Scene I.
—The garden of Governor Bellingham. Roger Prynne, called Chillingworth, alone. Roger. The fox that robbed my roost is sly; he keeps
The cover warily; and, now the scent
Is cold, the curs that yelp in scandal's pack
Bay loud on many faults, but cannot trace him.
Enter Diggory.
Diggory. Doctor, the Governor will join you presently.
Roger. Diggory, I will await him patiently.
[Sits.
Diggory retires, then returns.
Diggory. Doctor, may I beg a word with you?
Roger. A thousand if you will.
Diggory. I would speak in confidence.
Roger. The manner would become thee, Diggory. But speak, man! Say on.
Diggory. I need a philter, Doctor. For the love of mercy—
Roger. For the love of good liquor, Diggory, thou shalt have twenty filters. Still decanting?
Diggory. O, sir! not that kind of filter. I'm in love!
Roger. Ah! thou art in love? In love didst thou say?
Diggory. Aye, sir, if it please you.
Roger. It pleases me well enough; how doth it please the lady?
top
Diggory. She's not a lady, sir, thank God! she's but a simple maiden, and it pleaseth her not.
Roger. A simple maid refuses you! Ah! Diggory, Diggory, be thankful for the good things God hath sent thee.
Diggory. Truly, sir, I thank Him ev'ry day; but, sir, as I do desire the maiden—I—I—would have her too.
Roger. And so, Diggory, thou wouldst have me aid thee in this folly, and give thee a love potion?
Diggory. Aye, sir, begging your honor's pardon.
Roger. But why dost thou ask me, Diggory? Dost thou take me for an herb-doctor, or a necromancer, or what?
Diggory. My master, the Governor, says you are a very learned man, a what-you-call-'em—a scientist; and a scientist can do anything.
Roger. Humph!—Diggory, I do not deal in philters; they are out of date—but I know a charm will win her love.
Diggory. Tell it me for the love of—
Roger. Thou wilt betray it, Diggory.
Diggory. Never! Never!
Roger. Omit thou but a word of it, and the maiden's lost to thee—but con it well, and all her beauties will be thine.
Diggory. Oh! Doctor!
Roger. Take of the rendered grease of three black bears—do not fail in that—anoint thy curly locks—
Diggory. My hair is straight.
Roger. Never mind—but rub; and, as thou dost, repeat these words:
Lady love, lady love, where e'er thou be,
Think of no man but only me;
Love me, and wed me, and call me thine own,
Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, Joan.
top
Diggory. What is that "Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling"?
Roger. That is the chief element of the charm—don't forget it. Having done this on nine successive days—dost thou follow me?
Diggory. Aye, sir.
Roger. On the tenth go to the barber's and have thy hair cut short.
Diggory. But, sir, my hair is my best feature!
Roger. It is with many; cut it, however, or lose the worth of all of the charm. Dost thou hear, Diggory? Cut thy hair short or never win fair woman. Farewell.
Diggory. I thank you, sir. [Going] "Lady love, ting-a-ling"—nay, that's not it.
Roger. Diggory!
Diggory. Yes, sir.
Roger. Who are with the Governor?
Diggory. The worthy ministers, Master Wilson and Master Dimsdell.
[Exit Diggory, trying to recall the verse.
Ah! Diggory, thou art but a dram of love in a fluid ounce of fool! And so may we label all mankind. For instance: the Governor is a wise man and a politic; Wilson a good man and a pious; Dimsdell—ah! there I pause, for what fine formula can sum the qualities of that same Arthur Dimsdell? He's not a fool; nor mad; nor truly cataleptic—yet he's moody, falls in trance, and I suspect his power as a preacher comes from ecstasy. Something he is akin to genius—yet he hath it not, for though his aim be true enough, he often flashes in the pan when genius would have hit the mark. I'll write his case in Latin! What a study top that would be if I could first find out the reason why he clutches at his breast!—If once I find him in a trance, alone—ah! here they come.
Enter Governor Bellingham, Rev. John Wilson, Rev. Arthur Dimsdell, and following them, with a tray of wine, Diggory.
Wilson. Good morrow, Doctor.
Roger. Good morning, gentlemen.
Governor. [To Diggory.] Leave the wine within the summer house. Good morning, Doctor. When Mistress Prynne doth come conduct her hither.
Diggory. Sir, she's coming this way now.
Governor. Very well. Go. [Exit Diggory.] Doctor, we debate what disposition should be made of Hester Prynne's young child. We ask your aid—but here she is.
Enter Hester Prynne.
Hester. Your worship hath been pleased to summon me
To bring my child before you.
Governor. Where is the child?
Hester. The babe is sick but answers by attorney.
What is your will?
Governor. Some pious matrons, Hester,
Have charged that thou art not a person fit
To rear that infant immortality,
And guide it unto God.
Hester. God gave the child
In rich exchange for all things else which I,
Poor sinful I, had forfeited; and now
You, who have made yourselves the flails of God,
top Would separate the wheat from chaff before
The grain is ripe, and take her from me.
