書(shū)蟲(chóng)4級(jí)《紅字》4．魔鬼派來(lái)的人

4.A man sent by the Devil

For three years the man calling himself Roger Chillingworth had made his home in the town. Only Hester Prynne knew the secrets of his past life, which he had put behind him, but he held the lock and key to her silence and felt quite safe. His plans had changed. There were new, darker arrangements to make; new, secret things to do with his time. He had studied medicine and knew enough for other people to accept and welcome him as a doctor. Medical men were difficult to find in New England at that time.

Soon after his arrival, he became friendly with Mr Dimmesdale, and made the young man his religious guide. It was at this time, however, that the young priest's health began to fail. He grew thin and pale; his voice, though still rich and sweet, now had a sadness and tiredness about it. And sometimes, when he was alarmed by something, he would put his hand over his heart, and his eyes would fill with pain.

The young priest was greatly respected in the town; people thought he was a selfless and deeply religious man. They worried that his long hours of study and hard work for the church were damaging his health, so they were pleased when Roger Chillingworth became a friend of the young man and also offered to be his doctor. 'God has sent this man to help our priest!' they said.

But Mr Dimmesdale would not listen to his friends, and gently turned away all advice. 'I need no medicine,' he said.

But how could he say so when each week his face became paler and thinner; his voice trembled more than before; and putting his hand over his heart became a habit? Was he tired of his work? Did he wish to die?

The older priests put these questions to him, and reminded him that refusing medical help—perhaps help sent by God—was a sin. Mr Dimmesdale listened in silence, and finally promised to take advice from the doctor.

Though if God wished it,' he said, 'I would be happy to leave behind my work, my worries and my sins and be buried in my grave.'

*　*　*

So this was how the mysterious Roger Chillingworth became the medical adviser of Mr Arthur Dimmesdale. The two men, one young and one old, began to spend much time together, walking along beside the sea or in the forest, often collecting plants to use for making medicines. Chillingworth watched and listened to his patient, asking questions carefully, digging deeper and deeper into the other man's thoughts and feelings. They spoke about public and private things; about health and religion; even about personal matters. But no secret, however much Chillingworth suspected there was one, ever came out of their discussions.

After a time, at the suggestion of Roger Chillingworth, the friends of Mr Dimmesdale arranged for the two men to live in the same house. They thought it was the best and most sensible arrangement, at least until Mr Dimmesdale decided to marry some suitable young lady. (Although for some reason they did not understand, the young man refused to even think about marriage.) Now the good doctor could keep an even closer watch on their young friend's health.

The house was next to the town's graveyard, and Mr Dimmesdale had an apartment in the front of the building, where he could enjoy the morning sun and where there was plenty of room for his many books. In rooms on the other side of the house, Roger Chillingworth arranged his papers, and the special things needed for making medicines.

However, not all the townspeople were happy. Many people suspected that the mysterious doctor was not all he pretended to be. One old man, who had come from London more than thirty years ago, was sure that Chillingworth had lived in that city, using another name. Others spoke of the change in the man since he had come to live in the town. At first, his expression had been calm, thoughtful, the face of a man who spent his time studying. Now, there was something ugly and evil in his face. Some people even believed that Chillingworth had been sent by the Devil and was after the young priest's soul. Everyone, however, was confident that Mr Dimmesdale would be the winner of this battle.

As the months and years went by, the change in Roger Chillingworth grew greater. He had begun with the calmness of a judge, wanting only to know the truth. But as he continued, the need to know burned in him like a fever, and he dug into the priest's soul, like a man searching for gold. And poor Mr Dimrnesdale, sick at heart, too afraid to call any man his friend, could not recognize an enemy either.

One day, he was in Chillingworth's room, looking out of the window at the graveyard opposite, while the older man was arranging some plants that he had collected.

Where did you get the plants with the dark leaves?' the priest asked Chillingworth.

