XX.
THE MINISTER IN A MAZE.
As the minister departed, in advance of Hester Prynne and littlePearl, he threw a backward glance; half expecting that he shoulddiscover only some faintly traced features or outline of the motherand the child, slowly fading into the twilight of the woods. So greata vicissitude in his life could not at once be received as real. Butthere was Hester, clad in her gray robe, still standing beside thetree-trunk, which some blast had overthrown a long antiquity ago, andwhich time had ever since been covering with moss, so that these twofated ones, with earth's heaviest burden on them, might there sit downtogether, and find a single hour's rest and solace. And there wasPearl, too, lightly dancing from the margin of the brook,--now thatthe intrusive third person was gone,--and taking her old place by hermother's side. So the minister had not fallen asleep and dreamed!
In order to free his mind from this indistinctness and duplicity ofimpression, which vexed it with a strange disquietude, he recalled andmore thoroughly defined the plans which Hester and himself hadsketched for their departure. It had been determined between them,that the Old World, with its crowds and cities, offered them a moreeligible shelter and concealment than the wilds of New England, or allAmerica, with its alternatives of an Indian wigwam, or the fewsettlements of Europeans, scattered thinly along the seaboard. Not tospeak of the clergyman's health, so inadequate to sustain thehardships of a forest life, his native gifts, his culture, and hisentire development, would secure him a home only in the midst ofcivilization and refinement; the higher the state, the more delicatelyadapted to it the man. In furtherance of this choice, it so happenedthat a ship lay in the harbor; one of those questionable cruisers,frequent at that day, which, without being absolutely outlaws of thedeep, yet roamed over its surface with a remarkable irresponsibilityof character. This vessel had recently arrived from the Spanish Main,and, within three days' time, would sail for Bristol. HesterPrynne--whose vocation, as a self-enlisted Sister of Charity, hadbrought her acquainted with the captain and crew--could take uponherself to secure the passage of two individuals and a child, with allthe secrecy which circumstances rendered more than desirable.
The minister had inquired of Hester, with no little interest, theprecise time at which the vessel might be expected to depart. It wouldprobably be on the fourth day from the present. "That is mostfortunate!" he had then said to himself. Now, why the Reverend Mr.Dimmesdale considered it so very fortunate, we hesitate to reveal.Nevertheless,--to hold nothing back from the reader,--it was because,on the third day from the present, he was to preach the ElectionSermon; and, as such an occasion formed an honorable epoch in the lifeof a New England clergyman, he could not have chanced upon a moresuitable mode and time of terminating his professional career. "Atleast, they shall say of me," thought this exemplary man, "that Ileave no public duty unperformed, nor ill performed!" Sad, indeed,that an introspection so profound and acute as this poor minister'sshould be so miserably deceived! We have had, and may still have,worse things to tell of him; but none, we apprehend, so pitiably weak;no evidence, at once so slight and irrefragable, of a subtle disease,that had long since begun to eat into the real substance of hischaracter. No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face tohimself, and another to the multitude, without finally gettingbewildered as to which may be the true.
The excitement of Mr. Dimmesdale's feelings, as he returned from hisinterview with Hester, lent him unaccustomed physical energy, andhurried him townward at a rapid pace. The pathway among the woodsseemed wilder, more uncouth with its rude natural obstacles, and lesstrodden by the foot of man, than he remembered it on his outwardjourney. But he leaped across the plashy places, thrust himselfthrough the clinging underbrush, climbed the ascent, plunged into thehollow, and overcame, in short, all the difficulties of the track,with an unweariable activity that astonished him. He could not butrecall how feebly, and with what frequent pauses for breath, he hadtoiled over the same ground, only two days before. As he drew near thetown, he took an impression of change from the series of familiarobjects that presented themselves. It seemed not yesterday, not one,nor two, but many days, or even years ago, since he had quitted them.There, indeed, was each former trace of the street, as he rememberedit, and all the peculiarities of the houses, with the due multitudeof gable-peaks, and a weathercock at every point where his memorysuggested one. Not the less, however, came this importunatelyobtrusive sense of change. The same was true as regarded theacquaintances whom he met, and all the well-known shapes of humanlife, about the little town. They looked neither older nor youngernow; the beards of the aged were no whiter, nor could the creepingbabe of yesterday walk on his feet to-day; it was impossible todescribe in what respect they differed from the individuals on whom hehad so recently bestowed a parting glance; and yet the minister'sdeepest sense seemed to inform him of their mutability. A similarimpression struck him most remarkably, as he passed under the walls ofhis 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 wasmerely dreaming about it now.
