The Scarlet Letter Nathaniel Hawthorne (most interesting books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Nathaniel Hawthorne
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The authority which we have chiefly followedâ âa manuscript of old date, drawn up from the verbal testimony of individuals, some of whom had known Hester Prynne, while others had heard the tale from contemporary witnessesâ âfully confirms the view taken in the foregoing pages. Among many morals which press upon us from the poor ministerâs miserable experience, we put only this into a sentence:â ââBe true! Be true! Be true! Show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst may be inferred!â
Nothing was more remarkable than the change which took place, almost immediately after Mr. Dimmesdaleâs death, in the appearance and demeanor of the old man known as Roger Chillingworth. All his strength and energyâ âall his vital and intellectual forceâ âseemed at once to desert him; insomuch that he positively withered up, shrivelled away, and almost vanished from mortal sight, like an uprooted weed that lies wilting in the sun. This unhappy man had made the very principle of his life to consist in the pursuit and systematic exercise of revenge; and when, by its completest triumph and consummation, that evil principle was left with no further material to support it, when, in short, there was no more Devilâs work on earth for him to do, it only remained for the unhumanized mortal to betake himself whither his Master would find him tasks enough, and pay him his wages duly. But, to all these shadowy beings, so long our near acquaintancesâ âas well Roger Chillingworth as his companionsâ âwe would fain be merciful. It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at bottom. Each, in its utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart-knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his subject. Philosophically considered, therefore, the two passions seem essentially the same, except that one happens to be seen in a celestial radiance, and the other in a dusky and lurid glow. In the spiritual world, the old physician and the ministerâ âmutual victims as they have beenâ âmay, unawares, have found their earthly stock of hatred and antipathy transmuted into golden love.
Leaving this discussion apart, we have a matter of business to communicate to the reader. At old Roger Chillingworthâs decease, (which took place within the year,) and by his last will and testament, of which Governor Bellingham and the Reverend Mr. Wilson were executors, he bequeathed a very considerable amount of property, both here and in England, to little Pearl, the daughter of Hester Prynne.
So Pearlâ âthe elf-childâ âthe demon offspring, as some people, up to that epoch, persisted in considering herâ âbecame the richest heiress of her day, in the New World. Not improbably, this circumstance wrought a very material change in the public estimation; and, had the mother and child remained here, little Pearl, at a marriageable period of life, might have mingled her wild blood with the lineage of the devoutest Puritan among them all. But, in no long time after the physicianâs death, the wearer of the scarlet letter disappeared, and Pearl along with her. For many years, though a vague report would now and then find its way across the seaâ âlike a shapeless piece of driftwood tost ashore, with the initials of a name upon itâ âyet no tidings of them unquestionably authentic were received. The story of the scarlet letter grew into a legend. Its spell, however, was still potent, and kept the scaffold awful where the poor minister had died, and likewise the cottage by the seashore, where Hester Prynne had dwelt. Near this latter spot, one afternoon, some children were at play, when they beheld a tall woman, in a gray robe, approach the cottage-door. In all those years it had never once been opened; but either she unlocked it, or the decaying wood and iron yielded to her hand, or she glided shadow-like through these impedimentsâ âand, at all events, went in.
On the threshold she pausedâ âturned partly roundâ âfor, perchance, the idea of entering all alone, and all so changed, the home of so intense a former life, was more dreary and desolate than even she could bear. But her hesitation was only for an instant, though long enough to display a scarlet letter on her breast.
And Hester Prynne had returned, and taken up her long-forsaken shame! But where was little Pearl? If still alive, she must now have been in the flush and bloom of early womanhood. None knewâ ânor ever learned, with the fullness of perfect certaintyâ âwhether the elf-child had gone thus untimely to a maiden grave; or whether her wild, rich nature had been softened and subdued, and made capable of a womanâs gentle happiness. But, through the remainder of Hesterâs life, there were indications that the recluse
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