Nathaniel Hawthorne, American novelist and essayist, was born
on July 4, 1804, at Salem, Massachusetts. His father, a master
mariner, died early, and the boy grew up in a lonely country
life with his mother. He graduated at Bowdoin College, but his
literary impulse had already declared itself, and he retired
to Salem to write, unsuccessfully for many years. Later he
held subordinate official positions in the custom-house at
Salem, and lived for a few months in the Brook Farm
socialistic community. Severing his connection with the Civil
Service in 1841, it was Nathaniel Hawthorne's intention to
devote himself entirely to literature. In this he was
unsuccessful, and in a short while was forced to accept a
position in the custom-house again, this time as surveyor in
his native town of Salem. It was during this period he wrote
"The Scarlet Letter," published in 1850, which immediately
brought him fame, and still remains the most popular of his
novels. Hawthorne himself has described how the story came to
be written. The discovery of an old manuscript by a former
surveyor, and a rag of scarlet cloth, which, on careful
examination, assumed the shape of a letter--the capital
A--gave a reasonably complete explanation of the whole affair
of "one Hester Prynne, who appeared to have been rather a
noteworthy personage in the view of our ancestors." Nathaniel
Hawthorne died on May 18, 1864.
_I.--The Pedestal of Shame_
The grass-plot before the jail in Prison Lane, on a certain summer
morning, not less than two centuries ago, was occupied by a pretty large
number of the inhabitants of Boston, all with their eyes intently
fastened on the iron-clamped oaken door.
The door of the jail being flung open from within, there appeared, in
the first place, the grim presence of the town-beadle, and following him
a young woman who bore in her arms a baby of some three months old.
The young woman was tall, and those who had known Hester Prynne before
were astonished to perceive how her beauty shone out. On the breast of
her gown, in fine red cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroidery and
fantastic flourishes of gold thread, appeared the letter A, and it was
that scarlet letter which drew all eyes, and, as it were, transfigured
the wearer.
A lane was forthwith opened through the crowd of spectators. Preceded by
the beadle, and attended by an irregular procession of stern-browed men
and unkindly visaged women, Hester Prynne set forth towards the place
appointed for her punishment. It was no great distance from the prison
door to the market-place, and in spite of the agony of her heart, Hester
passed with almost a serene deportment to the scaffold where the pillory
was set up.
The crowd was sombre and grave, and the unhappy prisoner sustained
herself as best a woman might, under the heavy weight of a thousand
unrelenting eyes.
One man, small in stature, and of a remarkable intelligence in his
features, who stood on the outskirts of the crowd, attracted the notice
of Hester Prynne, and he in his turn bent his eyes on the prisoner till,
seeing she appeared to recognise him, he slowly raised his finger and
laid it on his lips.
Then, touching the shoulder of a townsman who stood next to him, he
said, "I pray you, good sir, who is this woman, and wherefore is she
here set up to public shame?"
"You must needs be a stranger, friend," said the townsman, "else you
would surely have heard of Mistress Hester Prynne, and her evil doings.
She hath raised a great scandal in godly Master Dimmesdale's church. The
penalty thereof is death. But the magistracy, in their great mercy and
tenderness of heart, have doomed Mistress Prynne to stand only a space
of three hours on the platform of the pillory, and for the remainder of
her natural life to wear a mark of shame upon her bosom."
"A wise sentence!" remarked the stranger gravely. "It irks me,
nevertheless, that the partner of her iniquity should not at least stand
on the scaffold by her side. But he will be known--he will be known!"
Directly over the platform on which Hester Prynne stood was a kind of
balcony, and here sat Governor Bellingham, with four sergeants about his
chair, and ministers of religion.
Mr. John Wilson, the eldest of these clergymen, first spake, and then
urged a younger minister, Mr. Dimmesdale, to exhort the prisoner to
repentance and to confession. "Speak to the woman, my brother," said Mr.
Wilson.
The Rev. Mr. Dimmesdale was a man of high native gifts, whose eloquence
and religious fervour had already wide eminence in his profession. He
bent his head, in silent prayer, as it seemed, and then came forward.
