Nathaniel Hawthorne's

 THE SCARLET LETTER

A Dramatic Adaptation in Two Acts

by Robert N. Lawson Copyright  ©  1995

ACT I--Scene 1

[The Boston marketplace, June, l642.  A crowd is gathered around the scaffold of the pillory, before the prison, five women in one group.]

        FIRST WOMAN [A hard-featured woman of fifty.] Goodwives, to speak my mind in this affair That mocks the face of wifely virtue here, I say that we, mature and pious dames . . . And members of the church in good repute . . . Should have a voice in dealing with a sin That bears so strongly on the public weal. What think ye, gossips?  If the hussy stood For judgment now before the five of us, Would she slip by with such a sentence as Our worthy magistrates have given her?                           10 I dare believe that we'd have found a way To draw true penance from proud Hester Prynne.

        SECOND WOMAN Her godly pastor, Master Dimmesdale, takes It grievously to heart, I hear, that such A scandal should have come upon his church.

        THIRD WOMAN [An autumnal matron.]  Our magistrates are good and godly men, But, touching her, are over-merciful. A heated iron should have burned upon The forehead of that wanton--at the least! She would have winced at that, I warrant ye.                   20 But she . . . the vain young baggage! . . . what cares she What mark they choose to put upon her gown? Why, look ye, she may hide it with a brooch, Or any heathen sign that suits her taste, And walk about the streets as bold as we.

        FOURTH WOMAN [A young wife, holding a child by the hand.]

Ah!  Let her hide that mark howe're she may, The pang of it will bite into her heart.

        FIFTH  WOMAN [The ugliest.]  Why do we even speak of marks and brands, Be they upon her bosom or her brow? This harlot has brought shame upon us all--                     30 And ought to die!  Is there not law for it? I warrant me there is!  The holy book, And our grave statutes, make it very clear. Then let our magistrates take special care, For if they make the law of no effect, They have themselves to blame if their own wives And daughters go astray.

        TOWNSMAN                                               Cry mercy here! For that's the hardest word ye've spoken yet! Does woman have no virtue save what springs From fear the gallows may requite her act?                     40 Now hush yourselves!  Abate this noise awhile! The lock is turning in the prison door. We'll see how Mistress Prynne will wear her shame. [Hester enters stage right, followed by the Beadle.  There are expressions of shock and surprise.]

         THIRD WOMAN She hath good skill with needle . . . plain to see! But flaunts it as no honest woman would. The brazen hussy means to laugh at us . . . To scorn the order of the magistrates . . . To make a pride of what those worthy men Have set to be her lawful punishment.

        FIFTH WOMAN I'd like to see proud Madam Hester's limbs                     50 Stripped bare of that rich gown--to feel the lash! Her dainty shoulders then adorned in rags, And that fantastic letter she hath wrought Replaced by one rough-cut from homespun cloth. [Holding up the material of her own skirt.]

        FOURTH WOMAN Peace, neighbors, peace!  For she may hear you speak. There's not a stitch in that embroidered mark But she hath felt its sharpness in her heart. [Chillingworth enters stage left with an Indian.  Amazed by the spectacle, he moves closer, to stand near the Townsman.]         BEADLE Make way!  Make way!  In the king's name!  Make way! I promise ye, good people, Mistress Prynne

Shall be displayed.  Each woman, man, and child             60 Shall have full view of her and her attire From this time till the hour after noon. A blessing on our righteous colony Of Massachusetts, where no sin may hide. Iniquity is dragged into the light. Now clear a way!  Come hither, Mistress Prynne, And show your scarlet letter to the town.

        CHILLINGWORTH Good sir, pray tell me who this woman is . . . And wherefore she is set to public shame.

        TOWNSMAN Thou needs must be a stranger here, my friend,                70 Else surely would have heard of Hester Prynne . . . And of her naughty ways . . . for she hath raised A scandal hereabouts, for some months past, And brought disgrace on Master Dimmesdale's church.

        CHILLINGWORTH Ye speak most true.  I am a stranger here . . . Have wandered many hard and grievous days, Met sundry mishaps, both on land and sea, Have been a captive held, against my will, For this year past, among these heathen folk, And hither now am brought to be redeemed                     80 By this red man.  I stand here uninformed. What are the crimes that led yon Hester Prynne . . . Was that the woman's name? . . . to this high place Where she so proudly stands?

        TOWNSMAN                                                       A crime indeed! Methinks it should bring comfort to thee friend, Thy sojourn in the wilderness behind, To find thyself once more with pious men, Who here, in this new land, have set their souls To see each sinner snared up in his sin, And punished in the sight of one and all.                            90 This woman, sir, who stands there in her shame, Was married to a certain learned man, And lived with him some time in Amsterdam. Yet English were they both in point of birth, And he did choose . . . two years ago, must be . . . To cast their lot with other Englishmen Who sought God's will in Massachusetts here. Then, having much to settle to that end, He sent his wife before, stayed on himself To supervise the transfer of estate.                                 100 In all these months that Boston has been home

To Mistress Prynne, no tidings yet have come Of that same learned man who sent her here. So young a wife, good sir, left thus to time, And to her own misguidance . . .

        CHILLINGWORTH                                                             Ah, I see! That "learned man" should know that, too, I'd think, Or else has much to learn.  Pray tell me, sir, Who then is father to that fretful child, Some three or four months old, if I'm a judge, That Mistress Prynne now holds there in her arms?        110

        TOWNSMAN I wish I might!  In truth, friend, it remains A riddle for a Daniel to expound, For Mistress Prynne refuses still to speak. She will not name the man.  The magistrates Have sought to bend her will, but all in vain. Mayhap the guilty man stands looking on, Unknown . . . though not before the eyes of God.

        CHILLINGWORTH That learned man should come to join the search.

        TOWNSMAN Ay, so he should . . . if he be still in life. Our magistrates, bethinking them that she                       120 Was doubtless strongly tempted to her fall, So young and fair, abandoned here alone, Her husband at the bottom of the sea Perhaps these many months, for aught we know, Have not been bold to put in force the law In all its rigor and extremity-- The penalty whereof is certain death-- But in their mercy, such allowance made, Require her to stand, as now she stands, But three short hours in this public shame,                     130 And then, throughout the balance of her life, To wear that badge of shame upon her breast.

        CHILLINGWORTH [After a moment.]  That's wise indeed!  They thereby make of her A living sermon castigating sin Through all the months and years that she may live-- Until that scarlet letter be engraved Upon her tomb!  It rankles, none the less, That he who was the partner in her sin Stands not upon the scaffold by her side! [Oblivious to those around him.]

It cannot be he thinks he'll not be known!                     140 Will do this thing . . . and . . . would he challenge me? Well, then . . . he will be known.   He will be known! [Enter Mister Wilson, Governor Bellingham, Dimmesdale, and other "godly magistrates" on the balcony above.  They arrange themselves ceremonially, then the Reverend Mr. Wilson steps forward to speak.]         WILSON Attend to me, thou sinner . . . Hester Prynne! [Pause for silence.]  I've striven, Hester, with thy pastor here, Whose congregation bears this mark of shame, [Turning to address Dimmesdale directly.] And still do strive to bring this godly youth To see that he must now address thy soul, Here, in the face of Heaven, and of men,  [Gesturing.] Before these magistrates, this sober crowd, As touching on the vileness of thy sin.  [Back to her.]     150 He, more than I, thy natural temper knows, May judge, by that, what arguments to use, Of tenderness or terror, to prevail Against this hardness and obduracy To draw from thee the secret of the name Of him who was the tempter to thy fall. But he opposes me, is oversoft, [Looking at Dimmesdale.]  Albeit wiser than his years suggest, Has argued it would violate the soul Of woman thus to force her to reveal                            160 Her heart's dark secrets, here, before this crowd, In brightest light of day to speak her sins. The shame, as I have sought to make him see, Is in the deed, and not the showing forth. What say ye, Brother Dimmesdale?  Once again, Must it be I, or will thou now assume The task of tending this poor sinner's soul?

        BELLINGHAM Good Master Dimmesdale, it must fall to thee. This woman's soul has rested in thy care, And thou must now exhort her to repent . . .                 170 And to confession, as the proof thereof.

        DIMMESDALE [Hesitantly stepping forward.] So, Hester Prynne . . . thou hear'st what these men say . . . And comprehend the burden laid on me. If thou dost feel that, for thy spirit's peace, Perhaps to make thy earthly punishment Of more effect . . . to save thy sinful soul . . . I charge thee then to utter forth his name, Identify that one with thee in sin, Who now must live thy fellow sufferer!

Hold not thy silence out of tenderness,                          180 Or in distressful pity for the man, For . . . Hester . . . thou must know it no escape To hide a guilty heart throughout his life. Should he step down from some exalted place, To stand beside thee and to share thy shame, 'Twere better so . . . as he must also know. To thee has come this stark ignominy, To work thy penance . . . here, in Heaven's sight . . . For triumph over evil, in thy soul, And other sorrows of this dismal world.                        190 Do not deny that wholesome cup to him, Perhaps without the courage for himself To take it in his hands and drink it down-- This bitter draught presented to thy lips!

        HESTER I will not name the man!  [She clutches Pearl, who begins to cry.]

        WILSON                                            Still obstinate! I warn thee woman . . . let thy soul beware! Do not transgress beyond the natural bounds Of Heaven's mercy . . . and eternal grace. Thy child now adds its voice . . . a little babe . . . To second and confirm thy pastor's words,                   200 And call thee to repent.  Speak out the name! That name . . . and thy repentance . . . may avail To take that scarlet letter from thy breast.

        HESTER Ye cannot now!  Can never take it off! The brand has sunk too deep to be removed. I would I might, upon this scaffold, now, [To Dimmesdale.] Endure his agony . . . [Then down.]  here with my own.

        CHILLINGWORTH [As the voice of the crowd.] Speak, woman!  Speak!  And give thy child a name! [A shock of recognition from Hester, registered in a sharp cry from Pearl as she clutches her.  Then the child falls silent.]

        HESTER I will not speak!  And this, my child, must seek Her Heavenly father, in her times of need,                     210 For she shall never know an earthly one!

        DIMMESDALE [Murmuring, but audible.] She will not speak!  Such wondrous woman's strength . . . And gen'rous . . . woman's . . . heart.  She will not speak.

ACT I--Scene 2

[The deserted street at night.  A spotlight on Chillingworth as he enters, moving slowly, then jumps, as if frightened by an evil spirit, when he encounters Mistress Hibbins.]

        MISTRESS HIBBINS Good even to thee, sir.  Thou art the man That comes to us from out the forest yon . . . And art thou not?  Hast lived . . . these many months . . . With savage red men, deep within the woods?

        CHILLINGWORTH I've been held captive by the Indians, yes, And so have lived with them . . . where they do live.

        MISTRESS HIBBINS And whilst thou sojourned there . . . [Whispering to him.]                           in confidence . . . Didst ever meet the Black Man in the night?

       CHILLINGWORTH I know not what thou speak'st of.  Art thou daft?            10

        MISTRESS HIBBINS I thought mayhap that crook there, in thy back, The way thou drag'st thy leg when thou dost walk, Might be his marks on thee.

        CHILLINGWORTH                                                      Who art thou then?

        MISTRESS  HIBBINS [Laughs.]  I'm one who knows the Black Man well enough, And secrets of the forest . . .  well as thee . . . And one who knows thy purpose in this town . . . In godly Boston town.  But whither now? In such a rush, and in the dark of night?

        CHILLINGWORTH Thou knowest all!  Why then thou must know that! [Pushes by her.]  I go now to the jail.

        MISTRESS HIBBINS                                                           To see that one!   20 The woman of the scarlet letter now . . . In sunny days was our sweet Hester Prynne.

        CHILLINGWORTH Yes, Hester Prynne--I go to see her now.  [Going.]

        MISTRESS HIBBINS And on the Black Man's business?

        CHILLINGWORTH [Turning back to her.]                    Hold thy tongue! Thou speak'st too wild.  [Pause.]  In practice of my art. They say her child is fretful ill . . . and I . . . Have medicines, and know their wholesome use. But thou must know of this same Hester Prynne . . . And of her child.  Canst tell me aught of that?

        MISTRESS HIBBINS I know thou canst not cure what ails that child.               30

        CHILLINGWORTH Why not?  I have the skills of medicine . . . And I have learned the use of natural herbs.

        MISTRESS HIBBINS [Laughs.]  The defect is a blemish of the soul . . . Old Adam's curse.  Hast thou the cure for that? And dost thou know the father of the child?