This phenomenon, in the various shapes which it assumed, indicated noexternal change, but so sudden and important a change in the spectatorof the familiar scene, that the intervening space of a single day hadoperated on his consciousness like the lapse of years. The minister'sown will, and Hester's will, and the fate that grew between them, hadwrought this transformation. It was the same town as heretofore; butthe same minister returned not from the forest. He might have said tothe 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 amossy tree-trunk, and near a melancholy brook! Go, seek your minister,and see if his emaciated figure, his thin cheek, his white, heavy,pain-wrinkled brow, be not flung down there, like a cast-offgarment!" His friends, no doubt, would still have insisted withhim,--"Thou art thyself the man!"--but the error would have been theirown, not his.
Before Mr. Dimmesdale reached home, his inner man gave him otherevidences of a revolution in the sphere of thought and feeling. Intruth, nothing short of a total change of dynasty and moral code, inthat interior kingdom, was adequate to account for the impulses nowcommunicated to the unfortunate and startled minister. At every stephe was incited to do some strange, wild, wicked thing or other, with asense that it would be at once involuntary and intentional; in spiteof himself, yet growing out of a profounder self than that whichopposed the impulse. For instance, he met one of his own deacons. Thegood old man addressed him with the paternal affection and patriarchalprivilege, which his venerable age, his upright and holy character,and his station in the Church, entitled him to use; and, conjoinedwith this, the deep, almost worshipping respect, which the minister'sprofessional and private claims alike demanded. Never was there a morebeautiful example of how the majesty of age and wisdom may comportwith the obeisance and respect enjoined upon it, as from a lowersocial rank, and inferior order of endowment, towards a higher. Now,during a conversation of some two or three moments between theReverend Mr. Dimmesdale and this excellent and hoary-bearded deacon,it was only by the most careful self-control that the former couldrefrain from uttering certain blasphemous suggestions that rose intohis mind, respecting the communion supper. He absolutely trembled andturned pale as ashes, lest his tongue should wag itself, in utteranceof these horrible matters, and plead his own consent for so doing,without his having fairly given it. And, even with this terror in hisheart, he could hardly avoid laughing, to imagine how the sanctifiedold patriarchal deacon would have been petrified by his minister'simpiety!
Again, another incident of the same nature. Hurrying along the street,the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale encountered the eldest female member ofhis church; a most pious and exemplary old dame; poor, widowed,lonely, and with a heart as full of reminiscences about her deadhusb
and and children, and her dead friends of long ago, as aburial-ground is full of storied gravestones. Yet all this, whichwould else have been such heavy sorrow, was made almost a solemn joyto her devout old soul, by religious consolations and the truths ofScripture, wherewith she had fed herself continually for more thanthirty years. And, since Mr. Dimmesdale had taken her in charge, thegood grandam's chief earthly comfort--which, unless it had beenlikewise a heavenly comfort, could have been none at all--was to meether pastor, whether casually, or of set purpose, and be refreshed witha word of warm, fragrant, heaven-breathing Gospel truth, from hisbeloved lips, into her dulled, but rapturously attentive ear. But, onthis occasion, up to the moment of putting his lips to the old woman'sear, Mr. Dimmesdale, as the great enemy of souls would have it, couldrecall no text of Scripture, nor aught else, except a brief, pithy,and, as it then appeared to him, unanswerable argument against theimmortality of the human soul. The instilment thereof into her mindwould probably have caused this aged sister to drop down dead, atonce, as by the effect of an intensely poisonous infusion. What hereally did whisper, the minister could never afterwards recollect.There was, perhaps, a fortunate disorder in his utterance, whichfailed 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 divinegratitude and ecstasy that seemed like the shine of the celestial cityon her face, so wrinkled and ashy pale.
