Chapter 05  HESTER AT HER NEEDLE

HESTER PRYNNE'S term of confinement was now at an end. Her prison-door was thrown open, and she came forth into the sunshine, which, falling on all alike, seemed, to her sick and morbid heart, as if meant for no other purpose than to reveal the scarlet letter on her breast. Perhaps there was a more real torture in her first unattended footsteps from the threshold of the prison, than even in the procession and spectacle that have been described, where she was made the common infamy, at which all mankind was summoned to point its finger. Then, she was supported by an unnatural tension of the nerves, and by all the combative energy of her character, which enabled her to convert the scene into a kind of lurid triumph. It was, moreover, a separate and insulated event, to occur but once in her lifetime, and to meet which, therefore, reckless of economy, she might call up the vital strength that would have sufficed for many quiet years. The very law that condemned her- a giant of stern features, but with vigour to support, as well as to annihilate, in his iron arm- had held her up, through the terrible ordeal of her ignominy. But now, with this unattended walk from her prison-door, began the daily custom; and she must either sustain and carry it forward by the ordinary resources of her nature, or sink beneath it. She could no longer borrow from the future to help her through the present grief. To-morrow would bring its own trial with it; so would the next day, and so would the next; each its own trial, and yet the very same that was now so unutterably grievous to be borne. The days of the far-off future would toil onward, still with the same burden for her to take up, and bear along with her, but never to fling down; for the accumulating days, and added years, would pile up their misery upon the heap of shame. Throughout them all, giving up her individuality, she would become the general symbol at which the preacher and moralist might point, and in which they might vivify and embody their images of woman's frailty and sinful passion. Thus the young and pure would be taught to look at her, with the scarlet letter flaming on her breast- at her, the child of honourable parents- at her, the mother of a babe, that would hereafter be a woman- at her, who had once been innocent- as the figure, the body, the reality of sin. And over her grave, the infamy that she must carry thither would be her only monument.

It may seem marvellous, that, with the world before her- kept by no restrictive clause of her condemnation within the limits of the Puritan settlement, so remote and so obscure- free to return to her birthplace, or to any other European land, and there hide her character and identity under a new exterior, as completely as if emerging into another state of being- and having also the passes of the dark, inscrutable forest open to her, where the wildness of her nature might assimilate itself with a people whose customs and life were alien from the law that had condemned her- it may seem marvellous, that this woman should still call that place her home, where, and where only, she must needs be the type of shame. But there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it. Her sin, her ignominy, were the roots which she had struck into the soil. It was as if a new birth, with stronger assimilations than the first, had converted the forest-land, still so uncongenial to every other pilgrim and wanderer, into Hester Prynne's wild and dreary, but life-long home. All other scenes of earth- even that village of rural England, where happy infancy and stainless maidenhood seemed yet to be in her mother's keeping, like garments put off long ago- were foreign to her, in comparison. The chain that bound her here was of iron links, and galling to her inmost soul, but could never be broken.

It might be, too- doubtless it was so, although she hid the secret from herself, and grew pale whenever it struggled out of her heart, like a serpent from its hole- it might be that another feeling kept her within the scene and pathway that had been so fatal. There dwelt, there trode the feet of one with whom she deemed herself connected in a union, that, unrecognised on earth, would bring them together before the bar of final judgment, and make that their marriage-altar, for a joint futurity of endless retribution. Over and over again, the tempter of souls had thrust this idea upon Hester's contemplation, and laughed at the passionate and desperate joy with which she seized, and then strove to cast it from her. She barely looked the idea in the face, and hastened to bar it in its dungeon. What she compelled herself to believe- what, finally, she reasoned upon, as her motive for continuing a resident of New England- was half a truth, and half a self-delusion. Here, she said to herself, had been the scene of her guilt, and here should be the scene of her earthly punishment; and so, perchance, the torture of her daily shame would at length purge her soul, and work out another purity than that which she had lost; more saint-like, because the result of martyrdom.

