THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 18

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• Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne

ARTHUR DIMMESDALE gazed into Hester's face with a look in which hope and joy shone out,   
    indeed, but with fear betwixt them, and a kind of horror at her boldness, who had spoken   
    what he vaguely hinted at, but dared not speak.

   
   

But Hester Prynne, with a mind of native courage and activity, and for so long a period   
    not merely estranged, but outlawed, from society, had habituated herself to such latitude   
    of speculation as was altogether foreign to the clergyman. She had wandered, without rule   
    or guidance, in a moral wilderness; as vast, as intricate and shadowy, as the untamed   
    forest, amid the gloom of which they were now holding a colloquy that was to decide their   
    fate. Her intellect and heart had their home, as it were, in desert places, where she   
    roamed as freely as the wild Indian in his woods. For years past she had looked from this   
    estranged point of view at human institutions, and whatever priests or legislators had   
    established; criticising all with hardly more reverence than the Indian would feel for the   
    clerical band, the judicial robe, the pillory, the gallows, the fireside, or the church.   
    The tendency of her fate and fortunes had been to set her free. The scarlet letter was her   
    passport into regions where other women dared not tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These   
    had been her teachers- stern and wild ones- and they had made her strong, but taught her   
    much amiss.

   
   

The minister, on the other hand, had never gone through an experience calculated to   
    lead him beyond the scope of generally received laws; although, in a single instance, he   
    had so fearfully transgressed one of the most sacred of them. But this had been a sin of   
    passion, not of principle, nor even purpose. Since that wretched epoch, he had watched,   
    with morbid zeal and minuteness, not his acts- for those it was easy to arrange- but each   
    breath of emotion, and his every thought. At the head of the social system, as the   
    clergyman of that day stood, he was only the more trammelled by its regulations, its   
    principles, and even its prejudices. As a priest, the framework of his order inevitably   
    hemmed him in. As a man who had once sinned, but who kept his conscience all alive and   
    painfully sensitive by the fretting of an unhealed wound, he might have been supposed   
    safer within the line of virtue than if he had never sinned at all.

   
   

Thus, we seem to see that, as regarded Hester Prynne, the whole seven years of outlaw   
    and ignominy had been little other than a preparation for this very hour. But Arthur   
    Dimmesdale! Were such a man once more to fall, what plea could be urged in extenuation of   
    his crime? None; unless it avail him somewhat, that he was broken down by long and   
    exquisite suffering; that his mind was darkened and confused by the very remorse which   
    harrowed it; that, between fleeing as an avowed criminal, and remaining as a hypocrite,   
    conscience might find it hard to strike the balance; that it was human to avoid the peril   
    of death and infamy, and the inscrutable machinations of an enemy; that, finally, to this   
    poor pilgrim, on his dreary and desert path, faint, sick, miserable, there appeared a   
    glimpse of human affection and sympathy, a new life, and a true one, in exchange for the   
    heavy doom which he was now expiating. And be the stern and sad truth spoken, that the   
    breach which guilt has once made into the human soul is never, in this mortal state,   
    repaired. It may be watched and guarded; so that the enemy shall not force his way again   
    into the citadel, and might even, in his subsequent assaults, select some other avenue, in   
    preference to that where he had formerly succeeded. But there is still the ruined wall,   
    and, near it, the stealthy tread of the foe that would win over again his unforgotten   
    triumph.

   
   

The struggle, if there were one, need not be described. Let it suffice, that the   
    clergyman resolved to flee, and not alone.

   
   

"If, in all these past seven years," thought he, "I could recall one   
    instant of peace or hope, I would yet endure, for the sake of that earnest of Heaven's   
    mercy. But now- since I am irrevocably doomed-wherefore should I not snatch the solace   
    allowed to the condemned culprit before his execution? Or, if this be the path to a better   
    life, as Hester would persuade me, I surely give up no fairer prospect by pursuing it!   
    Neither can I any longer live without her companionship; so powerful is she to sustain- so   
    tender to soothe! O Thou to whom I dare not lift mine eyes, wilt Thou yet pardon me!"

   
   

"Thou wilt go!" said Hester calmly, as he met her glance.

   
   

The decision once made, a glow of strange enjoyment threw its flickering brightness   
    over the trouble of his breast. It was the exhilarating effect- upon a prisoner just   
    escaped from the dungeon of his own heart- of breathing the wild, free atmosphere of an   
    unredeemed, unchristianised, lawless region. His spirit rose, as it were, with a bound,   
    and attained a nearer prospect of the sky, than throughout all the misery which had kept   
    him grovelling on the earth. Of a deeply religious temperament, there was inevitably a   
    tinge of the devotional in his mind.

   
   

"Do I feel joy again?" cried he, wondering at himself. "Methought the   
    germ of it was dead in me! O Hester, thou art my better angel! I seem to have flung   
    myself- sick, sin-stained, and sorrow-blackened-down upon these forest-leaves, and to have   
    risen up all made anew, and with new powers to glorify Him that hath been merciful! This   
    is already the better life! Why did we not find it sooner?"

   
   

"Let us not look back," answered Hester Prynne. "the past is gone!   
    Wherefore should we linger upon it now? See! With this symbol, I undo it all, and make it   
    as it had never been!"

   
   

So speaking, she undid the clasp that fastened the scarlet letter, and, taking it from   
    her bosom, threw it to a distance among the withered leaves. The mystic token alighted on   
    the hither verge of the stream. With a hand's breadth farther flight it would have fallen   
    into the water, and have given the little brook another woe to carry onward, besides the   
    unintelligible tale which it still kept murmuring about. But there lay the embroidered   
    letter, glittering like a lost jewel, which some ill-fated wanderer might pick up, and   
    thenceforth be haunted by strange phantoms of guilt, sinkings of the heart, and   
    unaccountable misfortune.

