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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scarlet Stigma, by James Edgar Smith
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Scarlet Stigma
+       A Drama in Four Acts
+
+Author: James Edgar Smith
+
+Release Date: January 28, 2010 [EBook #31112]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCARLET STIGMA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sigal Alon and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                          The Scarlet Stigma
+
+
+                               A Drama
+                             In Four Acts
+
+
+                                  By
+
+                          JAMES EDGAR SMITH.
+
+
+              Founded upon Nathaniel Hawthorne's Novel,
+                        "The Scarlet Letter."
+
+
+                          WASHINGTON, D.C.
+                          JAMES J. CHAPMAN,
+                                1899.
+
+
+
+
+                Copyright, 1899, by JAMES EDGAR SMITH.
+
+                         All rights reserved.
+
+
+  Press of George S. Krouse.                Bindery of Edwin F. Price.
+
+                          WASHINGTON, D.C.
+
+
+
+
+Stigmatization is a rare incident of ecstasy. Not many well
+authenticated cases have been reported by competent medical
+authorities, and yet there can be no doubt of its occasional
+occurrence. See Encyclopaedia Britannica, article on Stigmatization
+by Dr. Macalister, and references therein cited; also the work on
+Nervous and Mental Diseases by Dr. Landon Carter Gray, page 511.
+That it may occur in men of a high order of ability is instanced by
+the case of St. Francis of Assisi.
+
+It ought not to be necessary to point out that the entire third
+scene in the second act of this play is a dramatic transcript from
+the diseased consciousness of Mr. Dimsdell, that the Satan of the
+play is an hallucination, and that the impress of the stigma upon
+Dimsdell's breast is merely the culmination of his auto-hypnotic
+ecstasy, or trance.
+
+
+
+
+PERSONS REPRESENTED.
+
+
+  ROGER PRYNNE, called _Chillingworth_, a physician.
+  ARTHUR DIMSDELL, a youthful divine.
+  JOHN WILSON, a good old minister.
+  BELLINGHAM, Governor of the Colony.
+  BUTTS, a sea captain.
+  SATAN, an hallucination of Dimsdell's.
+  BRONSON, }
+  WARD,    }
+  LANGDON, }    Members of the Governor's Council.
+  ARNOLD,  }
+  DIGGORY, a servant to Governor Bellingham.
+
+  HESTER PRYNNE, wife of Roger Prynne.
+  MARTHA WILSON, daughter of Rev. John Wilson.
+  URSULA, a nurse.
+  BETSEY, a milkmaid.
+  MOTHER CAREY, keeper of a sailor's inn.
+
+     _A Clerk, a Crier, a Jailer, Councilors, Citizens, Soldiers,
+                     Sailors, Indians, Servants._
+
+  SCENE--_Boston_.                                 TIME--_June, 1668_.
+
+
+
+
+THE SCARLET STIGMA.
+
+
+
+
+ACT I.
+
+
+SCENE I.--_A tavern and a street in front of it. Settles on porch.
+SAILORS smoking and drinking. Enter CAPTAIN BUTTS, singing._
+
+_Butts._     _The Margery D. was a trim little ship,
+              The men they could man, and the skipper could skip;
+              She sailed from her haven one fine summer day,
+              And she foundered at sea in the following way,--
+                               To-wit:_
+
+_All._       _A-rinkety, clinkety, clink, clank, clank,
+              The liquor they bathed in, the spirits they drank;
+              A sailor at sea with three sheets in the wind
+              Can hardly be called, sirs, quite sober._
+
+_Enter MOTHER CAREY, from Tavern._
+
+_Carey._ Cap'n! Cap'n Butts! Gen'le gen'lemen! would ye rune a pore
+widdy woman by a singing of sech filthy tunes? And me up for my
+license again nex' Tuesday!
+
+_Butts._ Peace! Peace, Mother Carey, hear your chickens screech!
+Come, boys!                                                  [_Singing._
+
+             _The captain was thirsty, and so was each man,
+              They ladled the grog out by cup and by can,
+              The night it was stormy, they knew not the place,
+              And they sang as they sank the following grace,--
+                               To-wit:_
+
+_All._       _A-sinkety, sinkety, sink, sank, sunk,
+              Our captain is tipsy, our mate is quite drunk,
+              Our widows we leave to the world's tender care,
+              And we don't give a damn for the Devil!_
+
+                             Ha! Ha! Ha!
+
+_Carey._ O, Lord! O, Lord! If the magistrates should hear that song,
+they'd close my place!
+
+_Butts._ There, there now. [_Chucks her under the chin._] The
+magistrates are not as quick to hear a sailor sing as thou art to
+take his orders. Bring us a pint apiece.
+
+_Carey._ Thou naughty man! [_Slaps his jaws._] A pint apiece?   [_Exit._
+
+_Butts._ Aye. Now, lads, bargain out your time; ye'll not see a
+petticoat for many a day.                       [_Lights pipe and sits._
+
+_Sailors._ Aye, aye, sir.
+
+_CITIZENS cross stage, singly and in groups, all going in the same
+direction. Enter MOTHER CAREY from house with ale, serves it, looks
+up and down street as in expectation of some one, then goes in._
+
+_Butts._ Mother Carey's lost one of her chicks. Here lads! here's
+to the mousey Puritan lassies! They won't dance, they can't
+sing--Ah! well! here's to them till we come again!         [_All drink._
+
+_Enter along the street two COUNCILORS._
+
+_Arnold._ 'Tis very true; but, sir, though many break this law and
+go unpunished, our godly Company should not wink at known adultery.
+
+_Langdon._ In other words, we must find scape-goats to bear our
+sins.
+
+_Arnold._ Nay, not exactly that. We vindicate God's laws, and----
+                                                   [_Exeunt Councilors._
+
+_Butts._ He must be Privy Councilor to the Lord Himself!
+
+_Enter a group of WOMEN._
+
+_First Woman._ Her beauty, say'st thou? Pretty is as pretty does,
+say I. I'd beauty her! Go to! Who knows the father of her brat; can
+any tell?
+
+_Second Woman._ Thou dost not doubt thy goodman?
+
+_First Woman._ Trust none of them. I know mine own; dost thou know
+thine? As for her she hath shamed our sex, and I would--
+                                                        [_Exeunt Women._
+
+_Butts._ God's-my-life, there's more poison in their tongues than in
+a nest of rattlesnakes? What's all this pother, lads?
+
+_Sailor._ There's a trial, sir, on a charge of bastardy.
+
+_Butts._ Ha! ha! ha! You rogues had better ship elsewhere; if the
+wind sits in that quarter, you'll find foul weather here.
+
+_Sailors._ Ha! ha! ha!
+
+_More people cross the stage._
+
+_Butts._ Cheapside on a holiday!
+
+_Re-enter MOTHER CAREY, dressed for walking._
+
+_Carey._ O, dear! O, dear! I'll be late; I'm sure I'll be late. Oh!
+dear, dear, dear! why will that Ursula still lag?
+
+_Butts._ What's the matter, Mother?
+
+_Carey._ Matter? Matter enough! a gentlewoman tried for adultery and
+me sure to miss it all! [_Looks around._] Why doesn't Ursula come?
+O, dear! O, dear!--why, here she is!
+
+_Enter URSULA._
+
+  What kept thee, Ursula?
+
+_Ursula._ Such a crowd! Whew! I'm out o' breath. [_Sits; one or two
+pass over._] The town's run mad to look upon a gentlewoman shamed.
+[_Citizens still pass._] Ah! there's no room for me now, but when
+her labor came God knows there was no press! I had room enough then,
+not one would lend a hand--fie! they are serpents, all of them; they
+have double tongues to hiss, but ne'er a hand to help.
+
+_Carey._ Still talking to herself. Here, Ursula, take the keys and
+wait upon the gentlemen.     [_Hands keys to Ursula and exit up street._
+
+_Ursula._ Let the gentlemen wait on me awhile.
+
+_Butts._ Would you have us die of thirst, Ursula?
+
+_Ursula._ What will you have, Captain?
+
+_Butts._ Stingo, Ursula, stingo!               [_Exit Ursula in tavern._
+
+  What say you, lads, shall we see this trial?
+
+_Sailor._ Aye, aye, sir, the woman's fair to look upon.
+
+_Butts._ Then let us get our ballast in, hoist sail and tack away.
+
+_Re-enter URSULA with ale._
+
+  Who is it, Ursula, they try?
+
+_Ursula._ A gentle lady, sir. God's-my-life, had no man tempted
+her--but, that's your ways, you tempt us, blame us when we yield,
+and then make laws to punish us.
+
+_Butts._ But, what's her name?
+
+_Ursula._ What should it be but Hester Prynne?
+
+_Butts._ Hester Prynne? The gentle Mistress Prynne I brought from
+Amsterdam three years ago?
+
+_Ursula._ The same, God bless her.
+
+_Butts._ My lads, don't wait for me.                  [_Exeunt Sailors._
+  I knew her husband, Ursula; a man
+  Well versed in all the wisdom of the time;
+  Somewhat well gone in years, but lovable
+  Beyond the shallowness of youth, and rich
+  In mellow charity. Oft hath he sailed
+  With me from port to port where learning drew him,
+  And still came richer home. One day he shipped
+  For Amsterdam and brought his bride, who, like
+  A hawthorn in its pink of youth that blushes
+  'Neath the shadow of an ancient elm,
+  Shed spring-time sweetness round his green old age.
+  I've seen them often in their Holland home,
+  Where wisdom laid its treasures at the feet
+  Of love, and beauty crowned the offering.
+  She was a lovely lady, Ursula,
+  And when her lord, still bent on learning more,
+  Resolved to come out to America--
+  His own affairs then calling him to England--
+  He placed her in my care, intending soon
+  To follow her. He did, but cursed fate!
+  His ship was lost--no one knows where!
+
+_Ursula._                                   Alack
+  The day! She had not sinned had he been here.
+
+_Butts._ But, didst thou know her, Ursula, as I
+  Have known her, wisely good and true, thou wouldst
+  Have wondered more.
+
+_Ursula._            Know her, sir! I nursed her!
+
+_Butts._ Thou, Ursula?
+
+_Ursula._              None but I!
+
+_Butts._ Where were her friends?
+
+_Ursula._                Where, but at home! Dear heart,
+  They shunned her like the plague--though if the truth
+  Were known, many that shun her now would keep
+  Her company perforce. None came near
+  But pious Master Dimsdell, and even he
+  Came only out of duty to her soul;
+  He told me so.
+
+_Butts._            The Reverend Master Dimsdell
+  And thou her only comforters?
+
+_Ursula._                             Nay,
+  The little bairn was her greatest comfort, sir.
+
+_Butts._ How doth she bear her trouble, Ursula?
+
+_Ursula._ Like a good woman, sir.
+
+_Butts._                        She yet is that!
+  But have you never learned her lover's name?
+
+_Ursula._ Nay, I never have.
+
+_Butts._                      'Tis strange that she
+  Should fall; and then endeavor to conceal
+  Her lover! Noble, wise and beautiful,
+  No other than a man of mark could win her!
+
+_Ursula._ A three years widow, baby three months old,
+  A coward run-a-gate of a lover, sir--
+  Tell me, is there no exception made
+  By law for widows?
+
+_Butts._              None, of which I know.
+
+_Ursula._ The law is hard indeed!
+
+_Butts._                             I wonder if
+  A rough sea-dog like me might speak a word
+  For her?
+
+_Ursula._ Aye, that you might! Go seek the good
+  Old Doctor Wilson, mercy dwells with him,
+  And he will aid you, sir.
+
+_Butts._                            I'll go at once.
+
+                 [_Exeunt severally, Butts up street, Ursula in tavern._
+
+_Enter ROGER PRYNNE, travel stained._
+
+_Roger._ We are not masters of our paths, although
+  Our wills do seem to guide our faltering steps:
+  Ship voyagers are we, and roam at will
+  Within the narrow confines of the deck,
+  But neither plot nor steer the destined course.
+  I may have passed her house--I'll ask my way
+  Here at the inn. Long live King Boniface!
+  What ho! some wine!
+
+_Ursula._ [_Within_] Your patience, Captain, I'll be there anon.
+
+_Roger._ At your leisure, hostess; I've learned to wait.        [_Sits._
+  A bachelor at sixty, I found myself
+  Encumbered with a ward--nay, not that--
+  Enriched with female loveliness and grace
+  Bequeathed unto me by a dying friend.
+  Volition had no part in that, nor in
+  My sudden recrudescency of love.
+  I willed our marriage; but 'twas fate bestowed
+  The joys I long had fled. Then came our life
+  In Amsterdam; each day so filled with bliss
+  It overflowed into the next, and days
+  Of joy grew into weeks and months of happiness--
+  Let me have wine, I say!
+
+_Ursula._ [_Within_] Coming, sir!
+
+_Roger._ Anon the traveling itch--was't fate or will--
+  Possessed my soul to see America,
+  And money matters calling me to London,
+  Where raged the plague, I sent my wife before me
+  To America with Captain Butts, then bound
+  For Boston. Ah! well-a-day, the parting!--
+  I hurried up my business; fled London town;
+  Shipped for America; was wrecked far South;
+  Captured by Indians; escaping, wandered North
+  Until I found the white man's colonies;
+  And now footsore and old I've reached the place
+  I first intended. What next, O, Fate?
+
+_Enter URSULA._
+
+  Good morrow, hostess.