        CHILLINGWORTH Dost thou?  Perhaps, in haste, I've judged thee wrong . . . Perhaps thou art the very one to know.

        MISTRESS HIBBINS I know what I do know . . . about such things . . . The happenings in the forest I have seen.  [Laughs.] And I will meet thee all there, by and by.                        40 Mayhap the Black Man then will make a sign, To indicate the father of the child, May point his crooked staff to say, "That one," Or put his bony finger on the man, To draw a scarlet letter on his breast! [She exits in cackling laughter.]

        CHILLINGWORTH A strange old crone!  And fearful in the night! I must be on my way . . .  to Hester Prynne . . . Who wears her scarlet letter . . . and her child.

ACT I--Scene 3

[Hester's jail cell.  Brackett, the jailer, shows Chillingworth in. Hester instinctively draws back, clutching Pearl, who cries fitfully.  She and Chillingworth exchange a long look.]

        CHILLINGWORTH Pray leave me with my patient here alone,

And trust me, friend, for soon thou shalt have peace Here in thy jail . . . and Mistress Prynne shall be Amenable to thy authority . . . More than thou may'st have found her heretofore.

        BRACKETT Nay, if your worship can accomplish that, I'll own thee for a man of skill indeed. The woman hath behaved like one possessed, [Looks at Hester.] More noise from her at times than from the child. I've thought I might be forced to use the rod,                   10 To drive old Satan from her sinful soul. I'm here to call, if thou hast need of me.  [He exits.]

        CHILLINGWORTH [He avoids Hester's eyes as he prepares the medicine.  She watches apprehensively, as Pearl fusses.] My studies in the schools of alchemy, And sojourn for this year and more just past Among a people versed in simple herbs, Have made a better doctor of me now Than most who hold a medical degree. [He looks up and hands her the cup.] Administer the draught with thy own hand. The child is thine . . . is surely none of mine . . . So let the cup be in a hand it knows.                               20

        HESTER Wouldst thou avenge thyself upon a babe?

        CHILLINGWORTH A foolish thought!  And why should I desire To harm this misbegotten . . . helpless . . . child? The medicine is wholesome . . . on my word. Were that my child . . . yea, mine as well as thine . . . I could not offer better medicine. [Hester administers the drug.  Pearl soon grows quiet.  Chill- ingworth then examines Hester and prepares another potion.] I can't command the force of memory, To put to rest the troubles from the past, But I've learned certain secrets in the woods, And here is one, a potent recipe.                                    30 I had it from a wise old Indian In payment for some lessons of my own As old as Paracelsus' mysteries. So drink it down.  It may not serve as well How could I claim a beauty like thy own?                       70 Misshapen from my birth-hour, how could I Delude myself that intellectual gifts Might sway a young girl's fancy . . . spite of that . . . And cast a veil o'er my distorted form?

Men call me wise.  Had I been wise indeed, I might have known that this was doomed to be, That as I stepped from out those dismal woods To mingle with plain Christian men again, The first sight I would see would be thyself, So monumental in the market-place,                                80 That mark of shame . . . bright red  . . . upon thy breast! Ay, from the very church steps where we stood, A newly married pair, I should have seen The bale-fire of that scarlet letter blaze Afar upon the path we were to take.

        HESTER Thou know'st . . . know'st well . . . that I was frank with thee. I felt no love . . .  did not pretend I did.

       CHILLINGWORTH Yes . . . that is true.  And I have said as much. It was my folly conjured up the match. But all my life, till then, seemed lived in vain . . .               90 The world had been so cheerless, so remote. My heart, with room enough for many guests, Was empty as a long-abandoned house, Left lone and still, without a household fire. I longed to kindle one.  Old as I was, And bent in shape, and somber in my mien, I dreamed of simple bliss, that simple bliss That's scattered far and wide to all mankind. Was that so wild a dream?  I see it was. Ah, Hester, I but thought to take thy hand,                    100 To draw thee gently to my inmost heart And nest thee there, to make thee safe and warm . . . By that same warmth which thy own presence brought.

        HESTER That I have greatly wronged thee . . . I regret.

        CHILLINGWORTH We each have done some wrong.  The first was mine, When I betrayed thy warm and budding youth Into a sterile kinship with decay. I knew it then . . . and trust I know it now. If I have not philosophized in vain, I find no cause for vengeance aimed at thee,                 110 Nay, plan no further action in thy case. Between us two the scales are balanced fair. But, Hester, he doth live who's wronged us both. I shall not let that rest!  Who is the man?

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        HESTER It's vain to ask.  Thou'lt never . . . never know!

        CHILLINGWORTH Ah, never?  Never know?  That's but a word. Thy "never" set against my, "Yes, I shall!" Believe me, Hester, this world holds few things, In outward forms, or, to a certain depth, In secrets thought secure within the mind,                      120 Safe hidden from a man who's resolute, Who sets himself in earnest to the task, Will give his life to probe a mystery. Thou may'st bemuse the prying multitude, To keep thy secret hidden from their eyes. The ministers and magistrates, as well, May take thy silence, as they did today, As all the name they'll wring from out thy heart-- Despair to know the partner of thy shame. But, as for me, I come with other skills,                         130 With senses tempered for this kind of test. I'll seek this man as I have sought the truth In books, or gold in mystic alchemy. A special sympathy will show him me. I'll see him tremble, sudden, unawares. I'll feel him shudder as he passes me. But, soon or late, I know . . . he must be mine!

        HESTER Thy actions are like mercy, but thy words Interpret thee a terror . . . shake my soul.

        CHILLINGWORTH One thing alone, then, I require of thee . . .                    140 Enjoin upon that woman once my wife. Thy paramour's dark secret thou hast kept; Keep mine as well!  Let none know who I am. None know me now.  Breathe not to any man That thou dost know me . . . called me husband once. To this wild land I've come to pitch my tent; I've wandered all my life, a lonely man, And here I find a woman, child, and man, Amongst whom and myself the closest bonds Exist.  No matter bonds of love or hate!                       150 No matter bonds of moral right or wrong! For thou and  thine, from henceforth, Hester Prynne, Belong to me.  My home is where thou art, And where he is!  But now--betray me not!

        HESTER But wherefore not?  Why not announce thyself For what thou art, and cast me off at once?

        CHILLINGWORTH Perchance because I would not be that man, The husband of a woman fallen so, Perchance for other reasons, of my own, Enough I wish it so . . . to be as dead,                          160 A husband from whom word shall never come. Reveal me not!  By word, by sign, by look! And most of all . . . not to that special man! Don't fail in this!  Beware!  Take light this vow, His fame, his soul, his life, are in my hands!

        HESTER I'll keep thy secret, as I hold to his.

        CHILLINGWORTH Then swear!

        HESTER [After an apprehensive moment.]  I do.  I swear to keep this vow. By all that I hold precious  [Looks at Pearl.] . . . I do swear.

        CHILLINGWORTH Well then, young Mistress Prynne, I leave thee here, Alone . . . or with thy child . . . thy tender babe . . . And with thy scarlet letter.  Tell me now,                       170 How is it, Hester?  Must thou wear the mark In dark of night as well as light of day? And does it bring thee nightmares . . . hideous dreams?

        HESTER Why dost thou smile at me?  I fear that smile! Art like the Black Man haunts the forest round, Enticing souls away from sacred bliss? Hast forged a bond will damn my soul in Hell?

        CHILLINGWORTH Not thy soul, Hester!  No . . . 'twill not damn thine! [His semi-diabolic laughter echoes as . . .]

  ACT I--Scene 4

[Seven years later, l649.  Hester enters Governor Bellingham's garden, in plain Puritan dress, except for the scarlet letter.]

        HESTER Pearl!  Pearl!  Come stay by me!  Behave thyself! [Pearl runs in, dressed in bright red, and runs circles around

her mother.] Now settle down.  Behave!  This day thou must! Come . . . let me tie thy bonnet once again. [Watches Pearl, still running around her.] I ask the Lord . . . our Father up above . . . [Looks up.] If Thou still be a Father to us twain . . . What is this child to which I've given life, Who seems a greater stranger every day? Now stop for me! [Takes Pearl by the shoulders and gives her a long look.  Ties her bonnet strings.]     Art thou my little Pearl?

        PEARL I am thy little Pearl!  [Laughing.]  In very truth!

        HESTER [Half to herself, shaking her head.] Thou canst not be my child . . . no Pearl of mine.            10

        PEARL I am thy little Pearl!  I know I am!

        HESTER [Half playfully.]  No, tell me who thou art.  Who sent thee here?

        PEARL Tell me!  Tell me!  'Tis thou who must tell me!

        HESTER [More soberly.]  It was thy Heavenly Father sent thee me.

        PEARL [Also more soberly.]  I have no Heavenly Father . . . that I know. [Then touching the scarlet letter.] How could it be He sent . . . thy little Pearl?

        HESTER [Looking around to see if anyone hears them.] Hush, Pearl!  Now hush!  Thou must not say such things! [Then up, in spite of herself.]  For if He sent us all into this world, [Then  tenderly at Pearl, who is serious and quiet now.] How much more thee.  If not from Heaven above, Thou strange and elfish child, whence couldst thou come?

        MISTRESS HIBBINS [From the window above.] And who is this who's come to visit us?                           21 The scarlet letter . . . puff . . . and come to life.

        HESTER [Surprised, looking up.]  You startled me!

        PEARL                                                        Oh, Mother, look and see! That crazy lady . . . always in the woods. [Mistress Hibbins laughs.]

        HESTER Hush, Pearl!  'Tis idle talk describes her so . . . [To Mistress Hibbins.]  We're summoned to the Governor today. Is he within?

        MISTRESS HIBBINS                              I'll look within and see. He had a godly minister or two In company as he went up that path, And that strange hump-backed man, still haunting us,      30 Who looks so pale he hardly seems alive . . .

        HESTER They wait for us.

        MISTRESS HIBBINS                                 I'll see if they're come in.  [Exits within.]

        PEARL [Looking in the pool.]  Look, Mother, here!  Thy image over me. See how thy letter, blending with my dress, Makes that long streak of red across the pool.

        HESTER [Shrinking back.]  Now come away.  Why dost thou tease me so? Come tell me if these flowers over here Are not more fair than any in the woods.

        PEARL [Seeing the roses]  I'll go and gather some of them for thee. They're like the ones we saw along the way . . .              40 So bright and red . . . beside the prison door.

        HESTER Stay here by me.  I hear their voices now. The Governor is coming up the path . . . And other gentlemen he's talking with. [Bellingham, Wilson, Dimmesdale, and Chillingworth enter on the opposite side from the house.  Pearl has run that way and stopped, with a childish cry.  Bellingham sees her first.]

        BELLINGHAM What have we here?  I have not seen the like, Since, in my days of vanity, I went To courtly masques . . . in old King James's time . . . And thought it such an honor to attend.

There'd be a swarm of children dancing there, Small apparitions, dressed in gaudy gowns,                     50 In holiday and other foolish wear. The Children of Misrule we called them then. But in my garden blossoms such a sprite?

        WILSON A little bird, in scarlet plumage dressed! Methinks I've seen such figures when the sun Came shining through the window of a church, Projecting gold and crimson on the floor. But that was long ago . . . across the sea. I prithee, child, who art thou, so bedecked? And what can ail thy mother to allow                              60 Her little girl in such a strange attire . . . Such shocking red?  Art thou a Christian child? And dost thou know thy catechism yet? Or art thou but a fairy, or an elf, A naughty sprite of Papistry we thought In Merry England to have left behind?

        PEARL I am my mother's child!  Her little Pearl!

        WILSON Ah. . . Pearl?  Say Ruby, rather . . . maybe Rose, At least if we're to judge thee by thy hue! [He attempts to pat her on the cheek, in vain, then notices Hester.] Ah, there the mother stands.  Of course, 'tis she              70 Of whom we've just been speaking as we walked . . . And this the child . . . the poor unhappy child Of this unhappy woman . . . Hester Prynne.

        BELLINGHAM [Solemnly regarding Hester.] The scarlet woman, with her scarlet child, A worthy type of her of Babylon! Come in good time for us to think on this. So, Hester Prynne, there's been much talk of late, Of thee [Looks at Pearl.] and of the nurture of thy child. We've given thought, and weighty argument-- Those of us here who have authority--                            80 If we do well to leave things as they are, If in good conscience we may trust this child . . . May trust the care of her immortal soul . . . To one herself so tumbled down in sin, So muddied by the pitfalls of this world. Tell us--as you're her mother--what thinkst thou? Were it not best for her immortal part, As well as for her welfare here on earth,

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If she were taken from thy errant charge, [Hester flinches back.] Clad soberly, and strictly disciplined,                              90 Instructed in the truths of Heaven and earth-- In short, raised as a Christian in our town? How canst thou be instructress to the child?

