty  hall,  extending  through 
the  whole' depth  of  the  house,  and  forming  a  medium  of 
general  communication,  more  or  less  directly,  with  all  the 
other  apartments.  At  one  extremity,  this  spacious  room 
was  lighted  by  the  windows  of  the  two  towers,  which 
formed  a  small  recess  on  either  side  of  the  portal.  At 
the  other  end,  though  partly  muffled  by  a  curtain,  it  was 
more  powerfully  illuminated  by  one  of  those  embowed 
hall-windows  which  we  read  of  in  old  books,  and  which 
was  provided  with  a  keep  and  cushioned  seat.  Here,  on 
the  cushion,  lay  a  folio  tome,  probably  of  the  Chronicles 
of  England,  or  other  such  substantial  literature  ;  even  as, 
in  our  own  days,  we  scatter  gilded  volumes  on  the  centre- 
table,  to  be  turned  over  by  the  casual  guest.  The  furni 
ture  of  the  hall  consisted  of 
some  ponderous  chairs,  the 
backs  of  which  were  elabor 
ately  carved  with  wreaths  of 
oaken  flowers ;  and  likewise 
a  table  in  the  same  taste ; 
the  whole  being  of  the  Eliz 
abethan  age,  or  perhaps 
earlier,  and  heirlooms,  trans 
ferred  hither  from  the  Gov 
ernor's  paternal  home.  On 
the  table — in  token  that  the 
sentiment  of  old  English  hos 
pitality  had  not  been  left 
behind — stood  a  large  pewter  "A  LARGE  PEWTER  TANKARD." 


The  Governor's  Hall.  137 

tankard,  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  of  the  Bellingham  lineage,  some  with  armor 
on  their  breasts,  and  others  with  stately  ruffs  and  robes  of 
peace.  All  were  characterized  by  the  sternness  and 
severity  which  old  portraits  so  invariably  put  on  ;  as  if 
they  were  the  ghosts,  rather  than  the  pictures,  of  departed 
worthies,  and  were  gazing  with  harsh  and  intolerant  criti 
cism  at  the  pursuits  and  enjoyments  of  living  men. 

At  about  the  centre  of  the  oaken  panels,  that  lined  the 
hall,  was  suspended  a  suit  of  mail,  not,  like  the  pictures, 
an  ancestral  relic,  but  of  the  most  modern  date  ;  for  it 
had  been  manufactured  by  a  skilful  armorer  in  London, 
the  same  year  in  which  Governor  Bellingham  came  over 
to  New  England.  There  was  a  steel  head-piece,  a  cui 
rass,  a  gorget,  and  greaves,  with  a  pair  of  gauntlets  and  a 
sword  hanging  beneath  ;  all,  and  especially  the  helmet 
and  breastplate,  so  highly  burnished  as  to  glow  with 
white  radiance,  and  scatter  an  illumination  everywhere 
about  upon  the  floor.  This  bright  panoply  was  not 
meant  for  mere  idle  show,  but  had  been  worn  by  the  Gov 
ernor  on  many  a  solemn  muster  and  training  field,  and 
had  glittered,  moreover,  at  the  head  of  a  regiment  in  the 
Pequod  war.  For,  though  bred  a  lawyer,  and  accus 
tomed  to  speak  of  Bacon,  Coke,  Noye,  and  Finch,  as  his 
professional  associates,  the  exigencies  of  this  new  coun 
try  had  transformed  Governor  Bellingham  into  a  soldier, 
as  well  as  a  statesman  and  ruler. 

Little  Pearl — who  was  as  greatly  pleased  with  the 
gleaming  armor  as  she  had  been  with  the  glittering 


138  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

frontispiece  of  the  house — spent  some  time  looking  into 
the  polished  mirror  of  the  breastplate. 

"  Mother,"  cried  she,  "  I  see  you  here.     Look  !  Look  !  " 

Hester  looked,  by  way  of  humoring  the  child  ;  and  she 
saw  that,  owing  to  the  peculiar  effect  of  this  convex  mir 
ror,  the  scarlet  letter  was  represented  in  exaggerated  and 
gigantic  proportions,  so  as  to  be  greatly  the  most  promi 
nent  feature  of  her  appearance.  In  truth,  she  seemed 
absolutely  hidden  behind  it.  Pearl  pointed  upward,  also, 
at  a  similar  picture  in  the  head-piece ;  smiling  at  her 
mother,  with  the  elfish  intelligence  that  was  so  familiar 
an  expression  on  her  small  physiognomy.  That  look  of 
naughty  merriment  was  likewise  reflected  in  the  mirror, 
with  so  much  breadth  and  intensity  of  effect,  that  it  made 
Hester  Prynne  feel  as  if  it  could  not  be  the  image  of  her 
own  child,  but  of  an  imp  who  was  seeking  to  mould  itself 
into  Pearl's  shape. 

"Come  along,  Pearl!"  said  she,  drawing  her  away. 
"  Come  and  look  into  this  fair  garden.  It  may  be,  we 
shall  see  flowers  there  ;  more  beautiful  ones  than  we  find 
in  the  woods." 

Pearl,  accordingly,  ran  to  the  bow-window,  at  the  far 
ther  end  of  the  hall,  and  looked  along  the  vista  of  a 
garden-walk,  carpeted  with  closely  shaven  grass,  and  bor 
dered  with  some  rude  and  immature  attempt  at  shrub 
bery.  But  the  proprietor  appeared  already  to  have  relin 
quished,  as  hopeless,  the  effort  to  perpetuate  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  in  a  hard  soil  and  amid  the  close 
struggle  for  subsistence,  the  native  English  taste  for  orna 
mental  gardening.  Cabbages  grew  in  plain  sight;  and  a 
pumpkin-vine,  rooted  at  some  distance,  had  run  across 
the  intervening  space,  and  deposited  one  of  its  gigantic 


The  Governor's  Hall. 


139 


products  directly  beneath  the  hall-window  ;  as  if  to  warn 
the  Governor  that  this  great  lump  of  vegetable  gold  was 
as  rich  an  ornament  as  New  England  earth  would  offer 
him.  There  were  a  few  rose-bushes,  however,  and  a 
number  of  apple-trees,  probably  the  descendants  of  those 
planted  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Blackstone,  the  first  settler 
of  the  peninsula ;  that  half  mythological  personage  who 
rides  through  our  early  annals,  seated  on  the  back  of  a 
bull. 

Pearl,  seeing  the   rose-bushes,  began   to  cry   for  a  red 
rose,  and  .would  not  be  pacified. 

"  Hush,  child,  hush  !  "  said 
her  mother  earnestly.  "Do  not 
cry,  clear  little  Pearl  !  I  hear 
voices  in  the  garden.  The 
Governor  is  coming,  and  gentle 
men  along  with  him  !  " 

In   fact,    aclown    the   vista   of 
the  garden-avenue,  a  number  of 
persons  were  seen  approaching 
towards   the    house.     Pearl,    in 
utter    scorn    of     her    mother's 
attempt   to   quiet  her,  gave    an 
eldritch    scream,   and    then    be 
came    silent;     not    from    any    notion    of    obedience,    but 
because  the  quick  and  mobile  curiosity  of  her  disposition 
was  excited  by  the  appearance  of  these  new  personages. 


'  CABBAGES  GREW  IN  PLAIN 

SIGHT.11 


VIII. 


to 
in 


THE    ELF-CHILD    AND    THE    MINISTER. 

OVERNOR  BELL- 
INGHAM,  in  a 
loose  gown  and 
easy  cap, — such  as 
elderly  gentlemen 
indue  themselves 
their  domestic  pri 
vacy,' — walked  foremost,  and 
appeared  to  be  showing  off 
his  estate,  and  expatiating 
on  his  projected  improve 
ments.  The  wide  circumfer 
ence  of  an  elaborate  ruff, 
beneath  his  grey  beard,  in  the  antiquated  fashion  of 
King  James's  reign,  caused  his-  head  to  look  not  a 
little  like  that  of  John  the  Baptist  in  a  charger.  The 
impression  made  by  his  aspect,  so  rigid  and  severe,  and 
frost-bitten  with  more  than  autumnal  age,  was  hardly 
in  keeping  with  the  appliances  of  worldly  enjoyment 
wherewith  he  had  evidently  done  his  utmost  to  surround 
himself.  But  it  is  an  error  to  suppose  that  our  grave 
forefathers — though  accustomed  to  speak  and  think  of 


The  Elf-Child  and  the  Minister.  141 

and  though  unfeignedly  prepared  to  sacrifice  goods  and 
life  at  the  behest  of  duty — made  it  a  matter  of  conscience 
to  reject  such  means  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  snowdrift,  was  seen  over  Governor 
Bellingham's  shoulder  ;  while  its  wearer  suggested  that 
pears  and  peaches  might  yet  be  naturalized  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  rich  bosom  of  the 
English  Church,  had  a  long  established  and  legitimate 
taste  for  all  good  and  comfortable  things  ;  and  however 
stern  he  might  show  himself  in  the  pulpit,  or  in  his 
public  reproof  of  such  transgressions  as  that  of  Hester 
Prynne,  still,  the  genial  benevolence  of  his  private  life 
had  won  him  warmer  affection  than  was  accorded  to  any 
of  his  professional  contemporaries. 

Behind  the  Governor  and  Mr.  Wilson  came  two  other 
guests  ;  one,  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  whom 
the  reader  may  remember,  as  having  taken  a  brief  and 
reluctant  part  in  the  scene  of  Hester  Prynne's  disgrace  ; 
and,  in  close  companionship  with  him,  old  Roger  Chill- 
ingworth,  a  person  of  great  skill  in  physic,  who,  for  two 
or  three  years  past,  had  been  settled  in  the  town.  It  was 
understood  that  this  learned  man  was  the  physician  as 
well  as  friend  of  the  young  minister,  whose  health  had  /-- 
severely  suffered,  of  late,  by  his  too  unreserved  self- 
sacrifice  to  the  labors  and  duties  of  the  pastoral  relation. 

The  Governor,  in  advance  of  his  visitors,  ascended  one 
or  two  steps,  and,  throwing  open  the  leaves  of  the  great 
hall  window,  found  himself  close  to  little  Pearl.  The 


142  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

shadow  of  the  curtain  fell  on  Hester  Prynne,  and  par 
tially  concealed  her. 

"What  have  we  here?"  said  Governor  Bellingham, 
looking  with  surprise  at  the  scarlet  little  figure  before 
him.  "  I  profess,  I  have  never  seen  the  like,  since  my 
days  of  vanity,  in  old  King  James's  time,  when  I  was 
wont  to  esteem  it  a  high  favor  to  be  admitted  to  a  court 
mask !  There  used  to  be  a  swarm  of  these  small  appari 
tions,  in  holiday-time  ;  and  we  called  them  children  -of 
the^Ljird.iiLJdiinile.  But  how  gat  such  a  guest  into  my 
hall  ?  " 

"  Ay,  indeed  !  "  cried  good  old  Mr.  Wilson.  "  What 
little  bird  of  s.carlet_j3Jumage  may  this  be?  Methinks  I 
have  seen  just  such  figures  when  the  sun  has  been  shin 
ing  through  a  richly  painted  window,  and  tracing  out  the 
golden  and  crimson  images  across  the  floor.  But  that 
was  in  the  old  land.  Prithee,  young  one,  who  art  thou, 
and  what  has  ailed  thy  mother  to  bedizen  thee  in  this 
strange  fashion  ?  Art  thou  a  Christian  child, — ha  ?  Dost 
know  thy  catechism  ?  Or  art  thou  one  of  those  naughty 
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  name  is  Pearl  !  " 

"  Pearl? — Ruby,  rather! — or  Coral  ! — or  Red  Rose,  at 
the  very  least,  judging  from  thy  hue  !  "  responded  the  old 
minister,  putting  forth  his  hand  in  a  vain  attempt  to  pat 
little  Pearl  on  the  cheek.  "  But  where  is  this  mother  of 
thine  ?  Ah  !  I  see,"  he  added  ;  and,  turning  to  Governor 
Bellingham,  whispered, — "This  is  the  selfsame  child  of 
whom  we  have  held  speech  together  ;  and  behold  here 
the  unhappy  woman,  Hester  Prynne,  her  mother  !  " 


The  I.  if -Child  and  the  Minister.  143 

"  Sayest  thou  so  ?  "  cried  the  Governor.  "  Nay,  we 
might  have  judged  that  such  a  child's  mother  must  needs 
be  a  scarlet  woman,  and  a  worthy  type  of  her  of  Babylon  ! 
But  she  comes  at  a  good  time  ;  and  we  will  look  into  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  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter,  "  there  hath 

o 

been  much  question  concerning  thee,  of  late.  The  point 
hath  been  weightily  discussed,  whether  we,  that  are  of 
authority  and  influence,  do  well  discharge  our  consciences 
by  trusting  an  immortal  soul,  such  as  there  is  in  yonder 
child,  to  the  guidance  of  one  who  hath  stumbled  and 
fallen,  amid  the  pitfalls  of  this  world.  Speak  now,  the 
child's  own  mother  !  Were  it  not,  thinkest  thou,  for  thy 
little  one's  temporal  and  eternal  welfare,  that  she  be 
taken  out  of  thy  charge,  and  clad  soberly,  and  disciplined 
strictly,  and  instructed  in  the  truths  of  heaven  and  earth  ? 
What  canst  thou  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.  "  It  is  because  of  the  stain  which  that  letter 
indicates,  that  we  would  transfer  thy  child  to  other  hands." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  the  mother  calmly,  though  grow 
ing  more  pale,  "  this  badge  hath  taught  me, — it  daily 
teaches  me, — it  is  teaching  me  at  this  moment, — lessons 
whereof  my  child  may  be  the  wiser  and  better,  albeit  they 
can  profit  nothing  to  myself." 

"We  will   judge   warily,"  said    Bellingham,  "  and    look 


144  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

well  what  we  are  about  to  do.  Good  Master  Wilson,  I 
pray  you,  examine  this  Pearl, — since  that  is  her  name, — 
and  see  whether  she  hath  had  such  Christian  nurture  as 
befits  a  child  of  her  age." 

The  old  minister  seated  himself  in  an  arm-chair  and 
made  an  effort  to  draw  Pearl  betwixt  his  knees.  But  the 
child,  unaccustomed  to  the  touch  of  familiarity  of  any  but 
her  mother,  escaped  through  the  open  window  and  stood 
on  the  upper  step,  looking  like  a  wild,  tropical  bird,  of 
rich  plumage,  ready  to  take  flight  into  the  upper  air. 
Mr.  Wilson,  not  a  little  astonished  at  this  outbreak, — for 
he  was  a  grandfatherly  sort  of  personage,  and  usually  a 
vast  favorite  with  children, —  essayed,  however,  to  pro 
ceed  with  the  examination. 

"  Pearl,"  said  he,  with  great  solemnity,  "  thou  must  take 
heed  to  instruction,  that  so,  in  due  season,  thou  mayest 
wear  in  thy  bosom  the  pearl  of  great  price.  Canst  thou 
tell  me,  my  child,  who  made  thee  ? " 

Now  Pearl  knew  well  enough  who  made  her  ;  for  Hes 
ter  Prynne,  the  daughter  of  a  pious  home,  very  soon  after 
her  talk  with  the  child  about  her  Heavenly  Father,  had 
begun  to  inform  her  of  those  truths  which  the  human 
spirit,  at  whatever  stage  of  immaturity,  imbibes  with  such 
eager  interest.  Pearl,  therefore,  so  large  were  the  attain 
ments  of  her  three  years'  lifetime,  could  have  borne  a 
fair  examination  in  the  New  England  Primer,  or  the  first 
column  of  the  Westminster  Catechisms,  although  unac 
quainted  with  the  outward  form  of  either  of  those  cele 
brated  works.  But  that  perversity,  which  all  children 
have  more  or  less  of,  and  of  which  little  Pearl  had  a  ten 
fold  portion,  now,  at  the  most  inopportune  moment,  took 
thorough  possession  of  her  and  closed  her  lips,  or  im- 


The  Elf -Child  and  the  Minister. 


•  WITH  MANY  UNGRACIOUS  REFUSALS  TO  ANSWER. 


146  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

pelled  her  to  s;:eak  words  amiss.  After  putting  her  finger 
in  her  mouth,  with  many  ungracious  refusals  to  answer 
good  Mr.  Wilson's  question,  the  child  finally  announced 
that  she  had  not.been  made  at  all,  but  had  been  plucked 
by  her  mother  off  the  bush  of  wild  roses,  that  grew  by  the 
prison-door. 

This  fantasy  was  probably  suggested  by  the  near  prox 
imity  of  the  Governor's  red  roses,  as  Pearl  stood  outside 
of  the  window ;  together  with  her  recollection  of  the  prison 
rose-bush,  which  she  had  passed  in  coming  hither. 

Old  Roger  Chillingworth,  with  a  smile  on  his  face, 
whispered  something  in  the  young  clergyman's  ear.  Hes 
ter  Prynne  looked  at  the  man  of  skill,  and  even  then,  with 
her  fate  hanging  in  the  balance,  was  startled  to  perceive 
what  a  change  had  come  over  his  features, — how  much  / 
uglier  they  were, — how  his  dark  complexion  seemed  to 
have  grown  duskier,  and  his  figure  more  misshapen, — • 
since  the  days  when  she  had  familiarly  known  him. 
She  met  his  eyes  for  an  instant,  but  was  immediately 
constrained  to  give  all  her  attention  to  the  scene  now  go 
ing  forward. 

"This  is  awful!"  cried  the  Governor,  slowly  recover 
ing  from  the  astonishment  into  which  Pearl's  response  had 
thrown  him.  "  Here  is  a  child  of  three  years  old,  and  she 
cannot  tell  who  made  her!  Without  question,  she  is 
equally  in  the  dark  as  to  her  soul,  its  present  depravity, 
and  future  destiny  !  Methinks,  gentlemen,  we  need  in 
quire  no  further." 

Hester  caught  hold  of  Pearl,  and  drew  her  forcibly 
into  her  arms,  confronting  the  old  Puritan  magistrate  with 
almost  a  fierce  expression.  Alone  in  the  world,  cast  off 
by  it,  and  with  this  sole  treasure  to  keep  her  heart  alive, 


The  Elf -Child  and  the  Minister.  147 

she  felt  that  she  possessed  indefeasible  rights  against  the 
world,  and  was  ready  to  defend  them  to  the  death. 

"  God  gave  me  the  child  !  "  cried  she.     "  He  gave  her, 
in  requital  of  all  things   else,  which  ye  had   taken   from 
me.     She  is  my  happiness  ! — she  is  my  torture,  none  the 
less!     Pearl  keeps  me  here   in  life!     Pearl   punishes  me, 
too!     See  ye  not,  she  is  the  scarlet  letter,  only  capable  "of 
being  loved,  and  so  endowed  with  a  million-fold  the  power 
of  retribution   for   my  sin?     Ye  shall   not   take   her!     \J 
will  die  first !  ''' 

"  My  poor  woman,"  said  the  not  unkind  old  minister, 
"  the  child  shall  be  well  cared  for  ! — far  better  than  thou 
canst  do  it." 

"God  gave  her  into  my  keeping,"  repeated  Hester 
Prynne,  raising  her  voice  almost  to  a  shriek.  "  I  will  not 
give  her  up  I " — And  here,  by  a  sudden  impulse,  she 
turned  to  the  young  clergyman,  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  at  whom, 
up  to  this  moment,  she  had  seemed  hardly  so  much  as  once 
to  direct  her  eyes. — "Speak  thou  for  me!"  cried  she. 
"  Thou  wast  my  pastor,  and  hadst  charge  of  my  soul,  and 
knowest  me  better  than  these  men  can.  I  will  not  lose 
the  child  !  Speak  for  me  !  Thou  knowest, — for  thou 
hast  sympathies  which  these  men  lack  ! — thou  knowest 
what  is  in  my  heart,  and  what  are  a  mother's  rights,  and 
how  much  the  stronger  they  are,  when  that  mother  has 
but  her  child  and  the  scarlet  letter  !  Look  thou  to  it  ! 
I  will  not  lose  the  child  !  Look  to  it!  " 

At  this  wild  and  singular  appeal,  which  indicated  that 
Hester  Prynne's  situation  had  provoked  her  to  little  less 
than  madness,  the  young  minister  at  once  came  forward, 
pale,  and  holding  his  hand  over  his  heart,  as  was  his  cus 
tom  whenever  his  peculiarly  nervous  temperament  was 


\: 


148  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

thrown  into  agitation.  He  looked  now  more  careworn 
and  emaciated  than  as  we  described  him  at  the  scene  of 
Hester's  public  ignominy ;  and  whether  it  were  his  fail 
ing  health,  or  whatever  the  cause  might  be,  his  large  dark 
eyes  had  a  world  of  pain  in  their  troubled  and  melancholy 
depth. 

"  There  is  truth  in  what  she  says,"  began  the  minister, 
with  a  voice  sweet,  tremulous,  but  powerful,  insomuch 
that  the  hall  reechoed,  and  the  hollow  armor  rang  with 
it, — "truth  in  what  Hester  says,  and  in  the  feeling  which 
inspires  her  !  God  gave  her  the  child,  and  gave  her,  too, 
an  instinctive  knowledge  of  its  nature  and  requirements, 
— both  seemingly  so  peculiar, — which  no  other  mortal 
being  can  possess.  And,  moreover,  is  there  not  a  quality 
of  awful  sacredness  in  the  relation  between  this  mother 
and  this  child  ?  " 

"  Ay  ! — how  is  that,  good  Master  Dimmesdale  ?  "  in 
terrupted  the  Governor.  "  Make  that  plain,  I  pray  you  !" 

"  It  must  be  even  so,"  resumed  the  minister.  "  For,  if 
we  deem  it  otherwise,  do  we  not  thereby  say  that  the 
Heavenly  Father,  the  Creator  of  all  flesh,  hath  lightly  rec 
ognized  a  deed  of  sin,  and  made  of  no  account  the  dis 
tinction  between  unhallowed  lust  and  holy  love  ?  This 
child  of  its  father's  guilt  and  its  mother's  shame  hath 
come  from  the  hand  of  God,  to  work  in  many  ways  upon 
her  heart,  who  pleads  so  earnestly,  and  with  such  bitter 
ness  of  spirit,  the  right  to  keep  her.  It  was  meant  for  a 
blessing  ;  for  the  one  blessing  of  her  life  !  It  was  meant, 
doubtless,  as  the  mother  herself  hath  told  us,  for  a  retri 
bution  too  ;  a  torture,  to  be  felt  at  many  an  unthought  of 
moment;  a  pang,  a  sting,  an  ever-recurring  agony,  in  the 
idst  of  a  troubled  joy  !  Hath  she  not  expressed  this 


The  Elf-Child  and  the  Minister.  149 

1 
thought  in  the  garb  of  the  poor  child,  so  forcibly  remind- 1 

ing  us  of  that  red  symbol  which  sears  her  bosom  ?  " 

"  Well  said,  again !  "  cried  good  Mr.  Wilson.  "  I 
feared  the  woman  had  no  better  thought  than  to  make  a 
mountebank  of  her  child !  " 

"  O,  not  so! — not  so!"  continued  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 
"  She  recognizes,  believe  me,  the  solemn  miracle  which 
God  hath  wrought,  in  the  existence  of  that  child.  And 
may  she  feel,  too, — what,  methinks,  is  the  very  truth, — 
that  this  boon  was  meant,  above  all  things  else,  to  keep 
the  mother's  soul  alive,  and  to  preserve  her  from  blacker 
depths  of  sin  into  which  Satan  might  else  have  sought  to 
plunge  her  !  Therefore  it  is  good  for  this  poor,  sinful 
woman  that  she  hath  an  infant  immortality,  a  being  capa 
ble  of  eternal  joy  or  sorrow,  confided  to  her  care, — to 
be  trained  up  by  her  to  righteousness, — to  remind  her, 
at  every  moment,  of  her  fall, — but  yet  to  teach  her,  as  it 
were  by  the  Creator's  sacred  pledge,  that,  if  she  bring  the 
child  to  heaven,  the  child  also  will  bring  its  parent 
thither  !  Herein  is  the  sinful  mother  happier  than  the 
sinful  father.  For  Hester  Prynne's  sake,  then,  and  no 
less  for  the  poor  child's  sake,  let  us  leave  them  as  Prov 
idence  hath  seen  fit  to  place  them  ! " 

"You  speak,  my  friend,  with  a  strange  earnestness," 
said  old  Roger  Chill ingworth,  smiling  at  him. 

"  And  there  is  a  weighty  import  in  what  my  young 
brother  hath  spoken,"  added  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson. 
"What  say  you,  worshipful  Master  Bellingham  ?  Hath 
he  not  pleaded  well  for  the  poor  woman  ?  " 

"Indeed  hath  he,"  answered  the  magistrate,  "and 
hath  adduced  such  arguments,  that  we  will  even  leave  the 
matter  as  it  now  stands  ;  so  long,  at  least,  as  there  shall 


150  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

be  no  further  scandal  in  the  woman.  Care  must  be  had, 
nevertheless,  to  put  the  child  to  due  and  stated  examina 
tion  in  the  catechism  at  thy  hands  or  Master  Dimmes- 
dale's.  Moreover,  at  a  proper  season,  the  tithing-men 
must  take  heed  that  she  go  both  to  school  and  to  meet 
ing." 

The  young  minister,  on  ceasing  to  speak,  had  with 
drawn  a  few  steps  from  the  group,  and  stood  with  his 
face  partially  concealed  in  the  heavy  folds  of  the  window 
curtain  ;  while  the  shadow  of  his  figure,  which  the  sunlight 
cast  upon  the  floor,  was  tremulous  with  the  vehemence  of 
his  appeal.  Pearl,  that  wild  and  flighty  little  elf,  stole 
softly  towards  him,  and,  taking  his  hand  in  the  grasp  of 
both  her  own,  laid  her  cheek  against  it ;  a  caress  so  ten 
der,  and  withal  so  unobtrusive,  that  her  mother,  who  was 
looking  on,  asked  herself, — "  Is  that  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  her 
lifetime  had  been  softened  by  such  gentleness  as  now. 
The  minister, — for,  save  the  long-sought  regards  of  woman, 
nothing  is  sweeter  than  these  marks  of  childish  preference, 
accorded  spontaneously  by  a  spiritual  instinct,  and  there 
fore  seeming  to  imply  in  us  something  truly  worthy  to  be 
loved, — the  minister  looked  round,  laid  his  hand  on  the 
child's  head,  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  kissed  her 
brow.  Little  Pearl's  unwonted  mood  of  sentiment  lasted 
no  longer ;  she  laughed,  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  hath  witchcraft  in  her,  I  profess," 
said  he  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  "  She  needs  no  old  woman's 
broomstick  to  fly  withal !  " 


The  Elf -Child  and  the  Minister.  151 

*;  A  strange  child  !  "  remarked  old  Roger  Chillingworth. 
"  It  is  easy  to  see  the  mother's  part  in  her.  Would  it  be 
beyond  a  philosopher's  research,  think  ye,  gentlemen,  to 
analyze  that  child's  nature,  and,  from  its  make  and  mould, 
to  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  father  ? " 


"THE  LATTICE  OF  A  CHAMBER  WINDOW  WAS  THROWN  OPEN." 

"  Nay  ;  it  would  be  sinful,  in  such  a  question,  to  follow 
the  clew  of  profane  philosophy,"  said  Mr.  Wilson.  "  Bet 
ter  to  fast  and  pray  upon  it  ;  and  still  better,  it  may  be, 


152  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

to  leave  the  mystery  as  we  find  it,  unless  Providence  re 
veal  it  of  its  own  accord.  Thereby,  every  good  Christian 
man  hath  a  title  to  show  a  father's  kindness  towards  the 
poor,  deserted  babe." 

The  affair  being  so  satisfactorily  concluded,  Hester 
Prynne,  with  Pearl,  departed  from  the  house.  As  they 
descended  the  steps,  it  is  averred  that  the  lattice  of  a 
chamber-window  was  thrown  open,  and  forth  into  the 
sunny  day  was  thrust  the  face  of  Mistress  Hibbins,  Gov 
ernor  Bellingham's  bitter-tempered  sister,  and  the  same 
who,  a  few  years  later,  was  executed  as  a  witch. 

"  Hist,  hist  ! "  said  she,  while  her  ill-omened  physi 
ognomy  seemed  to  cast  a  shadow  over  the  cheerful  new 
ness  of  the  house.  "  Wilt  thou  go  with  us  to-night  ? 
There  will  be  a  merry  company  in  the  forest ;  and  I  well- 
nigh  promised  the  Black  Man  that  comely  Hester  Prynne 
should  make  one." 

"  Make  my  excuse  to  him,  so  please  you  ! "  answered 
Hester,  with  a  triumphant  smile.  "  I  must  tarry  at  home, 
and  keep  watch  over  my  little  Pearl.  Had  they  taken 
her  from  me,  I  would  willingly  have  gone  with  thee  into 
the  forest,  and  signed  my  name  in  the  Black  Man's  book 
too,  and  that  with  mine  own  blood !  " 

"  We  shall  have  thee  there  anon  !  "  said  the  witch-lady, 
frowning,  as  she  drew  back  her  head. 

But.  here — if  we  suppose  this  interview  betwixt  Mis 
tress  Hibbins  and  Hester  Prynne  to  be  authentic,  and 
no|:  a  parable — was  already  an  illustration  of  the  young 
minister's  argument  against  sundering  the  relation  of  a 
fallen  mother  to  the  offspring  of  her  frailty.  Even  thus 
early  had  the  child  saved  her  from  Satan's  snare.. 


'NDER    the    appella 
tion  of  Roger  Chill- 
ingworth,the  reader 
will  remember,  was 
hidden    another    name, 
which  its  former  wearer 
had      resolved      should 
never  more  be  spoken. 
It     has     been    related, 
how,  in  the  crowd  that 
witnessed   Hester 
Prynne's      ignominious 
exposure,  stood  a  man, 

elderly,  travel-worn,  who,  just  emerging  from  the 
perilous  wilderness,  beheld  the  woman,  in  whom  he 
hoped  to  find  embodied  the  warmth  and  cheerfulness  of 
home,  set  up  as  a  type  of  sin  before  the  people.  Her 
matronly  fame  was  trodden  under  all  men's  feet.  Infamy 
was  babbling  around  her  in  the  public  market-place. 
For  her  kindred,  should  the  tidings  ever  reach  them,  and 
for  the  companions  of  her  unspotted  life,  there  remained 
nothing  but  the  contagion  of  her  dishonor  ;  which  would 
not  fail  to  be  distributed  in  strict  accordance  and  propor- 


154  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

tion  with  the  intimacy  and  sacredness  of  their  previous 
relationship.  Then  why — since  the  choice  was  with  him 
self — should  the  individual,  whose  connection  with  the 
fallen  woman  had  been  the  most  intimate  and  sacred  of 
them  all,  come  forward  to  vindicate  his  claim  to  an  inher 
itance  so  little  desirable  ?  He  resolved  not  to  be  pilloried 
beside  her  on  her  pedestal  of  shame.  Unknown  to  all 
but  Hester  Prynne,  and  possessing  the  lock  and  key  of 
her  silence,  he  chose  to  withdraw  his  name  from  the  roll 
of  mankind,  and,  as  regarded  his  former  ties  and  inter 
ests,  to  vanish  out  of  life  as  completely  as  if  he  indeed  lay 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  whither  rumor  had  long  ago 
consigned  him.  This  purpose  once  effected,  new  inter 
ests  would  immediately  spring  up,  and  likewise  a  .new 
purpose  ;  dark,  it  is  true,  if  not  guilty,  but  of  force  enough 
to  engage  the  full  strength  of  his  faculties. 

In  pursuance  of  this  resolve,  he  took  up  his  residence 
in  the  Puritan  town,  as  Rpga^C hi  1 1  i ngwo rt h ,  without 
other  introduction  than  the  learning  and  intelligence  of 
which  he  possessed  more  than  a  common  measure.  As 
his  studies,  at  a  previous  period  of  his  life,  had  made  him 
extensively  acquainted  with  the  medical  science  of  the 
day,  it  was  as  a  physician  that  he  presented  himself,  and 
as  such  was  cordially  received.  Skilful  men,  of  the  medi 
cal  and  chirurgical  profession,  were  of  rare  occurrence  in 
the  colony.  They  seldom,  it  would  appear,  partook  of 
the  religious  zeal  that  brought  other  emigrants  across  the 
Atlantic.  In  their  researches  into  the  human  frame,  it 
may  be  that  the  higher  and  more  subtile  faculties  of  such 
men  were  materialized,  and  that  they  lost  the  spiritual 
view  of  existence  amid  the  intricacies  of  that  wondrous 
mechanism,  which  seemed  to  invglye  art  enough  to  corn- 


The  Leech.  155 

prise  all  of  life  within  itself.  At  all  events  the  health  of 
the  good  town  of  Boston,  so  far  as  medicine  had  aught  to 
do  with  it,  had  hitherto  lain  in  the  guardianship  of  an 
aged  deacon  and  apothecary,  whose  piety  and  godly 
deportment  were  stronger  testimonials  in  his  favor,  than 
any  that  he  could  have  produced  in  the  shape  of  a 
diploma.  The  only  surgeon  was  one  who  combined  the 
occasional  exercise  of  that  noble  art  with  the  daily  and 
habitual  flourish  of  a  razor.  To  such  a  professional  body 
Roger  Chillingworth  was  a  brilliant  acquisition.  He  soon 
manifested  his  familiarity  with  the  ponderous  and  impos 
ing  machinery  of  antique  physic;  in  which  every  remedy 
contained  a  multitude  of  far-fetched  and  heterogeneous 
ingredients,  as  elaborately  compounded  as  if  the  pro 
posed  result  had  been  the  Elixir  of  Life.  In  his  Indian 
captivity,  moreover,  he  had  gained  much  knowledge  of 
the  properties  of  native  herbs  and  roots ;  nor  did  he  con 
ceal  from  his  patients,  that  these  simple  medicines, 
Nature's  boon  to  the  untutored  savage,  had  quite  as  large 
a  share  of  his  own  confidence  as  the  European  pharmaco 
poeia,  which  so  many  learned  doctors  had  spent  centuries 
in  elaborating. 

This  learned  stranger  was  exemplary,  as  regarded  at 
least  the  outward  forms  of  a  religious  life,  and,  early 
after  his  arrival,  had  chosen  for  his  spiritual  guide  the 
Reverend  Mr.  DjnTjpesrlnle.  The  young  divine,  whose 
scholar-like  renown  still  lived  in  Oxford,  was  considered 
by  his  more  fervent  admirers  as  little  less  than  a  heaven- 
ordained  apostle,  destined,  should  he  live  and  labor  for 
the  ordinary  term  of  life,  to  do  as  great  deeds  for  the  now 
feeble  New  England  Church,  as  the  early  Fathers  had 
achieved  for  the  infancy  of  the  Christian  faith.  About 


156  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

this  period,  however,  the  health  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had 
evidently  begun  to  fail.  By  those  best  acquainted  with 
his  habits,  the  paleness  of  the  young  minister's  cheek  was 
accounted  for  by  his  too  earnest  devotion  to  study,  his 
scrupulous  fulfilment  of  parochial  duty,  and,  more  than 
all,  by  the  fasts  and  vigils  of  which  he  made  a  frequent 
practice,  in  order  to  keep  the  grossness  of  this  earthly 
state  from  clogging  and  obscuring  his  spiritual  lamp. 
Some  declared,  that,  if  Mr.  Dimmesdale  were  really  going 
to  die,  it  was  cause  enough  that  the  world  was  not  worthy 
to  be  any  longer  trodden  by  his  feet.  He  himself,  on  the 
other  hand,  with  characteristic  humility,  avowed  his 
belief,  that,  if  Providence  should  see  fit  to  remove  him,  it 
would  be  because  of  his  own  unworthiness  to  perform  its 
humblest  mission  here  on  earth.  With  all  this  difference 
of  opinion  as  to  the  cause  of  his  decline,  there  could  be 
no  question  of  the  fact.  His  form  grew  emaciated;  his 
voice,  though  still  rich  and  sweet,  had  a  certain  melan 
choly  prophecy  of  decay  in  it ;  he  was  often  observed,  on 
any  slight  alarm  or  other  sudden  accident,  to  put  his 
hand  over  his  heart,  with  first  a  flush  and  then  a  paleness, 
indicative  of  pain. 

Such  was  the  young  clergyman's  condition,  and  so 
imminent  the  prospect  that  his  dawning  light  would  be 
extinguished,  all  untimely,  when  Roger  Chillingworth 
made  his  advent  to  the  town.  His  first  entry  on  the 
scene,  few  people  could  tell  whence,  dropping  down,  as  it 
were,  out  of  the  sky,  or  starting  from  the  nether  earth, 
had  an  aspect  of  mystery,  which  was  easily  heightened  to 
the  miraculous.  He  was  now  known  to  be  a  man  of 
skill ;  it  was  observed  that  he  gathered  herbs,  and  the 
blossoms  of  wild-flowers,  and  dug  up  roots,  and  plucked 


The  Leech. 


4  PLUCKED  OFF  TWIGS  FROM  THE  FOREST-TREES." 


158  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

/off  twigs  from  the  forest-trees,  like  o"ne  acquainted  with 
(hidden  virtues  in  what  was  valueless  to  common  eyes. 
^He  was  heard  to  speak  of  Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  and  other 
famous  men, — whose  scientific  attainments  were  esteemed 
hardly  less  than  supernatural, — as  having  been  his  corre 
spondents  or  associates.  Why,  with  such  rank  in  the 
learned  world,  had  he  come  hither  ?  What  could  he, 
whose  sphere  was  in  great  cities,  be  seeking  in  the  wil 
derness  ?  In  answer  to  this  query,  a  rumor  gained 
ground, — and,  however  absurd,  was  entertained  by  some 
very  sensible  people, — that  Heaven  had  wrought  an  ab 
solute  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  knew  that 
Heaven  promotes  its  purposes  without  aiming  at  ihe 
stage-effect  of  what  is  called  miraculous  interposition, 
were  inclined  to  see  a  providential  hand  in  Roger  Chill- 
ingworth's  so  opportune  arrival. 

This  idea  was  countenanced  by  the  strong  interest 
which  the  physician  ever  manifested  in  the  young  clergy 
man  ;  he  attached  himself  to  him  as  a  parishioner,  and 
sought  to  win  a  friendly  regard  and  confidence  from  his 
naturally  reserved  sensibility.  He  expressed  great  alarm 
at  his  pastor's  state  of  health,  but  was  anxious  to  attempt 
the  cure,  and,  if  early  undertaken,  seemed  not  despond 
ent  of  a  favorable  result.  The  elders,  the  deacons,  the 
motherly  dames,  and  the  young  and  fair  maidens,  of  Mr. 
Dimmesdale's  flock,  were  alike  importunate  that  he 
should  make  trial  of  the  physician's  frankly  offered  skill. 
Mr.  Dimmesdale  gently  repelled  their  entreaties. 

"  I  need  no  medicine/'  said  he. 


The  Leech.  159 

But  how  could  the  young  minister  say  so,  when,  with 
every  successive  Sabbath,  his  cheek  was  paler  and 
thinner,  and  his  voice  more  tremulous  than  before, — 
when  it  had  now  become  a  constant  habit,  rather  than  a 
casual  gesture,  to  press  his  hand  over  his  heart  ?  Was 
he  weary  of  his  labors?  Did  he  wish  to  die?  These 
questions  were  solemnly  propounded  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
by  the  elder  ministers  of  Boston  and  the  deacons  of  his 
church,  who,  to  use  their  own  phrase,  "  dealt  with  him  '* 
on  the  sin  of  rejecting  the  aid  which  Providence  so 
manifestly  held  out.  He  listened  in  silence,  and  finally 
promised  to  confer  with  the  physician. 

"  Were  it  God's  will,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmes 
dale,  when,  in  fulfilment  of  this  pledge,  he  requested  old 
Roger  Chillingworth's  professional  advice,  "  I  could  be 
well  content,  that  my  labors,  and  my  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  spirit 
ual  go  with  me  to  my  eternal  state,  rather  than  that  you 
should  put  your  skill  to  the  proof  in  my  behalf." 

"  Ah,"  replied  Roger  Chillingworth,  with  that  quiet 
ness  which,  whether  imposed  or  natural,  -marked  all  his 
deportment,  "  it  is  thus  that  a  young  clergyman  is  apt  to 
speak.  Youthful  men,  not  having  taken  a  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  on  the  golden  pavements  of  die  new  Jeru 
salem." 

"  Nay/'  rejoined  the  young  minister,  putting  his  hand 
to  his  heart,  with  a  flush  of  pain  flitting  over  his  brow, 
"were  I  worthier  to  walk  there  I  could  be  better  con 
tent  to  toil  here." 


160  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  Good  men  ever  interpret  themselves  too  meanly,'5 
said  the  physician. 

In  this  manner,  the  mysterious  old  Roger  Chilling- 
worth  became  the  medical  adviser  of  the  Reverend  Mr, 
Dimmesdale.  As  not  only  the  disease  interested  the 
physician,  but  he  was  strongly  moved  to  look  into  the 
character  and  qualities  of  the  patient,  these  two  men,  so 
different  in  age,  came  gradually  to  spend  much  time 
together.  For  the  sake  of  the  minister's  health,  and  to 
enable  the  leech  to  gather  plants  with  healing  balm  in 
them,  they  took  long  walks  on  the  seashore,  or  in  the 
forest ;  mingling  various  talk  with  the  plash  and  mur 
mur  of  the  waves,  and  the  solemn  wind-anthem  among 
the  tree-tops.  Often,  likewise,  one  was  the  guest  of  the 
other,  in  his  place  of  study  and  retirement.  There  was  a 
fascination  for  the  minister  in  the  company  of  the  man  of 
science,  in  whom  he  recognized  an  intellectual  cultivation 
of  no  moderate  depth  or  scope  ;  together  with  a  range 
and  freedom  of  ideas,  that  he  would  have  vainly  looked 
for  among  the  members  of  his  own  profession.  In  truth, 
he  was  startled,  if  not  shocked,  to  find  this  attribute  in 
the  physician.  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  a  true  priest,  a 
true  religionist,  with  the  reverential  sentiment  largely 
developed,  and  an  order  of  mind  that  impelled  itself 
powerfully  along  the  track  of  a  creed,  and  wore  its 
passage  continually  deeper  with  the  lapse  of  time.  In 
no  state  of  society  would  he  have  been  what  is  called  a 
man  of  liberal  views  ;  it  would  always  be  essential  to  his 
peace  to  feel  the  pressure  of  a  faith  about  him,  sup- 
porting,  while  it  confined  him  within  its  iron  framework. 
Not  the  less,  however,  though  with  a  tremulous  enjoy 
ment,  did  he  feel  the  occasional  relief  of  looking  at  the 


The  Leech. 


161 


1 62  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

universe  through  the  medium  of  another  kind  of  intellect 
than  those  \vuh  which  he  habitually  held  converse.  It 
was  as  if  a  window  were  thrown  open,  admitting  a  freer 
atmosphere  into  the  close  and  stifled  study,  where  his 
life  was  wasting  itself  away,  amid  lamp-light,  or  ob 
structed  daybeams,  and  the  musty  fragrance,  be  it  sen 
sual  or  moral,  that  exhales  from  books.  But  the  air  was 
too  fresh  and  chill  to  be  long  breathed,  with  comfort. 
So  the  minister,  and  the  physician  with  him,  withdrew 
'in  the  limits  of  what  their  church  defined  as 
ft  hod  ox. 

Thus  Roger  Chillingworth  scrutinized  his  patient  care 
fully,  both  as  he  saw  him  in  his  ordinary  life,  keeping  an 
accustomed  pathway  in  the  range  of  thoughts  familiar  to 
him  and,  as  he  appeared  when  thrown  amidst  other  moral 
scenery,  the  novelty  of  which  might  call  out  something  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  the  physical  frame  are  tinged  with  the  pecul 
iarities  of  theseA  In  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  thought  and 
iniagm align  were  so  active,  and  sensibility;  so  intense,  that 
the  bodily  infirmity  would  be  likely  to  have  its  ground 
work  there.  So  Roger  Chillingworth — the  man  of  skill, 
the  kind  and  friendly  physician — strove  to  go  deep  into 
his  patient's  bosom,  delving  among  his  principles,  prying 
into  his  recollections,  and  probing  every  thing  with  a  cau 
tious  touch,  like  a  treasure-seeker  in  a  dark  cavern.  Few 
secrets  can  escape  an  investigator,  who  has  opportunity 
and  license  to  undertake  such  a  quest,  and  skill  to  follow 
it  up.  A  man  burdened  with  a  secret  should  especially 
avoid  the  intimacy  of  his  physician.  If  the  latter  possess 


The  Leech. 