Hester Prynne, therefore, did not flee. On the outskirts of the town, within the verge of the peninsula, but not in close vicinity to any other habitation, there was a small thatched cottage. It had been built by an earlier settler, and abandoned, because the soil about it was too sterile for cultivation, while its comparative remoteness put it out of the sphere of that social activity which already marked the habits of the emigrants. It stood on the shore, looking across a basin of the sea at the forest-covered hills, towards the west. A clump of scrubby trees, such as alone grew on the peninsula, did not so much conceal the cottage from view, as seem to denote that here was some object which would fain have been, or at least ought to be, concealed. In this little, lonesome dwelling, with some slender means that she possessed, and by the license of the magistrates, who still kept an inquisitorial watch over her, Hester established herself, with her infant child. A mystic shadow of suspicion immediately attached itself to the spot. Children, too young to comprehend wherefore this woman should be shut out from the sphere of human charities, would creep nigh enough to behold her plying her needle at the cottage-window, or standing in the doorway, or labouring in her little garden, or coming forth along the pathway that led townward; and, discerning the scarlet letter on her breast, would scamper off with a strange, contagious fear.

Lonely as was Hester's situation, and without a friend on earth who dared to show himself, she, however, incurred no risk of want. She possessed an art that sufficed, even in a land that afforded comparatively little scope for its exercise, to supply food for her thriving infant and herself. It was the art- then, as now, almost the only one within a woman's grasp- of needlework. She bore on her breast, in the curiously embroidered letter, a specimen of her delicate and imaginative skill, of which the dames of a court might gladly have availed themselves, to add the richer and more spiritual adornment of human ingenuity to their fabrics of silk and gold. Here, indeed, in the sable simplicity that generally characterised the Puritanic modes of dress, there might be an infrequent call for the finer productions of her handiwork. Yet the taste of the age, demanding whatever was elaborate in compositions of this kind, did not fail to extend its influence over our stern progenitors, who had cast behind them so many fashions which it might seem harder to dispense with. Public ceremonies, such as ordinations, the installation of magistrates, and all that could give majesty to the forms in which a new government manifested itself to the people, were, as a matter of policy, marked by a stately and well-conducted ceremonial, and a sombre, but yet a studied magnificence. Deep ruffs, painfully wrought bands, and gorgeously embroidered gloves were all deemed necessary to the official state of men assuming the reins of power; and were readily allowed to individuals dignified by rank or wealth, even while sumptuary laws forbade these and similar extravagances to the plebeian order. In the array of funerals, too-whether for the apparel of the dead body, or to typify, by manifold emblematic-devices of sable cloth and snowy lawn, the sorrow of the survivors- there was a frequent and characteristic demand for such labour as Hester Prynne could supply. Baby-linen- for babies then wore robes of state- afforded still another possibility of toil and emolument.

By degrees, nor very slowly, her handiwork became what would now be termed the fashion. Whether from commiseration for a woman of so miserable a destiny; or from the morbid curiosity that gives a fictitious value even to common or worthless things; or by whatever other intangible circumstance was then, as now, sufficient to bestow, on some persons, what others might seek in vain; or because Hester really filled a gap which must otherwise have remained vacant; it is certain that she had ready and fairly requited employment for as many hours as she saw fit to occupy with her needle. Vanity, it may be, chose to mortify itself, by putting on, for ceremonials of pomp and state, the garments that had been wrought by her sinful hands. Her needle-work was seen on the ruff of the Governor; military men wore it on their scarfs, and the minister on his hand; it decked the baby's little cap; it was shut up, to be mildewed and moulder away, in the coffins of the dead. But it is not recorded that, in a single instance, her skill was called in aid to embroider the white veil which was to cover the pure blushes of a bride. The exception indicated the ever relentless vigour with which society frowned upon her sin.

