English
HesterPrynneremainedconstantinherresolvetomakeknowntoMr.Dimmesdale,atwhateverriskofpresentpainorulteriorconsequences,thetruecharacterofthemanwhohadcreptintohisintimacy.
Forseveraldays,however,shevainlysoughtanopportunityofaddressinghiminsomeofthemeditativewalkswhichsheknewhimtobeinthehabitoftakingalongtheshoresofthePeninsula,oronthewoodedhillsoftheneighbouringcountry.
Therewouldhavebeennoscandal,indeed,norperiltotheholywhitenessoftheclergyman’sgoodfame,hadshevisitedhiminhisownstudy,wheremanyapenitent,erenow,hadconfessedsinsofperhapsasdeepadyeastheonebetokenedbythescarletletter.
But,partlythatshedreadedthesecretorundisguisedinterferenceofoldRogerChillingworth,andpartlythatherconsciousheartimpartedsuspicionwherenonecouldhavebeenfelt,andpartlythatboththeministerandshewouldneedthewholewideworldtobreathein,whiletheytalkedtogether—forallthesereasonsHesterneverthoughtofmeetinghiminanynarrowerprivacythanbeneaththeopensky.
Atlast,whileattendingasickchamber,whithertheRev.Mr.Dimmesdalehadbeensummonedtomakeaprayer,shelearntthathehadgone,thedaybefore,tovisittheApostleEliot,amonghisIndianconverts.
Hewouldprobablyreturnbyacertainhourintheafternoonofthemorrow.
Betimes,therefore,thenextday,HestertooklittlePearl—whowasnecessarilythecompanionofallhermother’sexpeditions,howeverinconvenientherpresence—andsetforth.
Theroad,afterthetwowayfarershadcrossedfromthePeninsulatothemainland,wasnootherthanafoot–path.
Itstraggledonwardintothemysteryoftheprimevalforest.
Thishemmeditinsonarrowly,andstoodsoblackanddenseoneitherside,anddisclosedsuchimperfectglimpsesoftheskyabove,that,toHester’smind,itimagednotamissthemoralwildernessinwhichshehadsolongbeenwandering.Thedaywaschillandsombre.
Overheadwasagrayexpanseofcloud,slightlystirred,however,byabreeze;sothatagleamofflickeringsunshinemightnowandthenbeseenatitssolitaryplayalongthepath.
Thisflittingcheerfulnesswasalwaysatthefurtherextremityofsomelongvistathroughtheforest.
Thesportivesunlight—feeblysportive,atbest,inthepredominantpensivenessofthedayandscene—withdrewitselfastheycamenigh,andleftthespotswhereithaddancedthedrearier,becausetheyhadhopedtofindthembright.
“Mother,”saidlittlePearl,“thesunshinedoesnotloveyou.
Itrunsawayandhidesitself,becauseitisafraidofsomethingonyourbosom.Now,see!Thereitis,playingagoodwayoff.
Standyouhere,andletmerunandcatchit.Iambutachild.
Itwillnotfleefromme—forIwearnothingonmybosomyet!”
“Noreverwill,mychild,Ihope,”saidHester.
“Andwhynot,mother?”askedPearl,stoppingshort,justatthebeginningofherrace.“WillnotitcomeofitsownaccordwhenIamawomangrown?”
“Runaway,child,”answeredhermother,“andcatchthesunshine!Itwillsoonbegone.”
Pearlsetforthatagreatpace,andasHestersmiledtoperceive,didactuallycatchthesunshine,andstoodlaughinginthemidstofit,allbrightenedbyitssplendour,andscintillatingwiththevivacityexcitedbyrapidmotion.
Thelightlingeredaboutthelonelychild,asifgladofsuchaplaymate,untilhermotherhaddrawnalmostnighenoughtostepintothemagiccircletoo.
“Itwillgonow,”saidPearl,shakingherhead.
“See!”answeredHester,smiling;“nowIcanstretchoutmyhandandgraspsomeofit.”
Assheattemptedtodoso,thesunshinevanished;or,tojudgefromthebrightexpressionthatwasdancingonPearl’sfeatures,hermothercouldhavefanciedthatthechildhadabsorbeditintoherself,andwouldgiveitforthagain,withagleamaboutherpath,astheyshouldplungeintosomegloomiershade.
TherewasnootherattributethatsomuchimpressedherwithasenseofnewanduntransmittedvigourinPearl’snature,asthisneverfailingvivacityofspirits:shehadnotthediseaseofsadness,whichalmostallchildren,intheselatterdays,inherit,withthescrofula,fromthetroublesoftheirancestors.
