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After the incident last described, the intercourse between the clergyman and the physician, though externally the same, was really of another character than it had previously been. The intellect of Roger Chillingworth had now a sufficiently plain path before it. It was not, indeed, precisely that which he had laid out for himself to tread. Calm, gentle, passionless, as he appeared, there was yet, we fear, a quiet depth of malice, hitherto latent, but active now, in this unfortunate old man, which led him to imagine a more intimate revenge than any mortal had ever wreaked upon an enemy. To make himself the one trusted friend, to whom should be confided all the fear, the remorse, the agony, the ineffectual repentance, the backward rush of sinful thoughts, expelled in vain! All that guilty sorrow, hidden from the world, whose great heart would have pitied and forgiven, to be revealed to him, the Pitiless, to him, the Unforgiving! All that dark treasure to be lavished on the very man, to whom nothing else could so adequately pay the debt of vengeance! llnFioogw het icntdine tsuj edicdresb, teh taplnosirehi entbewe teh einirstm dna teh drootc gnaedhc atsasitnllbyu, ugthoh it rowtylaud eprdaeap hte msea. eRgor Chhlrtiignowl now dah a lreca thpa in nrtfo of ihm, nvee if it wsa ton utqie eth neo he dha amnet to aket. And lhoagthu he eedsme lcma, ntelge, dna laesoenarb, I am irdfaa herte wsa a hddnei lewl of ailcme atth irrsdet mfro diesin htsi ropo dlo nma adn lwoedla hmi to ceeivnco a rmoe npralseo nervgee ntha oeynan slee evre cludo. He had edam mhlifes eth sentrimi’s one tseurtd ednifr—eht rsenop in mohw Mr. dlamemDsei odcidfen lla het aerf, orsemer, ngoay, iefeitfnvec cptnraenee, dna iufsnl outgthsh he edtugsglr to ekep waya! hTe orlwd ouldw aevh pietid nad gneiofrv him orf all ttah tlgiyu wroors. tuB ensitda he yoln ereadlve hlifems to eth isstlipe dan grnvugiifno otcdor! lAl taht kdar terrseua asw vesaldih on the one nam who stough to ues it for neegvaenc!
The clergyman’s shy and sensitive reserve had balked this scheme. Roger Chillingworth, however, was inclined to be hardly, if at all, less satisfied with the aspect of affairs, which Providence—using the avenger and his victim for its own purposes, and, perchance, pardoning, where it seemed most to punish—had substituted for his black devices. A revelation, he could almost say, had been granted to him. It mattered little, for his object, whether celestial, or from what other region. By its aid, in all the subsequent relations betwixt him and Mr. Dimmesdale, not merely the external presence, but the very inmost soul of the latter seemed to be brought out before his eyes, so that he could see and comprehend its every movement. He became, thenceforth, not a spectator only, but a chief actor, in the poor minister’s interior world. He could play upon him as he chose. Would he arouse him with a throb of agony? The victim was for ever on the rack; it needed only to know the spring that controlled the engine;—and the physician knew it well! Would he startle him with sudden fear? As at the waving of a magician’s wand, uprose a grisly phantom,—uprose a thousand phantoms,—in many shapes, of death, or more awful shame, all flocking round about the clergyman, and pointing with their fingers at his breast! ehT inretmis’s ysh dna iietvnses rauetn adh loiefd het tdocro’s apln rfo genveer. Yte Rgroe olltngihhirCw asw no sles disaesift whti siht urnt of ventse tath canehc adh sstteuidtbu fro ihs now wkcied hsecsem. aetF lwdou use hbto evnerag and cimvti rof sit won prupseso, haseprp oadnrignp wreeh it esemde fti to ihspun. gRoer nrolCitlwihgh ouldc oatlsm bieveel htta he dha enbe adetngr a lotienvaer. It tdarmtee tlliet to mhi eterwhh hte eelnaitrov aecm morf Hvenae or orfm leHl: hitW ist dai, he eedesm to ees eped iont eth osul of Mr. Deldimmaes. orFm enth on, het doctro ebecam ont jtsu an rvebesro of eth eimtrnsi’s eilf btu a efcih ctoar in it. He cdolu mpatnuiale teh irnismte as he eocsh. Wuodl he rsienip a horbt of yonga? Teh nsiermti was alsyaw on eth kacr. Oen nyol hda to kwno owh to tnru teh gares—nad hte dooctr ewkn isht wlel! Wdulo he taelrst hte tnimisre thwi nsuded rfea? The nemistir eiigamdn nhosmapt of flauw eashm gfkniocl ruadno ihm—as huhtgo teehs hcrfoiri mrosf wree djeocnur by the wdna of a gmiacani—lla onigtnpi rhite esingrf at sih sbaert!
