["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> XVII. THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER. Slowly as the minister walked, he had almost gone by, before Hester\nPrynne could gather voice enough to attract his observation. At\nlength, she succeeded. \"Arthur Dimmesdale!\" she said, faintly at first; then louder, but\nhoarsely. \"Arthur Dimmesdale!\" \"Who speaks?\" answered the minister. Gathering himself quickly up, he stood more erect, like a man taken by\nsurprise in a mood to which he was reluctant to have witnesses. Throwing his eyes anxiously in the direction of the voice, he\nindistinctly beheld a form under the trees, clad in garments so\nsombre, and so little relieved from the gray twilight into which the\nclouded sky and the heavy foliage had darkened the noontide, that he\nknew not whether it were a woman or a shadow. It may be, that his\npathway through life was haunted thus, by a spectre that had stolen\nout from among his thoughts. He made a step nigher, and discovered the scarlet letter. \"Hester! Hester Prynne!\" said he. \"Is it thou? Art thou in life?\" \"Even so!\" she answered. \"In such life as has been mine these seven\nyears past! And thou, Arthur Dimmesdale, dost thou yet live?\" It was no wonder that they thus questioned one another's actual and\nbodily existence, and even doubted of their own. So strangely did they\nmeet, in the dim wood, that it was like the first encounter, in the\nworld beyond the grave, of two spirits who had been intimately\nconnected in their former life, but now stood coldly shuddering, in\nmutual dread; as not yet familiar with their state, nor wonted to the\ncompanionship of disembodied beings. Each a ghost, and awe-stricken at\nthe other ghost! They were awe-stricken likewise at themselves;\nbecause the crisis flung back to them their consciousness, and\nrevealed to each heart its history and experience, as life never does,\nexcept at such breathless epochs. The soul beheld its features in the\nmirror of the passing moment. It was with fear, and tremulously, and,\nas it were, by a slow, reluctant necessity, that Arthur Dimmesdale put\nforth his hand, chill as death, and touched the chill hand of Hester\nPrynne. The grasp, cold as it was, took away what was dreariest in the\ninterview. They now felt themselves, at least, inhabitants of the same\nsphere. Without a word more spoken,--neither he nor she assuming the guidance,\nbut with an unexpressed consent,--they glided back into the shadow of\nthe woods, whence Hester had emerged, and sat down on the heap of moss\nwhere she and Pearl had before been sitting. When they found voice to\nspeak, it was, at first, only to utter remarks and inquiries such as\nany two acquaintance might have made, about the gloomy sky, the\nthreatening storm, and, next, the health of each. Thus they went\nonward, not boldly, but step by step, into the themes that were\nbrooding deepest in their hearts. So long estranged by fate and\ncircumstances, they needed something slight and casual to run before,\nand throw open the doors of intercourse, so that their real thoughts\nmight be led across the threshold. After a while, the minister fixed his eyes on Hester Prynne's. \"Hester,\" said he, \"hast thou found peace?\" She smiled drearily, looking down upon her bosom. \"Hast thou?\" she asked. \"None!--nothing but despair!\" he answered. \"What else could I look\nfor, being what I am, and leading such a life as mine? Were I an\natheist,--a man devoid of conscience,--a wretch with coarse and brutal\ninstincts,--I might have found peace, long ere now. Nay, I never\nshould have lost it! But, as matters stand with my soul, whatever of\ngood capacity there originally was in me, all of God's gifts that were\nthe choicest have become the ministers of spiritual torment. Hester, I\nam most miserable!\" \"The people reverence thee,\" said Hester. \"And surely thou workest\ngood among them! Doth this bring thee no comfort?\" \"More misery, Hester!--only the more misery!\" answered the clergyman,\nwith a bitter smile. \"As concerns the good which I may appear to do, I\nhave no faith in it. It must needs be a delusion. What can a ruined\nsoul, like mine, effect towards the redemption of other souls?--or a\npolluted soul towards their purification? And as for the people's\nreverence, would that it were turned to scorn and hatred! Canst thou\ndeem it, Hester, a consolation, that I must stand up in my pulpit, and\nmeet so many eyes turned upward to my face, as if the light of heaven\nwere beaming from it!--must see my flock hungry for the truth, and\nlistening to my words as if a tongue of Pentecost were speaking!--and\nthen look inward, and discern the black reality of what they idolize? I have laughed, in bitterness and agony of heart, at the contrast\nbetween what I seem and what I am! And Satan laughs at it!\" \"You wrong yourself in this,\" said Hester, gently. \"You have deeply\nand sorely repented. Your sin is left behind you, in the days long\npast. Your present life is not less holy, in very truth, than it seems\nin people's eyes. Is there no reality in the penitence thus sealed and\nwitnessed by good works? And wherefore should it not bring you peace?\" \"No, Hester, no!\" replied the clergyman. \"There is no substance in it! It is cold and dead, and can do nothing for me! Of penance, I have had\nenough! Of penitence, there has been none! Else, I should long ago\nhave thrown off these garments of mock holiness, and have shown myself\nto mankind as they will see me at the judgment-seat. Happy are you,\nHester, that wear the scarlet letter openly upon your bosom! Mine\nburns in secret! Thou little knowest what a relief it is, after the\ntorment of a seven years' cheat, to look into an eye that recognizes\nme for what I am! Had I one friend,--or were it my worst enemy!--to\nwhom, when sickened with the praises of all other men, I could daily\nbetake myself, and be known as the vilest of all sinners, methinks my\nsoul might keep itself alive thereby. Even thus much of truth would\nsave me! But, now, it is all falsehood!--all emptiness!--all death!\" Hester Prynne looked into his face, but hesitated to speak. Yet,\nuttering his long-restrained emotions so vehemently as he did, his\nwords here offered her the very point of circumstances in which to\ninterpose what she came to say. She conquered her fears, and spoke. \"Such a friend as thou hast even now wished for,\" said she, \"with whom\nto weep over thy sin, thou hast in me, the partner of it!\" --Again she\nhesitated, but brought out the words with an effort.--\"Thou hast long\nhad such an enemy, and dwellest with him, under the same roof!\" The minister started to his feet, gasping for breath, and clutching at\nhis heart, as if he would have torn it out of his bosom. \"Ha! What sayest thou!\" cried he. \"An enemy! And under mine own roof! What mean you?\" Hester Prynne was now fully sensible of the deep injury for which she\nwas responsible to this unhappy man, in permitting him to lie for so\nmany years, or, indeed, for a single moment, at the mercy of one whose\npurposes could not be other than malevolent. The very contiguity of\nhis enemy, beneath whatever mask the latter might conceal himself, was\nenough to disturb the magnetic sphere of a being so sensitive as\nArthur Dimmesdale. There had been a period when Hester was less alive\nto this consideration; or, perhaps, in the misanthropy of her own\ntrouble, she left the minister to bear what she might picture to\nherself as a more tolerable doom. But of late, since the night of his\nvigil, all her sympathies towards him had been both softened and\ninvigorated. She now read his heart more accurately. She doubted not,\nthat the continual presence of Roger Chillingworth,--the secret poison\nof his malignity, infecting all the air about him,--and his authorized\ninterference, as a physician, with the minister's physical and\nspiritual infirmities,--that these bad opportunities had been turned\nto a cruel purpose.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-02 The user is reading a book]\n<User> By means of them, the sufferer's conscience had\nbeen kept in an irritated state, the tendency of which was, not to\ncure by wholesome pain, but to disorganize and corrupt his spiritual\nbeing. Its result, on earth, could hardly fail to be insanity, and\nhereafter, that eternal alienation from the Good and True, of which\nmadness is perhaps the earthly type. Such was the ruin to which she had brought the man, once,--nay, why\nshould we not speak it?