Perhapsthis,too,wasadisease,andbutthereflexofthewildenergywithwhichHesterhadfoughtagainsthersorrowsbeforePearl’sbirth.
Itwascertainlyadoubtfulcharm,impartingahard,metalliclustretothechild’scharacter.
Shewanted—whatsomepeoplewantthroughoutlife—agriefthatshoulddeeplytouchher,andthushumaniseandmakehercapableofsympathy.
ButtherewastimeenoughyetforlittlePearl.
“Come,mychild!”saidHester,lookingaboutherfromthespotwherePearlhadstoodstillinthesunshine—“wewillsitdownalittlewaywithinthewood,andrestourselves.”
“Iamnotaweary,mother,”repliedthelittlegirl.“Butyoumaysitdown,ifyouwilltellmeastorymeanwhile.”
“Astory,child!”saidHester.“Andaboutwhat?”
“Oh,astoryabouttheBlackMan,”answeredPearl,takingholdofhermother’sgown,andlookingup,halfearnestly,halfmischievously,intoherface.
“Howhehauntsthisforest,andcarriesabookwithhim—abig,heavybook,withironclasps;andhowthisuglyBlackManoffershisbookandanironpentoeverybodythatmeetshimhereamongthetrees;andtheyaretowritetheirnameswiththeirownblood;andthenhesetshismarkontheirbosoms.
DidstthouevermeettheBlackMan,mother?”
“Andwhotoldyouthisstory,Pearl,”askedhermother,recognisingacommonsuperstitionoftheperiod.
“Itwastheolddameinthechimneycorner,atthehousewhereyouwatchedlastnight,”saidthechild.
“Butshefanciedmeasleepwhileshewastalkingofit.
Shesaidthatathousandandathousandpeoplehadmethimhere,andhadwritteninhisbook,andhavehismarkonthem.
Andthatuglytemperedlady,oldMistressHibbins,wasone.
And,mother,theolddamesaidthatthisscarletletterwastheBlackMan’smarkonthee,andthatitglowslikearedflamewhenthoumeetesthimatmidnight,hereinthedarkwood.Isittrue,mother?
Anddostthougotomeethiminthenighttime?”
“Didstthoueverawakeandfindthymothergone?”askedHester.“NotthatIremember,”saidthechild.
“Ifthoufearesttoleavemeinourcottage,thoumightesttakemealongwiththee.Iwouldverygladlygo!But,mother,tellmenow!IstheresuchaBlackMan?Anddidstthouevermeethim?Andisthishismark?”
“Wiltthouletmebeatpeace,ifIoncetellthee?”askedhermother.
“Yes,ifthoutellestmeall,”answeredPearl.
“OnceinmylifeImettheBlackMan!”saidhermother.Thisscarletletterishismark!”
Thusconversing,theyenteredsufficientlydeepintothewoodtosecurethemselvesfromtheobservationofanycasualpassengeralongtheforesttrack.
Heretheysatdownonaluxuriantheapofmoss;whichatsomeepochoftheprecedingcentury,hadbeenagiganticpine,withitsrootsandtrunkinthedarksomeshade,anditsheadaloftintheupperatmosphereItwasalittledellwheretheyhadseatedthemselves,withaleaf–strewnbankrisinggentlyoneitherside,andabrookflowingthroughthemidst,overabedoffallenanddrownedleaves.
Thetreesimpendingoverithadflungdowngreatbranchesfromtimetotime,whichchokedupthecurrent,andcompelledittoformeddiesandblackdepthsatsomepoints;while,initsswifterandlivelierpassagesthereappearedachannel–wayofpebbles,andbrown,sparklingsand.
Lettingtheeyesfollowalongthecourseofthestream,theycouldcatchthereflectedlightfromitswater,atsomeshortdistancewithintheforest,butsoonlostalltracesofitamidthebewildermentoftree–trunksandunderbush,andhereandthereahugerockcoveredoverwithgraylichens.
Allthesegianttreesandbouldersofgraniteseemedintentonmakingamysteryofthecourseofthissmallbrook;fearing,perhaps,that,withitsnever–ceasingloquacity,itshouldwhispertalesoutoftheheartoftheoldforestwhenceitflowed,ormirroritsrevelationsonthesmoothsurfaceofapool.