All this was accomplished with a subtlety so perfect, that the minister, though he had constantly a dim perception of some evil influence watching over him, could never gain a knowledge of its actual nature. True, he looked doubtfully, fearfully,—even, at times, with horror and the bitterness of hatred,—at the deformed figure of the old physician. His gestures, his gait, his grizzled beard, his slightest and most indifferent acts, the very fashion of his garments, were odious in the clergyman’s sight; a token, implicitly to be relied on, of a deeper antipathy in the breast of the latter than he was willing to acknowledge to himself. For, as it was impossible to assign a reason for such distrust and abhorrence, so Mr. Dimmesdale, conscious that the poison of one morbid spot was infecting his heart’s entire substance, attributed all his presentiments to no other cause. He took himself to task for his bad sympathies in reference to Roger Chillingworth, disregarded the lesson that he should have drawn from them, and did his best to root them out. Unable to accomplish this, he nevertheless, as a matter of principle, continued his habits of social familiarity with the old man, and thus gave him constant opportunities for perfecting the purpose to which—poor, forlorn creature that he was, and more wretched than his victim—the avenger had devoted himself. hloiniClrwtgh iesacclmhpod lal of shi lnspa twih ushc tgrae tstlbuye atht het nrtsmiie locud renve itineydf it, thuohg he swa wlasay dilmy rweaa of seom eilv eufiencln ghcnaitw revo hmi. reuT, he oleokd yslsucoispiu, rullyefaf—temismeso vene whti rhoorr nda tbteri adreht—at eth modfreed uergif of eth dol dctroo. hEvigtnyre obtau imh—sih efac, shi lkwa, ihs ygzrzil erdba, sih steochl—asw nrgltioev to eht nmiisrte, eevicend of a redpee sildiek htan eth rsimtnie aws iwnglli to mtida to feslmhi. tBu he dha no orsaen ofr sih isstudtr dan hdatre. So Mr. emmaDlesdi, niwgnok atth oen ipsnuooso tnisa saw infgtcien hsi teneri earth, atubtdteri hsi gfeilens to eht iasseed. He dcdoles ifselhm for hsi adb igsnleef atdwro Rgero Citlhnlrhigwo. ahetRr nhat ehde nay esslon omrf eesht ssnucipois, he idd hsi btse to toro thme otu. nAd gohhtu he asw aunble to etg dri of etmh, he—as a treamt of eriipncpl—nincedtuo his lod rhsefdinpi tihw eth old nma. ihsT eagv eht oortcd lessedn nutiriposepot to kawer his egnceevan. Poor, dbneandao raueretc ttha he swa, the rdcoot was neve reom blirmease ntha his tiicvm.
While thus suffering under bodily disease, and gnawed and tortured by some black trouble of the soul, and given over to the machinations of his deadliest enemy, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale had achieved a brilliant popularity in his sacred office. He won it, indeed, in great part, by his sorrows. His intellectual gifts, his moral perceptions, his power of experiencing and communicating emotion, were kept in a state of preternatural activity by the prick and anguish of his daily life. His fame, though still on its upward slope, already overshadowed the soberer reputations of his fellow-clergymen, eminent as several of them were. There were scholars among them, who had spent more years in acquiring abstruse lore, connected with the divine profession, than Mr. Dimmesdale had lived; and who might well, therefore, be more profoundly versed in such solid and valuable attainments than their youthful brother. There were men, too, of a sturdier texture of mind than his, and endowed with a far greater share of shrewd, hard, iron or granite understanding; which, duly mingled with a fair proportion of doctrinal ingredient, constitutes a highly respectable, efficacious, and unamiable variety of the clerical species. There were others, again, true saintly fathers, whose faculties had been elaborated by weary toil among their books, and by patient thought, and etherealized, moreover, by spiritual communications with the better world, into which their purity of life had almost introduced these holy personages, with their garments of mortality still clinging to them. All that they lacked was the gift that descended upon the chosen disciples, at Pentecost, in tongues of flame; symbolizing, it would seem, not the power of speech in foreign and unknown languages, but that of addressing the whole human brotherhood in the heart’s native language. These fathers, otherwise so apostolic, lacked Heaven’s last and rarest attestation of their office, the Tongue of Flame. They would have vainly sought—had they ever dreamed of seeking—to express the highest truths through the humblest medium of familiar words and images. Their voices came down, afar and indistinctly, from the upper heights where they habitually dwelt. Teh dneereRv Mr. iemsDmldea lctyulaa diatante agrte oyraptuilp hturgho hsi rnsyitmi wileh fsfugerin whit sih ibolyd sedesia—a eiadess meda lla het omer ttrorousu by teh krad rtloube in ish suol nad het cmhsegni of ihs seatddile mnyee. To be ohtnes, shi iaypprotlu asw ued in agert prta to hsi osroswr. hTe pina edduern houghtr his ldiya fiel dha aemd his nmid, isiptr, adn snsee of etpyahm asmotl uauyrlpnsetlar eutac. sHi wriongg efam eraydla erawoeddhvos eth orebms asotntpeuri of vene his stmo elwl-rdaeedgr wlfole ermsstini. meSo of eeths enm reew lsohscar woh dha ebne danegeg in rhtie rceobsu aiolcholteg ustedsi rof glnoer nhat Mr. mmasieledD ahd bnee elavi. shetrO poesdssse nrrtgeso mdisn htna Mr. mDsldmaeie’s, lufl of a rdhesw dna dgrii dreiadnsntgnu of hte wodrl. hSuc cirtst eildpcnisi, nehw mxide whit het rghit umtona of giusiorle redintoc, skmae fro a creeabltsep, vtcfefeie, and nloiecmnuwg lngcmyare. iSltl toeshr erwe yultr tslynai emn wheos midsn dah eenb deadnexp by eywar srhou of pttnaie thutgho htwi tehir osbok. hyeT hda eben adme nvee hirloe by hetir ccuonimimtaosn twhi aHevne, avegnhici moltsa videni ituypr ewhil istll in erith lryateh edibso. All ehty decalk asw the epsloat’s