--still so passionately loved! Hester felt that\nthe sacrifice of the clergyman's good name, and death itself, as she\nhad already told Roger Chillingworth, would have been infinitely\npreferable to the alternative which she had taken upon herself to\nchoose. And now, rather than have had this grievous wrong to confess,\nshe would gladly have lain down on the forest-leaves, and died there,\nat Arthur Dimmesdale's feet. \"O Arthur,\" cried she, \"forgive me! In all things else, I have striven\nto be true! Truth was the one virtue which I might have held fast, and\ndid hold fast, through all extremity; save when thy good,--thy\nlife,--thy fame,--were put in question! Then I consented to a\ndeception. But a lie is never good, even though death threaten on the\nother side! Dost thou not see what I would say? That old man!--the\nphysician!--he whom they call Roger Chillingworth!--he was my\nhusband!\" [Illustration: \"Wilt thou yet forgive me?\"] The minister looked at her, for an instant, with all that violence of\npassion, which--intermixed, in more shapes than one, with his higher,\npurer, softer qualities--was, in fact, the portion of him which the\nDevil claimed, and through which he sought to win the rest. Never was\nthere a blacker or a fiercer frown than Hester now encountered. For\nthe brief space that it lasted, it was a dark transfiguration. But his\ncharacter had been so much enfeebled by suffering, that even its\nlower energies were incapable of more than a temporary struggle. He\nsank down on the ground, and buried his face in his hands. \"I might have known it,\" murmured he. \"I did know it! Was not the\nsecret told me, in the natural recoil of my heart, at the first sight\nof him, and as often as I have seen him since? Why did I not\nunderstand? O Hester Prynne, thou little, little knowest all the\nhorror of this thing! And the shame!--the indelicacy!--the horrible\nugliness of this exposure of a sick and guilty heart to the very eye\nthat would gloat over it! Woman, woman, thou art accountable for this! I cannot forgive thee!\" \"Thou shalt forgive me!\" cried Hester, flinging herself on the fallen\nleaves beside him. \"Let God punish! Thou shalt forgive!\" With sudden and desperate tenderness, she threw her arms around him,\nand pressed his head against her bosom; little caring though his cheek\nrested on the scarlet letter. He would have released himself, but\nstrove in vain to do so. Hester would not set him free, lest he should\nlook her sternly in the face. All the world had frowned on her,--for\nseven long years had it frowned upon this lonely woman,--and still she\nbore it all, nor ever once turned away her firm, sad eyes. Heaven,\nlikewise, had frowned upon her, and she had not died. But the frown of\nthis pale, weak, sinful, and sorrow-stricken man was what Hester could\nnot bear and live! \"Wilt thou yet forgive me?\" she repeated, over and over again. \"Wilt\nthou not frown? Wilt thou forgive?\" \"I do forgive you, Hester,\" replied the minister, at length, with a\ndeep utterance, out of an abyss of sadness, but no anger. \"I freely\nforgive you now. May God forgive us both! We are not, Hester, the\nworst sinners in the world. There is one worse than even the polluted\npriest! That old man's revenge has been blacker than my sin. He has\nviolated, in cold blood, the sanctity of a human heart. Thou and I,\nHester, never did so!\" \"Never, never!\" whispered she. \"What we did had a consecration of its\nown. We felt it so! We said so to each other! Hast thou forgotten it?\" \"Hush, Hester!\" said Arthur Dimmesdale, rising from the ground. \"No; I\nhave not forgotten!\" They sat down again, side by side, and hand clasped in hand, on the\nmossy trunk of the fallen tree. Life had never brought them a gloomier\nhour; it was the point whither their pathway had so long been tending,\nand darkening ever, as it stole along;--and yet it enclosed a charm\nthat made them linger upon it, and claim another, and another, and,\nafter all, another moment. The forest was obscure around them, and\ncreaked with a blast that was passing through it. The boughs were\ntossing heavily above their heads; while one solemn old tree groaned\ndolefully to another, as if telling the sad story of the pair that sat\nbeneath, or constrained to forebode evil to come. And yet they lingered. How dreary looked the forest-track that led\nbackward to the settlement, where Hester Prynne must take up again the\nburden of her ignominy, and the minister the hollow mockery of his\ngood name! So they lingered an instant longer. No golden light had\never been so precious as the gloom of this dark forest. Here, seen\nonly by his eyes, the scarlet letter need not burn into the bosom of\nthe fallen woman! Here, seen only by her eyes, Arthur Dimmesdale,\nfalse to God and man, might be, for one moment, true! He started at a thought that suddenly occurred to him. \"Hester,\" cried he, \"here is a new horror! Roger Chillingworth knows\nyour purpose to reveal his true character. Will he continue, then, to\nkeep our secret? What will now be the course of his revenge?\" \"There is a strange secrecy in his nature,\" replied Hester,\nthoughtfully; \"and it has grown upon him by the hidden practices of\nhis revenge. I deem it not likely that he will betray the secret. He\nwill doubtless seek other means of satiating his dark passion.\" \"And I!--how am I to live longer, breathing the same air with this\ndeadly enemy?\" exclaimed Arthur Dimmesdale, shrinking within himself,\nand pressing his hand nervously against his heart,--a gesture that had\ngrown involuntary with him. \"Think for me, Hester! Thou art strong. Resolve for me!\" \"Thou must dwell no longer with this man,\" said Hester, slowly and\nfirmly. \"Thy heart must be no longer under his evil eye!\" \"It were far worse than death!\" replied the minister. \"But how to\navoid it? What choice remains to me? Shall I lie down again on these\nwithered leaves, where I cast myself when thou didst tell me what he\nwas? Must I sink down there, and die at once?\" \"Alas, what a ruin has befallen thee!\" said Hester, with the tears\ngushing into her eyes. \"Wilt thou die for very weakness? There is no\nother cause!\" \"The judgment of God is on me,\" answered the conscience-stricken\npriest. \"It is too mighty for me to struggle with!\" \"Heaven would show mercy,\" rejoined Hester, \"hadst thou but the\nstrength to take advantage of it.\" \"Be thou strong for me!\" answered he. \"Advise me what to do.\" \"Is the world, then, so narrow?\" exclaimed Hester Prynne, fixing her\ndeep eyes on the minister's, and instinctively exercising a magnetic\npower over a spirit so shattered and subdued that it could hardly hold\nitself erect. \"Doth the universe lie within the compass of yonder\ntown, which only a little time ago was but a leaf-strewn desert, as\nlonely as this around us? Whither leads yonder forest-track? Backward\nto the settlement, thou sayest! Yes; but onward, too. Deeper it goes,\nand deeper, into the wilderness, less plainly to be seen at every\nstep; until, some few miles hence, the yellow leaves will show no\nvestige of the white man's tread. There thou art free! So brief a\njourney would bring thee from a world where thou hast been most\nwretched, to one where thou mayest still be happy!\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-02, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Is there not shade\nenough in all this boundless forest to hide thy heart from the gaze of\nRoger Chillingworth?\" \"Yes, Hester; but only under the fallen leaves!\" replied the minister,\nwith a sad smile. \"Then there is the broad pathway of the sea!\" continued Hester. \"It\nbrought thee hither. If thou so choose, it will bear thee back again. In our native land, whether in some remote rural village or in vast\nLondon,--or, surely, in Germany, in France, in pleasant Italy,--thou\nwouldst be beyond his power and knowledge! And what hast thou to do\nwith all these iron men, and their opinions? They have kept thy better\npart in bondage too long already!\" \"It cannot be!\" answered the minister, listening as if he were called\nupon to realize a dream. \"I am powerless to go! Wretched and sinful as\nI am, I have had no other thought than to drag on my earthly\nexistence in the sphere where Providence hath placed me. Lost as my\nown soul is, I would still do what I may for other human souls! I dare\nnot quit my post, though an unfaithful sentinel, whose sure reward is\ndeath and dishonor, when his dreary watch shall come to an end!