Hester sought not to acquire anything beyond a subsistence, of the plainest and most ascetic description, for herself, and a simple abundance for her child. Her own dress was of the coarsest materials and the most sombre hue; with only that one ornament- the scarlet letter- which it was her doom to wear. The child's attire, on the other hand, was distinguished by a fanciful, or, we might rather say, a fantastic ingenuity, which served, indeed, to heighten the airy charm that early began to develop itself in the little girl, but which appeared to have also a deeper meaning. We may speak further of it hereafter. Except for that small expenditure in the decoration of her infant, Hester bestowed all her superfluous means in charity, on wretches less miserable than herself, and who not infrequently insulted the hand that fed them. Much of the time, which she might readily have applied to the better efforts of her art, she employed in making coarse garments for the poor. It is probable that there was an idea of penance in this mode of occupation, and that she offered up a real sacrifice of enjoyment, in devoting so many hours to such rude handiwork. She had in her nature a rich, voluptuous, Oriental characteristic- a taste for the gorgeously beautiful, which, save in the exquisite productions of her needle, found nothing else, in all the possibilities of her life, to exercise itself upon. Women derive a pleasure, incomprehensible to the other sex, from the delicate toil of the needle. To Hester Prynne it might have been a mode of expressing, and therefore soothing, the passion of her life. Like all other joys, she rejected it as sin. This morbid meddling of conscience with an immaterial matter betokened, it is to be feared, no genuine and steadfast penitence, but something doubtful, something that might be deeply wrong, beneath.

In this manner, Hester Prynne came to have a part to perform in the world. With her native energy of character, and rare capacity, it could not entirely cast her off, although it had set a mark upon her, more intolerable to a woman's heart than that which branded the brow of Cain. In all her intercourse with society, however, there was nothing that made her feel as if she belonged to it. Every gesture, every word, and even the silence of those with whom she came in contact, implied, and often expressed, that she was banished, and as much alone as if she inhabited another sphere, or communicated with the common nature by other organs and senses than the rest of human kind. She stood apart from moral interests, yet close beside them, like a ghost that revisits the familiar fireside, and can no longer make itself seen or felt; no more smile with the household joy, nor mourn with the kindred sorrow; or, should it succeed in manifesting its forbidden sympathy, awakening only terror and horrible repugnance. These emotions, in fact, and its bitterest scorn besides, seemed to be the sole portion that she retained in the universal heart. It was not an age of delicacy; and her position, although she understood it well, and was in little danger of forgetting it, was often brought before her vivid self-perception, like a new anguish, by the rudest touch upon the tenderest spot. The poor, as we have already said, whom she sought out to be the objects of her bounty, often reviled the hand that was stretched forth to succour them. Dames of elevated rank, likewise, whose doors she entered in the way of her occupation, were accustomed to distil drops of bitterness into her heart; sometimes through that alchemy of quiet malice, by which women can concoct a subtile poison from ordinary trifles; and sometimes, also, by a coarser expression, that fell upon the sufferer's defenceless breast like a rough blow upon an ulcerated wound. Hester had schooled herself long and well; she never responded to these attacks, save by a flush of crimson that rose irrepressibly over her pale cheek, and again subsided into the depths of her bosom. She was patient- a martyr, indeed- but she forbore to pray for her enemies; lest, in spite of her forgiving aspirations, the words of the blessing should stubbornly twist themselves into a curse.

Continually, and in a thousand other ways, did she feel the innumerable throbs of anguish that had been so cunningly contrived for her by the undying, the ever-active sentence of the Puritan tribunal. Clergymen paused in the street to address words of exhortation, that brought a crowd, with its mingled grin and frown, around the poor, sinful woman. If she entered a church, trusting to share the Sabbath smile of the Universal Father, it was often her mishap to find herself the text of the discourse. She grew to have a dread of children; for they had imbibed from their parents a vague idea of something horrible in this dreary woman, gliding silently through the town, with never any companion but one only child. Therefore, first allowing her to pass, they pursued her at a distance with shrill cries, and the utterance of a word that had no distinct purport to their own minds, but was none the less terrible to her, as proceeding from lips that babbled it unconsciously. It seemed to argue so wide a diffusion of her shame, that all nature knew of it; it could have caused her no deeper pang, had the leaves of the trees whispered the dark story among themselves- had the summer breeze murmured about it- had the wintry blast shrieked it aloud! Another peculiar torture was felt in the gaze of a new eye. When strangers looked curiously at the scarlet letter- and none ever failed to do so- they branded it afresh into Hester's soul; so that, oftentimes, she could scarcely refrain, yet always did refrain, from

covering the symbol with her hand. But then, again, an accustomed eye had likewise its own anguish to inflict. Its cool stare of familiarity was intolerable. From first to last, in short, Hester Prynne had always this dreadful agony in feeling a human eye upon the token; the spot never grew callous; it seemed, on the contrary, to grow more sensitive with daily torture.

