書蟲4級(jí)《紅字》5．絞刑臺(tái)上的一晚

5.A night on the scaffold

After this discovery, Roger Chillingworth's plan slowly changed. Although he appeared calm and gentle, without passion, there was inside him a deep, slow-burning cruelty, an evil wish to bring a terrible revenge on his enemy. The priest's guilty sadness was a weapon in his merciless hands. Every day he played, like a cat with a mouse, with the fear and the shame lying hidden in the young man's soul.

But on the outside he was still a friend, kindly and smiling. Arthur Dimmesdale could feel something evil watching him, but he did not know what it was. He looked with doubt and fear—at times even with hate—at the figure of the old doctor; then he would punish himself for these unkind thoughts, blaming them on the guilt and shame eating away at his heart.

And all this black trouble in his soul had made him more famous and popular as a priest than ever. To the people in his church, he seemed very close to God, a man full of gentleness and understanding of the pain and suffering of others.

More than once, Mr Dimmesdale prepared himself to speak to his people about the black secret of his soul. More than once he stood in front of them in church, took a deep breath, and told them... what? He told them he was the worst of sinners, hateful, dishonest, unclean, an evil thing in the sight of God. But did they understand? No! They listened, and then told each other how lucky they were to have a man like this for their priest. Only a strong and godly man, they said, could speak so openly about his weaknesses.

Arthur Dimmesdale could find no peace in his heart. He could not sleep at night, but would sit staring at his face in a mirror, hour after hour. Often, as he looked, his own face would be replaced by the accusing faces of others—dead friends from long ago, his white-bearded father, his mother. And worst of all, Hester Prynne, walking with little Pearl and pointing her finger first at the scarlet letter on her bosom, and then at the priest's own chest.

One sleepless summer night, seven years from the time when Hester stood in public shame on the scaffold, the priest sat up suddenly in his chair. An idea had come to him.

There might be a moment's peace in it,' he said to himself, and softly went down the stairs and out into the night.

He walked silently through the dark streets to the place of Hester Prynne's first hours of public shame—the scaffold. The priest went up the steps to the platform.

It was midnight, and the town was asleep. Clouds covered the sky, and Mr Dimmesdale could stand there until morning without fear of discovery. Why, then, was he here? What had made him come? Guilt? Shame? He did not know. But a feeling of great horror went through his whole body, and he cried out a terrible scream, which echoed through the night, from one house to another and to the hills beyond the town.

It is done!' whispered the priest, covering his face with his hands. 'The whole town will wake up and find me here.'

But the people of the town did not wake up, or if they did, they imagined the cry was something which came from their dreams. When he heard no sounds of feet hurrying towards him, the young priest uncovered his eyes and looked around. At a window in Governor Bellingham's house, which was not far away, he saw the Governor himself, in his white nightshirt, with a light in his hand.

He looks like a ghost,' thought Mr Dimmesdale. And after a moment, the light disappeared from the window.

The priest became calmer. Then he noticed another light, coming towards him along the street. As it came nearer, he saw that the person carrying it was the old priest, Mr Wilson.

He has been praying at the bedside of some dying man,' thought Mr Dimmesdale.

And so he had. The old priest was now on his way home from the death-bed of Mr Winthrop, who had just died.

As Mr Wilson passed by the scaffold, Mr Dimmesdale found it difficult not to speak...

Good evening to you, Father! Please come up and spend a pleasant hour with me!'

Good heavens! Had Mr Dimmesdale actually spoken? For one moment he believed that these words had passed his lips, but he had only imagined them. Mr Wilson walked on, looking ahead, not once turning towards the platform.

I shall be too cold to move soon,' Mr Dimmesdale thought. 'I won't even be able to walk down the steps.' Crazy pictures passed before his eyes. 'Someone will find me here in the early morning, and will run around knocking on doors. Everyone will hurry out in their night-clothes—Governor Bellingham, with his buttons undone; his sister, mad Mistress Hibbins, staring with her wild eyes; and good Father Wilson too, tired after spending half the night at a death-bed. Yes, everyone in the world will come running! And who will they see? They will see their priest, half-frozen to death, covered with shame, and standing where Hester Prynne once stood!'

Now he began to laugh, loudly and wildly, unable to stop himself. Then he heard an answering laugh—a child's laugh—and his heart jumped. It was little Pearl.

Pearl!' he cried. 'Little Pearl!' Then more softly, 'Hester! Hester Prynne, are you there?'

Yes, it is me,' Hester Prynne replied. She sounded surprised. 'It is me, and my little Pearl.'

Where have you come from, Hester?' he asked.

From Mr Winthrop's death-bed,' she said. 'I've measured him for his burial-clothes, and I am now going home.'

Come up here, Hester, you and little Pearl,' said the priest. 'You have both been here before, but I was not with you. Come up now, and all three of us shall stand together.'

Hester silently climbed up the steps and stood on the platform, holding Pearl's hand. The priest found and held the child's other hand, and immediately felt a warm, strong feeling in his heart, filling it with new life.

Pearl looked up at the priest. 'Will you stand here with mother and me tomorrow, Mr Dimmesdale?' she whispered.

No, my little Pearl,' answered the priest. The moment of passionate feeling had passed. Already, he was trembling, and all his fear of public shame had returned. 'I shall stand with you and your mother one day, but not tomorrow.'

When?' Pearl asked. 'What day?' She tried to pull her hand away from the priest's.

The great judgment day,' he whispered. 'Then, and there, your mother and I must stand together. But not before then; not in the daylight of this world.'

Before he had finished speaking, a light appeared, far and wide in the night sky. It was almost certainly caused by a meteor, and it lit up the whole street like day. And there stood the priest, with his hand over his heart; and Hester Prynne, with the scarlet letter on her bosom; and little Pearl standing between these two, looking up at the priest with a playful smile. She pointed across the street, but he put both his hands across his chest and looked up at the sky.

However, he knew that little Pearl was pointing her finger at a man standing near the scaffold—Roger Chillingworth. Did the priest see him too? Or, in the strange unearthly light, did he see only the evil smile, the hate behind the eyes, and believe that he was seeing the Devil himself?

The meteor disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Mr Dimmesdale, now trembling with terror, said, 'Who is that man, Hester? Do you know him? I hate him, Hester!'

She remembered her promise, and was silent.

Who is he? Who is he?' cried Mr Dimmesdale. 'Can you do nothing for me? I have a horror of the man!'

I can tell you who he is,' said little Pearl.

Quickly, then, child,' said the priest. 'Whisper to me!'

But the child whispered meaningless words into the priest's ear, and laughed.

Why are you playing games with me?' said the priest.

You would not promise to hold my hand, and my mother's hand, here tomorrow,' replied the child.

The doctor was now by the platform. 'Mr Dimmesdale!' he said. 'Have you been walking in your sleep? Come, my dear friend, let me take you home.'

How did you know I was here?' asked the priest, fearfully.

I did not know,' said Chillingworth. 'I have been with Mr Winthrop, doing what little I could for a dying man. Now I am on my way home. Come with me, please, or you will not be well enough to do your work tomorrow. You should not study so hard, good sir!'

I will go home with you,' said Mr Dimmesdale, defeated. And, like someone waking up from an ugly dream, he followed the doctor back to their house.