Oh! ye are wise! No doubt ye see beyond
The purpose of Almighty God who gave
The child to me!
Governor. Nay, take it not to heart,
For, Hester, duty to the child we owe
To put its soul upon the way that leads
To Heaven. She will be cared for tenderly.
Hester. She is the last small link that binds my soul
To earth, the tiny needle that doth point
My way to Heaven. You shall not take her from me!
Speak thou for me [To Dimsdell]; as my pastor speak;
Speak now; and say if any harm from me
Will hurt the child. I will not part with her!
Say if thou canst, for thou hast sympathies
Which these men lack, say what the mother's rights
Are in her child; and what those rights must be
When naught beside the child is left to her—
Her husband gone, her friends deserted,
No reputation, no sympathy, no love—
But only those twin brands of shame, her baby
And The Scarlet Letter!
Dimsdell. I have a dual duty to discharge;
I am this woman's pastor—and her friend,
And therefore she hath called me to defend her;
I am, beside, a member of your council,
And hence am with you in your consultation;
And yet, I think, these duties may be made
To yoke and draw me to a just conclusion.
top
Wilson. Thou also hast a duty to the child.
Dimsdell. Aye, so I have. Our aim is well enough,
But let us pause before we do adopt
A means that varies from the one marked out
By God and Nature.
Governor. Is there not command
To teach our children in the fear of God
And guide them from impurity?
Dimsdell. God gave us mothers when He gave us life,
And to their tender care He did entrust
The mortal and immortal parts of us.
What then? Would we improve upon His system;
Would we now deprive this little one
Of that fond mother-care which nurtures her?
Or would we put, in place of mother-love,
The cold, hard, formal training of a paid
Instructor?
Governor. But is this woman, stained with sin,
A mother to entrust a child to?
Dimsdell. That question God hath answered; and we know
The stain of sin doth fade beneath the bleach
Of true repentance; through it all appears
The woven figure of the woman-fabric—
Her motherhood!
We owe our lives to woman's suffering,
We owe our health unto her temperance,
We owe her all the best of us. Let God
Condemn her sin, but let us not presume
To punish her where He hath healed her heart.
Wilson. There is weight in what he says.
top
Roger. Yea, and earnestness!
Governor. Well, Hester, go thy way; the child is thine.
Remember thou dost owe a gentle thanks
Unto this pious man. Go, Hester, keep
The child. Think well upon his words; be thou
A mother in all righteousness, as well
As in thy sin. Farewell.
Hester. I thank you, gentlemen.
[Exit.
Wilson. That woman would have been a noble wife
Had not some villain robbed her of her dower.
Governor. Come, gentlemen, this business well is ended,
And, Dimsdell, yours is all the credit of it;
For one I thank you.
Roger. We all do thank you, sir.
Governor. Come, let us drain a cup of wine; and then
Go in.
Dimsdell. I beg you to excuse me.
Roger. And me,
I pray. I'll stay with Dimsdell.
Governor. Well, Wilson, you
Shall not escape me. Gentlemen, the wine
We leave you; keep it company.—And, Dimsdell,
Forget it not, to-morrow thou must preach
A grand election sermon. The people do
Expect a master effort, man. Fail not.
[Exeunt Governor and Wilson.
Roger. He will not fail them, Governor; a tongue
Of flame is his. What ails thee, Dimsdell?
How now? Why man!
Dimsdell. I'm very weak. The pain about my heart—
top
Roger. Nay, courage, man! 'Twill leave thee soon. I'll get a cup of wine to cheer thee up.
Dimsdell. Do, I pray. And, Doctor, give me something to abate this agony.
[Exit.
Dimsdell. Try how I may, there's no escape from pain.
I robbed the law's strong arm, and thereby put
The lash in conscience' hand—and yet I thought
Hypocrisy a duty to my calling!
'Twere better I were known as what I am,
Than still to hide my sin beneath the garb
Of outward purity! 'Twere better now,
By Hester's side, to bear opprobrium,
And brave what man may do, than still to nurse
This misery in secret!
Re-enter Roger with wine-tray; places it upon a bench and, taking a vial from a pocket medicine-case, pours a few drops into a wine-glass, then fills the glass with wine.
Roger. A minim more would lull him into sleep.
Here is the chance—and here the will—to learn
His secret malady. What holds me back?
Conscience? Tut, tut! It will not harm him!
'Twill do him good to sleep; 'twill do me good
To know the why he clutches at his breast.
[Pours more from vial.
Sir, drink this off.
Dimsdell. I thank thee, kind physician.
[Drinks.
Roger. Nay, thank me not. Now, take a glass of wine.
[Giving him another glass.
top
Dimsdell. Methinks, the wine is richer than is common.
Roger. Thirst always gives an added age to wine.
This is right Xeres. Hast been in Spain?
Dimsdell. Nay, but the wine hath. I feel its warmth.
Roger. Truly, it is a grand inquisitor;
'Twill search each petty heresy that taints
Thy blood, and burn it to a cinder.
