["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> XIII. ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER. In her late singular interview with Mr. Dimmesdale, Hester Prynne was\nshocked at the condition to which she found the clergyman reduced. His\nnerve seemed absolutely destroyed. His moral force was abased into\nmore than childish weakness. It grovelled helpless on the ground, even\nwhile his intellectual faculties retained their pristine strength, or\nhad perhaps acquired a morbid energy, which disease only could have\ngiven them. With her knowledge of a train of circumstances hidden from\nall others, she could readily infer that, besides the legitimate\naction of his own conscience, a terrible machinery had been brought to\nbear, and was still operating, on Mr. Dimmesdale's well-being and\nrepose. Knowing what this poor, fallen man had once been, her whole\nsoul was moved by the shuddering terror with which he had appealed to\nher,--the outcast woman,--for support against his instinctively\ndiscovered enemy. She decided, moreover, that he had a right to her\nutmost aid. Little accustomed, in her long seclusion from society, to\nmeasure her ideas of right and wrong by any standard external to\nherself, Hester saw--or seemed to see--that there lay a responsibility\nupon her, in reference to the clergyman, which she owed to no other,\nnor to the whole world besides. The links that united her to the rest\nof human kind--links of flowers, or silk, or gold, or whatever the\nmaterial--had all been broken. Here was the iron link of mutual crime,\nwhich neither he nor she could break. Like all other ties, it brought\nalong with it its obligations. Hester Prynne did not now occupy precisely the same position in which\nwe beheld her during the earlier periods of her ignominy. Years had\ncome and gone. Pearl was now seven years old. Her mother, with the\nscarlet letter on her breast, glittering in its fantastic embroidery,\nhad long been a familiar object to the towns-people. As is apt to be\nthe case when a person stands out in any prominence before the\ncommunity, and, at the same time, interferes neither with public nor\nindividual interests and convenience, a species of general regard had\nultimately grown up in reference to Hester Prynne. It is to the credit\nof human nature, that, except where its selfishness is brought into\nplay, it loves more readily than it hates. Hatred, by a gradual and\nquiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be\nimpeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of\nhostility. In this matter of Hester Prynne, there was neither\nirritation nor irksomeness. She never battled with the public, but\nsubmitted, uncomplainingly, to its worst usage; she made no claim upon\nit, in requital for what she suffered; she did not weigh upon its\nsympathies. Then, also, the blameless purity of her life during all\nthese years in which she had been set apart to infamy, was reckoned\nlargely in her favor. With nothing now to lose, in the sight of\nmankind, and with no hope, and seemingly no wish, of gaining anything,\nit could only be a genuine regard for virtue that had brought back the\npoor wanderer to its paths. [Illustration: Hester in the House of Mourning]\n\nIt was perceived, too, that while Hester never put forward even the\nhumblest title to share in the world's privileges,--further than to\nbreathe the common air, and earn daily bread for little Pearl and\nherself by the faithful labor of her hands,--she was quick to\nacknowledge her sisterhood with the race of man, whenever benefits\nwere to be conferred. None so ready as she to give of her little\nsubstance to every demand of poverty; even though the bitter-hearted\npauper threw back a gibe in requital of the food brought regularly to\nhis door, or the garments wrought for him by the fingers that could\nhave embroidered a monarch's robe. None so self-devoted as Hester,\nwhen pestilence stalked through the town. In all seasons of calamity,\nindeed, whether general or of individuals, the outcast of society at\nonce found her place. She came, not as a guest, but as a rightful\ninmate, into the household that was darkened by trouble; as if its\ngloomy twilight were a medium in which she was entitled to hold\nintercourse with her fellow-creatures. There glimmered the embroidered\nletter, with comfort in its unearthly ray. Elsewhere the token of sin,\nit was the taper of the sick-chamber. It had even thrown its gleam, in\nthe sufferer's hard extremity, across the verge of time. It had shown\nhim where to set his foot, while the light of earth was fast becoming\ndim, and ere the light of futurity could reach him. In such\nemergencies, Hester's nature showed itself warm and rich; a\nwell-spring of human tenderness, unfailing to every real demand, and\ninexhaustible by the largest. Her breast, with its badge of shame, was\nbut the softer pillow for the head that needed one. She was\nself-ordained a Sister of Mercy; or, we may rather say, the world's\nheavy hand had so ordained her, when neither the world nor she looked\nforward to this result. The letter was the symbol of her calling. Such\nhelpfulness was found in her,--so much power to do, and power to\nsympathize,--that many people refused to interpret the scarlet A by\nits original signification. They said that it meant Able; so strong\nwas Hester Prynne, with a woman's strength. It was only the darkened house that could contain her. When sunshine\ncame again, she was not there. Her shadow had faded across the\nthreshold. The helpful inmate had departed, without one backward\nglance to gather up the meed of gratitude, if any were in the hearts\nof those whom she had served so zealously. Meeting them in the\nstreet, she never raised her head to receive their greeting. If they\nwere resolute to accost her, she laid her finger on the scarlet\nletter, and passed on. This might be pride, but was so like humility,\nthat it produced all the softening influence of the latter quality on\nthe public mind. The public is despotic in its temper; it is capable\nof denying common justice, when too strenuously demanded as a right;\nbut quite as frequently it awards more than justice, when the appeal\nis made, as despots love to have it made, entirely to its generosity. Interpreting Hester Prynne's deportment as an appeal of this nature,\nsociety was inclined to show its former victim a more benign\ncountenance than she cared to be favored with, or, perchance, than she\ndeserved. The rulers, and the wise and learned men of the community, were longer\nin acknowledging the influence of Hester's good qualities than the\npeople. The prejudices which they shared in common with the latter\nwere fortified in themselves by an iron framework of reasoning, that\nmade it a far tougher labor to expel them. Day by day, nevertheless,\ntheir sour and rigid wrinkles were relaxing into something which, in\nthe due course of years, might grow to be an expression of almost\nbenevolence. Thus it was with the men of rank, on whom their eminent\nposition imposed the guardianship of the public morals. Individuals in\nprivate life, meanwhile, had quite forgiven Hester Prynne for her\nfrailty; nay, more, they had begun to look upon the scarlet letter as\nthe token, not of that one sin, for which she had borne so long and\ndreary a penance, but of her many good deeds since. \"Do you see that\nwoman with the embroidered badge?