163 


native  sagacity,  and  a  nameless  something  more, — let  us 
call  it  intuition  ;  if  he  show  no  intrusive  egotism,  nor  dis 
agreeably  prominent  characteristics  of  his  own  ;  if  he  have 
the  power,  which  must  be  born  with  him,  to  bring  his  mind 
into  such  affinity  with  his  patient's,  that  this  last  shall  un 
awares  have  spoken  what  he  imagines  himself  only  to 

have  thought;  if  such  revela 
tions  be  received  without 
tumult,  and  acknowledged 
not  so  often  by  aii^tittered 
sympathy,  as  by  silence,  an 
inarticulate  breath,  and  here 
and  there  a  word,  to  indicate 
that  all  is  understood  ;  if,  to 
these  qualifications  of  a  confi 
dant  be  joined  the  advantages 
afforded  by  his  recognized 
character  as  a  physician  ; — 
then,  at  some  inevitable 
moment,  will  the  soul  of  the 
sufferer  be  dissolved,  and 
flow  forth  in  a  dark,  but 
transparent  stream,  bringing 
all  its  mysteries  into  the  day 
light. 

Roger  Chillingworth  possessed  all,  or  most,  of  the 
attributes  above  enumerated.  Nevertheless,  time  went 
on  ;  a  kind  of  intimacy,  as  we  have  said,  grew  up  between 
these  two  cultivated  minds,  which  had  as  wide  a  field  as 
the  whole  sphere  of  human  thought  and  study,  to  meet 
upon  ;  they  discussed  every  topic  of  ethics  and  religion,  of 
public  affairs,  and  private  character;  they  talked  much, 


'  LIKE  A  TREASURE  SEEKER  IN  A 
DARK  CAVERN." 


1 64  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

on  both  sides,  of  matters  that  seemed  personal  to  them 
selves  ;  and  yet  no  secret,  such  as  the  physician  fancied 
must  exist  there,  ever  stole  out  of  the  minister's  con 
sciousness  into  his  companion's  ear.  The  latter  had  his 
suspicions,  indeed,  that  even  the  nature  of  Mr.  Dimmes- 
clale's  bodily  disease  had  never  fairly  been  revealed  to 
him.  It  was  a  strange  reserve  ! 

After  a  time,  at  a  hint  from  Roger  Chillingworth,  the 
friends  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale  effected  an  arrangement  by 
which  the  two  were  lodged  in  the  same  house  ;  so  that 
every  ebb  and  flow  of  the  minister's  life-tide  might  pass 
under  the  eye  of  his  anxious  and  attached  physician. 
There  was  much  joy  throughout  the  town,  when  this 
greatly  desirable  object  was  attained.  It  was  held  to  be 
the  best  possible  measure  for  the  young  clergyman's  wel 
fare ;  upless,  indeed,  as  often  urged  by  such  as  felt 
authorized  to  do  so,  he  had  selected  some  one  of  the 
many  blooming  damsels,  spiritually  devoted  to  him,  to 
become  his  devoted  wife.  This  latter  step,  however, 
there  was  no  present  prospect  that  Arthur  Dimmesdale 
would  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  ;  he  rejected  all  suggest 
ions  of  the  kind,  as  if  priestly  celibacy  were  one  of  his 
articles  of  church-discipline.  Doomed  by  his  own  choice, 
therefore,  as  Mr.  Dimmesdale  so  evidently  was,  to  eat  his 
unsavory  morsel  always  at  another's  board,  and  endure 
the  life-long  chill  which  must  be  his  lot  who  seeks  to 
warm  himself  only  at  another's  fireside,  it  truly  seemed 
that  this  "sagacious,  experienced,  benevolent,  old  physi 
cian,  with  his  concord  of  paternal  and  reverential  love  for 
the  young  pastor,  was  the  very  man,  of  all  mankind,  to  be 
constantly  within  reach  of  his  voice. 

The  new  ^abode  of  the  two  friends  was  with  a  pious 


The  Leech.  165 

widow,  of  good  social  rank,  who  dwelt  in  a  house  cover 
ing  pretty  nearly  the  site  on  which  the  venerable  struct 
ure  of  King's  Chapel  has  since  been  built.  It  had  the 
grave-yard,  originally  Isaac  Johnson's  home-field,  on  one 
side,  and  so  was  well  adapted  to  call  up  serious  reflections, 
suited  to  their  respective  employments,  in  both  minister 
and  man  of  physic.  The  motherly  care  of  the  good 
widow  assigned  to  Mr.  Dimmesdale  a  front  apartment, 
with  a  sunny  exposure,  and  heavy  window-curtains  to 
create  a  noontide  shadow,  when  desirable.  The  walls 
were  hung  round  with  tapestry,  said  to  be  from  the  Gobe 
lin  looms,  and,  at 
all  events,  repre 
senting  the  Script 
ural  story  of  David  < 
and  Bathsheba, 
and  Nathan  the 
Prophet,  in  colors 
still  unfaded,  but 
which  made  the 
fair  woman  of  the 
scene  almost  as  grimly 
picturesque  as  the  woe- 
denouncing  seer.  Here, 
the  pale  clergyman  piled 
up  his  library,  rich  with 
parchment-bound  folios  of 
the  Fathers,  and  the  lore  of 
Rabbis,  and  monkish  erudition, 
of  which  the  Protestant  di 
vines,  even  while  they  vilified 
and  decried  that  class  of 


1 66  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

writers,  were  yet  constrained  often  to  avail  them 
selves.  On  the  other  side  of  the  house,  old  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth  arranged  his  study  and  laboratory;  not  such 
as  a  modern  man  of  science  would  reckon  even  tolerably 
complete,  but  provided  with  a  distilling  apparatus,  and 
the  means  of  compounding  drugs  and  chemicals,  which 
the  practised  alchemist  knew  well  how  to  turn  to  purpose. 
With  such  commodiousness  of  situation,  these  two  learned 
persons  sat  themselves  down,  each  in  his  own  domain, 
yet  familiarly  passing  from  one  apartment  to  the  other, 
and  bestowing  a  mutual  and  not  incurious  inspection  into 
one  another's  business. 

And  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesclale's  best  discern 
ing  friends,  as  we  have  intimated,  very  reasonably  imag 
ined  that  the  hand  of  Providence  had  done  all  this,  for  the 
purpose — besought  in  so  many  public,  and  domestic,  and 
secret  prayers — of  restoring  the  young  minister  to  health. 
But — it  must  now  be  said — another  portion  of  the  com 
munity  had  latterly  begun  to  take  its  own  view  of  the  rela 
tion  betwixt  Mr.  Dimmesdale  and  the  mysterious  old 
physician.  Cwhen  an  uninstructed  multitude  attempts  to 
see  with  its  eyes,  it  is  exceedingly  apt  to  be  deceived. 
When,  however,  it  forms  its  judgment,  as  it  usually  does, 
on  the  intuitions  of  its  great  and  warm  heart,  the  conclu 
sions  thus  attained  are  often  so  profound  and  so  unerring, 
as  to  possess  the  character  of  truths  supernatural ly 
revealed.)  The  people,  in  the  case  of  which  we  speak, 
could  justify  its  prejudice  against  Roger  Chillingworth  by 
no  fact  or  argument  worthy  of  serious  refutation.  There 
was  an  aged  handicraftsman,  it  is  true,  who  had  been  a 
citizen  of  London  at  the  period  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury's 
murder,  now  some  thirty  years  agone ;  he  testified  to  hav- 


The  Leech.  167 

ing  seen  the  physician,  under  some  other  name,  which 
the  narrator  of  the  story  had  now  forgotten,  in  company 
with  Doctor  Forman,  the  famous  old  conjurer,  who  was 
implicated  in  the  affair  of  Overbury.  Two  or  three  indi 
viduals  hinted,  that  the  man  of  skill,  during  his  Indian 
captivity,  had  enlarged  his  medical  attainments  by  joining 
in  the  incantations  of  the  savage  priests;  who  were  uni 
versally  acknowledged  to  be  powerful  enchanters,  often 
performing  seemingly  miraculous  cures  by  their  skill  in 
the  black  art.  A  large  number — and  many  of  these  were 
persons  of  such  sober  sense  and  practical  observation, 
that  their  opinions  would  have  been  valuable,  in  other 
matters — affirmed  that  Roger  Chillingworth's  aspect  had 
undergone  a  remarkable  change  while  he  had  dwelt  in 
town,  and  especially  since  his  abode  with  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale.  At  first,  his  expression  had  been  calm,  meditative, 
scholar-like.  Now,  there  was  something  ugly  and  evil  in 
his  face,  which  they  had  not  previously  noticed,  and 
which  grew  still  the  more  obvious  to  sight,  the  oftener 
they  looked  upon  him.  According  to  the  vulgar  idea,  the 
fire  in  his  laboratory  had  been  brought  from  the  lower 
regions,  and  was  fed  .with  infernal  fuel  ;  and  so,  as  might 
be  expected,  his  visage  was  getting  sooty  with  smoke. 

To  sum  up  the  matter,  it  grew  to  be  a  widely  diffused 
opinion,  that  the  Reverend  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  like  many 
other  personages  of  especial  sanctity,  in  all  ages  of  the 
Christian  world,  was  haunted  either  by  Satan  himself,  or 
Satan's  emissary,  in  the  guise  of  old  Roger  Chillingworth. 
This  diabolical  agent  had  the  Divine  permission,  for  a 
season,  to  burrow  into  the  clergyman's  intimacy,  and  plot 
against  his  soul.  No  sensible  man,  it  was  confessed,  could 
doubt  on  which  sicje  the  victory  would  turn.  The  people 


1 68  vJx  The  Scarlet  Letter. 


looked,  with  an  unshaken  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  mortal  agony  through 
which  he  must  struggle  towards  his  triumph. 

Alas,  to  judge  from  the  gloom  and  terror  in  the  depths 
of  the  poor  minister's  eyes,  the  battle  was  a  sore  one,  and 
the  victory  anything  but  secure  ! 


X. 


THE    LEECH    AND    HIS    PATIENT. 


LD    Roger  Chilling- 
worth,    throughout 
life,  had  been  calm^ 
i  n      temperament, 
kindly,  th^wgh  not 
warm     abjections,     but 
ever,  and  in  aff  his  relations 
with  the, world,  a  pure  and 
upright  man.     He  had  be 
gun  an  investigation,  as  he 
imagined,    with    the    severe 
and    equal    integrity    of    a 
judge,  desirous  only  of  truth, 

even  as  if  the  question  involved  no  more  than  the  air- 
drawn  lines  and  figures  of  a  geometrical  problem,  instead 
of  human  passions,  and  wrongs  inflicted  on  himself.  But, 
as  he  proceeded,  a  terrible  fascination,  a  kind  of  fierce, 
though  still  calm,  necessity  seized  the  old  man  within  its 
^gripe,  and  never  set  him  free  again,  until  he  had  done  all 
its  bidding.  He  now  dug  into  the  poor  clergyman's  heart, 
like  a  miner  searching  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's  bosom,  but  likely  to  find 


170  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

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,  burning  blue  and  ominous,  like  the  reflection  of  a 
furnace,  or,  let  us  say,  like  one  of  those  gleams  of  ghastly 
fire  that  darted  from  Bunyan's  awful  doorway  in  the  hill 
side,  and  quivered  on  the  pilgrim's  face.  The  soil  where 
this  dark  miner  was  working  had  perchance  shown  indi 
cations  that  encouraged  him. 

"This  man,"  said  he,  at  one  such  moment,  to  himself, 
"pure as  they  deem  him, — all  spiritual  as  he  seems, — hath 
inherited  a  strong  animal  nature  from  his  father  or  his 
mother.  Let  us  dig  a  little  farther  in  the  direction  of  this 
vein  !'" 

Then,  after  long  search  into  the  minister's  dim  interior, 
and  turning  over  many  precious  materials,  in  the  shape  of 
high  aspirations  for  the  welfare  of  his  race,  warm  love  of 
souls,  pure  sentiments,  natural  piety,  strengthened  by 
thought  and  study,  and  illuminated  by  revelation, — all  of 
which  invaluable  gold  was  perhaps  no  better  than  rubbish 
to  the  seeker, — he  would  turn  back,  discouraged,  and  be 
gin  his  quest  towards  another  point.  He  groped  along  as 
stealthily,  with  as  cautious  a  tread,  and  as  wary  an  out 
look,  as  a  thief  entering  a  chamber  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  the 
apple  of  his  eye.  In  spite  of  his  premeditated  carefulness, 
the  floor  would  now  and  then  creak  ;  his  garments  would 
rustle  ;  the  shadow  of  his  presence,  in  a  forbidden  prox 
imity,  would  be  thrown  across  his  victim.  In  other  words, 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  whose  sensibility  of  nerve  often  pro 
duced  the  effect  of  spiritual  intuition,  would  become 


The  Leech  and  His  Patient.  171 

vaguely  aware  that  something  inimical  to  his  peace  had 
thrust  itself  into  relation  with  him.  But  old  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  too,  had  perceptions  that  were  almost  intuitive  ; 
and  when  the  minister  threw  his  startled  eyes  towards 
him,  there  the  physician  sat ;  his  kind,  watchful  sympa 
thizing,  but  never  intrusive  friend. 

Yet  Mr.  Dimmesdale  would  perhaps  have  seen  this  in 
dividual's  character  more  perfectly,  if  a  certain  morbidness, 
to  which  sick  hearts  are  liable,  had  not  rendered  him  sus 
picious  of  all  mankind.  Trusting  no  man  as  his  friend 
he  could  not  recognize  his  enemy  when  the  latter  actually 
appeared.  He  therefore  still  kept  up  a  familiar  inter 
course  with  him,  daily  receiving  the  old  physician  in  his 
study;  or  visiting  the  laboratory,  and,  for  recreation's 
sake,  watching  the  processes  by  which  weeds  were  con 
verted  into  drugs  of  potency. 

One  day,  leaning  his  forehead  on  his  hand,  and  his  el 
bow  on  the  sill  of  the  open  window,  that  looked  towards 
the  grave-yard,  he  talked  with  Roger  Chillingworth,  while 
the  old  man  was  examining  a  bundle  of  unsightly  plants. 

"  Where,"  asked  he,  with  a  look  askance  at  them, — for 
it  was  the  clergyman's  peculiarity  that  he  seldom,  nowa 
days,  looked  straightforth  at  any  object,  whether  human 
or  inanimate, — "  where,  my  kind  doctor,  did  you  gather 
those  herbs,  with  such  a  dark,  flabby  leaf  ?  " 

"  Even  in  the  grave-yard,  here  at  hand,"  answered  the 
physician,  continuing  his  employment.  "  They  are  new  to 
me.  I  found  them  growing  on  a  grave,  which  bore  no 
tombstone,  nor  other  memorial  of  the  dead  man,  save 
these  ugly  weeds  that  have  taken  upon  themselves  to  keep 
him  in  remembrance.  They  grew  out  of  his  heart,  and 
typify,  it  may  be,  some  hideous  secret  that  was  buried 


172 


The   Scarlet  Letter. 


with  him,  and  which  he  had  done  better  to  confess  during 
his  lifetime.''' 

"  Perchance,"  said  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  "  he  earnestly  de 
sired  it,  but  could  not." 

"  And  wherefore  ?  "  re 
joined    the     physician. 
;<  Wherefore  not ;  since 
all  the  powers  of  na 
ture  call  so  earnestly 
for  the  confession  of 
sin,   that   these 
black        weeds 
have  sprung  up 
out  of  a  buried 
heart,  to  make 
manifest    an    unspoken 
crime  ?  " 

u  That,  good  Sir,  is  but  a  fantasy 
of  yours,"  replied  the  minister. 
"  There  can  be,  if  I  forebode 
aright,  no  power,  short  of  the  Di 
vine  mercy,  to  disclose,  whether  by 

uttered  words,  or  by  type  or  emblem,  the  secrets  that  may 
be  buried  with  a  human  heart.  The  heart,  making  itself 
guilty  of  such  secrets,  must  perforce  hold  them  until  the 
clay  when  all  hidden  things  shall  be  revealed.  Nor  have 
I  so  read  or  interpreted  Holy  Writ,  as  to  understand  that 
the  disclosure  of  human  thoughts  and  deeds,  then  to  be 
made,  is  intended  as  a  part  of  the  retribution.  That, 
surely,  were  a  shallow  view  of  it.  No  ;  these  revelations, 
unless  I  greatly  err,  are  meant  merely  to  promote  the 
intellectual  satisfaction  of  all  intelligent  beings,  who  will 


ff 


4  GROWING  ON  A  GRAVE," 


The  Leech  and  His  Patient.  173 

stand  waiting,  on  that  day,  to  see  the  dark  problem  of  this 
life  made  plain.  A  knowledge  of  men's  hearts  will  be 
needful  to  the  completes!  solution  of  that  problem.  And 
I  conceive,  moreover,  that  the  hearts  holding  such  miser 
able  secrets  as  you  speak  of  will  yield  them  up,  at  that  last 
day,  not  with  reluctance,  but  with  a  joy  unutterable." 

"Then  why  not  reveal  them  here  ?"  asked  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth,  glancing  quietly  aside  at  the  minister.  "Why 
should  not  the  guilty  ones  sooner  avail  themselves  of  this 
unutterable  solace  ?  " 

"  They  mostly  do,"  said  the  clergyman,  griping  hard  at 
his  breast,  as  if  afflicted  with  an  importunate  throb  of 
pain.  "  Many,  many  a  poor  soul  hath  given  its  confi 
dence  to  me,  not  only  on  the  death-bed,  but  while  strong 
in  life,  and  fair  in  reputation.  And  ever,  after  such  an 
outpouring,  O,  what  a  relief  have  I  witnessed  in  those 
sinful  brethren  !  even  as  in  one  who  at  last  draws  free  air, 
after  long  stifling  with  his  own  polluted  breath.  How 
can  it  be  otherwise  ?  Why  should  a  wretched  man,  guilty, 
we  will  say,  of  murder,  prefer  to  keep  the  dead  corpse 
buried  in  his  own  heart,  rather  than  fling  it  forth  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.  Dimmes- 
dale.  "  But,  not  to  suggest  more  obvious  reasons,  it  may 
be  that  they  are  kept  silent  by  the  very  constitution  of 
their  nature.  Or, — can  we  not  suppose  it  ? — guilty  as 
they  may  be,  retaining,  nevertheless,  a  zeal  for  God's 
glory  and  man's  welfare,  they  shrink  from  displaying  them 
selves  black  and  filthy  in  the  view  of  men  ;  because, 
thenceforward,  no  good  can  be  achieved  by  them  ;«no 


174  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

evil  of  the  past  be  redeemed  by  better  service.  So,  to 
their  own  unutterable  torment,  they  go  about  among  their 
fellow-creatures,  looking  pure  as  new-fallen  snow  ;  while 
their  hearts  are  all  speckled  and  spotted  with  iniquity  of 
which  they  cannot  rid  themselves." 

"  These  men  deceive  themselves,"  said  Roger  Chilling- 
worth,  with  somewhat  more  emphasis  than  usual,  and 
making  a  slight  gesture  with  his  forefinger.  "  They  fear 
to  take  up  the  •  shame  that  rightfully  belongs  to  them. 
Their  love  for  man,  their  zeal  for  God's  service, — these 
holy  impulses  may  or  may  not  coexist  in  their  hearts 
with  the  evil  inmates  to  which  their  guilt  has  unbarred 
the  door,  and  which  must  needs  propagate  a  hellish  breed 
within  them.  But,  if  they  seek  to  glorify  God,  let  them 
not  lift  heayenwardJjAeh  UMCfean  hands !  If  they  woulcl 
serve  their  fellow-men,  let  them  do  it  by  making  mani 
fest  the  power  and  reality  of  conscience,  in  constraining 
them  to  penitential  self-abasement  !  Wouldst  thou  have 
me  to  believe,  O  wise  and  pious  friend,  that  a  false  show 
can  be  better — can  be  more  for  God's. .glazy,  or  man's  wel 
fare — than  God's  own  truth  ?  Trust  me,  such  men  de 
ceive  themselves  !  " 

"  It  maybe  so,"  said  the  young  clergyman  indifferently, 
as  waiving  a  discussion  that  he  considered  irrelevant  or 
unseasonable.  He  had  a  ready  faculty,  indeed,  of  escap 
ing  from  any  topic  that  agitated  his  too  sensitive  and  ner 
vous  temperament. — "  But,  now,  I  would  ask  of  my  well- 
skilled  physician,  whether,  in  good  sooth,  he  deems  me  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,  proceed- 


The  Leech  and  His  Patient. 


175 


'  SHE  BEGAN  TO  DANCE  UPON  IT." 


176  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

ing  from  the  adjacent  burial-ground.  Looking  instinc 
tively  from  the  open  window, — for  it  was  summer-time, — 
the  minister  beheld  Hester  Prynne  and  little  Pearl  pass 
ing  along  the  footpath  that  traversed  the  inclosure.  Pearl 
looked  as  beautiful  as  the  day,  but  was  in  one  of  those 
moods  of  perverse  merriment  which,  whenever  they  oc 
curred,  seemed  to  remove  her  entirely  out  of  the  sphere 
of  sympathy  or  human  contact.  She  now  skipped  irrev 
erently  from  one  grave  to  another  ;  until,  coming  to  the 
broad,  flat,  armorial  tombstone  of  a  departed  worthy, — 
perhaps  of  Isaac  Johnson  himself, — she  began  to  dance 
upon  it.  In  reply  to  her  mother's  command  and  entreaty 
that  she  would  behave  more  decorously,  little  Pearl  paused 
to  gather  the  prickly  burrs  from  a  tall  burdock,  which 
grew  beside  the  tomb.  Taking  a  handful  of  these,  she 
arranged  them  along  the  lines  of  the  scarlet  letter  that 
decorated  the  maternal  bosom,  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,  and  smiled  grimly  down. 

"  There  is  no  law  nor  reverence  for  authority,  no  re 
gard  for  human  ordinances  or  opinions,  right  or  wrong, 
mixed  up  with  that  child's  composition,"  remarked  he,  as 
much  to  himself  as  to  his  companion.  "  I  saw  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  any  discoverable  principle  of 
being  ?  " 

"  None, — save  the  freedom  of  a  broken  law,"  answered 
Mr.  Dimmesclale,  in  a  quiet  way,  as  if  he  had  been  dis- 


The  Leech  and  His  Patient.  177 

cussing  the  point  within  himself.     i;  Whether  capable  of 
good,  I  know  not." 

The  child  probably  overheard  their  voices  ;  for,  looking 
up  to  the  window,  with  a  bright,  but  naughty  smile  of 
mirth  and  intelligence,  she  threw  one  of  the  prickly  burrs 
at  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale.  The  sensitive  clergy 
man  shrunk,  with  nervous  dread,  from  the  light  missile. 
Detecting  his  emotion,  Pearl  clapped  her  little  hands  in 
the  most  extravagant  ecstasy.  Hester  Prynne,  likewise, 
had  involuntarily  looked  up  ;  and  all  these  four  persons, 
old  and  young,  regarded  one  another  in  silence,  till  the 
child  laughed  aloud,  and  shouted, — "  Come  away,  mother! 
Come  away,  or  yonder  old  Black  Man  will  catch  you  ! 
He  hath  got  hold  of  the  minister  already.  Come  away, 
mother,  or  he  will  catch  you  !  But  he  cannot  catch  little 
Pearl  !  " 

So  she  drew  her  mother  away,  skipping,  dancing,  and 
frisking  fantastically  among  the  hillocks  of  the  dead 
people,  like  a  creature  that  had  nothing  in  common  with 
a  bygone  and  buried  generation,  nor  owned  herself  akin 
to  ito  It  was  as  if  she  had  been  made  afresh,  out  of  new 
elements,  and  must  perforce  be  permitted  to  live  her  own 
life,  and  be  a  law  unto  herself,  without  her  eccentricities 
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  of  hidden  sinfulness  which  you  deem 
so  grievous  to  be  borne.  Is  Hester  Prynne  the  less  mis 
erable,  think  you,  for  that  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast  ?" 

"I  do  verily  believe  it,"  answered  the  clergyman. 
"  Nevertheless,  I  cannot  answer  for  her.  There  was  a 
look  of  pain  in  her  face,  which  I  would  gladly  have  been 


1 78  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

spared  the  sight  of.  But  still,  melhinks,  it  must  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  and  arrange  the  plants  which  he  had 
gathered. 

^      "  You  inquired  of  me,  a  little  time   agone,"  said  he,  at 
length,  "  my  judgment  as  touching  your  health." 

"I  did,"  answered  the  clergyman,  "and  would  gladly 
learn  it.  Speak  frankly,  I  pray  you,  be  it  for  life  or 
death." 

"  Freely,  then,  and  plainly,"  said  the  physician,  still 
busy  with  his  plants,  but  keeping  a  wary  eye  on  Mr.  Dim- 
mesclale,  "the  disorder  is  a  strange  one  ;  not  so  much  in 
itself,  nor  as  outwardly  manifested, — in  so  far,  at  least,  as 
the  symptoms  have  been  laid  open  to  my  observation. 
Looking  daily  at  you,  my  good  Sir,  and  watching  the 
tokens  of  your  aspect,  now  for  months  gone  by,  I  should 
deem  you  a  man  sore  sick,  it  may  be,  yet  not  so  sick  but 
that  an  instructed  and  watchful  physician  might  well  hope 
to  cure  you.  But — I  know  not  what  to  say — the  disease 
is  what  I  seem  to  know,  yet  know  it  not." 

"You  speak  in  riddles,  learned  Sir,"  said  the  pale  min 
ister,  glancing  aside  out  of  the  window. 

"  Then,  to  speak  more  plainly,"  continued  the  physician, 
"  and  I  crave  pardon,  Sir, — should  it  seem  to  require  par 
don, — for  this  needful  plainness  of  my  speech.  Let  me 
ask, — as  your  friend, — as  one  having  charge,  under  Provi 
dence,  of  your  life  and  physical  well-being, — hath  all  the 
operation  of  this  disorder  been  fairly  laid  open  and  re 
counted  to  me  ? >? 


The  Leech  and  His  Patient.  179 

"How  can  you  question  it  ? "  asked  the  minister. 
"  Surely,  it  were  child's  play  to  call  in  a  physician,  and 
then  hide  the  sore  !  " 

•  "  You  would  tell  me,  then,  that  I  know  all  ?  "  said  Roger 
Chillingworth,  deliberately,  and  fixing  an  eye,  bright  with 
intense  and  concentrated  intelligence,  on  the  minister's 
face.  "  Be  it  so  !  But,  again  !  He  to  whom  only  the 
outward  and  physical  evil  is  laid  open  knoweth,  often 
times,  but  half  the  evil  which  he  is  called  upon  to  cure. 
A  bodily  disease,  which  we  look  upon  as  whole  and  entire 
within  itself,  may,  after  all,  be  but  a  symptom  of  some 
ailment  in  the  spiritual  part.  Your  pardon,  once  again, 
good  Sir,  if  my  speech  give  the  shadow  of  offence.  You, 
Sir,  of  all  men  whom  I  have  known,  are  he  whose  body 
is  the  closest  conjoined,  and  imbued,  and  identified,  so  to 
speak,  with  the  spirit  whereof  it  is  the  instrument." 

c  Then  I  need  ask  no  further,"  said  the  clergyman^ 
somewhat  hastily  rising  from  his  chair.  "You  deal  not,  I 
take  it,  in  medicine  for  the  soul ! " 

"Thus,  a  sickness,"  continued  Roger  Chillingworth,  go 
ing  on,  in  an  unaltered  tone,  without  heeding  the  inter 
ruption, — but  standing  up,  and  confronting  -the  emaciated 
and  white-cheeked  minister,  with  his  low,  dark,  and  mis 
shapen  figure, — "  a  sickness,  a  sore  place,  if  we  may  so 
call  it,  in  your  spirit,  hath  immediately  its  appropriate 
.manifestation  in  your  bodily  frame.  Would  you,  there 
fore,  that  your  physician  heal  the  bodily  evil  ?  Ho\v  may 
this  be,  unless  you  first  lay  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,  and  with  a  kind  of  fierceness,  on  old 


i So  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

Roger  Chillingworth.  "  Not  to  thee  !  But,  if  it  be  the 
soul's  disease,  then  do  I  commit  myself  to  the  one  Physician 
of  the  soul  !  He,  if  it  stand  with  his  good  pleasure,  can 
cure;  or  he  can  kill  !  Let  him  do  with  me  as,  in  his  jus 
tice  and  wisdom,  he  shall  see  good.  But  who  art  thou, 
that  meddleSt  in  this  matter  ?— 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  Chil 
lingworth  to  himself,  looking  after  the  minister  with  a 
grave  smile.  "  There  is  nothing  lost.  We  shall  be 
friends  again  anon.  But  see,  now,  how  passion  takes 
hold  upon  this  man,  and  hurrieth  him  out  of  himself !  As 
with  one  passion,  so  with  another  !  He  hath  done  a  wild 
thing  ere  now,  this  pious  Master  Dimmesclale,  in  the  hot 
passion  of  his  heart !  " 

It  proved  not  difficult  to  reestablish  the  intimacy  of  the 
two  companions,  on  the  same  footing  and  in  the  same  de 
gree  as  heretofore.  The  young  clergyman,  after  a  few 
.hours  of  privacy,  was  sensible  that  the  disorder  of  his 
nerves  had  hurried  him  into  an  unseemly  outbreak  of  tem 
per,  which  there  had  been  nothing  in  the  physician's  words 
to  excuse  or  palliate.  He  marvelled,  indeed,  at  the  vio 
lence  with  which  he  had  thrust  back  the  kind  old  man, 
when  merely  proffering  the  advice  which  it  was  his  duty 
to  bestow,  and  which  the  minister  himself  had  expressly 
sought.  With  these  remorseful  feelings,  he  lost  no  time  in 
making  the  amplest  apologies,  and  besought  his  friend  still 
to  continue  the  care,  which,  if  not  successful  in  restoring 
him  to  health,  had,  in  all  probability,  been  the  means  of 
prolonging  his  feeble  existence  to  that  hour.  Roger  Chil 
lingworth  readily  assented,  and  went  on  with  his  medical 


The  Leech  and  His  Patient.  181 

supervision  of  the  minister  ;  doing  his  best  for  him,  in  all 
good  faith,  but  always  quitting  the  patient's  apartment,  at 
the  close  of  a  professional  interview,  with  a  mysterious 
and  puzzled  smile  upon  his  lips.  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.  A  strange  sympathy  betwixt  soul  and 
body  !  Were  it  only  for  the  art's  sake,  I  must  search  this 
matter  to  the  bottom  ! " 

It  came  to  pass,  not  long  after  the  scene  above  recorded, 
that    the    Reverend    Mr.    Dimmesdale,    at  noonday,    and 
entirely  unawares,  fell  into  a  deep,  deep  slumber,  sitting 
in  his  chair,  with  a  large  black-letter  volume  open  before 
him   on  the  table.       It    must  have  been   a   work  of    vast 
ability  in  the  somniferous  school  of  literature.     The  pro 
found  depth  of  the  minister's  repose  was  the  more  remark 
able  ;  inasmuch  as  he  was   one  of  those   persons    whose 
!  sleep,  ordinarily,  is  as  light,  as  fitful,  and  as  easily  scared    \ 
|  away,  as  a  small  bird    hopping  on  a  twig.     To    such    an^ 
|  unwonted  remoteness,   however,  had  his  spirit  now  with- 
j  drawn  into  itself,  that  he  stirred  not  in  his  chair,  when  old 
{  Roger  Chillingworth,  without  any  extraordinary    precau- 
1  tion,    came    into    the    room.       The    physician     advanced 
:]  directly  in   front  of    his  patient,  laid  his   hand    upon  his 
bosom,  and  thrust  aside  the  vestment,  that,  hitherto,  had 
I  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  a  ghastly  rapture,  as  it  were,  too   mighty  to  be 


182 


The   Scarlet  Letter. 


expressed    only    by    the  eye  and   features,   and  therefore 
bursting   forth    through  the   \vhole  ugliness  of   his  figure, 


"  FELL  INTO  A  DEEP,  DEEP  SLUMBER." 


and  making  itself  even  riotously  manifest  by  the  extrava 
gant  gestures  with  which  he  threw  up  his  arms  towards 
the  ceiling,  and  stamped  his  foot  upon  the  floor  !  Had  a 


The  Leech  and  His  Patient.  183 

man  seen  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  at  that  moment  of  his 
ecstasy,  he  would  have  had  no  need  to  ask  how  Satan 
comports  himself,  when  a  precious  human  soul  is  lost  to 
heaven,  and  won  into  his  kingdom. 

But    what    distinguished   the  physician's    ecstasy  from 
Satan's  was  the  trait  of  wonder  in  it  I 


XL 


THE    INTERIOR    OF    A    HEART. 


FTER  the  incident  last 
described,    the    inter 
course     between     the 
clergyman     and      the 
physician,   though  ex 
ternally  the  same,  was  really 
of    another  character  than 
it     had     previously    been. 

The     intellect     of     Ro^er 
& 

Chillingworth  had  now  a 
sufficiently  plain  path  be 
fore  it.  It  was  not,  indeed, 
precisely  that  which  he  had 
laid  out  for  himself  to 
tread.  Calm,  gentle,  passionless,  as  he  appeared, 
there  was  yet,  we  fear,  a  quiet  depth  of  malice,  hitherto 
latent,  but  active  now,  in  this  unfortunate  old  man,  which 
led  him  to  imagine  a  more  intimate  revenge  than  any 
mortal  had  ever  wreaked  upon  an  enemy.  To  make  him 
self  the  one  trusted  friend,  to  whom  should  be  confided 
all  the  fear,  the  remorse,  the  agony,  the  ineffectual  repent 
ance,  the  backward  rush  of  sinful  thoughts,  expelled  in 
vain  !  All  that  guilty  sorrow,  hidden  from,  the  world. 


The  Interior  of  a  H^art.  185 

whose  great  heart  would  have  pitied  and  forgiven,  to  be 
revealed  to  him,  the  Pitiless,  to  him,  the  Unforgiving! 
All  that  dark  treasure  to  be  lavished  on  the  very  man,  to 
whom  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  the  avenger  and  his  vie- 

'  O  O 

tiin  for  its  own  purposes,  and,  perchance,  pardoning, 
where  it  seemed  most  to  punish — -had  substituted  for  his 
black  devices.  A  revelation,  he  could  almost  say,  had 
been  granted  to  him.  It  mattered  little,  for  his  object, 
whether  celestial,  or  from  what  other  region.  By  its  aid, 
in  all  the  subsequent  relations  betwixt  him  and  Mr.  Dim- 
mesdale,  not  merely  the  external  presence,  but  the  very 
inmost  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  poor  minister's  interior 
A'orld.  He  could  play  upon  him  as  he  chose.  Would  he 
irouse  him  with  a  throb  of  agony?  The  victim  was  for 
ever  on  the  rack;  it  needed  only  to  know  the  spring  that 
controlled  the  engine  ; — and  the  physician  knew  it  well  ! 
Would  he  startle  him  with  sudden  fear?  As  at  the  \vav- 
ng  of  a  magician's  wand,  uprose  a  'grisly  phantom, — up 
rose  a  thousand  phantoms, — in  many  shapes,  of  death,  or 
nore  awful  shame,  all  flocking  round  about  the  clergy- 
nan,  and  pointing  with  their  fingers  at  his  breast  ! 

All  this  was  accomplished  with  a  subtlety  so  perfect, 
that  the  minister,  though  he  had  constantly  a  dim  percep- 
:ion  of  some  evil  influence  watching  over  him,  could  never 


1 86  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

gain  a  knowledge  of  its  actual  nature.  True,  he  looked 
doubtfully,  fearfully, — even,  at  times,  with  horror  and  the 
bitterness  of  hatred, — at  the  deformed  figure  of  the  old 
physician.  His  gestures,  his  gait,  his  grizzled  beard,  his 
slightest  and  most  indifferent  acts,  the  very  fashion  of  his 
garments,  were  odious  in  the  clergyman's  sight ;  a  token 
implicitly  to  be  relied  on,  of  a  deeper  antipathy  in  the 
breast  of  the  latter  than  he  was  willing  to  acknowledge  to 
himself.  For,  as  it  was  impossible  to  assign  a  reason  for 
such  distrust  and  abhorrence,  so  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  con 
scious  that  the  poison  of  one  morbid  spot  was  infecting 
his  heart's  entire  substance,  attributed  all  his  presenti 
ments  to  no  other  cause.  He  took  himself  to  task  for  his 
bad  sympathies  in  reference  to  Roger  Chill ingworth,  dis 
regarded  the  lesson  that  he  should  have  drawn  from  them, 
and  did  his  best  to  root  them  out.  Unable  to  accomplish 
this,  he  nevertheless,  as  a  matter  of  principle,  continued 
his  habits  of  social  familiarity  with  the  old  man,  and  thus 
gave  him  constant  opportunities  for  perfecting  the  pur 
pose  to  which — poor,  forlorn  creature  that  he  was,  and 
more  wretched  than  his  victim — the  avenger  had  devoted 
himself. 

While  thus  suffering  under  bodily  disease,  and  gnawed 
and  tortured  by  some  black  trouble  of  the  soul,  and  given 
over  to  the  machinations  of  his  deadliest  enemy,  the  Rev 
erend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  achieved  a  brilliant  popularity 
in  his  sacred  office.  He  won  it,  indeed,  in  great  part,  by  his 
"sorrows.  His  intellectual  gifts,  his  moral  perceptions,  his 
power  of  experiencing  and  communicating  emotion,  were 
kept  in  a  state  of  preternatural  activity  by  the  prick  and 
anguish  of  his  daily  life.  His  fame,  though  still  on  its 
upward  slope,  already  overshadowed  the  soberer  reputa- 


The  Interior  of  a  Heart.  187 

tions  of  his  fellow-clergymen,  eminent  as  several  of  them 
were.  There  were  scholars  among  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  solid  and  valuable  attainments  than  their  youthful 
brother.  There  were  men,  too,  of  a  sturdier  texture  of 
mind  than  his,  and  endowed  with  a  far  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  un amiable 
variety  of  the  clerical  species.  There  were  others,  again, 
true  saintly  fathers,  whose  faculties  had  been  elaborated 
by  weary  toil  among  their  books,  and  by  patient  thought, 
and  etherealized,  moreover,  by  spiritual  communications 
wuh  the  better  world,  into  which  their  purity  of  life  had 
almost  introduced  these  holy  personages,  with  their  gar 
ments  of  mortality  still  clinging  to  them.  All  that  they 
lacked  was  the  gift  that  descended  upon  the  chosen  disci 
ples,  at  Pentecost,  in  tongues  of  flame  ;  symbolizing,  it 
would  seem,  not  the  power  of  speech  in  foreign  and  un 
known  languages,  but  that  of  addressing  the  whole  human 
brotherhood  in  the  heart's  native  language.  These 
fathers,  otherwise  so  apostolic,  lacked  Heaven's  last  and 
rarest  attestation  of  their  office,  the  Tongue  of  Flame. 
They  would  have  vainly  sought — had  they  ever  dreamed 
of  seeking — to  express  the  highest  truths  through  the 
humblest  medium  of  familiar  words  and  images.  Their 

o 

voices  came  down,  afar  and  indistinctly,  from  the  upper 
heights  where  they  habitually  dwelt. 

Not  improbably,  it  was  to  this  latter  class  of  men  that 
Mr.  Dimmesdale,  by  many  of  his  traits  of  character,  natu- 


i88  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

rally  belonged.  To  the  high  mountain-peaks  of  faith  and 
sanctity  he  would  have  climbed,  had  not  the  tendency 
been  thwarted  by  the  burden,  whatever  it  might  be,  of 
crime  or  anguish,  beneath  which  it  was  his  doom  to  totter. 
It  kept  him  down,  on  a  level  with  the  lowest;  him,  the 
man  of  ethereal  attributes,  whose  voice  the  angels  might 
else  have  listened  to  and  answered!  But  this  very  burden 
it  was,  that  gave  him  sympathies  so  intimate  with  the  sin 
ful  brotherhood  of  mankind  ;  so  that  his  heart  vibrated  in 
unison  with  theirs,  and  received  their  pain  into  itself,  and 
sent  its  own  throb  of  pain  through  a  thousand  other 
hearts,  in  gushes  of  sad,  persuasive  eloquence.  Oftenest 
persuasive,  but  sometimes  terrible !  [The  people  knew 
not  the  power  that  moved  them  thus.  They  deemed  the 
young  clergyman  a  miracle  of  holiness.  They  fancied 
him  the  mouth-piece  of  heaven's  messages  of  wisdom,  and 
rebuke,  and  love.  In  their  eyes,  the  very  ground  on 
which  he  trod  was  sanctified.  The  virgins  of  his  church 
grew  pale  around  him,  victims  of  a  passion  so  imbued 
with  religious  sentiment  that  they  imagined  it  to  be  all 
religion,  and  brought  it  openly,  in  their  white  bosoms,  as 
their  most  acceptable  sacrifice  before  the  altar.  The 
aged  members  of  his  flock,  beholding  Mr.  Dimmesdale's 
frame  so  feeble,  while  they  were  themselves  so  rugged  in 
their  infirmity,  believed  that  he  would  go  heavenward  be 
fore  them,  and  enjoined  it  upon  their  children,  that  their 
old  bones  should  be  buried  close  to  their  young  pastor's 
holy  grave.  And,  all  this  time,  perchance,  when  poor  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  was  thinking  of  his  grave,  he  questioned  with 
himself  whether  the  grass  would  ever  grow  on  it,  because 
an  accursed  thing  must  there  be  buried  ! 

It  is  inconceivable,  the  agony  with  which  this  public 


The  Interior  of  a  Heart. 


189 


veneration  tortured  him  !  It  was  his  genuine  impulse  to 
adore  the  truth,  and  to  reckon  all  things  shadow-like,  and 
utterly  devoid  of  weight  or  value,  that  had  not  its  divine 
essence  as  the  life  within  their  life.  Then,  what  was  he  ? 


"TURN  MY  PALE  FACE  HEAVENWARD.'1 


— a  substance  ? — or  the  dimmest  of    all    shadows  ?     He 
longed  to  speak  out,  from  his  own  pulpit,  at  the  full  height 


190  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

of  his  voice,  and  tell  the  people  what  he  was.  "  I,  whom 
you  behold  in  these  black  garments  of  the  priesthood, — I, 
who  ascend  the  sacred  desk,  and  turn  my  pale  face 
heavenward,  taking  upon  myself  to  hold  communion,  in 
your  behalf,  with  the  Most  High  Omniscience, — I,  in 
whose  daily  life  you  discern  the  sanctity  of  Enoch, — I, 
whose  footsteps,  as  you  suppose,  leave  a  gleam  along  my 
earthly  track,  whereby  the  pilgrims  that  shall  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  have  breathed  the  parting  prayer  over  your  dying 
friends,  to  whom  the  Amen  sounded  faintly  from  a  world 
which  they  had  quitted, — I,  your  pastor,  whom  you  so  rev 
erence  and  trust,  am  utterly  a  pollution  and  a  lie  !  " 

More  than  once,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  gone  into  the 
.pulpit,  with  a  purpose  never  to  come  down  its  steps,  until 
he  should  have  spoken  words  like  the  above.  More  than 
once,  he  had  cleared  his  throat,  and  drawn  in  the  long, 
deep,  and  tremulous  breath,  which,  when  sent  forth  again 
would  come  burdened  with  the  black  secret  of  his  soul. 
More  than  once — nay,  more  than  a  hundred  times — he 
had  actually  spoken  !  Spoken  !  But  how?  He  had  told 
his  hearers  that  he  was  altogether  vile,  a  viler  companion 
of  the  vilest,  the  worst  of  sinners,  an  abomination,  a  thing 
of  unimaginable  iniquity ;  and  that  the  only  wonder  was, 
that  they  did  not  see  his  wretched  body  shrivelled  up  be 
fore  their  eyes,  by  the  burning  wrath  of  the  Almighty  ! 
Could  there  be  plainer  speech  than  this  ?  Would  not  the, 
people  start  up  in  their  seats,  by  a  simultaneous  impulse, 
and  tear  him  down  out  of  the  pulpit  which  he  defiled  ? 
Not  so,  indeed  !  They  heard  it  all,  and  did  but  reverence 
him  the  more.  They  little  guessed  what  deadly  purport 


The  Interior  of  a  Heart.  191 

lurked  in  those  self-condemning  words.  "The  godly 
youth !  "  said  they  among  themselves.  "  The  saint  on 
earth!  Alas,  if  he  discern  such  sinfulness  in  his  own 
white  soul  what  horrid  spectacle  would  he  behold  in 
thine  or  mine  !  "  The  minister  well  knew — subtile,  but 
remorseful  hypocrite  that  he  was! — the  light  in  which 
his  vague  confession  would  be  viewed.  He  had  striven 
to  put  a  cheat  upon  himself  by  making  the  avowal  of 
a  guilty  conscience,  but  had  gained  only  one  other  sin, 
and  a  self-acknowledged  shame  without  the  momen 
tary  relief  of  being  self-deceived.  He  had  spoken  the 
very  truth,  and  transformed  it  into  the  veriest  falsehood. 
And  yet,  by  the  constitution  of  his  nature,  he  loved  the 
truth,  and  loathed  the  lie,  as  few  men  ever  did.  There 
fore,  above  all  things  else,  he  loathed  his  miserable  self ! 