+
+_Ursula._              Good morrow, sir.                   [_Surprised._
+
+_Roger._                                   Look not
+  Askance upon my way-worn clothes; there's gold
+  To pay my reckoning.                           [_Throwing money down._
+
+_Ursula._ Your pardon, sir; I marveled, sir, so fine a gentleman
+  Should be so travel-stained. What will you have?
+
+_Roger._ Bring me a cup of sherris-sack.
+
+_Ursula._ [_Aside_] I knew he was a gentleman!                  [_Exit._
+
+_Roger._ How will my Hester greet me? Will she know me?
+  She never saw me with a beard, nor in
+  Such rags. Perhaps she thinks me dead--
+  If so, the shock might kill her--Let me see--
+  Putative widows have before my time
+  Bought second husbands with their beauty, wealth,
+  Or wit--and she hath all. 'Tis probable--
+  And when the long-supposed defunct returned,
+  He found his amorous relict the bride
+  Of a bright-eyed youth! What worse, ye harpy fates?
+  She may be dead! Oh! this is madness!
+  Sweet Heaven, let her live! and, if I find
+  Her married, I'll depart unknown to her
+  And bury in my heart's deep sepulchre
+  My widowed grief. Bah! I'm a fool!
+  This weakness comes from my long wandering!
+  Misfortunes, though we think we conquer them,
+  Ever pursue, hang on our rear, and give
+  Such rankling wounds as teach our souls to dread
+  What else may lie in wait invincible.
+
+_Re-enter URSULA with wine._
+
+_Ursula._ I beg your pardon, sir. I could not find the wine at
+first.
+
+_Roger._ Why, how was that?
+
+_Ursula._ I'm not the hostess, sir, she is away; I merely take her
+place till she comes back.
+
+_Roger._ You fill it rarely.
+
+_Ursula._ God bless thee, sir, I'm cook, nurse, or hostess, as
+people need me. Ursula Cook, Ursula Nurse, or Ursula Goodale, at
+your service, sir.
+
+_Roger._ Ah, indeed, Ursula! Then I presume thou knowest many of the
+citizens?
+
+_Ursula._ I know them everyone.
+
+_Roger._ This wine is excellent. [_Drinking_] Dost know one Roger
+Prynne?
+
+_Ursula._ The husband of our Hester Prynne?
+
+_Roger._ The same. [_Aside_] Thank God, she lives.
+
+_Ursula._ He's dead, sir, rest his soul, a more than thirty months
+ago.
+
+_Roger._ Poor fellow! He was a friend of mine. Where did they bury
+him?
+
+_Ursula._ His ship was wrecked, he had no burial.
+
+_Roger._ Here's to his memory! You know his wife?
+
+_Ursula._ Alas; I do, sweet lady!
+
+_Roger._ And why alas? The loss of a husband is no great calamity in
+a colony. There can be no dearth here of husband-material, I fancy.
+
+_Ursula._ Whence come you that you know so little of the doings
+here?
+
+_Roger._ From the far South, where for two long years and more I've
+lived among the savages. What do you mean?
+
+_Ursula._ I mean her trial by the magistrates.
+
+_Roger._ Tried by magistrates? For what?
+
+_Ursula._ Adultery.
+
+_Roger._ Tried for adultery?
+
+_Ursula._ Aye, sir, that she is.
+
+_Roger._ It is a lie, a damned lie! Tried for adultery! A likely
+thing! So pure a woman! A purer creature never lived!
+
+_Ursula._ Sir, you are her friend? You know her?
+
+_Roger._ I am--I am her husband--her husband's friend. I knew her in
+Old England. Adultery! A pretty word! Who doth accuse her? Damned
+detractors!
+
+_Ursula._ Her child.
+
+_Roger._ Her what?
+
+_Ursula._ Her child.
+
+_Roger._ Hath Hester Prynne a child? Well, well; that is news
+indeed! God bless the little thing! it can't be quite as much as
+three years old; nay, not so old. Why, such a tot can give no
+testimony. I'll go to this trial; I may be able yet to aid her.
+Adultery! Bah!
+
+_Ursula._ God bless your heart, sir.
+
+_Roger._ Is't a boy or girl, how old?
+
+_Ursula._ A girl and three months old.
+
+_Roger._ Three months? Three years you mean.
+
+_Ursula._ Three months, I said.
+
+_Roger._ Thou dost not mean that Hester Prynne hath borne a child
+within the last two years?
+
+_Ursula._ I do. [_Aside_] A strange man, truly. This news hath
+troubled him; but that's not strange, it troubles all her friends.
+He seemed glad enough she had a child, but when I said it was a girl
+it seemed to sting him. Well, well! God help the women; we are
+unwelcome when we come, abused while we stay, and driven hence with
+ill-usage.
+
+_Roger._ Adulteress! That cannot be! There's some
+  Mistake, or some deceit in this. Her great
+  Nobility of heart would take upon
+  Herself another's wrong. I'll take an oath
+  The babe they say is hers she never bore!
+
+_Ursula._ 'Tis surely hers, for I delivered her.
+
+_Roger._ Hester! Hester! O, my God! My Hester!
+  Woman, didst thou say that she is married?
+
+_Ursula._ Nay, I said she is a widow, sir.
+
+_Roger._ Who is her paramour?
+
+_Ursula._ I do not know.            [_Busies herself removing tankards._
+
+_Roger._ [_Aside_] Now is my honored name dragged in the dust
+  By her to whom I did confide its keeping;
+  And she herself, my cherished wife, upraised
+  Upon a pedestal of shameful guilt
+  For filthy mouths to spit their venom at.
+  Slowly now. Whatever haps I'll be
+  Cornelius Tacitus for the nonce, nor brave
+  My state with that true name which marks me out
+  As Publius Cornutus. I must have time to think.
+  [_To Ursula_] Get me more wine. Prepare a room for me.
+
+_Ursula._ Aye, sir. [_Going._]
+
+_Roger._ Where is this trial held?
+
+_Ursula._ Sir, at the Market place, three crossings up
+  The street and to the left.
+
+_Roger._               I thank thee. Go.                 [_Exit Ursula._
+  Why was the banishment of tyrant fate
+  Annulled by vigorous will? and why should I,
+  For whom the jaws of death unhinged themselves,
+  Escape from shipwreck, war, and pestilence,
+  And here attain my journey's end at last,
+  But that such evil deaths were much too mild
+  To gratify the fury that pursues me!
+  I was reserved for this last ignominy
+  As in despite of human purposes;
+  Robbed of mine honor where most I placed my trust
+  And reap this pain where most I sowed for peace.
+  Was it for this that I did marry her?
+  Was it for this I sent her here before me?
+  For this I nursed the holy purposes
+  Of wedded purity, o'ercame the shocks
+  Of human destiny, and held in check
+  The inward passions of the baser man?
+  For this--to be cornuted in mine age
+  And die a by-word?
+  My purposes! My purposes! O, God!
+  Our purposes are little nine-pins
+  Which fate's sure aim bowls down incessantly:
+  As fast as we can set them up, events
+  Roll down the narrow alleys of our lives,
+  Rumbling like distant thunder as they speed,
+  Till crash! our king-intent is down, and in
+  His fall share all his puny retinue!
+  She an adulteress! My Hester, whom
+  I cherished as my soul! How I loved her!
+  Forgotten, like the meat of yesterday,
+  Let it pass!
+  Henceforth, for me there's nothing on this side
+  Of Hell, but study of revenge on him
+  Who wrought her shame. He must have used foul means;
+  For she was ever chaste in thought and deed.
+  Hell fiend! Now, under an assumed name,
+  I'll ferret out her lusty paramour;
+  Contrive some means to deeply punish him,
+  And satisfy my fathomless revenge.                            [_Exit._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_Another street. Enter REV. ARTHUR DIMSDELL, alone._
+
+_Dimsdell._ 'Twould do no good.--The Governor is late,
+  Or I have missed him.--Confess?--Disgrace for me;
+  No help to her; and all the blasphemies
+  That evil minds could cast on sacred calling
+  Would be my blame. Whereas, I now can make
+  My pleas take on the color of mine office
+  And yet reflect on it a purer glow.--
+  Why comes he not?--The path of righteousness,
+  Though straight, leads on thro' pleasant fields to Heaven,
+  Whereas the broad and easy road of sin
+  Splits in its downward way, and then the will
+  Stands at a halt which fork to take, though both
+  Lead on to Hell! Now--why, here he comes!
+
+_Enter GOVERNOR, attended._
+
+_Governor._ Nay, Dimsdell, plead no more; she must be tried.
+  I know what thou wouldst say, and like thee for it;
+  But think, my friend, the law would mock itself
+  If pardon did precede the penalty.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Our Lord did pardon one was taken in
+  The very act. O, think of Him!
+
+_Governor._                      Enough!
+  What! wouldst thou have our laws contemned
+  As feeble nets to catch the smaller fry
+  And let the great break through? I tell thee, sir,
+  Her wealth, her beauty, her hitherto fair fame,
+  Blacken her crime and make its punishment
+  A signal warning to the baser sort.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Hath she not suffered pains and imprisonment?
+  Enough to answer all the decalogue?
+
+_Governor._ I stand for law; and you, I think, do think
+  You stand for gospel.--Come, we tarry.--
+  Plead with the Council for the woman, and, while
+  I think her death were well deserved, I'll not
+  Oppose their mercy if you win it.
+  My hand upon it.                                             [_Going._
+
+_Dimsdell._ If that she be condemned,
+  Suspend her sentence till her paramour
+  Be found; and let them die together.
+
+_Governor._ Agreed. Come, we're late.                         [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE III.--_The Market Place.--Church with Portico, L.--A pillory
+on a raised Platform, R.--The GOVERNOR and COUNCIL seated in
+portico.--A crowd of TOWNSFOLK._
+
+_Governor._ Now that our other business is dispatched,
+Call Hester Prynne.
+
+_Wilson._           Wise Governor, and you,
+  My brethren: dried as I am with age,
+  The tendrils of my heart are pliable;
+  Nor have the tangles of this thicket-world
+  So twisted all my grain as not to bend
+  Before another's misery. Wherefore,
+  I do beseech you, call her not.
+
+_Governor._                           Yet must
+  We try the woman, though we pity her;
+  And though the scion mercy grafts upon
+  The stock of justice, the stock is justice still.
+
+_Wilson._ I plead for justice! even-handed justice!
+  As blind and cold as death--but with a sword,
+  Sharp on one side to reach the woman's heart
+  And on the other keener for the man's!
+  You call the woman; where's her paramour?
+
+_Governor._    We do not know.
+
+_Wilson._             Then grant a stay to Hester
+  Till he's known.
+
+_Governor._           Too late; nor were it good
+  To let the woman slap the face of law,
+  And not resent it quickly. Once again,
+  Call Hester Prynne. The man she may discover.
+
+_Enter Rev. ARTHUR DIMSDELL through crowd and goes to Portico._
+
+_Crier._ Hester Prynne! Hester Prynne!                          [_Exit._
+
+_Dimsdell._ Most worthy Governor, I am like one
+  Who waking hears the village clock toll time,
+  Yet, having missed the first few strokes, the hour
+  He cannot tell: and so stand I and hear
+  Fair Hester called. Is it for trial, or
+  For punishment?
+
+_Governor._           For both.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I am her pastor and I speak for her;
+  I would to God that I could plead "Not guilty,"
+  Or in her stead could offer up myself
+  To satisfy the law!
+
+_Crowd._              How good he is!
+
+_Dimsdell._ Gentle and wise she is, grave councilors,
+  And with a modest meekness goes about
+  The daily duties of her household care;
+  Oh! I am sure no vulgar palate-bait
+  Did lure her to this shame, but some enticement
+  That took the form of higher nature did
+  Invest the hook. For she is modesty
+  Itself.
+
+_Governor._ Can modesty, then, fall like this?
+
+_Dimsdell._ The modesty of woman is like the blush
+  Upon a tender rose; it is her treasure
+  And her ornament: you cannot touch it,
+  But it fades away; or breathe upon it,
+  But it loses perfume; or bring it to the light,
+  Unwilted.
+
+_Governor._ True, but when the roses fade
+  We cast them forth, nor treasure them again.
+
+_Dimsdell._ 'Tis thus I own; but we have higher teaching.
+  Our Lord, who knew temptation's mighty power,
+  Yet was himself without sin's damning stain,
+  Did pass upon a case like this. "Let him
+  Who hath no sin first cast a stone at her."
+  And then He said, "Go, woman, sin no more."
+  Oh! wondrous grace that pardoned frailty
+  Which had not sunk to vice!
+
+_Re-enter CRIER with HESTER PRYNNE._
+
+_Governor._      Enough! Here comes the woman.
+  Hester, thou art accused before this court
+  Of that which blushing virtue shrinks to name,
+  Adultery.
+
+_Hester._ I pray you spare me.
+
+_Governor._ Thou art the widow of a man of whom
+  Report spake only praise: no act of thine
+  Hath openly offended decency,
+  But that young life which draws its sustenance
+  From thy round breast avows thy hidden shame.
+
+_Hester._ Have mercy on the babe, O, God!
+
+_Governor._ That thou shouldst sin, and thereby, Hester, bring
+  Dishonor on the name thy spouse did give thee,
+  Is worse than in a meaner woman. If thou
+  Hast aught to say to mitigate the wrath
+  Of justice, speak. And, Hester, bear in mind
+  The penalty is death or banishment.
