Butts.	The Margery D. was a trim little ship, The men they could man, and the skipper could skip; She sailed from her haven one fine summer day, And she foundered at sea in the following way,—
	To-wit:
All.	A-rinkety, clinkety, clink, clank, clank, The liquor they bathed in, the spirits they drank; A sailor at sea with three sheets in the wind Can hardly be called, sirs, quite sober.

Enter Mother Carey, from Tavern.

Carey. Cap'n! Cap'n Butts! Gen'le gen'lemen! would top ye rune a pore widdy woman by a singing of sech filthy tunes? And me up for my license again nex' Tuesday!

[Singing.

	The captain was thirsty, and so was each man, They ladled the grog out by cup and by can, The night it was stormy, they knew not the place, And they sang as they sank the following grace,—
	To-wit:
All.	A-sinkety, sinkety, sink, sank, sunk, Our captain is tipsy, our mate is quite drunk, Our widows we leave to the world's tender care And we don't give a damn for the Devil!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Carey. O, Lord! O, Lord! If the magistrates should hear that song, they'd close my place!

Butts. There, there now. [Chucks her under the chin.] The magistrates are not as quick to hear a sailor sing as thou art to take his orders. Bring us a pint apiece.

[Exit.

[Lights pipe and sits.

Sailors. Aye, aye, sir.

Citizens cross stage, singly and in groups, all going in the same direction. Enter Mother Carey from house with ale, serves it, looks up and down street as in expectation of some one, then goes in.

[All drink.

Enter along the street two Councilors.

Arnold. 'Tis very true; but, sir, though many break this law and go unpunished, our godly Company should not wink at known adultery.

Langdon. In other words, we must find scape-goats to bear our sins.

[Exeunt Councilors.

Butts. He must be Privy Councilor to the Lord Himself!

Enter a group of WOMEN.

First Woman. Her beauty, say'st thou? Pretty is as pretty does, say I. I'd beauty her! Go to! Who knows the father of her brat; can any tell?

Second Woman. Thou dost not doubt thy goodman?

[Exeunt Women.

Butts. God's-my-life, there's more poison in their tongues than in a nest of rattlesnakes? What's all this pother, lads?

Sailor. There's a trial, sir, on a charge of bastardy.

Butts. Ha! ha! ha! You rogues had better ship elsewhere; if the wind sits in that quarter, you'll find foul weather here.

Sailors. Ha! ha! ha!

top

More people cross the stage.

Butts. Cheapside on a holiday!

Re-enter Mother Carey, dressed for walking.

Carey. O, dear! O, dear! I'll be late; I'm sure I'll be late. Oh! dear, dear, dear! why will that Ursula still lag?

Butts. What's the matter, Mother?

Carey. Matter? Matter enough! a gentlewoman tried for adultery and me sure to miss it all! [Looks around.] Why doesn't Ursula come? O, dear! O, dear!—why, here she is!

Enter Ursula.

What kept thee, Ursula?

Ursula. Such a crowd! Whew! I'm out o' breath. [Sits; one or two pass over.] The town's run mad to look upon a gentlewoman shamed. [Citizens still pass.] Ah! there's no room for me now, but when her labor came God knows there was no press! I had room enough then, not one would lend a hand—fie! they are serpents, all of them; they have double tongues to hiss, but ne'er a hand to help.

[Hands keys to Ursula and exit up street.

Ursula. Let the gentlemen wait on me awhile.

Butts. Would you have us die of thirst, Ursula?

Ursula. What will you have, Captain?

[Exit Ursula in tavern.

What say you, lads, shall we see this trial?

Sailor. Aye, aye, sir, the woman's fair to look upon.

top

Butts. Then let us get our ballast in, hoist sail and tack away.

Re-enter Ursula with ale.

Who is it, Ursula, they try?

Ursula. A gentle lady, sir. God's-my-life, had no man tempted her—but, that's your ways, you tempt us, blame us when we yield, and then make laws to punish us.

Butts. But, what's her name?

Ursula. What should it be but Hester Prynne?

Butts. Hester Prynne? The gentle Mistress Prynne I brought from Amsterdam three years ago?

Ursula. The same, God bless her.

[Exeunt Sailors.