\" they would say to strangers. \"It is\nour Hester,--the town's own Hester, who is so kind to the poor, so\nhelpful to the sick, so comfortable to the afflicted!\" Then, it is\ntrue, the propensity of human nature to tell the very worst of itself,\nwhen embodied in the person of another, would constrain them to\nwhisper the black scandal of bygone years. It was none the less a\nfact, however, that, in the eyes of the very men who spoke thus, the\nscarlet letter had the effect of the cross on a nun's bosom. It\nimparted to the wearer a kind of sacredness, which enabled her to walk\nsecurely amid all peril. Had she fallen among thieves, it would have\nkept her safe. It was reported, and believed by many, that an Indian\nhad drawn his arrow against the badge, and that the missile struck it,\nbut fell harmless to the ground. The effect of the symbol--or, rather, of the position in respect to\nsociety that was indicated by it--on the mind of Hester Prynne\nherself, was powerful and peculiar.\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> All the light and graceful foliage\nof her character had been withered up by this red-hot brand, and had\nlong ago fallen away, leaving a bare and harsh outline, which might\nhave been repulsive, had she possessed friends or companions to be\nrepelled by it. Even the attractiveness of her person had undergone a\nsimilar change. It might be partly owing to the studied austerity of\nher dress, and partly to the lack of demonstration in her manners. It\nwas a sad transformation, too, that her rich and luxuriant hair had\neither been cut off, or was so completely hidden by a cap, that not a\nshining lock of it ever once gushed into the sunshine. It was due in\npart to all these causes, but still more to something else, that there\nseemed to be no longer anything in Hester's face for Love to dwell\nupon; nothing in Hester's form, though majestic and statue-like, that\nPassion would ever dream of clasping in its embrace; nothing in\nHester's bosom, to make it ever again the pillow of Affection. Some\nattribute had departed from her, the permanence of which had been\nessential to keep her a woman. Such is frequently the fate, and such\nthe stern development, of the feminine character and person, when the\nwoman has encountered, and lived through, an experience of peculiar\nseverity. If she be all tenderness, she will die. If she survive, the\ntenderness will either be crushed out of her, or--and the outward\nsemblance is the same--crushed so deeply into her heart that it can\nnever show itself more. The latter is perhaps the truest theory. She\nwho has once been woman, and ceased to be so, might at any moment\nbecome a woman again if there were only the magic touch to effect the\ntransfiguration. We shall see whether Hester Prynne were ever\nafterwards so touched, and so transfigured. Much of the marble coldness of Hester's impression was to be\nattributed to the circumstance, that her life had turned, in a great\nmeasure, from passion and feeling, to thought. Standing alone in the\nworld,--alone, as to any dependence on society, and with little Pearl\nto be guided and protected,--alone, and hopeless of retrieving her\nposition, even had she not scorned to consider it desirable,--she cast\naway the fragments of a broken chain. The world's law was no law for\nher mind. It was an age in which the human intellect, newly\nemancipated, had taken a more active and a wider range than for many\ncenturies before. Men of the sword had overthrown nobles and kings. Men bolder than these had overthrown and rearranged--not actually, but\nwithin the sphere of theory, which was their most real abode--the\nwhole system of ancient prejudice, wherewith was linked much of\nancient principle. Hester Prynne imbibed this spirit. She assumed a\nfreedom of speculation, then common enough on the other side of the\nAtlantic, but which our forefathers, had they known it, would have\nheld to be a deadlier crime than that stigmatized by the scarlet\nletter. In her lonesome cottage, by the sea-shore, thoughts visited\nher, such as dared to enter no other dwelling in New England; shadowy\nguests, that would have been as perilous as demons to their\nentertainer, could they have been seen so much as knocking at her\ndoor. It is remarkable, that persons who speculate the most boldly often\nconform with the most perfect quietude to the external regulations of\nsociety. The thought suffices them, without investing itself in the\nflesh and blood of action. So it seemed to be with Hester. Yet, had\nlittle Pearl never come to her from the spiritual world, it might have\nbeen far otherwise. Then, she might have come down to us in history,\nhand in hand with Ann Hutchinson, as the foundress of a religious\nsect. She might, in one of her phases, have been a prophetess. She\nmight, and not improbably would, have suffered death from the stern\ntribunals of the period, for attempting to undermine the foundations\nof the Puritan establishment. But, in the education of her child, the\nmother's enthusiasm of thought had something to wreak itself upon. Providence, in the person of this little girl, had assigned to\nHester's charge the germ and blossom of womanhood, to be cherished and\ndeveloped amid a host of difficulties. Everything was against her. The\nworld was hostile. The child's own nature had something wrong in it,\nwhich continually betokened that she had been born amiss,--the\neffluence of her mother's lawless passion,--and often impelled Hester\nto ask, in bitterness of heart, whether it were for ill or good that\nthe poor little creature had been born at all. Indeed, the same dark question often rose into her mind, with\nreference to the whole race of womanhood. Was existence worth\naccepting, even to the happiest among them? As concerned her own\nindividual existence, she had long ago decided in the negative, and\ndismissed the point as settled. A tendency to speculation, though it\nmay keep woman quiet, as it does man, yet makes her sad. She discerns,\nit may be, such a hopeless task before her. As a first step, the whole\nsystem of society is to be torn down, and built up anew. Then, the\nvery nature of the opposite sex, or its long hereditary habit, which\nhas become like nature, is to be essentially modified, before woman\ncan be allowed to assume what seems a fair and suitable position. Finally, all other difficulties being obviated, woman cannot take\nadvantage of these preliminary reforms, until she herself shall have\nundergone a still mightier change; in which, perhaps, the ethereal\nessence, wherein she has her truest life, will be found to have\nevaporated. A woman never overcomes these problems by any exercise of\nthought. They are not to be solved, or only in one way. If her heart\nchance to come uppermost, they