        HESTER I'll teach the child what I have learned from this! [She touches the scarlet letter.]

        BELLINGHAM Nay, woman, for it is thy badge of shame! The symbol of the stain that marks the child, In colors that cry out to us to place Her care and training in more pious hands.

        HESTER But yet it is a teacher, even so, And daily teaches me--nay teaches now--                   100 Such lessons as this child might profit from . . . And be the wiser woman . . . though I fear There now can be no profit to myself.

        BELLINGHAM We'll not be rash . . . judge carefully what we do. Good Master Wilson, take thee up this Pearl . . . If that's the creature's name . . . examine her, To see that she hath Christian principles, And training that befits a child her age. [Wilson attempts to take Pearl in hand, but she eludes him and scampers to the edge of the lawn.  He questions her as she stands there warily, as if ready to escape.]

        WILSON Now, Pearl, to these my questions pay good heed, So, in thy bosom, thou may'st come to wear                 110 That pearl of peerless price each Christian seeks. Canst tell me now, my child, who gave thee life-- And thy immortal soul?  Who made thee, child? [Pearl shakes her head vigorously.] Why come now child!  All children answer that.

        PEARL My mother plucked me from that merry bush Where roses bloom . . . close by the prison door. [Hester gasps, as do the others.  Pearl runs to her.]

        BELLINGHAM A wild reply!  And from a child . . . of eight? Who cannot name her Maker!  Gentlemen, I have no doubt she's just as far from truth Concerning the condition of her soul,                            120 Its deep depravity . . . and destiny! We need proceed no further, I would judge.

        HESTER God gave the child to me . . . as recompense, For all that ye have taken from me else. She is my joy, yes . . . and my torture, too . . . [Looking reproachfully at Pearl.] She keeps me here in life . . . to punish me . . . The very scarlet letter . . . come to life . . .

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As ye can see.  But, since she can be loved, A million fold its power over me . . . To speak in retribution to my sin.                                  130 Ye shall not take her from me!  I would die!

        WILSON The child will be well cared for, better far Than in thy lonely cottage she can be.

        HESTER [Almost shrieking.]  God gave her me!  I will not give her up! [Turning to Dimmesdale.] Where is thy voice, as these men speak of this? [More calmly, as she looks at him, but even more determined.] Thou wast my pastor . . . in those other days . . . They cannot know my temper as thou dost. I will not lose the child!  So speak for me! They cannot know the feelings in my heart, But thou, with other sympathies than they,                     140 Feel them thyself . . . and know a mother's rights . . . And how much stronger when there's but the child . . . And then the scarlet letter . . . they become. So speak to them!  I will not lose the child! [Chillingworth watches this exchange very closely, while neither of the others notices anything special.]         DIMMESDALE I see the truth . . . in much that Hester says . . . [Hand over his heart.]  And in the feeling which inspires it. The child has come from God . . . and come to her . . . And an instinctive knowledge of its needs-- Its special nature and requirements, Which seem so strange . . . nay, most unusual--            150 No other mortal being can possess.

And is there not an awful sanctity Between this special mother and her child?

        BELLINGHAM Ah . . . how is that, good Master Dimmesdale, pray? Please make that plain.  I'm yet to understand.

        DIMMESDALE It must be even so, for were it not, We must accept the Father of us all, Creator of all flesh--and so of this-- Hath lightly recognized a deed of sin, And made of no account that peril'ous fault,                  160 Abysmal chasm, that must lie between Unhallowed lust and holy married love. Here hath a father's guilt, a mother's shame, Been given life . . . but by the hand of God . . . To work in many ways upon her heart, Who pleads her case so earnestly today . . . And with such bitter spirit claims her right To keep her child . . . the blessing of her life. And as a blessing was it meant to be! But, as she says, a retribution, too,                               170 A torture, surely, unexpectedly To feel a pang, a sting, an agony, At just that unthought moment when her joy Might seem to overflow in this her child. And hath she not expressed this in the way She's dressed the child?  So clear to any eye, So forcibly reminding us of that!  [Pointing.] The scarlet letter we have made her doom, The symbol of her sin, which sears her breast!

        WILSON Well said again!  I feared no better thought                   180 But just to make a mountebank of her!

        DIMMESDALE Not so!  Not so!  She sees it all too well, The solemn miracle that God hath wrought In giving her this child . . . her little Pearl. Well may she feel--I take it for the truth-- The child was meant to be a boon to her, Was meant to keep her mother's soul alive! To keep it from the blacker depths of sin Which Satan else had sought to plunge it in. So certainly it is a boon to her,                                     190 Whose sinful soul might otherwise be lost, To have this infant immortality, A being capable of joy, or tears, In this world and the next, placed in her care,

To be trained up by her to righteousness. And yet she must remind her of her sin . . . That single fall . . . each time she looks at her. [To Hester.]  The child is meant to be its Maker's pledge, That if that child is brought to Heaven, so, The child will bring its mother there as well.                   200 [To Bellingham..]  So may the sinful mother see herself As blessed beyond the sinful father's case. For her sake, then, as well as for the child, Let Hester Prynne, as Providence intends, Hold yet to that mixed blessing . . . this rare child!

        CHILLINGWORTH You speak, my friend, with God's own earnestness.

        WILSON And there's a weighty import in thy words. What say'st thou, Master Bellingham, to this? Hath he not argued well for Mistress Prynne?

        BELLINGHAM Indeed he hath.  And I attend to him.                            210 He puts a different favor on the case. We'll leave the matter even as it stands, So long, at least, as there's no scandal here, No further shame for this community. Care must be had, however, that we see To due examination of this child. Her catechism shows a sad neglect, Which thou . . . or Master Dimmesdale . . . must address. And, at the proper season, tithing men Must see that she's at meeting, and in school.                220 [As the men enter the house, Pearl approaches Dimmesdale, as if with a show of affection, taking his hand and holding it against her cheek.  Hester speaks, as to herself.]

        HESTER Is that my Pearl?

[Pearl then laughs, and scampers out of sight.  Hester begins to follow her.  Wilson speaks to Dimmesdale, as they go in.]

        WILSON                                  Ay, what a little witch! She needs no broomstick thus to fly away!

        CHILLINGWORTH The child is strange!  Yet one may clearly see The mother's part in that rebellious sprite. Now, should it be beyond a scholar's ken To read the father's part in her as well?  [With a smile.]

What think ye, gentlemen . . . could that be done? To analyze her nature, spirit, form, And shrewdly find the father in the glass?

        WILSON Nay, that would be as sinful in itself!                             230 In such a case, profane philosophy Should have no part, nor offer any clue. It's better far to fast and offer prayer, Or, better still, to leave the mystery Just as it is, untouched, unless the Lord, In His great wisdom, chooses to reveal What this poor woman struggles still to hide. In that way, every Christian man may show A father's kindness to this troubled child. [Chillingworth has lagged behind to observe Hester, when Mistress Hibbins appears above again, and calls to her.]         MISTRESS HIBBINS Hist!  Hester, wilt thou go with us tonight?                     240 [Pearl, too, reappears, and watches, fascinated.] Wilt make one in our merry company, To meet deep in the forest this dark night? I told the Black Man to depend on thee . . . That comely Hester Prynne would join us there.

        HESTER Well, please to offer my excuses, then, For I must stay to home . . . with this, my child. [Takes Pearl to her, and holds her tight.] Had they but taken her away from me, Then would I willingly have joined with thee . . . Deep in the forest . . . there to sign my name In his dread book--and that in my own blood!               250 [Exits with Pearl.]

        MISTRESS HIBBINS Nay, Hester, we shall have thee there anon.

[Mistress Hibbins and Chillingworth exchange looks.]

 ACT I--Scene 5

[Dimmesdale and Chillingworth in a simple bachelor-scholars' common room.]

        DIMMESDALE I need no medicine . . . but am content To share this lodging with thee, for I know The profit to myself of thy discourse

On matters where thy knowledge is profound . . . If sometimes so remote from what I've heard From scholars at the university. But don't expend thy store in medicine Applying it to my unworthy case. Were it God's will, I'd readily accept My labors, sorrows, sins . . . and all my pains . . .           10 Should shortly end, with this too mortal life. Let what is earthly perish in the grave . . . The spirit seek its own eternal state . . . But do not waste thy skills on my behalf.

        CHILLINGWORTH Young clergymen are apt to speak this way. Ye youthful men . . . yet hardly taken root . . . Give up thy hold on life so easily! And saintly men, who walk with God on earth, Would hasten off to walk with Him on gold, On pavements of the New Jerusalem.                             20

        DIMMESDALE [Forcefully, as he leaves the room.] Nay!  Were I worthy, sir, to walk those streets, I could with better patience toil on here.

        CHILLINGWORTH [After the retreating Dimmesdale.] Good men too meanly estimate themselves. [Then to himself, reflectively.] This man, pure as they judge that he must be, As sanctified as everyone can see, Hath yet a nature something passionate. We'll dig a little deeper in that vein! [Turns his attention to his basket of plants.]

        DIMMESDALE [Returning with a book, to find Chillingworth examining the plants he has collected at a table in the corner of the room.] And where, good doctor, did'st thou gather those, That offer such a dark and flabby leaf?

        CHILLINGWORTH Why even in the graveyard here at hand.                         30 They're new to me.  I found them on a grave Which bore no tombstone or memorial To that dead man except these ugly weeds, That took upon themselves the heavy task. They grew out of his heart, and typify, It may well be, some hideous secret there, A secret that was buried in the grave . . . That better might have been confessed in life.

        DIMMESDALE Perchance he so desired, but could not.

        CHILLINGWORTH And wherefore not, since Nature's several forms             40 Collaborate so strongly to reveal What he took pains to hide that these black weeds Have sprung up from that guilty buried heart To manifest its still unspoken crimes?

        DIMMESDALE Good sir, that's but a fantasy of thine. There cannot be, if I forbode aright, A power, short of God's eternal grace, To so reveal, by emblem or by type, The secrets buried in a human heart. The heart, once guilty of such secret sins,                        50 Must hold to them until the Judgment Day, When all such hidden things shall be revealed. Nor do I read the Holy Writ to mean Disclosure of those human thoughts and deeds At that dread time shall be intended as A part of retribution of those sins. That surely were a shallow view of it. Those revelations of our secret sins, Unless I greatly err, will then reveal All motives to all minds, are meant to give                       60 The intellectual satisfaction due To all who stand there waiting on that day To see the darkest motives brought to light . . . To know the human heart will be required To sympathize in that community. And I believe I know whereof I speak To say that hearts that hold such secrets now, Such secrets as thou'dst find in those foul weeds, Will yield them up in ecstasy that day, With utter joy before the Judgment Seat.                         70

        CHILLINGWORTH Why not reveal them here, and save the pain, The sooner to receive such peace and joy?

        DIMMESDALE They mostly do.  For many speak to me, In confidence, of what disturbs their souls, Not only on the death-bed, but in youth, Still fair in reputation, strong in health. And ever, after such a pouring out, What deep relief I've noticed in their sighs! As those who breathe at last the clean, free air Long stifled with their own polluted breath.                     80

And how could it be otherwise than that? Why should a tortured, wretched, hopeless man, One guilty, let us say, of patricide, Prefer the rotting corpse hid in his heart, Corrupting all his being with its weight, When he might fling it forth before the world?

        CHILLINGWORTH Yet some men seek to hide their secrets . . . thus.

        DIMMESDALE It's true, there are such men.  One might suggest A hundred reasons for their reticence. It may be that their silence is a sign                                 90 Of haunting insecurity of soul. Or, guilty as they are, can it not be, No matter what their trust in God, or zeal, No matter how they yearn for sympathy, They shrink to show themselves so black in sin, So filthy in the view of other men, That henceforth little good can be achieved By any earthly acts they may perform, No evil of the past may be redeemed By better service, offered out of pain?                           100 So in their torment they still go among Their fellow creatures looking pure as snow, While knowing that their hearts are speckled black, With sin from which they never can be free.

