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SoRogerChillingworth—adeformedoldfigurewithafacethathauntedmen’smemorieslongerthantheyliked—tookleaveofHesterPrynne,andwentstoopingawayalongtheearth.
Hegatheredhereandthereaherb,orgrubbeduparootandputitintothebasketonhisarm.
Hisgraybeardalmosttouchedthegroundashecreptonward.
Hestergazedafterhimalittlewhile,lookingwithahalffantasticcuriositytoseewhetherthetendergrassofearlyspringwouldnotbeblightedbeneathhimandshowthewaveringtrackofhisfootsteps,sereandbrown,acrossitscheerfulverdure.
Shewonderedwhatsortofherbstheywerewhichtheoldmanwassoseduloustogather.
Wouldnottheearth,quickenedtoanevilpurposebythesympathyofhiseye,greethimwithpoisonousshrubsofspecieshithertounknown,thatwouldstartupunderhisfingers?
Ormightitsufficehimthateverywholesomegrowthshouldbeconvertedintosomethingdeleteriousandmalignantathistouch?
Didthesun,whichshonesobrightlyeverywhereelse,reallyfalluponhim?
Orwasthere,asitratherseemed,acircleofominousshadowmovingalongwithhisdeformitywhicheverwayheturnedhimself?Andwhitherwashenowgoing?
Wouldhenotsuddenlysinkintotheearth,leavingabarrenandblastedspot,where,induecourseoftime,wouldbeseendeadlynightshade,dogwood,henbane,andwhateverelseofvegetablewickednesstheclimatecouldproduce,allflourishingwithhideousluxuriance?
Orwouldhespreadbat’swingsandfleeaway,lookingsomuchtheuglierthehigherherosetowardsheaven?
“Beitsinorno,”saidHesterPrynne,bitterly,asstillshegazedafterhim,“Ihatetheman!”
Sheupbraidedherselfforthesentiment,butcouldnotovercomeorlessenit.
Attemptingtodoso,shethoughtofthoselong–pastdaysinadistantland,whenheusedtoemergeateventidefromtheseclusionofhisstudyandsitdowninthefirelightoftheirhome,andinthelightofhernuptialsmile.
Heneededtobaskhimselfinthatsmile,hesaid,inorderthatthechillofsomanylonelyhoursamonghisbooksmightbetakenoffthescholar’sheart.
Suchsceneshadonceappearednototherwisethanhappy,butnow,asviewedthroughthedismalmediumofhersubsequentlife,theyclassedthemselvesamongherugliestremembrances.
Shemarvelledhowsuchscenescouldhavebeen!
Shemarvelledhowshecouldeverhavebeenwroughtupontomarryhim!
Shedeemedinhercrimemosttoberepentedof,thatshehadeverenduredandreciprocatedthelukewarmgraspofhishand,andhadsufferedthesmileofherlipsandeyestomingleandmeltintohisown.
AnditseemedafouleroffencecommittedbyRogerChillingworththananywhichhadsincebeendonehim,that,inthetimewhenherheartknewnobetter,hehadpersuadedhertofancyherselfhappybyhisside.
“Yes,Ihatehim!”repeatedHestermorebitterlythanbefore.“Hebetrayedme!HehasdonemeworsewrongthanIdidhim!”
Letmentrembletowinthehandofwoman,unlesstheywinalongwithittheutmostpassionofherheart!
Elseitmaybetheirmiserablefortune,asitwasRogerChillingworth’s,whensomemightiertouchthantheirownmayhaveawakenedallhersensibilities,tobereproachedevenforthecalmcontent,themarbleimageofhappiness,whichtheywillhaveimposeduponherasthewarmreality.
ButHesteroughtlongagotohavedonewiththisinjustice.Whatdiditbetoken?
Hadsevenlongyears,underthetortureofthescarletletter,inflictedsomuchofmiseryandwroughtoutnorepentance?
Theemotionofthatbriefspace,whileshestoodgazingafterthecrookedfigureofoldRogerChillingworth,threwadarklightonHester’sstateofmind,revealingmuchthatshemightnototherwisehaveacknowledgedtoherself.
Hebeinggone,shesummonedbackherchild.
“Pearl!LittlePearl!Whereareyou?”
Pearl,whoseactivityofspiritneverflagged,hadbeenatnolossforamusementwhilehermothertalkedwiththeoldgathererofherbs.
Atfirst,asalreadytold,shehadflirtedfancifullywithherownimageinapoolofwater,beckoningthephantomforth,and—asitdeclinedtoventure—seekingapassageforherselfintoitssphereofimpalpableearthandunattainablesky.