vanish. Thus, Hester Prynne, whose\nheart had lost its regular and healthy throb, wandered without a clew\nin the dark labyrinth of mind; now turned aside by an insurmountable\nprecipice; now starting back from a deep chasm. There was wild and\nghastly scenery all around her, and a home and comfort nowhere. At\ntimes, a fearful doubt strove to possess her soul, whether it were not\nbetter to send Pearl at once to heaven, and go herself to such\nfuturity as Eternal Justice should provide. The scarlet letter had not done its office. Now, however, her interview with the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale, on the\nnight of his vigil, had given her a new theme of reflection, and held\nup to her an object that appeared worthy of any exertion and sacrifice\nfor its attainment. She had witnessed the intense misery beneath\nwhich the minister struggled, or, to speak more accurately, had ceased\nto struggle. She saw that he stood on the verge of lunacy, if he had\nnot already stepped across it. It was impossible to doubt, that,\nwhatever painful efficacy there might be in the secret sting of\nremorse, a deadlier venom had been infused into it by the hand that\nproffered relief. A secret enemy had been continually by his side,\nunder the semblance of a friend and helper, and had availed himself of\nthe opportunities thus afforded for tampering with the delicate\nsprings of Mr. Dimmesdale's nature. Hester could not but ask herself,\nwhether there had not originally been a defect of truth, courage, and\nloyalty, on her own part, in allowing the minister to be thrown into a\nposition where so much evil was to be foreboded, and nothing\nauspicious to be hoped. Her only justification lay in the fact, that\nshe had been able to discern no method of rescuing him from a blacker\nruin than had overwhelmed herself, except by acquiescing in Roger\nChillingworth's scheme of disguise. Under that impulse, she had made\nher choice, and had chosen, as it now appeared, the more wretched\nalternative of the two. She determined to redeem her error, so far as\nit might yet be possible. Strengthened by years of hard and solemn\ntrial, she felt herself no longer so inadequate to cope with Roger\nChillingworth as on that night, abased by sin, and half maddened by\nthe ignominy that was still new, when they had talked together in the\nprison-chamber. She had climbed her way, since then, to a higher\npoint. The old man, on the other hand, had brought himself nearer to\nher level, or perhaps below it, by the revenge which he had stooped\nfor. In fine, Hester Prynne resolved to meet her former husband, and do\nwhat might be in her power for the rescue of the victim on whom he\nhad so evidently set his gripe. The occasion was not long to seek.\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> One\nafternoon, walking with Pearl in a retired part of the peninsula, she\nbeheld the old physician, with a basket on one arm, and a staff in the\nother hand, stooping along the ground, in quest of roots and herbs to\nconcoct his medicines withal. [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\nXIV. HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN. Hester bade little Pearl run down to the margin of the water, and play\nwith the shells and tangled sea-weed, until she should have talked\nawhile with yonder gatherer of herbs. So the child flew away like a\nbird, and, making bare her small white feet, went pattering along the\nmoist margin of the sea. Here and there she came to a full stop, and\npeeped curiously into a pool, left by the retiring tide as a mirror\nfor Pearl to see her face in. Forth peeped at her, out of the pool,\nwith dark, glistening curls around her head, and an elf-smile in her\neyes, the image of a little maid, whom Pearl, having no other\nplaymate, invited to take her hand, and run a race with her. But the\nvisionary little maid, on her part, beckoned likewise, as if to\nsay,--\"This is a better place! Come thou into the pool!\" And Pearl,\nstepping in, mid-leg deep, beheld her own white feet at the bottom;\nwhile, out of a still lower depth, came the gleam of a kind of\nfragmentary smile, floating to and fro in the agitated water. Meanwhile, her mother had accosted the physician. \"I would speak a word with you,\" said she,--\"a word that concerns us\nmuch.\" \"Aha! and is it Mistress Hester that has a word for old Roger\nChillingworth?\" answered he, raising himself from his stooping\nposture. \"With all my heart! Why, Mistress, I hear good tidings of you\non all hands! No longer ago than yester-eve, a magistrate, a wise and\ngodly man, was discoursing of your affairs, Mistress Hester, and\nwhispered me that there had been question concerning you in the\ncouncil. It was debated whether or no, with safety to the common weal,\nyonder scarlet letter might be taken off your bosom. On my life,\nHester, I made my entreaty to the worshipful magistrate that it might\nbe done forthwith!\" \"It lies not in the pleasure of the magistrates to take off this\nbadge,\" calmly replied Hester. \"Were I worthy to be quit of it, it\nwould fall away of its own nature, or be transformed into something\nthat should speak a different purport.\" \"Nay, then, wear it, if it suit you better,\" rejoined he. \"A woman\nmust needs follow her own fancy, touching the adornment of her person. The letter is gayly embroidered, and shows right bravely on your\nbosom!\" All this while, Hester had been looking steadily at the old man, and\nwas shocked, as well as wonder-smitten, to discern what a change had\nbeen wrought upon him within the past seven years. It was not so much\nthat he had grown older; for though the traces of advancing life were\nvisible, he bore his age well, and seemed to retain a wiry vigor and\nalertness. But the former aspect of an intellectual and studious man,\ncalm and quiet, which was what she best remembered in him, had\naltogether vanished, and been succeeded by an eager, searching,\nalmost fierce, yet carefully guarded look. It seemed to be his wish\nand purpose to mask this expression with a smile; but the latter\nplayed him false, and flickered over his visage so derisively, that\nthe spectator could see his blackness all the better for it. Ever and\nanon, too, there came a glare of red light out of his eyes; as if the\nold man's soul were on fire, and kept on smouldering duskily within\nhis breast, until, by some casual puff of passion, it was blown into a\nmomentary flame. This he repressed, as speedily as possible, and\nstrove to look as if nothing of the kind had happened. In a word, old Roger Chillingworth was a striking evidence of man's\nfaculty of transforming himself into a devil, if he will only, for a\nreasonable space of time, undertake a devil's office. This unhappy\nperson had effected such a transformation, by devoting himself, for\nseven years, to the constant analysis of a heart full of torture, and\nderiving his enjoyment thence, and adding fuel to those fiery tortures\nwhich he analyzed and gloated over. The scarlet letter burned on Hester Prynne's bosom. Here was another\nruin, the responsibility of which came partly home to her. \"What see you in my face,\" asked the physician, \"that you look at it\nso earnestly?