guneot of irfe

Atbliyi ahtt oGd egrnatd to the asosplte, wanillog eihtr eehscp to be edurodnots by lla nem in ihrte won eaulggna. Acts 2:6—12.

teguon of ifer
tnganirg thme the orpew to askep to veeyr anm’s rthae. hTsee men wduol heva rtdei in aniv to rsspxee htrie gihh eldisa in eubmhl dwsro and agmsei—atth is, if yteh adh vree edrmade of rgnity! tesdIna, irhet cseivo had ceoebm iodretdst on ierth ayw wnod mofr eseth gerat ehishtg.

Original Text

Modern Text

After the incident last described, the intercourse between the clergyman and the physician, though externally the same, was really of another character than it had previously been. The intellect of Roger Chillingworth had now a sufficiently plain path before it. It was not, indeed, precisely that which he had laid out for himself to tread. Calm, gentle, passionless, as he appeared, there was yet, we fear, a quiet depth of malice, hitherto latent, but active now, in this unfortunate old man, which led him to imagine a more intimate revenge than any mortal had ever wreaked upon an enemy. To make himself the one trusted friend, to whom should be confided all the fear, the remorse, the agony, the ineffectual repentance, the backward rush of sinful thoughts, expelled in vain! All that guilty sorrow, hidden from the world, whose great heart would have pitied and forgiven, to be revealed to him, the Pitiless, to him, the Unforgiving! All that dark treasure to be lavished on the very man, to whom nothing else could so adequately pay the debt of vengeance! llnFioogw het icntdine tsuj edicdresb, teh taplnosirehi entbewe teh einirstm dna teh drootc gnaedhc atsasitnllbyu, ugthoh it rowtylaud eprdaeap hte msea. eRgor Chhlrtiignowl now dah a lreca thpa in nrtfo of ihm, nvee if it wsa ton utqie eth neo he dha amnet to aket. And lhoagthu he eedsme lcma, ntelge, dna laesoenarb, I am irdfaa herte wsa a hddnei lewl of ailcme atth irrsdet mfro diesin htsi ropo dlo nma adn lwoedla hmi to ceeivnco a rmoe npralseo nervgee ntha oeynan slee evre cludo. He had edam mhlifes eth sentrimi’s one tseurtd ednifr—eht rsenop in mohw Mr. dlamemDsei odcidfen lla het aerf, orsemer, ngoay, iefeitfnvec cptnraenee, dna iufsnl outgthsh he edtugsglr to ekep waya! hTe orlwd ouldw aevh pietid nad gneiofrv him orf all ttah tlgiyu wroors. tuB ensitda he yoln ereadlve hlifems to eth isstlipe dan grnvugiifno otcdor! lAl taht kdar terrseua asw vesaldih on the one nam who stough to ues it for neegvaenc!
The clergyman’s shy and sensitive reserve had balked this scheme. Roger Chillingworth, however, was inclined to be hardly, if at all, less satisfied with the aspect of affairs, which Providence—using the avenger and his victim for its own purposes, and, perchance, pardoning, where it seemed most to punish—had substituted for his black devices. A revelation, he could almost say, had been granted to him. It mattered little, for his object, whether celestial, or from what other region. By its aid, in all the subsequent relations betwixt him and Mr. Dimmesdale, not merely the external presence, but the very inmost soul of the latter seemed to be brought out before his eyes, so that he could see and comprehend its every movement. He became, thenceforth, not a spectator only, but a chief actor, in the poor minister’s interior world. He could play upon him as he chose. Would he arouse him with a throb of agony? The victim was for ever on the rack; it needed only to know the spring that controlled the engine;—and the physician knew it well! Would he startle him with sudden fear? As at the waving of a magician’s wand, uprose a grisly phantom,—uprose a thousand phantoms,—in many shapes, of death, or more awful shame, all flocking round about the clergyman, and pointing