+
+_Hester._ I would not gloze my crime, nor do I know
+  How to address your worships.
+  Yet since you bid me I will plead my cause
+  As best I can.
+  That I have sinned is true; and well I know
+  Henceforth for me there's nothing left from all
+  My kind but scorn and hate.
+  For me hath life no charm to cheat my hope,
+  Or make me wish to linger here; yet I
+  While lives the child would shelter her, the one
+  Sweet flower that lovely grows above the soil
+  Of my most foul debasement.
+  Although the blossom of iniquity,
+  She takes no tinct from whence she springs, but rather
+  Of the sky toward which she doth unfold.
+  Believe me, sirs,
+  But for my babe's dear love, I'd ask for death
+  To rid me quickly of my misery:
+  For love itself, dishonored in my being,
+  Turns all the gentle cords that bind affection
+  Into hard-knotted thongs to whip me hence.
+  Therefore, if I do plead for life, think not
+  I do beseech a favor for myself,
+  But rather, that I beg a lingering pain,
+  Than expiate in one quick-ending pang
+  The sum of all my loathed wickedness.
+  Thus, for my tender babe, I ask my life,
+  And, for myself, I do implore you now,
+  Banish me not.
+  As for my crime, I have repented it
+  Most bitterly; yea, I've suffered anguish
+  From the very hour when, as the spring
+  Of nature dragged my anchors loose, the soft
+  Entreaty of a lover's sigh did blow
+  Concurrent with my tide, and swept me out
+  Into a troubled sea.
+  Now, battered on the rocks of hard opinions,
+  My most untimely wreck is quite complete;
+  Yet spare the hulk for that dear freight it bore.
+
+_Governor._    Woman, I pity thee; now, while our laws
+  Are strict, yet may our mercy show itself
+  In staving off the penalty, if thou
+  Wilt aid us.
+
+_Hester._ Your mercy comes with hard condition;
+  For how can I, who stand here helpless,
+  Aid you who have all power?
+
+_Governor._ Tell us who is thy paramour?
+
+_Hester._ That I will not do.
+
+_Governor._ Thou art most obstinate. What say you now,
+  Grave councilors? Need we delay the sentence?
+
+_Bronson._ Quick to forgive and slow in condemnation,
+  Would be our wisest course in such a case.
+  The life she hath God gave; we should not take it;
+  Nor should we banish her, for she is useful,
+  And with her needle doth assist the poor.
+  There is provision in our law to fit
+  This crime when neither death nor banishment
+  Is proper. It is: [_Reading_] "Th' adulteress shall stand
+  Upon the pillory; and on her breast
+  Shall wear a scarlet letter A, to mark
+  Her criminal incontinence."
+
+_Governor._                              A good
+  Suggestion truly; we had forgot the clause
+  From long disuse. What say you?
+
+_Ward._ I think it wise.
+
+_Arnold._                   'Twill be more merciful.
+
+_Langdon._ A living warning 'gainst adultery.
+
+_All._ It is our suffrage.
+
+_Governor._                        So be it then.
+  Hester, thou art to stand upon the pillory
+  A little while, and wear upon thy breast
+  The Scarlet Letter "A" forever;
+  This see thou do on pain of instant death
+  Or banishment. Hath anyone a piece
+  Of scarlet cloth?
+
+_Bronson._ I have the letter here prepared.
+
+_Governor._ Clerk, affix the letter to her breast.
+
+_Enter ROGER PRYNNE, clad as in Scene I.--He keeps to the rear of
+Hester._
+
+  Now, Jailer, lead her to the pillory,
+  There let her stand unbound.
+
+_Hester ascends steps to pillory platform._
+
+  Dimsdell, you are her pastor, speak to her.
+  Hold up her sin before her eyes, and warn
+  The multitude by her example.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I beg you, sir, let Dr. Wilson speak.
+
+_Wilson._ Nay, Dimsdell. Nay, the charge is yours.
+  Speak on. And plead that she disclose the man
+  Who was her paramour.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I pray you pardon me. I am not well.
+
+_Governor._ Not well? 'Tis but compassion weakens thee.
+  Speak man! thy words are gentlest and will draw
+  Her secret from her, though ours do seal her lips.
+  Proceed, Dimsdell.
+
+_Dimsdell._ We wrong her nature when we seek to know
+  That which her heart doth teach her to conceal;
+  Yet at your bidding will I plead with her.
+
+_Goes over to pillory._
+
+  Hester, look down upon me; let thine ear
+  Receive my meaning with the sound I make;
+  Behold in me the body of the Council,
+  Not me alone; and hear my words as though
+  The general voice, speaking in concert true,
+  Did intone them.
+  For it were vain presumption to expect
+  That, what the Governor could not extract,
+  My words alone could move thee to disclose.
+
+_Roger._ A modest gentleman, truly!
+
+_Dimsdell._ Upon thy sin I dwell not; the penalty
+  Which thou dost suffer preaches repentance;
+  And in thy nature there is naught to lead thee
+  Twice astray.
+  There's not an eye that now doth look upon thee
+  But pities thee, and doubt thou not, if he
+  Who wronged thee is present here, his heart is wrung
+  With bitterest remorse. Wilt speak his name?
+
+_Hester._ I will not.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I do command thee by the Commonwealth,
+  I do entreat thee for thy reputation,
+  I do implore thee for thy soul's salvation,
+  Give up his name.
+
+_Hester._ I would not breathe his name to anyone;
+  Nay, not to him who was my husband, though
+  The sea should cast him up to question me.
+
+_Roger._ Woman, who did seduce thee?
+
+_Hester._                           I keep my vow.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Hester, deceive thyself no more; look down
+  Upon me once again. Believe me, Hester,
+  No pain the world could now inflict would harm
+  Thy recreant lover. To see thee here set up
+  The target of a thousand curious eyes,
+  Thy beauties blistered in the noonday sun,
+  Thy gentle breast seared with yon scarlet letter,
+  Would burn that image on his soul. Have mercy,
+  Hester, forgive his cowardice, do thou
+  Act for him; pronounce his name and let him die
+  To satisfy his crime.
+
+_Hester._ I will not drag him down with me.
+
+_Roger._ Oh! glorious generosity misplaced!
+
+_Dimsdell._ Your generosity hath led you once
+  Astray; do not allow it now to aid
+  Him in hypocrisy. For, Hester, you,
+  Who know his weaknesses and aspirations,
+  His station in his calling, his place in life
+  Among us, will be a party to deception
+  If now you hide his name.
+
+_Hester._ I answer to my God. No man shall know
+  That which is only known to me and him.
+  But speak thou on his crime!
+
+_Dimsdell._ Ho! all ye people of the commonwealth!
+  Behold!--let him confess!--O, Hester! speak!--
+  I see--no more--                                    [_Dimsdell falls._
+
+_Throng, confused and amazed, closes around Dimsdell.
+Cries of horror and apprehension._
+
+_Governor._ Look to our brother Dimsdell. He faints;
+  The heat hath overcome him.
+
+_Roger._                      I am a doctor. Make room!
+  The falling sickness. Give us breathing space!
+
+_Governor._ Hester, thou art discharged. Let all go home!     [_Exeunt._
+
+
+
+
+ACT II.
+
+
+SCENE I.--_Interior of Hester's home. Furniture Dutch-English,
+comfortable and handsome. Windows draped in scarlet-fringed curtains
+with scarlet cross-cords, simulating the letter "A." Rich needle
+work in the hangings and other accessories. A cradle L., near it a
+table with a quarto Bible. HESTER discovered bending over cradle,
+then sits R.C. and takes up a piece of embroidery (the letter "A" in
+scarlet on a dark background)._
+
+_Hester._ God bless the little darling, how she sleeps!
+  Had I but thought that all my heart would beat
+  Within the tender compass of her arms,
+  I had not prayed she might not be. But now,
+  Although unasked she came, unasked she brought
+  A wealth of love and blessing to my soul.
+
+[_Sits and embroiders._]
+
+  Thus Providence, although it pierce the heart,
+  Works into it some glorious design;
+  Which on this under side of life is blurred,
+  Thread over thread in infinite confusion.
+  Or, if we are not made of firmest texture,
+  The work pulls through, or tears an ugly rent,
+  Or gathers up our woof in meshy tangles.
+  This is a world of worn and fretted ends,
+  Knit in a maze of fearful intricacy,
+  Wherein we see no meaning. Nor can we know
+  The hidden shuttles of Eternity,
+  That weave the endless web of living, loving,
+  And begetting, whereby a filament
+  Of earth takes on the likeness of an angel.
+  The primal burden of our race-existence,
+  Mankind's perpetual perpetuation,
+  Weighs on weak womanhood; we bear the race
+  And all its natural ills, yet still our fellows,
+  Who proudly call themselves our lords and masters,
+  Do heap upon us petty wrongs, and load
+  Us down with their oppressions. I cannot tell
+  What rich reward my suffering may bring,
+  But bide the piercing, like this patient cloth,
+  In hope the needle carries golden thread.
+
+_Enter a_ Maid-Servant.
+
+  What is it?
+
+_Servant._ Madam, a gentleman would speak with you.
+
+_Hester._ Bid him enter.                                [_Exit Servant._
+  Methought I heard my husband's dreaded voice
+  Speak to me on the pillory. What
+  If he lives, or hath arisen from the dead
+  To reckon with me now? Well, let him come;
+  For this strong heart outcast from sympathy
+  Hath turned back on itself in double strength;
+  And all the puny woman of my mind,
+  Burned in the furnace of my sex's scorn,
+  Plunged in the icy vat of love's neglect,
+  Hath tempered hard. I fear him not.
+
+_Enter ROGER PRYNNE, shaved, and dressed as a doctor of medicine._
+
+  Roger himself!
+
+_Roger._ Thou didst provide snug quarters, Hester, against my
+coming. Aye, and hast furnished them better than I bade thee.
+
+_Hester._ The cost was small; my needle and my energy--
+
+_Roger._ Have done the work; yea, and supplied the cradle also. Ah!
+'tis a brave piece of work; very beautiful and delicate; the lusty
+offspring of lustful parents. Somewhat costly, I should think, and
+asked some pains. Methinks, thou hadst some help with that; or was
+it thy needle or thy energy which wrought this dainty bit?
+
+_Hester._ Touch not the child; 'tis mine, thou hast no part in it.
+
+_Roger._ Too true. But calm thyself. I have not harmed the brat, nor
+did I touch it. [_Looking around._] I like thy taste, Hester. A
+handsome house to hold a handsome woman.
+
+_Hester._ The house is thine; let me and my babe depart.
+
+_Roger._ Nay, keep the house, 'twill shelter you; I do not need it.
+
+_Hester._ I will not have it.
+
+_Roger._ Will not, Madam Hester, is a strong word to use to your
+wedded lord and master. I say you shall; yea, and, furthermore, here
+is provision for the child and thee.
+
+[_Throwing purse upon the table._]
+
+_Hester._ Take up thy purse. I who have done thee wrong will not
+henceforth eat thy bread.
+
+_Roger._ Wrong, Hester. Done me wrong? Wronged me? Nay, Hester,
+wronged thyself; wronged thine innocent babe; wronged the world;
+wronged whom thou wilt, but not wronged me! To wake me from a doting
+dream--that was not wrong! A dream of woman's purity and innocence;
+a foolish dream of married happiness between thy youth and my
+decrepitude; to put an end to such a madness, surely was not wrong!
+Wronged me? Thy levity hath righted my poor mind, which, pondering
+o'er thy beauties, listed to one side.
+
+_Hester._ Oh! pardon me!
+
+_Roger._ Pardon thee? yea, why should I not? I do pardon thee; yea,
+more, I do applaud thine act. Thou wast no slothful servant; thou
+didst not fear the coming of thy lord; thou puttest all to use and
+gottest cent per cent. Therefore, the care I show for thee is hire
+and wages; it is thy due, accept it freely.
+
+_Hester._ Let me and my babe depart. Receive thy money and thy
+house, I can take nothing from thee. Ah! if I could I would return
+thee every penny I have spent of thine.
+
+_Roger._ Wait till I ask thee to account. What! am I so old, and yet
+not know the cost of dalliance? Nothing dearer. And he who eared my
+field during my absence, being now, in thy abasement, so chary of
+his presence, spent little of his gold, I'll warrant. Who is he,
+Hester?
+
+_Hester._ Thou shalt never know.
+
+_Roger._ Never's a long word, Hester; it stretches beyond the
+judgment into eternity. Come, I'll know him then, tell me now.
+
+_Hester._ He is a scholar and can cope with thee; thou canst not
+find him.
+
+_Roger._ If he do walk the earth, I'll find him out; if he be now in
+Hell, I'll follow him; where'er he be, his peace is forfeited and I
+will--
+
+_Hester._ What wilt thou do to him?
+
+_Roger._ Nothing, Hester, nothing. I merely wish to thank him for
+the love he showed thee during my absence, whereby thou didst mourn
+for me the less.
+
+_Hester._ Thou wilt not kill him?
+
+_Roger._ What a silly thing thou hast become, now thou hast left the
+path of virtue! Do I kill thee? Am I dangerous? Is there force in
+this withered body to harm a lusty knave, a brave seducer of ripe
+womanhood?
+
+_Hester._ Nay, do not harm him.
+
+_Roger._ At thy request, mistress.
+
+_Hester._ The fault was mine.
