| A FOREST WALK Thus conversing, they entered sufficiently deep into the wood to secure themselves from the observation of any casual enger along the forest track. Here they sat down on a luxuriant heap of moss; which at some epoch of the preceding century, had been a gigantic pine, with its roots and trunk in the darksome shade, and its head aloft in the upper atmosphere. It was a little dell where they had seated themselves, with a leaf-strewn bank rising gently on either side, and a brook flowing through the midst, over a bed of fallen and drowned leaves. The trees impending over it had flung down great branches from time to time, which choked up the current, and compelled it to form eddies and black depths at some points; while, in its swifter and livelier ages there appeared a channel-way of pebbles, and brown, sparkling sand. Letting the eyes follow along the course of the stream, they could catch the reflected light from its water, at some short distance within the forest, but soon lost all traces of it amid the bewilderment of tree-trunks and underbrush, and here and there a huge rock covered over with gray lichens. All these giant trees and boulders of granite seemed intent on making a mystery of the course of this small brook; fearing, perhaps, that, with its never-ceasing loquacity, it should whisper tales out of the heart of the old forest whence it flowed, or mirror its revelations on the smooth surface of a pool. Continually, indeed, as it stole onward, the streamlet kept up a babble, kind, quiet, soothing, but melancholy, like the voice of a young child that was spending its infancy without playfulness, and knew not how to be merry among sad acquaintance and events of sombre hue.
"Oh, brook! Oh, foolish and tiresome little brook!" cried
Pearl, after listening awhile to its talk, "Why art thou so sad?
Pluck up a spirit, and do not be all the time sighing and
murmuring!"
But the brook, in the course of its little lifetime among the forest trees, had gone through so solemn an experience that it could not help talking about it, and seemed to have nothing else to say. Pearl resembled the brook, inasmuch as the current of her life gushed from a well-spring as mysterious, and had flowed through scenes shadowed as heavily with gloom. But, unlike the little stream, she danced 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 it," answered her mother, "even as it is telling me of mine. But now, Pearl, I hear a footstep along the path, and the noise of one putting aside the branches. I would have thee betake thyself to play, and leave 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 far 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 not let me stay a moment, and look at him, with his big book under his arm?"
"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 heart! Is it because, when the minister wrote his name in the book, the Black Man set his mark in that place? But why does he not wear it outside his bosom, as thou dost, mother?"
"Go now, child, and thou shalt tease me as thou wilt another time," cried Hester Prynne. "But do not stray far. Keep where thou canst hear the babble of the brook."
The child went singing away, following up the current of the brook, and striving to mingle a more lightsome cadence with its melancholy voice. But the little stream would not be comforted, and still kept telling its unintelligible secret of some very mournful mystery that had happened—or making a prophetic lamentation about something that was yet to happen—within the verge of the dismal forest. So Pearl, who had enough of shadow in her own little life, chose to break off all acquaintance with this repining brook. She set herself, therefore, to gathering violets and wood-anemones, and some scarlet columbines that she found growing in the crevice of a high rock.
When her elf-child had departed, Hester Prynne made a step or two towards the track that led through the forest, but still remained under the deep shadow of the trees. She beheld the minister advancing along the path entirely alone, and leaning on a staff which he had cut by the wayside. He looked haggard and feeble, and betrayed a nerveless despondency in his air, which had never so remarkably characterised him in his walks about the settlement, nor in any other situation where he deemed himself liable to notice. Here it was wofully visible, in this intense seclusion of the forest, which of itself would have been a heavy trial to the spirits. There was a listlessness in his gait, as if he saw no reason for taking one step further, nor felt any desire to do so, but would have been glad, could he be glad of anything, to fling himself down at the root of the nearest tree, and lie there ive for evermore. The leaves might bestrew him, and the soil gradually accumulate and form a little hillock 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 positive and vivacious suffering, except that, as little Pearl had remarked, he kept his hand over his heart. |
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UN PASEO POR EL BOSQUE Conversando as, penetraron en el bosque lo bastante para ponerse a cubierto de las miradas de algn transente casual, y se sentaron en el tronco carcomido de un pino que en otros tiempos habra sido un rbol gigantesco y ahora era tan solo una masa de musgo. El lugar en que se sentaron era una pequea hondonada, atravesada por un arroyuelo que se deslizaba sobre un lecho de hojas de rboles. Las ramas cadas de estos rboles interrumpan de trecho en trecho la corriente del arroyuelo, que formaba pequeos remolinos aqu y all, mientras en otras partes se deslizaba a manera de un canal sobre un lecho de piedrecitas y arena. Siguiendo con la vista el curso del agua se vea a veces en su superficie el reflejo de la luz del sol, pero pronto se perda en medio del laberinto de rboles y matorrales que crecan a lo largo de sus orillas: aqu y all tropezaba con alguna gran roca cubierta de liquen. Todos estos rboles y estas rocas de granito parecan destinados a hacer un misterio del curso de este arroyuelo, temiendo quizs que su incesante locuacidad revelase las historias de la antigua selva. Constantemente, es verdad, mientras el arroyuelo continuaba deslizndose hacia adelante, dejaba or un suave, apacible y tranquilo murmurio, aunque lleno de dulce melancola, como el acento de un nio que pasara los primeros aos de su vida sin compaeros de su edad con quienes poder jugar, y no supiese lo que fuera estar alegre, por vivir entre tristes parientes y aun ms tristes acontecimientos.
