| A FOREST WALK Hester Prynne remained constant in her resolve to make known to Mr. Dimmesdale, at whatever risk of present pain or ulterior consequences, the true character of the man who had crept into his intimacy. For several days, however, she vainly sought an opportunity of addressing him in some of the meditative walks which she knew him to be in the habit of taking along the shores of the Peninsula, or on the wooded hills of the neighbouring country. There would have been no scandal, indeed, nor peril to the holy whiteness of the clergyman's good fame, had she visited him in his own study, where many a penitent, ere now, had confessed sins of perhaps as deep a dye as the one betokened by the scarlet letter. But, partly that she dreaded the secret or undisguised interference of old Roger Chillingworth, and partly that her conscious heart imparted suspicion where none could have been felt, and partly that both the minister and she would need the whole wide world to breathe in, while they talked together—for all these reasons Hester never thought of meeting him in any narrower privacy than beneath the open sky.
At last, while attending a sick chamber, whither the Rev. Mr. Dimmesdale had been summoned to make a prayer, she learnt that he had gone, the day before, to visit the Apostle Eliot, among his Indian converts. He would probably return by a certain hour in the afternoon of the morrow. Betimes, therefore, the next day, Hester took little Pearl—who was necessarily the companion of all her mother's expeditions, however inconvenient her presence—and set forth.
The road, after the two wayfarers had crossed from the Peninsula to the mainland, was no other than a foot-path. It straggled onward into the mystery of the primeval forest. This hemmed it in so narrowly, and stood so black and dense on either side, and disclosed such imperfect glimpses of the sky above, that, to Hester's mind, it imaged not amiss the moral wilderness in which she had so long been wandering. The day was chill and sombre. Overhead was a gray expanse of cloud, slightly stirred, however, by a breeze; so that a gleam of flickering sunshine might now and then be seen at its solitary play along the path. This flitting cheerfulness was always at the further extremity of some long vista through the forest. The sportive sunlight—feebly sportive, at best, in the predominant pensiveness of the day and scene—withdrew itself as they came nigh, and left the spots where it had danced the drearier, because they had hoped to find them bright.
"Mother," said little Pearl, "the sunshine does not love you.
It runs away and hides itself, because it is afraid of something
on your bosom. Now, see! There it is, playing a good way off.
Stand you here, and let me run and catch it. I am but a child.
It will not flee from 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 beginning of her race. "Will not it come of its own accord when I am a woman grown?"
"Run away, child," answered her mother, "and catch the sunshine.
It will soon be gone."
Pearl set forth at a great pace, and as Hester smiled to perceive, did actually catch the sunshine, and stood laughing in the midst of it, all brightened by its splendour, and scintillating with the vivacity excited by rapid motion. The light lingered about the lonely child, as if glad of such a playmate, until her mother had drawn almost 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 grasp some of it."
As she attempted to do so, the sunshine vanished; or, to judge from the bright expression that was dancing on Pearl's features, her mother could have fancied that the child had absorbed it into herself, and would give it forth again, with a gleam about her path, as they should plunge into some gloomier shade. There was no other attribute that so much impressed her with a sense of new and untransmitted vigour in Pearl's nature, as this never failing vivacity of spirits: she had not the disease of sadness, which almost all children, in these latter days, inherit, with the scrofula, from the troubles of their ancestors. Perhaps this, too, was a disease, and but the reflex of the wild energy with which Hester had fought against her sorrows before Pearl's birth. It was certainly a doubtful charm, imparting a hard, metallic lustre to the child's character. She wanted—what some people want throughout life—a grief that should deeply touch her, and thus humanise and make her capable of sympathy. But there was time enough yet for little Pearl.
"Come, my child!" said Hester, looking about her from the spot where Pearl had stood still in the sunshine—"we will sit down a little way within the wood, and rest ourselves."
"I am not aweary, mother," replied the little girl. "But you may sit down, if you will tell me a story meanwhile."
"A story, child!" said Hester. "And about what?"
