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.More than once nay, more than a hundred times hehad actually spoken! Spoken! But how? He had told hishearers that he was altogether vile, a viler companion ofthe vilest, the worst of sinners, an abomination, a thing ofunimaginable iniquity, and that the only wonder was thatthey did not see his wretched body shrivelled up beforetheir eyes by the burning wrath of the Almighty! Couldthere be plainer speech than this? Would not the peoplestart up in their seats, by a simultaneous impulse, and tearhim down out of the pulpit which he defiled? Not so,indeed! They heard it all, and did but reverence him themore.They little guessed what deadly purport lurked inthose self-condemning words. The godly youth! saidthey among themselves. The saint on earth! Alas! if hediscern such sinfulness in his own white soul, what horridspectacle would he behold in thine or mine! The minister216 of 394 The Scarlet Letterwell knew subtle, but remorseful hypocrite that hewas! the light in which his vague confession would beviewed.He had striven to put a cheat upon himself bymaking the avowal of a guilty conscience, but had gainedonly one other sin, and a self-acknowledged shame,without the momentary relief of being self-deceived.Hehad spoken the very truth, and transformed it into theveriest falsehood.And yet, by the constitution of hisnature, he loved the truth, and loathed the lie, as few menever did.Therefore, above all things else, he loathed hismiserable self!His inward trouble drove him to practices more inaccordance with the old, corrupted faith of Rome thanwith the better light of the church in which he had beenborn and bred.In Mr.Dimmesdale s secret closet, underlock and key, there was a bloody scourge.Oftentimes, thisProtestant and Puritan divine had plied it on his ownshoulders, laughing bitterly at himself the while, andsmiting so much the more pitilessly because of that bitterlaugh.It was his custom, too, as it has been that of manyother pious Puritans, to fast not however, like them, inorder to purify the body, and render it the fitter mediumof celestial illumination but rigorously, and until hisknees trembled beneath him, as an act of penance.He217 of 394 The Scarlet Letterkept vigils, likewise, night after night, sometimes in utterdarkness, sometimes with a glimmering lamp, andsometimes, viewing his own face in a looking-glass, by themost powerful light which he could throw upon it.Hethus typified the constant introspection wherewith hetortured, but could not purify himself.In these lengthenedvigils, his brain often reeled, and visions seemed to flitbefore him; perhaps seen doubtfully, and by a faint light oftheir own, in the remote dimness of the chamber, or morevividly and close beside him, within the looking-glass.Now it was a herd of diabolic shapes, that grinned andmocked at the pale minister, and beckoned him away withthem; now a group of shining angels, who flew upwardheavily, as sorrow-laden, but grew more ethereal as theyrose.Now came the dead friends of his youth, and hiswhite-bearded father, with a saint-like frown, and hismother turning her face away as she passed by Ghost of amother thinnest fantasy of a mother methinks shemight yet have thrown a pitying glance towards her son!And now, through the chamber which these spectralthoughts had made so ghastly, glided Hester Prynneleading along little Pearl, in her scarlet garb, and pointingher forefinger, first at the scarlet letter on her bosom, andthen at the clergyman s own breast.218 of 394 The Scarlet LetterNone of these visions ever quite deluded him.At anymoment, by an effort of his will, he could discernsubstances through their misty lack of substance, andconvince himself that they were not solid in their nature,like yonder table of carved oak, or that big, square,leather-bound and brazen-clasped volume of divinity.But,for all that, they were, in one sense, the truest and mostsubstantial things which the poor minister now dealt with.It is the unspeakable misery of a life so false as his, that itsteals the pith and substance out of whatever realities thereare around us, and which were meant by Heaven to bethe spirit s joy and nutriment.To the untrue man, thewhole universe is false it is impalpable it shrinks tonothing within his grasp.And he himself in so far as heshows himself in a false light, becomes a shadow, or,indeed, ceases to exist.The only truth that continued togive Mr.Dimmesdale a real existence on this earth was theanguish in his inmost soul, and the undissembledexpression of it in his aspect.Had he once found power tosmile, and wear a face of gaiety, there would have been nosuch man!On one of those ugly nights, which we have faintlyhinted at, but forborne to picture forth, the ministerstarted from his chair.A new thought had struck him.219 of 394 The Scarlet LetterThere might be a moment s peace in it.Attiring himselfwith as much care as if it had been for public worship, andprecisely in the same manner, he stole softly down thestaircase, undid the door, and issued forth.220 of 394 The Scarlet LetterXII.THE MINISTER S VIGILWalking in the shadow of a dream, as it were, andperhaps actually under the influence of a species ofsomnambulism, Mr.Dimmesdale reached the spot where,now so long since, Hester Prynne had lived through herfirst hours of public ignominy.The same platform orscaffold, black and weather-stained with the storm orsunshine of seven long years, and foot-worn, too, with thetread of many culprits who had since ascended it,remained standing beneath the balcony of the meeting-house.The minister went up the steps.It was an obscure night in early May.An unweariedpall of cloud muffled the whole expanse of sky fromzenith to horizon.If the same multitude which had stoodas eye-witnesses while Hester Prynne sustained herpunishment could now have been summoned forth, theywould have discerned no face above the platform norhardly the outline of a human shape, in the dark grey ofthe midnight.But the town was all asleep.There was noperil of discovery.The minister might stand there, if it sopleased him, until morning should redden in the east,without other risk than that the dank and chill night air221 of 394 The Scarlet Letterwould creep into his frame, and stiffen his joints withrheumatism, and clog his throat with catarrh and cough;thereby defrauding the expectant audience of to-morrow sprayer and sermon.No eye could see him, save that ever-wakeful one which had seen him in his closet, wieldingthe bloody scourge [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.More than once nay, more than a hundred times hehad actually spoken! Spoken! But how? He had told hishearers that he was altogether vile, a viler companion ofthe vilest, the worst of sinners, an abomination, a thing ofunimaginable iniquity, and that the only wonder was thatthey did not see his wretched body shrivelled up beforetheir eyes by the burning wrath of the Almighty! Couldthere be plainer speech than this? Would not the peoplestart up in their seats, by a simultaneous impulse, and tearhim down out of the pulpit which he defiled? Not so,indeed! They heard it all, and did but reverence him themore.They little guessed what deadly purport lurked inthose self-condemning words. The godly youth! saidthey among themselves. The saint on earth! Alas! if hediscern such sinfulness in his own white soul, what horridspectacle would he behold in thine or mine! The minister216 of 394 The Scarlet Letterwell knew subtle, but remorseful hypocrite that hewas! the light in which his vague confession would beviewed.He had striven to put a cheat upon himself bymaking the avowal of a guilty conscience, but had gainedonly one other sin, and a self-acknowledged shame,without the momentary relief of being self-deceived.Hehad spoken the very truth, and transformed it into theveriest falsehood.And yet, by the constitution of hisnature, he loved the truth, and loathed the lie, as few menever did.Therefore, above all things else, he loathed hismiserable self!His inward trouble drove him to practices more inaccordance with the old, corrupted faith of Rome thanwith the better light of the church in which he had beenborn and bred.In Mr.Dimmesdale s secret closet, underlock and key, there was a bloody scourge.Oftentimes, thisProtestant and Puritan divine had plied it on his ownshoulders, laughing bitterly at himself the while, andsmiting so much the more pitilessly because of that bitterlaugh.It was his custom, too, as it has been that of manyother pious Puritans, to fast not however, like them, inorder to purify the body, and render it the fitter mediumof celestial illumination but rigorously, and until hisknees trembled beneath him, as an act of penance.He217 of 394 The Scarlet Letterkept vigils, likewise, night after night, sometimes in utterdarkness, sometimes with a glimmering lamp, andsometimes, viewing his own face in a looking-glass, by themost powerful light which he could throw upon it.Hethus typified the constant introspection wherewith hetortured, but could not purify himself.In these lengthenedvigils, his brain often reeled, and visions seemed to flitbefore him; perhaps seen doubtfully, and by a faint light oftheir own, in the remote dimness of the chamber, or morevividly and close beside him, within the looking-glass.Now it was a herd of diabolic shapes, that grinned andmocked at the pale minister, and beckoned him away withthem; now a group of shining angels, who flew upwardheavily, as sorrow-laden, but grew more ethereal as theyrose.Now came the dead friends of his youth, and hiswhite-bearded father, with a saint-like frown, and hismother turning her face away as she passed by Ghost of amother thinnest fantasy of a mother methinks shemight yet have thrown a pitying glance towards her son!And now, through the chamber which these spectralthoughts had made so ghastly, glided Hester Prynneleading along little Pearl, in her scarlet garb, and pointingher forefinger, first at the scarlet letter on her bosom, andthen at the clergyman s own breast.218 of 394 The Scarlet LetterNone of these visions ever quite deluded him.At anymoment, by an effort of his will, he could discernsubstances through their misty lack of substance, andconvince himself that they were not solid in their nature,like yonder table of carved oak, or that big, square,leather-bound and brazen-clasped volume of divinity.But,for all that, they were, in one sense, the truest and mostsubstantial things which the poor minister now dealt with.It is the unspeakable misery of a life so false as his, that itsteals the pith and substance out of whatever realities thereare around us, and which were meant by Heaven to bethe spirit s joy and nutriment.To the untrue man, thewhole universe is false it is impalpable it shrinks tonothing within his grasp.And he himself in so far as heshows himself in a false light, becomes a shadow, or,indeed, ceases to exist.The only truth that continued togive Mr.Dimmesdale a real existence on this earth was theanguish in his inmost soul, and the undissembledexpression of it in his aspect.Had he once found power tosmile, and wear a face of gaiety, there would have been nosuch man!On one of those ugly nights, which we have faintlyhinted at, but forborne to picture forth, the ministerstarted from his chair.A new thought had struck him.219 of 394 The Scarlet LetterThere might be a moment s peace in it.Attiring himselfwith as much care as if it had been for public worship, andprecisely in the same manner, he stole softly down thestaircase, undid the door, and issued forth.220 of 394 The Scarlet LetterXII.THE MINISTER S VIGILWalking in the shadow of a dream, as it were, andperhaps actually under the influence of a species ofsomnambulism, Mr.Dimmesdale reached the spot where,now so long since, Hester Prynne had lived through herfirst hours of public ignominy.The same platform orscaffold, black and weather-stained with the storm orsunshine of seven long years, and foot-worn, too, with thetread of many culprits who had since ascended it,remained standing beneath the balcony of the meeting-house.The minister went up the steps.It was an obscure night in early May.An unweariedpall of cloud muffled the whole expanse of sky fromzenith to horizon.If the same multitude which had stoodas eye-witnesses while Hester Prynne sustained herpunishment could now have been summoned forth, theywould have discerned no face above the platform norhardly the outline of a human shape, in the dark grey ofthe midnight.But the town was all asleep.There was noperil of discovery.The minister might stand there, if it sopleased him, until morning should redden in the east,without other risk than that the dank and chill night air221 of 394 The Scarlet Letterwould creep into his frame, and stiffen his joints withrheumatism, and clog his throat with catarrh and cough;thereby defrauding the expectant audience of to-morrow sprayer and sermon.No eye could see him, save that ever-wakeful one which had seen him in his closet, wieldingthe bloody scourge [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]