3
A fatherless child
H
ester Prynne’s time in prison now came to an end, but she did not move away from the town. The father of her child lived here, and here she would stay; although she kept this thought hidden guiltily in her heart. The reason she gave herself for staying was this: ‘ I sinned here, and I will suffer my earthly punishment here.’
There was a small cottage just outside the town, looking out across the sea towards the forest-covered hills of the west, and Hester and her child went to live in this lonely little house. They had no friends, but Hester soon found that she could earn enough money to buy food and clothes for herself and her daughter.
She was clever with a needle, and the scarlet letter which she wore on her bosom was a perfect example of her work that everyone could see. Soon, Hester’s beautiful sewing, with its patterns in gold and silver thread, became the fashion with the rich and important people of the town. Her needlework was seen on the shirts of the Governor, on the fine dresses of the ladies, on the babies’ little coats and hats, and on the burial-clothes of the dead. Hester had employment for as many hours as she wanted to work. She used whatever time she had left to make clothes for the poor people of the town, although she got no thanks for it. And indeed, she found no kindness anywhere. The Puritans of that time were hard judges, and a woman who had sinned as Hester had sinned was always an outsider. Every word, every look, every cold, accusing silence reminded her of the shame and the lonely misery of her life. Even the children ran after her in the streets, shouting terrible names.
She lived very simply. Her own dresses were made from dark, sad-coloured cloth, with the scarlet letter bright on the bosom. Her child’s clothes were the opposite – in materials of deep, rich colours, with beautiful patterns sewn in gold threat.
Her daughter’s name was Pearl. She was a pretty child, but a child of many moods – one minute bright and happy and loving, the next minute dark and angry. A child of sin, she had no right to play with the children of godly families and, like her mother, she was an outsider. In a strange way Pearl seemed to understand this, and often screamed and threw stones at the other children. Hester worried about her daughter’s wildness and tried hard to correct her, but without much success. Sometimes, her only hours of peace and quietness were when Pearl was sleeping.
One day, when Pearl was about three years old, Hester went to the house of Governor Bellingham. She was taking a fine shirt she had sewn, but she also wanted to speak to the Governor in person. She had heard that many Puritans in the town wanted to take Pearl away from her. They said it would be better for the child to grow up in a more godly home than Hester Prynne’s.
So it was a worried Hester who walked to the Governor’s house that morning. She had dressed her daughter in a beautiful red dress, adding to the child’s natural beauty, and as Pearl danced along beside her mother, it had a strange effect. The child in her red dress seemed liked the scarlet letter in another shape; the scarlet letter given life and movement.
At the Governor’s house the door was opened by a servant.
‘Is the Governor in?’ asked Hester.
‘Yes,’ replied the servant. ‘But there are people with him at the moment. You can’t see him now.’
‘I’ll wait,’ said Hester. and stepped into the entrance hall.
The hall was wide with a high ceiling, and there were heavy chairs along one side and a long table in the centre. At the far end of the hall was a big glass door, which opened out into a garden. Hester could see rose bushes and apple trees, and Pearl immediately began to cry for a red rose.
‘Shh! Be quiet, child!’ said her mother. ‘Look, the Governor is coming down the garden path, with three more gentlemen.’
Governor Bellingham, with his grey beard, walked in front. Behind him came John Wilson, the old priest, whose beard was as white as snow; and behind him was Arthur Dimmesdale, with Roger Chillingworth. The young priest’s health had been poor for some time, and Roger Chillingworth, well known in the town for his knowledge of medicines, was now both friend and doctor to him.
The Governor pushed open the door – and found himself looking at Pearl, while Hester stood in the shadow of a curtain, half-hidden.
‘What have we here?’ said Governor Bellingham, surprised to see the little scarlet figure in front of him.
‘Yes, what little bird is this?’ said old Mr Wilson. ‘Who are you, child?’
‘My name is Pearl,’ answered the little girl.
‘Pearl?’ replied the old priest. ‘But where is your mother? Ah, I see her now.’ He turned to the Governor and whispered, ‘This is the child we were talking about, and look, here is the unhappy woman, Hester Prynne, her mother!’
