XIII.-ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER.

n her late singular interview with Mr. Dimmesdale,
Hester Prynne was shocked at the condition
to which she found the clergyman reduced.
His nerve seemed absolutely destroyed. His
moral force was abased into more than childish
weakness. It grovelled helpless on the ground,
even while his intellectual faculties retained their pristine strength,
or had perhaps acquired a morbid energy, which disease only
could have given them. With her knowledge of a train of
circumstances hidden from all others, she could readily infer
that, besides the legitimate action of his own conscience, a
terrible machinery had been brought to bear, and was still
operating, on Mr. Dimmesdale’s well-being and repose. Knowing
what this poor, fallen man had once been, her whole soul
was moved by the shuddering terror with which he had appealed
to her,—the outcast woman,—for support against his instinctively
discovered enemy. She decided, moreover, that he had a
right to her utmost aid. Little accustomed, in her long seclusion
from society, to measure her ideas of right and wrong by any
standard external to herself, Hester saw—or seemed to see—that
there lay a responsibility upon her, in reference to the
clergyman, which she owed to no other, nor to the whole world
besides. The links that united her to the rest of human kind—links
of flowers, or silk, or gold, or whatever the material—had
all been broken. Here was the iron link of mutual crime,
which neither he nor she could break. Like all other ties, it
brought along with it its obligations.nHester Prynne did not now occupy precisely the same position
in which we beheld her during the earlier periods of her
ignominy. Years had come and gone. Pearl was now seven
years old. Her mother, with the scarlet letter on her breast,
glittering in its fantastic embroidery, had long been a familiar
object to the towns-people. As is apt to be the case when a
person stands out in any prominence before the community, and,
at the same time, interferes neither with public nor individual
interests and convenience, a species of general regard had ultimately
grown up in reference to Hester Prynne. It is to the
credit of human nature, that, except where its selfishness is
brought into play, it loves more readily than it hates. Hatred,
by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love,
unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation
of the original feeling of hostility. In this matter of Hester
Prynne, there was neither irritation nor irksomeness. She never
battled with the public, but submitted, uncomplainingly, to its
worst usage; she made no claim upon it, in requital for what
she suffered; she did not weigh upon its sympathies. Then,
also, the blameless purity of her life during all these years in
which she had been set apart to infamy, was reckoned largely
in her favor. With nothing now to lose, in the sight of mankind,
and with no hope, and seemingly no wish, of gaining anything,
it could only be a genuine regard for virtue that had
brought back the poor wanderer to its paths.It was perceived, too, that while Hester never put forward
even the humblest title to share in the world’s privileges,—further
than to breathe the common air, and earn daily bread
for little Pearl and herself by the faithful labor of her hands,—she
was quick to acknowledge her sisterhood with the race of
man, whenever benefits were to be conferred. None so ready
as she to give of her little substance to every demand of poverty;
even though the bitter-hearted pauper threw back a gibe
in requital of the food brought regularly to his door, or the
garments wrought for him by the fingers that could have embroidered
a monarch’s robe. None so self-devoted as Hester,
when pestilence stalked through the town. In all seasons of
calamity, indeed, whether general or of individuals, the outcast
of society at once found her place. She came, not as a guest,
but as a rightful inmate, into the household that was darkened
by trouble; as if its gloomy twilight were a medium in which
she was entitled to hold intercourse with her fellow-creatures.
There glimmered the embroidered letter, with comfort in its
unearthly ray. Elsewhere the token of sin, it was the taper
of the sick-chamber. It had even thrown its gleam, in the sufferer’s
hard extremity, across the verge of time. It had shown
him where to set his foot, while the light of earth was fast
becoming dim, and ere the light of futurity could reach him.
In such emergencies, Hester’s nature showed itself warm and
rich; a well-spring of human tenderness, unfailing to every real
demand, and inexhaustible by the largest. Her breast, with its
badge of shame, was but the softer pillow for the head that
needed one. She was self-ordained a Sister of Mercy; or, we
may rather say, the world’s heavy hand had so ordained her,
when neither the world nor she looked forward to this result.
The letter was the symbol of her calling. Such helpfulness was
found in her,—so much power to do, and power to sympathize,—that
many people refused to interpret the scarlet A by
its original signification. They said that it meant Able; so
strong was Hester Prynne, with a woman’s strength.It was only the darkened house that could contain her. When
sunshine came again, she was not there. Her shadow had faded
across the threshold. The helpful inmate had departed, without
one backward glance to gather up the meed of gratitude, if any
were in the hearts of those whom she had served so zealously.
