Oh, Hester, you are a demon. A man _must_ be pure, just that you can seduce him to a fall. Because the greatest thrill in life is to bring down the Sacred Saint with a flop into the mud. Then when you've brought him down, humbly wipe off the mud with your hair, another Magdalen. And then go home and dance a witch's jig of triumph, and stitch yourself a Scarlet Letter with gold thread, as duchesses used to stitch themselves coronets. And then stand meek on the scaffold and fool the world. Who will all be envying you your sin, and beating you because you've stolen an advantage over them. Hester Prynne is the great nemesis of woman. She is the KNOWING Ligeia risen diabolic from the grave. Having her own back. UNDERSTANDING. This time it is Mr. Dimmesdale who dies. She lives on and is Abel. His spiritual love was a lie. And prostituting the woman to his spiritual love, as popular clergymen do, in his preachings and loftiness, was a tall white lie. Which came flop. We are so pure in spirit. Hi-tiddly-i-ty! Till she tickled him in the right place, and he fell. Flop. Flop goes spiritual love. But keep up the game. Keep up appearances. Pure are the pure. To the pure all things, etc. Look out, Mister, for the Female Devotee. Whatever you do, don't let her start tickling you. She knows your weak spot. Mind your Purity. When Hester Prynne seduced Arthur Dimmesdale it was the beginning of the end. But from the beginning of the end to the end of the end is a hundred years or two. Mr. Dimmesdale also wasn't at the end of his resources. Previously, he had lived by governing his body, ruling it, in the interests of his spirit. Now he has a good time all by himself torturing his body, whipping it, piercing it with thorns, macerating himself. It's a form of masturbation. He wants to get a mental grip on his body. And since he can't quite manage it with the mind, witness his fall--he will give it what for, with whips. His will shall _lash_ his body. And he enjoys his pains. Wallows in them. To the pure all things are pure. It is the old self-mutilation process, gone rotten. The mind wanting to get its teeth in the blood and flesh. The ego exulting in the tortures of the mutinous flesh. I, the ego, I _will_ triumph over my own flesh. Lash! Lash! I am a grand free spirit _Lash!_ I am the master of my soul! _Lash! Lash!_ I am the captain of my soul. _Lash!_ Hurray! "In the fell clutch of circumstance," etc., etc. Good-bye Arthur. He depended on women for his Spiritual Devotees, spiritual brides. So, the woman just touched him in his weak spot, his Achilles Heel of the flesh. Look out for the spiritual bride. She's after the weak spot. It is the battle of wills. "For the will therein lieth, which dieth not--" The Scarlet Woman becomes a Sister of Mercy. Didn't she just, in the late war. Oh, Prophet Nathaniel! Hester urges Dimmesdale to go away with her, to a new country, to a new life. He isn't having any.