XV.
HESTER AND PEARL.
So Roger Chillingworth--a deformed old figure, with a face thathaunted men's memories longer than they liked--took leave of HesterPrynne, and went stooping away along the earth. He gathered here andthere an herb, or grubbed up a root, and put it into the basket on hisarm. His gray beard almost touched the ground, as he crept onward.Hester gazed after him a little while, looking with a half-fantasticcuriosity to see whether the tender grass of early spring would not beblighted beneath him, and show the wavering track of his footsteps,sere and brown, across its cheerful verdure. She wondered what sort ofherbs they were, which the old man was so sedulous to gather. Wouldnot the earth, quickened to an evil purpose by the sympathy of hiseye, greet him with poisonous shrubs, of species hitherto unknown,that would start up under his fingers? Or might it suffice him, thatevery wholesome growth should be converted into something deleteriousand malignant at his touch? Did the sun, which shone so brightlyeverywhere else, really fall upon him? Or was there, as it ratherseemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with his deformity,whichever way he turned himself? And whither was he now going? Wouldhe not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren and blastedspot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadly nightshade,dogwood, henbane, and whatever else of vegetable wickedness theclimate could produce, all flourishing with hideous luxuriance? Orwould he spread bat's wings and flee away, looking so much the uglier,the higher he rose towards heaven?
"He gathered herbs here and there"]
"Be it sin or no," said Hester Prynne, bitterly, as she still gazedafter him, "I hate the man!"
She upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome orlessen it. Attempting to do so, she thought of those long-past days,in a distant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from theseclusion of his study, and sit down in the firelight of their home,and in the light of her nuptial smile. He needed to bask himself inthat smile, he said, in order that the chill of so many lonely hoursamong his books might be taken off the scholar's heart. Such sceneshad once appeared not otherwise than happy, but now, as viewed throughthe dismal medium of her subsequent life, they classed themselvesamong her ugliest remembrances. She marvelled how such scenes couldhave been! She marvelled how she could ever have been wrought upon tomarry him! She deemed it her crime most to be repented of, that shehad ever endured, and reciprocated, the lukewarm grasp of his hand,and had suffered the smile of her lips and eyes to mingle and meltinto his own. And it seemed a fouler offence committed by RogerChillingworth, than any which had since been done him, that, in thetime when her heart knew no better, he had persuaded her to fancyherself happy by his side.
"Yes, I hate him!" repeated Hester, more bitterly than before. "Hebetrayed me! He has done me worse wrong than I did him!"
Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along withit the utmost passion of her heart! Else it may be their miserablefortune, as it was Roger Chillingworth's, when some mightier touchthan their own may have awakened all her sensibilities, to bereproached even for the calm content, the marble image of happiness,which they will have imposed upon her as the warm reality. But Hesterought 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 repentance?
The emotions of that brief space, while she stood gazing after thecrooked figure of old Roger Chillingworth, threw a dark light onHester's state of mind, revealing much that she might not otherwisehave acknowledged to herself.
He being gone, she summoned back her child.
"Pearl! Little Pearl! Where are you?"
Pearl on the Sea-Shore]
Pearl, whose activity of spirit never flagged, had been at no loss foramusement while her mother talked with the old gatherer of herbs. Atfirst, as already told, she had flirted fancifully with her own imagein a pool of water, beckoning the phantom forth, and--as it declinedto venture--seeking a passage for herself into its sphere ofimpalpable earth and unattainable sky. Soon finding, however, thateither she or the image was unreal, she turned elsewhere for betterpastime. She made little boats out of birch-bark, and freighted themwith snail-shells, and sent out more ventures on the mighty deep thanany merchant in New England; but the larger part of them founderednear the shore. She seized a live horseshoe by the tail, and madeprize of several five-fingers, and laid out a jelly-fish to melt inthe warm sun. Then she took up the white foam, that streaked the lineof the advancing tide, and threw it upon the breeze, scampering afterit, with winged footsteps, to catch the great snow-flakes ere theyfell. Perceiving a flock of beach-birds, that fed and fluttered alongthe shore, the naughty child picked up her apron full of pebbles, and,creeping from rock to rock after these small sea-fowl, displayedremarkable dexterity in pelting them. One little gray bird, with awhite breast, Pearl was almost sure, had been hit by a pebble, andfluttered away with a broken wing. But then the elf-child sighed, andgave up her sport; because it grieved her to have done harm to alittle being that was as wild as the sea-breeze, or as wild as Pearlherself.