—Oh arroyuelo! Oh loco y fastidioso arroyuelo!—exclam Perla despus de prestar odo un rato a sus murmullos.—Por qu ests tan triste? Cobra nimo y no ests todo el tiempo suspirando y murmurando!
Pero el arroyuelo, en el curso de su existencia entre los rboles de la selva, haba pasado por una experiencia tan solemne que no poda menos sino expresarla con el rumor de sus ondas, y pareca que no tena otra cosa que decir. Perla se asemejaba al arroyuelo, en cuanto a que la corriente de su vida haba brotado de una fuente tambin misteriosa, y se haba deslizado entre escenas harto sombras. Pero, todo lo contrario del arroyuelo, la nia bailaba, y se diverta y charlaba a medida que su existencia transcurra.
—Qu dice este arroyuelo tan triste, madre?—pregunt la nia.
—Si tuvieras algn pesar que te abrumara, el arroyuelo te lo dira,—respondi la madre,—as como me habla a m del mo. Pero ahora, Perla, oigo pasos en el camino y el ruido que forma el apartar las ramas de los rboles; vete a jugar y djame que hable un rato con el hombre que viene all a lo lejos.
—Es el Hombre Negro?—pregunt Perla.
—Vete a jugar,—repiti la madre,—pero no te internes mucho en el bosque, y ten cuidado de venir en el instante que te llame.
—S, madre,—respondi Perla,—pero si fuere el Hombre Negro, no quieres permitirme que me quede un rato para mirarlo con su gran libro bajo el brazo?
—Vete a jugar, tontuela,—dijo la madre impaciente,—no es el Hombre Negro. Ahora puedes verlo por entre los rboles. Es el ministro.
—S, l es,—dijo la nia.—Y tiene la mano sobre el corazn, madre. Eso es porque cuando el ministro escribi su nombre en el libro, el Hombre Negro le puso la seal en el pecho. Y por qu no la lleva como t fuera del pecho?
—Ve a jugar ahora, nia, y atormntame despus cuanto quieras,—exclam Ester.—Pero no te alejes mucho. Qudate donde puedas oir la charla del arroyuelo. La nia se alej cantando a lo largo de la corriente del arroyuelo, tratando de mezclar algunos acentos ms alegres a la melanclica cadencia de sus aguas. Pero el arroyuelo no quera ser consolado y continu, como antes, refiriendo su secreto ininteligible de algo muy triste y misterioso que haba sucedido, o lamentndose profticamente de algo que iba a acontecer en la sombra floresta; pero Perla que tena harta sombra en su breve existencia, se alej del arroyuelo gemidor, y se puso a recoger violetas y anmonas y algunas florecillas color de escarlata que encontr creciendo en los intersticios de una alta roca.
Cuando la nia hubo partido, Ester dio un par de pasos hacia el sendero que atravesaba la selva, aunque permaneciendo todava bajo la espesa sombra de los rboles. Vio al ministro que avanzaba solitario apoyndose en una rama que haba cortado en el camino. Su aspecto era el de una persona macilenta y dbil, y se revelaba en todo su ser un abatimiento, que nunca se haba notado en l en tanto grado, ni en sus paseos por la poblacin, ni en ninguna otra oportunidad en que creyera que se le pudiese observar. Aqu, en la intensa soledad de la selva, era penosamente visible. En su modo de andar haba una especie de cansancio, como si no viera razn alguna para dar un paso ms, ni experimentase el deseo de hacerlo, sino que con sumo placer, si es que algo pudiera causarle placer, habra preferido arrojarse al pie del rbol ms cercano y tenderse all a descansar para siempre. Podran cubrirle las hojas, y el terreno elevarse gradualmente y formar un montecillo sobre su cuerpo, sin importar nada que ste estuviera animado o no por la vida. La muerte era un objeto demasiado definido para que pudiese anhelarla o desease evitarla. Para Ester, a juzgar por lo que ella poda ver, el Reverendo Arturo Dimmesdale no presentaba sntoma ninguno visible de un padecimiento real y profundo, excepto que, como Perla ya haba notado, siempre se llevaba la mano al corazn. |
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