I knew her husband, Ursula; a man
Well versed in all the wisdom of the time;
Somewhat well gone in years, but lovable
Beyond the shallowness of youth, and rich
In mellow charity. Oft hath he sailed
With me from port to port where learning drew him,
And still came richer home. One day he shipped
For Amsterdam and brought his bride, who, like
A hawthorn in its pink of youth that blushes
'Neath the shadow of an ancient elm,
Shed spring-time sweetness round his green old age.
I've seen them often in their Holland home,
Where wisdom laid its treasures at the feet
Of love, and beauty crowned the offering.
She was a lovely lady, Ursula,
And when her lord, still bent on learning more,
Resolved to come out to America—
top His own affairs then calling him to England—
He placed her in my care, intending soon
To follow her. He did, but cursÉd fate!
His ship was lost—no one knows where!

Ursula. Alack
The day! She had not sinned had he been here.

Butts. But, didst thou know her, Ursula, as I
Have known her, wisely good and true, thou wouldst
Have wondered more.

Ursula. Know her, sir! I nursed her!

Butts. Thou, Ursula?

Ursula. None but I!

Butts. Where were her friends?

Ursula. Where, but at home! Dear heart,
They shunned her like the plague—though if the truth
Were known, many that shun her now would keep
Her company perforce. None came near
But pious Master Dimsdell, and even he
Came only out of duty to her soul;
He told me so.

Butts. The Reverend Master Dimsdell
And thou her only comforters?

Ursula. Nay,
The little bairn was her greatest comfort, sir.

Butts. How doth she bear her trouble, Ursula?

Ursula. Like a good woman, sir.

Butts. She yet is that!
But have you never learned her lover's name?

Ursula. Nay, I never have.

top

Butts. 'Tis strange that she
Should fall; and then endeavor to conceal
Her lover! Noble, wise and beautiful,
No other than a man of mark could win her!

Ursula. A three years widow, baby three months old,
A coward run-a-gate of a lover, sir—
Tell me, is there no exception made
By law for widows?

Butts. None, of which I know.

Ursula. The law is hard indeed!

Butts. I wonder if
A rough sea-dog like me might speak a word
For her?

Ursula. Aye, that you might! Go seek the good
Old Doctor Wilson, mercy dwells with him,
And he will aid you, sir.

Butts. I'll go at once.

[Exeunt severally, Butts up street, Ursula in tavern.

Enter Roger Prynne, travel stained.

Roger. We are not masters of our paths, although
Our wills do seem to guide our faltering steps:
Ship voyagers are we, and roam at will
Within the narrow confines of the deck,
But neither plot nor steer the destined course.
I may have passed her house—I'll ask my way
Here at the inn. Long live King Boniface!
What ho! some wine!

Ursula. [Within] Your patience, Captain, I'll be there anon.

[Sits.

A bachelor at sixty, I found myself
top Encumbered with a ward—nay, not that—
Enriched with female loveliness and grace
Bequeathed unto me by a dying friend.
Volition had no part in that, nor in
My sudden recrudescency of love.
I willed our marriage; but 'twas fate bestowed
The joys I long had fled. Then came our life
In Amsterdam; each day so filled with bliss
It overflowed into the next, and days
Of joy grew into weeks and months of happiness—
Let me have wine, I say!

Ursula. [Within] Coming, sir!

Roger. Anon the traveling itch—was't fate or will—
Possessed my soul to see America,
And money matters calling me to London,
Where raged the plague, I sent my wife before me
To America with Captain Butts, then bound
For Boston. Ah! well-a-day, the parting!—
I hurried up my business; fled London town;
Shipped for America; was wrecked far South;
Captured by Indians; escaping, wandered North
Until I found the white man's colonies;
And now footsore and old I've reached the place
I first intended. What next, O, Fate?

Enter Ursula.

Good morrow, hostess.

[Surprised.

top

Roger. Look not
Askance upon my way-worn clothes; there's gold

[Throwing money down.

Ursula. Your pardon, sir;
I marveled, sir, so fine a gentleman
Should be so travel-stained. What will you have?

Roger. Bring me a cup of sherris-sack.

[Exit.