        CHILLINGWORTH Such men deceive themselves.  They can't accept The shame that waits for them beside their door. Their love for man--their zeal to serve their God-- How can such holy motives coexist In hearts with evil inmates, which their guilt, By locking in, must cause to propagate,                         110 And cultivate a hellish breed within? How can they think that God will smile on men Who dare to lift to Heaven unclean hands? If they would truly serve their fellow man, Then let them serve by making manifest The power of true conscience, in the act Of penitential self-discovery! Wouldst thou have me believe, my pious friend, A false show can be better than a true, To serve God's glory, or one's fellow man?                   120 Trust me, good sir, such men deceive themselves.

        DIMMESDALE It may be so.  But, keeping to thy art, I ask thee as physician, touching me,

To tell me if thy constant, kindly care Has brought new health to this weak frame of mine.

        CHILLINGWORTH [Having moved to the window.] Look!  Over there!  A child among the graves! It must be she, the scarlet letter's child, Who scampers wildly in a graveyard thus. Yes, certainly, it is that very child, For see . . . her mother comes not far behind                 130 And tries in vain to get her to behave. No rev'rence for divine authority, Or human ordinance, or public law, Or right or wrong--or any principle-- Can be discovered in her wild young games. I saw the child, a day or two agone, Splash mud upon the Governor himself, Down by the cattle trough in Danby Lane. [Dimmesdale comes to the window to look.] Canst thou define the child's identity? An imp?  The force of evil incarnate?                            140 Hath she affections?  An immortal soul? What principle of being can she have?

        DIMMESDALE [Almost to himself.]  None, save the freedom of a broken law. If there be good in her . . . that's yet to know.

        PEARL [Coming to the window, and throwing a burr at Dimmesdale.] Quick, come away!  Quick, Mother!  Come away! Or yonder Black Man will soon catch thee, too. He'll catch thee like he's caught the minister, Unless we run away.  Run, Mother, run! But never will he catch thy little Pearl!

        CHILLINGWORTH [As Pearl runs off, laughing.] And there she goes.  Her mother in her wake.               150 Proud Hester Prynne, who wears her letter so . . . Whatever her demerits, there is none Of that deep mystery of hidden sin

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Which thou hast deemed so grievous to be borne. Is Hester Prynne less miserable, thinkst thou, Because that scarlet letter's on her gown?

        DIMMESDALE I cannot answer for another soul . . .

But, yes, I do believe it.  Still, I see A look of pain so often in her face I wish I had the power to remove.                                160 But still believe it is the better way For every sufferer to show his pain, As this poor woman is constrained to do, Than wear it buried deep within the heart.

        CHILLINGWORTH [Returning to an examination of his plants.] A while ago thou asked me to declare My judgment on the question of thy health.

        DIMMESDALE I did, and now attend with anxious ear. Speak frankly . . . should it be for life or death.

        CHILLINGWORTH Most freely, then, and plainly, if I may. It is a strange disorder--in itself,                                    170 And in the way it manifests itself-- So far as I have seen its symptoms shown, Laid open to my scrutiny, at least. I see thee daily, watch thy fretful moods, The tokens of thy aspect, these last months, And I should deem thou art a man sore sick, Yet not so sick but yet thou might'st be cured, By that physician who could undertake That cure with knowledge that I do not have. But I can say . . . no, rather, cannot say                        180 Just what it is, or what I seem to know, That slips away whenever I draw near.

        DIMMESDALE [Looking out of the window.] Thou seem'st to speak in riddles, learned sir.

        CHILLINGWORTH Then let me speak more plainly, if I may. I crave thy pardon if it seem too harsh To use such bold directness to a friend, But let me ask--as thy physician now, As one who, under Providence, is charged With all that may have bearing on thy health-- Thy illness . . . has each cause and each effect               190 Been told to me?  Is all laid open here?

        DIMMESDALE How can you question that?  What kind of fool Consulting the physician hides the sore?

        CHILLINGWORTH Thou tell'st me, then, that I know everything?  [Pause.] Well, be it so.  But still it seems to me The physical and outward malady Is all I know.  And that, perchance, but half Of that deep illness I am asked to cure. The bodily disease may be but part,

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In fact, be but a symptom of those ills                           200 That fester in the spirit, far from sight. Thy pardon, once again, my reverend sir, If my speech gives the shadow of offense. Of all the men whom I have ever known, Thou art the one whose body seems most linked, Conjoined, imbued, identified . . . it seems . . . With that deep spirit brooding in thine eyes, Whereof it is the merest instrument.

        DIMMESDALE [Rising hastily.]  Then I need trouble thee no further, sir. Thou dost not deal, I take it, with the soul!                    210 Thy medicines can have no power there!

        CHILLINGWORTH [Going on without heeding the interruption.] And such a sickness, [Stands to confront Dimmesdale.]   if we call it so, Deriving from the spirit though it may, Will manifest itself in brooding eyes . . . And in the body in a thousand ways That baffle the physician in his cure. If I'm to cure thy body of its ills, Then let me know the ills that plague thy soul.

        DIMMESDALE No!  Not to thee!  And not to any man! No mortal doctor heals the soul's disease.                     220 If what thou say'st is true, I yield to Him-- To that one Great Physician of the soul. If it stand in His pleasure, He can cure, Or He can kill--and I accept His will! We stand before His justice, sinners all, And must abide His judgment, as I do. But who art thou to meddle with the soul? Who dares to thrust himself between the man Who suffers in the spirit and his God? [Rushes from the room.]

        CHILLINGWORTH [After a pause.]  And so, it seems, I've scared the hare away! [Smiling to himself.]                                                      230 There's nothing lost.  We shall be friends again. But see how passion seizes on this man, And takes him for her own.  A thing to note. One passion, like another, works the same . . . This man, ere now, has tasted something wild . . . This pious Master Dimmesdale . . . holy man . . . To satisfy the passion in his heart! [Musing.]  I've never met a stranger case than this, Of sympathy between the blood and soul, And were it for the sake of art alone,                            240 I'd probe the troubled spirit of this man.

 

 ACT I--Scene 6

        DIMMESDALE [Approaching the scaffold at night.] And how can I, with soul as dark as Hell, Be minister to those I move among, The godly folk of this community? To stand before ye in this priestly black, In garments meant to sanctify my acts, To climb each Sabbath to the sacred desk, And lift my face as if to Heaven's view, To take upon myself communion rites, In thy behalf, with High Omniscience. I seem to have old Enoch's piety,                                    10 As ye invest my wand'ring steps with grace, [A foot on the first step.] And think ye see a gleam along the path That I have trod that pilgrims might then use To guide their steps to regions of the blest. I lay the hand of blessing on thy babes To baptize them, and breathe the parting prayer, That last Amen, to echo after those Who've quit this world, and left their burdens here. I seem to ye the pastor of this flock, Deserving both its rev'rence and its trust.                         20 But here I stand!  Declare myself to ye! The worst of all pollutions--and a lie! Here, Hester, didst thou stand in all thy shame, And I should then have stood here by thy side. May be it's not too late.  [Mounting the steps.]  So is it done! Let all the town awake and hurry forth, To find me here. [His voice rises, ending with a sharp laugh, cut off as Mr. Wilson enters, looks around as though he had heard

something, but passes on.  Dimmesdale speaks, just too late for Wilson to hear him.]                                Good even to thee, sir! Good Father Wilson, pray thee, climb these stairs, And pass a pleasant hour here with me! [His laugh becomes almost hysterical.  Hester and Pearl enter.  Pearl echoes Dimmesdale's laugh, shocking him to silence at first. Then comes recognition.] Why Pearl!  It's little Pearl!  [In a whisper.]                                                  And Hester, too!           30 Ah, Hester Prynne!  We meet here in the dark!

        HESTER Yes, Hester Prynne.  'Tis I, and little Pearl.

        DIMMESDALE Whence come thee, Hester?  Come to haunt me here?

        HESTER From watching at a death-bed near at hand, Where godly Gov'nor Winthrop breathed his last. There have I taken measure for a robe . . . To clothe him in his grave.  Now go we home.

        DIMMESDALE Come hither, Hester . . . thou and little Pearl. I know ye both have been up here before, But I was not then standing at thy side.                            40 So climb these stairs again . . . to stand with me, The three of us together, hand in hand.

        PEARL [After they ascend the scaffold and she takes his hand.] But, Minister . . .

        DIMMESDALE                                  What wouldst thou say, my child?

        PEARL But wilt thou stand here with us in the day, Take  mother's hand . . . and mine . . . tomorrow noon?

        DIMMESDALE [A pause.]  I can't, my child!  Not yet, my little Pearl! I shall, indeed, one other day stand so, With thee, and with thy mother, hand in hand. But not tomorrow.  [Pearl laughs and tries to pull away.]                                          Wait a moment, child!

        PEARL But wilt thou promise then to take my hand,                     50 And mother's hand, again, tomorrow noon?

        DIMMESDALE I cannot . . . then . . . but must another time.

        PEARL What other time?

        DIMMESDALE

         [In a whisper.]  Upon the Judgment Day! At that dread time, before the Judgment Seat, Thy mother, thou, and I must stand as one. But never shall the daylight of this world Shine down upon our meeting . . . like these stars! [Chillingworth has arrived on the scene, unnoticed by those on the scaffold.  There is a sudden illumination in the sky.] But see that star!  Can it be only one? Why look thou, Hester, how it lights the sky! I've never seen a star like that before.                               60 And see the form it takes.  The letter A! Do I imagine that?  Canst see it there? Is that thy letter . . . spread across the sky? [Pause.]  To speak to me!  To signify my sin! [He sees Chillingworth leering up at them and shrinks back.] Who is that man?  Ah, Hester . . . dost thou know? [Hester remains silent.]  Before those eyes I shiver in my soul. Canst thou do nothing for me?  Take my hand! I hate the man, and yet I know not why. There is a nameless horror in his eyes!

        PEARL Shhh . . . Minister . . . I'll tell thee who he is!                   70

        DIMMESDALE Then quickly, child!  Just whisper it to me. [He bends down and she whispers something he cannot understand.] And dost thou mock me now?

        PEARL                                                        Thou wast not bold! Thou would'st not stand with us tomorrow noon!

        CHILLINGWORTH [Advancing, as Hester and Pearl shrink back.] Well, pious Master Dimmesdale!  Worthy sir! Can this be thee?  Indeed!  We men of books! Our heads, as thine is now, are in the clouds.

We must be tended to!  We walk in dreams! But come, good sir . . . and my dear friend . . . come home. I pray thee, let me lead thee there tonight.

        DIMMESDALE [Fearfully.]  How knewest thou that I was standing here?

        CHILLINGWORTH Well . . . verily . . . it took me by surprise.                       81 A weary and a doleful night I've spent, Observing as a man of substance died. I sat beside him . . . long our governor . . . John Winthrop, may he rest in peace, is dead. I went to do what my poor skill might do To give him ease, then could but sit and watch His going home unto a better world. I, likewise, was upon my homeward way, When this strange light shown out . . . revealing thee.       90 Now come with me, I pray thee, Reverend Sir, Else thou shalt meet tomorrow's Sabbath light Too poorly fit to mount thy pulpit steps, For climbing in the dark on these steps here. Thou must read less, good sir, and take some sport-- See how the brain is troubled by such work-- And these night-whimsies grow upon thee then! These books!  These books!

        DIMMESDALE                                                     I'll go on home with thee.

[He comes down from the scaffold and is led off by Chillingworth.  Hester and Pearl remain on the scaffold, Hester in her Scene l pose, a spotlight on her letter.]

 ACT I--Scene 7

[The next morning.  Dimmesdale, crossing, is hailed by Mistress Hibbins.]

        MISTRESS HIBBINS Good Master Dimmesdale, look, thy glove was found . . . This morning on the scaffold near at hand. [Hands him the glove.] That very place where sinners are set up To public shame.  The Black Man dropped it there! He must have had a scurrilous jest in mind Against Thy Reverence by that foolish act. But Satan must be blind and thoughtless, then . . . As men are like to say . . . or like to think . . . Thy pure hand needs no glove to cover it.

        DIMMESDALE [Gravely, but startled.] I thank thee, friend.  It is my glove, indeed.                     10

        MISTRESS HIBBINS [Grimly smiling, then laughing.] Since Satan stole thy glove, it seems most fit For thee to grapple with him now without, And catch him as thou canst.  No need of gloves! But didst thou hear what some report they've seen? A portent in the middle of the night. A letter A emblazoned in the sky. And all in red . . . a scarlet letter A . . . Which all agree proclaimed an Angel there, For our good Governor Winthrop did become An angel this past night, and so was sealed,                     20 Proclaimed across the Heavens as a saint.

        DIMMESDALE Can that be so?  I had not heard of it.

[She watches him walk off, in brooding thought.  Then she laughs as she "flits" off the other side.]