But sometimes, once in many days, or perchance in many months, she felt an eye- a human eye- upon the ignominious brand, that seemed to give a momentary relief, as if half of her agony were shared. The next instant, back it all rushed again, with still a deeper throb of pain; for, in that brief interval, she had sinned anew. Had Hester sinned alone?

Her imagination was somewhat affected, and, had she been of a softer moral and intellectual fibre, would have been still more so, by the strange and solitary anguish of her life. Walking to and fro, with those lonely footsteps, in the little world with which she was outwardly connected, it now and then appeared to Hester- if altogether fancy, it was nevertheless too potent to be resisted- she felt or fancied, then, that the scarlet letter had endowed her with a new sense. She shuddered to believe, yet could not help believing, that it gave her a sympathetic knowledge of the hidden sin in other hearts. She was terror-stricken by the revelations that were thus made. What were they? Could they be other than the insidious whispers of the bad angel, who would fain have persuaded the struggling woman, as yet only half his victim, that the outward guise of purity was but a lie, and that, if truth were everywhere to be shown, a scarlet letter would blaze forth on many a bosom besides Hester Prynne's? Or, must she receive those intimations- so obscure, yet so distinct-as truth? In all her miserable experience, there was nothing else so awful and so loathsome as this sense. It perplexed, as well as shocked her, by the irreverent inopportuneness of the occasions that brought it into vivid action. Sometimes the red infamy upon her breast would give a sympathetic throb, as she passed near a venerable minister or magistrate, the model of piety and justice, to whom that age of antique reverence looked up, as to a mortal man in fellowship with angels. "What evil thing is at hand?" would Hester say to herself. Lifting her reluctant eyes, there would be nothing human within the scope of view, save the form of this earthly saint! Again, a mystic sisterhood would contumaciously assert itself, as she met the sanctified frown of some matron, who, according to the rumour of all tongues, had kept cold snow within her bosom throughout life. That unsunned snow in the matron's bosom, and the burning shame on Hester Prynne's- what had the two in common? Or, once more, the electric thrill would give her warning- "Behold, Hester, here is a companion!"-and, looking up, she would detect the eyes of a young maiden glancing at the scarlet letter, shyly and aside, and quickly averted, with a faint, chill crimson in her cheeks; as if her purity were somewhat sullied by that momentary glance. O Fiend, whose talisman was that fatal symbol, wouldst thou leave nothing, whether in youth or age, for this poor sinner to revere?- such loss of faith is ever one of the saddest results of sin. Be it accepted as a proof that all was not corrupt in this poor victim of her own frailty, and man's hard law, that Hester Prynne yet struggled to believe that no fellow-mortal was guilty like herself.

The vulgar, who, in those dreary old times, were always contributing a grotesque horror to what interested their imaginations, had a story about the scarlet letter which we might readily work up into a terrific legend. They averred, that the symbol was not mere scarlet cloth, tinged in an earthly dye-pot, but was red-hot with infernal fire, and could be seen glowing all alight, whenever Hester Prynne walked abroad in the night-time. And we must needs say, it seared Hester's bosom so deeply, that perhaps there was more truth in the rumour than our modern incredulity may be inclined to admit.