+
+_Roger._ No doubt 'twas thine alone.
+
+_Hester._ Wreak vengeance then on me alone.
+
+_Roger._ I have none.
+
+_Hester._ I would I could believe thee.
+
+_Roger._ As well give faith to me as him. But, truly, Hester, I had
+thought these puritans, these pilgrim fathers, had left all fleshly
+lusts behind them with their vanities in England. He must be a rare
+bird in these parts--O, I shall know him by his plumage!
+
+_Hester._ He's safe enough.
+
+_Roger._ Perhaps, but then these poachers, who fish in others'
+ponds, are proud of their achievements. They will talk. They brag in
+their cups and strut and ogle when they're sober.
+
+_Hester._ I'll warn him of thee.
+
+_Roger._ Thou wilt do nothing of the kind. But come, Hester, man and
+wife ought not to quarrel. Let us set a good example to the world in
+peace if not in chastity. Sit you here and listen to me.
+
+_Hester._ Well?
+
+_Roger._ Hester, I loved thee when thou wast a babe,
+  A prattling child no taller than my knee,
+  A pretty little innocent, a tot
+  That wavered in its walk and won my heart
+  By tender trustfulness. Thou'dt leave thy father,
+  Mother, all, to nestle in these arms
+  The whiles I told some worn out fairy tale,
+  Or sang of Robin Hood.
+  That was before thy mind did take its shape,
+  And subsequent events have blotted out
+  All memories of thy babyhood.
+
+_Hester._ Nay, but I do recall, as in a haze,
+  Some of the incidents of infancy.
+
+_Roger._ Perhaps. Hester, thou wast the dearest child
+  That ever blest fond parents, unfolding sweet
+  Thy mother's beauties and thy father's strength.
+  And canst thou now remember who made himself
+  A child to play with thee vain, foolish games;
+  Who taught thee out of books such lessons as
+  Thy little mind could grasp?
+
+_Hester._                      It was thou.
+
+_Roger._ Then, as thou didst grow toward womanhood,
+  Some fifteen springs, thy gentle mother died;
+  A woman beautiful and pure, as sweetly
+  Ignorant of all her charms as is
+  The hyacinth.
+
+_Hester._       Mother! Mother!
+
+_Roger._ Pray God the saints see nothing here on earth:
+  Or else that in their golden paradise
+  Some sleepy potion dull their sympathies
+  With us: for who could look upon this world,
+  And see mankind divested of the lies
+  That make our comeliness; or, with an eye undimmed,
+  Behold the brutal tragedies of life;
+  And yet find happiness or peace in Heaven?
+  Hell's flames would reach unto the tree of life
+  Itself and singe thy mother's heart, if she
+  Could see that scarlet letter on thy breast.
+
+[_Hester covers her face and moans._]
+
+  Great God! what thread of continuity
+  Doth string the whirling incidents of life?
+  This woman was that maid whose purity
+  Excelled imagination's greatest reach;
+  Whose happiness sang ever like the lark
+  Arising from the earth to soar in Heaven!
+  And now behold her dyed in scarlet sin,
+  Branded with infamy, and moaning here
+  In deepest anguish!
+  Nay, come; let out thy grief in linked words,
+  For this tooth-gated dumb remorse will herd
+  Thy thoughts until they gore each other.
+  Hester, thy strength is greater than to yield
+  Thus to thy misery; do not lash
+  Thy heart into a fury; never blow
+  The tiny sparks of pain
+  Into the flaming coals of Hell.
+  That sinning soul is traitor to itself
+  That leagues its bruised thoughts with imps of Hell
+  To torture conscience.
+
+_Hester._ Leave me, I pray you.
+
+_Roger._ Not yet, else were my visit bootless.
+  Hester, I will not dwell upon thy life
+  From year to year, nor drag thy colliered soul
+  Back to its days of spotless innocence.
+  Thy father's amity for me, thou knowest,
+  And how, upon his death, I stood toward thee
+  In place of parents.
+
+_Hester._ Would you had remained a father to me!
+
+_Roger._ I loved thee, Hester; daughter, sister, sweetheart,
+  You were to me. And you did love me too,
+  And as an elder brother looked on me
+  In gentle confidence.
+  So did the years post by in th' dim afterglow
+  That comes to aged men; while love with thee
+  Was in the dawning; a tender sky with both
+  Of us, my sun already set; and thine
+  Not yet arisen; nor did it ever rise
+  To shine on me, fool that I was!
+
+_Hester._ I never loved you, should not have married you;
+  Knew nothing then of love except the name.
+
+_Roger._ Aye, you loved me, and you loved me not;
+  Hester, I wronged thee when I married thee;
+  The fault was mine, old as I was, to hope
+  To still the sweet necessities of youth
+  With passionless love; nature demands her due,
+  And we should know, while love may grow at home,
+  Passion requires some novelty.
+
+_Hester._ We both have done foul wrong unto each other,
+  And, as this world doth judge, mine is the greater.
+
+_Roger._ Yet thou wast tempted by thy youth, my absence,
+  A handsome lover's importunity:
+  But what can be said for me, old as I was,
+  To drive and badger thy chaste ignorance
+  To marry mine infirmities?
+
+_Hester._ How can I right this wrong?
+
+_Roger._ And wouldst thou if thou couldst?
+
+_Hester._ Aye, if I could; but yet these broken lives,
+  Cracked by my fall, no putty will make whole.
+
+_Roger._ Yet canst thou veil my ruin, and o'er me hang
+  The drapery of silence. Dost consent?
+
+_Hester._ Aye, but how?
+
+_Roger._ But swear to me thou wilt conceal my name,
+  Nor ever claim relationship with me,
+  Until I bid thee.
+
+_Hester._           Wherefore the vow?
+
+_Roger._ Because I wish it;
+  Perhaps, because I would not bear the scorn,
+  The petty taunts, the contumelious looks,
+  That ever greet the cuckold husband.
+
+_Hester._ Then will I take the oath.
+
+_Roger._ Swear by the book, and also by the babe,
+  Never to breathe my rightful name;
+  Never to claim me as thy husband;
+  Never to leave this place.
+
+_Hester._ Wherefore not leave the place?
+
+_Roger._ Swear, woman, swear!
+  Never to leave this place, until I bid thee.
+
+_Hester._ I swear to all these things.
+
+_Roger._ Swear once again; never to tell thy paramour
+  Thy husband lives and walks these streets.
+
+_Hester._ I swear to keep thy counsel as I have kept
+  His and mine own.
+
+_Roger._ Remember then, from this time on, my name
+  Is Chillingworth, no longer Prynne, for that
+  I will not bear. [_Going_] Hester, farewell.
+  Yet ere I go, Hester, behold my mind:
+  I love thee still; but with a chastened heart
+  Made wise by sorrow. Day after day, as thou
+  Dost wend thy way about this mazy world,
+  My care will shield thee and thy little babe.
+  Do not repulse it. I have no hope that thou
+  Wilt think of me without revulsion;
+  Then hate me if thou must; but spare the thought
+  That ever thou didst take my hateful kisses,
+  Or clasp those soft warm arms about my thin,
+  Cold carcass.
+  Do not despise thy beauties that I once
+  Did own them. Forget it, Hester, for such a marriage
+  Was my infamy, and I it was
+  Who sinned against thy youth. Farewell!                       [_Exit._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_A Churchyard. A bell ringing for service. Groups of
+people standing about. Persons cross stage and enter church door on
+extreme L._
+
+_Bronson._ They say the Reverend Master Dimsdell hath
+  Recovered from his fainting fit, and will,
+  God willing, preach to us this afternoon.
+
+_Langdon._ Aye, that he will.
+
+_Arnold._                   But hath he come?
+
+_Ward._                                    Not yet;
+  He's late, but, whether here or elsewhere,
+  He's always doing good.
+
+_Bronson._                          A kindly man!
+  His feet do tread th' o'ergrown path that leads
+  Unto the poor man's door.
+
+_Langdon._                       Aye, that they do!
+  And, in the darkened hour of mortal grief,
+  His presence like a lamp gives light and hope.
+
+_Arnold._ His charity exceeds all human bounds,
+  And, though he's blameless in himself, knows how
+  To pardon others.
+
+_Ward._               Aye, that he doth! Didst note
+  His plea for Hester Prynne upon her trial?
+
+_Langdon._ Aye, that I did!
+
+_Ward._                     But know the goodness of it!
+  He was her constant friend up to the time
+  Her wantonness declared itself, and then
+  He left her lonely, as though that punishment
+  Were all a man of mercy could inflict.
+
+_Arnold._ He takes it much to heart that wanton vice
+  Hath found a nest within his congregation.
+
+_Langdon._ That grief is truly great with him; but yet
+  He will not hear a word against her.--Look!
+  For here she comes.
+  How bravely doth she wear her scarlet letter!
+
+_Enter HESTER PRYNNE alone; walks proudly, with slow steps, to porch
+and enters church; looking neither to the right nor to the left, but
+straight before her, with her head up. People turn to look at her,
+but no one speaks._
+
+_First Woman._ The brazen thing!
+
+_Second Woman._ Didst note the fashion of her badge of vice,
+  And how she's turned it into ornament?
+
+_Third Woman._ A handy woman with her needle.
+
+_First Woman._ Let's in and stare her out of countenance.
+                                                        [_Exeunt Women._
+
+_Enter GOVERNOR BELLINGHAM and ROGER PRYNNE, called Doctor
+Chillingworth._
+
+_Governor._ Now, as I told you, there hath lately come,
+  But how I know not, a change in him so rare,
+  It baffles cure.
+
+_Roger._                     I think you said he is
+  A very studious man?
+
+_Governor._                    Aye, that he is.
+  Good evening, gentlemen.
+
+_All._                         Your worship.
+
+_Roger._    I pray you, tell me more.
+
+_Governor._                          Nay, use your eyes,
+  For here he is.
+
+_Enter REV. ARTHUR DIMSDELL. People uncover as he passes. He salutes
+them gravely and generally._
+
+                            Dimsdell, a word with you.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Good evening, gentlemen.
+
+_Governor._ Dimsdell, here is good Doctor Chillingworth,
+  Who tended thee. I hope you gentlemen
+  Will prize each other at your native worths.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I shall be glad to know you better, Doctor.
+
+_Roger._ And I, to see you better, sir.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Pardon me, I must in; I'm late already.
+
+_Exit Dimsdell--all follow except Governor Bellingham and Roger
+Prynne. Bell ceases._
+
+_Governor._ How weak a hold we have on health! That man
+  Is but the standing ruin of his former self,
+  And yet, for beauty, comeliness and grace,
+  He still is model to the colony.
+  What do you think, can care restore him yet,
+  And give him to us as he used to be?
+
+_Roger._ I cannot tell. I need more knowledge of him.
+  There are no marks of cureless malady--
+  A faint suggestion of overwatchfulness,
+  That oft points out the student--nothing more.
+
+_Hymn from church. (Tune: "_Ein' feste Burg_" or other ancient hymn
+used by the Puritans.)_
+
+_Governor._ The worship hath begun; but, ere we in,
+  A word about the wealth you left with me.
+
+_Roger._ No more. Pray use it as your own, in trade,
+  Or howsoe'er you choose. The largest pearl
+  An Indian chief did give me; but sell it with
+  The rest, and with their worth provide for Hester.
+  She is the widow of mine ancient friend,
+  To whom I ever shall be much indebted,
+  And while I would not have her know me yet
+  As what I am--her husband's friend and hers--
+  As that might breed more grief in her, or wake
+  An old one--yet I think it meet to care
+  For her and for her child.
+
+_Governor._               Your goodness is
+  Your passport, Doctor. Come, let us in.--Nay,
+  After you; you are my guest.                                [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE III.--_Bed room of the REV. ARTHUR DIMSDELL. Night. DIMSDELL,
+alone in the dark._
+
+_Dimsdell._ O, she is beautiful!
+  The memory of her loveliness
+  Pervades my waking dreams, and, pleasant theft,
+  Deprives my sleep of dark oblivion.
+  And thus, while fleeing from the gentle bonds
+  Of love, I am become the thrall of passion,
+  And sigh my heart away in waste desire!
+  Had I but truly loved her,
+  Would not our joys, that then were innocent,
+  Have moulded soul to soul and made mine take
+  The form of her most dear perfections?
+  But, now!
+  No trait of Hester's noble purity
+  Remains with guilty me, for I purloined
+  Her precious diadem and like a rogue
+  I cast that crown away, afraid to wear
+  What would have been my dearest ornament.
+  Why can I not repent? Or is it true
+  Repentance is denied the hypocrite?
+  And must it then forever be that, though
+  I cast out sin, both root and branch, the seed
+  Of evil, scattered long ago, will sprout
+  And bloom carnation thoughts that dull the soul
+  With subtle sweetness!
+  Oh! coward that I am!
+  Bound down, as to a rock, to form and place,
+  By iron chains of worldly precedent,
+  While my desires like eagles tear my breast,
+  And make of me a base Prometheus.
+  O, God!
+  I married all the family of sins,
+  When I espoused the pleasantest; I am
+  Become a liar through my lechery,
+  A thief of reputation through my cowardice,
+  And--puh! the rest but follow in the train
+  Of my dear wedded crime!
+  O, God! and shall this lust burn on in me
+  Still unconsumed? Can flagellation, fasting,
+  Nor fervent prayer itself, not cleanse my soul
+  From its fond doting on her comeliness?