ACT II--Scene 1

[Chillingworth, basket in hand, gathering herbs, does not see Hester and Pearl enter.  Hester comes up behind him, as Pearl mocks his movements, then scampers off, chasing something.]

        HESTER A word with thee, good sir.  [He jumps.]  Pray pardon me. Upon a matter touching both of us.

        CHILLINGWORTH [A breath.]  Ah!  Is it Madam Hester has a word . . . For poor old Roger Chillingworth . . . at last! With all my heart!  Why, Mistress, I have heard Good comments touching thee on every hand. Just yester-eve a godly magistrate Bethought to speak most fav'rably of thee. He whispered me that there has been proposed A question in the council in thy case,                                  10 Whether or no they might with safety take That scarlet letter from thy bosom now. Why, Hester--on my life!--I made appeal Our magistrates might so conclude . . . forthwith!

        HESTER [Calmly.]  The magistrates cannot remove the mark. Were I now worthy to be quit of it,

Of its own nature would it fall away, Or be transformed in purport in its place.

51

 

       CHILLINGWORTH Why, nay then, wear it, if it suit thee so! A woman must needs follow her own taste                         20 In matters of adornment . . . or of dress. [Looks at her carefully.] This letter  . . . thus embroidered . . . is so gay, And shows so bravely on thy bosom there!  [Almost touches it.] Why dost thou gaze so earnestly at me?

        HESTER There's something in thy face would make me weep, If there were any tears remaining me. [Pause.]  But not of thee . . . it's of another man, Another troubled spirit, I would speak, That man that thou led'st home the other night . . . Who stood upon the scaffold . . . at my side.                       30

        CHILLINGWORTH [Eagerly.]  Ah!  Wouldst thou speak of him?  To tell the truth, My thoughts were busy with that gentleman. So, Hester, speak.  What wouldst thou say of him?

        HESTER When last we spoke . . . now seven years ago . . . It was thy pleasure to extort a vow Of secrecy . . . of thy identity . . . And our relationship in former times. The life and reputation of this man We speak of now were upmost in my mind. There seemed no choice for me but to agree . . .                 40 Be silent in accordance with that vow. Though I had deep misgivings at the time, I bound myself to thee in such a pact, For, having cast all other duty off, To every person else, that one remained . . . My duty still to him . . . the only one. I fear I did betray that final trust In pledging not to tell him aught of thee. No man has been so near to him as thou . . . Watching his every footstep--close behind--                       50 Thou art beside him, waking or asleep. Thy clutch is on his life!  To search his thoughts . . . To burrow and to rankle in his heart . . . To haunt the man . . . and yet he knows thee not!

As I've permitted this, so I've been false To that last soul was left me to be true.

        CHILLINGWORTH Was there a choice?  I held him in my hand! My finger pointed at this man had hurled Him from his pulpit to a prison cell-- From thence to climb the gallows steps himself!                   60

        HESTER It had been better so!

        CHILLINGWORTH                                          Well may'st thou say! But then . . . what evil have I done this man? I tell thee, Hester Prynne, the richest fee That ever monarch to physician paid Could not have bought the care I've given him . . . Have wasted on this God-forsaken priest. But for my aid his life had burned away, In torments lasting but a year or two Beyond the perpetration of his crime . . . And thine.  For, Hester, he had not thy strength,                 70 Nor ever could have borne, as thou hast done, His scarlet letter in the public view. [Looking away.]  Ah, what a goodly secret I could tell! [Back to her.]  But let that be.  He lives because of me. My art I have exhausted on the man; That he now breathes, and creeps about this earth, Is due to me!

        HESTER                             Far better had he died!

        CHILLINGWORTH Yea, woman, thou speak'st true.  He would agree! It were far better he had died at once! For never mortal man hath suffered more,                           80 And every moment of that suffering Before the eyes of his worst enemy! He has been conscious of it.  He has felt My influence brooding o'er him like a curse. By preternatural spirit he did know . . . For never was a spirit more acute . . . That some unfriendly hand did touch his heart, And that an eye was scrutinizing him That looked for evil only . . . which it found! But yet knew not the hand and eye were mine!                   90 With priestly superstitious ego still, He fancied him delivered to a fiend,

Who'd torture him with frightful dreams at night, With desperate thoughts, the sting of sharp remorse, Despair of any pardon--as a taste Of what awaits him once beyond the grave. And yet it was my shadow goaded him, The close attendance of a man he'd wronged . . . Most vilely!  A man who'd come to live On that perpetual poison, dark revenge!                           100 He felt him haunted so.  Nor did he err. There was a demon standing at his side, A mortal man, with once a human heart, Become a fiend to make his torment sure!

        HESTER But surely thou hast tortured him enough! Has he not paid his debt to thee in full?

        CHILLINGWORTH His debt in full?  He has increased that debt! [Subsiding into gloom.] Dost thou remember, Hester, what I was When first we met?  I grant that I was old, Beyond the early autumn of my years                               110 It must have seemed to thee . . . but all my life I'd been concerned with earnest, studious thought. Those quiet years, bestowed so faithfully, First to enhance my knowledge, I admit, But also, if a secondary goal, To serve the general welfare, if I could. No life had been more peaceful, more serene . . . More innocent in touching other lives . . . Few lives so rich in benefits conferred. Dost thou remember me as then I was?                            120 Was I not then, though thou might'st deem me cold, A thoughtful man for others, kind and just, And of a constant temper . . . if not warm? Was I not all of this?

        HESTER                                        All this and more.

        CHILLINGWORTH What am I now?  Have we not just agreed? A mortal fiend!  And who has made me so?

        HESTER It was myself!  [Shuddering.]  Yes, I, not less than he! Why hast thou not avenged thyself on me?

        CHILLINGWORTH I've trusted thee to this!

[Touching the scarlet letter.]   What could I more If it hath not avenged me?  I ask thee.                               130

        HESTER No . . . nothing more.

        CHILLINGWORTH                                         I judged no less.  And now, What wouldst thou with me touching on this man?

        HESTER [Firmly.]  I must reveal the secret.  He must know. What that may lead to I cannot predict, But this long debt . . . this last fidelity . . . To him whose bane and ruin I have been, I must now pay--whate'er the cost may be! Thou speakest of his fate, his earthly state, And yea, perchance his life.  He's in thy hands. I speak the truth, a truth I've learned from this,                 140 [Touching the letter.] A red-hot truth now burned into my soul, To tell thee there's no value in a life Lived as a ghastly, empty mockery. I shall not even beg, "Be merciful!" What's there to gain?  Do with him as thou wilt! There is no good for him . . . no good for me . . . No good for thee . . . no good for little Pearl . . . No path to guide us from this dismal maze!

        CHILLINGWORTH Hush, woman, I could well-nigh pity thee! Thou hadst much promise in those other days.                  150 Hadst thou but met a better love than mine This evil had not been.  Yes, pity thee . . . For all thy good thus wasted . . . uselessly.

        HESTER And for the hatred that has now transformed A man both wise and just into a fiend, I pity thee!  But thou art not yet lost! If thou wilt purge that hatred from thy soul, Become again a gentle, gen'rous man. If not for his sake, do it for thine own! Forgive, and leave him to his brooding fate.                      160 I said, but now, no good could come for him, Or thee, or me, all wandering in this wood, Together in this hopeless maze of sin, And stumbling over guilt at every step Along the tangled path.  It is not so! There might be good for thee, and thee alone, Since thou hast truly been so deeply wronged,

Yet hast it at thy will to pardon him. Wilt thou forego that holy privilege? Wilt thou reject that priceless benefit?                               170

        CHILLINGWORTH Peace, Hester, peace.  I cannot pardon him . . . That credits me with powers I have not. The faith that I was reared in as a boy . . . So long forgotten . . . now comes back to me, Explaining why we suffer as we do. By thy first step awry the evil germ Was planted . . . that may be.  But since that time What follows is a dark necessity. Ye are not sinful that have wronged me so, Save as ye are the types of such a sin;                              180 Nor am I fiend-like, who have taken on The office of a fiend.  It is our fate. Let that black flower blossom as it may! Now go thy ways.  Feel free to deal with him, As he works out his doom, howe're thou wilt! [He moves away, his halting step emphasizing his deformity.]

ACT II--Scene 2

        HESTER [To herself, as she watches Chillingworth go.] Yea, be it sin or no, I hate the man! His smiling pretense hides a secret sin Far worse than mine . . . it has a vicious strain That I despise.  [More bitterly.]  Nay hate!                           [As he is out of sight.] Where are you, Pearl?

        PEARL [Entering behind Hester, engrossed in a letter she has fash- ioned from greenery and placed upon her bosom.] Here, Mother!  Tell me what this letter means.

        HESTER [After observing the letter in silence for a moment.] My little Pearl, on thy young bosom . . . now, In all thy innocence . . . the letter green . . . It has no meaning, but to give thee sport, Nor needst thou wear it else.  But dost thou know The meaning of thy mother's letter, child,                             10 This scarlet letter I am doomed to wear?  [Touches the letter.]

        PEARL Yes, do I.  It's the larger letter A, That thou hast taught me on the horn-book sheet.

        HESTER And why I always wear it . . . dost thou know?

        PEARL I know that, too!  The reason is the same, As why the sad and lonely minister Doth ever hold his hand above his heart!

        HESTER [Half smiling, then turning pale.] The reason is the same?  How can it be This letter touches any heart save mine?

        PEARL [Seriously.]  Nay, Mother, I have told thee all I know.        20 But that old man I saw thee talking with Could tell thee more.  Dost think he'd  tell me too? For I would know what such a letter means . . . Why  thou dost always wear it on thy breast . . . And why the minister . . . each time we meet . . . Will place his hand this way above his heart. [Taking Hester's hand and placing it on her own heart.] Tell me!  Tell me!  For surely thou dost know.

        HESTER [To herself.]  What can I say?  A price I cannot pay, If this be it to win her sympathy. [To Pearl.]  A silly child!  What questions thou dost ask!     30 For there are things thou must not seek to know. What can I  know of that man's hand . . . or heart? As for this scarlet letter that I wear, [Looking at it.]  I wear it for the sake of this gold thread. Now, please, no more!  And come along with me, A way into the forest on this path. We have another errand yet today.

        PEARL [As they walk.]  The sunshine doth not love thee, Mother.  Look! It runs to hide.  It is afraid of thee! Thy scarlet letter frightens it away!                                      40 See, there it is.  It's playing over there. Stay here, and I will run and catch it quick. It will not run from me.  It is my friend . . . For I wear nothing on my bosom yet!

        HESTER  Nor ever will, I hope . . . my little Pearl.

        PEARL Why should I not, when I'm a woman grown?

        HESTER Run on, my child.  Go catch the sunshine there. It does seem thou must gather it thyself, For I have none to give.  See how it goes! Enjoy it now . . . for it will soon be gone.                            50

        PEARL [Having run ahead to a patch of sunshine, then waiting as Hester comes up.] It waits for me!  [Laughing.]  But it won't wait for thee.

        HESTER I'll stretch my hand and capture some of it! [The sunshine vanishes.] But no, it flees!  Just as thou said it would. [She motions to a fallen tree trunk.] Let's sit here by the path and rest ourselves.

        PEARL But I'm not tired, Mother.  Must I sit? [Brightening.]  Or tell me then a story if I do!  [Sits.]

        HESTER Tell thee a story, child?  And what about?

        PEARL About the Black Man!  How he haunts this place! And how he always carries his black book . . . A heavy book . . . with heavy iron clasps . . .                      60 And gives his crooked pen to anyone Who meets him here among these forest trees, And how they write their names with their own blood! And how he sets his devil's mark on them! But, Mother, didst thou ever meet him here?

        HESTER Now who has told thee such a story, Pearl?

        PEARL Those two old women by the chimney place, In that big house, the night the sick man died, Old Mistress Hibbins and that other one. They thought I was asleep, and talked of him.                     70 A thousand, thousand men have met him here, And women, too, and written in his book, And have his mark upon their bosoms now. They pointed at thy letter . . . then the fire. They said that was the Black Man's mark on thee, And that it glows like fire in the night, Out in the forest, when thou meet'st with him.

Is that true, Mother?  Dost thou go at night, To meet the Black Man while I am asleep?

        HESTER Didst ever wake at night and find me gone?                        80

        PEARL Not that I do remember.  If thou dost, Please take me with thee!  I would gladly go! But, Mother, tell me, is there such a one? And does he haunt the forest in the night? And hast thou met him?  And is this his mark?

        HESTER If I should tell thee, may I then have peace?