Roger. How will my Hester greet me? Will she know me?
She never saw me with a beard, nor in
Such rags. Perhaps she thinks me dead—
If so, the shock might kill her—Let me see—
Putative widows have before my time
Bought second husbands with their beauty, wealth,
Or wit—and she hath all. 'Tis probable—
And when the long-supposed defunct returned,
He found his amorous relict the bride
Of a bright-eyed youth! What worse, ye harpy fates?
She may be dead! Oh! this is madness!
Sweet Heaven, let her live! and, if I find
Her married, I'll depart unknown to her
And bury in my heart's deep sepulchre
My widowed grief. Bah! I'm a fool!
This weakness comes from my long wandering!
Misfortunes, though we think we conquer them,
Ever pursue, hang on our rear, and give
Such rankling wounds as teach our souls to dread
What else may lie in wait invincible.

Re-enter Ursula with wine.

Ursula. I beg your pardon, sir. I could not find the wine at first.

Roger. Why, how was that?

top

Ursula. I'm not the hostess, sir, she is away; I merely take her place till she comes back.

Roger. You fill it rarely.

Ursula. God bless thee, sir, I'm cook, nurse, or hostess, as people need me. Ursula Cook, Ursula Nurse, or Ursula Goodale, at your service, sir.

Roger. Ah, indeed, Ursula! Then I presume thou knowest many of the citizens?

Ursula. I know them everyone.

Roger. This wine is excellent. [Drinking] Dost know one Roger Prynne?

Ursula. The husband of our Hester Prynne?

Roger. The same. [Aside] Thank God, she lives.

Ursula. He's dead, sir, rest his soul, a more than thirty months ago.

Roger. Poor fellow! He was a friend of mine. Where did they bury him?

Ursula. His ship was wrecked, he had no burial.

Roger. Here's to his memory! You know his wife?

Ursula. Alas; I do, sweet lady!

Roger. And why alas? The loss of a husband is no great calamity in a colony. There can be no dearth here of husband-material, I fancy.

Ursula. Whence come you that you know so little of the doings here?

Roger. From the far South, where for two long years and more I've lived among the savages. What do you mean?

Ursula. I mean her trial by the magistrates.

Roger. Tried by magistrates? For what?

Ursula. Adultery.

top

Roger. Tried for adultery?

Ursula. Aye, sir, that she is.

Roger. It is a lie, a damned lie! Tried for adultery! A likely thing! So pure a woman! A purer creature never lived!

Ursula. Sir, you are her friend? You know her?

Roger. I am—I am her husband—her husband's friend. I knew her in Old England. Adultery! A pretty word! Who doth accuse her? Damned detractors!

Ursula. Her child.

Roger. Her what?

Ursula. Her child.

Roger. Hath Hester Prynne a child? Well, well; that is news indeed! God bless the little thing! it can't be quite as much as three years old; nay, not so old. Why, such a tot can give no testimony. I'll go to this trial; I may be able yet to aid her. Adultery! Bah!

Ursula. God bless your heart, sir.

Roger. Is't a boy or girl, how old?

Ursula. A girl and three months old.

Roger. Three months? Three years you mean.

Ursula. Three months, I said.

Roger. Thou dost not mean that Hester Prynne hath borne a child within the last two years?

Ursula. I do. [Aside] A strange man, truly. This news hath troubled him; but that's not strange, it troubles all her friends. He seemed glad enough she had a child, but when I said it was a girl it seemed to sting him. Well, well! God help the women; we are unwelcome when we come, abused while we stay, and driven hence with ill-usage.

top

Roger. Adulteress! That cannot be! There's some
Mistake, or some deceit in this. Her great
Nobility of heart would take upon
Herself another's wrong. I'll take an oath
The babe they say is hers she never bore!

Ursula. 'Tis surely hers, for I delivered her.

Roger. Hester! Hester! O, my God! My Hester!
Woman, didst thou say that she is married?

Ursula. Nay, I said she is a widow, sir.

Roger. Who is her paramour?

[Busies herself removing tankards.