\" \"Something that would make me weep, if there were any tears bitter\nenough for it,\" answered she. \"But let it pass! It is of yonder\nmiserable man that I would speak.\" \"And what of him?\" cried Roger Chillingworth, eagerly, as if he loved\nthe topic, and were glad of an opportunity to discuss it with the only\nperson of whom he could make a confidant. \"Not to hide the truth,\nMistress Hester, my thoughts happen just now to be busy with the\ngentleman. So speak freely; and I will make answer.\" \"When we last spake together,\" said Hester, \"now seven years ago, it\nwas your pleasure to extort a promise of secrecy, as touching the\nformer relation betwixt yourself and me. As the life and good fame of\nyonder man were in your hands, there seemed no choice to me, save to\nbe silent, in accordance with your behest. Yet it was not without\nheavy misgivings that I thus bound myself; for, having cast off all\nduty towards other human beings, there remained a duty towards him;\nand something whispered me that I was betraying it, in pledging myself\nto keep your counsel. Since that day, no man is so near to him as you. You tread behind his every footstep. You are beside him, sleeping and\nwaking. You search his thoughts. You burrow and rankle in his heart! Your clutch is on his life, and you cause him to die daily a living\ndeath; and still he knows you not. In permitting this, I have surely\nacted a false part by the only man to whom the power was left me to be\ntrue!\" \"What choice had you?\" asked Roger Chillingworth. \"My finger, pointed\nat this man, would have hurled him from his pulpit into a\ndungeon,--thence, peradventure, to the gallows!\" \"It had been better so!\" said Hester Prynne. \"What evil have I done the man?\" asked Roger Chillingworth again. \"I\ntell thee, Hester Prynne, the richest fee that ever physician earned\nfrom monarch could not have bought such care as I have wasted on this\nmiserable priest! But for my aid, his life would have burned away in\ntorments, within the first two years after the perpetration of his\ncrime and thine. For, Hester, his spirit lacked the strength that\ncould have borne up, as thine has, beneath a burden like thy scarlet\nletter. O, I could reveal a goodly secret! But enough! What art can\ndo, I have exhausted on him. That he now breathes, and creeps about on\nearth, is owing all to me!\" \"Better he had died at once!\" said Hester Prynne. \"Yea, woman, thou sayest truly!\" cried old Roger Chillingworth,\nletting the lurid fire of his heart blaze out before her eyes. \"Better\nhad he died at once! Never did mortal suffer what this man has\nsuffered. And all, all, in the sight of his worst enemy! He has been\nconscious of me. He has felt an influence dwelling always upon him\nlike a curse. He knew, by some spiritual sense,--for the Creator never\nmade another being so sensitive as this,--he knew that no friendly\nhand was pulling at his heart-strings, and that an eye was looking\ncuriously into him, which sought only evil, and found it. But he knew\nnot that the eye and hand were mine! With the superstition common to\nhis brotherhood, he fancied himself given over to a fiend, to be\ntortured with frightful dreams, and desperate thoughts, the sting of\nremorse, and despair of pardon; as a foretaste of what awaits him\nbeyond the grave. But it was the constant shadow of my presence!--the\nclosest propinquity of the man whom he had most vilely wronged!--and\nwho had grown to exist only by this perpetual poison of the direst\nrevenge!\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> Yea, indeed!--he did not err!--there was a fiend at his\nelbow! A mortal man, with once a human heart, has become a fiend for\nhis especial torment!\" The unfortunate physician, while uttering these words, lifted his\nhands with a look of horror, as if he had beheld some frightful shape,\nwhich he could not recognize, usurping the place of his own image in\na glass. It was one of those moments--which sometimes occur only at\nthe interval of years--when a man's moral aspect is faithfully\nrevealed to his mind's eye. Not improbably, he had never before viewed\nhimself as he did now. \"Hast thou not tortured him enough?\" said Hester, noticing the old\nman's look. \"Has he not paid thee all?\" \"No!--no!--He has but increased the debt!\" answered the physician; and\nas he proceeded his manner lost its fiercer characteristics, and\nsubsided into gloom. \"Dost thou remember me, Hester, as I was nine\nyears agone? Even then, I was in the autumn of my days, nor was it the\nearly autumn. But all my life had been made up of earnest, studious,\nthoughtful, quiet years, bestowed faithfully for the increase of mine\nown knowledge, and faithfully, too, though this latter object was but\ncasual to the other,--faithfully for the advancement of human welfare. No life had been more peaceful and innocent than mine; few lives so\nrich with benefits conferred. Dost thou remember me? Was I not, though\nyou might deem me cold, nevertheless a man thoughtful for others,\ncraving little for himself,--kind, true, just, and of constant, if not\nwarm affections? Was I not all this?\" \"All this, and more,\" said Hester. \"And what am I now?\" demanded he, looking into her face, and\npermitting the whole evil within him to be written on his features. \"I\nhave already told thee what I am! A fiend! Who made me so?\" \"It was myself!\" cried Hester, shuddering. \"It was I, not less than\nhe. Why hast thou not avenged thyself on me?\" \"I have left thee to the scarlet letter,\" replied Roger Chillingworth. \"If that have not avenged me, I can do no more!\" He laid his finger on it, with a smile. \"It has avenged thee!\" answered Hester Prynne. \"I judged no less,\" said the physician. \"And now, what wouldst thou\nwith me touching this man?\" \"I must reveal the secret,\" answered Hester, firmly. \"He must discern\nthee in thy true character. What may be the result, I know not. But\nthis long debt of confidence, due from me to him, whose bane and ruin\nI have been, shall at length be paid. So far as concerns the overthrow\nor preservation of his fair fame and his earthly state, and perchance\nhis life, he is in thy hands. Nor do I,--whom the scarlet letter has\ndisciplined to truth, though it be the truth of red-hot iron, entering\ninto the soul,--nor do I perceive such advantage in his living any\nlonger a life of ghastly emptiness, that I shall stoop to implore thy\nmercy. Do with him as thou wilt! There is no good for him,--no good\nfor me,--no good for thee! There is no good for little Pearl! There is\nno path to guide us out of this dismal maze!\" \"Woman, I could wellnigh pity thee!\" said Roger Chillingworth, unable\nto restrain a thrill of admiration too; for there was a quality almost\nmajestic in the despair which she expressed. \"Thou hadst great\nelements. Peradventure, hadst thou met earlier with a better love than\nmine, this evil had not been. I pity thee, for the good that has been\nwasted in thy nature!