        PEARL If thou wilt tell me all!

        HESTER                                            I met him once. And, yes, this scarlet letter is his mark! Now run and play.

        PEARL [Starting to go off.]  Oh, listen to the brook! Oh foolish little brook!  Why art thou sad?                         90 What is it saying, Mother?  Canst thou tell?

        HESTER If thou hadst but a sorrow of thine own, That little brook might speak of it to thee . . . For thus it often speaks to me of mine. But shh . . .  I hear a footstep on the path, The noise of branches being put aside. So go now, Pearl, amuse thyself a while, So I may speak to him that comes this way.

        PEARL Is it the Black Man?

        HESTER                                              Wilt thou go and play? But do not stray too far into the woods,                           100 And take heed that thou come when first I call.

        PEARL But, Mother, must I go?  Please let me stay To see if it's the Black Man.  [Looking.]  Here he comes! And look!  Beneath his arm!  His big black book!

        HESTER Go, silly child!  With all those foolish tales! There is no Black Man!  Thou canst see him now. Look . . . through the trees.  It is the minister.

        PEARL It is the minister.  Yes, now I see. And, Mother, see his hand above his heart! Is it because he took the Black Man's pen,                       110 And when he wrote his name in that big book, The Black Man set his mark in that same place? But, Mother, why does he not wear his mark Outside his garments . . . even as thou dost?

        HESTER Pray go now, child!  Tease me another time. I'll call thee when we've finished talking here. Stray not beyond the babble of the brook.  [Pearl runs off.]  

ACT II--Scene 3

        HESTER [After a moment, Hester calls, faintly.] Hist!  Arthur Dimmesdale! [Louder, but hoarsely.]         Arthur Dimmesdale!  Here!

        DIMMESDALE Who speaks to me?  [Seeing the letter.]                                    It's Hester!  Hester Prynne! And is it thou?  And art thou still in life?

        HESTER Why even so!  As such has been my life These seven years!  And thou?  Dost thou yet live?

        DIMMESDALE [After some time.]  And Hester, hast thou found some peace?

        HESTER [Looking at the letter and smiling drearily.]   Hast thou?

        DIMMESDALE None . . . nothing but despair!  But then what else? I could not look for anything but pain, In being what I am, and living so. Were I an atheist, no fear of God,                                       10 A man devoid of conscience, or a wretch,

 

With coarse and brutal instincts, like a beast, I might have found some peace . . . long years ago. To such a one, I find, it's never lost. But as things stand for me, and for my soul, Whatever good capacities I had, The best of God's choice gifts bestowed on me, Have all become the agents of His wrath. I live in torment, Hester . . . dread each day!

        HESTER The people reverence thee . . . praise thy good works.         20 Doth that bring thee no comfort . . . no relief?

        DIMMESDALE Adds to my misery!  Because it's false! For all this good which I may seem to do Is only a delusion and a sham. What can a ruined soul like mine effect Toward redemption of another soul? Can this polluted spirit purify? As for the people's reverence and trust, How quickly it can turn to scorn and hate! Can there be consolation in the fact                                     30 That from my pulpit I must meet the gaze Of many eyes turned upward to my face As if the light of Heaven beamed from it! I see a gathering hungry for the truth, And listening to my words as if a tongue Of Pentecost were there reborn on earth! And then look inward and discern the truth, The black reality of what I am? How often have I laughed . . . in bitterness . . . In agony of heart . . . at what I seem . . .                              40 And what I am!  And Satan laughs as well! I hear his laughter echo in the night!

        HESTER Thou wrong'st thyself in this . . . the sin long past That thou hast ever since repented of. Thy present life is not less holy, sure, Than it appears in every person's eyes. No one can doubt the truth of penitence Thus sealed and witnessed by prolonged good works.

        DIMMESDALE No, Hester, no!   There is no substance there! Of penance I have had enough . . . and more . . .                 50 But penitence . . . of that there has been none! Else I should long ago have thrown these off, These garments of this false . . . mock  . . . holiness, And shown myself as one day I'll be seen

To all men's eyes . . . before the Judgment Seat! Most happy art thou, Hester, so to wear Thy scarlet letter out where all may see. The letter worn in secret burns more fierce. Thou little knowest what relief it is, Amid the torment of this masquerade,                                  60 To look into an eye that knows me for The sinner that I am?  Had I one friend-- Nay, say not friend, say my worst enemy-- To whom, when I'm most sickened by this praise, I might betake myself . . . and know he knew! Thus much of truth might save my wretched soul! Now all is falsehood!--emptiness!--and death!

        HESTER A friend such as thou wished for even now . . . To share thy sense of sin . . . thou hast in me. As partner in that sin I weep with thee.                                70 [After hesitating a moment, continuing with some effort.] And such an enemy thou long hast had, Who dwells with thee beneath thy very roof.

        DIMMESDALE [Starting to his feet, gasping, and clutching at his heart.] An enemy?  Who's there within my house? What dost thou mean?  I tremble at the thought!

        HESTER Forgive me, Arthur!  Oh, I should have known! In all things else I've striven to be  true . . . As that one virtue that was left to me . . . Through all extremity . . .save just in this . . . When thy good reputation, nay, thy life, Were put in question . . . subject to his threat . . .                 80 Then I consented to deceiving thee. But even then I knew I'd rue that lie . . . Though death might threaten on the other side! Dost thou not see what I have hid from thee? It's that old man!  Yes . . . Roger Chillingworth . . . As he would now prefer to call himself. He was my husband . . . he who shares thy house.

        DIMMESDALE [Gasps.]  I should have known it!  Nay, I must have known! Could read the secret hinted from the first . . . That natural recoil of my heart at him,                                  90 Which echoes every time I've seen him since! And yet I did not know!  No . . . did not know! Nor, Hester Prynne, canst thou expect to know The horror of this thing!  And then the shame! Indelicate!  And, oh, the ugliness

Of this exposure of a guilty heart To just that eye that most would gloat o'er it! Oh, woman, thou art most accountable! Forgive thee?  How can I forgive thee this? [Sinks to his knees.]

        HESTER Thou must forgive!  Let Heaven punish me!                       100 Thou shalt forgive!  [Pressing his head to her bosom.]                                    Oh, Arthur, from my heart! How could I know?  How could I mean thee harm? Canst look me in the eyes and say I did?

        DIMMESDALE [After looking into her eyes for a long moment.] I do forgive thee, Hester . . . as I must. Forgive me, too!  May God forgive us both! For we are not the worst of sinners here. Nay, that old man's revenge is blacker far Than any sin of ours.  To violate The sanctity of any human heart, To probe the deepest secrets of the soul . . .                     110 And in cold blood . . . a calculated thing . . . The one crime that is unforgivable. Far different, Hester, than . . . the thing we did.

        HESTER Which had a consecration of its own! We said so then!  Hast thou forgotten that?

        DIMMESDALE Hush, Hester!  [Rising, in some confusion.]                           No . . . how could a man forget? [He paces a moment, in thought, then comes to sit by her again.] Another horror threatens us, I fear. If Roger Chillingworth is now aware That thou intend revealing who he is, Will he continue then to hold his peace?                            120 What now will be the course of his revenge?

        HESTER His nature's drawn to secrecy and guile, A habit grown upon him through the years In every hidden practice of revenge. I do not deem it likely he'll betray This secret that has come to be his own; He'll rather seek to find some other means To satiate his evil appetite.

        DIMMESDALE And what of me?  How can I breathe the air

That that man breathes--my deadly enemy?                       130 Think for me, Hester!  Help me with thy strength!

        HESTER Thou must not any longer dwell with him. No longer live beneath his evil eye.

        DIMMESDALE To live so were a life far worse than death! But how can I avoid it?  What's my choice? [Stares at his feet in despair.] To lie down on these withered leaves and die?

        HESTER Ah, what a ruin has befallen thee! Wilt thou just die?  For simple lack of strength? There is no other cause!

        DIMMESDALE                                               It is God's will! A destiny I cannot struggle with!                                       140

        HESTER Thou might'st find Heaven merciful enough, Hadst thou the strength to ask it for its help.

        DIMMESDALE Be thou my strength!  Advise me what to do!

        HESTER Is this wide world so limited as that, The universe contained in yonder town, Which so few years ago was even such A lonely, leaf-strewn wood as this we see? And wither leads this narrow forest trail? It goes back to the settlement, thou sayest. Why so it does, but it goes onward, too!                           150 It deeper goes into the wilderness, Less plainly to be seen at every step, Until, some few miles hence, the yellow leaves Will show no vestige of the white man's tread. There art thou free!  A journey of a day Would take thee from this world so like a jail, Where thou hast been a wretched, haunted man, To one where thou might'st find new happiness! Is there not shade enough among these trees To hide thy heart from Roger Chillingworth?                      160

        DIMMESDALE But only here beneath these fallen leaves!

        HESTER Consider, then, the pathway of the sea! It brought thee hither--let it take thee hence! Back in our native land thou might be lost, In any rural village that's remote, Or in vast London's anonymity . . . In Germany, or France, or Italy-- Far, far beyond his power . . . or his ken! Why,  leave them all behind . . . these iron men . . . For what hast thou to do with their harsh laws,                 170 That hold thy better part in bondage here?

        DIMMESDALE It cannot be!  I'm powerless to go! As sinful and as wretched as I am, I've had no other thought than here to serve, To pay out my existence in the sphere Which Providence has chosen as my place. Lost though my soul may be, I still would do Whate'er I may for other human souls. Though here I stand unfaithful sentinel, Whose sure reward is infamy and death--                         180 When this most dreary watch shall make an end-- I dare not run!  I dare not quit my post!         HESTER Thy spirit's crushed beneath this misery, The weight of seven years of hidden guilt. But plan to leave such burdens far behind, And let them not encumber thy quick steps, As thou mak'st haste along the forest path; Refuse to take such freight aboard the ship, Should'st thou prefer to flee across the sea. Leave all such misery where it was found!                         190 Just walk away from it!  Begin anew! Hast thou exhausted possibility In finding failure in this single trial? Not so!  The future may yet grant success . . . And happiness . . . and useful . . . noble . . . work! Thou must exchange a false life for a true! Be, if thy spirit summon thee to be, The red man's teacher, in the forest here, Or, as is more thy nature, find a place Among the scholars in the wider world,                             200 A sage among the wisest, most renowned, Of those who preach . . . and speculate . . . and write. Do anything, except lie down and die! This name of Arthur Dimmesdale?  Leave it, too! And take thyself another . . . make it shine . . . One thou canst wear without this fear and shame.

Why shouldst thou tarry here another day In torments that have gnawed into thy life, Have robbed thee of the strength of will to act . . . Have sapped thy power even to repent?                           210 I say take heart!  Up and away with thee!

        DIMMESDALE Oh, Hester, thou wouldst have one run a race Whose knees begin to totter if he stands! I must die here!  I do not have the strength! I lack the courage so to venture out Into that world . . . so wide and strange . . . alone! Ah, how it chills me, that one word . . . alone!

        HESTER [A deep whisper.] Then speak it not!  Thou shalt not go alone!

        DIMMESDALE [Taking her hands and looking into her eyes for a long moment.] Oh, Hester, can I stand before that thought?  [A deep sigh.] Could I recall, in all these seven years,                             220 A single instant's sense of peace, or hope, Yet would I still endure this awful fate, And trust to Heaven's mercy at the end. But now . . . a man irrevocably doomed . . . Why should I not snatch solace where I can, Before the execution of my doom? Or, if this path lead to a better life, As thou wouldst have me think . . . then follow it! I lose no fairer prospect in the trade! [Directly to her.]  Nor can I any longer live alone,             230 Without thy strength, its power to sustain, Thy company, its tenderness to soothe! [Looking down.]  Oh Thou to whom I dare not lift my eyes, Wilt Thou yet pardon me?  [Looking back into Hester's eyes.]

        HESTER [As their eyes then meet.]      Then thou wilt go!

        DIMMESDALE [Decisively.]  Yes, I will go . . . [Pause.]                                                 Can that thought bring me joy? I judged all hope of joy was dead in me! Thou must become my better angel now! I threw myself upon these forest leaves, A sin-stained man, without the strength to live; Thy spirit lifts me up, a man new born,                               240 And with new powers to glorify that God That hath in this been merciful to me.

As thou hast said, this is the better life! Why did we not perceive it long ago?