海丝特·白兰的监禁期满了。牢门打开，她迈步走到阳光下。普照众生的日光，在她那病态的心灵看来，似乎只是为了暴露她胸前的红字。这是她第一次独自步出牢门，比超前面所描写的在众目睽睽之下前呼后拥，走上千夫所指的示众受辱台，这才是一次真正的折磨。那天，她为一种反常的神经紧张和个性中全部好斗的精神所支撑，使她能够将那种场面变成一种惨淡的胜利。更主要的，那是在她一生中独一无二的一次各别的孤立事件，因此她可以不借调动在平静的岁月中足够多年消耗的生命力去应付一时之需。就惩办她示众的法律而论，那是一个外貌狰狞的巨人，其铁腕既可以消灭她，也可以支撑她，正是法律本身扶持着她挺过了那示众的可怕煎熬。然而此时此刻，从不然一身步出狱门起，她就要开始过一天又一天的正常生活了；她必须以自身的普通体力支撑自己活下去，否则只有倒在生活下面。她再也不能靠预支生命力来帮助自己度过目前的悲痛。明天还要有明天的考验与之俱来，后天也会如此，再下一天仍会如此；每天都有每天的考验，然而在忍受难以言喻的痛苦这一点士又都是一样的。遥远的未来的时日，仍有其要由她承载的重荷，需要她一步步摄下去，终生背负着，永远不得抛却；日复一日，年复一年，都将在耻辱曲堆积上再叠上层层苦难。她将在长年累月之中，放弃她的个性，面成为布道师和道学家指指点点的一般象征，借以形象具体地说明女性的脆弱与罪孽的情欲。他们将教育纯沾的年轻人望着她——这个胸前佩戴着灼热鲜明的红字的女人；望着她——这个有着可敬的父母的孩子；望着她———这个有着今后会长成女人的婴儿的母亲；望着她——这个原本是纯洁无辜的女人；把她当作罪恶的形象、罪恶的肉体和罪恶的存在。而她必将带到坟墓中去的那个耻辱，将是矗立在她坟上的唯一墓碑。

这事说来令人不可思议：既然她的判决词中没有限制她不得超越清教徒居民区的条款，那么在这片边远偏僻的土地之外，她面对着整个世界，原可以自由地回到她的出生地或任何其它欧洲国家，改头换面，隐姓埋名，一切从新开始；她还面对着通向阴森莫测的莽林的道路，也可以在那里逃脱制裁她的法律，使自己不驯顺的本性在生活习俗完全两样的民族中相得益彰。看来实在不可思议的是，她竟然仍把这地方视作自己的家园；而恰恰在这里，况且也只有在这里，她才会成为耻辱的典型。但确实有一种天数，一种具有冥冥之力的如此不可抗拒和难以避免的感情，迫使人们象幽灵般出汲并滞留在发生过为他终生增色添辉、引人瞩目的重大事件的地方，而且那事件的悲伤色调愈浓，人们也就愈难以背离那块地方。她的罪孽，她的耻辱，便是她深扎于此地的根。她在这块土地上好象获得了比她降生人世更具融熔力量的新生，海丝特·白兰的这一新生把所有其他移民和飘泊者仍感到格格不入的森林地带，变成了她自己荒凉阴郁但却是终生安身立命之家。世界上别的景色，甚至包括她度过幸福的童年和无暇的少女时期的英格兰乡村——象是早巳换下的衣服，交给她母亲去保管了——，相比之下，那些地方在她眼里那是它乡异地了。将她束缚在这里的，是源源傲进她心灵深处的铁打的锁链，永远不可能断裂了。

虽然她向自己隐藏着那个秘密，但只要那个秘密象蟒蛇出洞似的从她心中一钻出来，她就会面色苍白，这或许是——应该说无疑是，将她滞留在如此息息攸关的场地和小路上的另一种感情。在这场地上居住着一个人，在这里的小路上踏着他的脚步，虽说不为世人所认可，她却自信他俩已结成一体，井将共同来到末日审判的席位前凭栏而立，在那里举行神圣的婚礼，以共同承担未来的永无止期的报应。人类灵魂的诱惑者一再把这个念头塞进海丝特的脑海，还嘲笑着搜住她的情欲和狂喜，然后又竭力让她抛掉这一念头。她只能对这个念头匆匆一瞥，便又急忙将其闭锁在它的地窖里。终于，她分析出自己在新英格兰继续后留下来的动机，并且迫使自己去相信，其实只有一半是真情，另一半则是自欺。她对自己说，这里曾是她犯下罪孽的地方，这愿也应是她接受人问惩罚的地方；这样，或许她逐日受到的耻辱的折磨最终会荡涤她的灵魂，并产生出比她失去的那个还要神圣的另一个纯洁，因为这是她殉道的结果。