"Hester Prynne," said he, "if thou feelest it to be for thy soul's
peace, I charge thee to speak out the name of thy fellow-sinner and
fellow-sufferer. Be not silent from any mistaken pity and tenderness for
him, for, believe me, though he were to step down from a high place, and
stand there beside thee, on thy pedestal of shame, yet better were it so
than to hide a guilty heart through life."
Hester only shook her head.
"She will not speak," murmured Mr. Dimmesdale. "Wondrous strength and
generosity of a woman's heart!"
Hester Prynne kept her place upon the pedestal of shame with an air of
weary indifference. With the same hard demeanour she was led back to
prison.
That night the child at her boson writhed in convulsions of pain, and
the jailer brought in a physician, whom he announced as Mr. Roger
Chillingworth, and who was none other than the stranger whom Hester had
noticed in the crowd.
He took the infant in his arms and administered a draught, and its moans
and convulsive tossings gradually ceased.
"Hester," said he, when the jailer had withdrawn, "I ask not wherefore
thou hast fallen into the pit. It was my folly and thy weakness. What
had I--a man of thought, the bookworm of great libraries--to do with
youth and beauty like thine own? I might have known that in my long
absence this would happen."
"I have greatly wronged thee," murmured Hester.
"We have wronged each other," he answered. "But I shall seek this man
whose name thou wilt not reveal, as I seek truth in books, and sooner or
later he must needs be mine. I shall contrive naught against his life.
Let him live! Not the less shall he be mine. One thing, thou that wast
my wife, I ask. Thou hast kept his name secret. Keep, likewise, mine.
Let thy husband be to the world as one already dead, and breathe not the
secret, above all, to the man thou wottest of?"
"I will keep thy secret, as I have his."
_II.--A Pearl of Great Price_
When her prison-door was thrown open, and she came forth into the
sunshine, Hester Prynne did not flee.
On the outskirts of the town was a small thatched cottage, and there, in
this lonesome dwelling, Hester established herself with her infant
child. Without a friend on earth who dared to show himself, she,
however, incurred no risk of want. She possessed an art that sufficed to
supply food for her thriving infant and herself--the art of needlework.
By degrees her handiwork became what would now be termed the fashion.
She bore on her breast, in the curiously embroidered letter, a specimen
of her skill, and her needlework was seen on the ruff of the governor;
military men wore it on their scarfs, and the minister on his bands.
As time went on, the public attitude to Hester changed. Human nature, to
its credit, loves more readily than it hates. Hester never battled with
the public, but submitted uncomplainingly to its worst usage, and so a
species of general regard had ultimately grown up in reference to her.
Hester had named the infant "Pearl," as being of great price, and little
Pearl grew up a wondrously lovely child, with a strange, lawless
character. At times she seemed rather an airy sprite than human, and
never did she seek to make acquaintance with other children, but was
always Hester's companion in her walks about the town.
At one time some of the leading inhabitants of the place sought to
deprive Hester of her child; and at the governor's mansion, whither
Hester had repaired, with some gloves which she had embroidered at his
order, the matter was discussed in the mother's presence by the governor
and his guests--Mr. John Wilson, Mr. Arthur Dimmesdale, and old Roger
Chillingworth, now established as a physician of great skill in the
town.
"God gave me the child!" cried Hester. "He gave her in requital of all
things else which ye have taken from me. Ye shall not take her! I will
die first! Speak thou for me," she cried turning to the young clergyman,
Mr. Dimmesdale. "Thou wast my pastor. Thou knowest what is in my heart,
and what are a mother's rights, and how much the stronger they are when
that mother has but her child and the scarlet letter! I will not lose
the child! Look to it!"
"There is truth in what she says," began the minister. "God gave her the
child, and there is a quality of awful sacredness between this mother
and this child. It is good for this poor, sinful woman that she hath an
infant confided to her care--to be trained up by her to righteousness,
to remind her and to teach her that, if she bring the child to heaven,
the child also will bring its parent thither. Let us then leave them as
Providence hath seen fit to place them!"
"You speak, my friend, with a strange earnestness," said old Roger
Chillingworth, smiling at him.
"He hath adduced such arguments that we will even leave the matter as it
now stands," said the governor. "So long, at least, as there shall be no
further scandal in the woman."