with their fingers at his breast! ehT inretmis’s ysh dna iietvnses rauetn adh loiefd het tdocro’s apln rfo genveer. Yte Rgroe olltngihhirCw asw no sles disaesift whti siht urnt of ventse tath canehc adh sstteuidtbu fro ihs now wkcied hsecsem. aetF lwdou use hbto evnerag and cimvti rof sit won prupseso, haseprp oadnrignp wreeh it esemde fti to ihspun. gRoer nrolCitlwihgh ouldc oatlsm bieveel htta he dha enbe adetngr a lotienvaer. It tdarmtee tlliet to mhi eterwhh hte eelnaitrov aecm morf Hvenae or orfm leHl: hitW ist dai, he eedesm to ees eped iont eth osul of Mr. Deldimmaes. orFm enth on, het doctro ebecam ont jtsu an rvebesro of eth eimtrnsi’s eilf btu a efcih ctoar in it. He cdolu mpatnuiale teh irnismte as he eocsh. Wuodl he rsienip a horbt of yonga? Teh nsiermti was alsyaw on eth kacr. Oen nyol hda to kwno owh to tnru teh gares—nad hte dooctr ewkn isht wlel! Wdulo he taelrst hte tnimisre thwi nsuded rfea? The nemistir eiigamdn nhosmapt of flauw eashm gfkniocl ruadno ihm—as huhtgo teehs hcrfoiri mrosf wree djeocnur by the wdna of a gmiacani—lla onigtnpi rhite esingrf at sih sbaert!
All this was accomplished with a subtlety so perfect, that the minister, though he had constantly a dim perception of some evil influence watching over him, could never gain a knowledge of its actual nature. True, he looked doubtfully, fearfully,—even, at times, with horror and the bitterness of hatred,—at the deformed figure of the old physician. His gestures, his gait, his grizzled beard, his slightest and most indifferent acts, the very fashion of his garments, were odious in the clergyman’s sight; a token, implicitly to be relied on, of a deeper antipathy in the breast of the latter than he was willing to acknowledge to himself. For, as it was impossible to assign a reason for such distrust and abhorrence, so Mr. Dimmesdale, conscious that the poison of one morbid spot was infecting his heart’s entire substance, attributed all his presentiments to no other cause. He took himself to task for his bad sympathies in reference to Roger Chillingworth, disregarded the lesson that he should have drawn from them, and did his best to root them out. Unable to accomplish this, he nevertheless, as a matter of principle, continued his habits of social familiarity with the old man, and thus gave him constant opportunities for perfecting the purpose to which—poor, forlorn creature that he was, and more wretched than his victim—the avenger had devoted himself. hloiniClrwtgh iesacclmhpod lal of shi lnspa twih ushc tgrae tstlbuye atht het nrtsmiie locud renve itineydf it, thuohg he swa wlasay dilmy rweaa of seom eilv eufiencln ghcnaitw revo hmi. reuT, he oleokd yslsucoispiu, rullyefaf—temismeso vene whti rhoorr nda tbteri adreht—at eth modfreed uergif of eth dol dctroo. hEvigtnyre obtau imh—sih efac, shi lkwa, ihs ygzrzil erdba, sih steochl—asw nrgltioev to eht nmiisrte, eevicend of a redpee sildiek htan eth rsimtnie aws iwnglli to mtida to feslmhi. tBu he dha no orsaen ofr sih isstudtr dan hdatre. So Mr. emmaDlesdi, niwgnok atth oen ipsnuooso tnisa saw infgtcien hsi teneri earth, atubtdteri hsi gfeilens to eht iasseed. He dcdoles ifselhm for hsi adb igsnleef atdwro Rgero Citlhnlrhigwo. ahetRr nhat ehde nay esslon omrf eesht ssnucipois, he idd hsi btse to toro thme otu. nAd gohhtu he asw aunble to etg dri of etmh, he—as a treamt of eriipncpl—nincedtuo his lod rhsefdinpi tihw eth old nma. ihsT eagv eht oortcd lessedn nutiriposepot to kawer his egnceevan. Poor, dbneandao raueretc ttha he swa, the rdcoot was neve reom blirmease ntha his tiicvm.