\" \"Thou art crushed under this seven years' weight of misery,\" replied\nHester, fervently resolved to buoy him up with her own energy. \"But\nthou shalt leave it all behind thee! It shall not cumber thy steps, as\nthou treadest along the forest-path; neither shalt thou freight the\nship with it, if thou prefer to cross the sea. Leave this wreck and\nruin here where it hath happened. Meddle no more with it! Begin all\nanew! Hast thou exhausted possibility in the failure of this one\ntrial? Not so! The future is yet full of trial and success. There is\nhappiness to be enjoyed! There is good to be done! Exchange this false\nlife of thine for a true one. Be, if thy spirit summon thee to such a\nmission, the teacher and apostle of the red men. Or,--as is more thy\nnature,--be a scholar and a sage among the wisest and the most\nrenowned of the cultivated world. Preach! Write! Act! Do anything,\nsave to lie down and die! Give up this name of Arthur Dimmesdale, and\nmake thyself another, and a high one, such as thou canst wear without\nfear or shame. Why shouldst thou tarry so much as one other day in the\ntorments that have so gnawed into thy life!--that have made thee\nfeeble to will and to do!--that will leave thee powerless even to\nrepent! Up, and away!\" \"O Hester!\" cried Arthur Dimmesdale, in whose eyes a fitful light,\nkindled by her enthusiasm, flashed up and died away, \"thou tellest of\nrunning a race to a man whose knees are tottering beneath him! I must\ndie here! There is not the strength or courage left me to venture\ninto the wide, strange, difficult world, alone!\" It was the last expression of the despondency of a broken spirit. He\nlacked energy to grasp the better fortune that seemed within his\nreach. He repeated the word. \"Alone, Hester!\" \"Thou shalt not go alone!\" answered she, in a deep whisper. Then, all was spoken! [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\nXVIII. A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE. Arthur Dimmesdale gazed into Hester's face with a look in which hope\nand joy shone out, indeed, but with fear betwixt them, and a kind of\nhorror at her boldness, who had spoken what he vaguely hinted at, but\ndared not speak. But Hester Prynne, with a mind of native courage and activity, and for\nso long a period not merely estranged, but outlawed, from society, had\nhabituated herself to such latitude of speculation as was altogether\nforeign to the clergyman. She had wandered, without rule or guidance,\nin a moral wilderness; as vast, as intricate and shadowy, as the\nuntamed forest, amid the gloom of which they were now holding a\ncolloquy that was to decide their fate. Her intellect and heart had\ntheir home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freely\nas the wild Indian in his woods. For years past she had looked from\nthis estranged point of view at human institutions, and whatever\npriests or legislators had established; criticising all with hardly\nmore reverence than the Indian would feel for the clerical band, the\njudicial robe, the pillory, the gallows, the fireside, or the church. The tendency of her fate and fortunes had been to set her free. The\nscarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared\nnot tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her\nteachers,--stern and wild ones,--and they had made her strong, but\ntaught her much amiss. The minister, on the other hand, had never gone through an experience\ncalculated to lead him beyond the scope of generally received laws;\nalthough, in a single instance, he had so fearfully transgressed one\nof the most sacred of them. But this had been a sin of passion, not of\nprinciple, nor even purpose. Since that wretched epoch, he had\nwatched, with morbid zeal and minuteness, not his acts,--for those it\nwas easy to arrange,--but each breath of emotion, and his every\nthought. At the head of the social system, as the clergymen of that\nday stood, he was only the more trammelled by its regulations, its\nprinciples, and even its prejudices. As a priest, the framework of his\norder inevitably hemmed him in. As a man who had once sinned, but who\nkept his conscience all alive and painfully sensitive by the fretting\nof an unhealed wound, he might have been supposed safer within the\nline of virtue than if he had never sinned at all. Thus, we seem to see that, as regarded Hester Prynne, the whole seven\nyears of outlaw and ignominy had been little other than a preparation\nfor this very hour. But Arthur Dimmesdale! Were such a man once more\nto fall, what plea could be urged in extenuation of his crime? None;\nunless it avail him somewhat, that he was broken down by long and\nexquisite suffering; that his mind was darkened and confused by the\nvery remorse which harrowed it; that, between fleeing as an avowed\ncriminal, and remaining as a hypocrite, conscience might find it hard\nto strike the balance; that it was human to avoid the peril of death\nand infamy, and the inscrutable machinations of an enemy; that,\nfinally, to this poor pilgrim, on his dreary and desert path, faint,\nsick, miserable, there appeared a glimpse of human affection and\nsympathy, a new life, and a true one, in exchange for the heavy doom\nwhich he was now expiating. And be the stern and sad truth spoken,\nthat the breach which guilt has once made into the human soul is\nnever, in this mortal state, repaired. It may be watched and guarded;\nso that the enemy shall not force his way again into the citadel, and\nmight even, in his subsequent assaults, select some other avenue, in\npreference to that where he had formerly succeeded. But there is still\nthe ruined wall, and, near it, the stealthy tread of the foe that\nwould win over again his unforgotten triumph. The struggle, if there were one, need not be described. Let it\nsuffice, that the clergyman resolved to flee, and not alone. \"If, in all these past seven years,\" thought he, \"I could recall one\ninstant of peace or hope, I would yet endure, for the sake of that\nearnest of Heaven's mercy. But now,--since I am irrevocably\ndoomed,--wherefore should I not snatch the solace allowed to the\ncondemned culprit before his execution? Or, if this be the path to a\nbetter life, as Hester would persuade me, I surely give up no fairer\nprospect by pursuing it! Neither can I any longer live without her\ncompanionship; so powerful is she to sustain,--so tender to soothe! O\nThou to whom I dare not lift mine eyes, wilt Thou yet pardon me!\" \"Thou wilt go!\" said Hester, calmly, as he met her glance. The decision once made, a glow of strange enjoyment threw its\nflickering brightness over the trouble of his breast. It was the\nexhilarating effect--upon a prisoner just escaped from the dungeon of\nhis own heart--of breathing the wild, free atmosphere of an\nunredeemed, unchristianized, lawless region.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> His spirit rose, as it\nwere, with a bound, and attained a nearer prospect of the sky, than\nthroughout all the misery which had kept him grovelling on the earth. Of a deeply religious temperament, there was inevitably a tinge of the\ndevotional in his mood. \"Do I feel joy again?\" cried he, wondering at himself. \"Methought the\ngerm of it was dead in me! O Hester, thou art my better angel! I seem\nto have flung myself--sick, sin-stained, and sorrow-blackened--down\nupon these forest-leaves, and to have risen up all made anew, and with\nnew powers to glorify Him that hath been merciful! This is already the\nbetter life! Why did we not find it sooner?\" \"Let us not look back,\" answered Hester Prynne. \"The past is gone! Wherefore should we linger upon it now? See! With this symbol, I undo\nit all, and make it as it had never been!