+  Oh! heaven! is there no way for me to jump
+  My middle age and plunge this burning heart
+  Into the icy flood of cold decay?
+  None? O, wretched state of luxury!
+  This hot desire grows even in its death
+  And from its ashes doth arise full fledged
+  Renewed eternally!
+
+_A blinding flash of lightning, followed quickly by sharp thunder,
+discloses Dimsdell kneeling at his couch, and also shows SATAN--an
+archangel with bat wings--who has just entered._
+
+  Have mercy upon me, O, my God, have mercy!
+  According to thy gentle lovingkindness,
+  According to the multitude of all
+  Thy tender mercies, blot out my foul transgression.
+  Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
+  Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow;
+  Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out
+  All mine iniquities.
+
+_Satan._ You mar the psalm, Sir priest, for you omit
+  The saving clause. Your sin is unconfessed.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Who art thou that durst interpose between
+  My soul and God?
+
+_Satan._ I am the stronger part of lower nature,
+  The worser part of all that came from Him
+  Whom all adore. Behold me!
+
+_Satan becomes visible by light emanating from himself._
+
+_Dimsdell._ Thou art Satan! The Prince of Hell!
+
+_Satan._ I am so called.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Get thee hence! I am a minister
+  Of God, a priest, and am anointed of the Lord
+  To teach His children.
+
+_Satan._ And, therefore, am I come to thee, Sir priest.
+  I do confess a predilection for
+  Thy calling; conclaves, synods, convocations,
+  Are never held without my guiding presence;
+  They are my field days and my exercises,
+  While in the study and the cell I take
+  My cloistered ease. I love all priests and am
+  The bosom friend of many who would blush
+  To speak to me in public. Receive me, brother.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Scorner, avaunt! Sink to the hell from whence
+  Thou cam'st! I do abhor thee, Satan; yea,
+  I tell thee to thy face that I who quail
+  Before the awful majesty of God,
+  And cowardly do hide my sin from man,
+  I tell thee, vile as I am, I do detest
+  Thy very name! I do defy thee!
+
+_Satan._ These words are very brave; if more than wind,
+  Go to the market place tomorrow, there
+  Proclaim thy vice; or else ascend thy pulpit
+  And denounce thyself as what thou art, adulterer.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Recreant to my God am I; think'st thou
+  That I will thee obey, to whom I owe
+  No deep allegiance?
+
+_Satan._ Then bare thy sinful breast, for here I swear,
+  By that dread Name which mortals cannot hear,
+  I will upon thee print a mark, the stigma
+  Of thy secret crime.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Hold off! I charge thee by that other Name
+  Of Him who rent thy kingdom, and will destroy it,
+  Touch me not yet!
+  Almighty Purity, Dread Essence Increate;
+  Behold concentrate, in this wicked form,
+  The universal spirit of iniquity.
+  Come quickly in thy majesty, O Lord!
+  Wither him here within the awful flame
+  Of Thy bright Holiness! Shrivel his frame
+  Into an atom, and blow the lifeless dust
+  Beyond the farthest star.
+  And, if in his destruction my soul should share
+  Through close proximity, spare not!
+  Then will Thy servants serve Thee, Gracious Lord!
+  And mankind find its paradise!
+
+_Satan._ That was well said!
+  Perhaps, Sir priest, you now will treat me to
+  A learned disquisition on the birth
+  Of evil? I'd like to hear it, if it tread
+  Beyond theology's well beaten path;
+  But, if it stumbles in the pug-mill round
+  Of teleology, you must excuse me.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Base siege of scorn! I curse thee!
+
+_Satan._ Curses but belch foul wind, they pass beyond me.
+  But, come; I have no time to waste with thee;
+  This visitation had not been, nor would
+  I dignify thy carnal slip by my
+  Incarnate presence, but for thy perfidy.
+  For thou hast reached a depth of moral baseness
+  Below the meanest fiend in lowest hell;
+  Thou hast deserted her who sinned with thee,
+  Gave up her virtue to express her love,
+  Laid down her treasure to thy secret lust,
+  And then took up thy burden with her own.
+  Think not I come to draft thee of my legions,
+  I would not have so weak, so mean a coward,
+  To sow pale fear among them. No!
+  Thou wilt be damned outside of Hell. I come
+  To show, as in a mirror, what thou art;
+  Not what thou shalt be. The past and present both
+  Are mine, the future rests with God. But now,
+
+_Hester's image appears in a cloud dressed in white._
+
+  Behold the woman as thou first didst know her,
+  A loveliness to tempt or saint or devil,
+  The rare quintessence of pure womanhood!
+  Transparent brightness! A living crystal globe,
+  Wherein all beauties of humanity
+  Reflect themselves with iridescent glow!
+  Dost thou remember?
+  Behold her now the mother of thy babe,
+
+_The image of Hester changes. She holds their babe in her arms._
+
+  Whose pretty wiles would win hard Moloch's heart;
+  Make him forget his rites, and turn man-nurse.
+  O, fool! I would renounce my war with Heaven,
+  Eat up my pains in one most bitter mouthful,
+  And sue for pardon from God's hated Throne,
+  If such an offspring might but call me father!
+  Where is thy manly pride?
+  But, now, behold her shamed, bearing the badge
+
+_Hester's image wears Scarlet Letter "A."_
+
+  Of thy foul infamy. Tear wide thy shirt,
+  For as thou look'st on her I will impress
+  Upon thy breast a stigma worse than hers.
+  Aye, fall upon thy knees to worship her
+  The Lady of the Scarlet Letter.
+  Yet while thou kneel'st thy flesh doth glow and burn
+
+_Scarlet Letter "A" glows on Dimsdell's breast._
+
+  With all the deep red heraldry befits
+  A coward lust: the latter "A" in gules
+  Upon thy sable heart. There let it gnaw
+  Forever and forever!
+
+_Hester vanishes. Satan fades. No light, save "A" on Dimsdell's breast._
+
+  And, now I go, I put this curse upon thee:
+  Be coward still, wear outwardly the garb
+  Of righteousness, shake in thy pious shoes,
+  Cover the stigma on thy breast from eyes
+  Of flesh, and be a hypocrite, till death
+  Relieves the world of thee. We'll meet again.
+
+                 [_Lightning. Exit Satan. Dimsdell lies in trance.
+                                             Night. No sound, no light._
+
+
+
+
+ACT III.
+
+
+SCENE I.--_The garden of Governor Bellingham. ROGER PRYNNE, called
+Chillingworth, alone._
+
+_Roger._ The fox that robbed my roost is sly; he keeps
+  The cover warily; and, now the scent
+  Is cold, the curs that yelp in scandal's pack
+  Bay loud on many faults, but cannot trace him.
+
+_Enter DIGGORY._
+
+_Diggory._ Doctor, the Governor will join you presently.
+
+_Roger._ Diggory, I will await him patiently.                   [_Sits._
+
+_Diggory retires, then returns._
+
+_Diggory._ Doctor, may I beg a word with you?
+
+_Roger._ A thousand if you will.
+
+_Diggory._ I would speak in confidence.
+
+_Roger._ The manner would become thee, Diggory.
+  But speak, man! Say on.
+
+_Diggory._ I need a philter, Doctor. For the love of mercy--
+
+_Roger._ For the love of good liquor, Diggory, thou shalt have
+twenty filters. Still decanting?
+
+_Diggory._ O, sir! not that kind of filter. I'm in love!
+
+_Roger._ Ah! thou art in love? In love didst thou say?
+
+_Diggory._ Aye, sir, if it please you.
+
+_Roger._ It pleases me well enough; how doth it please the lady?
+
+_Diggory._ She's not a lady, sir, thank God! she's but a simple
+maiden, and it pleaseth her not.
+
+_Roger._ A simple maid refuses you! Ah! Diggory, Diggory, be
+thankful for the good things God hath sent thee.
+
+_Diggory._ Truly, sir, I thank Him ev'ry day; but, sir, as I do
+desire the maiden--I--I--would have her too.
+
+_Roger._ And so, Diggory, thou wouldst have me aid thee in this
+folly, and give thee a love potion?
+
+_Diggory._ Aye, sir, begging your honor's pardon.
+
+_Roger._ But why dost thou ask me, Diggory? Dost thou take me for an
+herb-doctor, or a necromancer, or what?
+
+_Diggory._ My master, the Governor, says you are a very learned man,
+a what-you-call-'em--a scientist; and a scientist can do anything.
+
+_Roger._ Humph!--Diggory, I do not deal in philters; they are out of
+date--but I know a charm will win her love.
+
+_Diggory._ Tell it me for the love of--
+
+_Roger._ Thou wilt betray it, Diggory.
+
+_Diggory._ Never! Never!
+
+_Roger._ Omit thou but a word of it, and the maiden's lost to
+thee--but con it well, and all her beauties will be thine.
+
+_Diggory._ Oh! Doctor!
+
+_Roger._ Take of the rendered grease of three black bears--do not
+fail in that--anoint thy curly locks--
+
+_Diggory._ My hair is straight.
+
+_Roger._ Never mind--but rub; and, as thou dost, repeat these words:
+
+             _Lady love, lady love, where e'er thou be,
+              Think of no man but only me;
+              Love me, and wed me, and call me thine own,
+              Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, Joan._
+
+_Diggory._ What is that "Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling"?
+
+_Roger._ That is the chief element of the charm--don't forget it.
+Having done this on nine successive days--dost thou follow me?
+
+_Diggory._ Aye, sir.
+
+_Roger._ On the tenth go to the barber's and have thy hair cut
+short.
+
+_Diggory._ But, sir, my hair is my best feature!
+
+_Roger._ It is with many; cut it, however, or lose the worth of all
+of the charm. Dost thou hear, Diggory? Cut thy hair short or never
+win fair woman. Farewell.
+
+_Diggory._ I thank you, sir. [_Going_] "Lady love,
+ting-a-ling"--nay, that's not it.
+
+_Roger._ Diggory!
+
+_Diggory._ Yes, sir.
+
+_Roger._ Who are with the Governor?
+
+_Diggory._ The worthy ministers, Master Wilson and Master Dimsdell.
+
+_Roger._ Very well.         [_Exit Diggory, trying to recall the verse._
+Ah! Diggory, thou art but a dram of love in a fluid ounce of fool! And
+so may we label all mankind. For instance: the Governor is a wise
+man and a politic; Wilson a good man and a pious; Dimsdell--ah!
+there I pause, for what fine formula can sum the qualities of that
+same Arthur Dimsdell? He's not a fool; nor mad; nor truly
+cataleptic--yet he's moody, falls in trance, and I suspect his power
+as a preacher comes from ecstasy. Something he is akin to
+genius--yet he hath it not, for though his aim be true enough, he
+often flashes in the pan when genius would have hit the mark. I'll
+write his case in Latin! What a study that would be if I could
+first find out the reason why he clutches at his breast!--If once I
+find him in a trance, alone--ah! here they come.
+
+_Enter GOVERNOR BELLINGHAM, REV. JOHN WILSON, REV. ARTHUR DIMSDELL,
+and following them, with a tray of wine, DIGGORY._
+
+_Wilson._ Good morrow, Doctor.
+
+_Roger._ Good morning, gentlemen.
+
+_Governor._ [_To Diggory._] Leave the wine within the summer house.
+Good morning, Doctor. When Mistress Prynne doth come conduct her
+hither.
+
+_Diggory._ Sir, she's coming this way now.
+
+_Governor._ Very well. Go. [_Exit Diggory._] Doctor, we debate what
+disposition should be made of Hester Prynne's young child. We ask
+your aid--but here she is.
+
+_Enter HESTER PRYNNE._
+
+_Hester._ Your worship hath been pleased to summon me
+  To bring my child before you.
+
+_Governor._                      Where is the child?
+
+_Hester._ The babe is sick but answers by attorney.
+  What is your will?
+
+_Governor._              Some pious matrons, Hester,
+  Have charged that thou art not a person fit
+  To rear that infant immortality,
+  And guide it unto God.
+
+_Hester._                  God gave the child
+  In rich exchange for all things else which I,
+  Poor sinful I, had forfeited; and now
+  You, who have made yourselves the flails of God,
+  Would separate the wheat from chaff before
+  The grain is ripe, and take her from me.
+  Oh! ye are wise! No doubt ye see beyond
+  The purpose of Almighty God who gave
+  The child to me!
+
+_Governor._                    Nay, take it not to heart,
+  For, Hester, duty to the child we owe
+  To put its soul upon the way that leads
+  To Heaven. She will be cared for tenderly.
+
+_Hester._ She is the last small link that binds my soul
+  To earth, the tiny needle that doth point
+  My way to Heaven. You shall not take her from me!
+  Speak thou for me [_To Dimsdell_]; as my pastor speak;
+  Speak now; and say if any harm from me
+  Will hurt the child. I will not part with her!
+  Say if thou canst, for thou hast sympathies
+  Which these men lack, say what the mother's rights
+  Are in her child; and what those rights must be
+  When naught beside the child is left to her--
+  Her husband gone, her friends deserted,
+  No reputation, no sympathy, no love--
+  But only those twin brands of shame, her baby
+  And The Scarlet Letter!
+
+_Dimsdell._ I have a dual duty to discharge;
+  I am this woman's pastor--and her friend,
+  And therefore she hath called me to defend her;
+  I am, beside, a member of your council,
+  And hence am with you in your consultation;
+  And yet, I think, these duties may be made
+  To yoke and draw me to a just conclusion.