"Oh, a story about the Black Man," answered Pearl, taking hold of her mother's gown, and looking up, half earnestly, half mischievously, into her face.
"How he haunts this forest, and carries a book with him a big, heavy book, with iron clasps; and how this ugly Black Man offers his book and an iron pen to everybody that meets him here among the trees; and they are to write their names with their own blood; and then he sets his mark on their bosoms. Didst thou ever meet the Black Man, mother?"
"And who told you this story, Pearl," asked her mother, recognising a common superstition of the period.
"It was the old dame in the chimney corner, at the house where you watched last night," said the child. "But she fancied me asleep while she was talking of it. She said that a thousand and a thousand people had met him here, and had written in his book, and have his mark on them. And that ugly tempered lady, old Mistress Hibbins, was one. And, mother, the old dame said that this scarlet letter was the Black Man's mark on thee, and that it glows like a red flame when thou meetest him at midnight, here in the dark wood. Is it true, mother? And dost thou go to meet him in the nighttime?"
"Didst thou ever awake and find thy mother gone?" asked Hester. "Not that I ," said the child. "If thou fearest to leave me in our cottage, thou mightest take me along with thee. I would very gladly go! But, mother, tell me now! Is there such a Black Man? And didst 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 letter is his mark!" |
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UN PASEO POR EL BOSQUE ESTER permaneci firme en su propsito de hacer que el Reverendo Sr. Dimmesdale conociera el verdadero carcter del hombre que se haba apoderado de su confianza, fuesen cuales fuesen las consecuencias de su revelacin. Durante varios das, sin embargo, en vano busc la oportunidad de hablarle en uno de los paseos solitarios que el ministro acostumbraba dar, todo meditabundo, a lo largo de la costa o en las colinas cubiertas de bosques del campo vecino. No habra habido sin duda nada de escandaloso ni de particular, ni peligro alguno para la buena reputacin del ministro, si Ester le hubiera visitado en su propio estudio donde tanto penitente, antes de ahora, haba confesado culpas quizs aun ms graves que la que acusaba la letra escarlata. Pero sea que ella temiese la intervencin secreta o pblica de Roger Chillingworth, o que su conciencia le hiciera temer que se concibiese una sospecha, que ningn otro habra imaginado, o que tanto el ministro como ella necesitaban de ms amplitud de espacio para poder respirar con toda libertad mientras hablasen juntos,— quizs todas estas razones combinadas, lo cierto es que Ester nunca pens en hablarle en otro lugar sino a la faz del cielo, y de ningn modo entre cuatro paredes.
Al fin, una noche que asista a un enfermo, supo que el Reverendo Sr. Dimmesdale, a quien haban ido a buscar para que le ayudase a bien morir, haba partido a visitar al apstol Eliot, all en su residencia entre sus indios convertidos, y que regresara probablemente el da siguiente al medioda. Al acercarse la hora indicada, tom de la mano a Perla, su constante compaera, y parti en busca del Sr. Dimmesdale.
El camino no era ms que un sendero que se perda en el misterio de una selva virgen, tan espesa que apenas poda entreverse el cielo al travs de las copas de los rboles. Ester la compar a la soledad y laberinto moral en que haba estado ella vagando tanto tiempo. El da era fro y obscuro: cubran el firmamento espesas y cenicientas nubes ligeramente movidas por la brisa, lo que permita que de cuando en cuando se vislumbrara un rayo de sol que jugueteaba en la estrecha senda. Esta tenue y vacilante claridad se perciba siempre en la extremidad ms lejana, visible al travs de la selva, y parece como que se desvaneca o se alejaba a medida que los solitarios viajeros avanzaban en su direccin, dejando aun ms sombros los lugares en que brillaba, por lo mismo que haban esperado hallarlos luminosos.
—Madre,—dijo Perla,—la luz del sol no te quiere. Corre y se oculta, porque tiene miedo de algo que hay en tu pecho. Mira ahora: all est jugando, a una buena distancia de nosotros. Qudate aqu, y djame correr a m para cogerla. Yo solamente soy una nia. No huir de m porque aun no llevo nada sobre mi pecho.