His  inward  trouble  drove  him  to  practices,  more  in  ac 
cordance  with  the  old,  corrupted  faith  of  Rome,  than 
with  the  better  light 
of  the  church  in 
which  he  had  been 
born  and  bred.  In 
Mr.  Dimmesd  ale's 
secret  closet,  under 
lock  and  key,  there 
was  a  bloody 
scourge.  Oftentimes  \ 

4.1  •       -n  i  "THERE  WAS  A  BLOODY  SCOURGE.'' 

this  Protestant   and 

Puritan  divine  had  plied  it  on  his  own  shoulders  ;  laugh 
ing  bitterly  at  himself  the  while,  and  smiting  so  much 
the  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, 


192 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


in   order  to  purify  the  body  and  ren 
der  it  the  fitter  medium   of  celestial 
illumination,  but  rigorously,  and  until 
his    knees    trembled 
beneath  him,  as  an 
act  of  penance. 

He     kept     vigils,     ' 
likewise,  night  after  [ 
night,  sometimes  in 
utter     darkness; 
sometimes     with     a 
glimmering      lamp; 
and  sometimes, view 
ing  his  own   face  in   a 
looking-glass,     by     the 
most     powerful      light 
which  he    could    throw 
upon  it.     He  thus  typi 
fied  the  constant  intro-    k 
spection  wherewith  he  tor- 
_turedL  but  could  not 


Jiniisejf.  In  these  length 
ened  vigils,  his  brain  often  reeled,  and 
visions  seemed  to  flit  before  him  ;  per 
haps  seen  doubtfully,  and  by  a  faint  light 
of  their  own,  in  the  remote  dimness  of 
the  chamber,  or  more  vividly,  and  close 
beside  him,  within  the  looking-glass. 
Now  it  was  a  herd  of  diabolic  shapes; 
that  grinned  and  mocked  at  the  pale 
minister,  and  beckoned  him  away  with  them;  now  a  group 
of  shining  angels,  who  flew  upward  heavily,  as  sorrow- 


"  A  HERD  OF  DIA 
BOLIC  SHAPES." 


The  Interior  of  a  Heart.  193 

laden,  but  grew  more  ethereal  as  they  rose.  Now  came 
the  dead  friends  of  his  youth,  and  his  white-bearded 
father,  with  a  saint-like  frown,  and  his  mother  turning 
her  face  away  as  she  passed  by.  Ghost  of  a  mother, — 
thinnest  fantasy  of  a  mother, — methinks  she  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  fore 
finger,  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  an  effort  of  his  will,  he  could  discern  sub 
stances  through  their  misty  lack  of  substance,  and  con 
vince  himself  that  they  were  not  solid  in  their  nature,  like 
yonder  table  of  carved  oak,  or  that  big,  square,  leather- 
bound  and  brazen-clasped  volume  of  divinity.  But,  for  all 
that,  they  were,  in  one  sense,  the  truest  and  most  substan 
tial  things  which  the  poor  minister  now  dealt  with.  It  is 
the  unspeakable  misery  of  a  life  so  false  as  his,  that  it 
steals  the  pith  and  substance  out  of  whatever  realities  there 
are  around  us,  and  which  were  meant  by  Heaven  to  be  the 
spirit's  joy  and  nutriment.  To  the  untrue  man,  the 
whole  universe  is  false, — it  is  impalpable, — it  shrinks  to 
nothing  within  his  grasp.  And  he  himself,  in  so  far  as  he 
shows  himself  in  a  false  light,  becomes  a  shadow,  or,  in 
deed,  ceases  to  exist.  The  only  truth,  that  continued  to 
give  Mr.  Dimmesdale  a  real  existence  on  this  earth,  was 
the  anguish  in  his  inmost  soul,  'and  the  undissembled  ex 
pression  of  it  in  his  aspect.  Had  he  once  found  power  to 
smile,  and  wear  a  face  of  gayety,  there  would  have  been 
no  such  man  ! 


194  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

On  one  of  those  ugly  nights,  which  we  have  faintly 
hinted  at,  but  forborne  to  picture  forth,  the  minister 
started  from  his  chair.  A  new  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  public  worship, 
and  precisely  in  the  same  manner,  he  stole  softly  down 
the  staircase,  undid  the  door,  and  issued  forth. 


XII. 

THE  MINISTER'S  VIGIL, 

ALKING  in  the  shad- 
o\v  of  a  dream,  as  it 
were,    and     perhaps 
actually    under     the 
influence  of    a  spe 
cies  of  somnambulism,  Mr. 
Dimmesclale     reached    the 
spot,    where,    now    so   long 
since,  Hester  Prynne  had  lived 
l|    '    through  her  first  hour  of  public 
ignominy.     The   same  platform 
Wp"      or  scaffold,  black  and  weather- 
•&  stained  with  the   storm  or  sun 

shine  of  seven   long  years,  and 
footworn,  too,  with   the  tread  of 

many  culprits  who  had  since  ascended  it,  remained  stand 
ing  beneath  the  balcony  of  the  meeting-house.  The  min 
ister  went  up  the  steps. 

It  was  an  obscure  night  of  early  May.  An  unvaried 
pall  of  cloud  muffled  the  whole  expanse  of  sky  from 
zenith  to  horizon.  If  the  same  multitude  which  had 
stood  as  eyewitnesses  while  Hester  Prynne  sustained  her 
punishment  could  now  have  been  summoned  forth,  they 


196  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

would  have  discerned  no  face  above  the  platform,  nor 
hardly  the  outline  of  a  human  shape,  in  the  dark  grey  of 
the  midnight.  But  the  town  was  all  asleep.  There  was 
no  peril  of  discovery.  The  minister  might  stand  there, 
it  it  so  pleased  him,  until  morning  should  redden  in  the 
east,  without  other  risk  than  that  the  dank  and  chill  night- 
air  would  creep  into  his  frame,  and  stiffen  his  joints  with 
rheumatism,  and  clog  his  throat  with  catarrh  and  cough  ; 
thereby  defrauding  the  expectant  audience  of  to-morrow's 
prayer  and  sermon.  No  eye  could  see  him,  save  that 
ever-wakeful  one  which  had  seen  him  in  his  closet,  wield 
ing  the  bloody  scourge.  Why,  then,  had  he  come  hither? 
Was  it  but  the  mockery  of  penitence  ?  A  mockery  in 
deed,  but  in  which  his  soul  trifled  with  itself !  A  mockery 
$t  which  angels  blushed  and  wept,  while  fiends  rejoiced, 

/with  jeering  laughter!  He  had  been  driven  hither  by 
the  impulse  of  that  Remorse  which  dogged  him  every 
where,  and  whose  own  sister  and  closely  linked  companion 
was  that  Cowardice  which  invariably  drew  him  back,  with 
her  tremulous  gripe,  just  when  the  other  impulse  had 

..hurried  him  to  the  verge  of  a  disclosure.  Poor,  miserable 
man  !  what  right  had  infirmity  like  his  to  burden  itself 
with  crime  ?  Crime  is  for  the  iron-nerved,  who  have 
their  choice  either  to  endure  it,  or,  if  it  press  too  hard,  to 
exert  their  fierce  and  savage  strength  for  a  good  purpose, 
and  fling  it  off  at  once  !  This  feeble  and  most  sensitive 
of  spirits  could  do  neither,  yet  continually  did  one  thing 
or  another,  which  intertwined,  in  the  same  inextricable 
knot,  the  agony  of  ^heaven-defying  guilt  and  vain  repent 
ance. 

And  thus,  while   standing  on    the   scaffold,  in  this  vain 
show  of  expiation,  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was  overcome  with  a 


The  Minister's  Vigil. 


197 


great  hqrror  of  mind,  as  if  the  universe  were  gazing  at  a 
scarlet  token  on  his  naked  breast,  right  over  his  heart. 
On  that  sppt,  in  very  truth,  there  was,  and  there  had  long 
been,  the  gnawing  and  poisonous  tooth  of  bodily  pain. 
Without  any  effort  of  his  will,  or  power  to  restrain  him 
self,  he  shrieked  aloud  ;  an  outcry  that  went  pealing 


"  As  THEY  RODE  WITH  SATAN  THROUGH  THE  AIR." 

through  the  night,  and  was  beaten  back  from  one  house 
to  another,  and  reverberated  from  the  hills  in  the  back 
ground  ;  as  if  a  company  of  devils,  detecting  so  much 
misery  and  terror  in  it,  had  made  a  plaything  of  the 
sound,  and  were  bandying  it  to  and  fro. 


198  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  It  is  done  !  "  muttered  the  minister,  covering  his  face 
with  his  hands.  "  The  whole  town  will  awake,  and  hurry 
forth,  and  find  me  here!  " 

But  it  was  not  so.  The  shriek  had  perhaps  sounded 
with  a  far  greater  power,  to  his  own  startled  ears,  than  it 
actually  possessed.  The  town  did  not  awake  ;  or,  if  it 
did,  the  drowsy  slumberers  mistook  the  cry  either  for 
/something  frightful  in  a  dream,  or  for  the  noise  of  witches  ; 
]  whose  voices,  at  that  period,  were  often  heard  to  pass 
\  over  the  settlements  or  lonely  cottages,  as  they  rode  with 
Satan  through  the  air.  The  clergyman,  therefore,  hearing 
no  symptoms  of  disturbance,  uncovered  his  eyes  and 
looked  about  him.  At  one  of  the  chamber-windows  of 
Governor  Bellingham's  mansion,  which  stood  at  some 
distance,  on  the  line  of  another  street,  he  beheld  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  old  magistrate  himself,  with  a  lamp  in  his 
hand,  a  white  night-cap  on  his  head,  and  a  -long  white 
gown  enveloping  his  figure.  He  looked  like  a  ghost, 
evoked  unseasonably  from  the  grave.  The  cry  had  evi 
dently  startled  him.  At  another  window  of  the  same 
house,  moreover,  appeared  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the 
Governor's  sister,  also  with  a  lamp,  which,  even  thus  far 
off,  revealed  the  expression  of  her  sour  and  discontented 
face.  She  thrust  forth  her  head  from  the  lattice,  and 
looked  anxiously  upward.  Beyond  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt,  this  venerable  witch-lady  had  heard  Mr.  Dimmes- 
clale's  outcry,  and  interpreted  it,  with  its  multitudinous 
echoes  and  reverberations,  as  the  clamor  of  the  fiends 
and  night-hags,  with  whom  she  was  well  known  to  make 
excursions  into  the  forest. 

Detecting  the  gleam  of  Governor  Bellingham's  lamp, 
the  old  lady  quickly  extinguished  her  own,  and  vanished. 


77ie  Minister's  Vigil.  199 

Possibly,  she  went  up  among   the  clouds.     The  minister 
saw    nothing  further    of    her   motions.     The    magistrate, 

after    a    warv  observation   of  the   darkness — into  which. 

j  .        * 

nevertheless,  he  could  see  but  little  farther  than  he  might 
into  a  mill-stone — retired  from  the  window. 

The  minister  grew  comparatively  calm.  His  eyes, 
however,  were  soon  greeted  by  a  little,  glimmering  light, 
which,  at  first  a  long  way  off,  was  approaching  up  the 
street.  It  threw  a  gleam  of  recognition  on  here  a  post, 
and  there  a  garden-fence,  and  here  a  lattice  window-pane, 
and  there  a  pump,  with  its  full  trough  of  water,  and  here, 
again,  an  arched  door  of  oak,  with  an  iron  knocker,  and 
a  rough  log  for  the  door-step.  The  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  noted  all  these  minute  particulars,  even 
while  firmly  convinced  that  the  doom  of  his  existence 
was  stealing  onward,  in  the  footsteps  which  he  now 
heard  ;  and  that  the  gleam  of  the  lantern  would  fall  upon 
him,  in  a  few  moments  more,  and  reveal  his  long-hidden 
secret.  As  the  light  drew  nearer,  he  beheld,  within  its 
illuminated  circle,  his  brother  clergyman, — or,  to  speak 
more  accurately,  his  professional  father,  as  well  as  highly 
valued  friend, — the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  ;  who,  as  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  now  conjectured,  had  been  "praying  at  the 
bedside  of  some  dying  man.  And  so  he  had.  The  good 
old  minister  came  freshly  from  the  death-chamber  of 
Governor  Winthrop,  who  had  passed  from  earth  to  heaven 
within  that  very  hour.  And  now,  surrounded,  like  the 
saint-like  personages  of  olden  times,  with  a  radiant  halo, 
that  glorified  him  amid  this  gloomy  night  of  sin, — as  if 
the  departed  Governor  had  left  him  an  inheritance  of  his 
glory,  or  as  if  he  had  caught  upon  himself  the  distant 
shine  of  the  celestial  city,  while  looking  thitherward  to 


20O 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


see  the  triumphant  pilgrim  pass  within  its  gates, — now,  in 
short,  good  Father  Wilson  was  moving  homeward,  aiding 
his  footsteps  with  a  lighted  lantern  !  The  glimmer  of 
this  luminary-  suggested  the  above  conceits  to  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  who  smiled, — nay,  almost  laughed  at  them, — 
and  then  wondered  if  he  were  going  mad. 

As  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wil 
son  passed  beside  the  scaf 
fold,  closely  muffling  his 
Geneva  cloak  about  him  with 
one  arm,  and  holding  the 
lantern  before  his  breast  with 
the  other,  the  minister  could 
hardly  restrain  himself  from 
speaking. 

"A  good  evening  to  you, 
venerable  Father  Wilson  ! 
Come  up  hither,  I  pray  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  were 
uttered  only  within  his  im 
agination.  The  venerable  Father  Wilson  continued  to 
step  slowly  onward,  looking  carefully  at  the  muddy  path 
way  before  his  feet,  and  never  once  turning  his  head 
towards  the  guilty  platform.  When  the  light  of  the  glim 
mering  lantern  had  faded  quite  away,  the  minister  discov 
ered,  by  the  faintness  which  came  over  him,  that  the  last 


*'  AIDING  HIS  FOOTSTEPS  WITH  A 
LIGHTED  LANTERN." 


The  Minister's  VigiL  201 

few  moments  had  been  a  crisis  of  terrible  anxiety  ;  al 
though  his  mind  had  made  an  involuntary  effort  to  relieve 
itself  by  a  kind  of  lurid  playfulness. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  like  grisly  sense  of  the  humor 
ous  again  stole  in  among  the  solemn  phantoms  of  his 
thought.  He  felt  his  limbs  growing  stiff  with  the  unac 
customed  chilliness  of  the  night,  and  doubted  whether  he 
should  be  able  to  descend  the  steps  of  the  scaffold. 
Morning  would  break,  and  find  him  there.  The  neigh 
borhood  would  begin  to  rouse  itself.  The  earliest  riser, 
coming  forth  in  the  dim  twilight,  would  perceive  a  vaguely 
defined  figure  aloft  on  the  place  of  shame ;  and,  half 
crazed  betwixt  alarm  and  curiosity,  would  go,  knocking 
from  door  to  door,  summoning  all  the  people  to  behold 
the  ghost — as  he  needs  must  think  it — of  some  defunct 
transgressor.  A  dusky  tumult  would  flap  its  wings  from 
one  house  to  another.  Then — the  morning  light  still 
waxing  stronger — old  patriarchs  would  rise  up  in  great 
haste,  each  in  his  flannel  gown,  and  matronly  dames, 
without  pausing  to  put  off  their  night-gear.  The  whole 
tribe  of  decorous  personages,  who  had  never  heretofore 
been  seen  with  a  single  hair  of  their  heads  awry,  would 
start  into  public  view,  with  the  disorder  of  a  nightmare  in 
their  aspects.  Old  Governor  Bellingham  would  come 
grimly  forth,  with  his  King  James's  ruff  fastened  askew  ; 
and  Mistress  Hibbins,  with  some  twigs  of  the  forest  cling 
ing  to  her  skirts,  and  looking  sourer  than  ever,  as  having 
hardly  got  a  wink  of  sleep  after  her  night  ride  ;  and  good 
Father  Wilson,  too,  after  spending  half  the  night  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 


202  27ic   Scarlet  Letter. 

church,  and  the  young  virgins  who  so  idolized  their  min 
ister,  and  had  made  a  shrine  for  him  in  their  white 
bosoms  ;  which  now,  by  the  by,  in  their  hurry  and  confu 
sion,  they  would  scantly  have  given  themselves  time  to 
cover  with  their  kerchiefs.  All  people,  in  a  word,  would 
come  stumbling  over  their  thresholds,  and  turning  up 
their  amazed  and  horror-stricken  visages  around  the  scaf 
fold.  Whom  would  they  discern  there,  with  the  red 
eastern  light  upon  his  brow?  Whom,  but  the  Reverend 
Arthur  Dimmesdale,  half  frozen  to  death,  overwhelmed 
with  shame,  and  standing  where  Hester  Prynne  had  stood  ! 

Carried  away  by  the  grotesque  horror  of  this  picture, 
the  minister,  unawares,  and  to  his  own  infinite  alarm, 
burst  into  a  great  peal  of  laughter.  It  was  immediately 
responded  to  by  a  light,  airy,  childish  laugh,  in  which, 
with  a  thrill  of  (he  heart, — but  he  knew  not  whether  of 
exquisite  pain,  or  pleasure  as  acute, — he  recognized  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  approach 
ing  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  you  hither  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  watching  at  a  death-bed,"  answered  Hes 
ter  Prynne  ; — "  at  Governor  Winthrop's  death-bed,  and 
have  taken  his  measure  for  a  robe,  and  am  now  going 
homeward  to  my  dwelling." 

"Come  up  hither,  Hester,  them  n^d   little    Pearl,"  said 


The  Minister's  Vigil.  203 

the  Reverend  Mr.  Diimnesdale.  "  Ye  have  both  been 
here  before,  but  I  was  not  with  you.  Come  up  hither 
once  again,  and  we  will  stand  all  three  together  !  " 

She  silently  ascended  the  steps,  and  stood  on  the  plat 
form,  holding  little  Pearl  by  the  hand.  The  minister  felt 
for  the  child's  other  hand,  and  took  it.  The  moment 
that  he  did  so,  there  came  what  seemed  a  tumultuous 
rush  of  new  life,  other  life  than  his  own,  pouring  like  a 
torrent  into  his  heart,  and  hurrying  through  all  his  veins, 
as  if  the  mother  and  the  child  were  communicating  their 
vital  warmth  to  his  half-torpid  system.  The  three  formed 
an  electric  chain. 

"  Minister!  "  whispered  little  Pearl. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  say,  child  ? "  asked  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale. 

"  Wilt  thou  stand  here  with  mother  and  me,  to-morrow 
noontide  ?  "  inquired  Pearl. 

"  Nay  ;  not  so,  my  little  Pearl !  "  answered  the  minis 
ter;  for,  with  the  new  energy  of  the  moment,  all  the 
dread  of  public  exposure,  that  had  so  long  been  the  an 
guish  of  his  life,  had  returned  upon  him  ;  and  he  was 
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  not  to-morrow !  " 

Pearl  laughed,  and  attempted  to  pull  away  her  hand. 
But  the  minister  held  it  fast. 

"A  moment  longer,  my  child  !  "  said  he. 

"  But  wilt:  thou  promise,"  asked  Pearl,  "  to  take  my 
hand,  and  mother's  hand,  to-morrow  noontide  ?" 

"Not  then,  Pearl,"  said  the  minister,  "but  another 
time  !  " 


204  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  And  what  other  time  ?  "  persisted  the  child. 

"At  the  great  judgment  day  !  "  whispered  the  minister, 
— and,  strangely  enough,  the  sense  that  he  was  a  pro 
fessional  teacher  of  the  truth  impelled  him  to  answer  the 
child  so.  "  Then,  and  there,  before  the  judgment-seat, 
thy  mother,  and  thou,  and  I,  must  stand  together !  But 
the  daylight  of  this  world  shall  not  see  our  meeting  !  " 

Pearl  laughed  again. 

But,  before  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  done  speaking,  a  light 
gleamed  far  and  wide  over  all  the  muffled  sky.  It  was 
doubtless  caused  by  one  of  those  meteors,  which  the 
night-watcher  may  so  often  observe  burning  out  to  waste, 
in  the  vacant  regions  of  the  atmosphere.  So  powerful 
was  its  radiance,  that  it  thoroughly  illuminated  the  dense 
medium  of  cloud  betwixt  the  sky  and  earth.  The  great 
vault  brightened,  like  the  dome  of  an  immense  lamp.  It 
showed  the  familiar  scene  of  the  street,  with  the  distinct 
ness  of  mid-day,  but  also  with  the  awfulness  that  is  always 
imparted  to  familiar  objects  by  an  unaccustomed  light. 
The  wooden  houses,  with  their  jutting  stories  and  quaint 
gable-peaks;  the  door-steps  and  thresholds,  with  the  early 
grass  springing  up  about  them;  the  garden-plots,  black 
with  freshly  turned  earth  ;  the  wheel-track,  little  worn,  and, 
even  in  the  market-place,  margined  with  green  on  either 
side; — all  were  visible,  but  with  a  singularity  of  aspect 
that  seemed  to  give  another  moral  interpretation  to  the 
V>  things  of  this  world  than  they  had  ever  borne  before. 
/And  there  stood  the  minister,  with  his  hand  over  his  heart  ; 
and  Hester  Prynne,  with  the  embroidered  letter  glimmer 
ing  on  her  bosom  ;  and  little  Pearl,  herself  a  sjmboJ1_a_ncl 
,the  connecting  link  between  those  _two.  They  stood  in 
the  noon  of  that  strange  and  solemn  splendor,  as  if  it 


The  Minister's  Vigil.  205 

were  the  light  that  is  to  reveal  all  secrets,  and  the  day 
break  that  shall  unite  all  who  belong  to  one  another. 

There  was  witchcraft  in  little  Pearl's  eyes  ;  and  her 
face,  as  she  glanced  upward  at  the  minister,  wore  that 
naughty  smile  which  made  its  expression  frequently  so 
elvish.  She  withdrew  her  hand  from  Mr.  Dimmesdale's, 
and  pointed  across  the  street.  But  he  clasped  both  his 
hands  over  his  breast,  and  cast  his  eyes  towards  the 
zenith. 

Nothing  was  more  common,  in  those  days,  than   to  in 
terpret  all  meteoric  appearances,  and   other  natural   phe 
nomena,  that  occurred  with,  less  regularity  than  the  rise 
and  set  of  sun  and  moon,,  as  so  many  revelations  from  a 
supernatural  source.     Thus,  a  blazing  spear,  a  sword  of 
flame,  a  bow,  or  a  sheaf  of  arrows,  seen   in   the  midnight 
I  sky,  prefigured  Indian  warfare.     Pestilence  was  known  to 
j  have  been  foreboded  by  a  shower  of  crimson  light.     We 
i  doubt  whether  any  marked  event,  for  good  or  evil,  ever 
i  befell  New  England,  from  its  settlement  down  to  Revolu- 
\tionary  times,  of  which  the  inhabitants  had  not  been  pre- 
jviously  warned  by  some  spectacle    of    this  nature.     Not 
seldom,  it  had  been   seen  by   multitudes.     Oftener,   how 
ever,  its  credibility  rested  on  the  faith  of  some  lonely  eye 
witness,    who    beheld    the    wonder    through    the    colored 
magnifying,  and  distorting  medium    of    his    imagination, 
and    shaped    it    more  distinctly  in  his    after-thought.     It 
was,  indeed,  a  majestic  idea,   that  the  destiny  of  nations 
should  be   revealed,  in  these  awful  hieroglyphics,  on  the 
cope  of  heaven.     A  scroll  so  wide  might  not  be   deemed 
too    expansive  for  Providence   to  write  a  people's  doom 
upon.     The  belief  was  a  favorite  one  with  our  forefathers, 
as  betokening  that  their  infant  commonwealth  was  under 


206  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

a  celestial  guardianship  of  peculiar  intimacy  and  strictness. 
But  what  shall  we  say,  when  an  individual  discovers  a 
revelation,  addressed  to  himself  alone,  on  the  same  vast 
sheet  of  record  !  In  such  a  case,  it  could  only  be  the 
symptom  of  a  highly  disordered  mental  state,  when  a 
man,  rendered  morbidly  self-contemplative  by  long,  in 
tense,  and  secret  pain,  had  extended  his  egotism  over  the 
whole  expanse  of  nature,  until  the  firmament  itself  should 
appear  no  more  than  a  fitting  page  for  his  soul's  history 
and  fate. 

We  impute  it,  therefore,  solely  to  the  disease  in  his  own 
eye  and  heart,  that  the  minister,  looking  upward  to  the 
zenith,  beheld  there  the  appearance  of  an  immense  letter, 
— the  letter  A, — marked  out  in  lines  of  dull  red  light. 
Not  but  the  meteor  may  have  shown  itself  at  that  point, 
burning  duskily  through  a  veil  of  cloud  ;  but  with  no  such 
shape  as  his  guilty  imagination  gave  it ;  or,  at  least,  with 
so  little  definiteness,  that  another's  guilt  might  have  seen 
another  symbol  in  it. 

There  was  a  singular  circumstance  that  characterized 
Mr.  Dimmesdale's  psychological  state,  at  this  moment. 
All  the  time  that  he  gazed  upward  to  the  zenith,  he  was, 
nevertheless,  perfectly  aware  that  little  Pearl  was  pointing 
her  finger  towards  old  Roger  Chillingvvorth,  who  stood  at 
no  great  distance  from  the  scaffold.  The  minister  ap 
peared  to  see  him,  with  the  same  glance  that  discerned 
the  miraculous  letter.  To  his  features,  as  to  all  other 
objects,  the  meteoric  light  imparted  a  new  expression  :  or 
it  might  well  be  that  the  physician  was  not  careful  then,  as 
at  all  other  times,  to  hide  the  malevolence  with  which  he 
looked  upon  his  victim.  Certainly,  if  the  meteor  kindled 
up  the  sky,  and  disclosed  the  earth,  with  an  awfulness 


The  Minister's  Vigil.  207 

that  admonished   Hester  Prynne  and    the    clergyman    of 

the    clay  of   judgment,  then    might    Roger   Chillingworth 

have  passed  with  them  for  the   arch-fiend,  standing  there 

with  a  smile  and  scowl,  to  claim   his  own.      So  vivid  was 

j  the  expression,  or  so  intense  the  minister's    perception   of 

I  it,  that  it  seemed  still  to  remain  painted  on   the  darkness, 

after   the  meteor   had  vanished,  with   an  effect  as   if   the 

street  and  all  things  else  were  at  once  annihilated. 

"  Who  is  that  man,  Hester  ?  "  gasped  Mr.  Dimmesdale, 
overcome  with  terror.  "  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 
minister  again.  "  Who  is  he  ?  Who  is  he  ?  Canst  thou  do 
nothing  for  me  ?  I  have  a  nameless  horror  of  the  man." 

"  Minister,"  said  little  Pearl,  "  I  can  tell  thee  who  he 
is  !" 

"  Quickly,  then,  child  !  "  said  the  minister,  bending  his 
ear  close  to  her  lips.  '•  Quickly  ! — and  as  low  as  thou  canst 
whisper." 

Pearl  mumbled  something  into  his  ear,  that  sounded, 
indeed,  like  human  language,  but  was  only  such  gibber 
ish  as  children  may  be  heard  amusing  themselves  with, 
by  the  hour  together.  At  all  events,  if  it  involved  any 
secret  information  in  regard  to  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
it  was  in  a  tongue  unknown  to  the  erudite  clergyman, 
and  did  but  increase  the  bewilderment  of  his  mind.  The 
elvish  child  then  laughed  aloud. 

"  Dost  thou  mock  me  now?"  said  the  minister. 

"  Thou  wast  not  bold  ! — Thou  wast  not  true  !"  answered 
the  child.  "  Thou  wouldst  not  promise  to  take  my  hand, 
and  mother's  hand,  to-morrow  noontide  !  " 


20$ 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


"Worthy  Sir,"  answered  the  physician,  who  had  now 
advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  platform.  "  Pious  Master 
Dimmesdale  !  can  this  be  you  ?  Well,  well,  indeed  !  We 
men  of  study,  whose  heads  are  in  our  books,  have  need  to 
be  straitly  looked  after  !  We  dream  in  our  waking  mo- 


"  DOING  WHAT  MY  POOR  SKILL  MIGHT." 

ments,  and  walk  in  our  sleep.  Come,  good  Sir,  and  my 
dear  friend,  I  pray  you,  let  me  lead  you  home  ! " 

"How  knewest  thou  that  I  was  here?  "  asked  the  min 
ister,  fearfully. 

"  Verily,  and  in  good  faith,"  answered  Roger  Chilling- 


The  Ministers  VigiL  209 

worth,  "I  knew  nothing  of  the  matter.  I  had  spent  the 
better  part  of  the  night  at  the  bedside  of  the  worshipful 
Governor  Winthrop,  doing  what  my  poor  skill  might  to 
give  him  ease.  He  going  home  to  a  better  world,  I,  like 
wise,  was  on  my  way  homeward,  when  this  strange  light 
shone  out.  Come  with  me,  I  beseech  you,  Reverend  Sir ; 
else  you  will  be  poorly  able  to  do  Sabbath  duty  to 
morrow.  Aha !  see  now,  how  they  trouble  the  brain, — 
these  books ! — these  books  !  You  should  study  less,  good 
Sir,  and  take  a  little  pastime  ;  or  these  night-whimseys 
will  grow  upon  you  !  " 

"  I  will  go  home  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Dimmesdale. 

With  a  chill  despondency,  like  one  awaking,  all  nerve 
less,  from  an  ugly  dream,  he  yielded  himself  to  the  physi 
cian,  and  was  led  away. 

The  next  day,  however,  being  the  Sabbath,  he  preached 
a  discourse  which  was  held  to  be  the  richest  and  most 
powerful,  and  the  most  replete  with  heavenly  influences, 
that  had  ever  proceeded  from  his  lips.  Souls,  it  is  said, 
more  souls  than  one,  were  brought  to  the  truth  by  the 
efficacy  of  that  sermon,  and  vowed  within  themselves  to 
cherish  a  holy  gratitude  towards  Mr.  Dimmesdale  through 
out  the  long  hereafter.  But,  as  he  came  clown  the  pulpit- 
steps,  the  grey-bearded  sexton  met  him,  holding  up  a 
black  glove,  which  the  minister  recognized  as  his  own. 

"It  was  found,"  said  the  sexton,  "  this  morning,  on  the 
scaffold,  where  evil-doers  are  set  up  to  public  shame. 
_Satan  dropped  it  there,  I  take  it,  intending  a  scurrilous 
jest  against  your  reverence.  But,  indeed,  he  was  blind 
and  foolish,  as  he  ever  and  always  is.  A  pure  hand  needs 
no  glove  to  cover  it !  " 

"  Thank    you,    my    good    friend,"    said     the    minister, 


210  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

gravely,  but  startled  at  heart;  for,  so  confused 'was  his  re 
membrance,  that  he  had  almost  brought  himself  to  look 
at  the  events  of  the  past  night  as  visionary.  "  Yes,  it 
seems  to  be  my  glove  indeed  !  " 

"  And,  since  Satan  saw  fit  to  steal  it,  your  reverence 
must  needs  handle  him  without  gloves,  henceforward," 
remarked  the  old  sexton,  grimly  smiling.  "  But  did  your 
reverence  hear  of  the  portent  that  was  seen  last  night  ? 
A  great  red  letter  in  the  sky, — the  letter  A, — which  we 
interpret  to  stand  for  Angel.  For,  as  our  good  Governor 
Winthrop  was  made  an  angel  this  past  night,  it  was 
doubtless  held  fit  that  there  should  be  some  notice  there 
of  !" 

"  No,"  answered  the  minister.  "  I  had  not  heard  of  it." 


XIII. 


ANOTHER    VIEW    OF    HESTER. 

N  her  late  singular  inter- 1 
view  with  Mr.  Di mines- 
dale,  Hester  Prynne  was 
shocked  at  the  condi 
tion  to  which  she  found 

f^^^B^^-^^^S^  the  clergyman  reduced, 

>^'jfeMv>\  ^IS   nerve    seemed   ab- 

EfHO  solutely  destroyed.    His 

moral  force  was  abased 
into  more  than  childish 
weakness.  It  grovelled 
helpless  on  the  ground, 
even  while  his  intellect 
ual  faculties  retained  their  pristine  strength,  or  had  per 
haps  acquired  a  morbid  energy,  which  disease  only  could 
have  given  them.  With  her  knowledge  of  a  train  of 
circumstances  hidden  from  all  others,  she  could  readily 
infer,  that,  besides  the  legitimate  action  of  his  own  con 
science,  a  terrible  machinery  had  been  brought  to  bear, 
and  was  still  operating,  on  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  well-being 
and  repose.  Knowing  what  this  poor,  fallen  man  had 
once  been,  her  whole  soul  was  moved  by  the  shuddering 
terror  with  which  he  had  appealed  to  her, — the  outcast 


., 


212  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

woman, — for  support  against  his  instinctively  discovered 
enemy.  She  decided,  moreover,  that  he  had  a  right  to 
her  utmost  aid.  Little  accustomed,,  in  her  long  seclusion 
from  society,  to  measure  her  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  by 
any  standard  external  to  herself,  Hester  saw — or  seemed 
to  see — that  there  lay  a  responsibility  upon  her,  in  reference 
to  the  clergyman,  which  she  owed  to  no  other,  nor  to  the 
whole  world  besides.  The  links  that  united  her  to  the 
rest  of  human  kind — links  of  flowers,  or  silk,  or  gold,  or 
whatever  the  material — had  all  been  broken.  Here  was 
the  iron  link  of  mutual  crime,  which  neither  he  nor  she 
could  break.  Like  all  other  ties,  it  brought  along  with  it 
its  obligations. 

Hester  Prynne  did  not  now  occupy  precisely  the  same 
position  in  which  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  fantastic  embroidery,  had 
long  been  a  familiar  object  to  the  townspeople.  As  is 
apt  to  be  the  case  when  a  person  stands  out  in  any  prom 
inence  before  the  community,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
interferes  neither  with  public  nor  individual  interests  and 
convenience,  a  species  of  general  regard  had  ultimately 
grown  up  in  reference  to  Hester  Prynne.  It  is  to  the 
credit  of  human  nature,  that,  except  where  its  selfishness 
is  brought  into  play,  it  loves  more  readily  than  it  hates. 
Hatred,  by  a  gradual  and  quiet  process,  will  even  be 
transformed  to  love,  unless  the  change  be  impeded  by  a 
continually  new  irritation  of  the  original  feeling  of  hostil 
ity.  In  this  matter  of  Hester  Prynne,  there  was  neither 
irritation  nor  irksomeness.  She  never  battled  with  the 
public,  but  submitted  uncomplainingly  to  its  worst  usage; 


Another   View  of  Hester. 


213 


"READY  TO  GIVE  TO  EVERY  DEMAND  OF  POVERTY." 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 

she  made  no  claim  upon  it,  in  requital  for  what  she  suf 
fered  ;  she  did  not  weigh  upon  its  sympathies.  Then, 
also,  the  blameless  purity  of  her  life,  during  all  these 
years  in  which  she  had  been  set  apart  to  infamy,  was 
reckoned  largely  in  her  favor.  With  nothing  now  to  lose, 
in  the  sight  of  mankind,  and  with  no  hope,  and  seemingly 
no  wish,  of  gaining  any  thing,  it  could  only  be  a  genuine 
regard  for  virtue  that  had  brought  back  the  poor  wan 
derer  to  its  paths. 

It  was  perceived,  too,  that,  while  Hester  never  put  for 
ward  even  the  humblest  title  to  share  in  the  world's 
privileges, — farther  than  to  breathe  the  common  air,  and 
earn  daily  bread  for  little  Pearl  and  herself  by  the  faithful 
labor  of  her  hands, — she  was  quick  to  acknowledge  her 
sisterhood  with  the  race  of  man,  whenever  benefits  were 
to  be  conferred.  None  so  ready  as  she  to  give  of  her 
little  substance  to  every  demand  of  poverty  ;  even  though 
the  bitter-hearted  pauper  threw  back  a  gibe  in  requital  of 
the  food  brought  regularly  to  his  door,  or  the  garments 
wrought  for  him  by  the  fingers  that  could  have  embroid- 

o  y  o 

ered  a  monarch's  robe.  None  so  self-devoted  as  Hester, 
when  pestilence  stalked  through  the  town.  In  all  seasons 
of  calamity,  indeed,  whether  general  or  of  individuals, 
the  outcast  of  society  at  once  found  hex  place.  She  came> 
not  as  a  guest,  but  as  a  rightful  inmate,  into  the  house 
hold  that  was  darkened  by  trouble;  as  if  its  gloomy 
twilight  were  a  medium  in  which  she  was  entitled  to  hold 
intercourse  with  her  fellow-creatures.  There  glimmered 
the  embroidered  letter,  with  comfort  in  its  unearthly  ray. 
Elsewhere  the  token  of  sin,  it  was  the  taper  of__th£  sick- 
chamber.  It  had  even  thrown  its  gleam,  in  the  sufferer's 
hard  extremity,  across  the  verge  of  time.  It  had  shown 


Another   View  of  Hester.  215 

him  where  to  set  his  foot,  while  the  light  of  earth  was  fast 
becoming  dim,  and  ere  the  light  of  futurity  could  reach 
him.  In  such  emergencies,  Hester's  nature  showed  itself 
I  warm  and  rich  ;  a  well-spring  of  human  tenderness,  un 
failing  to  every  real  demand,  and  inexhaustible  by  the 
largest.  Her  breast,  with  its  badge  of  shame,  was  but 
the  softer  pillow  for  the  head  that  needed  one.  She  was 
self-ordained  a  Sister  of  Mercy  ;  or,  we  may  rather  say, 
the  world's  heavy  hand  had  so  ordained  her,  when  neither 
the  world  nor  she  looked  forward  to  this  result.  The  letter 
was  the  symbol  of  her  calling.  Such  helpfulness  was  found 
in  her, — so  much  power  to  do,  and  power  to  sympathize, 
— that  many  people  refused  to  interpret  the  scarlet  A  by 
its  original  signification.  They  said  that  it  meant  Able  ; 
so  strong  was  Hester  Prynne,  with  a  woman's  strength. 

It  was  only  the  darkened  house  that  could  contain  her. 
When  sunshine  came  again,  she  was  not  there.  Her 
shadow  had  faded  across  the  threshold.  The  helpful  in 
mate  had  departed,  without  one  backward  glance  to 
gather  up  the  meed  of  gratitude,  if  any  were  in  the  hearts 
of  those  whom  she  had  served  so  zealously.  Meeting 
them  in  the  street,  she  never  raised  her  head  to  receive 
their  greeting.  If  they  were  resolute  to  accost  her,  she 
laid  her  finger  on  the  scarlet  letter,  and  passed  on.  This 
might  be  pride,  but  was  so  like  humility,  that  it  produced 
all  the  softening  influence  of  the  latter  quality  on  the 
|  public  mind.  The  public  is  despotic  in  its  temper;  it  is 
capable  of  denying  common  justice,  when  too  strenuously 
demanded  as  a  right ;  but  quite  as  frequently  it  awards 
more  than  justice,  when  the  appeal  is  made,  as  despots 
love  to  have  it  made,  entirely  to  its  generosity.  Inter 
preting  Hester  Prynne's  deportment  as  an  appeal  of  this 


216  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

nature,  society  was  inclined  to  show  its  former  victim  a 
more  benign  countenance  than  she  cared  to  be  favored 
with,  or,  perchance,  than  she  deserved. 

The  rulers,  and  the  wise  and  learned  men  of  the  com 
munity,  were  longer  in  acknowledging  the  influence  of 
Hester's  good  qualities  than  the  people.  The  prejudices 
which  they  shared  in  common  with  the  latter  were  fortified 
in  themselves  by  an  iron  framework  of  reasoning,  that 
made  it  a  far  tougher  labor  to  expel  them.  Day  by  clay, 
nevertheless,  their  sour  and  rigid  wrinkles  were  relaxing 
into  something  which,  in  the  due  course  of  years,  might 
grow  to  be  an  expression  of  almost  benevolence.  Thus 
it  was  with  the  men  of  rank,  on  whom  their  eminent  po 
sition  imposed  the  guardianship  of  the  public  morals. 
Individuals  in  private  life,  meanwhile,  had  quite  forgiven 
Hester  Prynne  for  her  frailty;  nay,  more,  they  had  begun 
to  look  upon  the  scarlet  letter  as  the  token,  not  of  that 
one  sin,  for  which  she  had  borne  so  long  and  dreary  a 
penance,  but  of  her  many  good  deeds  since.  "  Do  you 
see  that  woman  with  the  embroidered  badge  ? "  they 
would  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  comfortable  to  the  afflicted  !  "  Then,  it  is 
true,  the  propensity  of  human  nature  to  tell  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  very  men  who  spoke  thus,  the  scarlet  letter 
had  the  effect  of  the  cross  on  a  nun's  bosom.  It  im 
parted  to  the  wearer  a  kind  of  sacredness,  which  enabled 
her  to  walk  securely  amid  all  peril.  Had  she  fallen  among 
thieves,  it  would  have  kept  her  safe.  It  was  reported^ 


Another   View  of  Hester. 

and   believed  by  man 3%  that  an    Indian   had   drawn  his/ 
arrow   against  the   badge,  and  that   the   missile  struck  it,  V  \ 
but  fell  harmless  to  the  ground. 

The  effect  of  the  symbol — or  rather,  of  the  position  in 
respect  to  society  that  was  indicated  by  it — on  the  mind 
of  Hester  Prynne  herself,  was  powerful  and  peculiar.  £All 
!   the  light  and  graceful  foliage  of  her  character  had  been 
!  withered  up  by  this  red-hot  brand,  and  had  long  ago  fallen 
away,  leaving  a  bare  and  harsh  outline,  which  might  have 
been  repulsive,  had  she  possessed  friends  or  companions     . 
,  to  be  repelled  by  it.     Even  the  attractiveness  of  her  per-   l/-t 
!  son  had  undergone  a  similar  change.     It  might  be  partly 
j  owing  to  the  studied  austerity  of  her  dress,  and  partly  to'./ 

the  lack  of  demonstration  in  her  manners.     It  was  a  sad 
i  transformation,  too,  that  her  rich  and  luxuriant  hair  had 
either  been  cut  off,  or  was  so  completely  hidden  by  a  cap, 
|  that  not  a  shining  lock  of  it  ever  once  gushed  into  the 
j  sunshine.     It  was  due  in  part  to  all  these  causes,  but  still 
j  more  to  something  else,  that  there  seemed  to  be  no  longer 
anything  in  Hester's  face  for  Love    to  dwell  upon  ;  noth 
ing  in  Hester's  form,  though  majestic  and  statue-like,  that 
Passion  would   ever  dream  of  clasping   in   its  embrace  ; 
nothing  in  Hester's  bosom,  to  make  it  ever  again  the   pil 
low  of  Affection.     Some  attribute  had  departed  from  her, 
the  permanence  of  which  had  been  essential  to  keep  her  a 
woman.     Such  is  frequently  the  fate,  and  such  the  stern 
development,  of  the  feminine  character  and  person,  when 
the  woman  has  encountered,  and  lived  through,  an  experi 
ence  of  peculiar  severity.     If  she  be  all  tenderness,  she 
will  die.     If   she   survive,  the   tenderness   will  either  be 
crushed  out  of  her,  or — and  the- outward  semblance  is  the 
same — crushed  so  deeply  into  her  heart  that  it  can   never 


2l8 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


*  AN  INDIAN  HAD  DRAWN  HIS  ARROW  AGAINST  THE  BADGE." 