The affair being so satisfactorily concluded, Hester Prynne, with Pearl,
departed.
_III.--The Leach and his Patient_
It was at the solemn request of the deacons and elders of the church in
Boston that the Rev. Mr. Dimmesdale went to Roger Chillingworth for
professional advice. The young minister's health was failing, his cheek
was paler and thinner, and his voice more tremulous with every
successive Sabbath.
Roger Chillingworth scrutinised his patient carefully, and, accepted as
the medical adviser, determined to know the man before attempting to do
him good. He strove to go deep into his patient's bosom, delving among
his principles, and prying into his recollections.
After a time, at a hint from old Roger Chillingworth, the friends of Mr.
Dimmesdale effected an arrangement by which the two men were lodged in
the same house; so that every ebb and flow of the minister's life-tide
might pass under the watchful eye of his anxious physician.
Old Roger Chillingworth, throughout life, had been calm in temperament,
of kindly affections, and ever in the world a pure and upright man. He
had begun an investigation, as he imagined, with the severe integrity of
a judge, desirous only of truth. But, as he proceeded, a terrible
fascination seized the old man within its grip, and never set him free
again until he had done all its bidding. He now dug into the poor
clergyman's heart, like a miner searching for gold. "This man," the
physician would say to himself at times, "pure as they deem him, hath
inherited a strong animal nature from his father or his mother. Let us
dig a little farther in the direction of this vein."
Henceforth Roger Chillingworth became not a spectator only, but a chief
actor in the poor minister's inner world. And Mr. Dimmesdale grew to
look with unaccountable horror and hatred at the old physician.
And still the minister's fame and reputation for holiness increased,
even while he was tortured by bodily disease and the black trouble of
his soul.
More than once Mr. Dimmesdale had gone into the pulpit, with a purpose
never to come down until he should have spoken the truth of his life.
And ever he put a cheat upon himself by confessing in general terms his
exceeding vileness and sinfulness. One night in early May, driven by
remorse, and still indulging in the mockery of repentance, the minister
sought the scaffold, where Hester Prynne had stood. The town was all
asleep. There was no peril of discovery. And yet his vigil was surprised
by Hester and her daughter, returning from a death-bed in the town, and
presently by Roger Chillingworth himself.
"Who is that man?" gasped Mr. Dimmesdale, in terror. "I shiver at him,
Hester. Canst thou do nothing for me? I have a nameless horror of the
man!"
Hester remembered her promise and was silent.
"Worthy sir," said the physician, when he had advanced to the foot of
the platform, "pious Master Dimmesdale! Can this be you? Come, good sir,
I pray you, let me lead you home! You should study less, or these
night-whimseys will grow upon you."
"I will go home with you," said Mr. Dimmesdale.
And now Hester Prynne resolved to do what might be in her power for the
victim whom she saw in her former husband's grip. An opportunity soon
occurred when she met the old physician stooping in quest of roots to
concoct his medicines.
"When we last spake together," said Hester, "you bound me to secrecy
touching our former relations. But now I must reveal the secret. He must
discern thee in thy true character. What may be the result I know not.
So far as concerns the overthrow or preservation of his fair fame and
his earthly state, and perchance his life, he is in thy hands. Nor do
I--whom the scarlet letter has disciplined to truth--nor do I perceive
such advantage in his living any longer a life of ghastly emptiness,
that I shall stoop to implore thy mercy. Do with him as thou wilt! There
is no good for him, no good for me, no good for thee! There is no good
for little Pearl!"
"Woman, I could well-nigh pity thee!" said Roger Chillingworth.
"Peradventure, hadst thou met earlier with a better love than mine, this
evil had not been. I pity thee, for the good that has been wasted in thy
nature!"
"And I thee," answered Hester Prynne, "for the hatred that has
transformed a wise and just man to a fiend! Forgive, if not for his
sake, then doubly for thine own!"
"Peace, Hester, peace!" replied the old man with gloom. "It is not
granted me to pardon. It is our fate. Now go thy ways, and deal as thou
wilt with yonder man."
_IV.--Revelation_
A week later Hester Prynne waited in the forest for the minister as he
returned from a visit to his Indian converts. He walked slowly, and, as
he walked, kept his hand over his heart.