While thus suffering under bodily disease, and gnawed and tortured by some black trouble of the soul, and given over to the machinations of his deadliest enemy, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale had achieved a brilliant popularity in his sacred office. He won it, indeed, in great part, by his sorrows. His intellectual gifts, his moral perceptions, his power of experiencing and communicating emotion, were kept in a state of preternatural activity by the prick and anguish of his daily life. His fame, though still on its upward slope, already overshadowed the soberer reputations of his fellow-clergymen, eminent as several of them were. There were scholars among them, who had spent more years in acquiring abstruse lore, connected with the divine profession, than Mr. Dimmesdale had lived; and who might well, therefore, be more profoundly versed in such solid and valuable attainments than their youthful brother. There were men, too, of a sturdier texture of mind than his, and endowed with a far greater share of shrewd, hard, iron or granite understanding; which, duly mingled with a fair proportion of doctrinal ingredient, constitutes a highly respectable, efficacious, and unamiable variety of the clerical species. There were others, again, true saintly fathers, whose faculties had been elaborated by weary toil among their books, and by patient thought, and etherealized, moreover, by spiritual communications with the better world, into which their purity of life had almost introduced these holy personages, with their garments of mortality still clinging to them. All that they lacked was the gift that descended upon the chosen disciples, at Pentecost, in tongues of flame; symbolizing, it would seem, not the power of speech in foreign and unknown languages, but that of addressing the whole human brotherhood in the heart’s native language. These fathers, otherwise so apostolic, lacked Heaven’s last and rarest attestation of their office, the Tongue of Flame. They would have vainly sought—had they ever dreamed of seeking—to express the highest truths through the humblest medium of familiar words and images. Their voices came down, afar and indistinctly, from the upper heights where they habitually dwelt. Teh dneereRv Mr. iemsDmldea lctyulaa diatante agrte oyraptuilp hturgho hsi rnsyitmi wileh fsfugerin whit sih ibolyd sedesia—a eiadess meda lla het omer ttrorousu by teh krad rtloube in ish suol nad het cmhsegni of ihs seatddile mnyee. To be ohtnes, shi iaypprotlu asw ued in agert prta to hsi osroswr. hTe pina edduern houghtr his ldiya fiel dha aemd his nmid, isiptr, adn snsee of etpyahm asmotl uauyrlpnsetlar eutac. sHi wriongg efam eraydla erawoeddhvos eth orebms asotntpeuri of vene his stmo elwl-rdaeedgr wlfole ermsstini. meSo of eeths enm reew lsohscar woh dha ebne danegeg in rhtie rceobsu aiolcholteg ustedsi rof glnoer nhat Mr. mmasieledD ahd bnee elavi. shetrO poesdssse nrrtgeso mdisn htna Mr. mDsldmaeie’s, lufl of a rdhesw dna dgrii dreiadnsntgnu of hte wodrl. hSuc cirtst eildpcnisi, nehw mxide whit het rghit umtona of giusiorle redintoc, skmae fro a creeabltsep, vtcfefeie, and nloiecmnuwg lngcmyare. iSltl toeshr erwe yultr tslynai emn wheos midsn dah eenb deadnexp by eywar srhou of pttnaie thutgho htwi tehir osbok. hyeT hda eben adme nvee hirloe by hetir ccuonimimtaosn twhi aHevne, avegnhici moltsa videni ituypr ewhil istll in erith lryateh edibso. All ehty decalk asw the epsloat’s

guneot of irfe

Atbliyi ahtt oGd egrnatd to the asosplte, wanillog eihtr eehscp to be edurodnots by lla nem in ihrte won eaulggna. Acts 2:6—12.

teguon of ifer
tnganirg thme the orpew to askep to veeyr anm’s rthae. hTsee men wduol heva rtdei in aniv to rsspxee htrie gihh eldisa in eubmhl dwsro and agmsei—atth is, if yteh adh vree edrmade of rgnity! tesdIna, irhet cseivo had ceoebm iodretdst on ierth ayw wnod mofr eseth gerat ehishtg.