الفصل الفصل 14 · HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN

. HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN

Hester bade little Pearl run down to the margin of the water, and play

with the shells and tangled sea-weed, until she should have talked

awhile with yonder gatherer of herbs. So the child flew away like a

bird, and, making bare her small white feet went pattering 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, beckoned likewise, as if to say—“This is a

better place; come thou into the pool.” And Pearl, stepping in mid-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 commonweal, yonder scarlet

letter might be taken off your bosom. On my life, Hester, I made my

intreaty to the worshipful magistrate that it might be done forthwith.”

“It lies not in the pleasure of the magistrates to take off the 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 grown older; for though the traces of advancing life were

visible, he bore his age well, and seemed to retain a wiry vigour 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 vanished, 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 visage so derisively that the spectator

could see his blackness 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 evidence 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

analysed 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 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 yourself 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

whispered 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 permitting 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.

“What evil have I done the man?” asked Roger Chillingworth 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 perpetration 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. Oh, 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 conscious 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 sensitive as this—he knew that no friendly hand was pulling at his

heartstrings, 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

himself 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 my presence, the closest propinquity of the man whom he had

most vilely wronged, and who had grown to exist 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 for 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 recognise, usurping the place of his own image in a glass.

It was one of those moments—which sometimes occur only at the interval

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!” answered 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 welfare. 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 face, and permitting

the whole evil within him to be written 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 letter,” replied Roger Chillingworth.

“If that has 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 confidence, 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 my 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 well-nigh 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. Peradventure, hadst thou met earlier with a better love than

mine, 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

priceless 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 his employment of

gathering herbs.

XV.