   
   

The stigma gone, Hester heaved a long, deep sigh, in which the burden of shame and   
    anguish departed from her spirit. Oh, exquisite relief! She had not known the weight,   
    until she felt the freedom! By another impulse, she took off the formal cap that confined   
    her hair; and down it fell upon her shoulders, dark and rich, with at once a shadow and a   
    light in its abundance, and imparting the charm of softness to her features. There played   
    around her mouth, and beamed out of her eyes, a radiant and tender smile, that seemed   
    gushing from the very heart of womanhood. A crimson flush was glowing on her cheek, that   
    had been long so pale. Her sex, her youth, and the whole richness of the beauty, came back   
    from what men call the irrevocable past, and clustered themselves, with her maiden hope,   
    and a happiness before unknown, within the magic circle of this hour. And, as if the gloom   
    of the earth and sky had been but the effluence of these two mortal hearts, it vanished   
    with their sorrow. All at once, as with a sudden smile of heaven, forth burst the   
    sunshine, pouring a very flood into the obscure forest, gladdening each green leaf,   
    transmuting the yellow fallen ones to gold, and gleaming adown the grey trunks of the   
    solemn trees. The objects that had made a shadow hitherto, embodied the brightness now.   
    The course of the little brook might be traced by its merry gleam afar into the wood's   
    heart of mystery, which had become a mystery of joy.

   
   

Such was the sympathy of Nature- that wild, heathen Nature of the forest, never   
    subjugated by human law, nor illumined by higher truth- with the bliss of these two   
    spirits! Love, whether newly born, or aroused from a death-like slumber, must always   
    create a sunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance, that it overflows upon the   
    outward world. Had the forest still kept its gloom, it would have been bright in Hester's   
    eyes, and bright in Arthur Dimmesdale's!

   
   

Hester looked at him with the thrill of another joy.

   
   

"Thou must know Pearl!" said she. "Our little Pearl! Thou hast seen her-   
    yes, I know it!- but thou wilt see her now with other eyes. She is a strange child! I   
    hardly comprehend her! But thou wilt love her dearly, as I do, and wilt advise me how to   
    deal with her."

   
   

"Dost thou think the child will be glad to know me?" asked the minister,   
    somewhat uneasily. "I have long shrunk from children, because they often show a   
    distrust- a backwardness to be familiar with me. I have even been afraid of little   
    Pearl!"

   
   

"Ah, that was sad!" answered the mother. "But she will love thee dearly,   
    and thou her. She is not far off. I will call her! Pearl! Pearl!"

   
   

"I see the child," observed the minister. "Yonder she is, standing in a   
    streak of sunshine, a good way off, on the other side of the brook, So thou thinkest the   
    child will love me?"

   
   

Hester smiled, and again called to Pearl, who was visible, at some distance, as the   
    minister had described her, like a bright-apparelled vision, in a sunbeam, which fell down   
    upon her through an arch of boughs. The ray quivered to and fro, making her figure dim or   
    distinct- now like a real child, now like a child's spirit- as the splendour went and came   
    again. She heard her mother's voice, and approached slowly through the forest.

   
   

Pearl had not found the hour pass wearisomely, while her mother sat talking with the   
    clergyman. The great black forest- stern as it showed itself to those who brought the   
    guilt and troubles of the world into its bosom- became the playmate of the lonely infant,   
    as well as it knew how. Sombre as it was, it put on the kindest of its moods to welcome   
    her. It offered her the partridge-berries, the growth of the preceding autumn, but   
    ripening only in the spring, and now red as drops of blood upon the withered leaves. These   
    Pearl gathered, and was pleased with their wild flavour. The small denizens of the   
    wilderness hardly took pains to move out of her path. A partridge, indeed, with a brood of   
    ten behind her, ran forward threatingly, but soon repented of her fierceness, and clucked   
    to her young ones not to be afraid. A pigeon, alone on a low branch, allowed Pearl to come   
    beneath, and uttered a sound as much of greeting as alarm. A squirrel, from the lofty   
    depths of his domestic tree, chattered either in anger or merriment- for a squirrel is   
    such a choleric and humorous little personage, that it is hard to distinguish between his   
    moods- so he chattered at the child, and flung down a nut upon her head. It was a last   
    year's nut, and already gnawed by his sharp tooth. A fox, startled from his sleep by her   
    light footstep on the leaves, looked inquisitively at Pearl, as doubting whether it were   
    better to steal off, or renew his nap on the same spot. A wolf, it is said- but here the   
    tale has surely lapsed into the improbable- came up, and smelt of Pearl's robe, and   
    offered his savage head to be patted by her hand. The truth seems to be, however, that the   
    mother-forest, and these wild things which it nourished, all recognised a kindred wildness   
    in the human child.

   
   

And she was gentler here than in the grassy-margined streets of the settlement, or in   
    her mother's cottage. The flowers appeared to know it; and one and another whispered as   
    she passed, "Adorn thyself with me, thou beautiful child, adorn thyself with   
    me!"- and, to please them, Pearl gathered the violets, and anemones, and columbines,   
    and some twigs of the freshest green, which the old trees held down before her eyes. With   
    these she decorated her hair, and her young waist, and became a nymph-child, or an infant   
    dryad, or whatever else was in closest sympathy with the antique wood. In such guise had   
    Pearl adorned herself, when she heard her mother's voice, and came slowly back.

   
   

Slowly; for she saw the clergyman!   
   

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1. Ebooks list page : 86
2. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 2
3. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 11
4. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 10
5. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 7
6. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 8
7. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 5
8. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 9
9. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 20
10. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 6
11. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 4
12. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 23
13. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 3
14. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 1
15. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 12
16. THE SCARLET LETTER: CHAPTER 14