因此，海丝特·白兰并没有出走。在镇郊半岛的边缘上，有—间小茅屋远离居民区。这是原先的一名移民建起后又放弃了的，因为那一带土地过了贫瘠，不宜耕种，况且离群索居，而社会活动当时已成为移民的一个显著的习惯。茅屋位于岸边，隔着一做海水与西边一片浓荫覆盖的小山相望。半岛上只长着一丛孤零零的矮树，非但没有遮住茅屋，反倒象是在指示出这里有一个目标，而那个目标原本不情愿或至少是应该被挡得看不见的。就在这间孤随的小屋里，海丝特从仍在严密监视她的当局处获准，用她那菲薄的手段来养活她日己和她的孩于。一个疑虑重重的神秘阴影立刻就缠住了这块地方。年纪尚幼、不理解这个女人为什么会被人类的仁慈拒之门外的孩子们，会蹑手蹑脚地走近前来，窥视她在茅屋窗边飞针走线，窥视她位立门前，窥视她在小花园中耕作，窥视她踏上通往镇子的小径：待到看清她胸前的红字，便怀着一种害怕受到传染的奇异的恐惧，迅速逃开了。尽管海丝特处境孤立，世上没有一个朋友敢于露面，然而她倒不致缺衣少穿。她掌握了一门手艺，即使在那片没有太大施展余地的地方，也还足以养活她自己和日见长大的婴儿。这门手艺，无论在当时抑或在现在，几乎都是女性唯一可以一学便会的，那就是做针线活。她胸前佩戴的那个绣得十分绝妙的字母，就是她精致和富于想象力的技艺的一个样品；那些宫廷贵妇们为了在自己的夹金丝织物上增加手工艺装饰品的绚丽和灵性，恐怕也巴不得对此加以利用。诚然，在这里，请教徒们的服饰一般以深黑和简朴为特色，她那些精美的针线活儿可能很少有人间津。不过，时尚总在日益增加对这类精美制品的需求，这也不会影响不到我们严肃的祖先们，他们也确曾抛弃过许许多多看来是难以废除的风气。象授任圣职、官吏就任，以及一个新政府可以对人民显示威仅的种种形式这样一些公众典礼，作为一种成规，执行得庄严有序，显示出一种阴沉而又做作的壮丽。高高的环状皱领、核心编织的饰带和刺绣华丽的手套，都被认定是居官的人夸耀权势的必需品；而且，尽管禁止奢侈的法律不准平民等级效法这一类铺张，但是地位高或财富多的人，随时都可得到韶免。在丧葬活动中也是一样，诸如死者的装碴，或是遗属志哀用的黑丧服和白麻布上种种象征性的图案，都对海丝特·白兰这样的人能够诞供的劳动有经常和具体的需求。而婴儿的服装——当时的婴儿是穿袍服的——也为她提供了依靠劳动获得收入的机会。

没过多久，她的针线活就逐渐成为如今称作时时髦的款式了。或许是出于对这位如此命苦的女人的怜悯；或许是出于对平淡无奇的事情也要故弄玄虚的少见多怪；或许是出于某种难以解释的原因——这在当时和今天都是有的——某些人苦求不得的、别人却可予取予夺、或许是因为海丝特确实填补了原先的一项空白；不管是什么原因吧，反正求她做针线的活路源源不断，只要她乐意于多少钟点，总有很不错的收入。一些人可能是为了抑制自己的虚荣心，才在一些堂皇庄重的场合专门穿戴由她那双有罪的手缝制的服装。于是，她的针线活便出现在总督的皱领上、军人的绶带上、牧师的领结上；装饰在婴儿的小帽上，还给封闭在死人的棺木中霉烂掉。但是从来没人求她为新娘刺绣遮盖她们纯洁的额颜的白色面纱，这是记载中绝对没有的。这一绝无仅有的例外说明，社会对她的罪孽始终是深恶痛绝的。海丝特除去维持生计之外一无所求；她自己过着极其艰苦朴素的生活，对孩子的衣食则稍有宽容。她自己的衣裙用的是最祖糙的料子和最晦暗的颜色，上面只有一件饰物，就是那红字——那是她注定非戴不可的。反之，那孩子的服饰却显得别出心裁，给人一种充满幻想、勿宁说是奇思异想的印象，确实增加了那小妨娘早早就开始显露出来的活泼动人之美，不过，做母亲的给她这样打扮，似乎还有更深的含义。这一点我们以后再说。

