Chapter 15  HESTER AND PEARL

SO Roger Chillingworth- a deformed old figure, with a face that haunted men's memories longer than they liked- took leave of Hester Prynne, and went stooping away along the earth. He gathered here and there an herb, or grubbed up a root, and put it into the basket on his arm. His grey beard almost touched the ground, as he crept onward. Hester gazed after him a little while, looking with a half fantastic curiosity to see whether the tender grass of early spring would not be blighted beneath him, and show the wavering track of his footsteps, sere and brown, across its cheerful verdure. She wondered what sort of herbs they were, which the old man was so sedulous to gather. Would not the earth, quickened to an evil purpose by the sympathy of his eye, greet him with poisonous shrubs, of species hitherto unknown, that would start up under his fingers? Or might it suffice him, that every wholesome growth should be converted into something deleterious and malignant at his touch? Did the sun, which shone so brightly everywhere else, really fall upon him? Or was there, as it rather seemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with his deformity, whichever way he turned himself? And whither was he now going? Would he not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren and blasted spot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadly nightshade, dogwood, henbane, and whatever else of vegetable wickedness the climate could produce, all flourishing with hideous luxuriance? Or would he spread bat's wings and flee away, looking so much the uglier, the higher he rose towards heaven? "Be it sin or no," said Hester Prynne bitterly, as she still gazed after him, "I hate the man!"

She upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome or lessen it. Attempting to do so, she thought of those long-past days, in a distant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from the seclusion of his study, and sit down in the firelight of their home, and in the light of her nuptial smile. He needed to bask himself in that smile, he said, in order that the chill of so many lonely hours among his books might be taken off the scholar's heart. Such scenes had once appeared not otherwise than happy, but now, as viewed through the dismal medium of her subsequent life, they classed themselves among her ugliest remembrances. She marvelled how such scenes could have been! She marvelled how she could ever have been wrought upon to marry him! She deemed it her crime most to be repented of, that she had ever endured, and reciprocated, the lukewarm grasp of his hand, and had suffered the smile of her lips and eyes to mingle and melt into his own. And it seemed a fouler offence committed by Roger Chillingworth, than any which had since been done him, that, in the time when her heart knew no better, he had persuaded her to fancy herself happy by his side.

"Yes, I hate him!" repeated Hester, more bitterly than before. "He betrayed me! He has done me worse wrong than I did him!"

Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with it the utmost passion of her heart! Else it may be their miserable fortune, as it was Roger Chillingworth's, when some mightier touch than their own may have awakened all her sensibilities, to be reproached even for the calm content, the marble image of happiness, which they will have imposed upon her as the warm reality. But Hester ought long ago to have done with this injustice. What did it betoken? Had seven long years, under the torture of the scarlet letter, inflicted so much of misery, and wrought out no repentance?

The emotions of that brief space, while she stood gazing after the crooked figure of old Roger Chillingworth, threw a dark light on Hester's state of mind, revealing much that she might not otherwise have acknowledged to herself.

He being gone, she summoned back her child.

"Pearl! Little Pearl! Where are you?"

Pearl, whose activity of spirit never flagged, had been at no loss for amusement while her mother talked with the old gatherer of herbs. At first, as already told, she had flirted fancifully with her own image in a pool of water, beckoning the phantom forth, and- as it declined to venture- seeking a passage for herself into its sphere of impalpable earth and unattainable sky. Soon finding, however, that either she or the image was unreal, she turned elsewhere for better pastime. She made little boats out of birch-bark, and freighted them with snail-shells, and sent out more ventures on the mighty deep than any merchant in New England; but the larger part of them foundered near the shore. She seized a live horse-shoe by the tail, and made prize of several five-fingers, and laid out a jelly-fish to melt in the warm sun. Then she took up the white foam, that streaked the line of the advancing tide, and threw it upon the breeze, scampering after it, with winged footsteps, to catch the great snowflakes ere they fell. Perceiving a flock of beach-birds, that fed and fluttered along the shore, the naughty child picked up her apron full of pebbles, and, creeping from rock to rock after these small sea-fowl, displayed remarkable dexterity in pelting them. One little grey bird, with a white breast, Pearl was almost sure, had been hit by a pebble, and fluttered away with a broken wing. But then the elf-child sighed, and gave up her sport; because it grieved her to have done harm to a little being that was as wild as the sea-breeze, or as wild as Pearl herself.