\" So speaking, she undid the clasp that fastened the scarlet letter,\nand, taking it from her bosom, threw it to a distance among the\nwithered leaves. The mystic token alighted on the hither verge of the\nstream. With a hand's breadth farther flight it would have fallen into\nthe water, and have given the little brook another woe to carry\nonward, besides the unintelligible tale which it still kept murmuring\nabout. But there lay the embroidered letter, glittering like a lost\njewel, which some ill-fated wanderer might pick up, and thenceforth be\nhaunted by strange phantoms of guilt, sinkings of the heart, and\nunaccountable misfortune. [Illustration: A Gleam of Sunshine]\n\nThe stigma gone, Hester heaved a long, deep sigh, in which the burden\nof shame and anguish departed from her spirit. O exquisite relief! She\nhad not known the weight, until she felt the freedom! By another\nimpulse, she took off the formal cap that confined her hair; and down\nit fell upon her shoulders, dark and rich, with at once a shadow and a\nlight in its abundance, and imparting the charm of softness to her\nfeatures. There played around her mouth, and beamed out of her eyes, a\nradiant and tender smile, that seemed gushing from the very heart of\nwomanhood. A crimson flush was glowing on her cheek, that had been\nlong so pale. Her sex, her youth, and the whole richness of her\nbeauty, came back from what men call the irrevocable past, and\nclustered themselves, with her maiden hope, and a happiness before\nunknown, within the magic circle of this hour. And, as if the gloom of\nthe earth and sky had been but the effluence of these two mortal\nhearts, it vanished with their sorrow. All at once, as with a sudden\nsmile of heaven, forth burst the sunshine, pouring a very flood into\nthe obscure forest, gladdening each green leaf, transmuting the yellow\nfallen ones to gold, and gleaming adown the gray trunks of the solemn\ntrees. The objects that had made a shadow hitherto, embodied the\nbrightness now. The course of the little brook might be traced by its\nmerry gleam afar into the wood's heart of mystery, which had become a\nmystery of joy. Such was the sympathy of Nature--that wild, heathen Nature of the\nforest, never subjugated by human law, nor illumined by higher\ntruth--with the bliss of these two spirits! Love, whether newly born,\nor aroused from a death-like slumber, must always create a sunshine,\nfilling the heart so full of radiance, that it overflows upon the\noutward world. Had the forest still kept its gloom, it would have been\nbright in Hester's eyes, and bright in Arthur Dimmesdale's! Hester looked at him with the thrill of another joy. \"Thou must know Pearl!\" said she. \"Our little Pearl! Thou hast seen\nher,--yes, I know it!--but thou wilt see her now with other eyes. She\nis a strange child! I hardly comprehend her! But thou wilt love her\ndearly, as I do, and wilt advise me how to deal with her.\" \"Dost thou think the child will be glad to know me?\" asked the\nminister, somewhat uneasily. \"I have long shrunk from children,\nbecause they often show a distrust,--a backwardness to be familiar\nwith me. I have even been afraid of little Pearl!\" \"Ah, that was sad!\" answered the mother. \"But she will love thee\ndearly, and thou her. She is not far off. I will call her! Pearl! Pearl!\" \"I see the child,\" observed the minister. \"Yonder she is, standing in\na streak of sunshine, a good way off, on the other side of the brook. So thou thinkest the child will love me?\" Hester smiled, and again called to Pearl, who was visible, at some\ndistance, as the minister had described her, like a bright-apparelled\nvision, in a sunbeam, which fell down upon her through an arch of\nboughs. The ray quivered to and fro, making her figure dim or\ndistinct,--now like a real child, now like a child's spirit,--as the\nsplendor went and came again. She heard her mother's voice, and\napproached slowly through the forest. Pearl had not found the hour pass wearisomely, while her mother sat\ntalking with the clergyman. The great black forest--stern as it showed\nitself to those who brought the guilt and troubles of the world into\nits bosom--became the playmate of the lonely infant, as well as it\nknew how. Sombre as it was, it put on the kindest of its moods to\nwelcome her. It offered her the partridge-berries, the growth of the\npreceding autumn, but ripening only in the spring, and now red as\ndrops of blood upon the withered leaves. These Pearl gathered, and was\npleased with their wild flavor. The small denizens of the wilderness\nhardly took pains to move out of her path. A partridge, indeed, with a\nbrood of ten behind her, ran forward threateningly, but soon repented\nof her fierceness, and clucked to her young ones not to be afraid. A\npigeon, alone on a low branch, allowed Pearl to come beneath, and\nuttered a sound as much of greeting as alarm. A squirrel, from the\nlofty depths of his domestic tree, chattered either in anger or\nmerriment,--for a squirrel is such a choleric and humorous little\npersonage, that it is hard to distinguish between his moods,--so he\nchattered at the child, and flung down a nut upon her head. It was a\nlast year's nut, and already gnawed by his sharp tooth. A fox,\nstartled from his sleep by her light footstep on the leaves, looked\ninquisitively at Pearl, as doubting whether it were better to steal\noff, or renew his nap on the same spot. A wolf, it is said,--but here\nthe tale has surely lapsed into the improbable,--came up, and smelt of\nPearl's robe, and offered his savage head to be patted by her hand. The truth seems to be, however, that the mother-forest, and these wild\nthings which it nourished, all recognized a kindred wildness in the\nhuman child. And she was gentler here than in the grassy-margined streets of the\nsettlement, or in her mother's cottage. The flowers appeared to know\nit; and one and another whispered as she passed, \"Adorn thyself with\nme, thou beautiful child, adorn thyself with me!\" --and, to please\nthem, Pearl gathered the violets, and anemones, and columbines, and\nsome twigs of the freshest green, which the old trees held down before\nher eyes. With these she decorated her hair, and her young waist, and\nbecame a nymph-child, or an infant dryad, or whatever else was in\nclosest sympathy with the antique wood. In such guise had Pearl\nadorned herself, when she heard her mother's voice, and came slowly\nback. Slowly; for she saw the clergyman. [Illustration]\n\n\nXIX. THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE. \"Thou wilt love her dearly,\" repeated Hester Prynne, as she and the\nminister sat watching little Pearl. \"Dost thou not think her\nbeautiful? And see with what natural skill she has made those simple\nflowers adorn her! Had she gathered pearls, and diamonds, and rubies,\nin the wood, they could not have become her better. She is a splendid\nchild! But I know whose brow she has!\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-05, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"Dost thou know, Hester,\" said Arthur Dimmesdale, with an unquiet\nsmile, \"that this dear child, tripping about always at thy side, hath\ncaused me many an alarm? Methought--O Hester, what a thought is that,\nand how terrible to dread it!--that my own features were partly\nrepeated in her face, and so strikingly that the world might see them! But she is mostly thine!\" \"No, no! Not mostly!\" answered the mother, with a tender smile. \"A\nlittle longer, and thou needest not to be afraid to trace whose child\nshe is. But how strangely beautiful she looks, with those\nwild-flowers in her hair! It is as if one of the fairies, whom we left\nin our dear old England, had decked her out to meet us.\" It was with a feeling which neither of them had ever before\nexperienced, that they sat and watched Pearl's slow advance. In her\nwas visible the tie that united them. She had been offered to the\nworld, these seven years past, as the living hieroglyphic, in which\nwas revealed the secret they so darkly sought to hide,--all written in\nthis symbol,--all plainly manifest,--had there been a prophet or\nmagician skilled to read the character of flame! And Pearl was the\noneness of their being. Be the foregone evil what it might, how could\nthey doubt that their earthly lives and future destinies were\nconjoined, when they beheld at once the material union, and the\nspiritual idea, in whom they met, and were to dwell immortally\ntogether? Thoughts like these--and perhaps other thoughts, which they\ndid not acknowledge or define--threw an awe about the child, as she\ncame onward. \"Let her see nothing strange--no passion nor eagerness--in thy way of\naccosting her,\" whispered Hester. \"Our Pearl is a fitful and fantastic\nlittle elf, sometimes. Especially, she is seldom tolerant of emotion,\nwhen she does not fully comprehend the why and wherefore. But the\nchild hath strong affections! She loves me, and will love thee!\" \"Thou canst not think,\" said the minister, glancing aside at Hester\nPrynne, \"how my heart dreads this interview, and yearns for it! But,\nin truth, as I already told thee, children are not readily won to be\nfamiliar with me. They will not climb my knee, nor prattle in my ear,\nnor answer to my smile; but stand apart, and eye me strangely. Even\nlittle babes, when I take them in my arms, weep bitterly. Yet Pearl,\ntwice in her little lifetime, hath been kind to me! The first\ntime,--thou knowest it well! The last was when thou ledst her with\nthee to the house of yonder stern old Governor.\" \"And thou didst plead so bravely in her behalf and mine!\" answered the\nmother. \"I remember it; and so shall little Pearl. Fear nothing! She\nmay be strange and shy at first, but will soon learn to love thee!