海丝特除去在打扮孩子上稍有花费外，她把全部积蓄都用在了救济他人上面，尽管那些入并不比她更为不幸，而且还时常忘思负义地对她横加侮辱。她时常替穷人制作粗布衣服，而如果她把这些时间用来发挥她的手艺，收入原可以更多的。她做这种活计可能有忏悔的念头，不过，她花这么多时间干粗活，确实牺牲了乐趣。她天生就有一种追求富足和奢华的东方人的秉性——一种喜欢穷奢极欲的情调，但这一点在她的全部生活中，除去在她那精美的针线手士中尚可施展之外，已经别无表现的可能了。女人从一针一线的操劳中所能获得的乐趣，是男人无法理解的。对海丝特·白兰来说，可能只有靠这样一种抒发形式，才能慰藉自己对生活的激情。但即使对这绝无仅有的一点乐趣，她也不例外地象看待其它乐趣一样地视为罪过。把良心和一件无关紧要的事情病态地联系在一起，恐怕并不能说明真心实意的仟悔，其背后可能有些颇值怀疑和极其荒谬的东西。

就这样，海丝特·白兰在人世上有了自己的一席之地。由于她生性倔强而且才能出众，虽说人们让她佩戴了一个对女性的心灵来说比烙在该隐①额上的印记还要难堪的标志，部无法彻底摒弃她。然而，她在同社会的一切交往中，却只能有格格不入之感。同她有所接触的那些人的一举一动、一言一行、甚至他们的沉默不语，都在暗示，往往还表明：她是被排除在外的；而她的孤凄的处境似乎证明：她是生活在另一个世界中的，只有靠与众不同的感官来同其余的人类交流。对于人们感兴趣的道德问题，她避之犹恐不及，却又不能不关心，恰似一个幽灵重返故宅，但又无法让家入看见或感到，不能和家中的亲人们共笑同悲；即使得以表现出为人禁止的同情，也只能唤起别人的恐惧与厌恶。事实上，她的这种心情以及随之而来的最辛辣的嘲讽，似乎成了她在世人心目中所保留曲唯一份额了。在那感情还不够细腻的时代，虽然她深知自己的处境，时刻不敢忘怀，但由于人们不时最粗暴地触痛她最嫩弱的地方，使她清晰地自我感觉到一次次新的剧痛。如前所述，她一心一意接济穷苦人，但她伸出的救援之手所得到的回根却是谩骂。同样，她由于职业关系而迈入富室时，上流社会的夫人们却惯于向她心中滴入苦汁；有时她们不动声色地对她施展阴谋，因为女人们最善于利用日常琐事调制微妙的毒剂；有时她们则明目张长胆地攻汗她那毫无防御的心灵，犹如在渍烂的创口上再重重地一击。海丝特长期以来对此泰然处之；她毫无反手之力，只是在苍白的面颊上不禁泛起红潮，然后便潜入内心深处。她事事忍让，确实是一位殉道者，但她不准自己为敌人祈祷——她尽管宽宏大量，却唯恐自己用来祝福的语言会顽强地扭曲成对他们的诅咒。

清教徒的法庭对她极其狡狯地安排下的惩罚，时刻不停地以种种方式使她感到永无休止的悸痛。牧师会在街心停住脚步，对她规劝一番，还会招来一群人围任这可怜的有罪的女人，对她又是嘻笑，又是蹙额。当地走进教堂，一心以为自己会分享众生之父在安息日的微笑时，往往不幸地发现，她正是讲道的内容。她对孩子们渐生畏惧之心，因为他们从父母那里摄取到一种模模糊糊的概念；这个除去一个小孩之外从无伴侣、在镇上蹈踊独行的可怕的女人，身上有着某种骇人之处。于是，他们先放她过去，再远远尾随着她尖声喊叫，那些出于无心肠口而出的语言，对他们本无明确的含义，可她听来却同样可畏。她的耻辱似乎已广为传播，连整个自然界都无有不晓了；即使树时在窃窃私语这一隐私；夏口的微风在悄然四散，冬天的寒风在高声疾呼，她的痛楚也不过如此！此外，一双陌生的眼睛的凝视也会让她感到特别难过。当不速之客毫无例外地好奇地盯着她那红字时，就把那标记又一次烙进海丝特的灵魂；以致她常常禁不住，但终归还是控制使自己，不去用手捂住那象征。其实，熟人的目光又何尝不给地带来苦恼！那种习以为常的冷冷的一瞥真叫她受不了。简而言之，海丝特·白兰始终感到被人们注视那标记的可怕的痛苦；那地方不但众远不会结痂，相反；看来还会随着逐日的折磨而变得益发敏感。