Meeting them in the street, she never raised her head to receive
their greeting. If they were resolute to accost her, she laid her
finger on the scarlet letter, and passed on. This might be pride,
but was so like humility, that it produced all the softening influence
of the latter quality on the public mind. The public is
despotic in its temper; it is capable of denying common justice,
when too strenuously demanded as a right; but quite as frequently
it awards more than justice, when the appeal is made,
as despots love to have it made, entirely to its generosity. Interpreting
Hester Prynne’s deportment as an appeal of this nature,
society was inclined to show its former victim a more benign
countenance than she cared to be favored with, or, perchance,
than she deserved.The rulers, and the wise and learned men of the community,
were longer in acknowledging the influence of Hester’s good
qualities than the people. The prejudices which they shared in
common with the latter were fortified in themselves by an iron
framework of reasoning, that made it a far tougher labor to
expel them. Day by day, nevertheless, their sour and rigid
wrinkles were relaxing into something which, in the due course
of years, might grow to be an expression of almost benevolence.
Thus it was with the men of rank, on whom their eminent position
imposed the guardianship of the public morals. Individuals
in private life, meanwhile, had quite forgiven Hester Prynne for
her frailty; nay, more, they had begun to look upon the scarlet
letter as the token, not of that one sin, for which she had borne
so long and dreary a penance, but of her many good deeds since.
“Do you see that woman with the embroidered badge?” they
would say to strangers. “It is our Hester,—the town’s own
Hester, who is so kind to the poor, so helpful to the sick, so
comfortable to the afflicted!” Then, it is true, the propensity
of human nature to tell the very worst of itself, when embodied
in the person of another, would constrain them to whisper the
black scandal of bygone years. It was none the less a fact,
however, that, in the eyes of the very men who spoke thus, the
scarlet letter had the effect of the cross on a nun’s bosom. It
imparted to the wearer a kind of sacredness, which enabled her
to walk securely amid all peril. Had she fallen among thieves,
it would have kept her safe. It was reported, and believed by
many, that an Indian had drawn his arrow against the badge,
and that the missile struck it, but fell harmless to the ground.The effect of the symbol—or, rather, of the position in respect
to society that was indicated by it—on the mind of Hester
Prynne herself, was powerful and peculiar. All the light and
graceful foliage of her character had been withered up by this
red-hot brand, and had long ago fallen away, leaving a bare and
harsh outline, which might have been repulsive, had she possessed
friends or companions to be repelled by it. Even the
attractiveness of her person had undergone a similar change. It
might be partly owing to the studied austerity of her dress, and
partly to the lack of demonstration in her manners. It was
a sad transformation, too, that her rich and luxuriant hair
had either been cut off, or was so completely hidden by a cap,
that not a shining lock of it ever once gushed into the sunshine.
It was due in part to all these causes, but still more
to something else, that there seemed to be no longer anything
in Hester’s face for Love to dwell upon; nothing in Hester’s
form, though majestic and statue-like, that Passion would ever
dream of clasping in its embrace; nothing in Hester’s bosom,
to make it ever again the pillow of Affection. Some attribute
had departed from her, the permanence of which had been essential
to keep her a woman. Such is frequently the fate, and
such the stern development, of the feminine character and person,
when the woman has encountered, and lived through, an
experience of peculiar severity. If she be all tenderness, she
will die. If she survive, the tenderness will either be crushed
out of her, or—and the outward semblance is the same—crushed
so deeply into her heart that it can never show itself
more. The latter is perhaps the truest theory. She who has
once been woman, and ceased to be so, might at any moment
become a woman again if there were only the magic touch to
effect the transfiguration. We shall see whether Hester Prynne
were ever afterwards so touched, and so transfigured.Much of the marble coldness of Hester’s impression was to
be attributed to the circumstance, that her life had turned, in
a great measure, from passion and feeling, to thought. Standing
alone in the world,—alone, as to any dependence on society,
and with little Pearl to be guided and protected,—alone, and
hopeless of retrieving her position, even had she not scorned to
consider it desirable,—she cast away the fragments of a broken
chain. The world’s law was no law for her mind. It was an
age in which the human intellect, newly emancipated, had taken
a more active and a wider range than for many centuries before.
Men of the sword had overthrown nobles and kings. Men
bolder than these had overthrown and rearranged—not actually,
but within the sphere of theory, which was their most real abode—the
whole system of ancient prejudice, wherewith was linked
much of ancient principle. Hester Prynne imbibed this spirit.