‘Is that right’’ cried the Governor. ‘She comes at a good time. We will discuss the matter now.’ He stepped through the door into the hall, followed by his three guests.’ Hester Prynne, we have been asking many questions about you recently. Are you the right person to teach this child the ways of God, and so make sure of a place in heaven for her soul? You, a woman who has sinned! Will it not be better for her if we take her away from you, and teach her the truths of heaven and earth? What can you do for her, woman?’
‘I can teach my little Pearl what I have learned from this!’ answered Hester Prynne, putting her finger on the scarlet letter. ‘Every day, it teaches me lessons that I pass on to my child. She will be a better and wiser person than I ever was.’
Bellingham turned to the old priest. ‘Mr Wilson, see what the child knows.’
The old priest sat down in one of the heavy chairs and tried to bring Pearl across to him, but she escaped through the open door and stood on the step outside, looking like a richly coloured bird ready to fly away.
‘Pearl,’ said Mr Wilson, with a serious look on his face. ‘Listen to me, child. Can you tell me who made you?’
Now Pearl knew the answer very well, because Hester had told her about God many times, and had explained those things which every child should know. But Pearl put her fingers in her mouth and would not speak.
‘You must answer good Mr Wilson’s question,’ said her mother. ‘Please, Pearl! Tell him what you know.’
‘My mother picked me from the wild rose bush that grows outside the prison door!’ said Pearl.
Roger Chillingworth smiled and whispered something in the young priest’s ear.
‘This is terrible,’ cried the Governor. ‘The child is three years old, and she does not know who made her! I do not think, gentlemen, that we need to ask any more!’
Hester pulled Pearl towards her and held her hand. ‘God gave me the child,’ she cried. ‘She is my happiness, my pain! You shall not take her! I will die first!’
‘My poor woman,’ said the old priest, kindly, ‘we will find someone who will take care of the child far better than you can.’
‘God gave her to me!’ repeated Hester, her voice high and afraid. ‘I will not let her go!’ She turned to Mr Dimmesdale. ‘Speak for me!’ she cried. ‘You were my priest, and you know me better than these men. You know what is in my heart, and how strongly a mother feels when she has nothing except her child and the scarlet letter!’
The young priest stepped forward, his face white and nervous, and with pain in his large dark eyes.
‘There is truth in what she says,’ he began. His voice was sweet and gentle, but it seemed to ring through the hall like a bell. ‘God gave her the child, and is that not part of God’s plan for this poor, sinful woman? With the child by her side, every day she will be reminded of her great sin, her shame; and the pain and sadness of it will always be with her. But God has given her a job to do, which will keep her soul alive and save her from further sin. She must love and care for the child, and teach it the ways of God, to know good from evil, right from wrong. And, with God’s great mercy, if she brings the child to heaven, then the child also will bring its mother there! No, no, we should leave the mother and the child together, and let God’s gift do its work saving the mother’s soul!’
‘You speak, my friend, with a strange passion,’ said old Roger Chillingworth, smiling at him.
‘And my young friend speaks wisely,’ said Mr Wilson. ‘What do you think, Governor? Does he speak well for the poor woman?’
‘Indeed he does,’ replied Governor Bellingham. ‘He argues sensibly, and so we will leave things as they are. Master Dimmesdale, you shall be responsible for making sure that the girl receives the right teaching, and that she goes to school when she is old enough to do so.’
The young priest now stood at the side of the group, his face half-hidden by the heavy window curtain. Pearl, that wild and playful little thing, moved softly towards him, took his hand, and put it gently against her cheek. Her mother watched, surprised. ‘Is that my Pearl?’ she thought, although she knew there was love in the child’s heart. And Mr Dimmesdale looked round, put a hand on Pearl’s head, hesitated for a moment, then kissed her forehead. Little Pearl laughed and half-ran, half-danced down the hall.
‘A strange child!’ said old Roger Chillingworth. ‘It is easy to see she is her mother’s daughter. But could a clever man guess, from the child’s nature and from the way she behaves, the name of her father?’
‘It is better to pray for an answer to that question, than to try to guess,’ said Mr Wilson. ‘Better still to leave it a mystery, so that every good and godly man can show a father’s kindness towards the poor fatherless child.’