        HESTER Do not look back.  For us the past is gone! Why should we even think about it now? See!  With this symbol I undo it all, Hereby declare the past has never been! [She takes the letter from her bosom and casts it away. Then, as she lets down her hair, goes on, with some excitement.] Thou must know Pearl!  Our own, our precious Pearl! Oh, thou hast seen her . . . yes . . . I know thou hast!         250 But now will see her with far different eyes. I hardly comprehend the child myself, But know that thou must love her . . . as I do . . . And will advise me how to deal with her.

        DIMMESDALE Think'st thou she will be pleased in meeting me? I long have shrunk from children at their play, Because they often show distrust in me, So much they stop their games and run away. And now I fear what little Pearl may do.

        HESTER Ah . . . that's so sad!  But she will love thee, sure.             260 She's not far off!  I'll call her.  Pearl!  Oh, Pearl!

        DIMMESDALE I see the child.  She stands by yonder brook, [Unseen by the audience.] There in that streak of sunshine . . . over there. And canst thou promise she will love me, too? She seems so strange . . . as from another world.

        HESTER But certainly she'll love thee . . . look at her! She has a kinship with these natural things. I sometimes think the flowers speak to her As she goes passing by.  They seem to say, "Adorn thyself with us, and be our child!"                          270 And is she not a pretty child today? To see the way she hath adorned herself, With simple flowers . . . and such natural skill. Had she discovered diamonds, rubies, pearls, Here in the woods, they could not show more fair. She's such a splendid child!  And I can tell Whose eyes she has, when they look deep in mine.

 

        DIMMESDALE That little child, who's ever at thy side, Hath caused me much alarm these seven years. I thought--oh, Hester, what a thought it is--                       280 That she might stand as witness to the crime, My features so repeated in her face That all the world must see them shouting there. But it would seem that she is mostly thine.

        HESTER Not mostly!  No!  And surely not her eyes! A little longer and thou needs not fear To trace whose child she is . . . to hold her hand! But look again, how strangely beautiful, There by the brook, those flowers in her hair, As if the fairies we'd thought left behind,                           290 In merry England, had bedecked her so. [A reflective pause.] But show her nothing strange, no eagerness Or passion in thy way of greeting her. Our little Pearl is sometimes wont to be A fitful and fantastic little elf. Especially is she seldom tolerant Of feelings which she does not comprehend. Yet she hath strong affections.  Thou shalt see! For she will love thee well . . . how could she not?

        DIMMESDALE Oh, Hester, how I dread this interview,                             300 In spite of how my heart has yearned for it. For, as I told thee, children shy away; I cannot be familiar with them. They will not laugh and climb upon my knee, Return my smile, or prattle in my ear. They eye me strangely, and remain aloof. Why even little babes burst into tears When I make bold to take them in my arms. Yet twice in her young life has little Pearl Been kind to me.  The first . . . thou knowest it well . . .     310 The last was when thou brought her, recently, To speak with us at Gov'nor Bellingham's.

        HESTER When thou didst plead so well on our behalf! As I do, so must she remember that. Fear nothing!  If she's somewhat shy at first, She soon will learn to share her love with thee.

        DIMMESDALE Look how she stands, across the brook from us, And seems to judge us with that sober gaze.

I have the strangest fancy that this brook May separate her moral world from ours,                         320 And thou canst never lure the child across. Or is it that she is an elfish sprite, Who, if our childhood legends told the truth, Must be forbid to cross a running stream? Pray hasten her, for standing as she does She brings a special tremor to my nerves.

        HESTER Come, Pearl!  Come here to us!  How slow thou art. [Pearl comes slowly into view, then stops, to stand looking at them with a child's sobriety.] When hast thou been so slow to come before? This is my friend . . . who'll be a friend to thee. Thou wilt have twice the love that I could give.                  330 Now leap across the brook and come to us. [Pearl points to Hester's bosom.  The minister's hand goes to his heart.] Thou stubborn child, why dost thou fail to come? [Pearl still points, frowns, and stamps her foot.] Don't prompt thy mother's anger with these tricks! Thou naughty child!  Must I then come to thee? [Pearl begins to burst into a tantrum.] Ah, now I see what brings this passion on. The child cannot abide a sudden change In what has been each day before her eyes. She misses that she's always seen me wear.

        DIMMESDALE I pray thee, Hester, if thou hast the means To pacify the child, do so forthwith!                                  340 Unless it be the wrath of some old witch . . . Like Mistress Hibbins' frantic posturings . . . There's nothing I would more avoid than this. Such passion in a child . . . or wrinkled crone . . . Has just this preternatural effect. Please pacify her . . . quickly . . . for my sake!

        HESTER [With a blush, a sidelong look at Dimmesdale, and a sigh.] Pearl, look!  There at thy feet!  No!  Over here! On this side of the brook!  Come bring it me!

       PEARL [She looks, at the scarlet letter.]  Come thou and take it up!

        HESTER                                                        Ah, such a child! The stories I can tell concerning her!                               350 But on this hateful letter she is right.

I must take up its burden, for a time, Must bear the torture yet a little while, A few days longer . . . just until we leave . . . To look back on this land as on a place We have but chanced upon in some bad dream. The forest is not vast enough to hide This scarlet letter.  No!  A better way, The ocean shall receive it from my hand, And swallow it forever in its depths!                               360 [She goes to pick up the letter, puts it on, and ties up her hair.] Dost know thy mother now?  And wilt thou come Across the brook to take her by the hand, Now that she wears her shame upon her breast, Resumes the sad demeanor that thou know'st?

        PEARL Yes, now will I!  [Bounds across the brook.]                             I am thy little Pearl! And thou art now my mother once again. [She kisses Hester, and then the scarlet letter.]

        HESTER That was not kind!  To show me first thy love And then to mock me in this naughty way!

        PEARL Why doth the minister sit over there?

        HESTER He waits to welcome thee.  So come and see.                 370 Entreat his blessing, for he loves thee well. He loves us both, and thou must love him, too.

        PEARL Doth he love us?  And will he take our hands, And walk together back into the town?

        HESTER Not now, dear child.  But in the days to come He'll take thee by the hand . . . and walk with thee. [As they walk toward Dimmesdale.] We'll have a home and our own fireside, And thou wilt sit and listen, on his knee, As he will teach thee all that he doth know, And love thee dearly . . . just as we'll love him.                    380

        PEARL [To Dimmesdale.] And wilt thou keep thy hand above thy heart?  [He shudders.]

        HESTER Thou foolish child!  Now why must thou ask that? Come here and ask his blessing . . . for my sake. [She takes Pearl to Dimmesdale, under duress.  Embarrassed, he receives her with a kiss on the forehead, which she runs to the brook to wash off.] [To Dimmesdale.]  We must allow familiarity Some time to work . . . to overcome her fear . . . For thou art yet a stranger to the child.

        DIMMESDALE Yes, so it doth appear.  But, Hester . . . now . . . What must we do?  For I am like a child, And look to thee to lead where we must go.

        HESTER [Coming up to him and taking his hands.] We must make plans to spirit us away . . .                           390

 

 ACT II--Scene 4

[Dimmesdale enters, returning from the forest, the minister in a maze.  This scene echoes the pattern of Chillingworth's meeting with Mistress Hibbins in I.ii.]

        DIMMESDALE So . . . we must leave.  [Pause.]  And yet . . . 'tis fortunate! We cannot leave before Election Day. When I must mount the pulpit once again, And stand before the whole community. So no one then can ever say of me, "He left his public duty unperformed." What should I say to them?  Confess it all? Tell them, "I'm not the man ye think ye see! I left him in the forest, near the brook That whispers melancholy secrets . . . ah . . . [Laughs.]          10 Go seek him there . . . still deep within those woods, Beside a mossy tree . . . [More seriously.]  there in the dell. Wilt find his wasted figure, his thin cheek, So white and pale against the greens and reds Of those bright forest leaves to seem cast off! [Mistress Hibbins enters, quietly, and hears part of this.  Dimmes- dale, sensing a presence, looks around, but does not see her.] What evil spirit works upon my mind? As if I'd been abandoned to the fiend! Did I conclude a contract in those woods, So long ago, and seal it with my blood? And does he now demand that I fulfill                                   20 Each item in that evil contract's terms,

Suggesting to my mind performance of Such acts of wickedness . . . each kind of sin His foul imagination can conceive?

        MISTRESS HIBBINS [Surprising him.]  So, Reverend Sir, hast wandered in the woods? Another time, I pray thee, speak to me; Give me a little warning, I'll along . . . Be proud to bear thee secret company. Then my good word . . . I know whereof I speak . . . Might have some weight with yonder Potentate--                   30 For many wan'dring gentlemen it has-- To gain a fair reception when ye meet.

        DIMMESDALE Beg pardon, Madam, at my quick surprise . . . Approaching me as I had other thoughts. I'm utterly bewildered by thy words! I went not to the forest, but beyond, Nor do I know of such a potentate. I plan no future visits to the woods, To meet with any in the forest depths. My one sufficient object was to greet                                     40 My pious friend, Apostle Eliot, Rejoicing on the many precious souls That he hath won from savage heathendom!

        MISTRESS HIBBINS Ha, ha, ha, ha!  Well, so we must needs speak, When standing here in town . . . in light of day.  [Gestures.] Thou dost it well . . . like one who knows the game! At midnight, in the forest, we shall speak-- We'll have another talk together then!  [Exits, laughing.]

        DIMMESDALE Have I then sold myself unto the Fiend, And does this yellow-starched and strange old hag                50 Serve him as Master . . . and, so, welcome me . . . Another damned soul . . . or am I mad?

ACT II--Scene 5

[The bachelors' common room.  Chillingworth is reading as Dimmesdale enters.]

        CHILLINGWORTH Why welcome home!  So late, good reverend sir? Apostle Eliot?  Thou found'st him well? But, my good sir, why then so drawn . . . so pale? It seems the journey through the wilderness

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Has been a burden that has taxed thee sore. Will not my medicine be requisite, To give thee heart and spirit now to preach Tomorrow morn's Election Sermon, pray?

        DIMMESDALE I think not so.  My journey's tired me . . . I do admit . . . but I've spent most the day                             10 Conversing with Apostle Eliot. Reflecting on that holy man's good work, As I've come through the forest, coming home, The free and wholesome air which I have breathed Have done much good, have raised my spirits up. Perhaps it's been the long confinement here, Too long spent in the study . . . without break . . . That's caused the ailment I have suffered from. I may not need thy drugs . . . good though they be . . . Administered with such a special care,                                  20 By such a rare physician . . . and a friend. Perhaps the medicine I need to seek I've found today . . . out in the open air.

        CHILLINGWORTH And yet, tonight, were it not best to use What my poor skills might offer . . . t'ward thy rest? For, my dear sir, we must take pains to see That thou art strong and vigorous, to meet The challenge of the morrow.  Thou must be . . . For this Election Discourse . . . at thy best. The people look for special things from thee,                         30 And yet they fear that in another year They may look up and find their pastor gone.

        DIMMESDALE [Gives him a long hard look.] Yea, to another world!  If that be so, May Heaven grant it be a better one.  [Turning his back.] And, in good sooth, I am prepared to go. I hardly think to tarry with my flock Through all the changing seasons of a year. [Facing Chillingworth.] But touching on thy medicine, good sir, In present frame of mind, I need it not.

        CHILLINGWORTH I joy to hear it.  May my remedies,                                       40 So long administered without effect,

Be now no longer needed for thy cure. The cure is all . . . and happy would I be . . . And well deserving of New England's praise . . . If I could claim some part . . . in thy good health.

        DIMMESDALE I thank thee from my heart, most watchful friend . . . Can but requite thy deeds with earnest prayers.

        CHILLINGWORTH A good man's prayers are golden recompense! The current coin of New Jerusalem, [Dimmesdale leaves the room as he is speaking.] The King's own mint-mark printed on their back.                   50 [Chillingworth stares after Dimmesdale deep in thought.]

  ACT II--Scene 6

[Hester enters with Pearl, but clearly talking to herself.  A spotlight on them.]

        HESTER [To herself.]  Now look thy last on sinful Hester Prynne, And on this scarlet letter she has worn. A little while . . . she'll be beyond your reach! Just hours hence . . . the waters of the sea Will take, then hide forever, this red flame, Which ye have caused to burn upon my breast.

        PEARL [Pointing ahead, to the crowd, as the lights come up.] Why, Mother, look . . . the people . . . in the square. Why have they left their work to gather here? And why have we come here to town today? Look there!  The blacksmith!  But he's washed his face,         10 And wears his Sabbath clothes . . . that seem so tight. He looks as if he gladly would be gay, If someone here would please to show him how! And there is Master Brackett, from the jail, Who nods and smiles at me . . . why does he so?