Another   View  of  Hester.  219 

show  itself  more.  The  latter  is  perhaps  the  truest  theory. 
She  who  has  once  been  woman,  and  ceased  to  be  so, 
might  at  any  moment  become  a  woman  again,  if  theYe 
were  only  the  magic  touch  to  effect  the  transfiguration. 
We  shall  see  whether  Hester  Prynne  were  ever  afterwards 
so  touched,  and  so  transfigured, 

Much  of  the  marble  coldness  of  Hester's  impression 
was  to  be  attributed  to  the  circumstance,  that  her  life  had 
turned,  in  a  great  measure,  from  passion  and  feeling,  to 
thought.  Standing  alone  in  the  world, — alone,  as  to  any 
dependence  on  society,  and  with  little  Pearl  to  be  guided 
and  protected, — alone,  and  hopeless  of  retrieving  her  posi 
tion,  even  had  she  not  scorned  to  consider  it  desirable,—^ 
she  cast  away  the  fragments  of  a  broken  chain.  •  The 
world's  law  was  no  law  for  her  mind.  It  was  an  age  in 
which  the  human  intellect,  newly  emancipated,  had  taken 
a  more  active  and  a  wider  range  than  for  many  centuries 
before.  Men  of  the  sword  had  overthrown  nobles  and 
kings.  Men  bolder  than  these  had  overthrown  and  re 
arranged — not  actually,  but  within  the  sphere  of  theory, 
which  was  their  most  real  abode — the  whole  system  of 
ancient  prejudice,  wherewith  was  linked  much  of  ancient 
principle.  Hester  Prynne  imbibed  this  spirit.  She  as 
sumed  a  freedom  of  speculation,  then  common  enough  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  but  which  our  forefathers, 
had  they  known  it,  would  have  held  to  be  a  deadlier  crime 
than  that  stigmatized  by  the  scarlet  lettec/In  her  lone 
some  cottage,  by  the  sea-shore,  thoughts  visited  her,  such 
as  dared  to  enter  no  other  dwelling  in  New  England  ; 
shadowy  guests,  that  would  have  been  as  perilous  as  de 
mons  to  their  entertainer,  could  they  have  been  seen  so 
much  as  knocking  at  her  door. 


220  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  persons  who  speculate  the  most 
boldly  often  conform  with  the  most  perfect  quietude  to 
the  external  regulations  of  society.  The  thought  suffices 
them,  without  investing  itself  in  the  flesh  and  blood  of 
action.  So  it  seined  to  be  with  Hester.  Yet,  had  little 
Pearl  never  come  to  her  from  the  spiritual  world,  it 
might  have  been  far  otherwise.  Then,  she  might  have 
come  down  to  us  in  history,  hand  in  hand  with  Ann 
Hutchinson,  as  the  foundress  of  a  religious  sect.  She 
might,  in  one  of  her  phases,  have  been  a  prophetess. 
She  might,  and  not  improbably  would,  have  suffered  death 
from  the  stern  tribunals  of  the  period,  for  attempting  to 
undermine  the  foundations  of  the  Puritan  establishment. 
But,  in  the  education  of  her  child,  the  mother's  enthusi 
asm  of  thought  had  something  to  wreak  itself  upon.  Prov 
idence,  in  the  person  of  this  little  girl,  had  assigned  to 
Hester's  charge  the  germ  and  blossom  of  womanhood,  to 
be  cherished  and  developed  amid  a  host  of  difficulties. 
Everything  was  against  her.  The  world  was  hostile.  The 
child's  own  nature  had  something  \vrong  in  it,  which  con 
tinually  betokened  that  she  had  been  born  amiss, — the 
effluence  of  her  mother's  lawless  passion, — and  often  im 
pelled  Hester  to  ask,  in  bitterness  of  heart,  whether  it 
were  for  ill  or  good  that  the  poor  little  creature  had  been 
born  at  all. 

Indeed,  the  same  dark  question  often  rose  into  her 
mind,  with  reference  to  the  whole  race  of  womanhood. 
Was  existence  worth  accepting,  even  to  the  happiest 
among  them  ?  As  concerned  her  own  individual  ex- 

o 

istence,  she  had  long  ago  decided  in  the  negative,  and 
dismissed  the  point  as  settled.  A  tendency  to  specula 
tion,  though  it  may  keep  woman  quiet,  as  it  does  man, 


Another   View  of  Hester.  221 

makes  her  sad.     She  discerns,  it  may  be,  such  a  hope- 
;  task  before  her.     As  a  first  step,  the  whole  system  of 
iety  is  to  be  torn  down,  and  built  up  anew.     Then,  the 
y  nature   of   the  opposite  sex,  or  its   long  hereditary 
it,  which  has  become  like  nature,  is  to  be  essentially 
lifted,  before  woman  can  be   allowed  to  assume  what 
ns    a  fair  and   suitable    position.      Finally,  all  other 
culties  being  obviated,  woman  cannot  take  advantage 
liese  preliminary  reforms,  until  she  herself  shall  have 
ergone   a  still    mightier  change ;    in   which,   perhaps, 
etherea]  essence,  wherein   she  has  her  truest  life,  will 
ound  to  have  evaporated.     A  woman  never  overcomes 
e  problems  by  any   exercise   of  thought.     They  are 
to  be  solved,  or  only  in  one  way.     If  her  heart  chance 
3me  uppermost,  they  vanish.     Thus,  Hester  Prynne, 
se  heart  had  lost  its   regular  and  healthy  throb,  wan- 
el  without  a  clew  in  the  dark  labyrinth  of  mind;  now 
ed  aside  by  an  insurmountable  precipice ;  now  start- 
jack  from  a  deep  chasm.     There  was  wild  and  ghastly] 
ery  all  around  her,  and  a  home  and  comfort  nowherej 
times,  a  fearful    doubt   strove    to    possess   her   soul, 
:her    it    were   not   better    to    send    Pearl   at  once   to 
ven,  and  go  herself  to   such    futurity  as  Eternal  Jus- 
should  provide. 

he  scarlet  letter  had  not  done  its  office. 

o\v,  however,  her  interview  with    the   Reverend  Mr. 

rnesdale,  on  the  night  of  his  vigil,  had  given   her  a 

v  theme  of  reflection,  and  held  up  to  her  an  object  that 

,  -eared  worthy  of  any  exertion  and  sacrifice    for  its  at- 

nent.     She  had  witnessed  the  intense  misery  beneath 

:h  the  minister  struggled,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately, 

ceased  to  struggle.      She  saw  that  he   stood  on  the 


222  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

verge  of  lunacy,  if  he  had  not  already  stepped  across  it. 
It  was  impossible  to  doubt,  that,  whatever  painful  efficacy 
there  might  be  in  the  secret  sting  of  remorse,  a  deadlier 
venom  had  been  infused  into  it  by  the  hand  that  proffered 
relief.  A  secret  enemy  had  been  continually  by  his  side, 
under  the  semblance  of  a  friend  and  helper,  and  had 
availed  himself  of  the  opportunities  thus  afforded  for 
tampering  with  the  delicate  springs  of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's 
nature.  Hester  could  not  but  ask  herself,  whether  there 
had  not  originally  been  a  defect  of  truth,  courage,  and 
loyalty,  on  her  own  part,  in  allowing  the  minister  to  be 
thrown  into  a  position  where  so  much  evil  was  to  be 
foreboded,  and  nothing  auspicious  to  be  hoped.  Her 
only  justification  lay  in  the  fact,  that  she  had  been  able 
to  discern  no  method  of  rescuing  him  from  a  blacker  ruin 
than  had  overwhelmed  herself,  except  by  acquiescing  in 
Roger  Chillingworth's  scheme  of  disguise.  Under  that 
impulse,  she  had  made  her  choice,  and  had  chosen,  as  it 
now  appeared,  the  more  wretched  alternative  of  the  two, 
She  determined  to  redeem  her  error,  so  far  as  it  might 
yet  be  possible.  Strengthened  by  years  of  hard  and 
solemn  trial,  she  felt  herself  no  longer  so  inadequate  to 
cope  with  Roger  Chillingworth  as  on  that  night,  abased 
by  sfn,  and  half  maddened  by  the  ignominy  that  was  still 
new,  when  they  had  talked  together  in  the  prison-chamber. 
She  had  climbed  her  way,  since  then,  to  a  higher  point. 
The  old  man,  on  the  other  hand,  had  brought  himself 
nearer  to  her  level,  or  perhaps  below  it,  by  the  revenge 
which  he  had  stooped  for. 

In  fine,  Hester  Prynne  resolved  to  meet  her  former 
husband,  and  do  what  might  be  in  her  power  for  the  res 
cue  of  the  victim  on  whom  he  had  so  evidently  set  his 


Another   View  of  Hester. 


223 


gripe.  The  occasion  was  not  long  to  seek.  One  after 
noon,  walking  with  Pearl  in  a  retired  part  of  the  penin 
sula,  she  beheld  the  old  physician,  with  a  basket  on  one 
arm,  and  a  staff  in  the  other  hand,  stooping  along  the 
ground,  in  quest  of  roots  and  herbs  to  concoct  his  med 
icines  withal. 


u  STOOPING  ALONG  THE  GROUND." 


XIV. 

HESTER  AND  THE  PHYSICIAN. 

ESTER    bade    little 
Pearl  run   down   to 
the   margin  of  the 
water,     and      play 
with  the  shells  and 
seaweed,    until     she 
have     talked     awhile 
with  yonder  gatherer  of  herbs. 
So  the  child  flew  away  like  a 
bird    and,    making    bare    her 
small  white   feet,  went  patter 
ing  along  the  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  a  mirror  for  Pearl  to  see  her 
face  in.  Forth  peeped  at  her,  out  of  the  pool,  with  dark, 
glistening  curls  around  her  head,  and  an  elf-smile  in  her 
eyes,  the  image  of  a  little  maid,  whom  Pearl,  having  no 
other  playmate,  invited  to  take  her  hand  and  run  a  race 
with  her.  But  the  visionary  little  maid,  on  her  part,  beck 
oned  likewise,  as  if  to  say, — "This  is  a  better  place! 
Come  thou  into  the  pool ! ?>  And  Pearl,  stepping  in,  mid- 


Hester  and  the  Physician.  225 

leg  deep,  beheld  her  own  white  feet  at  the  bottom  ;  while, 
out  of  a  still  lower  depth,  came  the  gleam  of  a  kind 
of  fragmentary  smile,  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  concerns  us  much." 

"  Aha!  And  is  it  Mistress  Hester  that  has  a  word  for 
old  Roger  Chillingworth  ?  "  answered  he,  raising  himself 
from  his  stooping  posture.  "  With  all  my  heart  !  Why, 
Mistress,  I  hear  good  tidings  of  you  on  all  hands  !  No 
longer  ago  than  yester-eve,  a  magistrate,  a  wise  and  godly 
man,  was  discoursing  of  your  affairs,  Mistress  Hester,  and 
whispered  me  that  there  had  been  question  concerning 
you  in  the  council.  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  it  might  be 
done  forthwith !  " 

"  It  lies  not  in  the  pleasure  of  the  magistrates  to  take 
off  this  badge,"  calmly  replied  Hester.  "  Were  I  worthy 
to  be  quit  of  it,  it  would  fall  away  of  its  own  nature,  or  be 
transformed  into  something  that  should  speak  a  different 
purport." 

"  Nay,  then,  wear  it,  if  it  suit  you  better,"  rejoined  he. 
"  A  woman  must  needs  follow  her  own  fancy,  touching  the 
adornment  of  her  person.  The  letter  is  gaily  embroidered, 
and  shows  right  bravely  on  your  bosom  !  " 

All  this  while,  Hester  had  been  looking  steadily  at  the 
old  man,  and  was  shocked,  as  well  as  wonder-smitten,  to 
discern  what  a  change  had  been  wrought  upon  him  within 
the  past  seven  years.  It  was  not  so  much  that  he  had 


226  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

grown  older ;  for  though  the  traces  of  advancing  life 
were  visible,  he  bore  his  age  well,  and  seemed  to  retain  a 
wiry  vigor  and  alertness.  But  the  former  aspect  of  an 
intellectual  and  studious  man,  calm  and  quiet,  which  was 
what  she  best  remembered  in  him,  had  altogether  van 
ished,  and  been  succeeded  by  an  eager,  searching,  almost 
fierce,  yet  carefully  guarded  look.  It  seemed  to  be  his 
wish  and  purpose  to  mask  this  expression  with  a  smile  ; 
but  the  latter  played  him  false,  and  flickered  over  his  vis 
age  so  derisively,  that  tite  spectator  could  see  his  black 
ness  all  the  better  for  it.  Ever  and  anon,  too,  there  came 
a  glare  of  red  light  out  of  his  eyes;  as  if  the  old  man's 
soul  were  on  fire,  and  kept  on  smouldering  duskily  within 
his  breast,  until,  by  some  casual  puff  of  passion,  it  was 
blown  into  a  momentary  flame.  This,  he  repressed  as 
speedily  as  possible,  and  strove  to  look  as  if  nothing  of 
the  kind  had  happened. 

In  a  word,  old  Roger  Chillingworth  was  a  striking  evi 
dence  of  man's  faculty  of  transforming  himself  into  a 
devil,  if  he  will  only,  for  a  reasonable  space  of  time, 
undertake  a  devil's  office.  This  unhappy  person  had 
effected  such  a  transformation  by  devoting  himself,  for 
seven  years,  to  the  constant  analysis  of  a  heart  full  of 
torture,  and  deriving  his  enjoyment  thence,  and  adding  • 
fuel  to  those  fiery  tortures  which  he  analyzed  and  gloated 
over. 

The  scarlet  letter  burned  on  Hester  Prynne's  bosom. 
Here  was  another  ruin,  the  responsibility  of  which  came 
partly  home  to  her. 

"  What  see  you  in  my  face,''  asked  the  physician,  "  that 
you  look  at  it  so  earnestly  ?  " 

"  Something  that  would    make  me  weep,  if  there   were 


Hester  and  the  Physician.  227 

any  tears  bitter  enough  for  it,"  answered  she.  "  But  let 
it  pass  !  It  is  of  yonder  miserable  man  that  I  would 
speak." 

"  And  what  of  him  ?  "  cried  Roger  Chillingworth  eagerly, 
as  if  he  loved  the  topic,  and  were  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
discuss  it  with  the  only  person  of  whom  he  could  make  a 
confidant.  "  Not  to  hide  the  truth,  Mistress  Hester,  my 
thoughts  happen  just  now  to  be  busy  with  the  gentleman. 
So  speak  freely  ;  and  I  will  make  answer." 

"  When  we  last  spake  together,"  said  Hester,  "  now 
seven  years  ago,  it  was  your  pleasure  to  extort  a  promise 
of  secrecy,  as  touching  the  former  relation  betwixt  your 
self  and  me.  As  the  life  and  good  fame  of  yonder  man 
were  in  your  hands,  there  seemed  no  choice  to  me,  save 
to  be  silent,  in  accordance  with  your  behest.  Yet  it  was 
not  without  heavy  misgivings  that  I  thus  bound  myself; 
for,  having  cast  off  all  duty  towards  other  human  beings, 
there  remained  a  duty  towards  him  ;  and  something  whis 
pered  me  that  I  was  betraying  it,  in  pledging  myself  to 
/  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,  sleeping  and  waking.  You  search 
his  thoughts.  You  burrow  and  rankle  in  his  heart  ! 
Your  clutch  is  on  his  life,  and  you  cause  him  to  die  daily 
a  living  death;  and  still  he  knows  you  not.  In  permit 
ting  this,  I  have  surely  acted  a  false  part  by  the  only  man 
to  whom  the  power  was  left  me  to  be  true  !  " 

"What  choice  had  you  ?  "  asked  Roger  Chillingworth. 
"  My  finger,  pointed  at  this  man,  would  have  hurled  him 
from  his  pulpit  into  a  dungeon, — thence  peradventure,  to 
the  gallows  !  - 

"  It  had  been  better  so  !  "  said  Hester  Prynne. 


228  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  What  evil  have  I  done  the  man  ?  "  asked  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth  again.  "  I  tell  thee,  Hester  Prynne,  the  richest 
fee  that  ever  physician  earned  from  monarch  could  not 
have  bought  such  care  as  I  have  wasted  on  this  miserable 
priest !  But  for  my  aid,  his  life  would  have  burned  away 
in  torments,  within  the  first  two  years  after  the  perpetra 
tion  of  his  crime  and  thine.  For,  Hester,  his  spirit  lacked 
the  strength  that  could  have  borne  up,  as  thine  has, 
beneath  a  burden  like  thy  scarlet  letter.  O,  I  could 
reveal  a  goodly  secret  !  But  enough  !  What  art  can  do, 
I  have  exhausted  on  him.  That  he  now  breathes,  and 
creeps  about  on  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.  "  Better  had  he  died  at  once  !  Never 
did  mortal  suffer  what  this  man  has  suffered.  And  all, 
all,  in  the  sight  of  his  worst  enemy !  He  has  been  con- 
scious  of  me.  He  has  felt  an  influence  dwelling  always 
upon  him  like  a  curse.  He  knew,  by  some  spiritual 
sense, — for  the  Creator  never  made  another  being  so  sen 
sitive  as  this, — he  knew  that  no  friendly  hand  was  pulling 
at  his  heart-strings,  and  that  an  eye  was  looking  curiously 
into  him,  which  sought  only  evil,  and  found  it.  But  he 
knew  not  that  the  eye  and  hand  were  mine.!  With  the 
superstition  common  to  his  brotherhood,  he  fancied  him 
self  given  over  to  a  fiend,  to  be  tortured  with  frightful 
dreams,  and  desperate  thoughts,  the  sting  of  remorse,  and 
despair  of  pardon  ;  as  a  foretaste  of  what  awaits  him 
beyond  the  grave.  But  it  was  the  constant  shadow  of  i^y 
presence  ! — the  closest  propinquity  of  the  man  whom  he 
had  most  vilely  wronged  ! — and  who  had  grown  to  exist 


Hester  and  the  Physician.  229 

only  by  this  perpetual  poison  of  the  direst  revenge  ! 
Yea,  indeed  ! — he  did  not  err  ! — there  was  a  fiend  at  his 
elbow  !  A  mortal  man,  with  once  a  human  heart,  has 
become  a  fiend  foi  his  especial  torment  !  " 

The  unfortunate  physician,  while  uttering  these  words, 
lifted  his  hands  with  a  look  of  horror,  as  if  he  had  beheld 
some  frightful  shape,  which  he  could  not  recognize,  usurp 
ing  the  place  of  his  own  image  in  a  glass.  It  was  one  of 
those  moments — which  sometimes  occur  only  at  the  inter 
val  of  years — when  a  man's  moral  aspect  is  faithfully 
revealed  to  his  mind's  eye.  Not  improbably,  he  had 
never  before  viewed  himself  as  he  did  now. 

"  Hast  thou  not  tortured  him  enough  ?  "  said  Hester, 
noticing  the  old  man's  look.  "  Has  he  not  paid  thee  all  ?  " 

"No! — no! — He  has  but  increased  the  debt!"  an 
swered  the  physician  ;  and  as  he  proceeded,  his  manner 
lost  its  fiercer  characteristics,  and  subsided  into  gloom. 
"  Dost  thou  remember  me,  Hester,  as  I  was  nine  years 
agone  ?  Even  then,  I  was  in  the  autumn  of  my  days,  nor 
was  it  the  early  autumn.  But  all  my  life  had  been  made 
up  of  earnest,  studious,  thoughtful,  quiet  years,  bestowed 
faithfully  for  the  increase  of  mine  own  knowledge,  and 
faithfully,  too,  though  this  latter  object  was  but  casual  to 
the  other, — faithfully  for  the  advancement  of  human  wel 
fare.  No  life  had  been  more  peaceful  and  innocent  than 
mine  ;  few  lives  so  rich  with  benefits  conferred.  Dost 
thou  remember  me  ?  Was  I  not,  though  you  might  deem 
me  cold,  nevertheless  a  man  thoughtful  for  others,  craving 
little  for  himself, — kind,  true,  just,  and  of  constant,  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 


230  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

face,  and  permitting  the  whole  evil  within  him  to  be  writ 
ten  on  his  features.  "  I  have  already  told  thee  what  I 
am  !  A  fiend  !  Who  made  me  so  ?  " 

"  It  was  myself !  "  cried  Hester,  shuddering.  "  It  was 
I,  not  less  than  he.  Why  hast  thou  not  avenged  thyself 
on  me  ?  " 

"  I' have  left  thee  to  the  scarlet  lettej,"  replied  Roger 
Chillingworth.  "  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  wouldst  thou  with  me  touching  this  man  ?  " 

"  I  must  reveal  the  secret,"  answered  Hester,  firmly. 
"  He  must  discern  thee  in  thy  true  character.  What  may 
be  the  result,  I  know  not.  But  this  long  debt  of  confi 
dence,  due  from  me  to  him,  whose  bane  and  ruin  I  have 
been,  shall  at  length  be  paid.  So  far  as  concerns  the 
overthrow  or  preservation  of  his  fair  fame  and  his  earthly 
state,  and  perchance  his  life,  he  is  in  thy  hands.  Nor  do 
I, — whom  the  scarlet  letter  has  disciplined  to  truth, 
though  it  be  the  truth  of  red-hot  iron,  entering  into  the 
soul, — nor  do  I  perceive  such  advantage  in  his  living  any 
longer  a  life  of  ghastly  emptiness,  that  I  shall  stoop  to 
implore  thy  mercy.  Do  with  him  as  thou  wilt  !  There 
is  no  good  for  him, — no  good  for  me, — no  good  for  thee ! 
There  is  no  good  for  little  Pearl !  There  is  no  path  to 
guide  us  out  of  this  dismal  maze  !  " 

"Woman,  I  could  wellnigh  pity  thee!"  said  Roger 
Chillingworth,  unable  to  restrain  a  thrill  of  admiration 
too  ;  for  there  was  a  quality  almost  majestic  in  the  despair 
which  she  expressed.  "  Thou  hadst  great  elements. 


Hester  and  the  Physician.  231 

Peradventure,  hadst  thou  met  earlier  with  a  better  love 
than  iiiine,  this  evil  had  not  been.  I  pity  thee,  for  the 
good  that  has  been  wasted  in  thy  nature  !" 

"  And  I  thee,"  answered  Hester  Prynne,  "  for  the 
hatred  that  has  transformed  a  wise  and  just  man  to  a 
fiend  !  Wilt  thou  yet  purge  it  out  of  thee,  and  be  once 
more  human  ?  If  not  for  his  sake,  then  doubly  for  thine 
own  !  Forgive,  and  leave  his  further  retribution  to  the 
Power  that  claims  it !  I  said,  but  now.  that  there  could 
be  no  good  event  for  him,  or  thee,  or  me,  who  are  here 
wandering  together  in  this  gloomy  maze  of  evil,  and 
stumbling,  at  every  step,  over  the  guilt  wherewith  we  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  at  thy  will  to  pardon.  Wilt  thou 
give  up  that  only  privilege  ?  Wilt  thou  reject  that  price 
less  benefit  ?  " 

"  Peace,  Hester,  peace  !  "  replied  the  old  man,  with 
gloomy  sternness.  "  It  is  not  granted  me  to  pardon.  I 
have  no  such  power  as  thou  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  step  awry,  thou  didst 
plant  the  germ  of  evil  ;  but  since  that  moment,  it  has  all 
been  a  dark  necessity.  Ye  that  have  wronged  me  are  not 
sinful,  save  in  a  kind  of  typical  illusion  ;  neither  am  I 
fiend-like,  who  have  snatched  a  fiend's  office  from  his 
hands.  It  is  our  fate.  Let  the  black  flower  blossom  as 
it  may  !  Now  go  'thy  ways,  and  deal  as  thou  wilt  with 
yonder  man." 

He  waved  his  hand,  and  betook  himself  again  to  hi$ 
employment  of  gathering  herbs, 


XV. 


rtf 


HESTER   AND    PEARL. 

•  O  Roger  Chillingworth 
— a    deformed     old 
figure,    with    a    face 
that  haunted    men's 
memories         longer 
than     they     liked — 
took    leave    of    Hester   Prynne, 
and  went  stooping  away  along 
the   earth.     He    gathered    here 
and  there  an  herb,  or  grubbed 

'  O 

up  a  root,  and  put  it  into  the 
basket  on  his  arm.  His  gray 
beard  almost  touched  the 
ground,  as  he  crept  onward. 
Hester  gazed  after  him  a  little  while,  looking  with  a  half- 
fantastic  curiosity  to  see  whether  the  tender  grass  of  early 
spring  would  not  be  blighted  beneath  him,  and  show  the 
wavering  track  of  his  footsteps,  sere  and  brown,  across  its 
cheerful  verdure.  She  wondered  what  sort  of  herbs  they 
were,  which  the  old  man  was  so  sedulous  to  gather. 
Would  not  the  earth,  quickened  to  an  evil  purpose  by  the 
sympathy  of  his  eye,  greet  him  with  poisonous  shrubs,  of 
species  hitherto  unknown,  that  would  start  up  under  his 


Hester  and  Pearl. 


233 


fingers?  Or  might  it  suffice  him,  that  every  wholesome 
growth  should  be  converted  into  something  deleterious 
and  malignant  at  his  touch  ?  Did  the  sun  which  shone 
so  brightly  everywhere  else,  really  fall  upon  him  ?  Or 
was  there,  as  it  rather  seemed,  a  circle  of  ominous  shadow 
moving  along  with  his  deformity,  whichever  way  he 
turned  himself?  And  whither  was  he  now  going? 
Would  he  not  suddenly  sink  into  the  earth,  leaving  a 
barren  and  blasted  spot,  where,  in  due  course  of  time* 
would  be  seen  deadly  night 
shade,  dogwood,  henbane, 
and  whatever  else  of  vegeta 
ble  wickedness  the  climate 
could  produce,  all  flourishing 
with  hideous  luxuriance  ?  Or 
would  he  spread  bat's  wings 
and  flee  away,  looking  so 
much  the  uglier,  the  higher 
he  rose  towards  heaven  ? 

"  Be    it   sin    or   no,"    said  i 
Hester    Prynne    bitterly,    as 
she  still  gazed  after  him,  "  I 
hate  the  man  !  " 

She  upbraided  herself  for 
the  sentiment,  but  could  not 
overcome  or  lessen  it.  At 
tempting  to  do  so,  she  thought 
of  those  long-past  days,  in  a 
distant  land,  when  he  used  to 
emerge  at  eventide  from  the  seclusion  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  in  that 


'  THE  SECLUSION  OF  His  STUDY." 


234 


The   Scarlet  Letter. 


smile,  he  said,  in  order  that  the  chill  of  so  many  lonely 
hours  among  his  books  might  be  taken  off  the  scholar's 
heart.  Such  scenes  had  once  appeared  not  otherwise 
than  happy,  but  now,  as  viewed  through  the  dismal 
medium  of  her  subsequent  life,  they  classed  themselves 
among:  her  ugliest  remembrances.  She  marvelled  how 

o  O 

such  scenes  could  have  been  !  She  marvelled  how  she 
coulcl  ever  have  been  wrought  upon  to  marry  him!  She 
deemed  it  her  crime  most  to  be  repented  of,  that  she  had 
ever  endured,  and  reciprocated,  the  lukewarm  grasp  of 
his  hand,  and  had  suffered  the  smile  of  her  lips  and  eyes 
to  mingle  and  melt  into  his  own.  And  it  seemed  a  fouler 

o 

offence  committed  by  Roger  Chillingworth,  than  any 
which  had  since  been  done  him,  that,  in  the  time  when 
her  heart  knew  no  better,  he  had  persuaded  her  to  fancy 
herself  happy  by  his  side. 

"  Yes,  I  hate  him  !  "  repeated  Hester,  more  bitterly 
than  before.  "  He  betrayed  me  !  He  has  done  me 
worse  wrong  than  I  did  him  !  " 

Let  men  tremble  to  win  the  hand  of  woman,  unless 
vthey  win  along  with  it  the  utmost  passion  of  her  heart! 
Else  it  may  be  their  miserable  fortune,  as  it  was  Roger 
Chillingworth's,  when  some  mightier  touch  than  their 
own  may  have  awakened  all  her  sensibilities,  to  be 
reproached  even  for  the  calm  content,  the  marble  image 
of  happiness,  which  they  will  have  imposed  upon  her  as 
the  warm  reality.  But  Hester  ought  long  ago  to  have 
done  with  this  injustice.  What  did  it  betoken  ?  Had 
seven  long  years,  under  the  torture  of  the  scarlet  letter, 
inflicted  so  much  of  misery,  and  wrought  out  no  repent 
ance  ? 

The  emotions  of  that  brief  space,  while  she  stood  gaz- 


Hester  and  Pearl.  235 

ing  after  the  crooked  figure  of  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
threw  a  dark  light  on  Hester's  state  of  mind,  revealing 
much  that  she  might  not  otherwise  have  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  loss  for  amusement  while  her  mother  talked  with 
the  old  gatherer  of  herbs.  At  first,  as  already  told,  she 
had  flirted  fancifully  with  her  own  image  in  a  pool  of  water, 
beckoning  the  phantom  forth,  and — as  it  declined  to 
venture — seeking  a  passage  for  herself  into  its  sphere  of 
impalpable  earth  and  unattainable  sky.  Soon  finding, 
however,  that  cither  she  or  the  image  was  unreal,  she  turned 
elsewhere  for  better  pastime.  She  made  little  boats  out 
of  birch-bark,  and  freighted  them  with  snail-shells,  and 
sent  out  more  ventures  on  the  mighty  deep  than  any 
merchant  in  New  England  ;  but  the  larger  part  of  them 
foundered  near  the  shore,  She  seized  a  live  horseshoe 
by  the  tail,  and  made  prize  of  several  five-fingers,  and  laid 
out  a  jelly-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  the  breeze,  scampering  after  it 
with  winged  footsteps,  to  catch  the  great  snow-flakes  ere 
they  fell.  Perceiving  a  flock  of  beach-birds,  that  fed  and 
fluttered  along  the  shore,  the  naughty  child  picked  up 
her  apron  full  of  pebbles,  and,  creeping  from  rock  to  rock 
after  these  small  sea-fowl,  displayed  remarkable  dexterity 
in  pelting  them.  One  little  grey  bird,  with  a  white  breast, 
Pearl  was  almost  sure,  had  been  hit  by  a  pebble,  and 
fluttered  away  with  a  broken  wing.  But  then  the  elf-child 
sighed,  and  gave  up  her  sport  ;  because  it  grieved  her  to 


236 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


Hester  and  Pearl.  237 

have  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  vari 
ous  kinds,  and  make  herself  a  scarf,  or  mantle,  and  a 
head-dress,  and  thus  assume  the  aspect  of  a  little  mer 
maid.  She  inherited  her  mother's  gift  for  devising 
drapery  and  costume.  As  the  last  touch  to  her  mer 
maid's  garb,  Pearl  took  some  eel-grass,  and  imitated,  as 
best  she  could,  on  her  own  bosom,  the  decoration  with 
which  she  was  so  familiar  on  her  mother's.  A  letter, — 
the  letter  A, — but  freshly  green,  instead  of  scarlet!  The 
child  bent  her  chin  upon  her  breast,  and  contemplated 
this  device  with  strange  interest ;  even  as  if  the  one  only 
thing  for  which  she  had  been  sent  into  the  world  was  to 
make  out  its  hidden  import. 

"I  wonder  if  mother  will  ask  me  what  it  means!" 
thought  Pearl. 

Just  then,  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  and,  flitting 
along  as  lightly  as  one  of  the  little  sea-birds,  appeared 
before  Hester  Prynne,  dancing,  laughing,  and  pointing 
her  finger  to  the  ornament  upon  her  bosom. 

"  My  little  Pearl,"  said  Hester,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  "the  green  letter,  and  on  thy  childish  bosom,  has 
no  purport.  But  dost  thou  know,  my  child,  what  this  let 
ter  means  which  thy  mother  is  doomed  to  wear  ? " 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  the  child.  "  It  is  the  great  letter 
A.  Thou  hast  taught  it  me  in  the  horn-book." 

Hester  looked  steadily  into  her  little  face ;  but,  though 
there  was  that  singular  expression  which  she  had  so  often 
remarked  in  her  black  eyes,  she  could  not  satisfy  herself 
whether  Pearl  really  attached  any  meaning  to  the  symbol. 
She  felt  a  morbid  desire  to  ascertain  the  point. 


238  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  Dost  thou  know,  child,  .wherefore  thy  mother  wears 
this  letter?'-' 

"Truly  do  I!"  answered  Pearl,  looking  brightly  into 
her  mother's  face.  "  It  is  for  the  same  reason  that  the 
minister  keeps  his  hand  over  his  heart !  " 

"  And  what  reason  is  that?"  asked  Hester,  half  smil 
ing  at  the  absurd  incongruity  of  the  child's  observation  ; 
but,  on  second  thoughts,  turning  pale.  "  What  has  the 
letter  to  do  with  any  heart,  save  mine  ?  " 

*'  Nay,  mother,  I  have  told  all  I  know,"  said  Pearl, 
more  seriously  than  she  was  wont  to  speak.  "  Ask  yonder 
old  man,  whom  thou  hast  been  talking  with  !  It  may  be 
he  can  tell.  But  in  good  earnest  now,  mother  dear,  what 
does  this  scarlet  letter  mean  ? — and  why  dost  thou  wear 
it  on  thy  bosom? — and  why  does  the  minister  keep  his 
hand  over  his  heart  ?  " 

She  took  her  mother's  hand  in  both  her  own,  and 
gazed  into  her  eyes  with  an  earnestness  that  was  seldom 
seen  in  her  wild  and  capricious  character.  The  thought 
occurred  to  Hester,  that  the  child  might  really  be  seeking 
to  approach  her  with  childlike  confidence,  and  doing 
what  she  could,  and  as  intelligently  a*  she  knew  how,  to 
establish  a  meeting-point  of  sympathy.  It  showed  Pearl 
in  an  unwonted  aspect.  Heretofore,  the  mother,  while 
loving  her  child  with  the  intensity  of  a  sole  affection,  had 
schooled  herself  to  hope  for  little  other  return  than  the 
waywardness  of  an  April  breeze  ;  which  spends  its  time  in 
airy  sport,  and  has  its  gusts  of  inexplicable  passion,  and 
is  petulant  in  its  best  of  moods,  and  chills  oftener 
than  caresses  you,  when  you  take  it  to  your  bosom  :  in 
requital  of  which  misdemeanors,  it  will  sometimes,  of  its 
own  vague  purpose,  kiss  your  cheek  with  a  kind  of 


Hester  and  Pearl.  239 

doubtful  tenderness,  and  play  gently  with  your  hair,  and 
then  begone  about  its  other  idle  business,  leaving  a 
dreamy  pleasure  at  your  heart.  And  this,  moreover,  was 
a  mother's  estimate  of  the  child's  disposition.  Any 
other  observer  might  have  seen  few  but  un  ami  able  traits, 
and  have  given  them  a  far  darker  coloring.  But  now  the 
idea  came  strongly  into  Hester's  mind,  that  Pearl,  with 
her  remarkable  precocity  and  acuteness,  might  already 
have  approached  the  age  when  she  could  be  made  a 
friend,  and  intrusted  with  as  much  of  her  mother's  sor 
rows  as  could  be  imparted,  without  irreverence  either  to 
the  parent  or  the  child.  In  the  little  chaos  of  Pearl's 
character,  there  might  be  seen  emerging — and  could 
have  been,  from  the  very  first — the  steadfast  principles 
of  an  unflinching  courage, — an  uncontrollable  will, — a 
sturdy  pride,  which  might  be  disciplined  into  self-respect, 
— and  a  bitter  scorn  of  many  things,  which,  when  ex 
amined,  might  be  found  to  have  the  taint  of  falsehood  in 
them.  She  possessed  affections,  too,  though  hitherto 
acrid  and  disagreeable,  as  are  the  richest  flavors  of  un- 

o 

ripe  fruit.  With  all  these  sterling  attributes,  thought 
Hester,  the  evil  which  she  inherited  from  her  mother 
must  be  great  indeed,  if  a  noble  woman  do  not  grow  out 
of  this  elfish  child. 

Pearl's  inevitable  tendency  to  hover  about  the  enigma 
of  the  scarlet  letter  seemed  an  innate  quality  of  her 
being.  From  the  earliest  epoch  of  her  conscious  life, 
she  had  entered  upon  this  as  her  appointed  mission. 
Hester  had  often  fancied  that  Providence  had  a  design  of 
justice  and  retribution,  in  endowing  the  child  with  this 
marked  propensity  ;  but  never,  until  now,  had  she  be 
thought  herself  to  ask,  whether,  linked  with  that  design, 


240  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

there  might  not  likewise  be  a  purpose  of  mercy  and 
beneficence.  If  little  Pearl  were  entertained  with  faith 
and  trust,  as  a  spirit-messenger  no  less  than  an  earthly 
child,  might  it  not  be  her  errand  to  soothe  away  the 
sorrow  that  lay  cold  in  her  mother's  heart,  and  convert 
it  into  a  tomb  ? — and  to  help  her  to  overcome  the  pas 
sion,  once  so  wild,  and  even  yet  neither  dead  nor  asleep, 
but  only  imprisoned  within  the  same  tomb-like  heart  ? 

Such  were  some  of  the  thoughts  that  now  stirred  in 
Hester's  mind,  with  as  much  vivacity  of  impression  as  if 
they  had  actually  been  whispered  into  her  ear.  And 
there  was  little  Pearl,  all  this  while,  holding  her  mother's 
hand  in  both  her  own,  and  turning  her  face  upward, 
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  ? — and  why  does  the  minister  keep  his  hand 
over  his  heart  ?  " 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?  "  thought  Hester  to  herself.— 
"  No  !  If  this  be  the  price  of  the  child's  sympathy,  I 
cannot  pay  it  !  " 

Then  she  spoke  aloud. 

"  Silly  Pearl,"  said  she,  "  what  questions  are  these  ? 
There  are  many  things  in  this  world  that  a  child  must 
not  ask  about.  What  know  I  of  the  minister's  heart  ? 
And  as  for  the  scarlet  letter,  I  wear  it  for  the  sake  of  its 
gold  thread  ! " 

In  all  the  seven  bygone  years,  Hester  Prynne  had 
never  before  been  false  to  the  symbol  on  her  bosom.  It 
may  be  that  it  was  the  talisman  of  a  stern  and  severe, 
but  yet  a  guardian  spirit,  who  now  forsook  her ;  as 
recognizing  that,  in  spite  of  his  strict  watch  over  her 


Hester  and  Pearl.  241 

heart,  some  new  evil  had  crept  into  it,  or  some  old  one 
had  never  been  expelled.  As  for  little  Pearl,  the  ear 
nestness  soon  passed  out  of  her  face. 

But  the  child  did  not  see  fit  to  let  the  matter  drx>p. 
Two  or  three  times,  as  her  mother  and  she  went  home 
ward,  and  as  often  at  supper-time,  and  while  Hester  was 
putting  her  to  bed,  and  once  after  she  seemed  to  be  fairly 
asleep,  Pearl  looked  up,  with  mischief  gleaming  in  her 
black  eyes. 

"Mother,"  said  she,  "what  does  the  scarlet  letter 
mean  ? " 

And  the  next  morning,  the  first  indication  the  child 
gave  of  being  awake  was  by  popping  up  her  head  from 
the  pillow,  and  making  that  other  inquiry,  which  she  had 
so  unaccountably  connected  with  her  investigations  about 
the  scarlet  letter  : — 

"Mother  1 — Mother! — Why  does  the  minister  keep  his 
hand  over  his  heart  ? " 

"Hold  thy  tongue,  naughty  child!"  answered  her 
mother,  with  an  asperity  that  she  had  never  permitted  to 
herself  before.  "  Do  not  tease  ;  else  I  shall  shut  thee 
into  the  dark  closet  1  " 


XVI. 

A   FOREST  WALK. 

ESTER    PRYNNE   re 
mained     constant     in 
her   resolve    to   make 
known    to    Mr.    Dim- 
mesdale,  at   whatever 
risk  of  present  pain  or   ulte 
rior   consequences,    the   true 
character   of    the    man    who 
had  crept  into  his  intimacy. 
For    several    days,    however, 
she  vainly  sought  an  oppor 
tunity  of  addressing    him   in 

some  of  the  meditative  walks  which  she  knew  him  to  be 
in  the  habit  of  taking,  along  the  shores  of  the  peninsula, 
or  on  the  wooded  hills  of  the  neighboring  country.  There 
would  have  been  no  scandal,  indeed,  nor  peril  to  the 
holy  whiteness  of  the  clergyman's  good  fame,  had  she 
visited  him  in  his  own  study  ;  where  many  a  penitent,  ere 
now,  had  confessed  sins  of  perhaps  as  deep  a  dye  as  the 
one  betokened  by  the  scarlet  letter.  But,  partly  that  she 
dreaded  the  secret  or  undisguised  interference  of  old 
Roger  Chillingworth,  and  partly  that  her  conscious  heart 
imputed  suspicion  where  none  could  have  been  felt,  and 


A  Feres t   Walk.  243 

partly  that  both  the  minister  and  she  would  need  the 
whole  wide  world  to  breathe  in,  while  they  talked  to 
gether, — for  all  these  reasons,  Hester  never  thought  of 
meeting  him-  in  any  narrower  privacy  than  beneath  the 
open  sky. 

At  last,  while  attending  in  a  sick-chamber,  whither  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Diminesdale  had  been  summoned  to  make 
a  prayer,  she  learnt  that  he  had  gone,  the  day  before,  to 
visit  the  apostle  Eliot,  among  his  Indian  converts.  He 
would  probably  return,  by  a  certain  hour,  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  morrow.  Betimes,  therefore,  the  next  day,  Hester 
took  little  Pearl, — who  was  necessarily  the  companion  of 
all  her  mother's  expeditions,  however  inconvenient  her 
presence, — and  set  forth. 

The  road,  after  the  two  wayfarers  had  crossed  from  the 
peninsula  to  the  mainland,  was  no  other  than  a  footpath. 
It  straggled  onward  into  the  mystery  of  the  primeval  for 
est.  This  hemmed  it  in  so  narrowly,  and  stood  so  black 
and  dense  on  either  side,  and  disclosed  such  imperfect 
glimpses  of  the  sky  above,  that,  to  Hester's  mind,  it 
imaged  not  amiss  the  moral  wilderness  in  which  she  had 
so  long  been  wandering.  The  clay  was  chill  and  sombre. 
Overhead  was  a  grey  expanse  of  cloud,  slightly  stirred, 
however,  by  a  breeze  ;  so  that  a  gleam  of  flickering  sun 
shine  might  now  and  then  be  seen  at  its  solitary  play 
along  the  path.  This  fitting  cheerfulness  was  always  at 
the  farther  extremity  of  some  long  vista  through  the  for 
est.  The  sportive  sunlight — feebly  sportive,  at  best,  in 
the  predominant  pensiveness  of  the  day  and  scene — with 
drew  itself  as  they  came  nigh,  and  left  the  spots  where  it 
had  danced  the  drearier,  because  they  had  hoped  to  find 
them  bright. 


244  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

\ 
"  Mother,"   said   little   Pearl,  "  the   sunshine   does   not 

love  you.  It  runs  away  and  hides  itself,  because  it  is 
afraid  of  something  on  your  bosom.  Now,  see  !  There 
it  is,  playing,  a  good  way  off.  Stand  you  here,  and  let 
me  run  and  catch  it.  I  am  but  a  child.  It  will  not  flee 
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  the  beginning  of  her  race.  "Will  not  it  come  of 

sJ  DO 

its  own  accord  when  I  am  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  of  it,  all  brightened  by  its  splen 
dor,  and  scintillating  with  the  vivacity  excited  by  rapid 
motion.  The  light  lingered  about  the  lonely  child,  as  if 
glad  of  such  a  playmate,  until  her  mother  had  drawn 
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 

o 

/stretch  out  my  hand,  and  grasp  some  of  it." 

