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We have as yet hardly spoken of the infant; that little creature,
whose innocent life had sprung, by the inscrutable decree of Providence, a
lovely and immortal flower, out of the rank luxuriance of a guilty passion. How
strange it seemed to the sad woman, as she watched the growth, and the beauty
that became every day more brilliant, and the intelligence that threw its
quivering sunshine over the tiny features of this child! Her Pearl!—For so had
Hester called her; not as a name expressive of her aspect, which had nothing of
the calm, white, unimpassioned lustre that would be indicated by the comparison.
But she named the infant “Pearl,” as being of great price,—purchased with all
she had,—her mother’s only treasure! How strange, indeed! Man had marked this
woman’s sin by a scarlet letter, which had such potent and disastrous efficacy
that no human sympathy could reach her, save it were sinful like herself. God,
as a direct consequence of the sin which man thus punished, had given her a
lovely child, whose place was on that same dishonored bosom, to connect her
parent for ever with the race and descent of mortals, and to be finally a
blessed soul in Heaven! Yet these thoughts affected Hester Prynne less with hope
than apprehension. She knew that her deed had been evil; she could have no
faith, therefore, that its result would be for good. Day after day, she looked
fearfully into the child’s expanding nature; ever dreading to detect some dark
arid wild peculiarity, that should correspond with the guiltiness to which she
owed her being.
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We have hardly spoken about that innocent infant who happened to
spring, like a beautiful, eternal flower, from the foul indulgence of her
mother’s guilty passion. How strange it seemed to Hester, as she watched her
daughter grow more beautiful and more intelligent every day! Her Pearl! That’s
what Hester named her, not in reference to the child’s appearance—which was
neither calm nor pale, like a true pearl—but because she had come at a great
price. Hester bought the child by parting with the only treasure she had: her
virtue! How strange, indeed! Society had marked this woman’s sin with a scarlet
letter, which was so powerful that no human sympathy could reach her unless it
was the sympathy of a fellow sinner. As the direct result of the sin that man
had punished, God had given her a lovely child. Pearl’s place was on Hester’s
dishonored bosom. She connected her mother to the rest of mankind, and she would
eventually become a blessed soul in Heaven! Yet these thoughts gave Hester more
fear than hope. She knew she had committed an evil act, so she had no faith that
its result would be good. Day after day, she watched fearfully as the child
grew, always dreading the emergence of some dark and wild trait derived from the
guilt in which she was conceived.
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Certainly, there was no physical defect. By its perfect shape, its vigor, and
its natural dexterity in the use of all its untried limbs, the infant was worthy
to have been brought forth in Eden; worthy to have been left there, to be the
plaything of the angels, after the world’s first parents were driven out. The
child had a native grace which does not invariably coexist with faultless
beauty; its attire, however simple, always impressed the beholder as if it were
the very garb that precisely became it best. But little Pearl was not clad in
rustic weeds. Her mother, with a morbid purpose that may be better understood
hereafter, had bought the richest tissues that could be procured, and allowed
her imaginative faculty its full play in the arrangement and decoration of the
dresses which the child wore, before the public eye. So magnificent was the
small figure, when thus arrayed, and such was the splendor of Pearl’s own proper
beauty, shining through the gorgeous robes which might have extinguished a paler
loveliness, that there was an absolute circle of radiance around her, on the
darksome cottage-floor. And yet a russet gown, torn and soiled with the child’s
rude play, made a picture of her just as perfect. Pearl’s aspect was imbued with
a spell of infinite variety; in this one child there were many children,
comprehending the full scope between the wild-flower prettiness of a
peasant-baby, and the pomp, in little, of an infant princess. Throughout all,
however, there was a trait of passion, a certain depth of hue, which she never
lost; and if, in any of her changes, she had grown fainter or paler, she would
have ceased to be herself;—it would have been no longer Pearl!
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Certainly, Pearl had no physical defect. The child was so perfectly formed,
energetic, and coordinated that she could have been born in the Garden of Eden.
And if she had been left there after Adam and Eve had been driven out, she could
have been the playmate of the angels. The child had a natural grace, which
doesn’t always come with faultless beauty. Her clothes, no matter how simple,
always seemed perfect. But little Pearl wasn’t dressed shabbily. Her mother—with
a dark purpose that will become clearer as the story goes on—had bought the most
luxurious material she could find and allowed her imagination to run wild when
she designed the dresses Pearl wore in public. She looked so magnificent when
dressed up—her natural beauty made more stunning—that a circle of radiance
glowed around her on the cottage floor. A lesser beauty would have faded under
such gorgeous garments. But a plain gown, torn and dirty from play, looked just
as perfect on Pearl. Her features were ever-changing, as though enchanted. In
this one child there were many children, ranging from the wild prettiness of a
peasant baby to the miniature magnificence of an infant princess. Yet there was
always a hint of passion, a certain color, which she never lost. If, in any of
her changes, she had lost this color and grown paler, she would have ceased to
be herself. She would no longer have been Pearl!
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This outward mutability indicated, and did not more than fairly express, the
various properties of her inner life. Her nature appeared to possess depth, too,
as well as variety; but—or else Hester’s fears deceived her—it lacked reference
and adaptation to the world into which she was born. The child could not be made
amenable to rules. In giving her existence, a great law had been broken; and the
result was a being, whose elements were perhaps beautiful and brilliant, but all
in disorder; or with an order peculiar to themselves, amidst which the point of
variety and arrangement was difficult or impossible to be discovered. Hester
could only account for the child’s character—and even then, most vaguely and
imperfectly—by recalling what she herself had been, during that momentous period
while Pearl was imbibing her soul from the spiritual world, and her bodily frame
from its material of earth. The mother’s impassioned state had been the medium
through which were transmitted to the unborn infant the rays of its moral life;
and, however white and clear originally, they had taken the deep stains of
crimson and gold, the fiery lustre, the black shadow, and the untempered light,
of the intervening substance. Above all, the warfare of Hester’s spirit, at that
epoch, was perpetuated in Pearl. She could recognize her wild, desperate,
defiant mood, the flightiness of her temper, and even some of the very
cloud-shapes of gloom and despondency that had brooded in her heart. They were
now illuminated by the morning radiance of a young child’s disposition, but,
later in the day of earthly existence, might be prolific of the storm and
whirlwind.
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This outward changeability hinted at the nature of Pearl’s inner life. Her
personality seemed to be both deep and varied, but—unless Hester’s fears fooled
her—it was poorly adapted to the world she was born into. The child could not be
made to follow rules. A great law had been broken to bring her into the world;
the result was a creature whose traits were beautiful and brilliant but
disordered. Or perhaps those traits had an order of their own, and one that was
almost impossible to figure out. Hester could only make the vaguest sense of the
child’s personality by remembering what state she herself had been in when Pearl
was conceived. Hester’s passion had been passed on to the unborn infant. No
matter how clean and clear Pearl’s moral life had originally been, it had been
dyed crimson and gold, with a fiery luster, black shadows, and the intense light
of Hester’s passion. Above all, the conflicted nature of Hester’s spirit at that
time had been passed on to Pearl. Hester recognized in her child her own wild,
desperate defiance, her quick temper, and even some of the melancholy that had
brooded in her heart. Those clouds of sadness were now illuminated by the
morning light of Pearl’s cheerful disposition, but later in her life they might
produce a great storm.
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