From the graveyard,' answered the other man. 'I found them growing on a grave without a gravestone, or anything to tell me the dead man's name. Perhaps these black plants grew out of a heart that hid some terrible secret, one that was buried with him.'

Perhaps the poor man wanted to tell it, but could not,' said Mr Dimmesdale. He was silent for a while, then went on, 'Tell me, doctor, is my health any better since you began to take care of this poor, weak body of mine?'

Before Chillingworth could answer, they heard a young child laughing. The sound came from the graveyard, and the priest looked down from the open window and saw Hester Prynne and little Pearl walking along the path. Pearl looked as beautiful as the day, but was behaving badly. She jumped from grave to grave, finally dancing on one of the larger graves until her mother called out to her.

Pearl, stop it! Behave yourself!' cried Hester Prynne.

The girl stopped, but only to collect the purple flowers from a tall plant. She took a handful of them, and fastened their needle-like edges to the scarlet letter on her mother's dress. Hester did not pull them off.

Roger Chillingworth had joined Mr Dimmesdale at the window. 'That child has no respect for others,' he said, 'no idea of right or wrong. I saw her the other day throwing water at the Governor himself! What, in heaven's name, is she? A child of the devil? Has she no kindliness in her?'

I do not know,' replied Mr Dimmesdale, quietly.

The girl probably heard their voices. She looked up, laughed, then threw one of the purple flowers at Mr Dimmesdale. And when the young priest jumped back with a little cry, she was delighted and laughed even louder.

Hester Prynne also looked up at that moment, and all four of these persons now stared at each other silently until the child laughed again, and shouted:

Come away, mother! Come away, or that nasty old man up there will catch you! He has already caught the priest! But he won't catch little Pearl!' And she pulled her mother away, then danced off between the graves.

There goes a woman,' said Roger Chillingworth, after a pause, 'who cannot hide her shame. It is there, for all to see. But is Hester Prynne more, or less, miserable than people who keep their sinfulness hidden?'

I cannot answer for her,' said Mr Dimmesdale, his face pale. 'There was a look of pain in her face which it hurt me to see, but I think it must be better for sinners to be free to show their pain, as this poor woman Hester does, than to cover it all up in their heart.'

There was another pause, then the doctor said, 'You asked a little while ago for my opinion on your health.'

I did,' said Mr Dimmesdale. 'Speak freely. Do not be afraid to tell me the truth, whether it is good news or bad.'

Your illness is a strange one,' said Chillingworth, going back to his plants. 'I find it difficult to understand. Let me ask you, as a friend as well as your doctor, have you told me everything? Is there anything you have not told me which might help me find the true reason for your illness?'

How can you ask?' replied the priest. 'It would be stupid to call in a doctor and then hide the injury.'

Roger Chillingworth stared hard at the other man's face. 'Yes, but the injury or evil we can see is often only half the problem,' he said. 'Sometimes it is the sickness of a man's soul that is the reason for his sick body. And then, how can a doctor help his patient to get better unless his patient tells him what is troubling his soul?'

No, not to you!' cried Mr Dimmesdale, his eyes suddenly wild and bright. 'Only God can save a man whose sickness is a sickness of the soul! Let him do with me what he will! But who are you to involve yourself in this matter? Who are you to stand between a sufferer and his God?'

And he ran angrily from the room.

Roger Chillingworth smiled to himself. 'Nothing is lost. We shall be friends again. But look how his passion takes hold of him! He has done a wild thing before now, this godly Mr Dimmesdale, in the hot passion of his heart.'

Not long afterwards, as expected, the young priest returned and apologized. He asked his friend to continue to care for him, and the doctor agreed to do so.

*　*　*

A few days after this, Mr Dimmesdale falls asleep in his chair, while reading in his study. Later, Roger Chillingworth comes into the room and sees that the other man is sleeping. He steps forward, and pulls open the priest's shirt.

After a short pause, he turns away, but with what a wild look of wonder, joy, and horror!