+
+_Wilson._ Thou also hast a duty to the child.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Aye, so I have. Our aim is well enough,
+  But let us pause before we do adopt
+  A means that varies from the one marked out
+  By God and Nature.
+
+_Governor._                   Is there not command
+  To teach our children in the fear of God
+  And guide them from impurity?
+
+_Dimsdell._ God gave us mothers when He gave us life,
+  And to their tender care He did entrust
+  The mortal and immortal parts of us.
+  What then? Would we improve upon His system;
+  Would we now deprive this little one
+  Of that fond mother-care which nurtures her?
+  Or would we put, in place of mother-love,
+  The cold, hard, formal training of a paid
+  Instructor?
+
+_Governor._ But is this woman, stained with sin,
+  A mother to entrust a child to?
+
+_Dimsdell._ That question God hath answered; and we know
+  The stain of sin doth fade beneath the bleach
+  Of true repentance; through it all appears
+  The woven figure of the woman-fabric--
+  Her motherhood!
+  We owe our lives to woman's suffering,
+  We owe our health unto her temperance,
+  We owe her all the best of us. Let God
+  Condemn her sin, but let us not presume
+  To punish her where He hath healed her heart.
+
+_Wilson._ There is weight in what he says.
+
+_Roger._ Yea, and earnestness!
+
+_Governor._ Well, Hester, go thy way; the child is thine.
+  Remember thou dost owe a gentle thanks
+  Unto this pious man. Go, Hester, keep
+  The child. Think well upon his words; be thou
+  A mother in all righteousness, as well
+  As in thy sin. Farewell.
+
+_Hester._ I thank you, gentlemen.                               [_Exit._
+
+_Wilson._ That woman would have been a noble wife
+  Had not some villain robbed her of her dower.
+
+_Governor._ Come, gentlemen, this business well is ended,
+  And, Dimsdell, yours is all the credit of it;
+  For one I thank you.
+
+_Roger._ We all do thank you, sir.
+
+_Governor._ Come, let us drain a cup of wine; and then
+  Go in.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I beg you to excuse me.
+
+_Roger._                              And me,
+  I pray. I'll stay with Dimsdell.
+
+_Governor._                  Well, Wilson, you
+  Shall not escape me. Gentlemen, the wine
+  We leave you; keep it company.--And, Dimsdell,
+  Forget it not, to-morrow thou must preach
+  A grand election sermon. The people do
+  Expect a master effort, man. Fail not.  [_Exeunt Governor and Wilson._
+
+_Roger._ He will not fail them, Governor; a tongue
+  Of flame is his. What ails thee, Dimsdell?
+  How now? Why man!
+
+_Dimsdell._ I'm very weak. The pain about my heart--
+
+_Roger._ Nay, courage, man! 'Twill leave thee soon. I'll get a cup of
+wine to cheer thee up.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Do, I pray. And, Doctor, give me something to abate this
+agony.
+
+_Roger._ I will.                                                [_Exit._
+
+_Dimsdell._ Try how I may, there's no escape from pain.
+  I robbed the law's strong arm, and thereby put
+  The lash in conscience' hand--and yet I thought
+  Hypocrisy a duty to my calling!
+  'Twere better I were known as what I am,
+  Than still to hide my sin beneath the garb
+  Of outward purity! 'Twere better now,
+  By Hester's side, to bear opprobrium,
+  And brave what man may do, than still to nurse
+  This misery in secret!
+
+_Re-enter ROGER with wine-tray; places it upon a bench and, taking a
+vial from a pocket medicine-case, pours a few drops into a
+wine-glass, then fills the glass with wine._
+
+_Roger._ A minim more would lull him into sleep.
+  Here is the chance--and here the will--to learn
+  His secret malady. What holds me back?
+  Conscience? Tut, tut! It will not harm him!
+  'Twill do him good to sleep; 'twill do me good
+  To know the why he clutches at his breast.
+  I'll do it.                                   [_Pours more from vial._
+  Sir, drink this off.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I thank thee, kind physician.                     [_Drinks._
+
+_Roger._ Nay, thank me not. Now, take a glass of wine.
+                                            [_Giving him another glass._
+
+_Dimsdell._ Methinks, the wine is richer than is common.
+
+_Roger._ Thirst always gives an added age to wine.
+  This is right Xeres. Hast been in Spain?
+
+_Dimsdell._ Nay, but the wine hath. I feel its warmth.
+
+_Roger._ Truly, it is a grand inquisitor;
+  'Twill search each petty heresy that taints
+  Thy blood, and burn it to a cinder.
+
+_Dimsdell._ How many leagues it came to serve my need.
+
+_Roger._ Aye, a thousand, and a thousand more!
+
+_Dimsdell._ I would not go so far for it just now,
+  For through my limbs there creeps a lang'rous ease
+  Like that which doth precede deep slumber.
+
+_Roger._ Rest here upon this bench.    [_Dimsdell sits, half reclining._
+  Give way unto your drowsiness; it is
+  Not sleep, but rest and relaxation. There!
+  I'll keep you company.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Do.
+
+_Roger._ [_Pouring wine and drinking._] This wine is liquid gold.
+  I quaff to your good health and ease of mind.
+  This is good wine. It warms my chilly blood
+  With all the dreamy heat of Spain. I hear
+  The clack of th' castinet and th' droning twang
+  Of stringed instruments; while there before
+  Mine eyes brown, yielding beauties dance in time
+  To the pulsing music of a saraband!
+  And yet there is a flavor of the sea,                 [_Sipping wine._
+  The long-drawn heaving of the ocean wave,
+  The gentle cradling of a tropic tide;
+  Its native golden sun--I fear you sleep?
+  Or do the travels of the wine so rock
+  Your soul that self is lost in revery?
+  Why, man, dream not too much of placid bliss;
+  Nor wine, nor man, can reach this clear perfection
+  Until they pass the rack of thunder and
+  Of hurricane.--'Tis on us now! Awake!   [_Shouting in Dimsdell's ear._
+  My friend, awake! Dost thou not hear the storm?
+  Oh! how it shrieks and whistles through the shrouds!
+  The awful guns of heaven boom in our ears--
+  Nay, that was the mainsail gone by the board,
+  Flapping with cannon roar.
+  You do not follow me. O, come, I say!
+  This is no sermon. You cannot be asleep,
+  Yet feign you are to cheat me of my story.
+  Wake up, my friend. You carry the jest too far.
+
+_Roger cautiously shakes Dimsdell._
+
+  So soon! So sound!                                    [_Looks around._
+  I fear you are not easy; thus. That's better.
+  Your pardon, sir, your collar's much too tight.
+  Now will I steal his hidden mystery,
+  And learn the secret of his lengthened pain;
+  Cure him and gain great honor. To think a man
+  Would case himself in buttons like an armour!
+  Now, shirt----
+  Merciful God! what miracle is this!
+  A stigma! Aye! a stigma! the letter "A"
+  In blood suffused! The counterpart of that
+  Which Hester wears, but palpitating here
+  In life! This is beyond my skill.
+  Ah! David! David! Thou art the man! Thou wouldst
+  Have set me in the hot forefront of battle
+  Hadst thou but known me as Uriah!
+  Bah!
+  Why, what a brainless dullard have I been,
+  To see this pretty puff-ball of a preacher
+  Wax large before mine eyes in righteous husk--
+  And think him whole within--when but a touch,
+  But one, had aired his rottenness!
+  Oh! dotard that I am! blind, deaf and stupid!
+  It takes a miracle to make me see
+  What lay before me open. He did take
+  Her part; ever professed himself her friend;
+  And at her trial fell in trance. What more?
+  He is the man! He is the man!
+  Now ends our game of hoodman blind; oh, I
+  Was warm, so very warm at times, so hot,
+  Did almost touch thee; yet I knew thee not
+  For him I sought. Thou cunning hypocrite!
+  It must be I am fitted to my state,
+  Dull, trusting and incapable;
+  Or else--why surely I'm a fool.--
+  Had I been here when Hester bore her child,
+  I would have fondly dreamed it was mine own;
+  Put on the unearned pride that old men wear
+  When their young wives bear children.
+  A pretty baby, sir! My grandchild?--No;
+  Mine own; my very own! Nay, wrong me not;
+  I'm not so old--not so damned old after all!
+  A ghe! a ghoo! Are not the eyes like mine?--
+  Yea, would have dandled it upon my knee,
+  And coddled each succeeding drop, as though
+  My fires had distilled them.
+  But--now I know--my knowledge must be hid.
+  Back shirt! cover blazoned infamy
+  And let the whited front still hide from man
+  The sepulchre of crime that festers here.
+  He will not wake within an hour. I'll go
+  Inform the Governor he sleeps, and have
+  Him order none disturb his pious rest.
+  Then I'll return and calmly probe his soul.
+  Sleep on! Sleep on!                                     [_Exit Roger._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_Another part of the garden. Enter alone, DIGGORY._
+
+_Diggory._ If there be no true charm but it hath a touch of folly in
+it, this one must be most potent. Now a wise man would not think
+there's that virtue in a bit of grease, a jingling rhyme, and a hair
+cut, that one might thereby win a woman's love--but the wise are
+fools in love. I have here the lard of three bears--one more than
+the old adage of "bear and forbear"--and with it I am to anoint my
+head as an enchantment to bring about my marriage to Betsey--marry,
+I'll temper the strength of the charm with a little bergamot, for in
+truth two of the bears have been dead over-long. Whew!--Aha!
+enchantment is the only highway to success in love! Now let me see:
+"Lady love, lady love, where'er you be"--
+
+_Betsey._ [_Singing behind the scenes_]
+
+             _Little bird, little bird, come tell me true;
+              If I love my love, as your love loves you,
+              And if he loves me, as you love your mate;
+              How long, little bird, should I make him wait?_
+
+_Diggory._ That's Betsey singing now! If the charm works like this,
+bear fat will be worth its weight in gold. But perhaps my features
+may have pleased her after all--I'm not bad to look upon; and truly
+I would save my hair; it's the best part about me. Singing again.
+
+_Betsey._ [_Singing behind the scenes_]
+
+             _In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
+                O, what can a maiden do,
+              If, while he walks close by her side,
+                Her lover begins to woo?_
+
+_Diggory._ Now I wonder where she learnt all those profane songs?
+From some liberal folk in the old country, no doubt; they ill become
+a puritan. If she were a little slower in her speech, what an angel
+she would be! As it is, she is a very good woman, tongue and all.
+
+_Betsey._ [_Singing again, behind the scenes._]
+
+             _For her, of buttercups and violets,
+                A circlet for her hair he makes;
+              And sings, in roundelays and triolets,
+                A song that soon her fancy takes.
+              In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
+                O, what can a maiden do,
+              If, while he walks close by her side,
+                Her lover begins to woo?_
+
+_Diggory._ I'm not a judge of songs, but if she means half she
+says--and a woman sometimes does--some one is about to be the top
+feather in Fortune's cap; it may be me. I'll try my luck once more.
+[_Going toward R. wing_] Why, here she comes.
+
+_Enter BETSEY, with a pair of butter paddles._
+
+_Betsey._ [_Entering._]
+
+             _Adown the moonlit path they walk,
+                Through all the world called lover's lane,
+              And hand in hand they sigh and talk
+                Of the love that binds them, happy twain!_
+
+  What are you gaping like a great gaby for?
+
+_Diggory._ For Fortune to drop the plum into my mouth.
+
+_Betsey._ Where is the plum?
+
+_Diggory._ There. [_Pointing at her._]
+
+_Betsey._ You silly fellow! yesterday I was a peach; the day before
+strawberries and cream; the day before that a rose; and last week a
+dove--marry, I don't coo for you! Can I be all these things at once
+and still be Betsey Tomkins?
+
+_Diggory._ O, Betsey, thou art all the world to me!
+
+_Betsey._ O, Diggory, thou art a great fool to me! Why, man, thy
+head is as soft as a pat of butter; I could take it between my
+paddles, like this, and mold it into any shape I chose.
+
+_Diggory._ So you may, Betsey; so you may. And, Betsey, for the love
+of mercy, mold it into the head of thy future husband.
+
+_Betsey._ 'Twould take a pair of shears to do that.
+
+_Diggory._ Wouldst thou marry me, Betsey, if I should lose my pretty
+locks?
+
+_Betsey._ I would not marry you with them, that's flat.
+
+_Diggory._ Shall I shave my head or only clip it close?
+
+_Betsey._ Cut it off, Diggory, cut it off.
+
+_Diggory._ Kiss me but once, Betsey, and I'll cut my head off; 'tis
+of little use to me now, and if thou dost marry me--well, thy head
+shall rest upon my shoulder, like this, and one head is enough for
+any pair of shoulders.
+
+_Betsey._    _In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
+                O, what can a maiden do_, etc.                [_Exeunt._
+
+
+SCENE III.--_The same as in Scene I of this act. Dimsdell asleep
+upon a garden bench, half reclining. Enter ROGER PRYNNE, called
+Chillingworth._
+
+_Roger._ To kill were easy; aye, but--to stretch his life
+  As on a rack--were that not better still?
+  Dead, I'd bury with him my revenge;
+  But while he lives the old account will stand
+  At daily usury.
+  I'll tent his agony, prolong it here,
+  Even here where I may feed upon it;
+  Not send him hence beyond my reach. Aye!