Her final employment was to gather sea-weed, of various kinds, andmake herself a scarf, or mantle, and a head-dress, and thus assume theaspect of a little mermaid. She inherited her mother's gift fordevising drapery and costume. As the last touch to her mermaid's garb,Pearl took some eel-grass, and imitated, as best she could, on her ownbosom, the decoration with which she was so familiar on her mother's.A letter,--the letter A,--but freshly green, instead of scarlet! Thechild bent her chin upon her breast, and contemplated this device withstrange interest; even as if the one only thing for which she had beensent 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 lightlyas one of the little sea-birds, appeared before Hester Prynne,dancing, laughing, and pointing her finger to the ornament upon herbosom.
"My little Pearl," said Hester, after a moment's silence, "the greenletter, and on thy childish bosom, has no purport. But dost thou know,my child, what this letter means which thy mother is doomed to wear?"
"Yes, mother," said the child. "It is the great letter A. Thou hasttaught me in the horn-book."
Hester looked steadily into her little face; but, though there wasthat singular expression which she had so often remarked in her blackeyes, she could not satisfy herself whether Pearl really attached anymeaning to the symbol. She felt a morbid desire to ascertain thepoint.
"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 hisheart!"
"And what reason is that?" asked Hester, half smiling at the absurdincongruity 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 thanshe was wont to speak. "Ask yonder old man whom thou hast been talkingwith! 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 thybosom?--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 eyeswith an earnestness that was seldom seen in her wild and capriciouscharacter. The thought occurred to Hester, that the child might reallybe seeking to approach her with childlike confidence, and doing whatshe could, and as intelligently as she knew how, to establish ameeting-point of sympathy. It showed Pearl in an unwonted aspect.Heretofore, the mother, while loving her child with the intensity of asole affection, had schooled herself to hope for little other returnthan the waywardness of an April breeze; which spends its time in airysport, and has its gusts of inexplicable passion, and is petulant in
its best of moods, and chills oftener than caresses you, when you takeit to your bosom; in requital of which misdemeanors, it willsometimes, of its own vague purpose, kiss your cheek with a kind ofdoubtful tenderness, and play gently with your hair, and then be goneabout its other idle business, leaving a dreamy pleasure at yourheart. And this, moreover, was a mother's estimate of the child'sdisposition. Any other observer might have seen few but unamiabletraits, and have given them a far darker coloring. But now the ideacame strongly into Hester's mind, that Pearl, with her remarkableprecocity and acuteness, might already have approached the age whenshe could be made a friend, and intrusted with as much of her mother'ssorrows as could be imparted, without irreverence either to the parentor the child. In the little chaos of Pearl's character there might beseen emerging--and could have been, from the very first--the steadfastprinciples of an unflinching courage,--an uncontrollable will,--asturdy pride, which might be disciplined into self-respect,--and abitter scorn of many things, which, when examined, might be found tohave the taint of falsehood in them. She possessed affections, too,though hitherto acrid and disagreeable, as are the richest flavors ofunripe fruit. With all these sterling attributes, thought Hester, theevil which she inherited from her mother must be great indeed, if anoble woman do not grow out of this elfish child.
Pearl's inevitable tendency to hover about the enigma of the scarletletter seemed an innate quality of her being. From the earliest epochof her conscious life, she had entered upon this as her appointedmission. Hester had often fancied that Providence had a design ofjustice and retribution, in endowing the child with this markedpropensity; but never, until now, had she bethought herself to ask,whether, linked with that design, there might not likewise be apurpose of mercy and beneficence. If little Pearl were entertainedwith faith and trust, as a spirit messenger no less than an earthlychild, might it not be her errand to soothe away the sorrow that laycold in her mother's heart, and converted it into a tomb?--and to helpher to overcome the passion, once so wild, and even yet neither deadnor asleep, but only imprisoned within the same tomb-like heart?
Such were some of the thoughts that now stirred in Hester's mind, withas much vivacity of impression as if they had actually been whisperedinto her ear. And there was little Pearl, all this while, holding hermother's hand in both her own, and turning her face upward, while sheput these searching questions, once, and again, and still a thirdtime.
"What does the letter m