As  she  attempted  to  do  so,  the  sunshine  vanished  ;  or, 
to  judge  from  the  bright  expression  that  was  dancing  on 
Pearl's  features,  her  mother  could  have  fancied  that  the 
child  had  absorbed  it  into  herself,  and  would  give  it  forth 
again,  with  a  gleam  about  her  path,  as  they  should  plunge 
into  some  gloomier  shade.  There  was  no  other  attribute 
that  so  much  impressed  her  with  a  sense  of  new  and  un- 
transmitted  vigor  in  Pearl's  nature,  as  this  never-failing 
vivacity  of  spirits  ;  she  had  not  the  disease  of  sadness, 
which  almost  all  children,  in  these  latter  days,  inherit, 


A  Forest  Walk.  245 

with  the  scrofula,  from  the  troubles  of  their  ancestors. 
Perhaps  this  too  was  a  disease,  and  but  the  reflex  of  the 
wild  energy  with  which  Hester  had  fought  against  her 
sorrows,  before  Pearl's  birth.  It  was  certainly  a  doubtful 
charm,  imparting  a  hard,  metallic  lustre  to  the  child's 


"  OFFERS  HIS  BOOK  AND  AN  IRON  PEN.' 


character.  She  wanted — what  some  people  want  through 
out  life — a  grief  that  should  deeply  touch  her,  and  thus 
humanize  and  make  her  capable  of  sympathy.  But  there 
was  time :_e.nough.  • yet  Joj_ little  Pearl  ! 


246  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

"  Come,  my  child  !  "  said  Hester,  looking  about  her 
from  the  spot  where  Pearl  had  stood  still  in  the  sunshine. 
"  We  will  sit  down  a  little  way  within  the  wood,  and  rest 
ourselves." 

"  I  am  not  aweary,  mother,"  replied  the  little  girl. 
"  But  you  may  sit  down,  if  you  will  tell  me  a  story 
meanwhile." 

"  A  story,  child  !  "  said  Hester.       "  And  about  what  ?  " 

"  O,  a  story  about  the  Black  Man  !  "  answered  Pearl, 
taking  hold  of  her  mother's  gown,  and  looking  up,  half 
earnestly,  half  mischievously,  into  her  face.  "  How  he 
haunts  this  forest,  and  carries  a  book  with  him, — a  big, 
heavy  book,  with  iron  clasps;  and  how  this  ugly  Black 
Man  offers  his  book  and  an  iron  pen  to  everybody  that 
meets  him  here  among  the  trees  ;  and  they  are  to  write 
their  names  with  their  own  blood.  And  then  he  sets  his 
mark  on  their  bosoms  !  Didst  thou  ever  meet  the  BJack 
Man,  mother  ?  " 

"  And  who  told  you  this  story,  Pearl  ?  "  asked  her 
mother,  recognizing  a  common  superstition  of  the  period. 

"  It  \vas  the  old  dame  in  the  chimney-corner,  at  the 
house  where  you  watched  last  night,"  said  the  child. 
"But  she  fancied  me  asleep  while  she  was  talking  of  it. 
She  said  that  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  people  had  met 
him  here,  and  had  written  in  his  book,  and  have  his  mark 
on  them.  And  that  ugly-tempered  lady,  old  Mistress 
Hibbins,  was  one.  And,  mother,  the  old  dame  said 
that  this  scarlet  letter  was  the  Black  Man's  mark  on 
thee,  and  that  it  glows  like  a  red  flame  when  thou 
meetest  him  at  midnight,  here  in  the  dark  wood.  Is  it 
true,  mother  ?  And  dost  thou  go  to  meet  him  in  the 
?" 


A  Forest  Walk. 


247 


"  Didst  thou  ever  awake,  and  find  thy  mother  gone  ? ;> 
asked  Hester. 

"  Not  that  I  remember,"  said  the  child.  "  If  thou 
fearest  to  leave  me  in  our  cottage,  thou  mightest  take  me 
along  with  thee.  I  would  very  gladly  go  !  But,  mother, 
tell  me  now  !  Is  there  such  a  Black  Man  ?  And  didst 
thou  ever  meet  him  ?  And  is  this  his  mark  ?  " 

"  Wilt  thou  let  me  be  at  peace,  if  I  once  tell  thee  ? " 
asked  her  mother. 

"Yes,  if  thou  tellest  me  all,"  answered  Pearl. 

"Once  in  my  life  I 
met  the  Black^Man!" 
said  her  mother.  "  This 
scarlet  letter  is  his 
mark  !  " 

Thus  conversing,  they 
entered  sufficiently  deep 
into  the  wood  to  secure 
themselves  from  the 
observation  of  any  casual 
passenger  along  the  for 
est-track.  Here  they  sat 
down  on  a  luxuriant  heap 
of  moss  ;  which,  at  some  • 
epoch  of  the  preceding 
century,  had  been  a  gi 
gantic  pine,  with  its  roots 
and  trunk  in  the  dark 
some  shade,  and  its  head 
aloft  in  the  upper  atmos 
phere.  It  was  a  little 
dell  where  they  had  <  ^  BROOK  FLO  WING  THROUGH  ITS  MIDST  ' 


248  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

seated  themselves,  with  a  leaf-strewn  bank  rising  gently 
on  either  side,  and  a  brook  flowing  through  the  midst, 
over  a  bed  of  fallen  and  drowned  leaves.  The  trees 
impending  over  it  had  flung  down  great  branches,  from 
time  to  time,  which  choked  up  the  current,  and  com 
pelled  it  to  form  eddies  and  black  depths  at  some  points  ; 
while,  in  its  swifter  and  livelier  passages,  there  appeared 
a  channel-way  of  pebbles,  and  brown,  sparkling  sand. 
Letting  the  eyes  follow  along  the  course  of  the  stream, 
they  could  catch  the  reflected  light  from  its  water,  at  some 
short  distance  within  the  forest,  but  soon  lost  all  traces  of 
it  amid  the  bewilderment  of  tree-trunks  and  underbrush, 
and  here  and  there  a  huge  rock,  covered  over  with  grey 
lichens.  All  these  giant  trees  and  boulders  of  granite 

o  o 

seemed  intent  on  making  a  mystery  of  the  course  of  this 
small  brook  ;  fearing,  perhaps,  that,  with  its  never-ceas 
ing  loquacity,  it  should  whisper  tales  out  of  the  heart  of 
the  old  forest  whence  it  flowed,  or  mirror  its  revelations 
on  the  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  infancy  without  playfulness, 
and  knew  not  how  to  be  merry  among  sad  acquaintance 
and  events  of  sombre  hue. 

"O  brook!  O  foolish  and  tiresome  little  brook!" 
cried  Pearl,  after  listening  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 
the  forest-trees,  had  gone  through  so  solemn  an  experi 
ence  that  it  could  not  help  talking  about  it,  and  seemed 
to  have  nothing  else  to  say.  Pearl  resembled  the  brook. 


A  Forest  Walk.   •  249 

inasmuch  as  the  current  of  her  life  gushed  from  a  well- 
spring  as  mysterious,  and  had  flowed  through  scenes 
shadowed  as  heavily  with  gloom.  But,  unlike  the  little 
stream,  she  danced  and  sparkled,  and  prattled  airily  along 
her  course. 

"  What  does  this  sad  little  brook  say,  mother  ?  "  in 
quired  she. 

"  If  thou  hadst  a  sorrow  of  thine  own,  the  brook  might 
tell  thee  of  it,"  answered  her  mother,  "  even  as  it  is  telling 
me  of  mine  !     But  now,  Pearl,  I  hear  a  footstep  along  the 
path,  and  the  noise  of   one   putting  aside  the  branches. 
I  would  have  thee  betake  thyself  to  play,  and  leave  me  to 
speak  with  him  that  comes  yonder." 
"  Is  it  the  Black  Man  ?  "  asked  Pearl. 
"  Wilt  thou  go  and   play,  child  ?  "  repeated  the  mother. 
"  But   do    not   stray  far   into  the  wood.     And  take  heed 
i  that  thou  come  at  my  first  call." 

"  Yes,  mother,"  answered  Pearl.     "  But,  if   it  be    the 
\  Black  Man,  wilt  thou  not  let  me  stay  a  moment,  and  look 
at  him,  with  his  big  book  under  his  arm  ?  " 

"  Go,  silly  child  !  "  said  her  mother,  impatiently.  "  It 
\  is  no  Black  Man  !  Thou  canst  see  him  now  through  the 
I  trees.  It  is  the  minister  !  " 

"  And  so  it  is  !  "  said  the  child.  "  And,  mother,  he  has 
j  his  hand  over  his  heart !  Is  it  because,  when  the  minister 
I  wrote  his  name  in  the  book,  the  Black  Man  set  his  mark 
|  in  that  place  ?  But  why  does  he  not  wear  it  outside  his 
'bosom,  as  thou  dost,  mother  ?" 

"  Go  now,  child,  and  thou  shalt  tease  me  as  thou  wilt 
i  another  time,"  cried  Hester  Prynne.  "But  do  not  stray 
'far.  Keep  where  thou  canst  hear  the  babble  of  the 
'brook." 


250  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

The  child  went  singing  away,  following  up  the  current 
of  the  brook,  and  striving  to  mingle  a  more  lightsome 
cadence  with  its  melancholy  voice.  But  the  little  stream 
would  not  be  comforted,  and  still  kept  telling  its  unin 
telligible  secret  of  some  very  mournful  mystery  that 
had  happened — or  making  a  prophetic  lamentation  about 
something  that  was  yet  to  happen — within  the  verge  of  the 
dismal  forest.  So  Pearl,  who  had  enough  of  shadow  in 
her  own  little  life,  chose  to  break  off  all  acquaintance  with 
this  repining  brook.  She  set  herself,  therefore,  to  gather 
ing  violets  and  wood-anemones,  and  some  scarlet  colum 
bines  that  she  found  growing  in  the  crevices  of  a  high 
rock. 

When  her  elf-child  had  departed,  Hester  Prynne  made 
a  step  or  two  towards  the  track  that  led  through  the 
forest,  but  still  remained  under  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
trees.  She  beheld  the  minister  advancing  along  the  path, 
entirely  alone,  and  leaning  on  a  staff  which  he  had  cut  by 
the  wayside.  He  looked  haggard  and  feeble,  and  betrayed 
a  nerveless  despondency  in  his  air,  which  had  never  so 
remarkably  characterized  him  in  his  walks  about  the 
settlement,  nor  in  any  other  situation  where  he  deemed 
himself  liable  to  notice.  Here  it  was  wofullv  visible,  in 
this  intense  seclusion  of  the  forest,  which  of  itself  would 
have  been  a  heavy  trial  to  the  spirits.  There  was  a  list- 
lessness  in  his  gait ;  as  if  he  saw  no  reason  for  taking  one 
step  farther,  nor  felt  any  desire  to  do  so,  but  would  have 
been  glad,  could  he  be  glad  of  any  thing,  to  fling  himself 
down  at  the  root  of  the  nearest  tree,  and  lie  there  passive 
for  evermore.  The  leaves  might  bestrew  him,  and  the 
soil  gradually  accumulate  and  form  a  little  hillock  over 
his  frame,  no  matter  whether  there  were  life  in  it  or  no. 


A  Forest  Walk. 


•' UNDER,  THE  DEEP  SHADOW  OF  THE  TREES." 


252  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

Death   was   too  definite  an  object  to  be  wished   for,  or 
avoided. 

To  Hester's  eye,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  exhib 
ited  no  symptom  of  positive  and  vivacious  suffering,  except 
that,  as  little  Pearl  had  remarked,  he  kept  his  hand  over 
his  heart. 


j 


XVII. 


THE    PASTOR    AND    HIS    PARISHIONER. 

LOWLY    as    the  minister 
walked,    he    had  almost 
gone  by,  before  Hester 
Prynne   could    gather 
voice  enough   to  attract 
observation.       At  length, 
she  succeeded. 

"Arthur  Dimmesdale  !  "  she 
said,  faintly  at  first ;  then 
louder,  but  hoarsely.  "  Arthur 
Dimmesdale  !  " 

"  Who  speaks  ?  "  answered 
the  minister. 

Gathering  himself  quickly 
up,  he  stood  more  erect,  like 
a  man  taken  by  surprise  in  a 

mood   to   which    he    was    reluctant   to    have    witnesses. 

Throwing  his  eyes  anxiously  in  the  direction  of  the  voice, 

he  indistinctly  beheld  a  form  under  the  trees,  clad  in  gar- 

Linents    so    sombre,  and  so  little  relieved    from  the  grey 

Uwilight  into  which  the  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 


254  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

through  life  was  haunted  thus,  by  a  spectre  that  had  stolen 
out  from  among  his  thoughts. 

o  o 

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  these  seven  years  past !  And  thou,  Arthur  Dimmes- 
dale,  dost  thou  yet  live  ?  " 

It  was  no  wonder  that  they  thus  questioned  one  another's 
actual  and  bodily  existence,  and  even  doubted  of  their 
own.  So  strangely  did  they  meet,  in  the  dim  wood,  that 
it  was  like  the  first  encounter,  in  the  world  beyond  the 
grave,  of  two  spirits  who  had  been  intimately  connected  in 
their  former  life,  but  now  stood  coldly  shuddering,  in  mutual 
dread  ;  as  not  yet  familiar  with  their  state,  nor  wonted  to 
the  companionship  of  disembodied  beings.  Each  a  ghost, 
and  awe-stricken  at  the  other  ghost !  They  were  awe- 
stricken  likewise  at  themselves ;  because  the  crisis  flung 
back  to  them  their  consciousness,  and  revealed  to  each 
heart  its  history  and  experience,  as  life  never  does,  except  at 
such  breathless  epochs.  The  soul  beheld  its  features  in 
the  mirror  of  the  passing  moment.  It  was  with  fear,  and 
tremulously,  and,  as  it  were,  by  a  slow,  reluctant  necessity, 
that  Arthur  Dimmesdale  put  forth  his  hand,  chill  as  death, 
and  touched  the  chill  hand  of  Hester  Prynne.  The  grasp, 
cold  as  it  was,  took  away  what  was  dreariest  in  the  inter 
view.  They  now  felt  themselves,  at  least,  inhabitants  of 
the  same  sphere. 

Without  a  word  more  spoken, — neither  he  nor  she 
assuming  the  guidance,  but  with  an  unexpressed  consent, 
— they  glided  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods,  whence 


The  Pastor  and  His  Parishioner.  255 

Hester  had  emerged,  arid  sat  down  on  the  heap  of  moss 
where  she  and  Pearl  had  before  been  sitting.  When  they 
found  voice  to  speak,  it  was,  at  first,  only  to  utter  remarks 
and  inquiries  such  as  any  two  acquaintance  might  have 
made,  about  the  gloomy  sky,  the  threatening  storm,  and, 
next,  the  health  of  each.  Thus  they  went  onward,  not 
boldly,  but  step  by  step,  into  the  themes  that  were  brood 
ing  deepest  in  their  hearts.  So  long  estranged  by  fate 
and  circumstances,  they  needed  something  slight  and 
casual  to  run  before,  and  throw  open  the  doors  of  inter 
course,  so  that  their  real  thoughts  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  look  for,  being  what  I  am,  and  lead 
ing  such  a  life  as  mine  ?  Were  I  an  atheist, — a  man  de 
void  of  conscience, — a  wretch  with  coarse  and  brutal 
instincts, — I  might  have  found  peace,  longgtfe  now.  Nay, 
I  never  should  have  lost  it  !  But,  as  matters  stand  with 
my  soul,  whatever  of  good  capacity  there  originally  was 
in  me,  all  of  God's  gifts  that  were  the  choicest  have 
become  the  ministers  of  spiritual  torment.  Hester,  I  am 
most  miserable  !  " 

"  The  people  reverence  thee,"  said  Hester.  "  And 
surely  thou  workest  good  among  them  !  Doth  this  bring 
thee  no  comfort  ? " 

"  More  misery,  Hester  ! — only  the  more  misery  !  " 
answered  the  clergyman,  with  a  bitter  smile.  "As  con- 


256  The  Scarlet  Letter, 

cerns  the  good  which  I  may  appear  to  do,  I  have  no  faith 
in  it.  It  must  needs  be  a  delusion.  What  can  a  ruined 
soul,  like  mine,  effect  towards  the  redemption  of  other 
souls  ?— or  a  polluted  soul,  towards  their  purification  ? 
And  as  for  the  people's  reverence,  would  that  it  were 
turned  to  scorn  and  hatred  !  Canst  thou  deem  it,  Hester, 
a  consolation,  that  I  must  stand  up  in  my  pulpit,  and 
meet  so  many  eyes  turned  upward  to  my  face,  as  if  the 
light  of  heaven  were  beaming  from  it ! — must  see  my  flock 
hungry  for  the  truth,  and  listening  to  my  words  as  if 
a  tongue  of  Pentecost  were  speaking! — and  then  look 
inward,  and  discern  the  black  reality  of  what  they  idolize? 
I  have  laughed,  in  bitterness  and  agony  of  heart,  at  the 
contrast  between  what  I  seem  and  what  I  am  !  And 
Satan  laughs  at  it !  " 

"You  wrong  yourself  in  this,"  said  Hester,  gently. 
"  You  have  deeply  and  sorely  repented.  Your  sin  is  left 
behind  you,  in  the  days  long  past.  Your  present  life  is 
not  less  holy,  in  very  truth,  than  it  seems  in  people's  eyes. 
Is  there  no  reality  in  the  penitence  thus  sealed  and  wit 
nessed  by  good  works?  And  wherefore  should  it  not 
bring  you  peace  ?  " 

"  No,  Hester,  no  !  "  replied  the  clergyman.  "  There 
is  no  substance  in  it !  It  is  cold  and  dead,  and  can  do 
nothing  for  me!  Of  penance  I  have  had  enough  !  Of 
penitence  there  has  been  none  !  Else,  I  should  long  ago 
have  thrown  off  these  garments  of  mock  holiness,  and 
have  shown  myself  to  mankind  as  they  will  see  me  at 
the  judgment-seat.  Happy  are  you,  Hester,  that  wear 
the  scarlet  letter  openly  upon  your  bosom  !  Mine  burns 
in  secret !  Thou  little  -knowest  what  a  relief  it  is,  after 
the  torment  of  a  seven  years'  cheat,  to  look  into  an  eye 


The  Pastor  and  His  Parishioner.  257 

that  recognizes  me  for  what  I  am  !  Had  I  one  friend, — 
or  were  it  my  worst  enemy  ! — to  whom,  when  sickened 
with  the  praises  of  all  other  men,  I  could  daily  betake 
myself,  and  be  known  as  the  vilest  of  all  sinners,  me- 
thinks  my  soul  might  keep  itself  alive  thereby.  Even 
thus  much  of  truth  would  save  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,  his  words  here  offered  her  the  very 
point  of  circumstances  in  which  to  interpose  what  she 
came  to  say.  She  conquered  her  fears,  and  spoke. 

"  Such  a  friend  as  thou  hast  even  now  wished  for," 
said  she,  "with  whom  to  weep  over  thy  sin,  thou  hast  in 
me,  the  partner  of  it  !  " — Again  she  hesitated,  but  brought 
out  the  words  with  an  effort. — "  Thou  hast  long  had  such 
an  enemy,  and  dwellest  with  him  under  the  same  roof  !  '? 

The  minister  started  to  his  feet,  gasping  for  breath,  and 
clutching  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  own  roof  !  What  mean  you  ? " 

Hester  Prynne  was  now  fully  sensible  of  the  deep  injury 
for  which  she  was  responsible  to  this  unhappy  man,  in 
permitting  him  to  lie  for  so  many  years,  or,  indeed,  for  a 
single  moment,  at  the  mercy  of  one,  whose  purposes  could 
not  be  other  than  malevolent.  The  very  contiguity  of  his 
enemy,  beneath  whatever  mask  the  latter  might  conceal 
himself,  was  enough  to  disturb  the  magnetic  sphere  of  a 
being  so  sensitive  as  Arthur  Dimmesdale.  There  had 
been  a  period  when  Hester  was  less  alive  to  this  consider 
ation  ;  or,  perhaps,  in  the  misanthropy  of  her  own  trouble, 


258  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

1 

she  left  the  minister  to  bear  what  she  might  picture  to 
herself  as  a  more  tolerable  doom.  But  of  late,  since  the 
night  of  his  vigil,  all  her  sympathies  towards  him  had 
been  both  softened  and  invigorated.  She  now  read  his 
heart  more  accurately.  She  doubted  not,  that  the  con 
tinual  presence  of  Roger  Chillingworth, — the  secret  poison 
of  his  malignity,  infecting  all  the  air  about  him, — andjiis 
authorized  interference,  as  a  physician,  with  the  minister's 
physical  and  spiritual  infirmities, — that  these  bad  oppor 
tunities  had  been  turned  to  a  cruel  purpose.  By  means  of 
them,  the  sufferer's  conscience  had  been  kept  in  an  irrita 
ted  state,  the  tendency  of  which  was,  not  to  cure  by  whole 
some  pain,  but  to  disorganize  and  corrupt  his  spiritual 
being.  Its  result,  on  earth,  could  hardly  fail  to  be 
insanity,  and  hereafter,  that  eternal  alienation  from  the 
Good  and  True,  of  which  madness  is  perhaps  the  earthly 
type. 

Such  was  the  ruin  to  which  she  had  brought  the  man, 
once, — nay,  why  should  we  not  speak  it  ? — still  so  passion 
ately  loved  !  Hester  felt  that  the  sacrifice  of  the  clergy 
man's  good  name,  and  death  itself,  as  she  had  already 
told  Roger  Chillingworth,  would  have  been  infinitely  pref 
erable  to  the  alternative  which  she  had  taken  upon  her 
self  to  choose.  And  now,  rather  than  have  had  this 
grievous  wrong  to  confess,  she  would  gladly  have  lain 
down  on  the  forest-leaves,  and  died  there,  at  Arthur  Dim- 
mesdale's  feet. 

"  O  Arthur,"  cried  she,  "  forgive  me  !  In  all  things 
else.  I  have  striven  to  be  true  !  Truth  was  the  one  virtue 
which  I  might  have  held  fast,  and  did  hold  fast  through 
all  extremity;  save  when  thy  good, — thy  life, — thy  fame, 
— were  put  in  question  !  Then  I  consented  to  a  decep- 


The  Pastor  and  His  Parishioner.  259 

tion.  But  a  lie  is  never  good,  even  though  death  threaten 
on  the  other  side  !  Dost  thou  not  see  what  I  would  say  ? 
That  old  man  ! — the  physician  ! — he  whom  they  call  Roger 
Chilli ngworth  ! — he  was  my  husband  !  " 

The  minister  looked  at  her,  for  an  instant,  with  all  that 
violence  of  passion,  which — intermixed,  in  more  shapes 
than  one,  with  his  higher,  purer,  softer  qualities — was,  in 
fact,  the  portion  of  him  which  the  Devil  claimed,  and 
through  which  he  sought  to  win  the  rest.  Never  was 
there  a  blacker  or  a  fiercer  frown,  than  Hester  now 
encountered.  For  the  brief  space  that  it  lasted,  it  was  a 
dark  transfiguration.  But  his  character  had  been  so  much 
enfeebled  by  suffering,  that  even  its  lower  energies  were 
incapable  of  more  than  a  temporary  struggle.  He  sank 
down  on  the  ground,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  I  might  have  known  it  ! "  murmured  he.  "  I  did 
know  it !  Was  not  the  secret  told  me  in  the  natural  re 
coil  of  my  heart,  at  the  first  sight  of  him,  and  as  often  as 
I  have  seen  him  since  ?  Why  did  I  not  understand?  O 
Hester  Prynne,  thou  little,  little  knowest  all  the  horror 
of  this  thing  !  And  the  shame  ! — the  indelicacy  ! — the 
horrible  ugliness  of  this  exposure  of  a  sick  and  guilty 
heart  to  the  very  eye  that  would  gloat  over  it !  Woman, 
woman,  thou  art  accountable  for  this  !  I  cannot  forgive 
thee  !  " 

"Thoushalt  forgive  me!  "cried  Hester,  flinging  her 
self  on  the  fallen  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  cheek  rested  on  the  scar 
let  letter.  He  would  have  released  himself,  but  strove  in 


260  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

• 
vain  to   do  so.     Hester  would   not  set   him   free,  lest  he 

should  look  her  sternly  in  the  face.  All  the  world  had 
frowned  on  her, — for  seven  long  years  had  it  frowned 
upon  STTTonely^woman, — and  still  she  bore  it  all,  nor 
ever  once  turned  away  her  firm,  sad  eyes.  Heaven,  like 
wise,  had  frowned  upon  her,  and  she  had  not  died.  But 
the  frown  of  this  pale,  weak,  sinful  and  sorrow-stricken 
man  was  what  Hester  could  not  bear,  and  live  ! 

"  Wilt  thou  yet  forgive  me  ?  "  she  repeated,  over  and 
over  again.  "  Wilt  thou  not  frown  ?  Wilt  thou  forgive  ?  " 

"  I  do  forgive  you,  Hester,"  replied  the  minister,  at 
length,  with  a  deep  utterance  out  of  an  abyss  of  sadness, 
but  no  anger.  "  I  freely  forgive  you  now.  May  God 
forgive  us  both  !  We  are  not,  Hester,  the  worst  sinners 
in  the  world.  There  is  one  worse  than  even  the  polluted 
priest !  That  old  man's  revenge  has  been  blacker  than 
my  sin.  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  of  its  own.  We  felt  it  so !  We  said  so  to 
each  other  !  Hast  thou  forgotten  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,  on  the  mossy  trunk  of  the1  fallen  tree.  Life  had 
never  brought  them  a  gloomier  hour ;  it  was  the  point 
whither  their  pathway  had  so  long  been  tending,  and 
darkening  ever,  as  it  stole  along ; — and  yet  it  inclosed  a 
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  boughs  were  tossing  heavily 


The  Pastor  and  His  Parishioner.  261 

* 

above  their  heads  ;  while  one  solemn  old  tree  groaned 
dolefully  to  another,  as  if  telling  the  sad  story  of  the  pair 
that  sat  beneath,  or  constrained  to  forebode  evil  to  come. 

And  yet  they  lingered.  How  dreary  looked  the  forest- 
track  that  led  backward  to  the  settlement,  where  Hester 
Prynne  must  take  up  again  the  burden  of  her  ignominy, 
and  the  minister  the  hollow  mockery  of  his  good  name  ! 
so  they  lingered  an  instant  longer.  No  golden  light  had 
ever  been  so  precipws'^as  the  gloom  of  this  dark  forest. 
Here,  seen  only  byliis  eyes,  the  scarlet  letter  need  not 
burn  into  the  bosom  of  the  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  knows  your  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 
Hester,  thoughtfully;  "and  it  has  grown  upon  him  by 
the  hidden  practices  of  his  revenge.  I  deem  it  not  likely 
that  he  will  betray  the  secret.  He  will  doubtless  seek 
other  means  of  satiating  his  dark  passion." 

"And  I  ! — how  am  I  to  live  longer,  breathing  the  same 
air  with  this  deadly  enemy  ?  "  exclaimed  Arthur  Dim 
mesdale,  shrinking  within  himself,  and  pressing  his  hand 
nervously  against  his  heart, — a  gesture  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  and  firmly.  '*  Thy  heart  must  be  no  longer 
under  his  evil  eye  ! " 


262  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"It  were  far  worse  than  death  ! ''  replied  the  minister. 
"But  how  to  avoid  it?  What  choice  remains  to  me? 
Shall  I  lie  down  again  on  these  withered  leaves,  where  I 
cast  myself  when  thou  didst  tell  me  what  he  was?  Must 
I  sink  down  there,  and  die  at  once  ?  " 

"  Alas,  what  a  ruin  has  befallen  thee  !  "  said  Hester, 
with  the  tears  gushing  into  her  eyes.  "  Wilt  thou  die  for 
very  weakness  ?  There  is  no  other  cause  !  " 

"  The  judgment  of  God  is  on  me,"  answered  the  con 
science-stricken  priest.  "  It  is  too  mighty  for  me  to 
struggle  with  !  " 

"  Heaven  would  show  mercy,"  rejoined  Hester,  "  hadst 
thou  but  the  strength  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  her  deep  eyes  on  the  minister's  and  instinc 
tively  exercising  a  magnetic  power  over  a  spirit  so  shat 
tered  and  subdued,  that  it  could  hardly  hold  itself  erect. 
"  Doth  the  universe  lie  within  the  compass  of  yonder 
town,  which  only  a  little  time  ago  was  but  a  leaf-strewn 
desert,  as  lonely  as  this  around  us  ?  Whither  leads  yon 
der  forest-track  ?  Backward  to  the  settlement,  thou  say- 
est !  Yes;  but  onward,  too!  Deeper  it  goes,  and 
deeper,  into  the  wilderness,  less  plainly  to  be  seen  at 
every  step  ;  until,  some  few  miles  hence,  the  yellow  leaves 
will  show  no  vestige  of  the  white  man's  tread.  There 
thou  art  free  !  So  brief  a  journey  would  bring  thee  from 
a  world  where  thou  hast  been  most  wretched,  to  one 
where  thou  mayest  still  be  happy  !  Is  there  not  shade 
enough  in  all  this  boundless  forest  to  hide  thy  heart  from 
the  gaze  of  Roger  Chillingworth?  " 


The  Pastor  and  His  Parishioner. 


263 


"  Yes,  Hester  ;  but 
only  under  the  fallen 
leaves!"  replied  the 
minister,  with  a  sad 
smile. 

"Then  there  is  the 
broad  pathway  of  the 
sea  !  "  continued  Hes 
ter.  "  It  brought  thee 
hither.  If  thou  so 
choose,  it  will  bear  thee 
back  again.  In  our 
native  land,  whether  in 
some  remote  rural  vil 
lage  or  in  vast  London, 
— or,  surely,  in  Ger 
many,  in  France,  in 
pleasant  Italy, — thou 
wouldst  be  beyond  his 
power  and  knowledge  ! 

And  what  hast  thou  to  do  with  all  these  iron  men,  and 
their  opinions?  They  have  kept  thy  better  part  in  bond 
age  too  long  already  !  " 

"  It  cannot  be  !  "  answered  the  minister,  listening  as  if 
he  were  called  upon  to  realize  a  dream.  "  I  am  powerless 
to  go.  Wretched  and  sinful  as  I  am,  I  have  had  no  other 
thought  than  to  drag  on  my  earthly  existence  in  the 
sphere  where  Providence  hath  placed  me.  Lost  as  my 
own  soul  is,  I  would  still  do  what  I  may  for  other  human 
souls !  I  dare  not  quit  my  post,  though  an  unfaithful 
sentinel,  whose  sure  reward  is  death  and  dishonor,  when 
his  dreary  watch  shall  come  to  an  end  i  " 


'  No  VESTIGE  OF  THE  WHITE  MAN'S  TREAD." 


264  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  Thou  art  crushed  under  this  seven  years'  weight  of 
misery/'  replied  Hester,  fervently  resolved  to  buoy  him 
up  with  her  own  energy,  "  But  thou  shall  leave  it  all  be- 
'  hind  thee  !  It  shall  not  cumber  thy  steps,  as  thou  tread- 
est  along  the  forest-path  ;  neither  shalt  thou  freight  the 
ship  with  it,  if  thou  prefer  to  cross  the  sea.  Leave  this 
wreck  and  ruin  here  where  it  hath  happened  !  Meddle  no 
more  with  it!  Begin  all  anew!  Hast  thou  exhausted 
possibility  in  the  failure  of  this  one  trial  ?  Not  so  !  The 
future  is  yet  full  of  trial  and  success.  There  is  happiness 
to  be  enjoyed  !  There  is  good  to  be  done  !  Exchange 
this  false  life  of  thine  for  a  true  one.  Be,  if  thy  spirit 
summon  thee  to  such  a  mission,  the  teacher  and  apostle  of 
the  red  men.  Or, — as  is  more  thy  nature, — be  a  scholar 
and  a  sage  among  the  wisest  and  the  most  renowned  of 
the  cultivated  world.  Preach  !  Write  !  Act !  Do  any 
thing,  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  wear  without  fear  or  shame. 
Why  shouldst  thou  tarry  so  much  as  one  other  day  in  the 
torments  that  have  so  gnawed  into  thy  life  ! — that  have 
made  thee  feeble  to  will  and  to  do  ! — that  will  leave  thee 
powerless  even  to  repent  !  Up,  and  away  !  " 

"O  Hester  !  "  cried  Arthur  Dimmesdale,  in  whose  eyes 
a  fitful  light,  kindled  by  her  enthusiasm,  flashed  up  and 
died  away,  "thou  tellest  of  running  a  race  to  a  man  whose 
knees  are  tottering  beneath  him !  I  must  die  here. 
There  is  not  the  strength  or  courage  left  me  to  venture 
into  the  wide,  strange,  difficult  world,  alone  !  " 

It  was  the  last  expression  of  the  despondency  of  a 
broken  spirit.  He  lacked  energy  to  grasp  the  t  better 
fortune  that  seemed  within  his  reach. 


The  Pastor  and  His  Parishioner.  265 

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. 

RTHUR    DIMMES- 
DALE  •  gazed    into 
Hester's    face    with 
a     look     in     which 
hope  and  joy  shone 
out,  indeed,  but  with  fear 
betwixt  them,  and   a  kind  of 
horror  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,  and  for  so  long  a  period  not  merely  estranged, 
but  outlawed,  from  society,  had  habituated  herself  to  such 
latitude  of  speculation  as  was  altogether  foreign  to  the 
clergymaji^JShe  had  wandered,  without  rule  or  guidance, 
in  a  moral  wilderness;  as  vast,  as  intricate  and  shadowy, 
as  the  untamed  forest,  amid  the  gloom  of  which  they  were 
now  holding  a  colloquy  that  was  to  decide  their  fate. 
Her  intellect  and  heart  had  their  home,  as  it  were,  in 
desert  places,  where  she  roamed  as  freely  as  the  wild  In 
dian  in  his  woods.  Eor  years  past  she  had  looked  from 


A  Flood  of  Sim  shine.  267 

this  estranged  point  of  view  at  human  institutions,  and 
whatever  priests  or  legislators  had  established  ;  criticis 
ing  all  with  hardly  more  reverence  than  the  Indian  would 
feel  for  the  clerical  band,  the  judicial  robe,  the  pillory,  the 
gallows,  the  fireside,  or  the  church.  The  tendency  of  her 
fate  and  fortunes  had  been  to  set  her  free.  The  scarlet 
letter  was  her  passport  into  regions  where  other  women 
dared  not  tread.  Shame,  Despair,  Solitude!  These  had 
been  her  teachers, — stern  and  wild  ones, — and  they  had 
made  her  strong,  but  taught  her  much  aiui&S,; 

The  minister,  on  the  other  hand,  had  never  gone 
through  an  experience  calculated  to  lead  him  beyond  the 
scope  of  generally  received  laws  ;  although,  in  a  single 
instance,  he  had  so  fearfully  transgressed  one  of  the  most 
sacred  of  them.  But  this  had  been  a  sin  of  passion,  not 
of  principle,  nor  even  purpose.  Since  that  wretched 
epoch,  he  had  watched,  with  morbid  zeal  and  minuteness,  f 
not  his  acts, — for  those  it  was  easy  to  arrange, — but  each 
breath  of  emotion,  and  his  every  thought.  At  the  head 
of  the  social  system,  as  the  clergymen  of  that  clay  stood, 
he  was  only  the  more  trammelled  by  its  regulations,  its 
principles,  and  even  its  prejudices.  As  a  priest,  the 
framework  of  his  order  inevitably  hemmed  him  in.  As  a 
man  who  once  sinned,  but  who  kept  his  conscience  all 
alive  and  painfully  sensitive  by  the  fretting  of  an  un- 
healed  wound,  he  might  have  been  supposed  safer  within 
the  line  of  virtue,  than  if  he  had  never  sinned  at  all. 

Thus,  we  seem  to  see  that,  as  regarded  Hester  Prynne, 
the  whole  seven  years  of  outlaw  and  ignominy  had  been 
little  other  than  a  preparation  for  this  very  hour.  But 
Arthur  Dimmesdale  !  Were  such  a  man  once  more  to 
fall,  what  plea  could  be  urged  in  extenuation  of  his  crime  ? 


268  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

None  ;  unless  it  avail  him  somewhat,  that  he  was  broken 
clown  by  long  and  exquisite  suffering;  that  his  mind  was 
darkened  and  confused  by  the  very  remorse  which  har 
rowed  it ;  that,  between  fleeing  as  an  avowed  criminal, 
and  remaining  as  a  hypocrite,  conscience  might  find  it 
hard  to  strike  the  balance  ;  that  it  was  human  to  avoid 
the  peril  of  death  and  infamy,  and  the  inscrutable  machi 
nations  of  an  enemy;  that,  finally,  to  this  poor  pilgrim,  on 
his  dreary  and  desert  path,  faint,  sick,  miserable,  there 
appeared  a  glimpse  of  human  affection  and  sympathy,  a 
new  life,  and  a  true  one,  in  exchange  for  the  heavy  doom 
which  he  was  now  expiating.  And  be  the  stern  and  sad 
truth  spoken,  that  the  breach  which  guilt  has  once  made 
into  the  human  soul  is  never,  in  this  mortal  state,  repaired. 
It  may  be  watched  and  guarded  ;  so  that  the  enemy  shall 
not  force  his  way  again  into  the  citadel,  and  might  even, 
in  his  subsequent  assaults,  select  some  other  avenue,  in 
preference  to  that  where  he  had  formerly  succeeded, 
But  there  is  still  the  ruined  wall,  and,  near  it,  the  stealthy 
tread  of  the  foe  that  would  win  over  again  his  unforgotten 
triumph. 

The  struggle,  if  there  were  one,  need  not  be  described, 
Let  it  suffice,,  that  the  clergyman  resolved  to  flee,  and  not 
alone, 

"  If,  in  all  these  past  seven  years,"  thought  he,  "  I 
could  recall  one  instant  of  peace  or  hope,  I  would  yet  en 
dure,  for  the  sake  of  that  earnest  of  heaven's  mercy.  But 
now, — since  I  am  irrevocably  doomed, — wherefore  should 
I  not  snatch  the  solace  allowed  to  the  condemned  culprit 
before  his  execution  ?  Or,  if  this  be  the  path  to  a  better 
life,  as  Hester  would  persuade  me,  I  surely  give  up  no 
fairer  prospect  by  pursuing  it  !  Neither  can  I  any  longer 


A  Flood  of  Sunshine.  269 

live  without  her  companionship;  so  powerful  is  she  to 
sustain, — so  tender  to  soothe  !  O  Thou  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  its  flickering  brightness  over  the  trouble  of  his 
breast.  It  was  the  exhilarating  effect — upon  a  prisoner 
just  escaped  from  the  dungeon  of  his  own  heart — of 
breathing  the  wild,  free  atmosphere  of  an  unredeemed, 
unchristianized,  lawless  region.  His  spirit  rose,  as  it 
were,  with  a  bound,  and  attained  a  nearer  prospect  of  the 
sky,  than  throughout  all  the  misery  which  had  kept  him 
grovelling  on  the  earth.  Of  a  deeply  religious  tempera 
ment,  there  was  inevitably  a  tinge  of  the  devotional  in 
his  mood. 

"  Do  I  feel  joy  again  ?  ''  cried  he,  wondering  at  him 
self.     "Melhought  the  germ  of  it  was  dead  in  me!     O  , 
Hester,  thou  art  my  better  angel  !     I  seem  to  have  flung  ' 
myself — sick,    sin-stained,   and    sorrow-blackened — down 
upon  these  forest-leaves,  and  to  have  risen  up  all  made 
anew,  and  with  new  powers  to  glorify  Him  that  hath  been 
merciful  !     This  is  already  the  better  life  !     Why  did  we 
not  find  it  sooner  ?." 

"Let  us  not  look  back,"  answered  Hester  Prynne. 
"  ThejDa&t  js  gone  !  Wherefore  should  we  linger  upon  it 
now  ?  See  !  With  this  symbol,  I  undo  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  the  withered  leaves.  The  mystic  token 
alighted  on  the  hither  verge  of  the  stream.  With  a  hand's 


27° 


The  Scarlet  Letter, 


breadth  farther  flight  it  would  have  fallen  into  the  water, 
and  have  given  the  little  brook  another  woe  to  carry  on 
ward,  beside  the  unintelligible  tale  which  it  still  kept 
murmuring  about.  But  there  lay  the  embroidered  letter, 
glittering  like  a  lost  jewel,  which  some  ill-fated  wanderer 
might  pick  up,  and  thenceforth  be  haunted  by  strange 
phantoms  of  guilt,  sinkings  of  the  heart,  and  unaccount 
able  misfortune. 

'The    stigma   gone,   Hester 
heaved  a  long,  deep  sigh,  in 
which  the   burden  of    shame 
and    anguish    departed    from 
her  spirit.    O  exquisite  relief! 
She.    had     not     known     the 
|    weight,  until  she  felt  the  free 
dom  !       By  another  impulse, 
she  took  off  the  formal   cap 
that  confined   her   hair;    and 
|  down   it  fell  upon  her  shoul- 
,  ders,    dark   and   rich,  with  at 
\once  a  shadow  and  a  light  in 
Jits    abundance,     and    impart 
ing  the  charm  of  softness  to 
her  features.     There  played 

around  her  mouth,  and  beamed  out  of  her  eyes,  a  radiant 
and  tender  smile,  that  seemed  gushing  from  the  very 
heart  of  womanhood.  A  crimson  flush  was  glowing  on 
her  cheek,  that  had  been  long  so  pale.  Her  sex,  her 
youth,  and  the  whole  richness  of  her  beauty,  came  back 
from  what  men  call  the  irrevocable  past,  and  clustered 
themselves,  with  her  maiden  hope,  and  a  happiness  before 
unknown,  within  the  magic  circle  of  this  hour.  And,  as  if 


'  BUT  THERE  LAY  THE  EM 
BROIDERED  LETTER." 


A  Flood  of  Sunshine.  271 

the  gloom  of  the  earth  and  sky  had  been  but  the  effluence 

of  these  two  mortal  hearts,  it  vanished  with  their  sorrow. 

&  /fejs 

All  at  once,  as  with  a  sudden  smile  of  heaven,  forth  burst 
the  sunshine,  pouring  a  very  flood  into  the  obscure  forest, 
gladdening  each  green  leaf,  transmuting  the  yellow  fallen 
ones  to  gold,  and  gleaming  adown  the  grey  trunks  of  the 
solemn  trees.  The  objects  that  had  made  a  shadow 
hitherto,  embodied  the  brightness  now.  The  course  of 
the  little  brook  might  be  traced  by  its  merry  gleam  afar 
into  the  wood's  heart  of  mystery,  which  had  become  a 
mystery- of -joy. 

Such  was  the  sympathy  of  Nature — that  wild,  heathen 
Nature  of  the  forest,  never  subjugated  by  human  law,  nor 
illumined  by  higher  truth — with  the  bliss  of  these  two 
spirits  !  Love,  whether  newly  born,  or  aroused  from  a 
deathlike  slumber,  must  always  create  a  sunshine,  filling 
the  heart  so  full  of  radiance,  that  it  overflows  upon  the 
outward  world.  Had  the  forest  still  kept  its  gloom,  it 
would  have  been  bright  in  Hester's  eyes,  and  bright* in 
Arthur  Dimmesdale's  ! 

Hester  looked  at  him  with  the  thrill  of  another  joy. 