\" \"And I thee,\" answered Hester Prynne, \"for the hatred that has\ntransformed a wise and just man to a fiend! Wilt thou yet purge it out\nof thee, and be once more human? If not for his sake, then doubly for\nthine own! Forgive, and leave his further retribution to the Power\nthat claims it! I said, but now, that there could be no good event for\nhim, or thee, or me, who are here wandering together in this gloomy\nmaze of evil, and stumbling, at every step, over the guilt wherewith\nwe have strewn our path. It is not so! There might be good for thee,\nand thee alone, since thou hast been deeply wronged, and hast it at\nthy will to pardon. Wilt thou give up that only privilege? Wilt thou\nreject that priceless benefit?\" \"Peace, Hester, peace!\" replied the old man, with gloomy sternness. \"It is not granted me to pardon. I have no such power as thou tellest\nme of. My old faith, long forgotten, comes back to me, and explains\nall that we do, and all we suffer. By thy first step awry thou didst\nplant the germ of evil; but since that moment, it has all been a dark\nnecessity. Ye that have wronged me are not sinful, save in a kind of\ntypical illusion; neither am I fiend-like, who have snatched a fiend's\noffice from his hands. It is our fate. Let the black flower blossom as\nit may! Now go thy ways, and deal as thou wilt with yonder man.\" He waved his hand, and betook himself again to his employment of\ngathering herbs. [Illustration: Mandrake]\n\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\nXV. HESTER AND PEARL. So Roger Chillingworth--a deformed old figure, with a face that\nhaunted men's memories longer than they liked--took leave of Hester\nPrynne, and went stooping away along the earth. He gathered here and\nthere an herb, or grubbed up a root, and put it into the basket on his\narm. His gray beard almost touched the ground, as he crept onward. Hester gazed after him a little while, looking with a half-fantastic\ncuriosity to see whether the tender grass of early spring would not be\nblighted beneath him, and show the wavering track of his footsteps,\nsere and brown, across its cheerful verdure. She wondered what sort of\nherbs they were, which the old man was so sedulous to gather. Would\nnot the earth, quickened to an evil purpose by the sympathy of his\neye, greet him with poisonous shrubs, of species hitherto unknown,\nthat would start up under his fingers? Or might it suffice him, that\nevery wholesome growth should be converted into something deleterious\nand malignant at his touch? Did the sun, which shone so brightly\neverywhere else, really fall upon him? Or was there, as it rather\nseemed, a circle of ominous shadow moving along with his deformity,\nwhichever way he turned himself? And whither was he now going? Would\nhe not suddenly sink into the earth, leaving a barren and blasted\nspot, where, in due course of time, would be seen deadly nightshade,\ndogwood, henbane, and whatever else of vegetable wickedness the\nclimate could produce, all flourishing with hideous luxuriance? Or\nwould he spread bat's wings and flee away, looking so much the uglier,\nthe higher he rose towards heaven? [Illustration: \"He gathered herbs here and there\"]\n\n\"Be it sin or no,\" said Hester Prynne, bitterly, as she still gazed\nafter him, \"I hate the man!\" She upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome or\nlessen it. Attempting to do so, she thought of those long-past days,\nin a distant land, when he used to emerge at eventide from the\nseclusion of his study, and sit down in the firelight of their home,\nand in the light of her nuptial smile. He needed to bask himself in\nthat smile, he said, in order that the chill of so many lonely hours\namong his books might be taken off the scholar's heart. Such scenes\nhad once appeared not otherwise than happy, but now, as viewed through\nthe dismal medium of her subsequent life, they classed themselves\namong her ugliest remembrances. She marvelled how such scenes could\nhave been! She marvelled how she could ever have been wrought upon to\nmarry him! She deemed it her crime most to be repented of, that she\nhad ever endured, and reciprocated, the lukewarm grasp of his hand,\nand had suffered the smile of her lips and eyes to mingle and melt\ninto his own. And it seemed a fouler offence committed by Roger\nChillingworth, than any which had since been done him, that, in the\ntime when her heart knew no better, he had persuaded her to fancy\nherself happy by his side.\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> \"Yes, I hate him!\" repeated Hester, more bitterly than before. \"He\nbetrayed me! He has done me worse wrong than I did him!\" Let men tremble to win the hand of woman, unless they win along with\nit the utmost passion of her heart! Else it may be their miserable\nfortune, as it was Roger Chillingworth's, when some mightier touch\nthan their own may have awakened all her sensibilities, to be\nreproached even for the calm content, the marble image of happiness,\nwhich they will have imposed upon her as the warm reality. But Hester\nought long ago to have done with this injustice. What did it betoken? Had seven long years, under the torture of the scarlet letter,\ninflicted so much of misery, and wrought out no repentance? The emotions of that brief space, while she stood gazing after the\ncrooked figure of old Roger Chillingworth, threw a dark light on\nHester's state of mind, revealing much that she might not otherwise\nhave acknowledged to herself. He being gone, she summoned back her child. \"Pearl! Little Pearl! Where are you?\" [Illustration: Pearl on the Sea-Shore]\n\nPearl, whose activity of spirit never flagged, had been at no loss for\namusement while her mother talked with the old gatherer of herbs. At\nfirst, as already told, she had flirted fancifully with her own image\nin a pool of water, beckoning the phantom forth, and--as it declined\nto venture--seeking a passage for herself into its sphere of\nimpalpable earth and unattainable sky. Soon finding, however, that\neither she or the image was unreal, she turned elsewhere for better\npastime. She made little boats out of birch-bark, and freighted them\nwith snail-shells, and sent out more ventures on the mighty deep than\nany merchant in New England; but the larger part of them foundered\nnear the shore. She seized a live horseshoe by the tail, and made\nprize of several five-fingers, and laid out a jelly-fish to melt in\nthe warm sun. Then she took up the white foam, that streaked the line\nof the advancing tide, and threw it upon the breeze, scampering after\nit, with winged footsteps, to catch the great snow-flakes ere they\nfell. Perceiving a flock of beach-birds, that fed and fluttered along\nthe shore, the naughty child picked up her apron full of pebbles, and,\ncreeping from rock to rock after these small sea-fowl, displayed\nremarkable dexterity in pelting them. One little gray bird, with a\nwhite breast, Pearl was almost sure, had been hit by a pebble, and\nfluttered away with a broken wing. But then the elf-child sighed, and\ngave up her sport; because it grieved her to have done harm to a\nlittle being that was as wild as the sea-breeze, or as wild as Pearl\nherself. Her final employment was to gather sea-weed, of various kinds, and\nmake herself a scarf, or mantle, and a head-dress, and thus assume the\naspect of a little mermaid. She inherited her mother's gift for\ndevising drapery and costume. As the last touch to her mermaid's garb,\nPearl took some eel-grass, and imitated, as best she could, on her own\nbosom, the decoration with which she was so familiar on her mother's. A letter,--the letter A,--but freshly green, instead of scarlet! The\nchild bent her chin upon her breast, and contemplated this device with\nstrange interest; even as if the one only thing for which she had been\nsent into the world was to make out its hidden import. \"I wonder if mother will ask me what it means?