Roger. [Aside] Now is my honored name dragged in the dust
By her to whom I did confide its keeping;
And she herself, my cherished wife, upraised
Upon a pedestal of shameful guilt
For filthy mouths to spit their venom at.
Slowly now. Whatever haps I'll be
Cornelius Tacitus for the nonce, nor brave
My state with that true name which marks me out
As Publius Cornutus. I must have time to think.
[To Ursula] Get me more wine. Prepare a room for me.

Ursula. Aye, sir. [Going.]

Roger. Where is this trial held?

Ursula. Sir, at the Market place, three crossings up
The street and to the left.

[Exit Ursula.

Why was the banishment of tyrant fate
Annulled by vigorous will? and why should I,
For whom the jaws of death unhinged themselves,
top Escape from shipwreck, war, and pestilence,
And here attain my journey's end at last,
But that such evil deaths were much too mild
To gratify the fury that pursues me!
I was reserved for this last ignominy
As in despite of human purposes;
Robbed of mine honor where most I placed my trust
And reap this pain where most I sowed for peace.
Was it for this that I did marry her?
Was it for this I sent her here before me?
For this I nursed the holy purposes
Of wedded purity, o'ercame the shocks
Of human destiny, and held in check
The inward passions of the baser man?
For this—to be cornuted in mine age
And die a by-word?
My purposes! My purposes! O, God!
Our purposes are little nine-pins
Which fate's sure aim bowls down incessantly:
As fast as we can set them up, events
Roll down the narrow alleys of our lives,
Rumbling like distant thunder as they speed,
Till crash! our king-intent is down, and in
His fall share all his puny retinue!
She an adulteress! My Hester, whom
I cherished as my soul! How I loved her!
Forgotten, like the meat of yesterday,
Let it pass!
Henceforth, for me there's nothing on this side
Of Hell, but study of revenge on him
top Who wrought her shame. He must have used foul means;
For she was ever chaste in thought and deed.
Hell fiend! Now, under an assumÉd name,
I'll ferret out her lusty paramour;
Contrive some means to deeply punish him,

[Exit.

Dimsdell. 'Twould do no good.—The Governor is late,
Or I have missed him.—Confess?—Disgrace for me;
No help to her; and all the blasphemies
That evil minds could cast on sacred calling
Would be my blame. Whereas, I now can make
My pleas take on the color of mine office
And yet reflect on it a purer glow.—
Why comes he not?—The path of righteousness,
Though straight, leads on thro' pleasant fields to Heaven,
Whereas the broad and easy road of sin
Splits in its downward way, and then the will
Stands at a halt which fork to take, though both
Lead on to Hell! Now—why, here he comes!

Enter Governor, attended.

Governor. Nay, Dimsdell, plead no more; she must be tried.
I know what thou wouldst say, and like thee for it;
But think, my friend, the law would mock itself
If pardon did precede the penalty.

Dimsdell. Our Lord did pardon one was taken in
The very act. O, think of Him!

Governor.top Enough!
What! wouldst thou have our laws contemned
As feeble nets to catch the smaller fry
And let the great break through? I tell thee, sir,
Her wealth, her beauty, her hitherto fair fame,
Blacken her crime and make its punishment
A signal warning to the baser sort.

Dimsdell. Hath she not suffered pains and imprisonment?
Enough to answer all the decalogue?

Governor. I stand for law; and you, I think, do think
You stand for gospel.—Come, we tarry.—
Plead with the Council for the woman, and, while
I think her death were well deserved, I'll not
Oppose their mercy if you win it.

[Going.

Dimsdell. If that she be condemned,
Suspend her sentence till her paramour
Be found; and let them die together.

[Exeunt.

Governor. Now that our other business is dispatched,
Call Hester Prynne.

Wilson. Wise Governor, and you,
My brethren: dried as I am with age,
The tendrils of my heart are pliable;
Nor have the tangles of this thicket-world
So twisted all my grain as not to bend
Before another's misery. Wherefore,
top I do beseech you, call her not.

Governor. Yet must
We try the woman, though we pity her;
And though the scion mercy grafts upon
The stock of justice, the stock is justice still.

Wilson. I plead for justice! even-handed justice!
As blind and cold as death—but with a sword,
Sharp on one side to reach the woman's heart
And on the other keener for the man's!
You call the woman; where's her paramour?

Governor. We do not know.