Her final employment was to gather sea-weed, of various kinds, and make herself a scarf, or mantle, and a head-dress, and thus assume the aspect of a little mermaid. She inherited her mother's gift for devising drapery and costume. As the last touch to her mermaid garb, Pearl took some eel-grass, and imitated, as best she could, on her own bosom, the decoration with which she was so familiar on her mother's. A letter- the letter A- but freshly green, instead of scarlet! The child bent her chin upon her breast, and contemplated this device with strange interest; even as if the one only thing for which she had been sent into the world was to make out its hidden import.

"I wonder if mother will ask me what it means?" thought Pearl.

Just then, she heard her mother's voice, and flitting along as lightly as one of the little sea-birds, appeared before Hester Prynne, dancing, laughing, and pointing her finger to the ornament upon her bosom.

"My little Pearl," said Hester, after a moment's silence, "the green letter, and on thy childish bosom, has no purport. But dost thou know, my child, what this letter means which thy mother is doomed to wear?"

"Yes, mother," said the child. "It is the great letter A. Thou hast taught me in the horn-book."

Hester looked steadily into her little face; but, though there was that singular expression which she had so often remarked in her black eyes, she could not satisfy herself whether Pearl really attached any meaning to the symbol. She felt a morbid desire to ascertain the point.

"Dost thou know, child, wherefore thy mother wears this letter?"

"Truly do I!" answered Pearl, looking brightly into her mother's face. "It is for the same reason that the minister keeps his hand over his heart!"

"And what reason is that?" asked Hester, half smiling at the absurd incongruity of the child's observation; but, on second thoughts, turning pale. "What has the letter to do with any heart, save mine?"

"Nay, mother, I have told all I know," said Pearl, more seriously than she was wont to speak. "Ask yonder old man whom thou hast been talking with! It may be he can tell. But in good earnest now, mother dear, what does this scarlet letter mean?- and why dost thou wear it on thy bosom?- and why does the minister keep his hand over his heart?"

She took her mother's hand in both her own, and gazed into her eyes with an earnestness that was seldom seen in her wild and capricious character. The thought occurred to Hester, that the child might really be seeking to approach her with childlike confidence, and doing what she could, and as intelligently as she knew how, to establish a meeting-point of sympathy. It showed Pearl in an unwonted aspect. Heretofore, the mother, while loving her child with the intensity of a soul affection, had schooled herself to hope for little other return than the waywardness of an April breeze; which spends its time in airy sport, and has its gusts of inexplicable passion, and is petulant in its best of moods, and chills oftener than caresses you, when you take it to your bosom; in requital of which misdemeanours, it will sometimes, of its own vague purpose, kiss your cheek with a kind of doubtful tenderness, and play gently with your hair, and then be gone about its other idle business, leaving a dreamy pleasure at your heart. And this, moreover, was a mother's estimate of the child's disposition. Any other observer might have seen few but unamiable traits, and have given them a far darker colouring. But now the idea came strongly into Hester's mind, that Pearl, with her remarkable precocity and acuteness, might already have approached the age when she could be made a friend, and entrusted with as much of her mother's sorrows as could be imparted, without irreverence either to the parent or the child. In the little chaos of Pearl's character, there might be seen emerging- and could have been, from the very first- the steadfast principles of an unflinching courage- an uncontrollable will- a sturdy pride, which might be disciplined into self-respect- and a bitter scorn of many things, which, when examined, might be found to have the taint of falsehood in them. She possessed affections, too, though hitherto acrid and disagreeable, as are the richest flavours of unripe fruit. With all these sterling attributes, thought Hester, the evil which she inherited from her mother must be great indeed, if a noble woman do not grow out of this elfish child.

Pearl's inevitable tendency to hover about the enigma of the scarlet letter seemed an innate quality of her being. From the earliest epoch of her conscious life, she had entered upon this as her appointed mission. Hester had often fancied that Providence had a design of justice and retribution, in endowing the child with this marked propensity; but never, until now, had she bethought herself to ask, whether, linked with that design, there might not likewise be a purpose of mercy and beneficence. If little Pearl were entertained with faith and trust, as a spirit messenger no less than an earthly child, might it not be her errand to soothe away the sorrow that lay cold in her mother's heart, and converted it into a tomb?- and to help her to overcome the passion, once so wild, and even yet neither dead nor asleep, but only imprisoned within the same tomb-like heart?

Such were some of the thoughts that now stirred in Hester's mind, with as much vivacity of impression as if they had actually been whispered into her ear. And there was little Pearl, all this while, holding her mother's hand in both her own, and turning her face upward, while she put these searching questions, once, and again, and still a third time.

"What does the letter mean, mother?- and why dost thou wear it?- and why does the minister keep his hand over his heart?"