\" thought Pearl. Just then, she heard her mother's voice, and flitting along as lightly\nas one of the little sea-birds, appeared before Hester Prynne,\ndancing, laughing, and pointing her finger to the ornament upon her\nbosom. \"My little Pearl,\" said Hester, after a moment's silence, \"the green\nletter, and on thy childish bosom, has no purport. But dost thou know,\nmy child, what this letter means which thy mother is doomed to wear?\" \"Yes, mother,\" said the child. \"It is the great letter A. Thou hast\ntaught me in the horn-book.\" Hester looked steadily into her little face; but, though there was\nthat singular expression which she had so often remarked in her black\neyes, she could not satisfy herself whether Pearl really attached any\nmeaning to the symbol. She felt a morbid desire to ascertain the\npoint. \"Dost thou know, child, wherefore thy mother wears this letter?\" \"Truly do I!\" answered Pearl, looking brightly into her mother's face. \"It is for the same reason that the minister keeps his hand over his\nheart!\" \"And what reason is that?\" asked Hester, half smiling at the absurd\nincongruity of the child's observation; but, on second thoughts,\nturning pale. \"What has the letter to do with any heart, save mine?\" \"Nay, mother, I have told all I know,\" said Pearl, more seriously than\nshe was wont to speak. \"Ask yonder old man whom thou hast been talking\nwith! It may be he can tell. But in good earnest now, mother dear,\nwhat does this scarlet letter mean?--and why dost thou wear it on thy\nbosom?--and why does the minister keep his hand over his heart?\" She took her mother's hand in both her own, and gazed into her eyes\nwith an earnestness that was seldom seen in her wild and capricious\ncharacter. The thought occurred to Hester, that the child might really\nbe seeking to approach her with childlike confidence, and doing what\nshe could, and as intelligently as she knew how, to establish a\nmeeting-point of sympathy. It showed Pearl in an unwonted aspect. Heretofore, the mother, while loving her child with the intensity of a\nsole affection, had schooled herself to hope for little other return\nthan the waywardness of an April breeze; which spends its time in airy\nsport, and has its gusts of inexplicable passion, and is petulant in\nits best of moods, and chills oftener than caresses you, when you take\nit to your bosom; in requital of which misdemeanors, it will\nsometimes, of its own vague purpose, kiss your cheek with a kind of\ndoubtful tenderness, and play gently with your hair, and then be gone\nabout its other idle business, leaving a dreamy pleasure at your\nheart. And this, moreover, was a mother's estimate of the child's\ndisposition. Any other observer might have seen few but unamiable\ntraits, and have given them a far darker coloring. But now the idea\ncame strongly into Hester's mind, that Pearl, with her remarkable\nprecocity and acuteness, might already have approached the age when\nshe could be made a friend, and intrusted with as much of her mother's\nsorrows as could be imparted, without irreverence either to the parent\nor the child. In the little chaos of Pearl's character there might be\nseen emerging--and could have been, from the very first--the steadfast\nprinciples of an unflinching courage,--an uncontrollable will,--a\nsturdy pride, which might be disciplined into self-respect,--and a\nbitter scorn of many things, which, when examined, might be found to\nhave the taint of falsehood in them. She possessed affections, too,\nthough hitherto acrid and disagreeable, as are the richest flavors of\nunripe fruit. With all these sterling attributes, thought Hester, the\nevil which she inherited from her mother must be great indeed, if a\nnoble woman do not grow out of this elfish child. Pearl's inevitable tendency to hover about the enigma of the scarlet\nletter seemed an innate quality of her being. From the earliest epoch\nof her conscious life, she had entered upon this as her appointed\nmission. Hester had often fancied that Providence had a design of\njustice and retribution, in endowing the child with this marked\npropensity; but never, until now, had she bethought herself to ask,\nwhether, linked with that design, there might not likewise be a\npurpose of mercy and beneficence. If little Pearl were entertained\nwith faith and trust, as a spirit messenger no less than an earthly\nchild, might it not be her errand to soothe away the sorrow that lay\ncold in her mother's heart, and converted it into a tomb?--and to help\nher to overcome the passion, once so wild, and even yet neither dead\nnor asleep, but only imprisoned within the same tomb-like heart? Such were some of the thoughts that now stirred in Hester's mind, with\nas much vivacity of impression as if they had actually been whispered\ninto her ear.\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 2024-01-11 The user is reading a book]\n<User> And there was little Pearl, all this while, holding her\nmother's hand in both her own, and turning her face upward, while she\nput these searching questions, once, and again, and still a third\ntime. \"What does the letter mean, mother?--and why dost thou wear it?--and\nwhy does the minister keep his hand over his heart?\" \"What shall I say?\" thought Hester to herself. \"No! If this be the\nprice of the child's sympathy, I cannot pay it.\" Then she spoke aloud. \"Silly Pearl,\" said she, \"what questions are these? There are many\nthings in this world that a child must not ask about. What know I of\nthe minister's heart? And as for the scarlet letter, I wear it for the\nsake of its gold-thread.\" In all the seven bygone years, Hester Prynne had never before been\nfalse to the symbol on her bosom. It may be that it was the talisman\nof a stern and severe, but yet a guardian spirit, who now forsook her;\nas recognizing that, in spite of his strict watch over her heart, some\nnew evil had crept into it, or some old one had never been expelled. As for little Pearl, the earnestness soon passed out of her face. But the child did not see fit to let the matter drop. Two or three\ntimes, as her mother and she went homeward, and as often at\nsupper-time, and while Hester was putting her to bed, and once after\nshe seemed to be fairly asleep, Pearl looked up, with mischief\ngleaming in her black eyes. \"Mother,\" said she, \"what does the scarlet letter mean?