但也有时候——好多天有这么一次，或者要好几个月才有这么一次，她会感到一双眼睛——一双人类的眼睛望着她那耻辱的印记，似乎能给她片刻的宽慰，象是分担了她的一半痛苦。但那瞬向一过，更深的刺病便疾速返回；因为在这短暂的邂逅中，她又重新犯了罪。难道海丝特是独自犯下这罪过的吗？

奇特而孤独的生活的折磨，已经在一定程度上影响了她的思绪，设若她精神上怯懦些，心理上脆弱些，这种影响就会更加严重。当地在这个与她表面上保持着联系的小小天地中迈着孤独的步伐走来定去时，海丝特似乎时时觉得，——如果全然出于幻觉，其潜在的力量也是不可抗拒的——她感到或者说想象着，那红字赋予了她一种新的体验。她战战兢兢又不由得不去相信，那字母让她感应到别人内心中隐藏着的罪孽。她对这些启示诚惺诚恐。这些启示意昧着什么呢？如若不是那个邪恶的天使的阴险的挑动，难道还能是别的吗？他一心想说服这个目前还只是他的半个牺牲品的、劳苦挣扎着的女人：表面的贞洁不过是骗人的伪装，如果把一处处真情全都暴露在光天化日之下的话，除去海丝特·白兰之外，好多人的胸前都会有红字闪烁的。或许，她应该把那些如此含糊又如此明晰的暗示当作真理来接受吧？在她所有的不幸遭遇中，再没有比这种感受更使她难堪和厌恶的了。这种感受总是不合时宜地涌上心头，令她既困惑又震惊。有时候，当她走过一位德高望重的长官或牧师身边时，她胸前的红色耻辱就会感应出一种悸动——这些人可都是虔诚的楷模和正义的化身，在那个崇尚古风的年代，他们都是人间天使，令人肃然起敬的。每逢这种时刻，海丝特总会自忖：“我又遇到什么魔障了吗？”可是，在她勉强抬起的眼睛前面，除去那位活圣人的身形之外，却看不到别人！也有时候，当她遇到某位太太时，望着她们那神圣凛然的面孔，心中便会油然生出一种神秘的妹妹之感，而那位太太却是被众口一词地公认为从来都是冷若冰霜的。那位太太胸中的未见阳光的冰雪和海丝特·白兰胸前的灼热逼人的耻辱，这二者之间有何共同之处呢？还有时候，她周身通电似的战栗会警告说；“看啊，海丝特，这位可是你的伙伴！”而她抬头一看，就会发现一双少女的眼睛，羞怯地对红字一瞥，便连忙榴开，脸上迅速泛起一片隐隐可见的冰冷的赧颜，似乎她的女贞因这刹那的一瞥就此受到某种珐辱。啊，用那个致命的象征为护符的恶魔，你无论在青年人还是老年人身上，难道不肯给这个可怜的罪人留下一点值得祟敬的东西吗？——象这样的丧失信仰从来都是罪恶的一种最悲惨的结果咽。所幸，海丝特·白兰仍在竭力使自己相信，世人还没有象她那样罪孽深重；如果承认这一点，就足以证明：这个自身脆弱和男人的严酷法律的可怜的牺牲品，还没有彻底堕落。

在那个压抑人性的古老年月里，凡夫俗子们对他们感兴趣的事情，总要涂上一层荒诞恐怖的色彩，他们就此杜撰了一篇关于红字的故事，我们完全可以随手写成一个骇人的传说。他们曾经断言，那个象征不仅是人间的染缸中染出来的红布，而且还由炼狱之火烧得通红，每逢海丝待·白兰夜间外出，那红字便闪闪发光。而我们应该说，那红字深深烙进海丝特的胸膛，因此在那个传说中包含着比我们如今将信将疑的更多的真理。

①《旧约．创世记》中说，该隐是亚当及夏接之长于，固妒嫉而杀死弟弟亚伯。