"What shall I say?" thought Hester to herself. "No! If this be the price of the child's sympathy, I cannot pay it."

Then she spoke aloud.

"Silly Pearl," said she, "what questions are these? There are many things in this world that a child must not ask about. What know I of the minister's heart? And as for the scarlet letter, I wear it for the sake of its gold thread."

In all the seven bygone years, Hester Prynne had never before been false to the symbol on her bosom. It may be that it was the talisman of a stern and severe, but yet a guardian spirit, who now forsook her; as recognising that, in spite of his strict watch over her heart, some new evil had crept into it, or some old one had never been expelled. As for little Pearl, the earnestness soon passed out of her face.

But the child did not see fit to let the matter drop. Two or three times, as her mother and she went homeward, and as often at suppertime, and while Hester was putting her to bed, and once after she seemed to be fairly asleep, Pearl looked up, with mischief gleaming in her black eyes.

"Mother," said she, "what does the scarlet letter mean?"

And the next morning, the first indication the child gave of being awake was by popping up her head from the pillow, and making that other inquiry, which she had so unaccountably connected with her investigations about the scarlet letter-

"Mother!- mother!- why does the minister keep his hand over his heart?"

"Hold thy tongue, naughty child!" answered her mother, with an asperity that she had never permitted to herself before. "Do not tease me; else I shall shut thee into the dark closet!"

就这样，罗杰·齐灵渥斯——那个身材畸形的老人，他那张面孔会长时间地萦绕在人们的脑海，想忘都忘不掉——离开了海丝特·白兰，一路弯着腰走开了。他东一处西一处地采集一棵药草或挖掘一个树根，然后装进他挎着的提篮里。他深猫着腰朝前走着，灰白的胡须几乎触到了地面。海丝特在他身后盯视了一小会儿，怀着一种有点想入非非的好奇心，想看清楚早春的嫩草会不会在他脚下枯萎，那一片欣欣向荣的葱翠会不会显出一条枯褐、弯曲的足迹。她不晓得那老人如此勤快地采集的是哪种药草。坟地会不会在他目光的感应下立刻产生邪意，在他手指的一触之下马上生出一种从不知名的毒草来迎接他呢？或者说，大地会不会把每一种良木益草在他接触之后都变成毒木莠草来满足他呢？那普照四方的明亮的太阳是不是也当真能照到他身上呢？或者说，是不是有一圈不样的阴影，当真象看上去的那样，始终伴随着他那畸形的身躯，任凭他走到哪里都如影随形呢？那么，现在他又往哪里去了呢？他会不会突然沉入地下？从而留下一块枯荒之地，很需要经过一段时间，才会看见龙葵、山茱萸、杀生草以及其它种种在这一气候中能够生长的毒草，可怕地滋生蔓延起来。或者说，他会不会展开蝙蝠的翅膀腾空飞去，飞得越高，样子越丑呢？

“不管是不是罪过，”海丝特·白兰一边继续注视着他的背影，一边狠狠地说，“我反正恨这个人！”

她为这种感情而自责，但她既不能抑制也不能减少这种感情。为了克制这种感情，她回忆起那些早巳逝去的岁月，那是在遥远的土地上，那时候他每到傍晚便从幽静的书斋中出来，坐在他们家的壁炉旁，沉浸在他妻子容光焕发的娇笑之中。他那时常说，他需要在她的微笑中温暖自己，以便从他那学者的心中驱散长时间埋头书卷所积郁的寒气。这种情景也曾经作为幸福而出现过；但如今，透过她随之而来的生活的悲惨的折射，只能归类于她回忆中最不堪入目的部分了。她惊诧何以会有过这种情景！她惊诧自己何以会最终嫁给了他！她认为，她以前竟然忍受并回握了他那不冷不热的篡握，竟然以自己眉眼和嘴唇的微笑来迎合他的笑意，实在是她最应追悔的罪过。在她看来，罗杰·齐灵渥斯对她的触犯，就是在她不谙世事时便使她误以为追随在他身边便是幸福，而这比起他后来受到的伤害要大得多。

“是啊，我是恨他！”海丝特又重复了一句，口气更狠了。“他害苦了我！他伤我要比我伤他厉害得多！”

让那些只赢得女人首肯婚约但没有同时赢得她们内心最深处的激情的男人们发抖吧！他们会象罗杰·齐灵渥斯一样遭到不幸的：因为当某一个比他们更有力的接触唤醒她们的全部感知时，即使是他们当作温暖的现实而要加诸女人的那种平静的满足，那种坚如磐石的幸福形象，都要统统受到指责。但海丝特早就应该对这种不公乎处之泰然了。不公平又能怎样？难道在七年漫长的岁月中，在红字曲折磨下备受痛苦，还悟不出一些仟悔之意吗？