\" By this time Pearl had reached the margin of the brook, and stood on\nthe farther side, gazing silently at Hester and the clergyman, who\nstill sat together on the mossy tree-trunk, waiting to receive her. Just where she had paused, the brook chanced to form a pool, so smooth\nand quiet that it reflected a perfect image of her little figure, with\nall the brilliant picturesqueness of her beauty, in its adornment of\nflowers and wreathed foliage, but more refined and spiritualized than\nthe reality. This image, so nearly identical with the living Pearl,\nseemed to communicate somewhat of its own shadowy and intangible\nquality to the child herself. It was strange, the way in which Pearl\nstood, looking so steadfastly at them through the dim medium of the\nforest-gloom; herself, meanwhile, all glorified with a ray of\nsunshine, that was attracted thitherward as by a certain sympathy. In\nthe brook beneath stood another child,--another and the same,--with\nlikewise its ray of golden light. Hester felt herself, in some\nindistinct and tantalizing manner, estranged from Pearl; as if the\nchild, in her lonely ramble through the forest, had strayed out of the\nsphere in which she and her mother dwelt together, and was now vainly\nseeking to return to it. There was both truth and error in the impression; the child and\nmother were estranged, but through Hester's fault, not Pearl's. Since\nthe latter rambled from her side, another inmate had been admitted\nwithin the circle of the mother's feelings, and so modified the aspect\nof them all, that Pearl, the returning wanderer, could not find her\nwonted place, and hardly knew where she was. \"I have a strange fancy,\" observed the sensitive minister, \"that this\nbrook is the boundary between two worlds, and that thou canst never\nmeet thy Pearl again. Or is she an elfish spirit, who, as the legends\nof our childhood taught us, is forbidden to cross a running stream? Pray hasten her; for this delay has already imparted a tremor to my\nnerves.\" \"Come, dearest child!\" said Hester, encouragingly, and stretching out\nboth her arms. \"How slow thou art! When hast thou been so sluggish\nbefore now? Here is a friend of mine, who must be thy friend also. Thou wilt have twice as much love, henceforward, as thy mother alone\ncould give thee! Leap across the brook, and come to us. Thou canst\nleap like a young deer!\" [Illustration: The Child at the Brook-Side]\n\nPearl, without responding in any manner to these honey-sweet\nexpressions, remained on the other side of the brook. Now she fixed\nher bright, wild eyes on her mother, now on the minister, and now\nincluded them both in the same glance; as if to detect and explain to\nherself the relation which they bore to one another. For some\nunaccountable reason, as Arthur Dimmesdale felt the child's eyes upon\nhimself, his hand--with that gesture so habitual as to have become\ninvoluntary--stole over his heart. At length, assuming a singular air\nof authority, Pearl stretched out her hand, with the small forefinger\nextended, and pointing evidently towards her mother's breast. And\nbeneath, in the mirror of the brook, there was the flower-girdled and\nsunny image of little Pearl, pointing her small forefinger too. \"Thou strange child, why dost thou not come to me?\" exclaimed Hester. Pearl still pointed with her forefinger; and a frown gathered on her\nbrow; the more impressive from the childish, the almost baby-like\naspect of the features that conveyed it. As her mother still kept\nbeckoning to her, and arraying her face in a holiday suit of\nunaccustomed smiles, the child stamped her foot with a yet more\nimperious look and gesture. In the brook, again, was the fantastic\nbeauty of the image, with its reflected frown, its pointed finger, and\nimperious gesture, giving emphasis to the aspect of little Pearl. \"Hasten, Pearl; or I shall be angry with thee!\" cried Hester Prynne,\nwho, however inured to such behavior on the elf-child's part at other\nseasons, was naturally anxious for a more seemly deportment now. \"Leap\nacross the brook, naughty child, and run hither! Else I must come to\nthee!\" But Pearl, not a whit startled at her mother's threats, any more than\nmollified by her entreaties, now suddenly burst into a fit of passion,\ngesticulating violently, and throwing her small figure into the most\nextravagant contortions. She accompanied this wild outbreak with\npiercing shrieks, which the woods reverberated on all sides; so that,\nalone as she was in her childish and unreasonable wrath, it seemed as\nif a hidden multitude were lending her their sympathy and\nencouragement. Seen in the brook, once more, was the shadowy wrath of\nPearl's image, crowned and girdled with flowers, but stamping its\nfoot, wildly gesticulating, and, in the midst of all, still pointing\nits small forefinger at Hester's bosom! \"I see what ails the child,\" whispered Hester to the clergyman, and\nturning pale in spite of a strong effort to conceal her trouble and\nannoyance. \"Children will not abide any, the slightest, change in the\naccustomed aspect of things that are daily before their eyes. Pearl\nmisses something which she has always seen me wear!\" \"I pray you,\" answered the minister, \"if thou hast any means of\npacifying the child, do it forthwith!\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-09 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Save it were the cankered wrath\nof an old witch, like Mistress Hibbins,\" added he, attempting to\nsmile, \"I know nothing that I would not sooner encounter than this\npassion in a child. In Pearl's young beauty, as in the wrinkled witch,\nit has a preternatural effect. Pacify her, if thou lovest me!\" Hester turned again towards Pearl, with a crimson blush upon her\ncheek, a conscious glance aside at the clergyman, and then a heavy\nsigh; while, even before she had time to speak, the blush yielded to a\ndeadly pallor. \"Pearl,\" said she, sadly, \"look down at thy feet! There!--before\nthee!--on the hither side of the brook!\" The child turned her eyes to the point indicated; and there lay the\nscarlet letter, so close upon the margin of the stream, that the gold\nembroidery was reflected in it. \"Bring it hither!\" said Hester. \"Come thou and take it up!\" answered Pearl. \"Was ever such a child!\" observed Hester, aside to the minister. \"O, I\nhave much to tell thee about her! But, in very truth, she is right as\nregards this hateful token. I must bear its torture yet a little\nlonger,--only a few days longer,--until we shall have left this\nregion, and look back hither as to a land which we have dreamed of. The forest cannot hide it! The mid-ocean shall take it from my hand,\nand swallow it up forever!\" With these words, she advanced to the margin of the brook, took up the\nscarlet letter, and fastened it again into her bosom. Hopefully, but a\nmoment ago, as Hester had spoken of drowning it in the deep sea, there\nwas a sense of inevitable doom upon her, as she thus received back\nthis deadly symbol from the hand of fate. She had flung it into\ninfinite space!--she had drawn an hour's free breath!--and here again\nwas the scarlet misery, glittering on the old spot! So it ever is,\nwhether thus typified or no, that an evil deed invests itself with the\ncharacter of doom. Hester next gathered up the heavy tresses of her\nhair, and confined them beneath her cap. As if there were a withering\nspell in the sad letter, her beauty, the warmth and richness of her\nwomanhood, departed, like fading sunshine; and a gray shadow seemed to\nfall across her. When the dreary change was wrought, she extended her hand to Pearl. \"Dost thou know thy mother now, child?\" asked she, reproachfully, but\nwith a subdued tone. \"Wilt thou come across the brook, and own thy\nmother, now that she has her shame upon her,--now that she is sad?\" \"Yes; now I will!\" answered the child, bounding across the brook, and\nclasping Hester in her arms. \"Now thou art my mother indeed! And I am\nthy little Pearl!\" In a mood of tenderness that was not usual with her, she drew down her\nmother's head, and kissed her brow and both her cheeks. But then--by a\nkind of necessity that always impelled this child to alloy whatever\ncomfort she might chance to give with a throb of anguish--Pearl put up\nher mouth, and kissed the scarlet letter too! \"That was not kind!\" said Hester. \"When thou hast shown me a little\nlove, thou mockest me!\" \"Why doth the minister sit yonder?\" asked Pearl. \"He waits to welcome thee,\" replied her mother. \"Come thou, and\nentreat his blessing! He loves thee, my little Pearl, and loves thy\nmother too. Wilt thou not love him? Come! he longs to greet thee!\" \"Doth he love us?