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The minister looked at her, for an instant, with all that violence of passion,
which—intermixed, in more shapes than one, with his higher, purer, softer
qualities—was, in fact, the portion of him which the Devil claimed, and through
which he sought to win the rest. Never was there a blacker or a fiercer frown,
than Hester now encountered. For the brief space that it lasted, it was a dark
transfiguration. But his character had been so much enfeebled by suffering, that
even its lower energies were incapable of more than a temporary struggle. He
sank down on the ground, and buried his face in his hands.
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The minister looked at her for a moment, with all the violence of his
passion—the part of him that the Devil claimed. That passion was mixed with his
higher, purer, and softer qualities: Through it the Devil sought to conquer
them. Hester had never seen a darker or a fiercer frown. For the moment it
lasted, it was a violent transformation. But the minister’s character had been
so weakened by suffering that it was incapable of more than a temporary
struggle. He sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands.
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“I might have known it!” murmured he. “I did know it! Was not the secret told
me in the natural recoil of my heart, at the first sight of him, and as often as
I have seen him since? Why did I not understand? O Hester Prynne, thou little,
little knowest all the horror of this thing! And the shame!—the indelicacy!—the
horrible ugliness of this exposure of a sick and guilty heart to the very eye
that would gloat over it! Woman, woman, thou art accountable for this! I cannot
forgive thee!”
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“I should have known it,” he murmured. “I did know it! Didn’t my heart tell me
this secret when I pulled back at the first sight of him, and every time I have
seen him since? Why didn’t I understand? Oh, Hester Prynne, you don’t know the
horror of this thing! And the shame, the horrible ugliness when a sick and
guilty heart is exposed to the very eye that would gloat over it! Woman, woman,
you are to blame for this! I cannot forgive you!”
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“Thou shalt forgive me!” cried Hester, flinging herself on the fallen leaves
beside him. “Let God punish! Thou shalt forgive!”
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“You will forgive me!” cried Hester, throwing herself in the
fallen leaves beside him. “Let God punish! You will forgive!”
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With sudden and desperate tenderness, she threw her arms around him, and
pressed his head against her bosom; little caring though his cheek rested on the
scarlet letter. He would have released himself, but strove in vain to do so.
Hester would not set him free, lest he should look her sternly in the face. All
the world had frowned on her,—for seven long years had it frowned upon this
lonely woman,—and still she bore it all, nor ever once turned away her firm, sad
eyes. Heaven, likewise, had frowned upon her, and she had not died. But the
frown of this pale, weak, sinful, and sorrow-stricken man was what Hester could
not bear, and live!
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With a sudden and desperate tenderness, she threw her arms around him and
pressed his head against her breast. She did not care that his cheek rested on
the scarlet letter. He would have freed himself, but he could not. Hester would
not set him free, lest he look at her with reproach. All the world had frowned
at her—for seven long years it had frowned at this lonely woman—and she bore it
all, never turning away her firm, sad eyes. Heaven had frowned at her, too, and
she had not died. But the frown of this pale, weak, sinful, and sorrowful man
was more than Hester could bear!
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“Wilt thou yet forgive me?” she repeated, over and over again. “Wilt thou not
frown? Wilt thou forgive?”
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“Will you forgive me yet?” she repeated, over and over again. “Will you not
frown? Will you forgive?”
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“I do forgive you, Hester,” replied the minister, at length, with a deep
utterance out of an abyss of sadness, but no anger. “I freely forgive you now.
May God forgive us both! We are not, Hester, the worst sinners in the world.
There is one worse than even the polluted priest! That old man’s revenge has
been blacker than my sin. He has violated, in cold blood, the sanctity of a
human heart. Thou and I, Hester, never did so!”
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“I do forgive you, Hester,” the minister eventually replied. He spoke deeply,
out of great depths of sadness, but no anger. “I freely forgive you now. May God
forgive us both. We are not, Hester, the worst sinners in the world. There is a
sinner even greater than this sinful priest! That old man’s revenge has been
blacker than my sin. He has violated, in cold blood, the holiness of a human
heart. You and I, Hester, never did that!”
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“Never, never!” whispered she. “What we did had a consecration of its own. We
felt it so! We said so to each other! Hast thou forgotten it?”
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“Never, never!” she whispered. “What we did had a holiness of its own. We felt
that! We told each other so. Have you forgotten that?”
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“Hush, Hester!” said Arthur Dimmesdale, rising from the ground. “No; I have
not forgotten!”
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“Hush, Hester!” said Arthur Dimmesdale, rising from the ground. “No, I have
not forgotten!”
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They sat down again, side by side, and hand clasped in hand, on the mossy
trunk of the fallen tree. Life had never brought them a gloomier hour; it was
the point whither their pathway had so long been tending, and darkening ever, as
it stole along;—and yet it inclosed a charm that made them linger upon it, and
claim another, and another, and, after all, another moment. The forest was
obscure around them, and creaked with a blast that was passing through it. The
boughs were tossing heavily above their heads; while one solemn old tree groaned
dolefully to another, as if telling the sad story of the pair that sat beneath,
or constrained to forebode evil to come.
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They sat down again, side by side and hand in hand, on the mossy trunk of the
fallen tree. Life had never brought them a gloomier hour: This was the point to
which their paths had been leading, darkening as they went along. And yet the
moment revealed a charm that made them linger over it, and claim another moment,
and another still—and yet one more moment. The forest was dark around them and
creaked as the wind passed through it. As the branches were tossed back and
forth overhead, one solemn old tree groaned sorrowfully to another. It was as
though the trees were telling the sad story of the pair that sat beneath them or
warning of evil still to come.
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And yet they lingered. How dreary looked the forest-track that led backward to
the settlement, where Hester Prynne must take up again the burden of her
ignominy, and the minister the hollow mockery of his good name! So they lingered
an instant longer. No golden light had ever been so precious as the gloom of
this dark forest. Here, seen only by his eyes, the scarlet letter need not burn
into the bosom of the fallen woman! Here, seen only by her eyes, Arthur
Dimmesdale, false to God and man, might be, for one moment, true!
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And yet they lingered. The forest path back to the settlement looked dreary:
There Hester Prynne would once again take up the burden of her shame, and the
minister the hollow mockery of his reputation! So they lingered another moment.
No golden light was ever so precious as the gloom of this dark forest. Here,
seen only by his eyes, the scarlet letter did not burn the bosom of the sinful
woman! Here, seen only by her eyes, Arthur Dimmesdale—false to God and to
man—might, for one moment, be true!
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He started at a thought that suddenly occurred to him.
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He started suddenly as a thought occurred to him.
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“Hester,” cried he, “here is a new horror! Roger Chillingworth knows your
purpose to reveal his true character. Will he continue, then, to keep our
secret? What will now be the course of his revenge?”
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“Hester!” he cried, “I have thought of a new horror! Roger Chillingworth knows
that you intend to reveal his true character. Will he continue to keep our
secret? What revenge will he take now?”
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“There is a strange secrecy in his nature,” replied Hester, thoughtfully; “and
it has grown upon him by the hidden practices of his revenge. I deem it not
likely that he will betray the secret. He will doubtless seek other means of
satiating his dark passion.”
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“There is a strange secrecy in his nature,” Hester replied, thoughtfully. “And
he has grown more secretive as he has taken his hidden revenge. I think it
unlikely that he will betray our secret now—but he will certainly seek revenge
by other means.”
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