"Thou  must  know  Pearl  !"  said  she.  "Our  little 
Pearl  !  Thou  hast  seen  her, — yes,  I  know  it  ! — but  thou 
wilt  see  her  now  with  other  eyes.  She  is  a  strange  child  ! 
I  hardly  comprehend  her  !  But  thou  wilt  love  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  the  minister,  somewhat  uneasily.  "  I  have  long 
shrunk  from  children,  because  they  often  show  a  distrust, 
— a  backwardness  to  be  familiar  with  me.  I  have  even 
been  afraid  of  little  Pearl  !  " 

"  Ah,  that  was  sad  !  "  answered  the  mother.     "  But  she 


272  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

will  love  thee  dearly,  and  thou  her.  She  is  not  far  off.  I 
will  call  her  !  Pearl !  Pearl  !  " 

"  I  see  the  child/''  observed  the  minister.  "  Yonder 
she  is,  standing  in  a  streak  of  sunshine,  a  good  way  off, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  brook.  So  thou  thinkest  the 
child  will  love  me  ?  " 

Hester  smiled,  and  again  called  to  Pearl,  who  was  vis 
ible,  at  some  distance,  as  the  minister  had  described  her, 
like  a  bright-apparelled  vision,  in  a  sunbeam,  which  fell 
down  up^nlieTThYough  an  arch  of  boughs.  The  ray  quiv 
ered  to  and  fro,  making  her  figure  dim  or  distinct, — now 
like  a  real  child,  now  like  a  child's  spirit, — as  the  splen 
dor  went  and  came  again.  She  heard  her  mother's  voice, 
and  approached  slowly  through  the  forest. 

Pearl  had  not  found  the  hour  pass  wearisomely,  while 
her  mother  sat  talking  with  the  clergyman.  The  great 
black  forest — stern  as  it  showed  itself  to  those  who 
brought  the  guilt  and  troubles  of  the  world  into  his  bosom 
— became  the  playmate  of  the  lonely  infant,  as  well  as  it 
knew  how.  Sombre  as  it  was,  it  put  on  the  kindest  of  its 
moods  to  welcome  her.  It  offered  her  the  partridge  ber 
ries,  the  growth  of  the  preceding  autumn,  but  ripening 
only  in  the  spring,  and  now  red  as  drops  of  blood  upon 
the  withered  leaves.  These  Pearl  gathered,  and  was 
pleased  with  their  wild  flavor.  The  small  denizens  of 
the  wilderness  hardly  took  pains  to  move  cut  of  her  path. 
A  partridge,  indeed,  with  a  brood  of  ten  behind  her,  ran 
forward  threateningly,  but  soon  repented  of  her  fierceness, 
and  clucked  to  her  young  ones  not  to  be  afraid.  A 
pigeon,  alone  on  a  low  branch,  allowed  Pearl  to  come  be 
neath,  and  uttered  a  sound  as  much  of  greeting  as  alarm. 
A  squirrel,  from  the  lofty  depths  of  his  domestic  tree, 


A  Flood  of  Sunshine. 


273 


chattered  either  in  anger  or  merriment, — for  a  squirrel  is 
such  a  choleric  and  humorous  little  personage  that  it  is 


'LIKE  A  BRIGHT- APPARELLED  VISION." 


hard  to  distinguish  between  his  moods, — so  he  chattered 
at  the  child,  and  flung  down  a  nut  upon  her  head.  It  was 
a  last  year's  nut,  and  already  gnawed  by  his  sharp  tooth. 


274  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

A  fox,  startled  from  his  sleep  by  her  light  footstep  on  the 
leaves,  looked  inquisitively  at  Pearl,  as  doubting  whether 
it  were  better  to  steal  off,  or  renew  his  nap  on  the  same 
spot.  A  wolf  it  is  said, —  but  here  the  tale  has  surely 
lapsed  into  the  improbable, — came  up  and  smelt  of  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  wild  things  which  it  nourished,  all  recog- 
yiized.-a  kindred  wildness  in  the  human  child. 

And  she  \vas~gentler  here  than  in  the  grassy-margined 
streets  of  the  settlement,  or  in  her  mother's  cottage.  The 
flowers  appeared  to  know  it  ;  and  one  and  another  whis 
pered,  as  she  passed,  "Adorn  thyself  with  me,  thou  beau 
tiful  child,  adorn  thyself  with  me  !  '' — and,  to  please  them, 
Pearl  gathered  the  violets,  and  anemones,  and  columbines, 
and  some  twigs  of  the  freshest  green,  which  the  old  trees 
held  down  before  her  eyes.  With  these  she  decorated 
her  hair,  and  her  young  waist,  and  became  a  nymph-child, 
or  an  infant  dryad,  or  whatever  else  was  in  closest  sym 
pathy  with  the  antique  wood.  In  such  guise  had  Pearl 
adorned  herself,  when  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  and 
came  slowly  back. 

Slowly  ;  for  she  saw  the  clergyman  ! 


XIX. 


THE    CHILD    AT    THE    BROOK-SIDE. 

HOU  wilt  love  her 
clearly, "repeated 
Hester  Prynne, 
as  she  and  the 
minister  sat 
\va  tc  h  ing  little 
Pearl.  "Dost 
thou  not  think  her  beautiful  ? 
And  see  with  what  natural  skill 
she  has  made  those  simple 
;  flowers  adorn  her  !  Had  she 
gathered  pearls,  and  dia 
monds,  and  rubies,  in  the 
wood,  they  could  not  have  be 
come  her  better.  She  is  a 
But  I  know  whose  brow  she  has  !  " 
enow,  Hester,"  said  Arthur  Dimmesdale, 
with  an  unquiet  smile,  "  that  this  dear  child,  tripping 
about  always  at  thy  side,  hath  caused  me  many  an  alarm  ? 
Methought — O  Hester,  what  a  thought  is  that,  and  how 
terrible  to  dread  it  ! — that  my  own  features  were  partly 
repeated  in  her  face,  and  so  strikingly  that  the  world 
might  see  them  !  But  she  is  mostly  thine  !  " 


splendid  child  ! 
"  Dost  thou  ] 


276  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  No,  no  !  Not  mostly  !  "  answered  the  mother  with  a 
tender  smile.  "  A  little  longer,  and  thou  needest  not  to 
be  afraid  to  trace  whose  child  she  is.  But  how  strangely 
beautiful  she  looks,  with  those  wild  flowers  in  her  hair  ! 
It  is  as  if  one  of  the  fairies,  whom  we  left  in  our  dear  old 
England,  had  decked  her  out  to  meet  us." 

It  was  with  a  feeling  which  neither  of  them  had  ever 
before  experienced,  that  they  sat  and  watched  Pearl's  slow 
advance.  In  her  was  visible  the  tie  that  united  them. 
She  had  been  offered  to  the  world,  these  seven  years  past, 
as  the  living  hieroglyphic,  in  which  was  revealed  the 
secret  they  so  darkly  sought  to  hide, — all  written  in  this 
symbol, — all  plainly  manifest, —  had  there  been  a  prophet 
or  magician  skilled  to  read  the  character  of  flame  !  And 
Pearl  was  the  oneness  of  their  being.  Be  the  foregone 
evil  wha.t  it  might,  how  could  they  doubt  that  their 
earthly  lives  and  future  destinies  were  conjoined,  when 
they  beheld  at  once  the  material  union,  and  the  spiritual 
idea,  in  whom  they  met,  and  were  to  dwell  immortally 
together?  Thoughts  like  these — and  perhaps  other 
thoughts,  which  they  did  not  acknowledge  or  define — 
threw  an  awe  about  the  child,  as  she  came  onward. 

"  Let  her  see  nothing  strange — no  passion  nor  eager 
ness — in  thy  way  of  accosting  her,"  whispered  Hester. 
"  Our  Pearl  is  a  fitful  and  fantastic  little  elf,  sometimes. 
Especially,  she  is  seldom  tolerant  of  emotion,  when  she 
does  not  fully  comprehend  the  why  and  wherefore.  But 
the  child  has  strong  affections  !  She  loves  me,  and  will 
love  thee  !  " 

"  Thou  canst  not  think,"  said  the  minister,  glancing 
aside  at  Hester  Prynne,  "  how  my  heart  dreads  this  inter 
view,  and  yearns  for  it  !  But,  in  truth,  as  I  already  told 


The  Child  at  the  Brook-side.  277 

thee,  children  are  not  readily  won  to  be  familiar  with  me. 
They  will  not  climb  my  knee,  nor  prattle  in  my  ear,  nor 
answer  to  my  smile  ;  but  stand  apart,  and  eye  me  strangely. 
Even  little  babes,  when  I  take  them  in  my  arms,  weep  bit 
terly.  Yet  Pearl,  twice  in  her  little  lifetime,  hath  been 
kind  to  me  !  The  first  time, — thou  knowest  it  well  ! 
The  last  was  when  thou  ledst  her  with  thee  to  the  house 
of  yonder  stern  old  Governor." 

"And  thou  didst  plead  so  bravely  in  her  behalf  and 
mine  !  "  answered  the  mother.  "  I  remember  it  ;  and  so 
shall  little  Pearl.  Fear  nothing  !  She  may  be  strange 
and  shy  at  first,  but  will  soon  learn  to  love  thee  !  " 

By  this  time  Pearl  had  reached  the  margin  of  the  brook, 
and  stood  on  the  farther  side,  gazing  silently  at  Hester 
and  the  clergyman,  who  still  sat  together  on  the  mossy 
tree-trunk,  waiting  to  receive  her.  Just  where  she  had 
paused  the  brook  chanced  to  form  a  pool,  so  smooth  and 
quiet  that  it  reflected  a  perfect  image  of  her  little  figure, 
with  all  the  brilliant  picturesqueness  of  her  beauty,  in  its 
adornment  of  flowers  and  wreathed  foliage,  but  more  re 
fined  and  spiritualized  than  the  reality.  This  image,  so 
nearly  identical  with  the  living  Pearl,  seemed  to  communi 
cate  somewhat  of  its  own  shadowy  and  intangible  quality 
to  the  child  herself.  It  was  strange,  the  way  in  which 
Pearl  stood,  looking  so  steadfastly  at  them  through  the 
dim  medium  of  the  forest-gloom ;  herself,  meanwhile,  all 
glorified  with  a  ray  of  sunshine,  that  was  attracted  thither 
ward  as  by  a  certain  sympathy.  In  the  brook  beneatl 
stood  another  child, — another  and  the  same, — with  like 
wise  its  ray  of  golden  light.  Hester  felt  herself,  in  some 
indistinct  and  tantalizing  manner,  estranged  from  Pearl; 
as  if  the  child,  in  her  lonely  ramble  through  the  forest, 


278  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

had  strayed  out  of  the  sphere  in  which  she  and  her 
mother  dwelt  together,  and  was  now  vainly  seeking  to  re 
turn  to  it. 

There  was  both  truth  and  error  in  the  impression  the 
child  and  mother  were  estranged,  but  through  Hester's 
fault,  not  Pearl's.  Since  the  latter  rambled  from  her 
side,  another  inmate  had  been  admitted  within  the  circle 
of  the  mother's  feelings,  and  so  modified  the  aspect  of 
them  all,  that  Pearl,  the  returning  wanderer,  could  not 
find  her  wonted  place,  and  hardly  knew  where  she  was. 

"  I  have  a  strange  fancy,"  observed  the  sensitive  minis 
ter,  "  that  this  brook  is  the  boundary  between  two  worlds, 
and  that  thou  canst  never  meet  thy  Pearl  again.  Or  is 
she  an  elfish  spirit,  who,  as  the  legends  of  our  childhood 
taught  us,  is  forbidden  to  cross  a  running  stream  ?  Pray 
hasten  her  ;  for  this  delay  has  already  imparted  a  tremor 
to  my  nerves." 

"  Come,  dearest  child  !  "  said  Hester  encouragingly, 
and  stretching  out  both  her  arms.  "  How  slow  thou  art  ! 
When  hast  thou  been  so  sluggish  before  now  ?  Here  is  a 
friend  of  mine,  who  must  be  thy  friend  also.  Thou  wilt 
have  twice  as  much  love,  henceforward,  as  thy  mother 
alone  could  give  thee  !  Leap  across  the  brook  and  come 
to  us.  Thou  canst  leap  like  a  young  deer!  " 

Pearl,  without  responding  in  any  manner  to  these  honey- 
sweet  expressions,  remained  on  the  other  side  of  the 
brook.  Now  she  fixed  her  bright,'  wild  eyes  on  her 
mother,  now  on  the  minister,  and  now  included  them 
both  in  the  same  glance  ;  as  if  to  detect  and  explain  to 
herself  the  relation  which  they  bore  to  one  another.  For 
some  unaccountable  reason,  as  Arthur  Dimmesdale  felt 
the  child's  eyes  upon  himself,  his  hand — with  that  gest- 


The  Child  at  the  Brook-side,  279 

ure  so  habitual  as  to  have  become  involuntary — stole 
over  his  heart.  At  length,  assuming  a  singular  air  of 
authority,  Pearl  stretched  out  her  hand,  with  the  small 
forefinger  extended,  and  pointing  evidently  towards  her 
mother's  breast.  And  beneath,  in  the  mirror  of  the 
brook,  there  was  the  flower-girdled  and  sunny  image  of 
little  Pearl,  pointing  her  small  forefinger  too. 

"Thou  strange  child,  why  dost  thou  not  come  to  me  ?  "; 
exclaimed  Hester. 

Pearl  still  pointed  with  her  forefinger,  and  a  frown 
gathered  on  her  brow  ;  the  more  impressive  from  the 
childish,  the  almost  baby-like  aspect  of  the  features  that 
conveyed  it.  As  her  mother  still  kept  beckoning  to  her, 
and  arraying  her  face  in  a  holiday  suit  of  unaccustomed 
smiles,  the  child  stamped  her  foot  with  a  yet^more  impe 
rious  look  and  gesture.  In  the  brook,  again,  was  the  fan 
tastic  beauty  of  the  image,  with  its  reflected  frown,  its 
pointed  finger,  and  imperious  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  behavior  on 
the  elf-child's  part  at  other  seasons,  was  naturally  anxious 
for  a  more  seemly  deportment  now.  "  Leap  across  the 
brook,  naughty  child,  and  run  hither  !  Else  I  must  come 
to  thee  !  " 

But  Pearl,  not  a  whit  startled  at  her  mother's  threats, 
any  more  than  mollified  by  her  entreaties,  now  suddenly 
burst  into  a  fit  of  passion,  gesticulating  violently,  and 
throwing  her  small  figure  into  the  most  extravagant  con 
tortions.  She  accompanied  this  wild  outbreak  with  pierc 
ing  shrieks,  which  the  woods  reverberated  on  alt  sides  ; 
so  that,  alone  as  she  was  in  her  childish  and  unreasonable 


280  77/6'  Scarlet  Letter. 

wrath,  it  seemed  as  if  a  hidden  multitude  were  lending  her 
their  sympathy  and  encouragement.  Seen  in  the  brook, 
once  more,  \vas  the  shadowy  wrath  of  Pearl's  image, 
crowned  and  girdled  with  flowers,  but  stamping  its  foot, 
wildly  gesticulating,  and,  in  the  midst  of  all,  still  pointing- 
its  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  trouble  and  annoyance.  "Children  will  not 
abide  any,  the  slightest,  change  in  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  of  pacifying  the  child,  do  it  forthwith  !  Save  it 
were  the  cajikerecl  wrath  of  an  old  witch,  like  Mistress 
Hibbins,"  added  he,  attempting  to  smile,  "  I  know  noth 
ing  that  I  would  not  sooner  encounter  than  this  passion 
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  her  cheek,  a  conscious  glance  aside  at  the 
clergyman,  and  then  a  heavy  sigh  ;  while,  even  before 
she  had  time  to  speak,  the  blush  yielded  to  a  deadly 
pallor. 

"Pearl,"  said  she,  sadly,  "look  down  at  thy  feet! 
There  ! — before  thee  ! — on  the  hither  side  of  the  brook  !  " 

The  child  turned  her  eyes  to  the  point  indicated  ;  and 
there  lay  the  scarlet  letter,  so  close  upon  the  margin  of 
the  stream,  that  the  gold  embroidery  was  reflected  in  it, 

44  Bring  it  hither  !  "  said  Hester. 

"  Come  thou  and  take  it  up  !  "  answered  Pearl, 


The  Child  at  the  Brook-side. 


281 


"  Was  ever  such  a  child  !  "  observed  Hester  aside  to 
the  minister.  "O,  \  have  much  to  tell  thee  about  her. 
But,  in  very  truth,  she  is  right  as  regards  this  hateful 
token.  I  must  bear  its  torture  yet  a  little  longer, — only 
a  few  days  longer, — until  we  shall  have  left  this  region, 


"  CONFINED  THEM  BENEATH  HER  CAP." 

and  look  back  hither  as  to  a  land  which  we  have  dreamed 
of.  The  forest  j^nnot  hide  it !  The  mid-ocean  shall 
take  it  rfgmlrry  hand,  and  swallow  it  up  for  ever  !  " 

With  these  words,  she  advanced  to  the  margin  of  the 
brook,  took  up  the  scarlet  letter,  and  fastened  it  again 
into  her  bosom.  Hopefully,  but  a  moment  ago,  as  Hester 


282  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

had  spoken  of  drowning  it  in  the  deep  sea,  there  was  a 
sense  of  inevitable  doom  upon  her,  as  she  thus  received 
back  this  deadly  symbol  from  the  hand  of  fate.  She  had 
flung  it  into  infinite  space  ! — she  had  drawn  an  hour's 
free  breath ! — and  here  again  was  the  scarlet  misery, 
glittering  on  the  old  spot !  So  it  ever  is,  whether  thus 
typified  or  no,  that  an  evil  deed  invests  itself  with  the 
character  of  doom.  Hester  next  gathered  up  the  heavy 
tresses  of  her  hair,  and  confined  them  beneath  her  cap. 
As  if  there  were  a  withering  spell  in  the  sad  letter,  her 
beauty,  the  warmth  and  richness  of  her  womanhood,  de 
parted,  like  fading  sunshine  ;  and  a  grey  shadow  seemed 
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,  but  with  a  subdued  tone.  "  Wilt  thou 
come  across  the  brook,  and  own  thy  mother,  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  I  am  thy  little 
Pearl !  " 

In  a  mood  of  tenderness  that  was  not  usual  with  her, 
she  drew  down  her  mother's  bead,  and  kissed  her  brow 
and  both  her  cheeks.  But  then — by  a  kind  of  necessity 
that  always  impelled  this  child  to  alloy  whatever  comfort 
she  might  chance  to  give  with  a  throb  of  anguish — Pearl 
put  up  her  mouth,  and  kissed  the  scarlet  letter  too  ! 

"That  was  not  kind!"  said  Hester.  "When  thou 
hast  shown  me  a  little  love,  thou  mockest  me  !  " 

"  Why  doth  the  minister  sit  yonder  ?  "  asked  Pearl. 


The  Child  at  the  Brook-side.  283 

"  He  waits  to  welcome  thee,"  replied  her  mother. 
"  Come  thou,  and  entreat  his  blessing  !  He  loves  thee, 
my  little  Pearl,  and  loves  thy  mother  too.  Wilt  thou  not 
love  him  ?  Come  !  he  longs  to  greet  thee  !  " 

"Doth  he  love  us?"  said  Pearl,  looking  up  with 
acute  intelligence  into  her  mother's  face.  "Will  he  go 
back  with  us,  hand  in  hand,  we  three  together,  into  the 
town  ?  " 

"Not  now,  dear  child,"  answered  Hester.  "But  in 
days  to  come  he  will  walk  hand  in  hand  with  us.  We 
will  have  a  home  and  fireside  of  our  own  :  and  thou  shalt 
sit  upon  his  knee  ;  and  he  will  teach  thee  many  things, 
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  in 
stinctive  with  every  petted  child  towards  a  dangerous 
rival,  or  from  whatever  caprice  of  her  freakish  nature, 
Pearl  would  show  no  favor  to  the  clergyman.  It  was 
only  by  an  exertion  of  force  that  her  mother  brought  her 
up  to  him,  hanging  back,  and  manifesting  her  reluctance 
by  odd  grimaces  ;  of  which,  ever  since  her  babyhood,  she 
had  possessed  a  singular  variety,  and  could  transform  her 
mobile  physiognomy  into  aperies  of  different  aspects,  with 
a  new  mischief  in  them,  each  and  all.  The  minister — 
painfully  embarrassed,  but  hoping  that  a  kiss  might  prove 
a  talisman  to  admit  him  into  the  child's  kindlier  regards 
— bent  forward,  and  impressed  one  on  her  brow.  Here 
upon,  Pearl  broke  away  from  her  mother,  and,  running 


284 


The   Scarlet  Letter, 


'  STOOPED  OVER  IT,  AND  BATHED  HER  FOREHEAD. 


The  Child  at  the  Brook-side.  285 

to  the  brook,  stooped  over  it,  and  bathed  her  forehead, 
until  the  unwelcome  kiss  was  quite  washed  off,  and  dif 
fused  through  a  long  lapse  of  the  gliding  water.  She  then 
remained  apart,  silently  watching  Hester  and  the  clergy 
man  ;  while  they  talked  together,  and  made  such  arrange 
ments  as  were  suggested  by  their  new  position,  and  the 
purposes  soon  to  be  fulfilled. 

And  now  this  fateful  interview  had  come  to  a  close. 
The  dell  was  to  be  left  a  solitude  among  its  dark,  old 
trees,  which,  with  their  multitudinous  tongues,  would 
whisper  long  of  what  had  passed  there,  and  no  mortal  be 
the  wiser.  And  the  melancholy  brook  would  add  this 
other  tale  to  the  mystery  with  which  its  little  heart  was  al 
ready  overburdened,  and  whereof  it  still  kept  up  a  mur 
muring  babble,  with  not  a  whit  more  cheerfulness  of  tone 
than  for  ages  heretofore. 


XX. 

THE  MINISTER  IN  A  MAZE. 

S  the  minister  departed,  in 
advance  of  Hester  Prynne 
and  little  Pearl,  he  threw  a 
backward  glance  ;  half  ex 
pecting  that  he  should  dis 
cover  only  some  faintly  traced 
features  or  outline  of  the  mother 
and  the  child,  slowly  fading  into 
the  twilight  of  the  woods.  So 
great  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  the 
tree-trunk,  which  some  blast  had 
overthrown  a  long  antiquity  ago,  and  which  time  had  ever 
since  been  covering  with  moss,  so  that  these  two  fated  ones, 
with  earth's  heaviest  burden  on  them,  might  there  sit 
down  together,  and  -find  a  single  hour's  rest  and  solace. 
And  there  was  Pearl,  too,  lightly  dancing  from  the  margin 
of  the  brook, — now  that  the  intrusive  third  person  was 
gone, — and  taking  her  old  place  by  her  mother's  side.  So 
the  minister  had  not  fallen  asleep,  and  dreamed  !  In 
order  to  free  his  mind  from  this  indistinctness  and  cluplic- 


The  Minister  in  a  Maze.  287 

ity  of  impression,  which  vexed  it  with  a  strange  disquie 
tude,  he  recalled  and  more  thoroughly  defined  the  plans 
which  Hester  and  himself  had  sketched  for  their  depart 
ure.  It  had  been  determined  between  them,  that  the  Old 
World,  with  its  crowds  and  cities,  offered  them  a  more 
eligible  shelter  and  concealment  than  the  wilds  of  New 
England,  or  all  America  with  its  alternatives  of  an  Indian 
wigwam,  or  the  few  settlements  of  Europeans,  scattered 
thinly  along  the  seaboard.  Not  to  speak  of  the  clergy, 
man's  health,  so  inadequate  to  sustain  the  hardships  of  a 
forest  life,  his  native  gifts,  his  culture,  and  his  entire  de 
velopment  would  secure  him  a  home  only  in  the  midst  of 
civilization  and  refinement ;  the  higher  the  state,  the  more 
delicately  adapted  to  it  the  man.  In  furtherance  of  this 
choice,  it  so  happened  that  a  ship  lay  in  the  harbor ;  one 
of  those  questionable  cruisers,  frequent  at  that  day,  which, 
without  being  absolutely  outlaws  of  the  deep,  yet  roamed 
over  its  surface  with  a  remarkable  irresponsibility  of  char 
acter.  This  vessel  had  recently  arrived  from  the  Spanish 
Main,  and,  within  three  day's  time,  would  sail  for  Bristol. 
Hester  Prynne — whose  vocation,  as  a  self-enlisted  Sister 
of  Charity,  had  brought  her  acquainted  with  the  captain 
and  crew— could  take  upon  herself  to  secure  the  passage 
of  two  individuals  and  a  child,  with  all  the  secrecy  which 
circumstances  rendered  more  than  desirable. 

The  minister  had  inquired  of  Hester,  with  no  little 
interest,  the  precise  time  at  which  the  vessel  might  be 
expected  to  depart.  It  would  probably  be  on  the  fourth 
day  from  the  present.  "That  is  most  fortunate!"  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 


288  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

reader, — it  was  because,  on  the  third  day  from  the  present, 
he  was  to  preach  the  Election  Sermon  ;  and,  as  such  an 
occasion  formed  an  honorable  epoch  in  the  life  of  a  New 
England  clergyman,  he  could  not  have  chanced  upon  a 
more  suitable  mode  and  time  of  terminating  his  profes 
sional  career.  "  At  least,  they  shall  say  of  me,"  thought 
this  exemplary  man,  "  that  I  leave  no  public  duty  unper 
formed,  nor  ill  performed  !  ''  Sad,  indeed,  that  an  intro 
spection  so  profound  and  acute  as  this  poor  minister's 
should  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  subtile  disease,  that  had  long 
since  begun  to  eat  into  the  real  substance  of  his  character. 
No  man,  for  any  considerable  period,  can  wear  one  face 
to  himself,  and  another  to  the  multitude,  without  finally 
getting  bewildered  as  to  which  may  be  the  true. 

The   excitement   of    Mr.    Dimmesdale's   feelings,  as  he 

o     " 

returned  from  his  interview  with  Hester,  lent  him  unac 
customed  physical  energy,  and  hurried  him  town  ward  at  a 
rapid  pace.  The  pathway  among  the  woods  seemed 
wilder,  more  uncouth  with  its  rude  natural  obstacles,  and 
less  trodden  by  the  foot  of  man,  than  he  remembered  it 
on  his  outward  journey.  But  he  leaped  across  the  plashy 
places,  thrust  himself  through  the  clinging  underbrush, 
climbed  the  ascent,  plunged  into  the  hollow,  and  over 
came,  in  short,  all  the  difficulties  of  the  track,  with  an 
unweariable  activity  that  astonished  him.  He  could  not 
but  recall  how  feebly,  and  with  what  frequent  pauses  for 
breath,  he  had  toiled  over  the  same  ground  only  two  days 
before.  As  he  drew  near  the  town,  he  took  an  impres 
sion  of  change  from  the  series  of  familiar  objects  that 


The  Minister  in  a  Maze. 


289 


'  WITH  THE  DUE  MULTITUDE  OF  GABLE-PEAKS/ 


presented     themselves.      It 
seemed    not    yesterday,    not 
one,  nor  two,  but  many  days, 
or  even  years  ago,  since 
he     had     quitted 
Hk|      them.     There,  in- 
pfs     deed,    was    each 
former    trace    of 
the   street,  as  he 
remembered      it, 
and  all   the  pecu 
liarities     of     the 
houses,   with    the 
due  multitude  of 
gable-peaks,    and 

a  weathercock  at  every  point  where  his  memory  sug 
gested  one.  Not  the  less,  however,  came  this  importu 
nately  obtrusive  sense  of  change.  The  same  was  true  as 
regarded  the  acquaintances  whom  he  met,  and  all  the 
well-known  shapes  of  human  life,  about  the  little  town. 
They  looked  neither  older  nor  younger,  now  ;  the  beards 
of  (he  aged  were  no  whiter,  nor  could  the  creeping  babe 
of  yesterday  walk  on  his  feet  to-day  ;  it  was  impossible 
to  describe  in  what  respect  they  differed  from  the  individ 
uals  on  whom  he  had  so  recently  bestowed  a  parting 
glance;  and  yet  the  minister's  deepest  sense  seemed  to 
inform  him  of  their  mutability.  A  similar  impression 
struck  him  most  remarkably,  as  he  passed  under  the 
walls  of  his  own  church.  The  edifice  had  so  very  strange, 
and  yet  so  familiar,  an  aspect,  that  Mr.  Dimmesdale's 
mind  vibrated  between  two  ideas :  either  that  he  had 
seen  it  only  in  a  dream  hitherto,  or  that  he  was  merely 
dreaming  about  it  now. 


290 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


This  phenomenon,  in  the  various  shapes  which  it  as 
sumed,  indicated  no  external  change,  but  so  sudden  and 
important  a  change  in  the  spectator  of  the  familiar  scene, 


"  ONE  OF  HIS  OWN  DEACONS." 

that  the  intervening  space  of  a  single  day  had  operated 
on  his  consciousness  like  the  lapse  of  years.  The  minis 
ter's  own  will,  and  Hester's  will,  and  the  fate  that  grew 
between  them,  had  wrought  this  transformation.  It  was 
the  same  town  as  heretofore  ;  but  the  same  minister  re- 


The  Minister  in  a  Maze.  291 

turned  not  from  the  forest.  He  might  have  said  to  the 
friends  who  greeted  him, — "  I  am  not  the  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  a  mel 
ancholy  brook  !  Go,  seek  your  minister,  and  see  if  his 
emaciated  figure,  his  thin  cheek,  his  white,  heavy,  pain- 
wrinkled  brow,  be  not  flung  clown  there  like  a  cast-off 
garment!"  His  friends,  no  doubt,  would  still  have  in 
sisted  with  him, — u  Thou  art  thyself  the  man  !  " — but  the 
error  would  have  been  their  own,  not  his. 

Before  Mr.  Dimmesdale  reached  home,  his  inner  man 
gave  him  other  evidences  of  a  revolution  in  the  sphere  of 
thought  and  feeling.  In  truth,  nothing  short  of  a  total 
change  of  dynasty  and  moral  code,  in  that  interior  king 
dom,  was  adequate  to  account  for  the  impulses  now  com 
municated  to  the  unfortunate  and  startled  minister.  At 
every  step  he  was  incited  to  do  some  strange,  wild,  wicked 
thing  or  other,  with  a  sense  that  it  would  be  at  once  in 
voluntary  and  intentional  ;  in  spite  of  himself,  yet  grow 
ing  out  of  a  profounder  self  than  that  which  opposed  the 
impulse.  For  instance,  he  met  one  of  his  own  deacons. 
The  good  old  man  addressed  him  with  the  paternal  affec 
tion  and  patriarchal  privilege,  which  his  venerable  age, 
his  upright  and  holy  character,  and  his  station  in  the 
Church,  entitled  him  to  use  ;  and,  conjoined  with  this,  the 
deep,  almost  worshipping  respect,  which  the  minister's  pro 
fessional  and  private  claims  alike  demanded.  Never  was 
there  a  more  beautiful  example  of  how  the  majesty  of  age 
and  wisdom  may  comport  with  the  obeisance  and  respect 
enjoined  upon  it,  as  from  a  lower  social  rank  and  infe 
rior  order  of  endowment,  towards  a  higher.  Now,  during  a 
conversation  of  some  two  or  three  moments  between  the 


292  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  and  this  excellent  and  hoary- 
bearded  deacon,  it  was  only  by  the  most  careful  self-con 
trol  that  the  former  could  refrain  from  uttering  certain 
blasphemous  suggestions  that  rose  into  his  mind,  respect 
ing  the  communion-supper.  He  absolutely  trembled  and 
turned  pale  as  ashes,  lest  his  tongue  should  wag  itself, 
in  utterance  of  these  horrible  matters,  and  plead  his  own 
consent  for  so  doing,  without  his  having  fairly  given  it. 
And,  even  with  this  terror  in  his  heart,  he  could  hardly 
avoid  laughing  to  imagine  how  the  sanctified  old  patriar 
chal  deacon  would  have  been  petrified  by  his  minister's 
impiety  ! 

Again,  another  incident  of  the  same  nature.  Hurrying 
along  the  street,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  encoun 
tered  the  eldest  female  member  of  his  church  ;  a  most 
pious  and  exemplary  old  dame  ;  poor,  widowed,  lonely, 
and  with  a  heart  as  full  of  reminiscences  about  her  dead 
husband  and  children,  and  her  dead  friends  of  long  ago, 
as  a  burial-ground  is  full  of  storied  gravestones.  Yet  all 
this,  which  would  else  have  been  such  heavy  sorrow,  was 
made  almost  a  solemn  joy  to  her  devout  old  soul  by  re 
ligious  consolations  and  the  truths  of  Scripture,  where 
with  she  had  fed  herself  continually  for  more  than  thirty 
years.  And,  since  Mr.  Dimmesdale  had  taken  her  in 
charge,  the  good  grandam's  chief  earthly  comfort — which, 
unless  it  had  been  likewise  a  heavenly  comfort,  could 
have  been  none  at  all — was  to  meet  her  pastor,  whether 
casually,  or  of  set  purpose,  and  be  refreshed  with  a  word 
of  warm,  fragrant,  heaven-breathing  Gospel  truth  from 
his  beloved  lips  into  her  dulled,  but  rapturously  attentive 
ear.  But,  on  this  occasion,  up  to  the  moment  of  putting 
his  lips  to  the  old  woman's  ear,  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  as  the 


The  Minister  in  a  Maze. 


293 


great  enemy  of  souls  would  have  it,  could  recall  no  text 
of  Scripture,  nor  aught  else,  except  a  brief,  pithy,  and,  as  it 
then  appeared  to  him,  unanswerable  argument  against  the 
immortality  of  the  human  soul.  The  instilment  thereof 
into  her  mind  would  probably  have  caused  this  aged 
sister  to  drop  clown  dead,  at  once,  as  by  the  effect  of  an 
intensely  poisonous  infusion.  What  he  really  did  whis 
per,  the  minister  could  never  afterwards  recollect.  There 
was,  perhaps,  a  fortunate  disorder  in  his  utterance,  which 
failed  to  impart  any  distinct  idea  to  the  good  widow's 
comprehension,  or  which  Providence  interpreted  after  a 
method  of  its  own.  Assuredly,  as  the  minister  looked 
back,  he  beheld  an  expression  of  divine  gratitude  and 
ecstasy  that  seemed  like  the  shine  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 
— and  won  by  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Dimmesdale's  own  ser 
mon,  on  the  Sabbath  after  his 
vigil — to  barter  the  transitory 
pleasures  of  the  world  for 
the  heavenly  hope,  that  was 
to  assume  brighter  substance 
as  life  grew  dark  around  her, 
and  which  would  gild  the  utter 
gloom  with  final  glory.  She 
was  fair  and  pure  as  a  lily  that 
had  bloomed  in  Paradise.  ^  MOST  PIOUS^ND  EXEMPLARY 


294 


The  Scarlet  Letter 


%<  SHE  WAS  FAIR  AND  PURE  AS  A  LILY." 


The  Minister  in  a  Maze.  295 

The  minister  knew  well  that  he  was  himself  enshrined 
within  the  stainless  sanctity  of  her  heart,  which  hung  its 
snowy  curtains  about  his  image,  imparting  to  religion 
the  warmth  of  love,  and  to  love  a  religious  purity. 
Satan,  that  afternoon,  had  surely  led  the  poor  young  girl 
away  from  her  mother's  side,  and  thrown  her  into  the 
pathway  of  this  sorely  tempted,  or — shall  we  not  rather 
say  ? — this  lost  and  desperate  man.  As  she  drew  nigh, 
the  arch-fiend  whispered  him  to  condense  into  small  com 
pass  and  drop  into  her  tender  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 
this  virgin  soul,  trusting  him  as  she  did,  that  the  minister 
felt  potent  to  blight  all  the  field  of  innocence  with  but 
one  wicked  look,  and  develop  all  its  opposite  with  but  a 
word.  So — with  a  mightier  struggle  than  he  had  yet  sus 
tained — he  held  his  Geneva  cloak  before  his  face,  and 
hurried  onward,  making  no  sign  of  recognition,  and  leav 
ing  the  young  sister  to  digest  his  rudeness  as  she  might. 
She  ransacked  her  conscience, — which  was  full  of  harm 
less  little  matters,  like  her  pocket  or  her  work-bag, — and 
took  herself  to  task,  poor  thing,  for  a  thousand  imaginary 
faults  ;  and  went  about  her  household  duties  with  swollen 
eyelids  the  next  morning. 

Before  the  minister  had  time  to  celebrate  his  victory 
over  this  last  temptation,  he  was  conscious  of  another 
impulse,  more  ludicrous,  and  almost  as  horrible.  It  was 
— we  blush  to  tell  it, — it  was  to  stop  short  in  the  road, 
and  teach  some  very  wicked  words  to  a  knot  of  little 
Puritan  children  who  were  playing  there,  and  had  but 
just  begun  to  talk.  Denying  himself  this  freak,  as  un 
worthy  of  his  cloth,  he  met  a  drunken  seaman,  one  of  the 


296  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

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 
tarry  blackguard,  and  recreate  himself  with  a  few  im 
proper  jests,  such  as  dissolute  sailors  so  abound  with,  and 
a  volley  of  good,  round,  solid,  satisfactory,  and  heaven- 
defying  oaths  !  It  was  not  so  much  a  better  principle, 
as  partly  his  natural  good  taste,  and  still  more  his  buck- 
ramed  habit  of  clerical  decorum,  that  carried  him  safely 
through  the  latter  crisis. 

"  What  is  it  that  haunts  and  tempts  me  thus  ?  "  cried 
the  minister  to  himself,  at  length,  pausing  in  the  street, 
and  striking  his  hand  against  his  forehead.  "  Am  I 
mad  ?  or  am  I  given  over  utterly  to  the  fiend  ?  Did  1 
make  a  contract  with  him  in  the  forest,  and  sign  it  with 
my  blood  ?  And  does  he  now  summon  me  to  its  fulfil 
ment,  by  suggesting  the  performance  of  every  wickedness 
which  his  most  foul  imagination  can  conceive?" 

At  the  moment  when  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
thus  communed  with  himself,  and  struck  his  forehead 
with  his  hand,  old  Mistress  Hibbins,  the  reputed  witch- 
lady,  is  said  to  have  been  passing  by.  She  made  a  very 
grand  appearance  ;  having  on  a  high  head-dress,  a  rich 
gown  of  velvet,  and  a  ruff  done  up  with  the  famous  yel 
low  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's  murder.  Whether 
the  witch  had  read  the  minister's  thoughts,  or  no,  she 
came  to  a  full  stop,  looked  shrewdly  into  his  face,  smiled 
craftily,  and — though  little  given  to  converse  with  clergy 
men — began  a  conversation. 

"  So,    reverend    Sir,   you    have    made    a  visit  into  the 


The  Minister  in  a  Maze.  297 

forest,"  observed  the  witch-lady,  nodding  her  high  head 
dress  at  him.  "  The  next  time,  I  pray  you  to  allow  me 
only  a  fair  warning,  and  I  shall  be  proud  to  bear  you 
company.  Without  taking  overmuch  upon  myself,  my 
goodjfrord  will  go  far  towards  gaining  any  strange  gentle- 
ma  u/a  fair  reception  from  yonder  potentate  you  wot  of  !  " 

&I  profess,  Madam,"  answered  the  clergyman,  with  a 
grave  obeisance,  such  as  the  lady's  rank  demanded,  and 
his  own  good-breeding  made  imperative, — "  I  profess,  on 
my  conscience  and  character,  that  I  am  utterly  bewildered 
as  touching  the  purport  of  your  words  !  I  went  not  into 
the  forest  to  seek  a  potentate  ;  neither  do  I,  at  any  future 
time,  design  a  visit  thither,  with  a  view  to  gaining  the 
favor  of  such  personage.  My  one  sufficient  object  was  to 
greet  that  pious  friend  of  mine,  the  Apostle  Eliot,  and 
rejoice  with  him  over  the  many  precious  souls  he  hath 
won  from  heathendom  !  " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  cackled  the  old  witch-lady,  still  nod 
ding  her  high  head-dress  at  the  minister.  "Well,  well, 
we  must  needs  talk  thus  in  the  daytime  !  You  carry  it 
off  like  an  old  hand!  But  at  midnight,  and  in  the  forest, 
we  shall  have  other  talk  together  !  " 

She  passed  on  with  her  aged  stateliness,  but  often  turn 
ing  back  her  head  and  smiling  at  him,  like  one  willing  to 
recognize  a  secret  intimacy  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  has  chosen  for  her  prince  and  master!  " 

The  wretched  minister !  He  had  made  a  bargain  very 
like  it !  Tempted  by  a  dream  of  happiness,  he  had 
yielded  himself  with  deliberate  choice,  as  he  had  never 
done  before,  to  what  he  knew  was  deadly  sin.  And  the 


298  The   Scarlet  Letter. 

infectious  poison  of  that  sin  had  been  thus  rapidly  dif 
fused  throughout  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,  ridicule  of  whatever 
was  good  and  holy,  all  awoke,  to  tempt,  even  while  they 
frightened  him.  And  his  encounter  with  old  Mistress 
Hibbins,  if  it  were  a  real  incident,  did  but  show  his  sym 
pathy  and  fellowship  with  wicked  mortals  and  the  world 
of  perverted  spirits. 

He  had  by  this  time  reached  his  dwelling,  on  the  edge 
of  the  burial-ground,  and,  hastening  up  the  stairs,  took 
refuge  in  his  study.  The  minister  was  glad  to  have 
reached  this  shelter,  without  first  betraying  himself  to  the 
world  by  any  of  those  strange  and  wicked  eccentricities- 
to  which  he  had  been  continually  impelled  while  passing 
through  the  streets.  He  entered  the  accustomed  room, 
and  looked  around  him  on  its  books,  its  windows,  its  fire 
place,  and  the  tapestried  comfort  of  the  walls,  with  the 
Sc%me  perception  of  strangeness  that  had  haunted  him 
throughout  his  walk  from  the  forest-dell  into  the  town, 
and  thitherward.  Here  he  had  studied  and  written  ; 
here,  gone  through  fast  and  vigil,  and  come  forth  half 
alive;  here,  striven  to  pray;  here,  borne  a  hundred 
thousand  agonies  !  There  was  the  Bible,  in  its  rich  old 
Hebrew,  with  Moses  and  the  Prophets  speaking  to  him, 
and  God's  voice  through  all  !  There,  on  the  table,  with 
the  inky  pen  beside  it,  was  an  unfinished  sermon,  with  a 
sentence  broken  in  the  midst,  where  his  thoughts  had 
ceased  to  gush  out  upon  the  page  two  days  before.  He 
knew  that  it  was  himself,  the  thin  and  white-cheeked 
minister,  who  had  clone  and  suffered  these  things,  and  ! 


The  Minister  in  a  Maze. 


299 


written    thus    far    into    the    Election     Sermon  !     But    he 
seemed    to  stand    apart^   and    eye  this    former  self  with 


"  HASTENING  UP  THE  STAIRS.  " 

scornful,    pitying,  but    half-envious   curiosity.     That    self 
was    gone  !     Another    man    had    returned     out    of    the 


3oo  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

forest;  a  wiser  one;  with  a  knowledge  of  hidden  mys 
teries  which  the  simplicity  of  the  former  never  could  have 
reached.  A  bitter  kind  of  knowledge  that  \ 

While  occupied  with  these  reflections,  a  knock  came  at 
the  door  of  the  study,  and  the  minister  said,  "  Come  in  !  " 
— not  wholly  devoid  of  an  idea  that  he  might  behold  an 
evil  spirit.  And  so  he  did!  It  was  old  Roger  Chilling-, 
worth  that  entered.  The  minister  stood,  white  and 
speechless,  with  one  hand  on  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  and 
the  other  spread  upon  his  breast. 

u  Welcome  home,  reverend  Sir !  "  said  the  physician. 