Again, a third instance. After parting from the old church-member, hemet the youngest sister of them all. It was a maiden newly won--andwon by the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale's own sermon, on the Sabbath afterhis vigil--to barter the transitory pleasures of the world for theheavenly hope, that was to assume brighter substance as life grew darkaround her, and which would gild the utter gloom with final glory. Shewas fair and pure as a lily that had bloomed in Paradise. The ministerknew well that he was himself enshrined within the stainless sanctityof her heart, which hung its snowy curtains about his image, impartingto religion the warmth of love, and to love a religious purity. Satan,that afternoon, had surely led the poor young girl away from hermother'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 drewnigh, the arch-fiend whispered him to condense into small compass anddrop into her tender bosom a germ of evil that would be sure toblossom darkly soon, and bear black fruit betimes. Such was his senseof power over this virgin soul, trusting him as she did, that theminister felt potent to blight all the field of innocence with but onewicked look, and develop all its opposite with but a word. So--with amightier struggle than he had yet sustained--he held his Geneva cloakbefore his face, and hurried onward, making no sign of recognition,and leaving the young sister to digest his rudeness as she might. Sheransacked her conscience,--which was full of harmless little matters,like her pocket or her work-bag,--and took herself to task, poorthing! for a thousand imaginary faults; and went about her householdduties with swollen eyelids the next morning.
Before the minister had time to celebrate his victory over this lasttemptation, he was conscious of another impulse, more ludicrous, andalmost as horrible. It was,--we blush to tell it,--it was to stopshort in the road, and teach some very wicked words to a knot oflittle Puritan children who were playing there, and had but just begunto talk. Denying himself this freak, as unworthy of his cloth, he meta drunken seaman, one of the ship's crew from the Spanish Main. And,here, since he had so valiantly forborne all other wickedness, poorMr. Dimmesdale longed, at least, to shake hands with the tarryblackguard, and recreate himself with a few improper jests, such asdissolute sailors so abound with, and a volley of good, round, solid,satisfactory, and heaven-defying oaths! It was not so much a betterprinciple as partly his natural good taste, and still more hisbuckramed habit of clerical decorum, that carried him safely throughthe latter crisis.
"What is it that haunts and tempts me thus?" cried the minister tohimself, at length, pausing in the street, and striking his handagainst his forehead. "Am I mad? or am I given over utterly to thefiend? Did I make a contract with him in the forest, and sign it withmy blood? And does he now summon me to its fulfilment, by suggestingthe performance of every wickedness which his most foul imaginationcan conceive?"
At the moment when the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale thus communed withhimself, and struck his forehead with his hand, old Mistress Hibbins,the reputed witch-lady, is said to have been passing by. She made avery grand appearance; having on a high head-dress, a rich gown ofvelvet, and a ruff done up with the famous yellow starch, of which AnnTurner, her especial friend, had taught her the secret, before thislast good lady had been hanged for Sir Thomas Overbury's murder.Whether the witch had read the minister's thoughts, or no, she came toa full stop, looked shrewdly into his face, smiled craftily,and--though little given to converse with clergymen--began aconversation.
"So, reverend Sir, you have made a visit into the forest," observedthe witch-lady, nodding her high head-dress at him. "The next time, Ipray you to allow me only a fair warning, and I shall be proud to bearyou company. Without taking overmuch upon myself, my good word will gofar towards gaining any strange gentleman a fair reception from yonderpotentate 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 madeimperative,--"I profess, on my conscience and character, that I amutterly bewildered as touching the purport of your words! I went notinto 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 apersonage. My one sufficient object was to greet that pious friend ofmine, the Apostle Eliot, and rejoice with him over the many precioussouls he hath won from heathendom!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" cackled the old witch-lady, still nodding her highhead-dress at the minister. "Well, well, we must needs talk thus inthe daytime! You carry it off like an old hand! But at midnight, andin the forest, we shall have other talk together!"
She passed on with her aged stateliness, but often turning back herhead and smiling at him, like one willing to recognize a secretintimacy of connection.
"Have I then sold myself," thought the minister, "to the fiend whom,if men say true, this yellow-starched and velveted old hag has chosenfor her prince and master!"
The wretched minister! He had made a bargain very like it! Tempted bya dream of happiness, he had yielded himself, with deliberate choice,as he had never done before, to what he knew was deadly sin. And theinfectious poison of that sin had been thus rapidly diffusedthroughout his moral system. It had stupefied all blessed impulses,and awakened into vivid life the whole brotherhood of bad ones. Scorn,bitterness, unprovoked malignity, gratuitous desire of ill, ridiculeof whatever was good and holy, all awoke, to tempt, even while theyfrightened him. And his encounter with old Mistress Hibbins, if itwere a real incident, did but show his sympathy and fellowship withwicked mortals, and the world of perverted spirits.