Wilson. Then grant a stay to Hester
Till he's known.

Governor. Too late; nor were it good
To let the woman slap the face of law,
And not resent it quickly. Once again,
Call Hester Prynne. The man she may discover.

Enter Rev. Arthur Dimsdell through crowd and goes to Portico.

[Exit.

Dimsdell. Most worthy Governor, I am like one
Who waking hears the village clock toll time,
Yet, having missed the first few strokes, the hour
He cannot tell: and so stand I and hear
Fair Hester called. Is it for trial, or
For punishment?

Governor. For both.

Dimsdell. I am her pastor and I speak for her;
I would to God that I could plead "Not guilty,"
Or in her stead could offer up myself
top To satisfy the law!

Crowd. How good he is!

Dimsdell. Gentle and wise she is, grave councilors,
And with a modest meekness goes about
The daily duties of her household care;
Oh! I am sure no vulgar palate-bait
Did lure her to this shame, but some enticement
That took the form of higher nature did
Invest the hook. For she is modesty
Itself.

Governor. Can modesty, then, fall like this?

Dimsdell. The modesty of woman is like the blush
Upon a tender rose; it is her treasure
And her ornament: you cannot touch it,
But it fades away; or breathe upon it,
But it loses perfume; or bring it to the light,
Unwilted.

Governor. True, but when the roses fade
We cast them forth, nor treasure them again.

Dimsdell. 'Tis thus I own; but we have higher teaching.
Our Lord, who knew temptation's mighty power,
Yet was himself without sin's damning stain,
Did pass upon a case like this. "Let him
Who hath no sin first cast a stone at her."
And then He said, "Go, woman, sin no more."
Oh! wondrous grace that pardoned frailty
Which had not sunk to vice!

Re-enter Crier with Hester Prynne.

Governor. Enough! Here comes the woman.
Hester, thou art accused before this court
top Of that which blushing virtue shrinks to name,
Adultery.

Hester. I pray you spare me.

Governor. Thou art the widow of a man of whom
Report spake only praise: no act of thine
Hath openly offended decency,
But that young life which draws its sustenance
From thy round breast avows thy hidden shame.

Hester. Have mercy on the babe, O, God!

Governor. That thou shouldst sin, and thereby, Hester, bring
Dishonor on the name thy spouse did give thee,
Is worse than in a meaner woman. If thou
Hast aught to say to mitigate the wrath
Of justice, speak. And, Hester, bear in mind
The penalty is death or banishment.

Hester. I would not gloze my crime, nor do I know
How to address your worships.
Yet since you bid me I will plead my cause
As best I can.
That I have sinned is true; and well I know
Henceforth for me there's nothing left from all
My kind but scorn and hate.
For me hath life no charm to cheat my hope,
Or make me wish to linger here; yet I
While lives the child would shelter her, the one
Sweet flower that lovely grows above the soil
Of my most foul debasement.
Although the blossom of iniquity,
She takes no tinct from whence she springs, but rather
Of the sky toward which she doth unfold.
top Believe me, sirs,
But for my babe's dear love, I'd ask for death
To rid me quickly of my misery:
For love itself, dishonored in my being,
Turns all the gentle cords that bind affection
Into hard-knotted thongs to whip me hence.
Therefore, if I do plead for life, think not
I do beseech a favor for myself,
But rather, that I beg a lingering pain,
Than expiate in one quick-ending pang
The sum of all my loathÉd wickedness.
Thus, for my tender babe, I ask my life,
And, for myself, I do implore you now,
Banish me not.
As for my crime, I have repented it
Most bitterly; yea, I've suffered anguish
From the very hour when, as the spring
Of nature dragged my anchors loose, the soft
Entreaty of a lover's sigh did blow
Concurrent with my tide, and swept me out
Into a troubled sea.
Now, battered on the rocks of hard opinions,
My most untimely wreck is quite complete;
Yet spare the hulk for that dear freight it bore.

Governor. Woman, I pity thee; now, while our laws
Are strict, yet may our mercy show itself
In staving off the penalty, if thou
Wilt aid us.

Hester. Your mercy comes with hard condition;
For how can I, who stand here helpless,
top Aid you who have all power?