"And  how  found  you  that  godly  man,  the  Apostle 
Eliot  ?  But  methinks,  dear  Sir,  you  look  pale  ;  as  if  the 
travel  through  the  wilderness  had  been  too  sore  for  you. 
Will  not  my  aid  be  requisite  to  put  you  in  heart  and 
strength  to  preach  your  Election  Sermon  ? " 

"Nay,  I  think  not  so,"  rejoined  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale.  "  My  journey,  and  the  sight  of  the  holy 
Apostle  yonder,  and  the  free  air  which  I  have  breathed, 
have  done  me  good,  after  so  long  confinement  in  my 
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  Chillingvvorth  was  looking  at  the 
minister  with  the  grave  and  intent  regard  of  a  physician 
towards  his  patient.  But,  in  spite  of  this  outward  show, 
the  latter  was  almost  convinced  of  the  old  man's 
knowledge,  or,  at  least,  his  confident  suspicion,  with  re 
spect  to  his  own  interview  with  Hester  Prynne.  The 
physician  knew,  then,  that,  in  the  minister's  regard,  he 
was  no  longer  a  trusted  friend,  but  his  bitterest  enemy. 
So  much  being  known,  it  would  appear  natural  that  a 


The  Minister  in  a  Maze.  301 

part  of  it  should  be  expressed.  It  is  singular,  however, 
how  long  a  time  often  passes  before  words  embody  things  ; 
and  with  what  security  two  persons,  who  choose  to  avoid 
a  certain  subject,  may  approach  its  very  verge,  and  retire 
without  disturbing  it.  Thus,  the  minister  felt  no  appre 
hension  that  Roger  Chillingworth  would  touch,  in  express 
words,  upon  the  real  position  which  they  sustained  tow 
ards  one  another.  Yet  did  the  physician,  in  his  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  vigorous  for  this  occasion  of  the 
Election  discourse.  The  people  look  for  great  things 
from  you  ;  apprehending  that  another  year  may  come 
about,  and  find  their  pastor  gone."  * 

"Yea,  to  another  world,"  replied  the  minister,  with 
pious  resignation.  "  Heaven  grant  it  be  a  better  one  ; 
for,  in  good  sooth,  I  hardly  think  to  tarry  with  my  flock 
through  the  flitting  seasons  of  another  year  !  But,  touch 
ing  your  medicine,  kind  Sir,  in  my  present  frame  of  body  I 
need  it  not." 

"  I  joy  to  hear  it,"  answered  the  physician.  "  It  may  be 
that  my  remedies,  so  long  administered  in  vain,  begin 
now  to  take  clue  effect.  Happy  man  were  I,  and  well  de 
serving  of  New  England's  gratitude,  could  I  achieve  this 
cure  !  " 

"  I  thank  you  from  my  heart,  most  watchful  friend,"  said 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  with  a  solemn  smile.  "  I 
thank  you,  and  can  but  requite  your  good  deeds  with  my 
prayers." 

"  A  good  man's  prayers  are  golden  recompense  !  "  re 
joined  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  as  he  took  his  leave 


302  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"  Yea,  they  are  the  current  gold  coin  of  the  New  Jerusa 
lem,  with  the  King's  own  mint-mark  on  them  !  " 

Left  alone,  the  minister  summoned  a  servant  of  the 
house,  and  requested  food,  which,  being  set  before  him, 
he  ate  with  ravenous  appetite.  Then,  flinging  the  already 
written  pages  of  the  Election  Sermon  into  the  fire,  he 
forthwith  began  another,  which  he  wrote  with  such  an  im 
pulsive  flow  of  thought  and  emotion,  that  he  fancied  him 
self  inspired;  and  only  wondered  that  Heaven  should  see 
fit  to  transmit  the  grand  and  solemn  music  of  its  oracles 
through  so  foul  an  organ-pipe  as  he.  However,  leaving 
that  mystery  to  solve  itself,  or  go  unsolved  for  ever,  he 
drove  his  task  onward,  with  earnest  haste  and  ecstasy. 
Thus  the  night  fled  away,  as  if  it  were  a  winged  steed,  and 
he* careering  on  it;  morning  came,  and  peeped  blushing- 
through  the  curtains;  and  at  last  sunrise  threw  a  golden 
beam  into  the  study,  and  laid  it  right  across  the  minister's 
bedazzled  eyes.  There  he  was,  with  the  pen  still  between 
his  fingers,  and  a  vast,  immeasurable  tract  of  written 
space  behind  him  ! 


XXI. 

THE  NEW  ENGLAND  HOLIDAY. 

ETIMES    in    the     morning 
of  the  day    on    which  the 
new    Governor    was  to  re 
ceive  his  office  at  the  hands 
of      the     people,      Hester 
Prynne     and    little    Pea/1 
came  into  the    market-place.     It  was 
already    thronged  with  the  craftsmen 
and  other  plebeian  inhabitants  of  the 
town,      in       considerable       numbers ; 
among    whom,    likewise,    were    many 
rough    figures,  whose    attire  of    deer 
skins    marked    them  as    belonging  to 
some  of  the  forest  settlements,  which 
surrounded  the  little  metropolis  of  the  colony. 

On  this  public  holiday,  as  on  all  other  occasions,  for 
seven  years  past,  Hester  was  clad  in  a  garment  of  coarse 
grey  cloth.  Not  more  by  its  hue  than  by  some  indescrib 
able  peculiarity  in  its  fashion,  it  had  the  effect  of  making 
her  fade  personally  out  of  sight  and  outline  ;  while,  again 
the  scarlet  letter  brought,  her  back  from  this  twilight  in 
distinctness,  and  revealed  her  under  the  moral  aspect  of 
its  own  illumination.  Her  face,  so  long  familiar  to  the 


304  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

townspeople,  showed  the  marble  quietude  which  they  were 
accustomed  to  behold  there.  It  was  like  a  mask :  or 
rather,  like  the  frozen  calmness  of  a  dead  woman's  feat 
ures  ;  owing  this  dreary  resemblance  to  the  fact  that 
Hester  was  actually  dead,  in  respect  to  any  claim  of  sym 
pathy,  and  had  departed  out  of  the  world  with  which  she 
still  seemed  to  mingle. 

It  might  be,  on  this  one  day,  that  there  was  an  expres 
sion  unseen  before,  nor,  indeed,  vivid  enough  to  be  de 
tected  now  ;  unless  some  preternaturally  gifted  observer 
should  have  first  read  the  heart,  and  have  afterwards 
sought  a  corresponding  development  in  the  countenance 
and  mien.  Such  a  spiritual  seer  might  have  conceived, 
that,  after  sustaining  the  gaze  of  the  multitude  through 
seven  miserable  years  as  a  necessity,  a  penance,  and 
something  which  it  was  a  stern  religion  to  endure,  she 
now,  for  one  last  time  more,  encountered  it  freely  and  vol 
untarily,  in  order  to  convert  what  had  so  long  been  agony 
into  a  kind  of  triumph.  "  Look  your  last  on  the  scarlet 
letter  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  she  will  be  beyond  your  reach  !  A  few 
hours  longer,  and  the  deep,  mysterious  ocean  will  quench 
and  hide  forever  the  symbol  which  ye  have  caused  to  burn 
upon  her  bosom  !  "  Nor  were  it  an  inconsistency  too  im 
probable  to  be  assigned  to  human  nature,  should  we  sup 
pose  a  feeling  of  regret  in  Hester's  mind,  at  the  moment 
when  she  was  about  to  win  her  freedom  from  the  pain 
which  had  been  thus  deeply  incorporated  with  her  being. 
Might  there  not  be  an  irresistible  desire  to  quaff  a  last, 
long,  breathless  draught  of  the  cup  of  wormwood  and  aloes, 
with  which  nearly  all  her  years  of  womanhood  had  been 


The  New  England  Holiday.  305 

perpetually  flavored  ?  The  wine  of  life,  henceforth  to  be 
presented  to  her  lips,  must  be  indeed  rich,  delicious,  and 
exhilarating,  in  its  chased  and  golden  beaker ;  or  else 
leave  an  inevitable  and  weary  languor,  after  the  lees  of 
bitterness  wherewith  she  had  been  drugged,  as  with  a  cor 
dial  of  in  tensest  potency. 

Pearl  was  decked  out  with  airy  gayety.  It  would  have 
been  impossible  to  guess  that  this  bright  and  sunny  appa 
rition  owed  its  existence  to  the  shape  of  gloomy  grey  ;  or 
that  a  fancy,  at  once  so  gorgeous  and  so  delicate  as  must 
have  been  requisite  to  contrive  the  child's  apparel,  was 
the  same  that  had  achieved  a  task  perhaps  more  diffi 
cult,  in  imparting  so  distinct  a  peculiarity  to  Hester's 
simple  robe.  The  dress,  so  proper  was  it  to  little  Pearl, 
seemed  an  effluence,,  or  inevitable  development  and  out 
ward  manifestation  of  her  character,  no  more  to  be  sepa 
rated  from  her  than  the  many-hued  brilliancy  from  a 
butterfly's  wing,  or  the  painted  glory  from  the  leaf  of  a 
bright  flower.  As  with  these,  so  with  the  child  ;  her  garb 
was  all  of  one  idea  with  her  nature.  On  this  eventful  clay, 
moreover,  there  was  a  certain  singular  inquietude  and  ex 
citement  in  her  mood,  resembling  nothing  so  much  as  the 
shimmer  of  a  diamond,  that  sparkles  and  flashes  with  the 
varied  throbbings  of  the  breast  on  which  it. is  displayed. 
Children  have  always  a  sympathy  in  the  agitations  of 
those  connected  with  them  ;  always,  especially,  a  sense  of 
any  trouble  or  impending  revolution,  of  whatever  kind,  in 
domestic  circumstances  ;  and  therefore  Pearl,  who  was 
the  gem  on  her  mother's  unquiet  bosom,  betrayed,  by  the 
very  dance  of  her  spirits,  the  emotions  which  none  could 
detect  in  the  marble  passiveness  of  Hester's  brow. 

This  effervescence  made  her  flit  with  a  bird-like  move- 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


ment,  rather  than  walk  by  her  mother's  side.  She  broke 
continually  into  shouts  of  a  wild,  inarticulate,  and  some 
times  piercing  music.  When  they  reached  the  market 
place,  she  became  still  more  restless,  on  perceiving  the 
stir  and  bustle  that  enlivened  the  spot;  for  it  was  usually 
more  like  the  broad  and  lonesome  green  before  a  village 
meeting-house,  than  the  centre  of  a  town's  business. 

"  Why,  what  is  this,  mother  ?  " 
cried  she.  "  Wherefore  have  all 
the  people  left  their  work  to-day? 
Is  it  a  play-day  for  the  whole 
world  ?  See,  there  is  the  black 
smith  !  He  has  washed  his  sooty 
face,  and  put  on  his  Sabbath-day 
clothes,  and  looks  as  if  he  would 
gladly  be  merry,  if  any  kind  body 
would  only  teach  him  how  !  And 
there  is  Master  Brackett,  the  old 
jailer,  nodding  and  smiling  at  me. 
Why  does  he  do  so,  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  ;  for  thou  art  clad  in  grey, 
and  wearest  the  scarlet  letter.  But 

see,    mother,     how     many    faces     of  "THERE  is  THE  BLACKSMITH." 

strange  people,  and  Indians  among 

them,  and  sailors  !       What  have  they  all  come  to  do  here 

in  the  market-place  ?  " 


The  New  England  Holiday.  307 

"They  wait  to  see  the  procession  pass,"  said  Hester. 
"For  the  Governor  and  the  magistrates  are  to  go  by,  and 
the  ministers  and  all  the  great  people  and  good  people, 
with  the  music,  and  the  soldiers  marching  before  them." 

"  And  will  the  minister  be  there  ?  "  asked  Pearl.  "  And 
will  he  hold  out  both  his  hands  to  me,  as  when  thou  ledst 
me  to  him  from  the  brook-side  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  there,  child,"  answered  her  mother.  "  But 
he  will  not  greet  thee  to-day ;  nor  must  thou  greet  him." 

"What  a  strange,  sad  man  is  he  !  "  said  the  child,  as  if 
speaking  partly  to  herself.  "  In  the  dark  night-time  he 
calls  us  to  him,  and  holds  thy  hand  and  mine,  as  when 
we  stood  with  him  on  the  scaffold  yonder  !  And  in  the 
deep  forest,  where  only  the  old  trees  can  hear,  and  the 
strip  of  sky  see  it,  he  talks  with  thee,  sitting  on  a  heap  of 
moss  !  And  he  kisses  my  forehead,  too,  so  that  the  little 
brook  would  hardly  wash  it  off  !  But  here  in  the  sunny 
day,  and  among  all  the  people,  he  knows  us  not ;  nor 
must  we  know  him  !  A  strange,  sad  man  is  he,  with  his 
hand  always  over  his  heart !  " 

"Be  quiet,  Pearl!  Thou  understandest  not  these 
things,"  said  her  mother.  "  Think  not  now  of  the  min 
ister,  but  look  about  thee,  and  see  how  cheery  is  every 
body's  face  to-day.  The  children  have  come  from  their 
schools,  and  the  grown  people  from  their  workshops  and 
their  fields,  on  purpose  to  be  happy.  For,  to-day,  a  new 
man  is  beginning  to  rule  over  them  ;  and  so — as  has  been 
the  custom  of  mankind  ever  since  a  nation  was  first 
gathered — they  make  merry  and  rejoice  ;  as  if  a  good 
and  golden  year  were  at  length  to  pass  over  the  poor  old 
world  !  " 

It  was  as  Hester  said,  in  regard  to  the  unwonted  jollity 


308  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

that  brightened  the  faces  of  the  people.  Into  this  festal 
season  of  the  year — as  it  already  was,  and  continued  to 
be  during  the  greater  part  of  two  centuries — the  Puritans 
compressed  whatever  mirth  and  public  joy  they  deemed 
allowable  to  human  infirmity;  thereby  so  far  dispelling 
the  customary  cloud,  that,  for  the  space  of  a  single  holi 
day,  they  appeared  scarcely  more  grave  than  most  other 
communities  at  a  period  of  general  affliction. 

But  we  perhaps  exaggerate  the  grey  or  sable  tinge, 
which  undoubtedly  characterized  the  mood  and  manners 
of  the  age.  The  persons  now  in  the  market-place  of 
Boston  had  not  been  born  to  an  inheritance  of  Puritanic 
gloom.  They  were  native  Englishmen,  whose  fathers 
had  lived  in  the  sunny  richness  of  the  Elizabethan  epoch; 
a  time  when  the  life  of  England,  viewed  as  one  great 
mass,  would  appear  to  have  been  as  stately,  magnificent, 
and  joyous,  as  the  world  has  ever  witnessed.  Had  they 
followed  their  hereditary  taste,  the  New  England  settlers 
would  have  illustrated  all  events  of  public  importance  by 
bonfires,  banquets,  pageantries,  and  processions.  Nor 
would  it  have  been  impracticable,  in  the  observance  of 
majestic  ceremonies,  to  combine  mirthful  recreation  with 
solemnity,  and  give,  as  it  were,  a  grotesque  and  brilliant 
embroidery  to  the  great  robe  of  state,  which  a  nation,  at 
such  festivals,  puts  on.  There  was  some  shadow  of  an 
attempt  of  this  kind  in  the  mode  of  celebrating  the  day  on 
which  the  political  year  of  the  colony  commenced.  The 
dim  reflection  of  a  remembered  splendor,  a  colorless  and 
manifold  diluted  repetition  of  what  they  had  beheld  in 
proud  old  London, — we  will  not  say  at  a  royal  coronation, 
but  at  a  Lord  Mayor's  show, — might  be  traced  in  the 
customs  which  our  forefathers  instituted,  with  reference  to 


The  New  England  Holiday.  309 

the  annual  installation  of  magistrates.  The  fathers  and 
founders  of  the  commonwealth — the  statesman,  the  priest, 
and  the  soldier — deemed  it  a  duty  then  to  assume  the 
outward  state  and  majesty,  which,  in  accordance  with 
antique  style,  was  looked  upon  as  the  proper  garb  of 
public  or  social  eminence.  All  came  forth,  to  move  in 
procession  before  the  people's  eye,  and  thus  impart  a 
needed  dignity  to  the  simple  framework  of  a  government 
so  newly  constructed. 

Then,  too,  the  people  were  countenanced,  if  not 
encouraged,  in  relaxing  the  severe  and  close  application 
to  their  various  modes  of  rugged  industry,  which,  at  all 
other  times,  seemed  of  the  same  piece  and  material  with 
their  religion.  Here,  it  is  true,  were  none  of  the  appli 
ances  which  popular  merriment  would  so  readily  have 
found  in  the  England  of  Elizabeth's  time,  or  that  of 
James' ; — no  rude  shows  of  a  theatrical  kind  ;  no  minstrel 
with  his  harp  and  legendary  ballad,  nor  gleeman,  with  an 
ape  dancing  to  his  music  ;  no  juggler,  with  his  tricks  of 
mimic  witchcraft;  no  Merry  Andrew,  to  stir  up  the  multi 
tude  with  jests,  perhaps  hundreds  of  years  old,  but  still 
effective,  by  their  appeals  to  the  very  broadest  sources  of 
mirthful  sympathy.  All  such  professors  of  the  several 
branches  of  jocularity  would  have  been  sternly  repressed, 
not  only  by  the  rigid  discipline  of  law,  but  by  the  general 
sentiment  which  gives  law  its  vitality.  Not  the  less,  how 
ever,  the  great,  honest  face  of  the  people  smiled,  grimly, 
perhaps,  but  widely  too.  Nor  were  sports  wanting,  such 
as  the  colonists  had  witnessed,  and  shared  in,  long  ago,  at 
the  country  fairs  and  on  the  village-greens  of  England; 
and  which  it  was  thought  well  to  keep  alive  on  this  new 
soil,  for  the  sake  of  the  courage  and  manliness  that  were 


310  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

essential  in  them.  Wrestling-matches,  in  the  differing 
fashions  of  Cornwall  and  Devonshire,  were  seen  here 
and  there  about  the  market-place  ;  in  one  corner,  there 
was  a  friendly  bout  at  quarterstaff  ;  and — what  attracted 
most  interest  of  all — on  the  platform  of  the  pillory,  already 
so  noted  in  our  pages,  two  masters  of  defence  were  com 
mencing  an  exhibition  with  the  buckler  and  broadsword. 
But,  much  to  the  disappointment  of  the  crowd,  this  latter 
business  was  broken  off  by  the  interposition  of  the  town 
beadle,  who  had  no  idea  of  permitting  the  majesty  of  the 
law  to  be  violated  by  such  an  abuse  of  one  of  its  con 
secrated  places. 

It  may  not  be  too  much  to  affirm,  on  the  whole,  (the 
people  being  then  in  the  first  stages  of  joyless  deportment, 
and  the  offspring  of  sires  who  had  known  how  to  be 
merry,  in  their  day,)  that  they  would  compare  favorably, 
in  point  of  holiday  keeping,  with  their  descendants,  even 
at  so  long  an  interval  as  ourselves.  Their  immediate 
posterity,  the  generation  next  to  the  early  emigrants;  wore 
the  blackest  shade  of  Puritanism,  and  so  darkened  the 
national  visage  with  it,  that  all  the  subsequent  years  have 
not  sufficed  to  clear  it  up.  We  have  yet  to  learn  again 
the  forgotten  art  of  gayety. 

The  picture  of  human  life  in  the  market-place,  though 
its  general  tint  was  the  sad  grey,  brown,  or  black_pf  the 
Engl i shjs migra n ts,  was  yet  enlivened  by  some  diversity 
of  hue.  A  party  of  Indians — in  their  savage  finery  of 
curiously  embroidered  deer-skin  robes,  wampum-belts,  red 
and  yellow  ochre,  and  feathers,  and  armed  with  the  bow 
and  arrow  and  stone-headed  spear — stood  apart,  with  coun 
tenances  of  inflexible  gravity,  beyond  what  even  the  Puri 
tan  aspect  could  attain.  Nor,  wild  as  were  these  painted 


The  New  England  Holiday. 


311 


barbarians,  were   they  the   wildest   feature   of   the  scene. 
This   distinction   could  more  justly  be  claimed  by  some 
mariners, — a  part    of    the    crew  of    the    vessel    from  the 
Spanish  Main, — who  had  come  ashore  to  see  the  humors 
of  Election  Day.     They  were  rough-looking  desperadoes, 
with    sun-blackened  faces,  and   an   immensity  of  beard  ; 
their     wide,       short 
trousers    were     con 
fined  about  the  waist 

by        belts,       often  rv 

clasped  with  a 
rough  plate  of  gold,  r^ 

and  sustaining  al 
ways  a  long  knife, 
and,  in  some  in 
stances,  a  sword. 
From  beneath  their 
broad-brimmed  hats 
of  palm  leaf,  gleamed 
eyes  which,  even  in 
good  nature  and 
merriment,  had  a 
kind  of  animal  fe 
rocity.  They  trans 
gressed,  without  fear 

or  scruple,  the  rules        ,  " THE  VESSEL  FROM  THE  SPANISH  MA1N  " 
of  behavior  that  were 

binding  on  all  others  ;  smoking  tobacco  under  the  beadle's 
very  nose,  although  each  whiff  would  have  cost  a  towns 
man  a  shilling  ;  and  quaffing,  at  their  pleasure,  draughts 
of  wine  or  aqua-vitae  from  pocket-flasks,  which  they  freely 
tendered  to  the  gaping  crowd  around  them.  It  remarka- 


3i2  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

bly  characterized  the  incomplete  morality  of  the  age,  rigid 
as  we  call  it,  that  a  license  was  allowed  the  seafaring 
class,  not  merely  for  their  freaks  on  shore,  but  for  far 
more  desperate  deeds  on  their  proper  element.  The 
sailor  of  that  day  would  go  near  to  be  arraigned  as  a 
pirate  in  our  own.  There  could  be  little  doubt,  for  in 
stance,  that  this  very  ship's  crew,  though  no  unfavorable 
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  of  justice. 

But  the  sea,  in  those  old  times,  heaved,  swelled,  and 
foamed  very  much  at  its  own  will,  or  subject  only  to  the 
tempestuous  wind  with  hardly  any  attempts  at  regulation 
by  human  law.  The  buccaneer  on  the  wave  might  relin 
quish  his  call;ng,  and  become  at  once,  if  he  chose,  a  man 
of  probity  and  piety  on  land  ;  nor,  even  in  the  full  career 
of  his  reckless  life,  was  he  regarded  as  a  personage  with 
whom  it  was  disreputable  to  traffic,  or  casually  associate. 
Thus,  the  Puritan  elders,  in  their  black  cloaks,  starched 
bands,  and  steeple-crowned  hats,  smiled  not  unbenignantly 
at  the  clamor  and  rude  deportment  of  these  jolly  seafaring 
men;  audit  excited  neither  surprise  nor  animadversion 
when  so  reputable  a  citizen  as  old  Roger  Chillingworth, 
the  physician,  was  seen  to  enter  the  market-place,  in  close 
and  familiar  talk  with  the  commander  of  the  questionable 
vessel. 

The  latter  was  by  far  the  most  showy  and  gallant 
figure,  so  far  as  apparel  went,  anywhere  to  be  seen  among 
the  multitude.  He  wore  a  profusion  of  ribbons  on  his 
garment,  and  gold  lace  on  his  hat,  which  was  also  encir 
cled  by  a  gold  chain,  and  surmounted  with  a  feather, 


The  New  England  Holiday. 


3*3 


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  display  than  hide.  A  landsman 


"  THE  MOST  SHOWY  AND  GALLANT  FIGURE." 

could  hardly  have  worn  this  garb  and  shown  this  face, 
and  worn  and  shown  them  both  with  such  a  galliard  air, 
without  undergoing  stern  question  before  a  magistrate, 


314  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

and  probably  incurring  fine  or  imprisonment,  or  perhaps 
an  exhibition  in  the  stocks.  As  regarded  the  shipmaster, 
however,  all  was  looked  upon  as  pertaining  to  the  char 
acter,  as  to  a  fish  his  glistening  scales. 

After  parting  from  the  physician,  the  commander  of 
the  Bristol  ship  strolled  idly  through  the  market-place  ; 
until,  happening  to  approach  the  spot  where  Hester 
Prynne  was  standing,  he  appeared  to  recognize,  and  did 
not  hesitate  to  address  her.  As  was  usually  the  case 
wherever  Hester  stood,  a  small,  vacant  area — a  sort  of 
magic  circle — had  formed  itself  about  her,  into  which, 
though  the  people  were  elbowing  one  another  at  a  little 
distance,  none  ventured,  or  felt  disposed  to  intrude.  It 
was  a  forcible  type  of  the  moral  solitude  in  which  the 
scarlet  letter  enveloped  its  fated  wearer;  partly  by  her 
own  reserve,  and  partly  by  the  instinctive,  though  no 
longer  so  unkindly,  withdrawal  of  her  fellow-creatures. 
Now,  if  never  before,  it  answered  a  good  purpose,  by 
enabling  Hester  '*and  the  seaman  to  speak  together  with 
out  risk  of  being  overheard  ;  and  so  changed  was  Hester 
Prynne's  repute  before  the  public,  that  the  matron  in 
town  most  eminent  for  rigid  morality  could  not  have  held 
such  intercourse  with  less  result  of  scandal  than  .  hei- 
self. 

"  So,  mistress,"  said  the  mariner,  "  I  must  bid  the 
steward  make  ready  one  more  berth  than  you  bargained 
for  !  No  fear  of  scurvy  or  ship-fever,  this  voyage  !  What 
with  the  ship's  surgeon  and  this  other  doctor,  our  only 
danger  will  be  from  drug  or  pill  ;  more  by  token,  as  there 
is  a  lot  of  apothecary's  stuff  aboard,  which  I  traded  for 
with  a  Spanish  vessel." 

"  What  mean  you  ?  "  inquired    Hester,    startled   more 


The  New  England  Holiday.  315 

than  she  permitted  to  appear.  "  Have  you  another  pas 
senger  ?  " 

"Why,  know  you  not,"  cried  the  shipmaster,  "that 
this  physician  here — Chillingworth,  he  calls  himself — is 
minded  to  try  my  cabin-fare  with  you  ?  Ay,  ay,  you  must 
lave  known  it  ;  for  he  tells  me  he  is  of  your  party,  and  a 
close  friend  to  the  gentleman  you  spoke  of, — he  that  is  in 
;>eril  from  these  sour  old  Puritan  rulers  !  " 

"  They  know  each  other  well,  indeed,"  replied  Hester, 
(with  a  mien  of  calmness,  though  in  the  utmost  consterna 
tion.  "They  have  long  dwelt  together." 

Nothing  further  passed  between  the  mariner  and  Hes 
ter  Prynne.  But,  at  that  instant,  she  beheld  old  Roger 
Chillingworth  himself,  standing  in  the  remotest  corner  of 
the  market-place,  and  smiling  on  her;  a  smile  which — 
across  the  wide  and  bustling  square,  and  through  all  the 
talk  and  laughter,  and  various  thoughts,  moods,  and 
interests  of  the  crowd — conveyed  secret  and  fearful  mean- 


XXII. 


THE  PROCESSION. 

EFORE      Hester      Prynne 

could  call  together  her 
thoughts,  and  consider 
what  was  practicable  to 
be  done  in  this  new  and 
startling  aspect  of  affairs, 
the  sound  of  military  music  was 
heard  approaching  along  a  contigu 
ous  street.  It  denoted  the  advance 
of  the  procession  of  magistrates  and 
citizens,  on  its  way  towards  the  meet 
ing-house  ;  where,  in  compliance  with 
a  custom  thus  early  established,  and 
ever  since  observed,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale  was 
to  deliver  an  Election  Sermon. 

Soon  the  head  of  the  procession  showed  itself,  with  a 
slow  and  stately  march,  turning  a  corner,  and  making  its 
way  across  the  market-place.  First  came  the  music.  It 
comprised  a  variety  of  instruments,  perhaps  imperfectly 
adapted  to  one  another,  and  played  with  no  great  skill, 
but  yet  attaining  the  great  object  for  which  the  harmony 
of  drum  and  clarion  addresses  itself  to  the  multitude, — 
that  of  imparting  a  higher  and  more  heroic  air  to  the 


The  Procession.  317 

scene  of  life  that  passes  before  the  eye.  Little  Pearl  at 
first  clapped  her  hands,  but  then  lost,  for  an  instant,  the 
restless  agitation  that  had  kept  her  in  a  continual  efferves- 
cence  throughout  the  morning  ;  she  gazed  silently,  and  ; 
seemed  to  be  borne  upward,  like  a  floating  sea-bird,  on 
the  long  heaves  and  swells  of  sound.  But  she  was 
brought  back  to  her  former  mood  by  the  shimmer  of  the 
sunshine  on  the  weapons  and  bright  armor  of  the  mili 
tary  company,  which  followed  after  the  music,  and  formed 
the  honorary  escort  of  the  procession.  This  body  of  sol 
diery — which  still  sustains  a  corporate  existence,  and 
marches  down  from  past  ages  with  an  ancient  and  honor 
able  fame — was  composed  of  no  mercenary  materials. 
Its  ranks  were  filled  with  gentlemen,  who  felt  the  stirrings 
of  martial  impulse,  and  sought  to  establish  a  kind  of 
College  of  Arms,  where,  as  in  an  association  of  Knights 
Templars,  they  might  learn  the  science,  and,  so  far  as 
peaceful  exercise  would  teach  them,  the  practices  of  war. 
The  high  estimation  then  placed  upon  the  military  char 
acter  might  be  seen  in  the  lofty  port  of  each  individual 
member  of  the  company.  Some  of  them,  indeed,  by  their 
services  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  with  plumage  nod 
ding  over  their  bright  morions,  had  a  brilliancy  of  effect 
which  no  modern  display  can  aspire  to  equal. 

And  yet  the  men  of  civil  eminence,  who  came  imme 
diately  behind  the  military  escort,  were  better  worth  a 
thoughtful  observer's  eye.  Even  in  outward  demeanor 
they  showed  a  stamp  of  majesty  that  made  the  warrior's 
haughty  stride  look  vulgar,  if  not  absurd.  It  was  an  age 


318  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

when  what  we  call  talent  had  far  less  consideration  than 
now,  but  the  ma-ssive  materials  which  produce  stability 
and  dignity  of  character  a  great  deal  more.  The  people 
possessed,  by  hereditary  right,  the  quality  of  reverence  ; 
which,  in  their  descendants,  if  it  survive  at  all,  exists  in 
smaller  proportion,  and  with  a  vastly  diminished  force  in 
the  selection  and  estimate  of  public  men.  The  change 
may  be  for  good  or  ill,  and  is  partly,  perhaps,  for  both. 
In  that  old  day,  the  English  settler  on  these  rude  shores, 
— having  left  king,  nobles,  and  all  degrees  of  awful  rank 
behind,  while  still  the  faculty  and  necessity  of  reverence 
were  strong  in  him, — bestowed  it  on  the  white  hair  and 
venerable  brow  of  age;  on  long-tried  integrity;  on  solid 
wisdom  and  sad-colored  experience;  on  endowments  of 
that  grave  and  weighty  order,  which  gives  the  idea  of  per 
manence,  and  comes  under  the  general  definition  of  re 
spectability.  These  primitive  statesmen,  therefore, — 
Braclstreet,  Endicott,  Dudley,  Bellingham,  and  their  com 
peers, — who  were  elevated  to  power  by  the  early  choice 
of  the  people,  seem  to  have  been  not  often  brilliant,  but 
distinguished  by  a  ponderous  sobriety,  rather  than  activity 
of  intellect.  They  had  fortitude  and  self-reliance,  and,  in 
time  of  difficulty  or  peril,  stood  up  for  the  welfare  of  the 
state  like  a  line  of  cliffs  against  a  tempestuous  tide.  The 
traits  of  character  here  indicated  were  well  represented 
in  the  square  cast  of  countenance  and  large  physical  de 
velopment  of  the  new  colonial  magistrates.  So  far  as  a 
demeanor  of  natural  authority  was  concerned,  the  mother 
country  need  not  have  been  ashamed  to  see  these  fore 
most  men  of  an  actual  democracy  adopted  into  the  house 
of  peers,  or  made  the  Privy  Council  of  the  sovereign. 
Next  in  order  to  the  magistrates  came  the  young  and 


The  Procession.  319 

eminently  distinguished  divine,  from  whose  lips  the  relig 
ious  discourse  of  the  anniversary  was  expected.  His  was 
the  profession,  at  that  era,  in  winch  intellectual  ability 
displayed  itself  far  more  than  in  political  life  ;  for — leav 
ing  a  higher  motive  out  of  the  question— it  offered  induce 
ments  powerful  enough,  in  the  almost  worshipping  respect 
of  the  community,  to  win  the  most  aspiring  ambition  into 
its  service.  Even  political  power — as  in  the  case  of  In 
crease  Mather — was  within  the  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  with  which  he  kept  his  pace  in 
the  procession.  There  was  no  feebleness  of  step,  as  at 
other  times  ;  his  frame  was  not  bent ;  nor  did  his  hand 
rest  ominously  upon  his  heart.  Yet,  if  the  clergyman 
were  rightly  viewed,  his  strength  seemed  not  of  the  bodye 
It  might  be  spiritual,  and  imparted  to  him  by  angelic  min 
istrations.  It  might  be  the  exhilaration  of  that  potent 
cordial,  which  is  distilled  only  in  the  furnace-glow  of  ear 
nest  and  long-continued  thought.  Or,  perchance,  his  sen 
sitive  temperament  was  invigorated  by  the  loud  and  pierc 
ing  music,  that  swelled'  heavenward,  and  uplifted  him  on 
its  ascending  wave.  '  Nevertheless,  so  abstracted  was  his 
look,  it  might  be  questioned  whether  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  preternatural  activity,  to  marshal  a  procession  of 
stately  thoughts  that  were  soon  to  issue  thence ;  and  so 
he  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing,  knew  npthing,  of  what 


32 o  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

was  around  him  ;  but  the  spiritual  element  took  up  the 
feeble  frame,  and  carried  it  along,  unconscious  of  the  bur 
den,  and  converting  it  to  spirit  like  itself.  Men  of  un 
common  intellect,  who  have  grown  morbid,  possess  this 
occasional  power  of  mighty  effort,  into  which  they  throw 
the  life  of  many  days,  and  then  are  lifeless  for  as  many 
more. 

Hester  Prynne,  gazing  steadfastly  at  the  clergyman, 
felt  a  dreary  influence  come  over  her,  but  wherefore  or 
whence  she  knew  not ;  unless  that  he  seemed  so  remote 
from  her  own  sphere,  and  utterly  beyond  her  reach.  One 
glance  of  recognition,  she  had  imagined,  must  needs  pass 
between  them.  She  thought  of  the  dim  forest,  with  its 
little  dell  of  solitude,  and  love,  and  anguish,  and  the 
mossy  tree-trunk,  where,  sitting  hand  in  hand,  they  had 
mingled  their  sad  and  passionate  talk  with  the  melancholy 
murmur  of  the  brook.  How  deeply  had  they  known  each 
other  then  !  And  was  this  the  man  ?  She  hardly  knew 
him  now  !  He,  moving  proudly  past,  enveloped,  as  it 
were,  in  the  rich  music,  with  the  procession  of  majestic 
and  venerable  fathers  ;  he,  so  unattainable  in  his  worldly 
position,  and  still  more  so  in  that  far  vista  of  his  unsym- 
pathizing  thoughts,  through  which  she  now  beheld 
him  ! 

Her  spirit  sank  with  the  idea  that  all  must  have  been  a 
delusion,  and  that,  vividly  as  she  had  dreamed  it,  there 
could  be  no  real  bond  betwixt  the  clergyman  and  herself. 
And  thus  much  of  woman  was  there  in  Hester,  that  she 
could  scarcely  forgive  him, — least  of  all  now,  when  the 
heavy  footstep  of  their  approaching  Fate  might  be  heard, 
nearer,  nearer,  nearer  ! — for  being  able  so  completely  to 
withdraw  himself  from  their  mutual  world ;  while  she 


The  Procession.  321 

groped  darkly,  and  stretched  forth  her  cold  hands,  and 
found  him  not. 

Pearl  either  saw  and  responded  to  her  mother's  feelings, 
or  herself  felt  the  remoteness  and  intangibility  that  had 
fallen  around  the  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  by  the  brook  ? " 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  clear  little  Pearl  !  "  whispered  her 
mother.  "  We  must  not  always  talk  in  the  market-place  of 
what  happens  to  us  in  the  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  kiss  me  now,  before  all  the  people;  even 
as  he  did  yonder  among  the  dark  old  trees.  What  would 
the  minister  have  said,  mother  ?  Would  he  have  clapped 
his  hand  over  his  heart,  and  scowled  on  me,  and  bid  me 
begone  ?  " 

"  What  should  he  say,  Pearl,"  answered  Hester,  "  save 
that  it  was  no  time  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  eccen 
tricities — or  insanity,  as  we  should  term  it — led  her  to  do 
what  few  of  the  townspeople  would  have  ventured  on;  to 
begin  a  conversation  with  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter, 
in  public.  It  was  Mistress  Hibbins,  who,  arrayed  in  great 
magnificence,  with  a  triple  ruff,  a  broidered  stomacher,  a 
gown  of  rich  velvet,  and  a  gold-headed  cane,  had  come 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


forth  to  see  the  procession.  As  this  ancient  lady  had  the 
renown  (which  subsequently  cost  her  no  less  a  price  than 
her  life)  of  being  a  principal  actor  in  all  the  works  of  nec 
romancy  that  were  continually  going  forward,  the  crowd 
gave  way  before  her,  and  seemed  to  fear  the  touch  of  her 
garments,  as  if  it  carried  the  plague  among  its  gorgeous 
folds.  Seen  in  conjunction  with  Hester  Prynne, — kindly 
as  so  many  now  felt  towards  the  latter, — the  dread  in 
spired  by  Mistress  Hibbins  was  doubled,  and  caused  a  gen 
eral  movement  from  that  part  of  the  market-place  in  which 

the  two  women  stood. 
**  N  o  w  ,  w  h  a  t 
mortal  imagination 
could  conceive  it  !  " 
whispered  the  old 
lady  confidentially 
to  1  lester.  *4  Yon 
der  divine  man  ! 
That  saint  on  earth, 
as  the  people  uphold 
him  to  be,  and  as — 
I  must  needs  say — 
he  really  looks! 
\Yho,  now,  that  saw 

u  SAME  MKASI-RE  WITH  ME.-    him   Pass  in  lh°  P™' 
cession,  would  think 

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  an  airing  in  the  forest  !  Aha  ! 
we  know  what  that  means,  Hester  Prynne  !  But,  truly. 
forsooth,  I  rind  it  hard  to  believe  him  the  same  man. 
Many  a  church-member  saw  T,  walking  behind  the  music, 


DAKCED 


The  Procession.  323 

that  has  danced  in  the  same  measure  with  me,  when  Some 
body  was  fiddler,  and  it  might  be,  an  Indian  powwow  or  a* 
Lapland  wizard  changing  hands  with  us  !  That  is  but  a 
trifle,  when  a  woman  knows  the  world.  But  this  minister  ! 
Couldst  thou  surely  tell,  Hester,  whether  he  was  the  same 
man  that  encountered  thee  on  the  forest-path  !  " 

"Madam,  I  know  not  of  what  you  speak,"  answered 
Hester  Prynne,  feeling  Mistress  Hibbins  to  be  of  infirm 
mind  ;  yet  strangely  startled  and  awe-stricken  by  the  con 
fidence  with  which  she  affirmed  a  personal  connection  be 
tween  so  many  persons  (herself  among  them)  and  the  Evil 
One.  "It  is  not  for  me  to  talk  lightly  of  a  learned  and 
pious  minister  of  the  word,  like  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dim- 
mesdale  !  J' 

"  Fie,  woman,  fie  !  "  cried  the  old  lady,  shaking  her  fin 
ger  at  Hester.  "  Dost  thou  think  I  have  been  to  the  for 
est  so  many  times,  and  have  yet  no  skill  to  judge  who  else 
has  been  there  !  Yea  ;  though  no  leaf  of  the  wrild  garlands 
which  they  wore  while  they  danced,  be  left  in  their  hair  ! 
I  know  thee,  Hester  ;  for  I  behold  the  token.  We  may 
all  see  it  in  the  sunshine  ;  and  it  glows  like  a  red  flame  in 
the  dark.  Thou  wearest  it  openly  ;  so  there  need  be  no 
question  about  that.  But  this  minister  !  Let  me  tell  thee 
in  thine  ear  !  When  the  Black  Man  sees  one  of  his  own 
servants,  signed  and  sealed,  so  shy  of  owning  to  the  bond 
as  is  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  he  hath  a  way  of 
ordering  matters  so  that  the  mark  shall  be  disclosed  in 
open  daylight  to  the  eyes  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  ?  " 


324  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"No  matter,  darling  !"  responded  Mistress  Hibbins, 
*  making  Pearl  a  profound  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?  Then  thou  shalt 
know  wherefore  the  minister  keeps  his  hand  over  his 
heart !  " 

Laughing  so  shrilly  that  all  the  market-place  could  hear 
her,  the  weird  old  gentlewoman  took  her  departure. 

By  this  time  the  preliminary  prayer  had  been  offered  in 
the  meeting-house,  and  the  accents  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale  were  heard  commencing  his  discourse.  An 
irresistible  feeling  kept  Hester  near  the  spot.  As  the 
sacred  edifice  was  too  much  thronged  to  admit  another 
auditor,  she  took  up  her  position  close  beside  the  scaffold 
of  the  pillory.  It  was  in  sufficient  proximity  to  bring  the 
whole  sermon  to  her  ears,  in  the  shape  of  an  indistinct, 
but  varied,  murmur  and  flow  of  the  minister's  very  pecul 
iar  voice. 

This  vocal  organ  was  in  itself  a  rich  endowment ;  inso 
much  that  a  listener,  comprehending  nothing  of  the  lan 
guage  in  which  the  preacher  spoke,  might  still  have  been 
swayed  to  and  fro  by  the  mere  tone  and  cadence.  Like 
all  other  music,  it  breathed  passion  and  pathos,  and  emo 
tions  high  or  tender,  in  a  tongue  native  to  the  human 
heart,  wherever  educated.  Muffled  as  the  sound  was  by 
its  passage  through  the  church-walls,  Hester  Prynne  lis 
tened  with  such  intentness,  and  sympathized  so  intimately, 
that  the  sermon  had  throughout  a  meaning  for  her,  en 
tirely  apart  from  its  indistinguishable  words.  These,  per 
haps,  if  more  distinctly  heard,  might  have  been  only  a 
grosser  medium,  and  have  clogged  the  spiritual  sense. 


The  Procession.  325 

Now  she  caught  the  low  undertone,  as  of  the  wind  sinking 
clown  to  repose  itself ;  then  ascended  with  it,  as  it  rose 
through  progressive  gradations  of  sweetness  and  power, 
until  its  volume  seemed  to  envelop  her  with  an  atmos 
phere  of  awe  and  solemn  grandeur.  And  yet,  majestic  as 
the  voice  sometimes  became,  there  was  for  ever  in  it  an 
essential  character  of  plaintiveness.  A  loud  or  low  ex 
pression  of  anguish, — the  whisper,  or  the  shriek,  as  it 
might  be  conceived,  of  suffering  humanity,  that  touched 
a  sensibility  in  every  bosom  !  At  times  this  deep  strain 
of  pathos  was  all  that  could  be  heard,  and  scarcely  heard, 
sighing  amid  a  desolate  silence.  But  even  when  the  min 
ister's  voice  grew  high  and  commanding, — when  it  gushed 
irrepressibly  upward, — when  it  assumed  its  utmost  breadth 
and  power,  so  overfilling  the  church  as  to  burst  its  way 
through  the  solid  walls,  and  diffuse  itself  in  the  open  air, 
— still,  if  the  auditor  listened  intently,  and  for  the  purpose, 
he  could  detect  the  same  cry  of  pain.  What  was  it  ?  The 
complaint  of  a  human  heart,  sorrow-laden,  perchance 
guilty,  telling  its  secret,  whether  of  guilt  or  sorrow,  to 
the  great  heart  of  mankind  ;  beseeching  its  sympathy  or 
forgiveness, — at  every  moment, — in  each  accent,— and 
never  in  vain  !  It  was  this  profound  and  continual  un 
dertone  that  gave  the  clergyman  his  most  appropriate 
power. 

During  all  this  time  Hester  stood,  statue-like,  at  the 
foot  of  the  scaffold.  If  the  minister's  voice  had  not  kept 
her  there,  there  would  nevertheless  have  been  an  inevi 
table  magnetism  in  that  spot,  whence  she  dated  the  first 
hour  of  her  life  of  ignominy.  There  was  a  sense  within 
her, — too  ill-defined  to  be  made  a  thought,  but  weighing 
heavily  on  her  mind, — that  her  whole  orb  of  life,  both  be- 


326 


The  Scarlet  Letter. 


i 


'  HESTER  STOOD,  STATUE-LIKE,  AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  SCAFFOLD.' 


The  Procession.  327 

fore  and  after,  was  connected  with  this  spot,  as  with  the 
one  point  that  gave  it  unity. 