+  I'll fight with death to keep him for mine own.
+  But, now--
+  O, I must calm myself or miss my aim!
+  For, like a hunter when first he sees the buck,
+  My nerves are all unstrung. This weakling trick
+  Of overearnestness betrays the fool
+  In me; and yet we know it, though we profit not,
+  The eager hand doth ever spill the cup
+  That lifted carefully would quench our thirst.
+  I must assume a wise placidity;
+  As he puts on--Ah! damned hypocrite!--
+  The air of purity. (_Approaches Dimsdell._)
+  I'll drink dissimulation at the source;
+  I'll study him.--Thus might an angel look
+  When, wearied with the music of the spheres,
+  He laid him down upon a roseate bank
+  To dream of holiness!--He hath not stirred.--
+  'Twas well I did not speak to Bellingham,
+  For we have not been noted. Good, so far.
+  All eyes are busy with their own affairs;
+  I'll wake him now and foil discovery.
+
+_Takes vial from pocket medicine case._
+
+  Our native drugs are balanced well; one plant
+  Sucks in the beams the sleepy moon sends down,
+  Another drinks the waking draught of dawn.
+  That made him sleep, but this--Ah!
+  A mouldy mummied corse that in the tomb
+  A thousand years had lain, would wake once more,
+  If but three drops of this should touch its lips.
+  I'll give you, sir, but two.
+
+_Drops liquid into glass and fills with wine._
+
+                                There, swallow it.
+
+_Administering to Dimsdell._
+
+  Now, let me see--he must not know how long
+  He slept,--and by the sun it is not long--
+  I have't; I'll make him think he merely lost
+  Himself while I was talking.
+
+_Dimsdell stirs. Roger pours a glass of wine and takes position he
+occupied when Dimsdell fell asleep. Speaks as in continuation of
+former speech._
+
+                                    Mellow wine
+  Is Nature's golden bounty unto man.
+  And it hath well been said: Dame Nature is
+  A gentle mother if we follow her;
+  But if she drives our steps no fury wields
+  A fiercer lash; yet all her punishments
+  Are kindly meant; our puny faculties
+  Would nest forever fledgeling in our minds,
+  Did not her wise austerity compel
+  Their flight.
+
+_Dimsdell wakes with a start and recovers himself as one who would
+not seem rude._
+
+                 Or, put the same in other words:
+  That man is noble who doth fear no fate
+  Which may afflict humanity; but, like
+  A gallant soldier, meets the charge half way,
+  And takes his wounds a-jesting.
+  Now ev'ry one of us, whom Nature whips,
+  Must take it meekly; for she means our good;
+  And learn to go along with her.
+
+_Dimsdell._                              I fear
+  I dozed and lost the thread of argument.
+  I pray you, pardon me.
+
+_Roger._                            I did not note it.
+  But, be it so, come sun yourself; drive out
+  The fog and vapor that becloud your mind,
+  And let the warmth of nature take their place.
+  Nature retrieves our losses, or charges them
+  Against us; all things do rest, even the plants
+  Do slumber as they grow.
+
+_Dimsdell._                              How greedily
+  The flow'rs drink up the wine our golden sun
+  Pours down on them, yet blush to own their drinking!
+
+_Roger._ This is the New World, man; and Nature here
+  Is lusty; drink in thy dole of heat and light;
+  For even I, drenched in the golden rain,
+  Feel pulsings of lost paradise that make
+  My blood leap with th' quick-step bound of youth.
+  This is the very show'r of gold in which
+  Jove comes to fill the longing world with life.
+  And as he kisses her with ling'ring lips,
+  All Nature lies wide open to th' warm embrace
+  And quickens in his arms.--All, all, but thou!
+  For thou art single as the northern pole;
+  As cold, as distant, and unreachable
+  To what hath passion's warmth; and, though
+  Thy life be at its summer solstice--bright
+  With day--thy heart still turns to barren ice,
+  More bleak than many a wintry age.
+
+_Dimsdell._ How can I change my disposition, Doctor?
+
+_Roger._ Widen the thin ecliptic of thy life;
+  Revolve upon another axis, man;
+  Let love, the sun of life, beam meltingly
+  Upon thy heart and thaw it into happiness.
+  Marry, man, marry.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I cannot marry: I have my work to do.
+
+_Roger._ If work precedent were to love, the world
+  Would be unpeopled. This is the month of June,
+  And now the locust and the linden tree
+  Do wed the zephyrs as they blow, and weight
+  The air with oversweetness.--What song is that?
+
+[_Voice of Betsey singing behind scenes._]
+
+             _For her, of buttercups and violets,
+                A circlet for her hair he makes;
+              And sings, in roundelays and triolets,
+                A song that soon her fancy takes.
+              In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
+                O, what can a maiden do,
+              If, while he walks close by her side,
+                Her lover begins to woo?_
+
+_Roger._ That maid is innocent and happy too.
+  You may have noticed that--when the heart
+  Is pure--love overflows the lips in song
+  As sweet and limpid as a mountain spring;
+  But--when it's bitter with base treachery--
+  It dams itself against all utterance,
+  And either mines the soul, or, breaking forth,
+  Sweeps downward to destruction. Oh! 'tis true,
+  Love is the lyric happiness of youth;
+  And they, who sing its perfect melody,
+  Do from the honest parish register
+  Still take their tune. And so must you. For you
+  Are now in the very period of youth
+  When myriads of unborn beings knock loud and long
+  Upon the willing portals of the heart
+  For entrance into life. Deny it not;
+  I say but truth--I once was young myself.
+  Behold the means!
+
+_Enter MARTHA WILSON, carrying a bunch of roses._
+
+_Dimsdell._ Oh! Oh! [_Clasps his breast._]
+
+_Roger._ Whither so fast, Martha, that thou canst not speak to us?
+
+_Martha._ Oh! I beg your pardon, Doctor. Good morning, sir. I seek
+my father; is he with the Governor?
+
+_Roger._ Knowledge is costly, Martha; yet thou art rich enough to
+buy more than information. For one of those sweet roses, I'll tell
+you he is well and with the Governor.
+
+_Martha._ You beg it prettily.                   [_Giving Roger a rose._
+
+_Roger._ Pure and fragrant as the giver--marry, the blush becomes it
+not so well; it does not come and go. Martha, thy father and the
+Governor are in the library. Is that not worth another rose?
+
+_Martha._ Nay, only a very little one; for when he talks of books
+he's always loath to come with me.
+
+_Roger._ Nay, slander him not. But, Martha, books or no books, for
+two more roses I will bring him here; and, truly, fathers were cheap
+at three roses apiece. What say you?
+
+_Martha._ Nay, I'll go myself; but do not think I grudge the roses;
+here they are. You have not begged of me [_To Dimsdell_]. May I beg
+you to accept this? Gentlemen, farewell.                 [_Exit Martha._
+
+_Roger._ Roses, and you asked her not!
+  In love! in love! up to the eyes in love!
+  She'll drown in love unless you marry her!
+
+_Dimsdell._ Oh! that I were worthy of her!
+
+_Roger._ Dost love her, Dimsdell? Ah! she's worthy love.
+  She's fair and young; of gentle birth and rich;
+  And warm and pure and spirit-like as flame
+  That floats above new brandy.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Out upon thee, satyr! Thou dishonorest her.
+
+_Roger._ Not a whit. Is't dishonor to her purity
+  To urge thy smoky flame to brightness worthy
+  Of her? 'Tis what she wishes most; witness
+  Her confusion and her telltale blushes.
+  Do me justice, man; my thoughts are pure
+  And dwell on lawful marriage only. Thou, thou
+  Alone, couldst see impurity in that.
+  I spoke of thee, man, of thee; and who
+  Beside thyself would think a mottled thought
+  Could touch a maiden linked to thee in words
+  Or fact?
+
+_Dimsdell._ Oh! Oh!                          [_Clutching at his breast._
+
+_Roger._ Had I young daughters by the score, each fair
+  As Hebe, as voluptuous as Venus,
+  All thinly clad as in the golden age,
+  I could not wish a chaster keeper of them.
+  Nay, had I wives in droves like Solomon,
+  I'd make thee Kislah Aga of my harem,
+  Chief eunuch and sole security--What!
+  Call me satyr when I urge in bounds
+  The boundless beauties of pure maidenhood,
+  And bid thee wed them! Thus best advices are
+  Construed amiss, and what we kindly mean
+  Turned into scorn and filthiness!
+
+_Dimsdell._ Forgive me, Doctor; I'm ill at ease. This pain
+  Is like a stick thrust in a spring; it muddies
+  All my thoughts. Oh! Oh!          [_Pressing his hands to his breast._
+
+_Roger._ Come, Dimsdell, listen to a bit of reason.
+  Thy body is as sound as a red apple
+  In November. The pain's imaginary.
+  Marry, man, marry; thy wife will prove
+  A counter-irritant and drive the pain away.
+
+_Dimsdell._ No more of that, I pray you.
+
+_Roger._ Not enough of it, not enough of it!
+
+_Dimsdell._ No more, no more! I must not marry.
+
+_Roger._ Think once again, man; if that thy mind
+  Can pardon the suggestion--and, mark, I urge it
+  With all diffidence--there is a way,
+  Wherein the low opinion thou doth hold
+  Of thine own virtues--not held by any else--
+  May wed with beauty all unspeakable,
+  Raise up a noble lady, and show thy christian
+  Spirit to the world.
+
+_Dimsdell._ And what is that?
+
+_Roger._                      Wed Hester Prynne.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Wed Hester Prynne?
+
+_Roger._                  Aye! 'twas that I said.
+  She is a paragon--nay, beauty's self.
+  All other women are but kitchen-maids
+  Beside her loveliness.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Wed Hester Prynne!
+
+_Roger._ I hear her husband left her well to do;
+  And as for that small blot that sullies her
+  'Twill fade when covered by thy name.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Hester Prynne!
+
+_Roger._ What act more merciful, more christianlike?
+  Redeem the reputation of her child,
+  And to the jeers of fools stop up thine ears;
+  Enwrap thee in her gentle arms, lay down
+  Thine aching head upon her tender breast,
+  And dream thyself in paradise.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Thou fiend of Hell! I know thee now; thou cam'st
+  But once in thine own form, and ever since
+  Hast been too near me in a worser one.
+  Back to the pit, I say! No more of tempting!
+
+_Roger._ Art mad? I'm man as thou dost seem to be;
+  I'm not a fiend.
+
+_Dimsdell._ What dost thou know?      [_Shaking Roger by the shoulders._
+
+_Roger._ Only this--thou art as cowardly
+  As thou art lecherous. What! betray
+  A woman! Desert her in her misery!
+  Refuse to marry her!
+  And all the while, cloaked in thy ministry,
+  Dispense the sacraments of God to children--
+  How canst thou do it?
+
+_Dimsdell._ If thou be not Satan, why raise this cloud?
+  Why vanish from my sight? Yet I did touch him even now--
+  I'll kill him--Kill, kill, kill--now, now, now--
+
+_Roger._ In trance again! Help! Help! Help!
+
+_Dimsdell becomes rigid; with arm uplifted as if to strike a death
+blow. His speech thickens, and he stands motionless. Roger supports
+him._
+
+
+
+
+ACT IV.
+
+
+SCENE I.--_A room. DIMSDELL upon a couch in a cataleptic trance.
+ROGER PRYNNE watching him. Two chairs; other furniture heavy and
+immovable._
+
+_Roger._ [_Feeling Dimsdell's pulse_] There's been no change.
+  A very long trance.
+  At times he mumbles; at other times, as now,
+  He lies like death. If ev'ry murderer
+  Were stricken with the image of the thing
+  Which he would deal, 'twould be a blessing! Yet
+  When consciousness returns, with it will come
+  The murderous disposition; for in these cases
+  The mind, although it wanders while the trance
+  Is on, always comes back upon its path
+  Where first it left It. Therefore, 'twere wise in me
+  To be on guard. Well, so I am; but what--
+  What fear should drive me hence, or make me leave
+  The study of his case? He hath no arms
+  But such as both of us were born with;
+  And despite my age I am his equal that way.
+  Ah! a chair swung by a furious man
+  Might make an omelet of my brain;
+  Therefore, one chair will do--and that for me.       [_Removes chair._
+
+_Enter GOVERNOR BELLINGHAM in robes of office._
+
+_Governor._ Good morning, Doctor.
+
+_Roger._ Good morning, Governor. I wish you, sir,
+  As happy and as prosperous a term
+  In office, as that just closing.
+
+_Governor._                        I thank you, sir.
+  Has Dimsdell recovered from his trance?
+
+_Roger._ Not yet. There he lies.
+
+_Governor._                             Wonderful!
+  Can you account for his condition, Doctor?
+
+_Roger._ There's no accounting for it, Governor.
+  This is the second trance I've seen him in;
+  How many more he's had, God only knows.
+
+_Governor._ 'Tis most unfortunate that we must lack
+  His eloquence to-day. The people, who
+  Always love high-sounding words more than
+  Wise thoughts, prefer the music of his voice
+  To good old Wilson's drone. Why isn't he in bed?
+
+_Roger._ Oh! there are many reasons; 'twould take too long
+  To tell you now; but at another time
+  I'll ask your patience for a tale more strange
+  Than ever made your flesh to creep.
+
+_Governor._ Is there mystery in the case?
+
+_Roger._ Mystery! aye, and miracle, too!
