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But the sea, in those old times, heaved, swelled, and foamed very much at its
own will, or subject only to the tempestuous wind, with hardly any attempts at
regulation by human law. The buccaneer on the wave might relinquish his calling,
and become at once, if he chose, a man of probity and piety on land; nor, even
in the full career of his reckless life, was he regarded as a personage with
whom it was disreputable to traffic or casually associate. Thus, the Puritan
elders, in their black cloaks, starched bands, and steeple-crowned hats, smiled
not unbenignantly at the clamor and rude deportment of these jolly seafaring
men; and it excited neither surprise nor animadversion when so reputable a
citizen as old Roger Chillingworth, the physician, was seen to enter the
market-place, in close and familiar talk with the commander of the questionable
vessel.
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In those days, the sea moved with a will of its own or subject only to the
wind. Human law hardly even attempted regulation. The sailor could give up his
calling, if he chose, and instantly become a respected man on land. And even
while he led his reckless life, it was not thought disrespectable to deal with
him. And so the Puritan elders, in their black cloaks, ruffled collars, and
pointed hats, smiled at the noise and rudeness of these jolly sailors. It did
not cause surprise or elicit rebuke when a respectable citizen such as Roger
Chillingworth, the doctor, was seen to enter the marketplace talking in a
familiar way with the commander of the dubious ship.
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The latter was by far the most showy and gallant figure, so far as apparel
went, anywhere to be seen among the multitude. He wore a profusion of ribbons on
his garment, and gold lace on his hat, which was also encircled by a gold chain,
and surmounted with a feather. There was a sword at his side, and a sword-cut on
his forehead, which, by the arrangement of his hair, he seemed anxious rather to
display than hide. A landsman could hardly have worn this garb and shown this
face, and worn and shown them both with such a galliard air, without undergoing
stern question before a magistrate, and probably incurring fine or imprisonment,
or perhaps an exhibition in the stocks. As regarded the shipmaster, however, all
was looked upon as pertaining to the character, as to a fish his glistening
scales.
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The commander was by far the most showily dressed figure to be seen anywhere
in the crowd. He wore a great many ribbons on his coat and gold lace on his hat,
which was encircled by a gold chain and topped with a feather. There was a sword
at his side and sword-scar on his forehead. You could tell by his hairdo that he
wanted to show off the scar, rather than hide it. A citizen of the land could
not have worn this outfit and displayed this face, and done so with such a grand
air, without facing stern questioning from a magistrate, a probable fine, and
then possible shaming in the stocks. Yet because he was a shipmaster, this man’s
appearance looked as appropriate as a fish’s glistening scales.
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After parting from the physician, the commander of the Bristol ship strolled
idly through the market-place; until, happening to approach the spot where
Hester Prynne was standing, he appeared to recognize, and did not hesitate to
address her. As was usually the case wherever Hester stood, a small, vacant
area—a sort of magic circle—had formed itself about her, into which, though the
people were elbowing one another at a little distance, none ventured, or felt
disposed to intrude. It was a forcible type of the moral solitude in which the
scarlet letter enveloped its fated wearer; partly by her own reserve, and partly
by the instinctive, though no longer so unkindly, withdrawal of her
fellow-creatures. Now, if never before, it answered a good purpose, by enabling
Hester and the seaman to speak together without risk of being overheard; and so
changed was Hester Prynne’s repute before the public, that the matron in town
most eminent for rigid morality could not have held such intercourse with less
result of scandal than herself.
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After parting from the doctor, the commander of the ship strolled idly through
the marketplace. When he came upon the spot where Hester Prynne was standing, he
seemed to recognize her. He did not hesitate to address her. As was usually the
case wherever Hester stood, a small empty space—a sort of magic circle—had
formed around her. Though people were elbowing one another and crammed together
all around her, no one ventured into that space. It was a physical sign of the
moral solitude in which the scarlet letter encircled its wearer, partly through
her own reserve, and partly by the instinctive (though no longer unkind)
withdrawal of her fellow citizens. Now, at least, it served a good purpose:
Hester and the ship’s commander could speak together without the risk of being
overheard. Her reputation was so changed that she risked no scandal by this
public conversation, no more than would the most well-respected matron in town,
known for rigid morality.
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“So, mistress,” said the mariner, “I must bid the steward make ready one more
berth than you bargained for! No fear of scurvy or ship-fever, this voyage! What
with the ship’s surgeon and this other doctor, our only danger will be from drug
or pill; more by token, as there is a lot of apothecary’s stuff aboard, which I
traded for with a Spanish vessel.”
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“So, ma’am,” said the captain, “I must instruct the steward to make room for
one more passenger than you had bargained for! We needn’t fear any diseases on
this voyage. With the ship’s surgeon and this other doctor on board, our only
danger will be from the drugs they prescribe—and I did trade with a Spanish ship
for a great deal of medicine.”
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“What mean you?” inquired Hester, startled more than she permitted to appear.
“Have you another passenger?”
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“What do you mean?” asked Hester, more startled than she allowed herself to
show. “Do you have another passenger?”
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“Why, know you not,” cried the shipmaster, “that this physician
here—Chillingworth, he calls himself—is minded to try my cabin-fare with you?
Ay, ay, you must have known it; for he tells me he is of your party, and a close
friend to the gentleman you spoke of,—he that is in peril from these sour old
Puritan rulers!”
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“Don’t you know,” cried the ship’s captain, “that this doctor here—he calls
himself Chillingworth—has decided to try ship’s cooking along with you? Yeah,
sure, you must have known. He tells me that he is a member of your party and a
close friend of the gentleman you spoke of—the one that is in danger from these
sour old Puritans.”
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“They know each other well, indeed,” replied Hester, with a mien of calmness,
though in the utmost consternation. “They have long dwelt together.”
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“They do know each other well,” replied Hester, maintaining the appearance of
calmness despite her great distress. “They have lived together for a long
time.”
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Nothing further passed between the mariner and Hester Prynne. But, at that
instant, she beheld old Roger Chillingworth himself, standing in the remotest
corner of the market-place, and smiling on her; a smile which—across the wide
and bustling square, and through all the talk and laughter, and various
thoughts, moods, and interests of the crowd—conveyed secret and fearful
meaning.
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The sailor and Hester Prynne spoke nothing more. But at that moment she saw
old Roger Chillingworth himself, standing in the farthest corner of the
marketplace and smiling at her. Even across the broad and busy square, through
all the talk and laughter and various thoughts, moods, and interests of the
crowd, that smile conveyed a secret and fearful meaning.
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