        HESTER He must remember thee a little babe.

        PEARL But still he should not nod and smile at me . . . That grim . . . and black . . . and ugly-eyed old man! He nods at thee . . . though thou art clad in gray . . .

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And wear thy scarlet letter.  See him stare!                            20 And, Mother . . . all the strangers here in town. So many Indians!  And sailors, too! What have they come to do?  Why are they here?

        HESTER They come to see the gay procession pass, The governor and magistrates go by, The godly ministers, and all the great, With music, and with soldiers marching, too.

        PEARL And will the minister be passing, too? And will he hold his hands out then to me . . . As when thou led'st me to him by the brook?                         30

        HESTER He will be there.  But now behave thyself. He cannot talk to thee  [A hard look.] . . . nor thou to him.

        PEARL He called us to him here, in dark of night, And held my hand, and thine, as then we stood, Up on the scaffold, yonder, by his side. And he did kiss me . . . in the forest . . . then, Where there were only trees and sky to see . . . The little brook could hardly wash it off! And talked with thee, and sat and held thy hand! But on this sunny day . . . here in the town . . .                       40 With all the people here . . . he knows us not! And we must not know him!  A strange . . . sad man! And always with his hand above his heart!

        HESTER Be quiet, Pearl!  Thou understandest not! Think not about the minister . . . not now! [Looking around, obviously for somebody in particular, spots the shipmaster, talking to Chillingworth, gives a little gasp and stands stock still for a moment, then forces her attention back to the child.] Think, rather, of how cheerful people are! In everybody's face you see today The spirit of this holiday expressed-- The children from their schools, their mothers, too, Men from their workshops, farmers from their fields.             50 They purpose to be happy, for today They choose a new man to rule over them, And so . . . it is a custom old as man . . . They celebrate, make merry, and rejoice,

As if a good and golden year had come, And now there'd be a paradise on earth.

[The master, seeing Hester, crosses to her.  Chillingworth stays where he is, watching them.]

        MASTER So, Mistress!   I must take aboard my ship One more, it seems, than thou didst bargain for! [Laughs.]  No fear of scurvy or ship-fever now. We'll have the ship's own surgeon . . . and this man,               60 Another doctor . . . to look after us. Our only danger will be drugs and pills, Of which we have some quantity as well, Apothecary's stuff I've traded for With Spanish vessels . . . far off to the south.

        HESTER Another passenger?  What dost thou mean? [Looking at Chillingworth, who nods and smiles.]

        MASTER Why knowest thou not that worthy doctor there . . . Ah . . . Roger Chillingworth, I think he said . . . Is minded to share cabin fare with thee? Ay, ay, thou must have known it, for he said                          70 That he is of thy party . . . and a friend . . . A friend unto the gentleman, I think, The man thou spak'st of, who's to go with thee, The one who stands in peril of his life From these harsh men . . . so sour in their rule . . . Who now in Merry England cast their gloom . . . These Puritans . . . who help me love the sea.

        HESTER Why yes, they know each other very well, Have lived together now for many years, [Hester and Chillingworth exchange glances.] Though I must say I hardly know the man.                             80

[The procession begins, with music.]

        PEARL Look, Mother!  Canst thou see the minister? The same who kissed my forehead by the brook!

        HESTER Now hold thy peace, child!  Speak not in the town Of things that happened . . . out there in the woods.

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        PEARL I thought it wasn't him . . . he looks so strange. [Pestering.]  And should I run to him to kiss me now . . . Before these people . . . even as he did That other day among those dark old trees? I wonder, if I did, what he would say . . . I wonder . . . would he even smile at me?                              90 Or would he clap his hand . . . so . . . on his heart, And scowl on me [Scowls.], and bid me "hold my peace"?

        HESTER Yea, hold thy peace!   Pearl, this is not the time! Such kisses are not for the market-place. It's well for thee . . . and me . . . thou foolish child, That there was not the chance to speak to him.

[Mistress Hibbins approaches Hester, catches her attention, and whispers to her.]

        MISTRESS HIBBINS Now whose imagination could conceive The two as one . . . that lonely, holy man, That saint on earth, as people think of him, And as, I must needs say, he really looks                             100 To see him pass in this procession now. Yea, who would think how little while ago He sallied from his study to the woods (A Hebrew text of scripture in his mouth, I warrant me), to take an airing there. How well we know what that means, Hester Prynne! Can you believe that man and this the same? But many, many members of the church, Who walk behind the music here today, Have danced out in the forest in the night . . .                       110 Have tripped a lively measure there with me, To that same merry fiddler thou dost know! Mayhap an Indian powwow in the group, A Lapland wizard changing hands with us! A trifle . . . when a woman knows the world. But for this pious minister!  Ah, ha! Canst tell me, Hester, is the man the same? Hast ever met him on the forest path?

        HESTER Thou speak'st in riddles, Madam.  Why to me? It's not for me to speak in such a vein . . .                            120 Of such a learned . . . such a pious . . . man. The Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale speaks me fair; How much more fair should I then speak of him?

        MISTRESS HIBBINS Fie, fie!  I'm one who knows the forest well! Dost think I have no skill to judge who else Has spent a merry hour in the woods, Though there may be no trace of any leaf Of those wild garlands woven in his hair While he they danced?  I know thee, Hester Prynne, For I behold this token on thy breast!  [Touches it.]             130 We all may see it, sparkling in the sun . . . [Smiles.]  As some have seen it glowing in the night. It's there to see.  Thou wear'st it openly. But not so with our pious minister! I'll tell thee in thy ear what I do think, That when the Black Man sees one of his own . . . One signed and sealed . . . so shy as this one is Of owning to the bond . . . who hides the mark, The way our Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale does . . . He hath a way of so arranging things,                                   140 That that same mark shall one day be disclosed In open daylight, to the eyes of all! What think'st thee that he hopes that he may hide . . . That hand above his heart?  Ha, Hester Prynne?

        PEARL What is it, Mistress Hibbins?  Hast thou seen?

        MISTRESS HIBBINS No matter, darling!  Thou thyself wilt see . . . Some time or other.  Tell me, child, they say Thou art an offspring of the Prince of Air. Wilt ride with me, my child, some moonlit night, To see thy father . . . if the story's true.                                150 Then thou shalt know what he so hopes to hide Whene'er he holds his hand above his heart! [Laughing, she leaves them.]

        MASTER [To Hester.]  When I spake with that same black-visaged man, That hump-backed doctor looking at us now, He told me he would bring his friend with him, That gentleman thou wot'st of.  So, it seems, Thou need'st not be concerned but for thyself . . . [Smiles.]  Thyself and for this little elf of thine.

        PEARL Old Mistress Hibbins says my father is

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The Prince of Air!  If thou call'st me such names,                 160 I'll tell him so!  He'll chase thy ship with storms! [The Master laughs.  Then his attention is attracted to where Dimmesdale stands, at the steps of the scaffold.]

        MASTER Look, there . . . that minister would speak to thee! He must have seen thy naughty impudence.

        DIMMESDALE Now, Hester!  Come ye hither!  Little Pearl!

        CHILLINGWORTH [Rushing toward him.] Stop, madman!  Stop!  Be careful what thou say'st! Wave back that woman!  All can still be well! Protect thy fame!  I'll help to save thee yet! Do not bring infamy upon those robes!

        DIMMESDALE Ha, tempter!  Get thee back!  Thou art too late! Thy voice hath not the power once it had.                            170 With God's good help, I shall escape thee now! [Extending his hands to Hester and Pearl.] Yes, Hester, now thy hand . . . and little Pearl's . . . We'll call on Him . . . so terrible . . . and yet So merciful to those who turn to Him, Who gives me grace, at last, to do this thing . . . For my own heavy sin, and agony, Have held me back this seven years and more. Come hither now, and twine thy strength with mine! 'Twill be thy strength, but guided by the will Which God hath granted me for this one day.                       180 This wretched and misguided old man . . . here Opposes it with all his might . . . thou see'st . . . With all his might, and aided by the Fiend! Come, Hester, come!  Support me up the steps! [They climb together to the pillory.]

        CHILLINGWORTH Thou might'st have fled three times around the world, And found no place so secret, so secure, No place so high, no place so out of sight, That thou couldst have escaped me . . . save this one . . . This very scaffold, here in public view!

        DIMMESDALE My thanks to Him, who leads my steps aright!                     190 [To Hester.]  Is this not then far better than we dreamed Out in the forest . . . when we laid our plans?

        HESTER I do not know!  Like this?  I do not know! Perhaps it may be . . . better . . . if we die! And little Pearl?  Does she then die with us?

        DIMMESDALE For thee and Pearl, be it as God shall judge . . . And God is merciful . . . I know that well! But as for me, I'll carry out his will. For, Hester, I stand here a dying man, So let me now make haste to meet my doom,                      200 To take my shame upon me while I may. [To the crowd.]  Ye people of New England!  Harken ye! Ye all have loved me, all have deemed me pure! Behold me here, the sinner of the world! At last!  At last!  I stand upon the spot Where seven years ago I should have stood . . . Stand with this woman . . . and this little child. This woman's arm has given me the strength, With which I have crept hitherward today. That strength sustains me . . . at this dreadful hour . . .          210 Keeps me from grov'ling down upon my face! Behold the scarlet letter Hester wears!  [Gestures.] Ye all have shuddered at it as she passed. Wherever she has walked . . . in misery . . . Wherever she has hoped to find repose . . . Its lurid gleam has kept all peace away, A horrible repugnance cast around. But there stood one right in thy very midst Whose brand of sin was just as horrible, And yet it was not seen--to shock thy sight!                         220 [Stepping forward.] He wore the mark!  God's eye knew where it was! The angels were forever pointing there! The Devil knew it, too, and fretted it, His burning finger ever on the spot! But yet he hid it cunningly from men, And walked among ye as thy minister, Who seemed so mournful in his purity Because he looked upon a sinful world! So sad because he missed the Heavenly host! Now, at his death hour, he must take his stand                     230 Upon this scaffold, and before this crowd! He bids ye look again on Hester Prynne,And on the scarlet letter on her breast! He tells ye that, as bright as that may be, To blaze forth its mysterious horror here, It's but the shadow of the one he wears . . . Burned deep upon his breast . . . [Begins to take off his collar.]    and even this . . . His own red stigma . . . is no more than type,

Of that cruel mark that's seared upon his heart! [Struggling with his clothing.] Stand any here that question God's great hand,                    240 In judgment on a secret sinner's crime? [He bears his breast.  What the audience sees there is at the director's discretion.  Ideally, some would definitely see, some definitely not, most not be sure.] Behold!  Behold!  A dreadful witness here! [He sinks down on the scaffold.]

        CHILLINGWORTH [Ascending the scaffold and kneeling beside him.] Thou hast escaped!  Just when I felt secure In having thwarted thee . . . thou hast escaped!

        DIMMESDALE May God forgive thee . . . as I freely do . . . A poor old man, become a sinner, too, Drawn into sin pursuing his revenge . . . And bargaining his soul . . . past all recall. And Pearl, my little Pearl, wilt kiss me now . . . As thou wouldst not when we were in the woods?               250 But wilt thou now? [She kisses him.]      And Hester . . . now farewell!

        HESTER Shall we not meet again?  Shall we not spend Eternity together, through our love? We've ransomed one another with this woe! Look thou into that future . . . tell me then . . . With those bright dying eyes . . . what thou dost see!

        DIMMESDALE Hush, Hester, hush!  We broke the sacred law! Committed sin . . . so awfully revealed! Let that alone be in thy thoughts!  I fear! It may be that when we forgot our God,                              260 And violated one another's soul, It thence was vain for us to hope to meet Hereafter, and in everlasting bliss. God knows . . . and He is ever merciful . . . His mercy proved in this my suffering, This burning torture I bear on my breast! In sending yonder dark and wild old man To keep the torture always at red heat! In bringing me at length to this high place, To die in ignominious triumph here,                                     270 Before these people gathered at my feet. If He had not sent all these agonies, I had been lost forever . . . deep in Hell!

Praised be His name!  His will be done!  Farewell! [He dies.]

        MISTRESS HIBBINS I saw the mark!  It blazed upon his breast!

        TOWNSMAN 'Twas but thy fancy . . . addled worse than his . . . Poor man!  I saw no mark upon his breast.

        HESTER [Holding Dimmesdale in her arms, and speaking to no one in particular . . . if not him.] Be true!  Be true!  Show freely to the world, If not your worst, a trait whereby your worst May be inferred!  [And then to herself.]  And what is left for me?