Governor. Tell us who is thy paramour?

Hester. That I will not do.

Governor. Thou art most obstinate. What say you now,
Grave councilors? Need we delay the sentence?

Bronson. Quick to forgive and slow in condemnation,
Would be our wisest course in such a case.
The life she hath God gave; we should not take it;
Nor should we banish her, for she is useful,
And with her needle doth assist the poor.
There is provision in our law to fit
This crime when neither death nor banishment
Is proper. It is: [Reading] "Th' adulteress shall stand
Upon the pillory; and on her breast
Shall wear a scarlet letter A, to mark
Her criminal incontinence."

Governor. A good
Suggestion truly; we had forgot the clause
From long disuse. What say you?

Ward. I think it wise.

Arnold. 'Twill be more merciful.

Langdon. A living warning 'gainst adultery.

All. It is our suffrage.

Governor. So be it then.
Hester, thou art to stand upon the pillory
A little while, and wear upon thy breast
The Scarlet Letter "A" forever;
This see thou do on pain of instant death
Or banishment. Hath anyone a piece
Of scarlet cloth?

top

Bronson. I have the letter here prepared.

Governor. Clerk, affix the letter to her breast.

Enter Roger Prynne, clad as in Scene I.—He keeps to the rear of Hester.

Now, Jailer, lead her to the pillory,
There let her stand unbound.

Hester ascends steps to pillory platform.

Dimsdell, you are her pastor, speak to her.
Hold up her sin before her eyes, and warn
The multitude by her example.

Dimsdell. I beg you, sir, let Dr. Wilson speak.

Wilson. Nay, Dimsdell. Nay, the charge is yours.
Speak on. And plead that she disclose the man
Who was her paramour.

Dimsdell. I pray you pardon me. I am not well.

Governor. Not well? 'Tis but compassion weakens thee.
Speak man! thy words are gentlest and will draw
Her secret from her, though ours do seal her lips.
Proceed, Dimsdell.

Dimsdell. We wrong her nature when we seek to know
That which her heart doth teach her to conceal;
Yet at your bidding will I plead with her.

Goes over to pillory.

Hester, look down upon me; let thine ear
Receive my meaning with the sound I make;
Behold in me the body of the Council,
Not me alone; and hear my words as though
The general voice, speaking in concert true,
top Did intone them.
For it were vain presumption to expect
That, what the Governor could not extract,
My words alone could move thee to disclose.

Roger. A modest gentleman, truly!

Dimsdell. Upon thy sin I dwell not; the penalty
Which thou dost suffer preaches repentance;
And in thy nature there is naught to lead thee
Twice astray.
There's not an eye that now doth look upon thee
But pities thee, and doubt thou not, if he
Who wronged thee is present here, his heart is wrung
With bitterest remorse. Wilt speak his name?

Hester. I will not.

Dimsdell. I do command thee by the Commonwealth,
I do entreat thee for thy reputation,
I do implore thee for thy soul's salvation,
Give up his name.

Hester. I would not breathe his name to anyone;
Nay, not to him who was my husband, though
The sea should cast him up to question me.

Roger. Woman, who did seduce thee?

Hester. I keep my vow.

Dimsdell. Hester, deceive thyself no more; look down
Upon me once again. Believe me, Hester,
No pain the world could now inflict would harm
Thy recreant lover. To see thee here set up
The target of a thousand curious eyes,
Thy beauties blistered in the noonday sun,
Thy gentle breast seared with yon scarlet letter,
top Would burn that image on his soul. Have mercy,
Hester, forgive his cowardice, do thou
Act for him; pronounce his name and let him die
To satisfy his crime.

Hester. I will not drag him down with me.

Roger. Oh! glorious generosity misplaced!

Dimsdell. Your generosity hath led you once
Astray; do not allow it now to aid
Him in hypocrisy. For, Hester, you,
Who know his weaknesses and aspirations,
His station in his calling, his place in life
Among us, will be a party to deception
If now you hide his name.

Hester. I answer to my God. No man shall know
That which is only known to me and him.
But speak thou on his crime!

Dimsdell. Ho! all ye people of the commonwealth!
Behold!—let him confess!—O, Hester! speak!—

I see—no more—