He had, by this time, reached his dwelling, on the edge of theburial-ground, and, hastening up the stairs, took refuge in his study.The minister was glad to have reached this shelter, without firstbetraying himself to the world by any of those strange and wickedeccentricities to which he had been continually impelled while passingthrough the streets. He entered the accustomed room, and looked aroundhim on its books, its windows, its fireplace, and the tapestriedcomfort of the walls, with the same perception of strangeness that hadhaunted him throughout his walk from the forest-dell into the town,and thitherward. Here he had studied and written; here, gone throughfast and vigil, and come forth half alive; here, striven to pray;here, borne a hundred thousand agonies! There was the Bible, in itsrich old Hebrew, with Moses and the Prophets speaking to him, andGod's voice through all! There, on the table, with the inky pen besideit, was an unfinished sermon, with a sentence broken in the midst,where his thoughts had ceased to gush out upon the page, two daysbefore. He knew that it was himself, the thin and white-chee
kedminister, who had done and suffered these things, and written thus farinto the Election Sermon! But he seemed to stand apart, and eye thisformer self with scornful, pitying, but half-envious curiosity. Thatself was gone. Another man had returned out of the forest; a wiserone; with a knowledge of hidden mysteries which the simplicity of theformer never could have reached. A bitter kind of knowledge that!
While occupied with these reflections, a knock came at the door of thestudy, and the minister said, "Come in!"--not wholly devoid of an ideathat he might behold an evil spirit. And so he did! It was old RogerChillingworth that entered. The minister stood, white and speechless,with one hand on the Hebrew Scriptures, and the other spread upon hisbreast.
"Welcome home, reverend Sir," said the physician. "And how found youthat godly man, the Apostle Eliot? But methinks, dear Sir, you lookpale; as if the travel through the wilderness had been too sore foryou. Will not my aid be requisite to put you in heart and strength topreach your Election Sermon?"
"Nay, I think not so," rejoined the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. "Myjourney, and the sight of the holy Apostle yonder, and the free airwhich I have breathed, have done me good, after so long confinement inmy study. I think to need no more of your drugs, my kind physician,good though they be, and administered by a friendly hand."
All this time, Roger Chillingworth was looking at the minister withthe grave and intent regard of a physician towards his patient. But,in spite of this outward show, the latter was almost convinced of theold man's knowledge, or, at least, his confident suspicion, withrespect to his own interview with Hester Prynne. The physician knewthen, that, in the minister's regard, he was no longer a trustedfriend, but his bitterest enemy. So much being known, it would appearnatural that a part of it should be expressed. It is singular,however, how long a time often passes before words embody things; andwith 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 apprehension that Roger Chillingworth wouldtouch, in express words, upon the real position which they sustainedtowards one another. Yet did the physician, in his dark way, creepfrightfully near the secret.
"Were it not better," said he, "that you use my poor skill to-night?Verily, dear Sir, we must take pains to make you strong and vigorousfor this occasion of the Election discourse. The people look for greatthings from you; apprehending that another year may come about, andfind their pastor gone."
"Yea, to another world," replied the minister, with pious resignation."Heaven grant it be a better one; for, in good sooth, I hardly thinkto tarry with my flock through the flitting seasons of another year!But, touching your medicine, kind Sir, in my present frame of body, Ineed it not."
"I joy to hear it," answered the physician. "It may be that myremedies, so long administered in vain, begin now to take due effect.Happy man were I, and well deserving of New England's gratitude, couldI achieve this cure!"
"I thank you from my heart, most watchful friend," said the ReverendMr. Dimmesdale, with a solemn smile. "I thank you, and can but requiteyour good deeds with my prayers."
"A good man's prayers are golden recompense!" rejoined old RogerChillingworth, as he took his leave. "Yea, they are the current goldcoin of the New Jerusalem, with the King's own mint-mark on them!"
Left alone, the minister summoned a servant of the house, andrequested food, which, being set before him, he ate with ravenousappetite. Then, flinging the already written pages of the ElectionSermon into the fire, he forthwith began another, which he wrote withsuch an impulsive flow of thought and emotion, that he fancied himselfinspired; and only wondered that Heaven should see fit to transmit thegrand and solemn music of its oracles through so foul an organ-pipe ashe. However, leaving that mystery to solve itself, or go unsolvedforever, he drove his task onward, with earnest haste and ecstasy.Thus the night fled away, as if it were a winged steed, and hecareering on it; morning came, and peeped, blushing, through thecurtains; and at last sunrise threw a golden beam into the study andlaid it right across the minister's bedazzled eyes. There he was, withthe pen still between his fingers, and a vast, immeasurable tract ofwritten space behind him!