She assumed a freedom of speculation, then common enough on
the other side of the Atlantic, but which our forefathers, had
they known it, would have held to be a deadlier crime than
that stigmatized by the scarlet letter. In her lonesome cottage,
by the sea-shore, thoughts visited her, such as dared to enter no
other dwelling in New England; shadowy guests, that would
have been as perilous as demons to their entertainer, could they
have been seen so much as knocking at her door.It is remarkable, that persons who speculate the most boldly
often conform with the most perfect quietude to the external
regulations of society. The thought suffices them, without
investing itself in the flesh and blood of action. So it seemed
to be with Hester. Yet, had little Pearl never come to her
from the spiritual world, it might have been far otherwise.
Then, she might have come down to us in history, hand in
hand with Ann Hutchinson, as the foundress of a religious
sect. She might, in one of her phases, have been a prophetess.
She might, and not improbably would, have suffered death
from the stern tribunals of the period, for attempting to undermine
the foundations of the Puritan establishment. But, in the
education of her child, the mother’s enthusiasm of thought had
something to wreak itself upon. Providence, in the person of
this little girl, had assigned to Hester’s charge the germ and
blossom of womanhood, to be cherished and developed amid a
host of difficulties. Everything was against her. The world
was hostile. The child’s own nature had something wrong in
it, which continually betokened that she had been born amiss,—the
effluence of her mother’s lawless passion,—and often impelled
Hester to ask, in bitterness of heart, whether it were for ill
or good that the poor little creature had been born at all.Indeed, the same dark question often rose into her mind,
with reference to the whole race of womanhood. Was existence
worth accepting, even to the happiest among them? As concerned
her own individual existence, she had long ago decided
in the negative, and dismissed the point as settled. A tendency
to speculation, though it may keep woman quiet, as it does
man, yet makes her sad. She discerns, it may be, such a hopeless
task before her. As a first step, the whole system of society
is to be torn down, and built up anew. Then, the very nature
of the opposite sex, or its long hereditary habit, which has
become like nature, is to be essentially modified, before woman
can be allowed to assume what seems a fair and suitable position.
Finally, all other difficulties being obviated, woman cannot
take advantage of these preliminary reforms, until she herself
shall have undergone a still mightier change; in which, perhaps,
the ethereal essence, wherein she has her truest life, will be
found to have evaporated. A woman never overcomes these
problems by any exercise of thought. They are not to be
solved, or only in one way. If her heart chance to come uppermost,
they vanish. Thus, Hester Prynne, whose heart had lost
its regular and healthy throb, wandered without a clew in the
dark labyrinth of mind; now turned aside by an insurmountable
precipice; now starting back from a deep chasm. There was
wild and ghastly scenery all around her, and a home and comfort
nowhere. At times, a fearful doubt strove to possess her
soul, whether it were not better to send Pearl at once to heaven,
and go herself to such futurity as Eternal Justice should provide.The scarlet letter had not done its office.Now, however, her interview with the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale,
on the night of his vigil, had given her a new theme of
reflection, and held up to her an object that appeared worthy
of any exertion and sacrifice for its attainment. She had witnessed
the intense misery beneath which the minister struggled,
or, to speak more accurately, had ceased to struggle. She saw
that he stood on the verge of lunacy, if he had not already
stepped across it. It was impossible to doubt, that, whatever
painful efficacy there might be in the secret sting of remorse, a
deadlier venom had been infused into it by the hand that proffered
relief. A secret enemy had been continually by his side,
under the semblance of a friend and helper, and had availed
himself of the opportunities thus afforded for tampering with the
delicate springs of Mr. Dimmesdale’s nature. Hester could not
but ask herself, whether there had not originally been a defect
of truth, courage, and loyalty, on her own part, in allowing the
minister to be thrown into a position where so much evil was
to be foreboded, and nothing auspicious to be hoped. Her only
justification lay in the fact, that she had been able to discern
no method of rescuing him from a blacker ruin than had overwhelmed
herself, except by acquiescing in Roger Chillingworth’s
scheme of disguise. Under that impulse, she had made her
choice, and had chosen, as it now appeared, the more wretched
alternative of the two. She determined to redeem her error, so
far as it might yet be possible. Strengthened by years of hard
and solemn trial, she felt herself no longer so inadequate to
cope with Roger Chillingworth as on that night, abased by sin,
and half maddened by the ignominy that was still new, when
they had talked together in the prison-chamber. She had climbed
her way, since then, to a higher point. The old man, on the
other hand, had brought himself nearer to her level, or perhaps
below it, by the revenge which he had stooped for.In fine, Hester Prynne resolved to meet her former husband,
and do what might be in her power for the rescue of the victim
on whom he had so evidently set his gripe. The occasion was
not long to seek. One afternoon, walking with Pearl in a
retired part of the peninsula, she beheld the old physician, with
a basket on one arm, and a staff in the other hand, stooping
along the ground, in quest of roots and herbs to concoct his
medicines withal.