当她站在那儿盯着老罗杰·齐灵渥斯躬腰驼背的身影时，那瞬间油然而生的心情，在海丝特心头援下了一束黯光，照出了她平时无论如何也不会对自己承认的念头。

在他走开之后，她才叫孩子回来。

“珠儿！小珠儿！你在哪儿？”

珠儿的精神从来十足，当她母亲同那采药老人谈话时，她一直玩得挺带劲。起初，她象前面说的那样，异想天开地和映在水面中的自己的倒影戏耍，招呼那映象出来，由于它不肯前进一步，她便想为自己寻找一条途径进入那不可捉摸的虚幻的天地中去。然而，她很快就发觉，要么是她，要么是那映象，总有一个是不真实的，于是便转身走开去玩更开心的游戏了。她用桦树皮做了许多小船，在上面装好蜗牛壳，让它们飘向大海，其数量之多，胜过新英格兰任何一个商人的船队；可惜大部分都在离岸不远的地方沉没了。她抓着尾巴逮住了一条活鲎鱼，捕获了好几只海星，还把一个水母放到温暖的阳光下融化。后来，她捞起海潮前缘上的白色泡沫，迎风撤去，再一蹦三跳地跟在后面，想在这些大雪花落下之前就抓在手里。接着，她看到一群海鸟在岸上飞来飞去地觅食，这调皮的孩子就拣满一围裙小石子，在岩石间爬着追逐着那些海鸟，投出一颗颗石子，显出不凡的身手。珠儿把握十足地相信，她打中了一只白胸脯的小灰鸟，那小鸟带着一只折断的翅膀鼓翼而飞了。可随后这小精灵般的孩子却叹了口气，放弃了这种玩法；因为她伤害了一个如海风或者说和珠儿她本人一样狂野的小家伙，很为此伤心。

她最后一件事是采集各种海草，给自己做了一条围巾或披肩，还有一圈头饰，把自己打扮成一个小人鱼的模样。她倒是继承了她母亲那种制做服装衣饰的天才。珠儿拿过一片大叶藻给她那身人鱼的装束做最后的点缀：她在自己的胸前，尽力模仿着她所极熟悉的她母亲胸上的装饰，也为自己佩了一个。一个字母“A"；，不过不是腥红的，而且鲜绿的！这孩子把下额抵到胸口，怀着奇妙的兴致端详着这一玩艺儿，仿佛她诞生到这个世界上的唯一目的就是弄清其隐秘的含义。

“我不知道妈妈会不会问我这是什么意思！”珠儿想道。

就在这时，她听到了她母亲的呼唤，就象一只小海鸟似的一路轻快地跑跳着，来到海丝特·白兰的面前，又跳又笑地用手指着自己胸前的装饰。

“我的小珠儿，”海丝特沉默了一会儿之后说，“那绿色的字母，在你童稚的胸口是没有意义的。不过，我的孩子，你可知道你妈妈非戴不可的这个字母的意思吗？”。

“知道的，妈妈，”那孩子说。“那是一个大写的A宇。你已经在字帖上教过我了。”

海丝特目不转睛地盯着她的小脸；然而，孩子那黑眼睛中虽然带着平时极其独特的表情，她却说不准珠儿是否当真把什么意思同那象征联系到了一起。她感到有一种病态的欲望想弄明白这一点。

“孩子，你知道你妈妈为什么要戴这个字母吗？”

“我当然知道！”珠儿说着，闪光的眸子紧盯着她母亲的面孔。“这和牧师用手捂住心口都是出于同样的原因！”

“那究竟是什么原因呢？”海丝特问道，起初还因为孩子那番话荒诞不经而面带微笑；但转念一想，面孔就苍白了。“除去我的心之外，这字母跟别人的心又有什么关系呢？”

“那我可不知道了，妈妈，我知道的全都说了，”珠儿说道，那神情比平时说话要严肃认真得多。“问问你刚刚同他谈话的那个老头儿吧！他也许能告诉你。不过，现在说真格的，我的好妈妈，这红字是什么意思呢？——为什么你要在胸前戴着它？——为什么牧师要把手捂在心口上？”