\" And the next morning, the first indication the child gave of being\nawake was by popping up her head from the pillow, and making that\nother inquiry, which she had so unaccountably connected with her\ninvestigations about the scarlet letter:--\n\n\"Mother!--Mother!--Why does the minister keep his hand over his\nheart?\" \"Hold thy tongue, naughty child!\" answered her mother, with an\nasperity that she had never permitted to herself before. \"Do not tease\nme; else I shall shut thee into the dark closet!\" [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\n\n\nXVI. A FOREST WALK. Hester Prynne remained constant in her resolve to make known to Mr.\nDimmesdale, at whatever risk of present pain or ulterior consequences,\nthe true character of the man who had crept into his intimacy. For\nseveral days, however, she vainly sought an opportunity of addressing\nhim in some of the meditative walks which she knew him to be in the\nhabit of taking, along the shores of the peninsula, or on the wooded\nhills of the neighboring country. There would have been no scandal,\nindeed, nor peril to the holy whiteness of the clergyman's good fame,\nhad she visited him in his own study; where many a penitent, ere now,\nhad confessed sins of perhaps as deep a dye as the one betokened by\nthe scarlet letter. But, partly that she dreaded the secret or\nundisguised interference of old Roger Chillingworth, and partly that\nher conscious heart imputed suspicion where none could have been felt,\nand partly that both the minister and she would need the whole wide\nworld to breathe in, while they talked together,--for all these\nreasons, Hester never thought of meeting him in any narrower privacy\nthan beneath the open sky. At last, while attending in a sick-chamber, whither the Reverend Mr.\nDimmesdale had been summoned to make a prayer, she learnt that he had\ngone, the day before, to visit the Apostle Eliot, among his Indian\nconverts. He would probably return, by a certain hour, in the\nafternoon of the morrow. Betimes, therefore, the next day, Hester took\nlittle Pearl,--who was necessarily the companion of all her mother's\nexpeditions, however inconvenient her presence,--and set forth. The road, after the two wayfarers had crossed from the peninsula to\nthe mainland, was no other than a footpath. It straggled onward into\nthe mystery of the primeval forest. This hemmed it in so narrowly, and\nstood so black and dense on either side, and disclosed such imperfect\nglimpses of the sky above, that, to Hester's mind, it imaged not amiss\nthe moral wilderness in which she had so long been wandering. The day\nwas chill and sombre. Overhead was a gray expanse of cloud, slightly\nstirred, however, by a breeze; so that a gleam of flickering sunshine\nmight now and then be seen at its solitary play along the path. This\nflitting cheerfulness was always at the farther extremity of some long\nvista through the forest. The sportive sunlight--feebly sportive, at\nbest, in the predominant pensiveness of the day and scene--withdrew\nitself as they came nigh, and left the spots where it had danced the\ndrearier, because they had hoped to find them bright. \"Mother,\" said little Pearl, \"the sunshine does not love you. It runs\naway and hides itself, because it is afraid of something on your\nbosom. Now, see! There it is, playing, a good way off. Stand you\nhere, and let me run and catch it. I am but a child. It will not flee\nfrom me; for I wear nothing on my bosom yet!\" \"Nor ever will, my child, I hope,\" said Hester. \"And why not, mother?\" asked Pearl, stopping short, just at the\nbeginning of her race. \"Will not it come of its own accord, when I am\na woman grown?\" \"Run away, child,\" answered her mother, \"and catch the sunshine! It\nwill soon be gone.\" Pearl set forth, at a great pace, and, as Hester smiled to perceive,\ndid actually catch the sunshine, and stood laughing in the midst of\nit, all brightened by its splendor, and scintillating with the\nvivacity excited by rapid motion. The light lingered about the lonely\nchild, as if glad of such a playmate, until her mother had drawn\nalmost nigh enough to step into the magic circle too. \"It will go now,\" said Pearl, shaking her head. \"See!\" answered Hester, smiling. \"Now I can stretch out my hand, and\ngrasp some of it.\" As she attempted to do so, the sunshine vanished; or, to judge from\nthe bright expression that was dancing on Pearl's features, her mother\ncould have fancied that the child had absorbed it into herself, and\nwould give it forth again, with a gleam about her path, as they should\nplunge into some gloomier shade. There was no other attribute that so\nmuch impressed her with a sense of new and untransmitted vigor in\nPearl's nature, as this never-failing vivacity of spirits; she had not\nthe disease of sadness, which almost all children, in these latter\ndays, inherit, with the scrofula, from the troubles of their\nancestors. Perhaps this too was a disease, and but the reflex of the\nwild energy with which Hester had fought against her sorrows, before\nPearl's birth. It was certainly a doubtful charm, imparting a hard,\nmetallic lustre to the child's character. She wanted--what some people\nwant throughout life--a grief that should deeply touch her, and thus\nhumanize and make her capable of sympathy. But there was time enough\nyet for little Pearl. \"Come, my child!\" said Hester, looking about her from the spot where\nPearl had stood still in the sunshine. \"We will sit down a little way\nwithin the wood, and rest ourselves.\" \"I am not aweary, mother,\" replied the little girl. \"But you may sit\ndown, if you will tell me a story meanwhile.\" \"A story, child!\" said Hester. \"And about what?\" \"O, a story about the Black Man,\" answered Pearl, taking hold of her\nmother's gown, and looking up, half earnestly, half mischievously,\ninto her face. \"How he haunts this forest, and carries a book with\nhim,--a big, heavy book, with iron clasps; and how this ugly Black Man\noffers his book and an iron pen to everybody that meets him here among\nthe trees; and they are to write their names with their own blood. And\nthen he sets his mark on their bosoms! Didst thou ever meet the Black\nMan, mother?\" \"And who told you this story, Pearl?\" asked her mother, recognizing a\ncommon superstition of the period. \"It was the old dame in the chimney-corner, at the house where you\nwatched last night,\" said the child. \"But she fancied me asleep while\nshe was talking of it. She said that a thousand and a thousand people\nhad met him here, and had written in his book, and have his mark on\nthem. And that ugly-tempered lady, old Mistress Hibbins, was one.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-11, 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> And,\nmother, the old dame said that this scarlet letter was the Black Man's\nmark on thee, and that it glows like a red flame when thou meetest\nhim at midnight, here in the dark wood. Is it true, mother? And dost\nthou go to meet him in the night-time?