Little  Pearl,  meanwhile,  ha;1.  Quitted  her  mother's  side, 
and  was  playing  at  her  own  will  about  the  market-place. 
She  made  the  sombre  crowd  cheerful  by  her  erratic  and 
glistening  ray  ;  even  as  a  bird  of  bright  plumage  illumi 
nates  a  whole  tree  of  dusky  foliage  by  darting  to  and  fro, 
half  seen  and  half  concealed,  amid  the  twilight  of  the  clus 
tering  leaves.  She  had  an  undulating,  but,  oftentimes,  a 
sharp  and  irregular  movement.  It  indicated  the  restless 
vivacity  of  her  spirit,  which  to-day  was  doubly  indefati 
gable  in  its  tiptoe  dance,  because  it  was  played  upon  and 
vibrated  with  her  mother's  disquietude.  Whenever  Pearl 
saw  any  thing  to  excite  her  ever  active  and  wandering  curi 
osity,  she  flew  thitherward,  and,  as  we  might  say,  seized 
upon  that  man  or  thing  as  her  own  property,  so  far  as  she 
desired  it  ;  but  without  yielding  the  minutest  degree  of 
control  over  her  motions  in  requital.  The  Puritans  looked 
on,  and,  if  they  smiled,  were  none  the  less  inclined  to  pro 
nounce  the  child  a  demon  offspring,  from  the  indescrib 
able  charm  of  beauty  and  eccentricity  that  shone  through 
her  little  figure,  and  sparkled  with  its  activity.  She  ran 
and  looked  the  wild  Indian  in  the  face  ;  and  he  grew  con 
scious  of  a  nature  wilder  than  his  own.  Thence,  with  na 
tive  audacity,  but  still  with  a  reserve  as  characteristic,  she 
flew  into  the  midst  of  a  group  of  mariners,  the  swarthy- 
cheeked  wild  men  of  the  ocean,  as  the  Indians  were  of  the 
land  ;  and  they  gazed  wonderingly  and  admiringly  at 
Pearl,  as  if  a  flake  of  the  sea-foam  had  taken  the  shape  of 
a  little  maid,  and  were  gifted  with  a  soul  of  the  sea-fire, 
that  flashes  beneath  the  prow  in  the  night-time. 

One   of  these  seafaring  men — the    shipmaster,  indeed, 


328  The  Scarlet  Letter, 

who  had  spoken  to  Hester  Prynne — was  so  smitten  with 
Pearl's  aspect,  that  he  attempted  to  lay  hands  upon  her, 
with  purpose  to  snatch  a  kiss.  Finding  it  as  impossible 
to  touch  her  as  to  catch  a  humming-bird  in  the  air,  he 
took  from  his  hat  the  gold  chain  that  was  twisted  about  it, 
and  threw  it  to  the  child.  Pearl  immediately  twined  it 
around  her  neck  and  waist,  with  such  happy  skill,  that, 
once  seen  there,  it  became  a  part  of  her,  and  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  imagine  her  without  it. 

"  Thy  mother  is  yonder  woman  with  the  scarlet  letter/' 
said  the  seaman.  u  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  the  black-a-visaged,  hump-shouldered  old  doctor,  and 
he  engages  to  bring  his  friend,  the  gentleman  she  wots  of, 
aboard  with  him.  So  let  thy  mother  take  no  thought, 
save  for  herself  and  thee.  Wilt  thou  tell  her  this,  thou 
witch-baby  ?  " 

"  Mistress  Hibbins  says  my  father  is  the  Prince  of  the 
Air  !  "  cried  Pearl,  with  her  naughty  smile.  "  If  thou  call- 
est  me  that  ill  name,  I  shall  tell  him  of  thee  ;  and  he  will 
chase  thy  ship  with  a  tempest !  " 

Pursuing  a  zigzag  course  across  the  market-place,  the 
child  returned  to  her  mother,  and  communicated  what  the 
mariner  had  said.  Hester's  strong,  calm,  steadfastly 
enduring  spirit  almost  sank,  at  last,  on  beholding  this 
dark  and  grim  countenance  of  an  inevitable  doom,  which 
— at  the  moment  when  a  passage  seemed  to  open  for  the 
minister  and  herself  out  of  their  labyrinth  of  misery — 
showed  itself,  with  an  unrelenting  smile,  right  in  the 
midst  of  their  path. 


The  Procession.  329 

With  her  mind  harassed  by  the  terrible  perplexity  in 
which  the  shipmaster's  intelligence  involved  her,  she  was 
also  subjected  to  another  trial.  There  were  many  people 


"  HE  WILL  CHASE  THY  SHIP  WITH  A  TEMPEST." 

present,   from   the  country    round  about,  who  had  often 
heard  of   the    scarlet    letter,  and    to  whom  it  had  been 


330  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

made  terrific,  by  a  hundred  false  or  exaggerated  rumors, 
but  who  had  never  beheld  it  with  their  own  bodily  eyes. 
These,  after  exhausting  other  modes  of  amusement,  now 
thronged  about  Hester  Prynne  with  rude  and  boorish 
intrusiveness.  Unscrupulous  as  it  was,  however,  it  could 
not  bring  them  nearer  than  a  circuit  of  several  yards. 
At  that  distance  they  accordingly  stood,  fixed  there  by 
the  centrifugal  force  of  the  repugnance  which  the  mystic 
symbol  inspired.  The  whole  gang  of  sailors,  likewise, 
observing  the  press  of  spectators,  and  learning  the  pur 
port  of  the  scarlet  letter,  came  and  thrust  their  sunburnt 
and  desperado-looking  faces  into  the  ring.  Even  the 
Indians  were  affected  by  a  sort  of  cold  shadow  of  the 
white  man's  curiosity,  and,  gliding  through  the  crowd, 
fastened  their  snake-like  black  eyes  on  Hester's  bosom  ; 
conceiving,  perhaps,  that  the  wearer  of  this  brilliantly 
embroidered  badge  must  needs  be  a  personage  of  high 
dignity  among  her  people.  Lastly,  the  inhabitants  of  the 
town  (their  own  interest  in  this  worn-out  subject  languidly 
reviving  itself,  by  sympathy  with  what  they  saw  others 
feel)  lounged  idly  to  the  same  quarter,  and  tormented 
Hester  Prynne,  perhaps  more  than  all  the  rest,  with  their 
cool,  well-acquainted  gaze  at  her  familiar  shame.  Hester 
saw  and  recognized  the  self-same  faces  of  that  group  of 
matrons,  who  had  awaited  her  forthcoming  from  the 
prison-door,  seven  years  ago  ;  all  save  one,  the  youngest 
and  only  compassionate  among  them,  whose  burial  robe 
she  had  since  made.  At  the  final  hour,  when  she  was  so 
soon  to  fling  aside  the  burning  letter,  it  had  strangely  be 
come  the  centre  of  more  remark  and  excitement,  and  was 
thus  made  to  sear  her  breast  more  painfully,  than  at  any 
time  since  the  first  day  she  put  it  on. 


The  Procession.  331 

While  Hester  stood  in  that  magic  circle    of  ignominy, 
where    the    cunning    cruelty  of    her  sentence  seemed  to 
have  fixed  her  forever,  the  admirable  preacher  was  look 
ing  down  from  the  sacred  pulpit  upon  an  audience,  whose 
very    inmost    spirits    had    yielded    to    his    control.      The\ 
sainted  minister  in  the  church!     The  woman  of  the  scar-' 
let  letter  in  the  market-place  !     What  imagination  would 
have   been    irreverent  enough  to   surmise  that   the    same 
scorching  stisrma  was  on  them  both. 


XXIII. 

TIIE    REVELATION    OF    THE    SCARLET    LETTER. 

rHE  eloquent  voice,  on  which 
the  souls  of  the  listening 
audience  had  been  borne 
aloft,  as  on  the  swelling 
waves  of  the  sea,  at  length 
came  to  a  pause.  There  was  a  mo 
mentary  silence,  profound  as  what 
should  follow  the  utterance  of  ora 
cles.  Then  ensued  a  murmur  and 
half-hushed  tumult ;  as  if  the  audi 
tors,  released  from  the  high  spell 
that  had  transported  them  into  the 
region  of  another's  mind,  were  return 
ing  into  themselves,  with  all  their 
awe  and  wonder  still  heavy  on  them.  In  a  moment  more, 
the  crowd  began  to  gush  forth  from  the  doors  of  the 
church.  Now  that  there  was  an  end,  they  needed  other 
breath,  more  fit  to  support  the  gross  and  earthly  life  into 
which  they  relapsed,  than  that  atmosphere  which  the 
preacher  had  converted  into  words  of  flame,  and  had  bur 
dened  with  the  rich  fragrance  of  his  thought. 

In  the  open  air  their  rapture  broke  into  speech.     The 
street  and  the  market-place  absolutely  babbled,  from  side 


The  Revelation  of  the  Scarlet  Letter.  333 

to  side,  with  applauses  of  the  minister.  His  hearers  could 
not  rest  until  they  had  told  one  another  of  what  each 
knew  better  than  he  could  tell  or  hear.  According  to 
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  inspiration  ever  breathed  through  mortal  lips 
more  evidently  than  it  did  through  his.  Its  influence 
could  be  seen,  as  it  were,  descending  upon  him,  and  pos 
sessing  him,  and  continually  lifting  him  out  of  the  written 
discourse  that  lay  before  him,  and  filling  him  with  ideas 
that  must  have  been  as  marvellous  to  himself  as  to  his 
audience.  His  subject,  it  appeared,  had  been  the  rela 
tion  between  the  Deity  and  the  communities  of  mankind, 
with  a  special  reference  to  the  New  England  which  they 
were  here  planting  in  the  wilderness.  And,  as,  he  drew 
towards  the  close,  a  spirit  as  of  prophecy  had  come  upon 
him,  constraining  him  to  its  purpose  as  mightily  as  the  old 
prophets  of  Israel  were  constrained ;  only  with  this  differ 
ence,  that,  whereas  the  Jewish  seers  had  denounced  judg 
ments  and  ruin  on  their  country,  it  was  his  mission  to 
foretell  a  high  and  glorious  destiny  for  the  newly  gathered 
people  of  the  Lord.  But,  throughout  it  all,  and  through' 
the  whole  discourse,  there  had  been  a  certain  deep,  sad 
undertone  of  pathos,  which  couhl  not  be  interpreted 
otherwise  than  as  the  natural  regret  of  one  soon  to  pass 
away.  Yes  ;  their  minister  whom  they  so  loved — and 
who  so  loved  them  all,  that  he  could  not  depart  heaven 
ward  without  a  sigh — had  the  foreboding  of  untimely 
death  upon  him,  and  would  soon  leave  them  in  their 
tears  !  This  idea  of  his  transitory  stay  on  earth  gave  the 
last  emphasis  to  the  effect  which  the  preacher  had  pro 
duced  ;  it  was  as  if  an  angel,  in  his  passage  to  the  skies, 


334  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

had  shaken  his  bright  wings  over  the  people  for  an  in 
stant, — at  once  a  shadow  and  a  splendor, — and  had  shed 
down  a  shower  of  golden  truths  upon  them. 

Thus,  there  had  come  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale 
— as  to  most  men,  in  their  various  spheres,  though  seldom 
recognized  until  they  see  it  far  behind  them — an  epoch 
of  life  more  brilliant  and  full  of  triumph  than  an}/  pre 
vious  one,  or  than  any  which  could  hereafter  be.  He 
stood,  at  this  moment,  on  the  very  proudest  eminence  of 
superiority,  to  which  the  gifts  of  intellect,  rich  lore,  pre 
vailing  eloquence,  and  a  reputation  of  whitest  sanctity, 
could  exalt  a  clergyman  in  New  England's  earliest  days, 
when  the  professional  character  was  of  itself  a  lofty  ped 
estal.  Such  was  the  position  which  the  minister  occupied 
as  he  bowed  his  head  forward  on  the  cushions  of  the  pul 
pit  at  the  close  of  his  Election  Sermon.  Meanwhile, 
Hester  Prynne  was  standing  beside  the  scaffold  of  the 
pillory,  with  the  scarlet  letter  still  burning  on  her  breast.' 

Now  was  heard  again  the  clangor  of  the  music,  and 
the  measured  tramp  of  the  military  escort,  issuing  from 
the  church-door.  The  procession  was  to  be  marshalled 
thence  to  the  town-hall,  where  a  solemn  banquet  would 
complete  the  ceremonies  of  the  clay. 

Once  more,  therefore,  the  train  of  venerable  and 
majestic  fathers  was  seen  moving  through  a  broad  path 
way  of  the  people,  who  drew  back  reverently,  on  either 
side,  as  the  Governor  and  magistrates,  the  old  and  wise 
men,  the  holy  ministers,  and  all  that  were  eminent  and 
renowned,  advanced  into  the  midst  of  them.  When 
they  were  fairly  in  the  market-place,  their  presence  was 
greeted  by  a  shout.  This — though  doubtless  it  might 
acquire  additional  force  and  volume  from  the  childlike 


The  Revelation  of  the  Scarlet  Letter.  335 

loyalty  which  the  age  awarded  to  its  rulers — was  felt  to 
be  an  irrepressible  outburst  of  the  enthusiasm  kindled  in 
the  auditors  by  that  high  strain  of  eloquence  which  was 
yet  reverberating  in  their  ears.  Each  felt  the  impulse 
in  himself,  and,  in  the  same  breath,  caught  it  from  his 
neighbor.  Within  the  church,  it  had  hardly  been  kept 
down  ;  beneath  the  sky,  it  pealed  upward  to  the  zenith. 
There  were  human  beings  enough,  and  enough  of  highly 
wrought  and  symphonious  feeling,  to  produce  that  more 
impressive  sound  than  the  organ-tones  of  the  blast,  or  the 
thunder,  or  the  roar  of  the  sea ;  even  that  mighty  swell  of 
many  voices,  blended  into  one  great  voice  by  the  univer 
sal  impulse  which  makes  likewise  one  vast  heart  out  of 
the  many.  Never,  from  the  soil  of  New  England,  had  gone 
up  such  a  shout  !  Never,  on  New  England  soil,  had  stood 
the  man  so  honored  by  his  mortal  brethren  as  the 
preachef  ! 

How  fared  it  with  him  then  ?  Were  there  not  the  brill 
iant  particles  of  a  halo  in  the  air  about  his  head  ?  So 
ethereal ized  by  spirit  as  he  was,  and  so  apotheosized  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,  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  point  where  the 
minister  was  seen  to  approach  among  them.  The  shout 
died  into  a  murmur,  as  one  portion  of  the  crowd  after 
another  obtained  a  glimpse  of  him.  How  feeble  and  pale 
he  looked  amid  all  his  triumph  !  The  energy — or  say, 
rather,  the  inspiration  which  had  held  him  up,  until  he 
should  have  delivered  the  sacred  message  that  brought  its 
own  strength  along  with  it  from  heaven — was  withdrawn, 
now  that  it  had  so  faithfully  performed  its  office.  The 


336  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

glow,  which  they  had  just  before  beheld  burning  on  his 
cheek,  was  extinguished,  like  a  flame  that  sinks  down 
hopelessly  among  the  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  not  fall ! 

One  of  his  clerical  brethren, — it  was  the  venerable 
John  Wilson, — observing  the  state  in  which  Mr.  Dimmes- 
dale  was  left  by  the  retiring  wave  of  intellect  and  sensi 
bility,  stepped  forward  hastily  to  offer  his  support.  The 
minister  tremulously,  but  decidedly,  repelled  the  old  man's 
arm.  He  still  walked  onward,  if  that  movement  could 
be  so  described,  which  rather  resembled  the  wavering 
effort  of  an  infant,  with  its  mother's  arms  in  view,  out 
stretched  to  tempt  him  forward.  And  now,  almost  im 
perceptible  as  were  the  latter  steps  of  his  progress,  he 
had  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.  There  stood  Hester,  hold 
ing  little  Pearl  by  the  hand  !  And  there  was  the  scarlet 
letter  on  her  breast!  The  minister  here  made  a  pause ; 
although  the  music  still  played  the  stately  and  rejoicing 
march  to  which  the  procession  moved.  It  summoned 
him  onward, — onward  to  the  festival ! — but  here  he  made 
a  pause. 

Bellingham,  for  the  last  few  moments,  had  kept  an 
anxious  eye  upon  him.  He  now  left  his  own  place  in  the 
procession  and  advanced  to  give  assistance ;  judging 
from  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  aspect  that  he  must  otherwise 
inevitably  fall.  But  there  was  something  in  the  latter's 
expression  that  warned  back  the  magistrate,  although  a 


The  Revelation  of  the  Scarlet  Letter. 


337 


man  not  readily  obeying  the  vague  intimations  that  pass 
from  one  spirit  to  another.  The  crowd,  meanwhile, 
looked  on  with  awe  and  wonder.  This  earthly  faintness 
was,  in  their  view,  only  another  phase  of  the  minister's 
celestial  strength ;  nor  would  it  have  seemed  a  miracle 
too  high  to  be  wrought 
for  one  so  holy,  had  he 
ascended  before  their 
eyes,  waxing  dimmer 
and  brighter,  and  fading 
at  last  into  the  light  of 
heaven  ! 

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  was 
something  at  once  tender 
and  strangely  triumphant 
in  it.  The  child,  with 
the  bird-like  motion 
which  was  one  of  her 
characteristics,  flew  to 
him,  aad — 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 


'  STRETCHED  FORTH  HIS  ARMS.I! 


338  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

reached  him.  At  this  instant  old  Roger  Chillingworth 
thrust  himself  through  the  crowd, — or,  perhaps,  so  dark, 
disturbed,  and  evil  was  his  look,  he  rose  up  out  of  some 
nether  region, — to  snatch  back  his  victim  from  what  he 
sought  to  do  !  Be  that  as  it  might,  the  old  man  rushed 
forward  and  caught  the  minister  by  the  arm. 

"  Madman,  hold  !  What  is  your  purpose  ?  "  whispered 
he.  "Wave  back  that  woman  !  Cast  off  this  child!  All 
shall  be  well  !  Do  not  blacken  your  fame,  and  perish  in 
dishonor  !  I  can  yet  save  you  !  Would  you  bring  in 
famy  on  your  sacred  profession  ?  " 

"  Ha,  tempter!  Methinks  thou  art  too  late!"  an 
swered  the  minister,  encountering  his  eye,  fearfully,  but 
firmly.  "  Thy  power  is  not  what  it  was  !  With  God's 
help,  I  shall  escape  thee  now !  " 

He  again  extended  his  hand  to  the  woman  of  the  scar 
let  letter. 

"  Hester  Prynne,"  cried  he,  with  a  piercing  earnestness, 
"  in  the  name  of  Him,  so  terrible  and  so  merciful,  who 
gives  me  grace,  at  this  last  moment,  to  do  what — for  my 
own  heavy  sin  and  miserable  agony — I  withheld  myself 
from  doing  seven  years  ago,  come  hither  now,  and  twine 
thy  strength  about  me  !  Thy  strength,  Hester  ;  but  let  it 
be  guided  by  the  will  which  God  hath  granted  me  !  This 
wretched  and  wronged  old  man  is  opposing  it  with  all  his 
might ! — with  all  his  own  might  and  the  fiend's  !  Come, 
Hester,  come  !  Support  me  up  yonder  scaffold  ! " 

The  crowd  was  in  a  Jtumult.  The  men  of  rank  and 
dignity,  who  stood  more  immediately  around  the  clergy 
man,  were  so  taken  by  surprise,  and  so  perplexed  as  to 
the  purport  of  what  they  saw, — unable  to  receive  the 
explanation  which  most  readily  presented  itself,  or  to 


The  Revelation  of  the  Scarlet  Letter.  339 

imagine  any  other, — that  they  remained  silent  and  inac 
tive  spectators  of  the  judgment  which  Providence  seemed 
about  to  work.  They  beheld  the  minister,  leaning  on 
Hester's  shoulder  and  supported  by  her  arm  around  him, 
approach  the  scaffold,  and  ascend  its  steps;  while  still 
the  little  hand  of  the  sin-born  child  was  cla-s'pecl  in  his. 
Old  Roger  Chillingworth  followed,  as  one  intimately  con 
nected  with  the  drama  of  guilt  and  sorrow  in  which  they 
had  all  been  actors,  and  well  entitled,  therefore,  to  be 
present  at  its  closing  scene. 

"  Hadst  thou  sought  the  whole  earth  over,"  said  he, 
looking  darkly  at  the  clergyman,  "there  was  no  one  place 
so  secret, — no  high  place  nor  lowly  place,  where  thou 
couklst  have  escaped  me, — save  on  this  very  scaffold  !  " 

"  Thanks  be  to  Him  who  hath  led  me  hither ! " 
answered  the  minister. 

Yet  he  trembled,  and  turned  to  Hester  with  an  expres 
sion  of  doubt  and  anxiety  in  his  eyes,  not  the  less  evi 
dently  betrayed,  that  there  was  a  feeble  smile  upon  his 
lips. 

"  Is  not  this  better,"  murmured  he,  "  than  what  we 
dreamed  of  in  the  forest  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  !  I  know  not  !  "  she  hurriedly  replied. 
"Better?  Yea;  so  we  may  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  made  plain  before  my  sight.  For, 
Hester,  I  am  a  dying  man.  So  let  me  make  haste  to 
take  my  shame  upon  me." 

Partly  supported  by  Hester  Ptyane,  and  holding  one 
hand  of  little  Pearl's,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale 


34°  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

turned  to  the  dignified  aujLy.enerable  rulers  ;  to  the  holy 
ministers,  who  were  his  brethren  ;  to  the  people,  whose 
great  heart  was  thoroughly  appalled,  yet  overflowing  with 
tearful  sympathy,  as  knowing  that  some  deep  life-matter 
— which,  if  full  of  sin,  was  full  of  anguish  and  repentance 
likewise — was  now  to  be  laid  open  to  them.  The  sun, 
but  little  past  its  me/radian,  shone  down  upon  the  clergy 
man,  and  gave  a  distinctness  to  his  figure,  as  he  stood  out 
from  all  the  earth  to  put  in  his  plea  of  guilty  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,  and  sometimes  a  shriek, 
struggling  up  out  of  a  fathomless  depth  of  remorse  and 
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 ! — I  stand  upon  the  spot  where,  seven 
years  since,  I  should  have  stood ;  here,  with  this  woman, 
whose  arm,  more  than  the  little  strength  wherewith  I 
have  crept  hitherward,  sustains  me,  at  this  dreadful 
moment,  from  grovelling  down  upon  my  face  !  Lo,  the 
scarlet  letter  which  Hester  wears !  Ye  have  all  shud 
dered  at  it !  Wherever  her  walk  hath  been, — wherever, 
so  miserably  burdened,  she  may  have  hoped  to  find 
repose, — it  hath  cast  a  lurid  gleam  of  awe  and  horrible 
repugnance  round  about  her  But  there  stood  one  in  the 
midst  of  you,  at  whose  brand  of  sin  and  infamy  ye  have 
not  shuddered  !  " 

It  seemed,  at  this  point,  as  if  the  minister  must  leave 
the  remainder  of  his  secret  undisclosed.  But  he  fought 
back  the  bodily  weakness, — and,  still  more,  the  faintness 
of  heart, — that  was  striving  for  the  mastery  with  him. 


The  Revelation  of  the  Scarlet  Letter.  341 

He  threw  off  all  assistance,  and  stepped  passionately  for 
ward  a  pace  before  the  woman  and  the  child. 

"  It  was  on  him  !"  he  continued,  with  a  kind  of  fierce 
ness;  so  determined  was  he  to  speak  out  the  whole. 
"God's  eye  beheld  it !  The  angels  were  for  ever  point 
ing  at  it !  The  Devil  knew  it  well  and  fretted  it  continu 
ally  with  the  touch  of  his  burning  finger  !  But  he  hid  it 
cunningly  from  men,  and  walked  among  you  with  the 
mien  of  a  spirit,  mournful,  because  so  pure  in  a  sinful 
world  !  and  sad,  because  he  missed  his  heavenly  kin 
dred  !  Now,  at  the  death-hour,  he  stands  up  before  you  ! 
He  bids  you  look  again  at  Hester's  scarlet  letter  !  He 
tells  you,  that,  with  all  its  mysterious  horror,  it  is  but  the 
shadow  of  what  he  bears  on  his  own  breast,  and  that  even 
this,  his  own  red  stigma,  is  no  more  than  the  type  of  what 
has  seared  his  inmost  heart !  Stand  any  here  that  ques 
tion  God's  judgment  on  a  sinner?  Behold!  Behold  a 
dreadful  witness  of  it  !  " 

With  a  convulsive  motion  he  tore  away  the  ministerial 
band  from  before  his  breast.  It  was  revealed !  But  it 
were  irreverent  to  describe  that  revelation.  For  an 
instant  the  gaze  of  the  horror-stricken  multitude  was  con 
centred  on  the  ghastly  miracle  ;  while  the  minister  stood 
with  a  flush  of  triumph  in  his  face,  as  one  who,  in  the 
crisis  of  acutest  pain,  had  won  a  victory.  Then,  down  he 
sank  upon  the  scaffold  !  Hester  partly  raised  him,  and 
supported  his  head  against  her  bosom.  Old  Roger  Chil- 
lingworth  knelt  clown  beside  him,  with  a  blank,  dull 
countenance,  out  of  which  the  life  seemed  to  have  de 
parted. 

"  Thou  hast  escaped  me  ! "  he  repeated  more  than 
once.  "  Thou  hast  escaped  me  !  " 


342  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

"May  God  forgive  thee  !  "  said  the  minister.  "  Thou, 
too,  hast  deeply  sinned  !  " 

He  withdrew  his  dying  eyes  from  the  old  man,  and 
fixed  them  on  the  woman  and  the  child. 

"  My  little  Pearl,"  said  he  feebly, — and  there  was  a 
"Isweet  and  gentle  smile  over  his  face,  as  of  a  spirit  sinking 
into  deep  repose  ;  nay,  now  that  the  burden  was  removed, 
it  seemed  almost  as  if  he  would  be  sportive  with  the 
child, — "dear  little  Pearl,  wilt  thou  kiss  me  now?  Thou 
wouldst  not  yonder,  in  the  forest!  But  now  thou  wilt?" 

Pearl  kissed  his  lips.  A  spell  was  broken.  The 
great  scene  of  grief,  in  which  the  wild  infant  bore  a  part, 
had  developed  all  her  sympathies  ;  and  as  her  tears  fell 
upon  her  father's  cheek,  they  were  the  pledge  that  she 
would  grow  up  amid  human  joy  and  sorrow,  nor  for  ever 
do  battle  with  the  world,  but  be  a  woman  in  it.  Towards 
her  mother,  too,  Pearl's  errand  as  a  messenger  of  anguish 
was  all  fulfilled. 

"  Hester,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  farewell  !  " 

"  Shall  we  not  meet  again  ?  "  whispered  she,  bending 
her  face  down  close  to  his.  "  Shall  we  not  spend  our 
immortal  life  together  ?  Surely,  surely,  we  have  ran 
somed  one  another,  with  all  this  woe!  Thou  lookest  far 
into  eternity,  with  those  bright  dying  eyes  !  Then  tell 
me  what  thou  seest  ?  " 

"Hush,  Hester,  hush!"  said  he,  with  tremulous  so 
lemnity.  "  The  law  we  broke  ! — the  sin  here  so  awfully 
revealed  !  — let  these  alone  be  in  thy  thought !  I  fear  ! 
I  fear  !  It  may  be,  that,  when  we  forgot  our  God, — when 
we  violated  our  reverence  each  for  the  other's  soul, — it 
was  thenceforth  vain  to  hope  that  we  could  meet  here 
after,  in  an  everlasting  and  pure  reunion.  God  knows  ; 


The  Revelation  of  the  Scarlet  Letter.  343 

and  He  is  merciful  !  He  hath  proved  his  mercy,  most  of 
all,  in  my  afflictions.  By  giving  me  this  burning  torture 
to  bear  upon  my  breast  !  By  sending  yonder  dark  and 
terrible  old  man,  to  keep  the  torture  always  at  red-heat  ! 
By  bringing  me  hither,  to  die  this  death  of  triumphant 
ignominy  before  the  people !  Had  either  of  these  ago 
nies  been  wanting,  I  had  been  lost  for  ever !  Praised  J§e 
His  name  !  His  will  be  done  !  Farewell  !  " 

That  final  word  came  forth  with  the  minister's  expiring 
breath.  The  multitude,  silent  till  then,  broke  out  in  a 
strange,  deep  voice  of  awe  and  wonder,  which  could  not 
as  yet  find  utterance, 'save  in  this  murmur  that  rolled  so 
heavily  after  the  departed  spirit. 


XXIV. 

CONCLUSION. 

FTER  many  days,  when 
time    sufficed  for  the 
people  to  arrange  their 
thoughts  in  reference 
to  the  foregoing  scene, 
there  was  more  than    one  ac 
count  of  what  had  been  wit 
nessed  on  the  scaffold. 

Most  of  the  spectators 
testified  to  having  seen,  on 
the  breast  of  the  unhappy 
minister,  a  SCARLET  LETTER — 
the  very  semblance  of  that 

worn  by  Hester  Prynne — imprinted  in  the  flesh.  As  re 
garded  its  origin,  there  were  various  explanations,  all  of 
which  must  necessarily  have  been  conjectural.  Some 
affirmed  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dimmesdale,  on  the  very 
day  when  Hester  Prynne  first  wore  her  ignominious 
badge,  had  begun  a  course  of  penance, — which  he  after 
wards,  in  so  many  futile  methods,  followed  out, — by  in 
flicting  a  hideous  torture  on  himself.  Others  contended 
that  the  stigma  had  not  been  produced  until  a  long  time 
subsequent,  when  old  Roger  Chillingworth,  being  a  potent 


Conclusion '.  345 

necromancer,  had  caused  it  to  appear,  through  the  agency 
of  magic  and  poisonous  drugs.  Others,  again, — and 
those  best  able  to  appreciate  the  minister's  peculiar  sensi 
bility,  and  the  wonderful  operation  of  his  spirit  upon  the 
body, — whispered  their  belief,  that  the  awful  symbol  was 
the  effect  of  the  ever  active  tooth  of  remorse,  gnawing 
from  the  inmost  heart  outwardly,  and  at  last  manifesting 
Heaven's  dreadful  judgment  by  the  visible  presence  of 
the  letter.  The  reader  may  choose  among  these  theories. 
We  have  thrown  all  the  light  we  could  acquire  upon  the 
portent  and  would  gladly,  now  that  it  has  done  its  office, 
erase  its  deep  print  out  of  our  own  brain ;  where  long 
meditation  has  fixed  it  in  very  undesirable  distinctness. 

It  is  singular,  nevertheless,  that  certain  persons,  who 
were  spectators  of  the  whole  scene,  and  professed  never 
once  to  have  removed  their  eyes  from  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Dimmesdale,  denied  that  there  was  any  mark  whatever 
on  his  breast,  more  than  on  a  new-born  infant's.  Neither, 
by  their  report,  had  his  dying  words  acknowledged,  nor 
even  remotely  implied,  any,  the  slightest  connection,  on 
his  part,  with  the  guilt  for  which  Hester  Prynne  had  so 
long  worn  the  scarlet  letter.  According  to  these  highly 
respectable  witnesses,  the  minister,  conscious  that  he  was 
dying, — conscious,  also,  that  the  reverence  of  the  multi 
tude  placed  him  already  among  saints  and  angels, — had 
desired,  by  yielding  up  his  breath  in  the  arms  of  that 
fallen  woman,  to  express  to  the  world  how  utterly  nuga 
tory  is  the  choicest  of  man's  own  righteousness.  After 
exhausting  life  in  his  efforts  for  mankind's  spiritual  good, 
he  had  made  the  manner  of  his  death  a  parable,  in  order 
to  impress  on  his  admirers  the  mighty  and  mournful 
lesson,  that,  in  the  view  of  Infinite  Purity,  we  are  sinners 


346  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

all  alike.  It  was  to  teach  them,  that  the  holiest  among 
us  has  but  attained  so  far  above  his  fellows  as  to  discern 
more  clearly  the  Mercy  which  looks  down,  and  repudiate 
more  utterly  the  phantom  of  human  merit,  which  would 
look  aspiringly  upward.  Without  disputing  a  truth  so 
momentous,  we  must  be  allowed  to  consider  this  version 
of  Mr.  Dimmesdale's  story  as  only  an  instance  of  that 
stubborn  fidelity  with  which  a  man's  friends — and  espe 
cially  a  clergyman's — will  sometimes  uphold  his  character » 
when  proofs,  clear  as  the  mid-day  sunshine  on  the  scarlet 
letter,  establish  him  a  false  and  sin-stained  creature  of 
the  dust. 

The  authority  which  we  have  chiefly  followed — a  manu 
script  of  old  date,  drawn  up  from  the  verbal  testimony  of 
individuals,  some  of  whom  had  known  Hester  Prynne, 
while  others  had  heard  the  tale  from  contemporary  wit 
nesses — fully  confirms  the  view  taken  in  the  foregoing 
pages.  Among  many  morals  which  press  upon  us  from 
the  poor  minister's  miserable  experience,  we  put  only  this 
into  a  sentence  : — "  Be  true  !  Be  true  !  Be  true  !  Show 
freely  to  the  world,  if  not  your  worst,  yet  some  trait 
whereby  the  worst  may  be  inferred  !  " 

Nothing  was  more  remarkable  than  the  change  jvhich 
took,  place,  almost  immediately  after  Mr.  Dimmesdale's 
death,  in  the  appearance  and  demeanor  of  the  old  man 
known  as  Roger __C.hillingworth.  All  his  strength  and 
energy — all  his  vital  and  intellectual  force — seemed  at 
once  to  desert  him ;  insomuch  that  he  positively  withered 
up,  shrivelled  away,  and  almost  vanished  from  mortal 
sight,  like  an  uprooted  weed  that  lies  wilting  in  the  sun. 
This  unhappy  man  had  made  the  very  principle  of  his  life 
to  consist  in  the  pursuit  and  systematic  exercise  of 


Conclusion.  347 

revenge  ;  and  when,  by  its  completes!  triumph  and  con 
summation,  that  evil  principle  was  left  with  no  further 
material  to  support  it, — when,  in  short,  there  was  no 
more  devil's  work  on  earth  for  him  to  do,  it  only  remained 
for  the  unhumanized  mortal  to  betake  himself  whither  his 
Master  would  find  him  tasks  enough,  and  pay  him  his 
wages  duly.  But,  to  all  these  shadowy  beings,  so  long 
our  near  acquaintances, — as  well  Roger  Chillingworth  as 
his  companions, — we  would  fain  be  merciful.  It  is  a 
curious  subject  of  observation  and  inquiry,  whether 
hatred  and  love  be  not  the  same  thing  at  bottom.  Each, 
in  its  utmost  development,  supposes  a  high  degree  of 
intimacy  and  heart-knowledge  ;  each  renders  one  individ 
ual  dependent  for  the  food  of  his  affections  and  spiritual 
life  upon  another ;  each  leaves  the  passionate  lover,  or 
the  no  less  passionate  hater,  forlorn  and  desolate  by  the 
withdrawal  of  his  object.  Philosophically  considered, 
therefore,  the  two  passions  seem  essentially  the  same, 
except  that  one  happens  to  be  seen  in  a  celestial  ra 
diance,  and  the  other  in  a  dusky  and  lurid  glow.  In  the 
spiritual  world,  the  old  physician  and  the  minister — 
mutual  victims  as  they  have  been — may,  unawares,  have 
found  their  earthly  stock  of  hatred  and  antipathy  trans 
muted  into  golden  love. 

Leaving  this  discussion  apart,  we  have  a  matter  of 
business  to  communicate  to  the  reader.  At  old  Roger 
Chillingworth's  decease  (which  took  place  within  the 
year),  and  by  his  last  will  and  testament,  of  which 
Governor  Bellingham  and  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wilson  were 
executors,  he  bequeathed  a  very  considerable  amount  of 
property,  both  here  and  in  England,  to  little  Pearl,  the 
daughter  of  Hester  Prynne, 


348  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

So  Pearl — the  elf-child, — the  demon  offspring,  as  some 
people,  up  to  that  epoch,  persisted  in  considering  her — 
became  the  richest  heiress  of  her  day,  in  the  New  World. 
Not  improbably,  this  circumstance  wrought  a  very  ma 
terial  change  in  the  public  estimation  ;  and,  had  the 
mother  and  child  remained  here,  little  Pearl,  at  a  mar 
riageable  period  of  life,  might  have  mingled  her  wild 
blood  with  the  lineage  of  the  devoutest  Puritan  among 
them  all.  But,  in  no  long  time  after  the  physician's 
death,  the  wearer  of  the  scarlet  letter  disappeared,  and 
Pearl  along  with  her.  For  many  years,  though  a  vague 
report  would  now  and  then  find  its  way  across  the  sea, — 
like  a  shapeless  piece  of  driftwood  tost  ashore,  with  the 
initials  of  a  name  upon  it, — yet  no  tidings  of  them  un 
questionably  authentic  were  received.  The  story  of  the 
scarlet  letter  grew  into  a  legend.  Its  spell,  however, 
was  still  potent,  and  kept  the  scaffold  awful  where  the 
poor  minister  had  died,  and  likewise  the  cottage  by  the 
sea-shore,  where  Hester  Prynne  had  dwelt.  Near  this 
latter  spot,  one  afternoon,  some  children  were  at  play, 
when  they  beheld  a  tall  woman,  in  a  grey  robe,  approach 
the  cottage-door.  In  all  those  years  it  had  never  once 
been  opened  ;  but  either  she  unlocked  it,  or  the  decaying 
wood  and  iron  yielded  to  her  hand,  or  she  glided  shadow- 
like  through  these  impediments, — and,  at  all  events,  went 
in. 

On  the  threshold  she  paused, — turned  partly  round, — 
for,  perchance,  the  idea  of  entering,  all  alone,  and  all  so 
changed,  the  rrome  of  so  intense  a  former  life,  was  more 
dreary  and  desolate  than  even  she  could  bear.  But  her 
hesitation  was  only  for  an  instant,  though  long  enough 
to  display  a  scarlet  letter  on  her  breast. 


Conclusion. 


349 


And  Hester  Prynne  had   returned,  and  taken  up  her 
long-forsaken  shame.     But  where   was  little  Pearl  ?     If 


"  ON  THE  THRESHOLD  SHE  PAUSED." 

still  alive,  she  must   now  have   been  in   the  flush   and 


350  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

bloom  of  early  womanhood.  None  knew — nor  ever 
learned,  with  the  fulness  of  perfect  certainty — whether 
the  elf-child  had  gone  thus  untimely  to  a  maiden  grave  ; 
or  whether  her  wild,  rich  nature  had  been  softened  and 
subdued,  and  made  capable  of  a  woman's  gentle  happiness. 
But,  through  the  remainder  of  Hester's  life,  there  were 
indications  that  the  recluse  of  the  scarlet  letter  was  the 
object  of  love  and  interest  with  some  inhabitant  of  another 
land.  Letters  came,  with  armorial  seals  upon  them, 
though  of  bearings  unknown  to  English  heraldry.  In 
the  cottage  there  were  articles  of  comfort  and  luxury, 
such  as  Hester  never  cared  to  use,  but  which  only  wealth 
could  have  purchased,  and  affection  have  imagined  for  her. 
There  were  trifles,  too,  little  ornaments,  beautiful  tokens 
of  a  continual  remembrance,  that  must  have  been 
wrought  by  delicate  fingers,  at  the  impulse  of  a  fond 
heart.  And,  once,  Hester  was 
seen  embroidering  a  baby-gar 
ment,  with  such  a  lavish  richness 
of  golden  fancy  as  would 
have  raised  a  public  tumult, 
had  any  infant,  thus 
apparelled,  been  shown 
to  our  sober-hued  com 
munity. 

In  fine,  the  gos 
sips  of  that  day  be 
lieved, — a  n  d  Mr. 
Surveyor  Pue,  who 
made  investiga- 
tions  a  century 
'  ARTICLES  OF  COMFORT  AND  LUXURY."  later,  believed, 


Conclusion.  351 

and  one  of  his  recent  successors  in  office,  moreover, 
faithfully  believes, — -that  Pearl  was  not  only  alive,  but 
married,  and  happy,  and  mindful  of  her  mother  ;  and  that 
she  would  most  joyfully  have  entertained  that  sad  and 
lonely  mother  at  her  fireside. 

But  there  was  a  more  real  life  for  Hester  Prynne,  here, 
in  New  England,  than  in  that  unknown  region  where  Pearl 
had  found  a  home.  Here  had  been  her  sin  ;  here,  her 
sorrow ;  and  here  was~yet  to  be  her  penitence.  She  had 
returned,  therefore,  and  resumed, — of  her  own  free  will, 
for  not  the  sternest  magistrate  of  that  iron  period  would 
have  imposed  it, — resumed  the  symbol  of  which  we  have 
related  so  dark  a  tale.  Never  afterwards  did  it  quit  her 
bosom.  But,  in  the  lapse  of  the  toilsome,  thoughtful,  and 
self-devoted  years  that  made  up  Hester's  life,  the  scarlet 
letter  ceased  to  be  a  stigma  which  attracted  the  world's 
scorn  and  bitterness,  and  became  a  type  of  something  to 
be  sorrowed  over,  and  looked  upon  with  awe,  yet  with 
reverence  too.  And,  as  Hester  Prynne  had  no  selfish 
ends,  nor  lived  in  any  measure  for  her  own  profit  and 
enjoyment,  people  brought  all  their  sorrows  and  perplexi 
ties,  and  besought  her  counsel,  as  one  who  had  herself 
gone  through  a  mighty  trouble.  Women,  more  especially, 
— in  the  continually  recurring  trials  of  wounded,  wasted, 
wronged,  misplaced,  or  erring  and  sinful  passion, — or  with 
the  dreary  burden  of  a  heart  unyielded,  because  unvalued 
and  unsought, — came  to  Hester's  cottage,  demanding  why 
they  were  so  wretched,  and  what  the  remedy!  Hester 
comforted  and  counselled  them,  as  best  she  might.  She 
assured  them,  too,  of  her  firm  belief,  that,  at  some  brighter 
period,  when  the  world  should  have  grown  ripe  for  it,  in 
Heaven's  own  time,  a  new  truth  would  be  revealed,  in 


352  The  Scarlet  Letter. 

order  to  establish  the  whole  relation  between  man  and 
woman  on  a  surer  ground  of  mutual  happiness.  Earlier 
in  life,  Hester  had  vainly  imagined  that  she  herself  might 
be  the  destined  prophetess,  but  had  long  since  recognized 
the  impossibility  that  any  mission  of  divine  and  myste 
rious  truth  should  be  confided  to  a  woman  stained  with  sin, 
bowed  down  with  shame,  or  even  burdened  with  a  life 
long  sorrow.  The  angel  and  apostle  of  the  coming 
rjevelation  must  .Rflf 'woman,  indeed,  but  lofty,  pure,  and 
beautiful ;  and  wise,  moreover,  not  through  dusky  grief, 
but  the  ethereal  medium  of  joy  ;  and  showing  how  sacred 
love  should  make  us  happy,  by  the  truest  test  of  a  life 
successful  to  such  an  end ! 

So  said  Hester  Prynne,  and  glanced  her  sad  eyes 
downward  at  the  scarlet  letter.  And,  after  many,  many 
years,  a  new  grave  was  delved,  near  an  old  and  sunken 
one,  in  that  burial-ground  beside  which  King's  Chapel 
has  since  been  built.  It  was  near  that  old  and  sunken 
grave,  yet  with  a  space  between,  as  if  the  dust  of  the  two 
sleepers  had  no  right  to  mingle.  Yet  one  tombstone 
served  for  both.  All  around,  there  were  monuments 
carved  with  armorial  bearings  ;  arid  on  this  simple  slab  of 
slate — as  the  curious  investigator  may  still  discern,  and 
perplex  himself  with  the  purport — there  appeared  the  sem 
blance  of  an  engraved  escutcheon.  It  bore  a  device,  a 
herald's  wording  of  which  might  serve  for  a  moito  and 
brief  description  of  our  now  concluded  legend;  so  sombre 
is  it,  and  relieved  only  by  one  ever-glowing  point  of  light 
gloomier  than  the  shadow  : — 

"  ON   A    FIELD,    SABLE,    THE   LETTER   A,   GtfLES." 

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XX 


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