His inward trouble drove him to practices more in accordance with the old, corrupted faith of Rome, than with the better light of the Church in which he had been born and bred. In Mr. Dimmesdale's secret closet, under lock and key, there was a bloody scourge. Oftentimes, this Protestant and Puritan divine had plied it on his own shoulders; laughing bitterly at himself the while, and smiting so much the more pitilessly because of that bitter laugh. It was his custom, too, as it has been that of many other pious Puritans, to fast- not, however, like them, in order to purify the body and render it the fitter medium of celestial illumination, but rigorously, and until his knees trembled beneath him, as an act of penance. He kept vigils, likewise, night after night, sometimes in utter darkness; sometimes with a glimmering lamp; and sometimes, viewing his own face in a looking-glass, by the most powerful light which he could throw upon it. He thus typified the constant introspection wherewith he tortured, but could not purify, himself. In these lengthened vigils, his brain often reeled, and visions seemed to flit before him; perhaps seen doubtfully, and by a faint light of their own, in the remote dimness of the chamber, or more vividly, and close beside him, within the looking-glass. Now it was a herd of diabolic shapes, that grinned and mocked at the pale minister, and beckoned him away with them; now a group of shining angels, who flew upward heavily, as sorrow-laden, but grew more ethereal as they rose. Now came the dead friends of his youth, and his white-bearded father, with a saint-like frown, and his mother, turning her face away as she passed by. Ghost of a mother- thinnest fantasy of a mother- methinks she might yet have thrown a pitying glance towards her son! And now, through the chamber which these spectral thoughts had made so ghastly, glided Hester Prynne, leading along little Pearl, in her scarlet garb, and pointing her forefinger, first at the scarlet letter on her bosom, and then at the clergyman's own breast.
他内心的烦恼，驱使着他的行动坐卧与古老腐败的罗马天主教的信条暗相啮合，反倒背离了自他生来便哺育他的新教的较好的灵光。在丁梅斯代尔先生深锁的密室中，有一条血淋淋的刑鞭。这位新教和清教的牧师，时常一边对自己苦笑，一边鞭打自己的肩膀，而随着那苦笑，就鞭打得更加无情。他也象许多别的虔诚的清教徒一样，有斋戒的习惯——不过，别人斋戒是为了净化肉体，使之更适合于天光照耀，他的斋戒则不同，他严格地当作一种自我惩罚，直到双膝在下面颤抖为止。他还彻夜不眠地祈祷，一夜接着一夜，有时在一片漆黑之中，有时只伴着一盏昏灯，有时则在脸上照着最强的光线面对一面镜子。他就这样不断地自省，其实只是在自我折磨，丝毫得不到自我净化。在长夜不眠的祈祷之中，他的头脑时常晕眩，似乎有许多幻象在他眼前飞舞；这些幻象有时在内室的昏暗中自身发着微光，看着似有似无，有时则出现在镜子之中，近在咫尺，显得更清晰些。这些幻象时而是一群凶暴的恶魔，对着这位牧师狞笑嘲弄，呼唤他随他们而去；时而是一伙闪光的天使，象是满载哀伤的重荷，沉重地向上飞去，但随着越飞越高，而变得轻灵起来；时而又来了他年轻时那些夭折的朋友，还有他那面带圣者般的蹙容、须发花白的父亲，以及在走过时却扭转面孔不理睬他的母亲。在我看来，一个母亲的幽灵——一个母亲的最淡漠的幻影——也会对她儿子投以怜悯的目光吧！随之，在被这些光怪陆离的奇思异想弄得十分阴森可怖的内室中，海丝特·白兰领着身穿猩红袍服的珠儿飘然而过，那孩子伸出食指，先指指母亲胸前的红字，然后又指指牧师本人的胸膛。