Soonfinding,however,thateithersheortheimagewasunreal,sheturnedelsewhereforbetterpastime.
Shemadelittleboatsoutofbirch–bark,andfreightedthemwithsnailshells,andsentoutmoreventuresonthemightydeepthananymerchantinNewEngland;butthelargerpartofthemfounderedneartheshore.
Sheseizedalivehorse–shoebythetail,andmadeprizeofseveralfive–fingers,andlaidoutajelly–fishtomeltinthewarmsun.
Thenshetookupthewhitefoamthatstreakedthelineoftheadvancingtide,andthrewituponthebreeze,scamperingafteritwithwingedfootstepstocatchthegreatsnowflakeseretheyfell.
Perceivingaflockofbeach–birdsthatfedandflutteredalongtheshore,thenaughtychildpickedupherapronfullofpebbles,and,creepingfromrocktorockafterthesesmallsea–fowl,displayedremarkabledexterityinpeltingthem.
Onelittlegraybird,withawhitebreast,Pearlwasalmostsurehadbeenhitbyapebble,andflutteredawaywithabrokenwing.
Butthentheelf–childsighed,andgaveuphersport,becauseitgrievedhertohavedoneharmtoalittlebeingthatwasaswildasthesea–breeze,oraswildasPearlherself.
Herfinalemploymentwastogatherseaweedofvariouskinds,andmakeherselfascarformantle,andahead–dress,andthusassumetheaspectofalittlemermaid.
Sheinheritedhermother’sgiftfordevisingdraperyandcostume.
Asthelasttouchtohermermaid’sgarb,Pearltooksomeeel–grassandimitated,asbestshecould,onherownbosomthedecorationwithwhichshewassofamiliaronhermother’s.
Aletter—theletterA—butfreshlygreeninsteadofscarlet.
Thechildbentherchinuponherbreast,andcontemplatedthisdevicewithstrangeinterest,evenasiftheoneonlythingforwhichshehadbeensentintotheworldwastomakeoutitshiddenimport.
“Iwonderifmotherwillaskmewhatitmeans?”thoughtPearl.
Justthensheheardhermother’svoice,and,flittingalongaslightlyasoneofthelittlesea–birds,appearedbeforeHesterPrynnedancing,laughing,andpointingherfingertotheornamentuponherbosom.
“MylittlePearl,”saidHester,afteramoment’ssilence,“thegreenletter,andonthychildishbosom,hasnopurport.
Butdostthouknow,mychild,whatthislettermeanswhichthymotherisdoomedtowear?”
“Yes,mother,”saidthechild.“ItisthegreatletterA.Thouhasttaughtmeinthehorn–book.”
Hesterlookedsteadilyintoherlittleface;butthoughtherewasthatsingularexpressionwhichshehadsooftenremarkedinherblackeyes,shecouldnotsatisfyherselfwhetherPearlreallyattachedanymeaningtothesymbol.
Shefeltamorbiddesiretoascertainthepoint.
“Dostthouknow,child,whereforethymotherwearsthisletter?”
“TrulydoI!”answeredPearl,lookingbrightlyintohermother’sface.“Itisforthesamereasonthattheministerkeepshishandoverhisheart!”
“Andwhatreasonisthat?”askedHester,halfsmilingattheabsurdincongruityofthechild’sobservation;butonsecondthoughtsturningpale.
“Whathasthelettertodowithanyheartsavemine?”
“Nay,mother,IhavetoldallIknow,”saidPearl,moreseriouslythanshewaswonttospeak.
“Askyonderoldmanwhomthouhastbeentalkingwith,—itmaybehecantell.
Butingoodearnestnow,motherdear,whatdoesthisscarletlettermean?
—Andwhydostthouwearitonthybosom?
—Andwhydoestheministerkeephishandoverhisheart?”
Shetookhermother’shandinbothherown,andgazedintohereyeswithanearnestnessthatwasseldomseeninherwildandcapriciouscharacter.
ThethoughtoccurredtoHester,thatthechildmightreallybeseekingtoapproachherwithchildlikeconfidence,anddoingwhatshecould,andasintelligentlyassheknewhow,toestablishameeting–pointofsympathy.ItshowedPearlinanunwontedaspect.
Heretofore,themother,whilelovingherchildwiththeintensityofasoleaffection,hadschooledherselftohopeforlittleotherreturnthanthewaywardnessofanAprilbreeze,whichspendsitstimeinairysport,andhasitsgustsofinexplicablepassion,andispetulantinitsbestofmoods,andchillsoftenerthancaressesyou,whenyoutakeittoyourbosom;inrequitalofwhichmisdemeanoursitwillsometimes,ofitsownvaguepurpose,kissyourcheekwithakindofdoubtfultenderness,andplaygentlywithyourhair,andthenbegoneaboutitsotheridlebusiness,leavingadreamypleasureatyourheart.