她用双手握住她母亲的一只手，用她那狂野和任性的个性中少见的一本正经的神情盯着母亲的眼睛。这时海丝特突然闪过一个念头：这孩子也许当真在以她孩提的信任来寻求同自己接近，并且尽其智慧所能来建起一个同情的交汇点。这表现出珠儿的不同往常的另一副面孔。此前，做母亲的虽以极其专一的钟爱爱着她的孩子，却总在告诫自己，且莫指望得到比任性的四月的微风更多的回报——那微风以飘渺的运动来消磨时光，具有一种难以名状的突发的激情，会在心情最好时勃然大怒，当你放它吹进怀中时，经常是给你寒气而不是爱抚；为了补偿这种过失，它有时会出于模糊的目的，以一种值得怀疑的温柔，亲吻你的面颊，轻柔地抚弄你的头发，然后便跑到一边去作别的无所事事的举动，只在你的心中留下一种梦幻般的快感。何况，这还是母亲对她孩子的气质的揣摩呢。至于别的旁观者，恐怕不会看出什么讨人喜欢的品性，只能说出些糟糕得多的评价。但此时闯入海丝特脑海的念头是：珠儿早熟和敏感得出奇，或许已然到了可以作为朋友的年龄，可以尽其所能分担母亲的忧伤，而不会对母女任何一方造成不敬了。在珠儿那小小的混沌的个性中，或许可以见到开始呈现出——也可能从一开始就一直存在着——一种毫无畏缩、坚定不移的气质，一种无拘无束的意志，一种可以培养成自尊心的桀骜不驯的骄傲，而且对许多事物抱有一种极度的轻蔑，而对这些事物如果加以推敲，就可能会发现其甲确有虚伪的污点。她还具有丰富的情感，尽管至今还象末熟的果子那样酸涩得难以入口。海丝特自忖，这个小精灵似的孩子已经具备了这些纯正的秉赋，如若再不能成长为一个高贵的妇人，那就是她从母亲身上继承到的邪恶实在太大了。

珠儿一味纠缠着要弄清红字之谜，看来是她的一种内在的天性。从她开始懂事的时候起，就对这一问题当作指定的使命来琢磨。海丝特从那时起就常常想象：上天赋予这孩子这种突出的倾向，是有其惩恶扬善的果报意图在内的；但直到最近，她才扪心自问，是否还有一个与那个意图相关的施赐仁慈与恩惠的目的。如果把小珠儿不仅当作一个尘世的孩子，也当‘作一个精神使者，对她抱有忠诚与信任，那么，她难道就不能承担起她的使命，把冷冷地藏在她母亲心中、从而把那颗心变成坟墓的忧伤扫荡净尽吗？——并帮助母亲克制那一度十分狂野、至今仍未死去或入睡、而只是禁锢在同一颗坟墓般的心中的激情呢？此时在海丝特头脑中翻腾的就是这些念头；其印象之活跃生动，不啻在她耳畔低语。而且眼前就有小珠儿，在这段时间里始终用双手握住母亲的手，还仰起脸来望着母亲，同时一而再、再而三地刨根问底。

“这字母到底是什么意思，妈妈？——你干嘛要戴着它？——牧师干嘛总要用手捂着心口？”

“我该说什么才好呢？”海丝特心中自忖。“不成！如果这是换取孩子同情的代价，我是不能支付的。”

于是她开口说话了。

“傻珠儿，”她说，“这是些什么问题呢？这世上有许多事情是一个小孩子不该问的。我怎么会知道关于牧师的心的事情呢？至于这红字嘛，我戴上是因为金线好看。”

在过去的七今年头中，海丝特·白兰还从来没有就她胸前的标记说过假话。很可能，那红字虽是一个严苛的符咒，但同时也是一个守护神，不过现在那守护神抛弃了她，正是由于看到了这一点，尽管红字依然严格地守在她心口，但某个新的邪恶已经钻了进去，或者说某个旧的邪恶始终没有被驱逐出来。至于小珠儿呢，那种诚挚的神情很快就从她脸上消失了。

但那孩子仍不肯就此罢休。在她母亲领她回家的路上，她又问了两三次，在吃晚饭时和海丝特送她上床时又问了两三次，在她象是已经入睡之后又问了一次：珠儿抬起头来，黑眼睛中闪着捣蛋的光芒。

“妈妈，”她说，“这红字到底是什么意思？”

第二天一早，那孩子醒来的第一个表示，就是从枕头上猛地把头一抬，问起另外那个问题，不知为什么她总是把那个问题同探询红字的问题搅在一起——

“妈妈！——妈妈！——牧师于嘛总用手捂住心口呢？”

“闭嘴，调皮鬼！”她母亲回答说，语气之严厉，是她以前从来不准自己有的。“别缠我了，要不我就把你关进橱柜里去了！”