\" said Pearl, looking up, with acute intelligence,\ninto her mother's face. \"Will he go back with us, hand in hand, we\nthree together, into the town?\" \"Not now, dear child,\" answered Hester. \"But in days to come he will\nwalk hand in hand with us. We will have a home and fireside of our\nown; and thou shalt sit upon his knee; and he will teach thee many\nthings, and love thee dearly. Thou wilt love him; wilt thou not?\" \"And will he always keep his hand over his heart?\" inquired Pearl. \"Foolish child, what a question is that!\" exclaimed her mother. \"Come\nand ask his blessing!\" But, whether influenced by the jealousy that seems instinctive with\nevery petted child towards a dangerous rival, or from whatever caprice\nof her freakish nature, Pearl would show no favor to the clergyman. It\nwas only by an exertion of force that her mother brought her up to\nhim, hanging back, and manifesting her reluctance by odd grimaces; of\nwhich, ever since her babyhood, she had possessed a singular variety,\nand could transform her mobile physiognomy into a series of different\naspects, with a new mischief in them, each and all. The\nminister--painfully embarrassed, but hoping that a kiss might prove a\ntalisman to admit him into the child's kindlier regards--bent forward,\nand impressed one on her brow. Hereupon, Pearl broke away from her\nmother, and, running to the brook, stooped over it, and bathed her\nforehead, until the unwelcome kiss was quite washed off, and diffused\nthrough a long lapse of the gliding water. She then remained apart,\nsilently watching Hester and the clergyman; while they talked\ntogether, and made such arrangements as were suggested by their new\nposition, and the purposes soon to be fulfilled. And now this fateful interview had come to a close. The dell was to be\nleft a solitude among its dark, old trees, which, with their\nmultitudinous tongues, would whisper long of what had passed there,\nand no mortal be the wiser. And the melancholy brook would add this\nother tale to the mystery with which its little heart was already\noverburdened, and whereof it still kept up a murmuring babble, with\nnot a whit more cheerfulness of tone than for ages heretofore. [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\nXX. THE MINISTER IN A MAZE. As the minister departed, in advance of Hester Prynne and little\nPearl, he threw a backward glance; half expecting that he should\ndiscover only some faintly traced features or outline of the mother\nand the child, slowly fading into the twilight of the woods. So great\na vicissitude in his life could not at once be received as real. But\nthere was Hester, clad in her gray robe, still standing beside the\ntree-trunk, which some blast had overthrown a long antiquity ago, and\nwhich time had ever since been covering with moss, so that these two\nfated ones, with earth's heaviest burden on them, might there sit down\ntogether, and find a single hour's rest and solace. And there was\nPearl, too, lightly dancing from the margin of the brook,--now that\nthe intrusive third person was gone,--and taking her old place by her\nmother's side. So the minister had not fallen asleep and dreamed! In order to free his mind from this indistinctness and duplicity of\nimpression, which vexed it with a strange disquietude, he recalled and\nmore thoroughly defined the plans which Hester and himself had\nsketched for their departure. It had been determined between them,\nthat the Old World, with its crowds and cities, offered them a more\neligible shelter and concealment than the wilds of New England, or all\nAmerica, with its alternatives of an Indian wigwam, or the few\nsettlements of Europeans, scattered thinly along the seaboard. Not to\nspeak of the clergyman's health, so inadequate to sustain the\nhardships of a forest life, his native gifts, his culture, and his\nentire development, would secure him a home only in the midst of\ncivilization and refinement; the higher the state, the more delicately\nadapted to it the man. In furtherance of this choice, it so happened\nthat a ship lay in the harbor; one of those questionable cruisers,\nfrequent at that day, which, without being absolutely outlaws of the\ndeep, yet roamed over its surface with a remarkable irresponsibility\nof character. This vessel had recently arrived from the Spanish Main,\nand, within three days' time, would sail for Bristol. Hester\nPrynne--whose vocation, as a self-enlisted Sister of Charity, had\nbrought her acquainted with the captain and crew--could take upon\nherself to secure the passage of two individuals and a child, with all\nthe secrecy which circumstances rendered more than desirable. The minister had inquired of Hester, with no little interest, the\nprecise time at which the vessel might be expected to depart. It would\nprobably be on the fourth day from the present. \"That is most\nfortunate!\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-09, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-12 The user is reading a book]\n<User> he had then said to himself. Now, why the Reverend Mr.\nDimmesdale considered it so very fortunate, we hesitate to reveal. Nevertheless,--to hold nothing back from the reader,--it was because,\non the third day from the present, he was to preach the Election\nSermon; and, as such an occasion formed an honorable epoch in the life\nof a New England clergyman, he could not have chanced upon a more\nsuitable mode and time of terminating his professional career. \"At\nleast, they shall say of me,\" thought this exemplary man, \"that I\nleave no public duty unperformed, nor ill performed!\" Sad, indeed,\nthat an introspection so profound and acute as this poor minister's\nshould be so miserably deceived! We have had, and may still have,\nworse things to tell of him; but none, we apprehend, so pitiably weak;\nno evidence, at once so slight and irrefragable, of a subtle disease,\nthat had long since begun to eat into the real substance of his\ncharacter. No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to\nhimself, and another to the multitude, without finally getting\nbewildered as to which may be the true. The excitement of Mr. Dimmesdale's feelings, as he returned from his\ninterview with Hester, lent him unaccustomed physical energy, and\nhurried him townward at a rapid pace. The pathway among the woods\nseemed wilder, more uncouth with its rude natural obstacles, and less\ntrodden by the foot of man, than he remembered it on his outward\njourney. But he leaped across the plashy places, thrust himself\nthrough the clinging underbrush, climbed the ascent, plunged into the\nhollow, and overcame, in short, all the difficulties of the track,\nwith an unweariable activity that astonished him. He could not but\nrecall how feebly, and with what frequent pauses for breath, he had\ntoiled over the same ground, only two days before. As he drew near the\ntown, he took an impression of change from the series of familiar\nobjects that presented themselves. It seemed not yesterday, not one,\nnor two, but many days, or even years ago, since he had quitted them. There, indeed, was each former trace of the street, as he remembered\nit, and all the peculiarities of the houses, with the due multitude\nof gable-peaks, and a weathercock at every point where his memory\nsuggested one. Not the less, however, came this importunately\nobtrusive sense of change. The same was true as regarded the\nacquaintances whom he met, and all the well-known shapes of human\nlife, about the little town. They looked neither older nor younger\nnow; the beards of the aged were no whiter, nor could the creeping\nbabe of yesterday walk on his feet to-day; it was impossible to\ndescribe in what respect they differed from the individuals on whom he\nhad so recently bestowed a parting glance; and yet the minister's\ndeepest sense seemed to inform him of their mutability. A similar\nimpression struck him most remarkably, as he passed under the walls of\nhis own church. The edifice had so very strange, and yet so familiar,\nan aspect, that Mr. Dimmesdale's mind vibrated between two ideas;\neither that he had seen it only in a dream hitherto, or that he was\nmerely dreaming about it now. This phenomenon, in the various shapes which it assumed, indicated no\nexternal change, but so sudden and important a change in the spectator\nof the familiar scene, that the intervening space of a single day had\noperated on his consciousness like the lapse of years. The minister's\nown will, and Hester's will, and the fate that grew between them, had\nwrought this transformation. It was the same town as heretofore; but\nthe same minister returned not from the forest. He might have said to\nthe friends who greeted him,--\"I am not the man for whom you take me! I left him yonder in the forest, withdrawn into a secret dell, by a\nmossy tree-trunk, and near a melancholy brook! Go, seek your minister,\nand see if his emaciated figure, his thin cheek, his white, heavy,\npain-wrinkled brow, be not flung down there, like a cast-off\ngarment!