Hester Prynne and her daughter left the house. As they went down the steps, a window was thrown up and a head appeared. It was Governor Bellingham’s sister, Mistress Hibbins, calling down to invite Hester to a party with the Devil in the forest that night. Some people s
3
A fatherless child
H
ester Prynne’s time in prison now came to an end, but she did not move away from the town. The father of her child lived here, and here she would stay; although she kept this thought hidden guiltily in her heart. The reason she gave herself for staying was this: ‘ I sinned here, and I will suffer my earthly punishment here.’
There was a small cottage just outside the town, looking out across the sea towards the forest-covered hills of the west, and Hester and her child went to live in this lonely little house. They had no friends, but Hester soon found that she could earn enough money to buy food and clothes for herself and her daughter.
She was clever with a needle, and the scarlet letter which she wore on her bosom was a perfect example of her work that everyone could see. Soon, Hester’s beautiful sewing, with its patterns in gold and silver thread, became the fashion with the rich and important people of the town. Her needlework was seen on the shirts of the Governor, on the fine dresses of the ladies, on the babies’ little coats and hats, and on the burial-clothes of the dead. Hester had employment for as many hours as she wanted to work. She used whatever time she had left to make clothes for the poor people of the town, although she got no thanks for it. And indeed, she found no kindness anywhere. The Puritans of that time were hard judges, and a woman who had sinned as Hester had sinned was always an outsider. Every word, every look, every cold, accusing silence reminded her of the shame and the lonely misery of her life. Even the children ran after her in the streets, shouting terrible names.
She lived very simply. Her own dresses were made from dark, sad-coloured cloth, with the scarlet letter bright on the bosom. Her child’s clothes were the opposite – in materials of deep, rich colours, with beautiful patterns sewn in gold threat.
Her daughter’s name was Pearl. She was a pretty child, but a child of many moods – one minute bright and happy and loving, the next minute dark and angry. A child of sin, she had no right to play with the children of godly families and, like her mother, she was an outsider. In a strange way Pearl seemed to understand this, and often screamed and threw stones at the other children. Hester worried about her daughter’s wildness and tried hard to correct her, but without much success. Sometimes, her only hours of peace and quietness were when Pearl was sleeping.
One day, when Pearl was about three years old, Hester went to the house of Governor Bellingham. She was taking a fine shirt she had sewn, but she also wanted to speak to the Governor in person. She had heard that many Puritans in the town wanted to take Pearl away from her. They said it would be better for the child to grow up in a more godly home than Hester Prynne’s.
So it was a worried Hester who walked to the Governor’s house that morning. She had dressed her daughter in a beautiful red dress, adding to the child’s natural beauty, and as Pearl danced along beside her mother, it had a strange effect. The child in her red dress seemed liked the scarlet letter in another shape; the scarlet letter given life and movement.
At the Governor’s house the door was opened by a servant.
‘Is the Governor in?’ asked Hester.
‘Yes,’ replied the servant. ‘But there are people with him at the moment. You can’t see him now.’
‘I’ll wait,’ said Hester. and stepped into the entrance hall.
The hall was wide with a high ceiling, and there were heavy chairs along one side and a long table in the centre. At the far end of the hall was a big glass door, which opened out into a garden. Hester could see rose bushes and apple trees, and Pearl immediately began to cry for a red rose.
‘Shh! Be quiet, child!’ said her mother. ‘Look, the Governor is coming down the garden path, with three more gentlemen.’
Governor Bellingham, with his grey beard, walked in front. Behind him came John Wilson, the old priest, whose beard was as white as snow; and behind him was Arthur Dimmesdale, with Roger Chillingworth. The young priest’s health had been poor for some time, and Roger Chillingworth, well known in the town for his knowledge of medicines, was now both friend and doctor to him.
The Governor pushed open the door – and found himself looking at Pearl, while Hester stood in the shadow of a curtain, half-hidden.
‘What have we here?’ said Governor Bellingham, surprised to see the little scarlet figure in front of him.
‘Yes, what little bird is this?’ said old Mr Wilson. ‘Who are you, child?’
‘My name is Pearl,’ answered the little girl.
‘Pearl?’ replied the old priest. ‘But where is your mother? Ah, I see her now.’ He turned to the Governor and whispered, ‘This is the child we were talking about, and look, here is the unhappy woman, Hester Prynne, her mother!’