\" \"Didst thou ever awake, and find thy mother gone?\" asked Hester. \"Not that I remember,\" said the child. \"If thou fearest to leave me in\nour cottage, thou mightest take me along with thee. I would very\ngladly go! But, mother, tell me now! Is there such a Black Man? And\ndidst thou ever meet him? And is this his mark?\" \"Wilt thou let me be at peace, if I once tell thee?\" asked her mother. \"Yes, if thou tellest me all,\" answered Pearl. \"Once in my life I met the Black Man!\" said her mother. \"This scarlet\nletter is his mark!\" Thus conversing, they entered sufficiently deep into the wood to\nsecure themselves from the observation of any casual passenger along\nthe forest track. Here they sat down on a luxuriant heap of moss;\nwhich, at some epoch of the preceding century, had been a gigantic\npine, with its roots and trunk in the darksome shade, and its head\naloft in the upper atmosphere. It was a little dell where they had\nseated themselves, with a leaf-strewn bank rising gently on either\nside, and a brook flowing through the midst, over a bed of fallen and\ndrowned leaves. The trees impending over it had flung down great\nbranches, from time to time, which choked up the current and compelled\nit to form eddies and black depths at some points; while, in its\nswifter and livelier passages, there appeared a channel-way of\npebbles, and brown, sparkling sand. Letting the eyes follow along the\ncourse of the stream, they could catch the reflected light from its\nwater, at some short distance within the forest, but soon lost all\ntraces of it amid the bewilderment of tree-trunks and underbrush, and\nhere and there a huge rock covered over with gray lichens. All these\ngiant trees and bowlders of granite seemed intent on making a mystery\nof the course of this small brook; fearing, perhaps, that, with its\nnever-ceasing loquacity, it should whisper tales out of the heart of\nthe old forest whence it flowed, or mirror its revelations on the\nsmooth surface of a pool. Continually, indeed, as it stole onward, the\nstreamlet kept up a babble, kind, quiet, soothing, but melancholy,\nlike the voice of a young child that was spending its infancy without\nplayfulness, and knew not how to be merry among sad acquaintance and\nevents of sombre hue. \"O brook! O foolish and tiresome little brook!\" cried Pearl, after\nlistening awhile to its talk. \"Why art thou so sad? Pluck up a spirit,\nand do not be all the time sighing and murmuring!\" But the brook, in the course of its little lifetime among the\nforest-trees, had gone through so solemn an experience that it could\nnot help talking about it, and seemed to have nothing else to say. Pearl resembled the brook, inasmuch as the current of her life gushed\nfrom a well-spring as mysterious, and had flowed through scenes\nshadowed as heavily with gloom. But, unlike the little stream, she\ndanced and sparkled, and prattled airily along her course. \"What does this sad little brook say, mother?\" inquired she. \"If thou hadst a sorrow of thine own, the brook might tell thee of\nit,\" answered her mother, \"even as it is telling me of mine! But now,\nPearl, I hear a footstep along the path, and the noise of one putting\naside the branches. I would have thee betake thyself to play, and\nleave me to speak with him that comes yonder.\" \"Is it the Black Man?\" asked Pearl. \"Wilt thou go and play, child?\" repeated her mother. \"But do not stray\nfar into the wood. And take heed that thou come at my first call.\" \"Yes, mother,\" answered Pearl. \"But if it be the Black Man, wilt thou\nnot let me stay a moment, and look at him, with his big book under his\narm?\" \"Go, silly child!\" said her mother, impatiently. \"It is no Black Man! Thou canst see him now, through the trees. It is the minister!\" \"And so it is!\" said the child. \"And, mother, he has his hand over his\nheart! Is it because, when the minister wrote his name in the book,\nthe Black Man set his mark in that place? But why does he not wear it\noutside his bosom, as thou dost, mother?\" \"Go now, child, and thou shalt tease me as thou wilt another time,\"\ncried Hester Prynne. \"But do not stray far. Keep where thou canst hear\nthe babble of the brook.\" The child went singing away, following up the current of the brook,\nand striving to mingle a more lightsome cadence with its melancholy\nvoice. But the little stream would not be comforted, and still kept\ntelling its unintelligible secret of some very mournful mystery that\nhad happened--or making a prophetic lamentation about something that\nwas yet to happen--within the verge of the dismal forest. So Pearl,\nwho had enough of shadow in her own little life, chose to break off\nall acquaintance with this repining brook. She set herself, therefore,\nto gathering violets and wood-anemones, and some scarlet columbines\nthat she found growing in the crevices of a high rock. When her elf-child had departed, Hester Prynne made a step or two\ntowards the track that led through the forest, but still remained\nunder the deep shadow of the trees. She beheld the minister advancing\nalong the path, entirely alone, and leaning on a staff which he had\ncut by the wayside. He looked haggard and feeble, and betrayed a\nnerveless despondency in his air, which had never so remarkably\ncharacterized him in his walks about the settlement, nor in any other\nsituation where he deemed himself liable to notice. Here it was\nwofully visible, in this intense seclusion of the forest, which of\nitself would have been a heavy trial to the spirits. There was a\nlistlessness in his gait; as if he saw no reason for taking one step\nfarther, nor felt any desire to do so, but would have been glad, could\nhe be glad of anything, to fling himself down at the root of the\nnearest tree, and lie there passive, forevermore. The leaves might\nbestrew him, and the soil gradually accumulate and form a little\nhillock over his frame, no matter whether there were life in it or no. Death was too definite an object to be wished for, or avoided. To Hester's eye, the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale exhibited no symptom of\npositive and vivacious suffering, except that, as little Pearl had\nremarked, he kept his hand over his heart. [Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n                            [Illustration]\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."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-13", "answer": "Hester, Pearl, Roger Chillingworth, Dimmesdale, scarlet letter, A, Able, Adultery, cross on a nun's bosom, seven years, medicinal herbs, woods, council, revenge, black flower, seaweed letter, gold thread, hand over heart, pact with Chillingworth, reveal true identity, forest path, sunlight spots, Black Man, large book, pen, mark on chest, Ann Hutchinson, foundress of a religious sect, transformation, shell of a human being, rich and luxuriant hair, transfiguration, spiritual world, rescue Dimmesdale, pardon Dimmesdale, meeting in the woods, myth about the devil, mark of the Black Man"}]