+  You know him, Governor--a man whose nerves
+  Are gossamers, too fine to sift the music
+  Of the blasts that blow about our burly world,
+  And only fit for harps whereon Zephyrus
+  In Elysium might breathe.--And yet this man--
+  Oh! you'd not believe it if I told you.
+
+_Enter_ Servant.
+
+_Servant._ Your worship is asked for at the door.
+
+_Governor._ Say I am coming. We'll speak again of this. [_Exit Servant._
+  I must be gone. We servants of the State
+  Are slaves to show, and serve the people best
+  When most we trick them. The pageant of the day
+  Goes much against my better judgment, but
+  The crowd will have it so, and so farewell.
+
+_Roger._ One moment, if you please. If he revives
+  He'll pick the thread of life up where he dropt it;
+  He may desire to preach, as he hath promised you,
+  And, if he doth, 'twere better not to thwart him.
+
+_Governor._ Very well. I'll speak to Wilson.
+
+_Roger._ I'm sorry I cannot go with you. Farewell.
+
+_Exit Governor. Dimsdell moves. Roger goes to his side and examines
+him._
+
+  The pulse hath quickened. He moves his lips.
+
+_Dimsdell mumbles indistinctly._
+
+  I cannot catch it.--
+
+_Dimsdell._ Think of it no more, my love.--
+  Our troubles now are ended, Hester;
+  The gentle current of our mingled lives,
+  Long parted by the barren, rocky isle
+  Of hard necessity, flows reunited on.
+
+_Roger._ Indeed!
+
+_Dimsdell._ How sweet it is, in the afternoon of life,
+  To walk thus, hand in hand, Hester. And as
+  The golden sun of love falls gently down
+  Into the purple glory of the West,
+  We'll follow it.
+
+_Roger._            A lengthy jump--from sinning youth
+  Plump into the middle of an honored age!
+  Yet thus the mind, in trance or dream, achieves
+  Without an effort what it wills. Again?
+
+_Dimsdell._ Sir, take my daughter and my blessing, too;
+  Cherish her as the apple of thine eye;
+  Still shield her from the buffets of the world;
+  Let thy tenderness breathe gentle love
+  Like an Italian air sung at twilight,
+  When the melody without tunes that within
+  Until the soul arising on the wings
+  Of music soars into Heaven.
+
+_Roger._ Is there nothing in heredity? Or will
+  The orange-blossom take its fragrance from
+  The Heaven above; its origin forgot?
+
+_Dimsdell._ Hester, although the snow upon thy head
+  Be white as that on yonder distant mount,
+  Thine eyes are blue and deep as Leman's lake
+  That lies before us.
+
+_Roger._ Thus in our dreams we picture what we wish;
+  Not held to time or place; and while the body,
+  Like an anchor, sinks in mud, the winged craft
+  Swings with the tide of thought.
+  He's in Geneva now; Hester with him;
+  His daughter honorably married;
+  And all the pains of yesterday forgot.
+  I'll write it down.                              [_Roger makes notes._
+
+_Dimsdell._ Good night, dear wife, good night.
+  The stars of Heaven melt into angel forms
+  Which stoop to lift me to the gates of bliss.
+  Farewell, farewell! Nay, weep not, Hester;
+  Our sins are now forgiven.
+  Yea, though I walk through the valley of th' shadow of death,
+  I will fear no evil.--Say it with me, Hester.
+
+_Roger._ Will he die thus?                         [_Examines Dimsdell._
+  The pulse is weak--a clammy sweat--
+  'Tis but the culmination of the trance.
+  'Tis but a dream. A dream! Yet one must die;
+  And to our human thought that death were best
+  That came preceded by a flag of truce
+  To parley peace. To pass away in dreams--
+  Without the vain regret for work undone;
+  Without a load of sin to weight the soul;
+  With all the argentry of honored age
+  To frost our past; with all the fiercer heats
+  Of life burnt out into the cold, gray ash--
+  That were peace! Then might a man yield up
+  The willing ghost as calmly as a child
+  That falls asleep upon its mother's breast
+  To wake in paradise.
+
+_Dimsdell starts up._
+
+_Dimsdell._ I see thee now--and now I'll kill, kill, kill--
+  If thou be Satan I cannot harm thee--
+  But if a man--
+
+_Dimsdell attempts to reach Roger, who keeps the one chair of the
+room in front of him and thus wards off Dimsdell._
+
+_Roger._ Madman, listen! Thou canst not harm me, yet I am not Satan.
+My name is Roger Prynne. I am the husband of the woman you have
+wronged.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Thou Roger Prynne?
+
+_Roger._ Aye, Roger Prynne and thine accuser.
+
+_Dimsdell looks about the room as though dazed._
+
+_Dimsdell._ Why, how is this?--But now, the Governor's garden--and
+now, my room!--But now, just now, old Doctor Chillingworth--and now,
+mine enemy, Roger Prynne! Thou art the Devil himself!--Thou shalt
+not trick me thus.
+
+_Band music in distance._
+
+_Roger._ Trick thee? Why, madman, thou hast been in trance since
+yester noon. Trick thee! I like the word! 'Tis now the time of day
+when thou shouldst preach the great Election Sermon, the one event
+that makes or mars you preachers. Dost hear the music? A day hath
+passed since thou wast in the garden. They are marching even now to
+the market place.
+
+_Dimsdell._ What shall I do?                     [_Aloud, but to himself._
+
+_Roger._ Do? Stay here and settle our account; or else go on and
+publish thyself as what thou art--a hypocrite.
+
+_Dimsdell._ I see it now!--Ah! Satan! Satan!--thou wouldst affright
+my soul and make me lose my well earned honors. Why, Roger Prynne is
+dead--dead. 'Twas told on good report two years ago. And now--oh!
+try it if thou wilt--I'll have thee burnt, burnt--burnt at the
+stake, if thou accusest me! Who would believe thee? Stand aside, I
+say! Let me pass!
+
+_Roger._ How came the stigma on thy breast?
+
+_Dimsdell._ Thou knowest!--Make way, I tell thee!--Thou didst place
+it there!--Make way!
+
+_They struggle. Roger interposes the chair between himself and
+Dimsdell. Finally, Dimsdell wrenches the chair from Roger, flings it
+aside, and, grappling him, chokes Roger to death._
+
+_Dimsdell._ [_Panting_] A man! A man! A man!--Dead! dead!
+dead!--Nay--like a man!--Like a dead man!--A trick!--A devilish
+trick!--Did he not come in angel form--and then as Doctor
+Chillingworth--and then as Roger Prynne--and now,--and now, as a
+dead body?
+
+_Spurning Roger with his foot._
+
+O, Devil, I'll avoid thee yet!--I'll confess my crime and thus
+unslip the noose about my soul!
+
+_Hurriedly prepares to depart._
+
+He said we'd meet again! We have, and 'tis the last time!       [_Exit._
+
+
+SCENE II.--_Plain curtain, down. Music. Music ceases; subdued sounds
+as of a multitude back of curtain. Then the voice of Dimsdell rises
+as quiet returns._
+
+_Dimsdell._ And now, good friends, Electors and Elected,
+  Although my speech hath run a lengthened course,
+  And what I purposed hath been said in full,
+  There's more comes to me now.
+  What is our purpose and our destiny?
+
+_Curtain rises rapidly, disclosing stage set as in Act I, Scene III.
+Dimsdell upon a rostrum on church steps. Militia standing at rest.
+Citizens and officials in gala attire._
+
+  We call us English, Anglo-Saxon;
+  And from the Old we come to build the New,
+  The equal England of our expectation.
+  Here in the wilderness, the first small germs
+  Of man's long-promised freedom find their soil;
+  Here hidden will they rot a little while;
+  Anon, the sprouts will break our troubled land,
+  Thrust forth the first red blades, and thence grow on,
+  Forever and forever!
+  I see this vast expanse of continent,
+  That dwarfs the noble states of cultured Europe,
+  Spread out before me like a map, from pole
+  To pole, and from the rising to the setting sun.
+  I see it teem with myriads; I see
+  Its densely peopled towns and villages;
+  I see its ports, greater than any known,
+  Send forth their riches to the hungry world.
+  I see, O blessed, wondrous sight! the strength
+  Of Anglo-Saxondom--our mighty England
+  And our great America, as one--
+  The Lion and the Eagle side by side,--
+  Leading the vanguard of humanity!
+  And more I see; I see the rise of man
+  Merely as man!
+  Let the day come, O Lord, when man, without
+  Addition to that noble title--man--
+  Can stand erect before his fellow-man,
+  Outface Oppression with his flashing eye,
+  And stamp and grind proud Tyranny to dust.
+  Put in our hearts, O, Gracious God, the yeast
+  Of freedom; let it work our natures free,
+  Although it break to recombine again
+  The atoms of each state.
+  Send down thy pulsing tongues of burning truth;
+  Fire our souls with love of human kind;
+  Let hate consume itself; let war thresh out
+  The brutal part of man, and fit us for
+  The last long period of peace.
+
+_A pause, then cries severally._
+
+_First Citizen._ Is he an angel or a man? Sure Gabriel himself.
+
+_Second Citizen._ Look! He faints.
+
+_Third Citizen._ Poor minister!
+
+_Dimsdell._ [_Rallying himself_] I will speak on.
+
+_Governor._ My pious friend, wear not thy body out
+  To please our willing ears. Thou hast exceeded
+  Thy feeble strength already. Cease, man;
+  Demosthenes himself could not have stood
+  The strain which thou hast undergone. Prithee,--
+
+_Dimsdell._ I thank you; reason not my wastefulness,
+  For, if you make me answer you, you cause
+  More waste. My taper's burnt already.
+  It flickers even now, and, ere I leave
+  This place, my light, my life will go.
+  Question me not,
+  For, now I have fulfilled my public function,
+  There hurries on a duty of a private kind
+  I must perform at once or not at all;
+  Too long delayed already.
+  My friends, my life is flowing fast away,
+  I, that should be at full or on the turn,
+  Am near my lowest ebb.
+  This gnawing at my heart hath eaten through,
+  And now my soul releasing body bondage
+  Will take its flight--but where?
+
+_First Citizen._ It goes to Heaven when it flies;
+  But go not now.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Behold yon woman with The Scarlet Letter.
+
+_Citizens._ Oh, shame upon her! Fie!
+
+_Dimsdell._ Nay, shame on me; her sufferings have made
+  Her pure, but mine, beneath this lying robe,
+  Have eaten up my heart. Hypocrisy
+  Lie there [_Taking off gown_]. Now, while I do descend these steps
+  I leave my former life behind.
+
+_Descends and goes toward pillory._
+
+  Come, Hester, come!
+  Come take my hand, although it be unworthy.
+
+_Second Citizen._ Is the man mad, my masters?
+
+_Dimsdell._ Not mad, friend, not mad; but newly sane.
+  Come, my victim, come; assist me up
+  The pillory, there let us stand together--
+  The woman of The Scarlet Letter,
+  And he who did this wrong.
+
+_First Citizen._ That holy man is mad. He an adulterer!
+  I'll believe it when th' Devil grows blind.
+
+_Dimsdell._ Support me, Hester.
+
+_Dimsdell and Hester ascend pillory together._
+
+  Ho! all ye people of the Commonwealth,
+  Behold the man for whom you oft have sought,
+  The man who should have borne The Scarlet Letter;
+  For I am he.
+  If that the last words of one sinful man
+  May warn a multitude from sin, who knows
+  But that his errors tend toward good at last.
+  Let me not think my suffering in vain,
+  Or that my crime confessed will lead on others
+  Unto their downfall.
+  Behold me as I am--O, what a pang
+                                  [_He clutches his breast from now on._
+  Was that--a hypocritical adulterer.
+  Oh!--aye, a base, a low adulterer!
+  O, God, prolong my breath for this confession!--
+  I wronged this woman who did fondly love me,
+  I did neglect her in my cowardice,
+  I shunned the public scorn.--
+  O, but a little while!--I stood not with her;
+  I was a coward; and did deny my child.
+  Delay! Delay!
+  Now I avow my crime, I do confess it,
+  [_Kneels_] And here I beg you friends, as I have begged
+  My God, forgive me. Oh, I must be brief--
+  If any think that while I walked these streets
+  In seeming honor I lacked my punishment,
+  Look here.--              [_Tearing shirt open and disclosing stigma._
+  O--h!
+  This cancer did begin to gnaw my breast
+  When Hester first put on The Scarlet Letter
+  And never since hath once abated.
+
+_Voices._ O, wonderful! wonderful! He faints! Help! Help!
+
+_Hester._ Arthur! Arthur! one word for me! Only one!
+
+_Dimsdell._ I must say more.                                   [_Falls._
+
+_Hester._ Forgive him, Father! O, God, have mercy now;
+  Give him but breath to speak to me!
+  Arthur! Arthur!
+
+_Dimsdell._ Hester, my Hester, forgive--                        [_Dies._
+
+_Hester._ Farewell, farewell--dead, dead!
+  Nay, you shall not take him from me!
+  My breast shall be his pillow; and, that he may
+  Rest easy, I here cast off your Scarlet Letter.
+
+_Governor._ Captain, command your men to bear the body.
+
+_A solemn march._
+
+
+_THE END._
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+
+Archaic language and usage
+have been faithfully preserved for this etext.
+The only change was from "dramatic transscript"
+to "dramatic transcript."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scarlet Stigma, by James Edgar Smith
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