—Y espero que nunca lo lleves, hija ma,—dijo Ester.
—Y por qu no, madre?—pregunt Perla detenindose precisamente cuando iba a emprender la carrera. No vendr eso por s mismo cuando yo sea una mujer grande?
—Corre, hija ma,—respondi la madre,—y atrapa el rayo del sol, pues pronto se ir.
Perla emprendi la carrera a toda prisa y pronto se hall en medio de la luz del sol, riendo, toda iluminada por su esplendor, y con los ojos brillantes de alegra. Pareca como si el rayo solar se hubiera detenido en torno de la solitaria nia regocijndose en jugar con ella, hasta que la madre lleg bastante cerca para penetrar casi tambin en el crculo mgico.
—Ahora se ir,—dijo Perla moviendo la cabeza.
—Mira,—dijo Ester sonriendo,—ahora yo puedo alargar la mano y atrapar algo.
Pero al intentarlo, el rayo de sol desapareci; , a juzgar por la brillantez con que irradiaba el rostro de Perla, su madre poda haberse imaginado que la nia lo haba absorbido, y lo devolvera luego iluminando la senda por donde iban, cuando de nuevo penetrasen en los parajes sombros de la selva. Ninguno de los atributos de su tierna hija le causaba a la madre tanta impresin como aquella vivacidad constante de espritu, reflejo quizs de la energa con que Ester haba luchado combatiendo sus ntimos dolores antes del nacimiento de Perla. Era ciertamente un encanto dudoso, que comunicaba al carcter de la nia cierto brillo metlico y duro. Necesitaba un dolor profundo para humanizarse y hacerse capaz de sentir compasin. Pero Perla tena tiempo sobrado para ello. —Ven, hija ma,—dijo Ester;—vamos a sentarnos en el bosque y a descansar un rato. —Yo no estoy cansada, madre,—replic la nia; pero t puedes sentarte si quieres, y entretanto contarme un cuento. —Un cuento, nia,—dijo Ester,—y qu clase de cuento? —Ah! algo acerca de la historia del Hombre Negro,—respondi asindola del vestido y mirndola con expresin entre seria y maliciosa.—Dme cmo recorre este bosque llevando bajo el brazo un libro grande, pesado, con broches de hierro; y como este Hombre Negro y feo ofrece su libro y una pluma de hierro a todos los que le encuentran aqu entre los rboles, y como tambin todos tienen que escribir sus nombres con su propia sangre. Y entonces les hace una seal en el pecho. Has encontrado alguna vez al Hombre Negro, madre?
—Y quin te ha contado esta historia, Perla?—pregunt la madre reconociendo una supersticin muy comn en aquella poca.
—Aquella seora vieja que estaba sentada en un rincn junto a la chimenea en la casa donde estuviste velando anoche,—dijo la nia. Ella me crea dormida mientras estaba hablando de eso. Dijo que mil y mil personas lo haban encontrado aqu, y haban escrito en su libro, y tenan su marca en el pecho. Y una de las que lo han visto es esa mujer de tan mal genio, la anciana Seora Hibbins. Y, madre, dijo tambin que esa letra escarlata que t tienes es la seal que te puso el Hombre Negro, y que brilla como una llama roja cuando lo ves a media noche, aqu, en este bosque obscuro. Es verdad, eso, madre? Y es verdad que t vas a verle de noche?
—Te has despertado alguna vez sin que me hayas visto junto a t?—le pregunt Ester.
—No lo recuerdo,—dijo la nia.—Si temes dejarme sola en nuestra choza, debes llevarme contigo. Mucho me alegrara acompaarte. Pero, madre, dime ahora, existe semejante Hombre Negro? Y lo has visto alguna vez? Y es sta su seal?
—Quieres dejarme en paz, si te lo digo de una vez?—le pregunt su madre.
—S, si me lo dices todo,—respondi Perla.
—Pues bien, una vez en mi vida encontr al Hombre Negro,—dijo la madre.—Esta letra escarlata es su seal. |
English version
Versin en espaol