Continually,indeed,asitstoleonward,thestreamletkeptupababble,kind,quiet,soothing,butmelancholy,likethevoiceofayoungchildthatwasspendingitsinfancywithoutplayfulness,andknewnothowtobemerryamongsadacquaintanceandeventsofsombrehue.
“Oh,brook!Oh,foolishandtiresomelittlebrook!”criedPearl,afterlisteningawhiletoitstalk,“Whyartthousosad?Pluckupaspirit,anddonotbeallthetimesighingandmurmuring!”
Butthebrook,inthecourseofitslittlelifetimeamongtheforesttrees,hadgonethroughsosolemnanexperiencethatitcouldnothelptalkingaboutit,andseemedtohavenothingelsetosay.
Pearlresembledthebrook,inasmuchasthecurrentofherlifegushedfromawell–springasmysterious,andhadflowedthroughscenesshadowedasheavilywithgloom.
But,unlikethelittlestream,shedancedandsparkled,andprattledairilyalonghercourse.
“Whatdoesthissadlittlebrooksay,mother?inquiredshe.
“Ifthouhadstasorrowofthineown,thebrookmighttelltheeofit,”answeredhermother,“evenasitistellingmeofmine.
Butnow,Pearl,Ihearafootstepalongthepath,andthenoiseofoneputtingasidethebranches.
Iwouldhavetheebetakethyselftoplay,andleavemetospeakwithhimthatcomesyonder.”
“IsittheBlackMan?”askedPearl.
“Wiltthougoandplay,child?”repeatedhermother,“Butdonotstrayfarintothewood.Andtakeheedthatthoucomeatmyfirstcall.”
“Yes,mother,”answeredPearl,“ButifitbetheBlackMan,wiltthounotletmestayamoment,andlookathim,withhisbigbookunderhisarm?”
“Go,sillychild!”saidhermotherimpatiently.“ItisnoBlackMan!Thoucanstseehimnow,throughthetrees.Itistheminister!”
“Andsoitis!”saidthechild.
“And,mother,hehashishandoverhisheart!
Isitbecause,whentheministerwrotehisnameinthebook,theBlackMansethismarkinthatplace?
Butwhydoeshenotwearitoutsidehisbosom,asthoudost,mother?”
“Gonow,child,andthoushaltteasemeasthouwiltanothertime,”criedHesterPrynne.“Butdonotstrayfar.Keepwherethoucansthearthebabbleofthebrook.”
Thechildwentsingingaway,followingupthecurrentofthebrook,andstrivingtomingleamorelightsomecadencewithitsmelancholyvoice.
Butthelittlestreamwouldnotbecomforted,andstillkepttellingitsunintelligiblesecretofsomeverymournfulmysterythathadhappened—ormakingapropheticlamentationaboutsomethingthatwasyettohappen—withinthevergeofthedismalforest.
SoPearl,whohadenoughofshadowinherownlittlelife,chosetobreakoffallacquaintancewiththisrepiningbrook.
Shesetherself,therefore,togatheringvioletsandwood–anemones,andsomescarletcolumbinesthatshefoundgrowinginthecreviceofahighrock.
Whenherelf–childhaddeparted,HesterPrynnemadeasteportwotowardsthetrackthatledthroughtheforest,butstillremainedunderthedeepshadowofthetrees.
Shebeheldtheministeradvancingalongthepathentirelyalone,andleaningonastaffwhichhehadcutbythewayside.
Helookedhaggardandfeeble,andbetrayedanervelessdespondencyinhisair,whichhadneversoremarkablycharacterizedhiminhiswalksaboutthesettlement,norinanyothersituationwherehedeemedhimselfliabletonotice.
Hereitwaswofullyvisible,inthisintenseseclusionoftheforest,whichofitselfwouldhavebeenaheavytrialtothespirits.
Therewasalistlessnessinhisgait,asifhesawnoreasonfortakingonestepfurther,norfeltanydesiretodoso,butwouldhavebeenglad,couldhebegladofanything,toflinghimselfdownattherootofthenearesttree,andlietherepassiveforevermore.
Theleavesmightbestrewhim,andthesoilgraduallyaccumulateandformalittlehillockoverhisframe,nomatterwhethertherewerelifeinitorno.
Deathwastoodefiniteanobjecttobewishedfororavoided.
ToHester’seye,theReverendMr.Dimmesdaleexhibitednosymptomofpositiveandvivacioussuffering,exceptthat,aslittlePearlhadremarked,hekepthishandoverhisheart.
Share this article to
FINISH