‘Is that right’’ cried the Governor. ‘She comes at a good time. We will discuss the matter now.’ He stepped through the door into the hall, followed by his three guests.’ Hester Prynne, we have been asking many questions about you recently. Are you the right person to teach this child the ways of God, and so make sure of a place in heaven for her soul? You, a woman who has sinned! Will it not be better for her if we take her away from you, and teach her the truths of heaven and earth? What can you do for her, woman?’
‘I can teach my little Pearl what I have learned from this!’ answered Hester Prynne, putting her finger on the scarlet letter. ‘Every day, it teaches me lessons that I pass on to my child. She will be a better and wiser person than I ever was.’
Bellingham turned to the old priest. ‘Mr Wilson, see what the child knows.’
The old priest sat down in one of the heavy chairs and tried to bring Pearl across to him, but she escaped through the open door and stood on the step outside, looking like a richly coloured bird ready to fly away.
‘Pearl,’ said Mr Wilson, with a serious look on his face. ‘Listen to me, child. Can you tell me who made you?’
Now Pearl knew the answer very well, because Hester had told her about God many times, and had explained those things which every child should know. But Pearl put her fingers in her mouth and would not speak.
‘You must answer good Mr Wilson’s question,’ said her mother. ‘Please, Pearl! Tell him what you know.’
‘My mother picked me from the wild rose bush that grows outside the prison door!’ said Pearl.
Roger Chillingworth smiled and whispered something in the young priest’s ear.
‘This is terrible,’ cried the Governor. ‘The child is three years old, and she does not know who made her! I do not think, gentlemen, that we need to ask any more!’
Hester pulled Pearl towards her and held her hand. ‘God gave me the child,’ she cried. ‘She is my happiness, my pain! You shall not take her! I will die first!’
‘My poor woman,’ said the old priest, kindly, ‘we will find someone who will take care of the child far better than you can.’
‘God gave her to me!’ repeated Hester, her voice high and afraid. ‘I will not let her go!’ She turned to Mr Dimmesdale. ‘Speak for me!’ she cried. ‘You were my priest, and you know me better than these men. You know what is in my heart, and how strongly a mother feels when she has nothing except her child and the scarlet letter!’
The young priest stepped forward, his face white and nervous, and with pain in his large dark eyes.
‘There is truth in what she says,’ he began. His voice was sweet and gentle, but it seemed to ring through the hall like a bell. ‘God gave her the child, and is that not part of God’s plan for this poor, sinful woman? With the child by her side, every day she will be reminded of her great sin, her shame; and the pain and sadness of it will always be with her. But God has given her a job to do, which will keep her soul alive and save her from further sin. She must love and care for the child, and teach it the ways of God, to know good from evil, right from wrong. And, with God’s great mercy, if she brings the child to heaven, then the child also will bring its mother there! No, no, we should leave the mother and the child together, and let God’s gift do its work saving the mother’s soul!’
‘You speak, my friend, with a strange passion,’ said old Roger Chillingworth, smiling at him.
‘And my young friend speaks wisely,’ said Mr Wilson. ‘What do you think, Governor? Does he speak well for the poor woman?’
‘Indeed he does,’ replied Governor Bellingham. ‘He argues sensibly, and so we will leave things as they are. Master Dimmesdale, you shall be responsible for making sure that the girl receives the right teaching, and that she goes to school when she is old enough to do so.’
The young priest now stood at the side of the group, his face half-hidden by the heavy window curtain. Pearl, that wild and playful little thing, moved softly towards him, took his hand, and put it gently against her cheek. Her mother watched, surprised. ‘Is that my Pearl?’ she thought, although she knew there was love in the child’s heart. And Mr Dimmesdale looked round, put a hand on Pearl’s head, hesitated for a moment, then kissed her forehead. Little Pearl laughed and half-ran, half-danced down the hall.
‘A strange child!’ said old Roger Chillingworth. ‘It is easy to see she is her mother’s daughter. But could a clever man guess, from the child’s nature and from the way she behaves, the name of her father?’
‘It is better to pray for an answer to that question, than to try to guess,’ said Mr Wilson. ‘Better still to leave it a mystery, so that every good and godly man can show a father’s kindness towards the poor fatherless child.’
Hester Prynne and her daughter left the house. As they went down the steps, a window was thrown up and a head appeared. It was Governor Bellingham’s sister, Mistress Hibbins, calling down to invite Hester to a party with the Devil in the forest that night. Some people s
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