"Arthur Dimmesdale! Arthur Dimmesdale!" she cried out.
"Who speaks?" answered the minister. "Hester! Hester Prynne! Is it
thou?" He fixed his eyes upon her and added, "Hester, hast thou found
peace?"
"Hast thou?" she asked.
"None! Nothing but despair! What else could I look for, being what I am,
and leading such a life as mine?"
"You wrong yourself in this," said Hester gently. "Your sin is left
behind you, in the days long past. But Arthur, an enemy dwellest with
thee, under the same roof. That old man--the physician, whom they call
Roger Chillingworth--he was my husband! Forgive me. Let God punish!"
"I do forgive you, Hester," replied the minister. "May God forgive us
both!"
They sat down, hand clasped in hand, on the mossy trunk of a fallen
tree.
It was Hester who bade him hope, and spoke of seeking a new life beyond
the seas, in some rural village in Europe.
"Oh, Hester," cried Arthur Dimmesdale, "I lack the strength and courage
to venture out into the wide, strange world alone."
"Thou shalt not go alone!" she whispered. Before Mr. Dimmesdale reached
home he was conscious of a change of thought and feeling; Roger
Chillingworth observed the change, and knew that now in the minister's
regard he was no longer a trusted friend, but his bitterest enemy.
A New England holiday was at hand, the public celebration of the
election of a new governor, and the Rev. Arthur Dimmesdale was to preach
the election sermon.
Hester had taken berths in a vessel that was about to sail; and then, on
the very day of holiday, the shipmaster told her that Roger
Chillingworth had also taken a berth in the same vessel.
Hester said nothing, but turned away, and waited in the crowded
market-place beside the pillory with Pearl, while the procession
re-formed after public worship. The street and the market-place
absolutely bubbled with applause of the minister, whose sermon had
surpassed all previous utterances.
At that moment Arthur Dimmesdale stood on the proudest eminence to which
a New England clergyman could be exalted. The minister, surrounded by
the leading men of the town, halted at the scaffold, and, turning
towards it, cried, "Hester, come hither! Come, my little Pearl!"
Leaning on Hester's shoulder, the minister, with the child's hand in
his, slowly ascended the scaffold steps.
"Is not this better," he murmured, "than what we dreamed of in the
forest? For, Hester, I am a dying man. So let me make haste to take my
shame upon me."
"I know not. I know not."
"Better? Yea; so we may both die, and little Pearl die with us."
He turned to the market-place and spoke with a voice that all could
hear.
"People of New England! At last, at last I stand where seven years since
I should have stood. Lo, the scarlet letter which Hester wears! Ye have
all shuddered at it! But there stood one in the midst of you, at whose
hand of sin and infamy ye have not shuddered! Stand any here that
question God's judgement on a sinner? Behold a dreadful witness of it!"
With a convulsive motion he tore away the ministerial gown from before
his breast. It was revealed! For an instant the multitude gazed with
horror on the ghastly miracle, while the minister stood with a flush of
triumph in his face. Then, down he sank upon the scaffold. Hester partly
raised him, and supported his head against her bosom. Old Roger
Chillingworth knelt beside him.
"Thou hast escaped me!" he repeated more than once.
"May God forgive thee!" said the minister. "Thou, too, hast deeply
sinned!"
He fixed his dying eyes on the woman and the child.
"My little Pearl," he said feebly, "thou wilt kiss me. Hester, farewell.
God knows, and He is merciful! His will be done! Farewell."
That final word came forth with the minister's expiring breath. The
multitude, silent till then, broke out in a strange, deep voice of awe
and wonder.
* * * * *
After many days there was more than one account of what had been
witnessed on the scaffold. Most of the spectators testified to having
seen, on the breast of the unhappy minister, a scarlet letter imprinted
in the flesh. Others denied that there was any mark whatever on his
breast, more than on a new-born infant's. According to these highly
respectable witnesses the minister's confession implied no part of the
guilt of Hester Prynne, but was to teach us that we were all sinners
alike. Old Roger Chillingworth died and bequeathed his property to
little Pearl.
For years the mother and child lived in England, and then Pearl married,
and Hester returned alone to the little cottage by the forest.
* * * * *