\" His friends, no doubt, would still have insisted with\nhim,--\"Thou art thyself the man!\" --but the error would have been their\nown, not his. Before Mr. Dimmesdale reached home, his inner man gave him other\nevidences of a revolution in the sphere of thought and feeling. In\ntruth, nothing short of a total change of dynasty and moral code, in\nthat interior kingdom, was adequate to account for the impulses now\ncommunicated to the unfortunate and startled minister. At every step\nhe was incited to do some strange, wild, wicked thing or other, with a\nsense that it would be at once involuntary and intentional; in spite\nof himself, yet growing out of a profounder self than that which\nopposed the impulse. For instance, he met one of his own deacons. The\ngood old man addressed him with the paternal affection and patriarchal\nprivilege, which his venerable age, his upright and holy character,\nand his station in the Church, entitled him to use; and, conjoined\nwith this, the deep, almost worshipping respect, which the minister's\nprofessional and private claims alike demanded. Never was there a more\nbeautiful example of how the majesty of age and wisdom may comport\nwith the obeisance and respect enjoined upon it, as from a lower\nsocial rank, and inferior order of endowment, towards a higher. Now,\nduring a conversation of some two or three moments between the\nReverend Mr. Dimmesdale and this excellent and hoary-bearded deacon,\nit was only by the most careful self-control that the former could\nrefrain from uttering certain blasphemous suggestions that rose into\nhis mind, respecting the communion supper. He absolutely trembled and\nturned pale as ashes, lest his tongue should wag itself, in utterance\nof these horrible matters, and plead his own consent for so doing,\nwithout his having fairly given it. And, even with this terror in his\nheart, he could hardly avoid laughing, to imagine how the sanctified\nold patriarchal deacon would have been petrified by his minister's\nimpiety! Again, another incident of the same nature. Hurrying along the street,\nthe Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale encountered the eldest female member of\nhis church; a most pious and exemplary old dame; poor, widowed,\nlonely, and with a heart as full of reminiscences about her dead\nhusband and children, and her dead friends of long ago, as a\nburial-ground is full of storied gravestones. Yet all this, which\nwould else have been such heavy sorrow, was made almost a solemn joy\nto her devout old soul, by religious consolations and the truths of\nScripture, wherewith she had fed herself continually for more than\nthirty years. And, since Mr. Dimmesdale had taken her in charge, the\ngood grandam's chief earthly comfort--which, unless it had been\nlikewise a heavenly comfort, could have been none at all--was to meet\nher pastor, whether casually, or of set purpose, and be refreshed with\na word of warm, fragrant, heaven-breathing Gospel truth, from his\nbeloved lips, into her dulled, but rapturously attentive ear. But, on\nthis occasion, up to the moment of putting his lips to the old woman's\near, Mr. Dimmesdale, as the great enemy of souls would have it, could\nrecall no text of Scripture, nor aught else, except a brief, pithy,\nand, as it then appeared to him, unanswerable argument against the\nimmortality of the human soul. The instilment thereof into her mind\nwould probably have caused this aged sister to drop down dead, at\nonce, as by the effect of an intensely poisonous infusion. What he\nreally did whisper, the minister could never afterwards recollect. There was, perhaps, a fortunate disorder in his utterance, which\nfailed to impart any distinct idea to the good widow's comprehension,\nor which Providence interpreted after a method of its own. Assuredly,\nas the minister looked back, he beheld an expression of divine\ngratitude and ecstasy that seemed like the shine of the celestial city\non her face, so wrinkled and ashy pale. Again, a third instance. After parting from the old church-member, he\nmet the youngest sister of them all. It was a maiden newly won--and\nwon by the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale's own sermon, on the Sabbath after\nhis vigil--to barter the transitory pleasures of the world for the\nheavenly hope, that was to assume brighter substance as life grew dark\naround her, and which would gild the utter gloom with final glory. She\nwas fair and pure as a lily that had bloomed in Paradise.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-12, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-13 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The minister\nknew well that he was himself enshrined within the stainless sanctity\nof her heart, which hung its snowy curtains about his image, imparting\nto religion the warmth of love, and to love a religious purity. Satan,\nthat afternoon, had surely led the poor young girl away from her\nmother's side, and thrown her into the pathway of this sorely tempted,\nor--shall we not rather say?--this lost and desperate man. As she drew\nnigh, the arch-fiend whispered him to condense into small compass and\ndrop into her tender bosom a germ of evil that would be sure to\nblossom darkly soon, and bear black fruit betimes. Such was his sense\nof power over this virgin soul, trusting him as she did, that the\nminister felt potent to blight all the field of innocence with but one\nwicked look, and develop all its opposite with but a word. So--with a\nmightier struggle than he had yet sustained--he held his Geneva cloak\nbefore his face, and hurried onward, making no sign of recognition,\nand leaving the young sister to digest his rudeness as she might. She\nransacked her conscience,--which was full of harmless little matters,\nlike her pocket or her work-bag,--and took herself to task, poor\nthing! for a thousand imaginary faults; and went about her household\nduties with swollen eyelids the next morning. Before the minister had time to celebrate his victory over this last\ntemptation, he was conscious of another impulse, more ludicrous, and\nalmost as horrible. It was,--we blush to tell it,--it was to stop\nshort in the road, and teach some very wicked words to a knot of\nlittle Puritan children who were playing there, and had but just begun\nto talk. Denying himself this freak, as unworthy of his cloth, he met\na drunken seaman, one of the ship's crew from the Spanish Main. And,\nhere, since he had so valiantly forborne all other wickedness, poor\nMr. Dimmesdale longed, at least, to shake hands with the tarry\nblackguard, and recreate himself with a few improper jests, such as\ndissolute sailors so abound with, and a volley of good, round, solid,\nsatisfactory, and heaven-defying oaths! It was not so much a better\nprinciple as partly his natural good taste, and still more his\nbuckramed habit of clerical decorum, that carried him safely through\nthe latter crisis. \"What is it that haunts and tempts me thus?\" cried the minister to\nhimself, at length, pausing in the street, and striking his hand\nagainst his forehead. \"Am I mad? or am I given over utterly to the\nfiend? Did I make a contract with him in the forest, and sign it with\nmy blood? And does he now summon me to its fulfilment, by suggesting\nthe performance of every wickedness which his most foul imagination\ncan conceive?\" At the moment when the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale thus communed with\nhimself, and struck his forehead with his hand, old Mistress Hibbins,\nthe reputed witch-lady, is said to have been passing by. She made a\nvery grand appearance; having on a high head-dress, a rich gown of\nvelvet, and a ruff done up with the famous yellow starch, of which Ann\nTurner, her especial friend, had taught her the secret, before this\nlast good lady had been hanged for Sir Thomas Overbury's murder. Whether the witch had read the minister's thoughts, or no, she came to\na full stop, looked shrewdly into his face, smiled craftily,\nand--though little given to converse with clergymen--began a\nconversation. \"So, reverend Sir, you have made a visit into the forest,\" observed\nthe witch-lady, nodding her high head-dress at him. \"The next time, I\npray you to allow me only a fair warning, and I shall be proud to bear\nyou company. Without taking overmuch upon myself, my good word will go\nfar towards gaining any strange gentleman a fair reception from yonder\npotentate you wot of!