Andthis,moreover,wasamother’sestimateofthechild’sdisposition.
Anyotherobservermighthaveseenfewbutunamiabletraits,andhavegiventhemafardarkercolouring.
ButnowtheideacamestronglyintoHester’smind,thatPearl,withherremarkableprecocityandacuteness,mightalreadyhaveapproachedtheagewhenshecouldhavebeenmadeafriend,andintrustedwithasmuchofhermother’ssorrowsascouldbeimparted,withoutirreverenceeithertotheparentorthechild.
InthelittlechaosofPearl’scharactertheremightbeseenemerging—andcouldhavebeenfromtheveryfirst—thesteadfastprinciplesofanunflinchingcourage—anuncontrollablewill—asturdypride,whichmightbedisciplinedintoself–respect—andabitterscornofmanythingswhich,whenexamined,mightbefoundtohavethetaintoffalsehoodinthem.
Shepossessedaffections,too,thoughhithertoacridanddisagreeable,asaretherichestflavoursofunripefruit.
Withallthesesterlingattributes,thoughtHester,theevilwhichsheinheritedfromhermothermustbegreatindeed,ifanoblewomandonotgrowoutofthiselfishchild.
Pearl’sinevitabletendencytohoverabouttheenigmaofthescarletletterseemedaninnatequalityofherbeing.
Fromtheearliestepochofherconsciouslife,shehadentereduponthisasherappointedmission.
HesterhadoftenfanciedthatProvidencehadadesignofjusticeandretribution,inendowingthechildwiththismarkedpropensity;butnever,untilnow,hadshebethoughtherselftoask,whether,linkedwiththatdesign,theremightnotlikewisebeapurposeofmercyandbeneficence.
IflittlePearlwereentertainedwithfaithandtrust,asaspiritmessengernolessthananearthlychild,mightitnotbehererrandtosootheawaythesorrowthatlaycoldinhermother’sheart,andconverteditintoatomb?
—Andtohelphertoovercomethepassion,oncesowild,andevenyetneitherdeadnorasleep,butonlyimprisonedwithinthesametomb–likeheart?
SuchweresomeofthethoughtsthatnowstirredinHester’smind,withasmuchvivacityofimpressionasiftheyhadactuallybeenwhisperedintoherear.
AndtherewaslittlePearl,allthiswhile,holdinghermother’shandinbothherown,andturningherfaceupward,whilesheputthesesearchingquestions,onceandagain,andstillathirdtime.
“Whatdoesthelettermean,mother?—Andwhydostthouwearit?—Andwhydoestheministerkeephishandoverhisheart?”
“WhatshallIsay?”thoughtHestertoherself.“No!Ifthisbethepriceofthechild’ssympathy,Icannotpayit.”
Thenshespokealoud—
“SillyPearl,”saidshe,“whatquestionsarethese?
Therearemanythingsinthisworldthatachildmustnotaskabout.WhatknowIoftheminister’sheart?
Andasforthescarletletter,Iwearitforthesakeofitsgoldthread.”
Inallthesevenbygoneyears,HesterPrynnehadneverbeforebeenfalsetothesymbolonherbosom.
Itmaybethatitwasthetalismanofasternandsevere,butyetaguardianspirit,whonowforsookher;asrecognizingthat,inspiteofhisstrictwatchoverherheart,somenewevilhadcreptintoit,orsomeoldonehadneverbeenexpelled.
AsforlittlePearl,theearnestnesssoonpassedoutofherface.
Butthechilddidnotseefittoletthematterdrop.
Twoorthreetimes,ashermotherandshewenthomeward,andasoftenatsupper–time,andwhileHesterwasputtinghertobed,andonceaftersheseemedtobefairlyasleep,Pearllookedup,withmischiefgleaminginherblackeyes.
“Mother,”saidshe,“whatdoesthescarletlettermean?”
Andthenextmorning,thefirstindicationthechildgaveofbeingawakewasbypoppingupherheadfromthepillow,andmakingthatotherenquiry,whichshehadsounaccountablyconnectedwithherinvestigationsaboutthescarletletter—
“Mother!—Mother!—Whydoestheministerkeephishandoverhisheart?”
“Holdthytongue,naughtychild!”answeredhermother,withanasperitythatshehadneverpermittedtoherselfbefore.“Donotteaseme;elseIshallputtheeintothedarkcloset!”
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