\" \"I profess, madam,\" answered the clergyman, with a grave obeisance,\nsuch as the lady's rank demanded, and his own good-breeding made\nimperative,--\"I profess, on my conscience and character, that I am\nutterly bewildered as touching the purport of your words! I went not\ninto the forest to seek a potentate; neither do I, at any future time,\ndesign a visit thither, with a view to gaining the favor of such a\npersonage. My one sufficient object was to greet that pious friend of\nmine, the Apostle Eliot, and rejoice with him over the many precious\nsouls he hath won from heathendom!\" \"Ha, ha, ha!\" cackled the old witch-lady, still nodding her high\nhead-dress at the minister. \"Well, well, we must needs talk thus in\nthe daytime! You carry it off like an old hand! But at midnight, and\nin the forest, we shall have other talk together!\" She passed on with her aged stateliness, but often turning back her\nhead and smiling at him, like one willing to recognize a secret\nintimacy of connection. \"Have I then sold myself,\" thought the minister, \"to the fiend whom,\nif men say true, this yellow-starched and velveted old hag has chosen\nfor her prince and master!\" The wretched minister! He had made a bargain very like it! Tempted by\na dream of happiness, he had yielded himself, with deliberate choice,\nas he had never done before, to what he knew was deadly sin. And the\ninfectious poison of that sin had been thus rapidly diffused\nthroughout his moral system. It had stupefied all blessed impulses,\nand awakened into vivid life the whole brotherhood of bad ones. Scorn,\nbitterness, unprovoked malignity, gratuitous desire of ill, ridicule\nof whatever was good and holy, all awoke, to tempt, even while they\nfrightened him. And his encounter with old Mistress Hibbins, if it\nwere a real incident, did but show his sympathy and fellowship with\nwicked mortals, and the world of perverted spirits. He had, by this time, reached his dwelling, on the edge of the\nburial-ground, and, hastening up the stairs, took refuge in his study. The minister was glad to have reached this shelter, without first\nbetraying himself to the world by any of those strange and wicked\neccentricities to which he had been continually impelled while passing\nthrough the streets. He entered the accustomed room, and looked around\nhim on its books, its windows, its fireplace, and the tapestried\ncomfort of the walls, with the same perception of strangeness that had\nhaunted him throughout his walk from the forest-dell into the town,\nand thitherward. Here he had studied and written; here, gone through\nfast and vigil, and come forth half alive; here, striven to pray;\nhere, borne a hundred thousand agonies! There was the Bible, in its\nrich old Hebrew, with Moses and the Prophets speaking to him, and\nGod's voice through all! There, on the table, with the inky pen beside\nit, was an unfinished sermon, with a sentence broken in the midst,\nwhere his thoughts had ceased to gush out upon the page, two days\nbefore. He knew that it was himself, the thin and white-cheeked\nminister, who had done and suffered these things, and written thus far\ninto the Election Sermon! But he seemed to stand apart, and eye this\nformer self with scornful, pitying, but half-envious curiosity. That\nself was gone. Another man had returned out of the forest; a wiser\none; with a knowledge of hidden mysteries which the simplicity of the\nformer never could have reached. A bitter kind of knowledge that! While occupied with these reflections, a knock came at the door of the\nstudy, and the minister said, \"Come in!\" --not wholly devoid of an idea\nthat he might behold an evil spirit. And so he did! It was old Roger\nChillingworth that entered. The minister stood, white and speechless,\nwith one hand on the Hebrew Scriptures, and the other spread upon his\nbreast. \"Welcome home, reverend Sir,\" said the physician. \"And how found you\nthat godly man, the Apostle Eliot? But methinks, dear Sir, you look\npale; as if the travel through the wilderness had been too sore for\nyou. Will not my aid be requisite to put you in heart and strength to\npreach your Election Sermon?\" \"Nay, I think not so,\" rejoined the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale. \"My\njourney, and the sight of the holy Apostle yonder, and the free air\nwhich I have breathed, have done me good, after so long confinement in\nmy study. I think to need no more of your drugs, my kind physician,\ngood though they be, and administered by a friendly hand.\"\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-13, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-15 The user is reading a book]\n<User> All this time, Roger Chillingworth was looking at the minister with\nthe grave and intent regard of a physician towards his patient. But,\nin spite of this outward show, the latter was almost convinced of the\nold man's knowledge, or, at least, his confident suspicion, with\nrespect to his own interview with Hester Prynne. The physician knew\nthen, that, in the minister's regard, he was no longer a trusted\nfriend, but his bitterest enemy. So much being known, it would appear\nnatural that a part of it should be expressed. It is singular,\nhowever, how long a time often passes before words embody things; and\nwith what security two persons, who choose to avoid a certain subject,\nmay approach its very verge, and retire without disturbing it. Thus,\nthe minister felt no apprehension that Roger Chillingworth would\ntouch, in express words, upon the real position which they sustained\ntowards one another. Yet did the physician, in his dark way, creep\nfrightfully near the secret. \"Were it not better,\" said he, \"that you use my poor skill to-night? Verily, dear Sir, we must take pains to make you strong and vigorous\nfor this occasion of the Election discourse. The people look for great\nthings from you; apprehending that another year may come about, and\nfind their pastor gone.\" \"Yea, to another world,\" replied the minister, with pious resignation. \"Heaven grant it be a better one; for, in good sooth, I hardly think\nto tarry with my flock through the flitting seasons of another year! But, touching your medicine, kind Sir, in my present frame of body, I\nneed it not.\" \"I joy to hear it,\" answered the physician. \"It may be that my\nremedies, so long administered in vain, begin now to take due effect. Happy man were I, and well deserving of New England's gratitude, could\nI achieve this cure!\" \"I thank you from my heart, most watchful friend,\" said the Reverend\nMr. Dimmesdale, with a solemn smile. \"I thank you, and can but requite\nyour good deeds with my prayers.\" \"A good man's prayers are golden recompense!\" rejoined old Roger\nChillingworth, as he took his leave. \"Yea, they are the current gold\ncoin of the New Jerusalem, with the King's own mint-mark on them!\" Left alone, the minister summoned a servant of the house, and\nrequested food, which, being set before him, he ate with ravenous\nappetite. Then, flinging the already written pages of the Election\nSermon into the fire, he forthwith began another, which he wrote with\nsuch an impulsive flow of thought and emotion, that he fancied himself\ninspired; and only wondered that Heaven should see fit to transmit the\ngrand and solemn music of its oracles through so foul an organ-pipe as\nhe. However, leaving that mystery to solve itself, or go unsolved\nforever, he drove his task onward, with earnest haste and ecstasy. Thus the night fled away, as if it were a winged steed, and he\ncareering on it; morning came, and peeped, blushing, through the\ncurtains; and at last sunrise threw a golden beam into the study and\nlaid it right across the minister's bedazzled eyes. There he was, with\nthe pen still between his fingers, and a vast, immeasurable tract of\nwritten space behind him! [Illustration]\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-15, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-15", "answer": "Hester, Dimmesdale, Chillingworth, Pearl, Mistress Hibbins, scarlet letter, forgiveness, secret, enemy, former husband, wilderness, Europe, new name, burden of guilt, passion, stream, ray of sunshine, wild spirit, nymph, wild flowers, minister, hand over heart, kiss on forehead, washing off kiss, perception of life, blasphemy, Puritan children, Election Sermon, study, medicine, ravenous appetite, writing sermon, settlement, forest, midnight, temptation, seven years, congregation, friendship, betrayal, redemption, identity, guilt, isolation, reconciliation"}]