Dimsdell. How many leagues it came to serve my need.
Roger. Aye, a thousand, and a thousand more!
Dimsdell. I would not go so far for it just now,
For through my limbs there creeps a lang'rous ease
Like that which doth precede deep slumber.
Roger. Rest here upon this bench.
[Dimsdell sits, half reclining.
Give way unto your drowsiness; it is
Not sleep, but rest and relaxation. There!
I'll keep you company.
Dimsdell. Do.
Roger. [Pouring wine and drinking.] This wine is liquid gold.
I quaff to your good health and ease of mind.
This is good wine. It warms my chilly blood
With all the dreamy heat of Spain. I hear
The clack of th' castinet and th' droning twang
Of stringÉd instruments; while there before
Mine eyes brown, yielding beauties dance in time
To the pulsing music of a saraband!
And yet there is a flavor of the sea,
[Sipping wine.
The long-drawn heaving of the ocean wave,
The gentle cradling of a tropic tide;
Its native golden sun—I fear you sleep?
Or do the travels of the wine so rock
top Your soul that self is lost in revery?
Why, man, dream not too much of placid bliss;
Nor wine, nor man, can reach this clear perfection
Until they pass the rack of thunder and
Of hurricane.—'Tis on us now! Awake!
[Shouting in Dimsdell's ear.
My friend, awake! Dost thou not hear the storm?
Oh! how it shrieks and whistles through the shrouds!
The awful guns of heaven boom in our ears—
Nay, that was the mainsail gone by the board,
Flapping with cannon roar.
You do not follow me. O, come, I say!
This is no sermon. You cannot be asleep,
Yet feign you are to cheat me of my story.
Wake up, my friend. You carry the jest too far.
Roger cautiously shakes Dimsdell.
[Looks around.
I fear you are not easy; thus. That's better.
Your pardon, sir, your collar's much too tight.
Now will I steal his hidden mystery,
And learn the secret of his lengthened pain;
Cure him and gain great honor. To think a man
Would case himself in buttons like an armour!
Now, shirt——
Merciful God! what miracle is this!
A stigma! Aye! a stigma! the letter "A"
In blood suffused! The counterpart of that
Which Hester wears, but palpitating here
In life! This is beyond my skill.
Ah! David! David! Thou art the man! Thou wouldst
Have set me in the hot forefront of battle
top Hadst thou but known me as Uriah!
Bah!
Why, what a brainless dullard have I been,
To see this pretty puff-ball of a preacher
Wax large before mine eyes in righteous husk—
And think him whole within—when but a touch,
But one, had aired his rottenness!
Oh! dotard that I am! blind, deaf and stupid!
It takes a miracle to make me see
What lay before me open. He did take
Her part; ever professed himself her friend;
And at her trial fell in trance. What more?
He is the man! He is the man!
Now ends our game of hoodman blind; oh, I
Was warm, so very warm at times, so hot,
Did almost touch thee; yet I knew thee not
For him I sought. Thou cunning hypocrite!
It must be I am fitted to my state,
Dull, trusting and incapable;
Or else—why surely I'm a fool.—
Had I been here when Hester bore her child,
I would have fondly dreamed it was mine own;
Put on the unearned pride that old men wear
When their young wives bear children.
A pretty baby, sir! My grandchild?—No;
Mine own; my very own! Nay, wrong me not;
I'm not so old—not so damned old after all!
A ghe! a ghoo! Are not the eyes like mine?—
Yea, would have dandled it upon my knee,
And coddled each succeeding drop, as though
top My fires had distilled them.
But—now I know—my knowledge must be hid.
Back shirt! cover blazoned infamy
And let the whited front still hide from man
The sepulchre of crime that festers here.
He will not wake within an hour. I'll go
Inform the Governor he sleeps, and have
Him order none disturb his pious rest.
Then I'll return and calmly probe his soul.
[Exit Roger.
Scene II.
—Another part of the garden. Enter alone, Diggory. Diggory. If there be no true charm but it hath a touch of folly in it, this one must be most potent. Now a wise man would not think there's that virtue in a bit of grease, a jingling rhyme, and a hair cut, that one might thereby win a woman's love—but the wise are fools in love. I have here the lard of three bears—one more than the old adage of "bear and forbear"—and with it I am to anoint my head as an enchantment to bring about my marriage to Betsey—marry, I'll temper the strength of the charm with a little bergamot, for in truth two of the bears have been dead over-long. Whew!—Aha! enchantment is the only highway to success in love! Now let me see: "Lady love, lady love, where'er you be"—
Betsey. [Singing behind the scenes]
Little bird, little bird, come tell me true;
If I love my love, as your love loves you,
And if he loves me, as you love your mate;
Can hardly be called, sirs, quite sober.
top
Diggory. That's Betsey singing now! If the charm works like this, bear fat will be worth its weight in gold. But perhaps my features may have pleased her after all—I'm not bad to look upon; and truly I would save my hair; it's the best part about me. Singing again.
Betsey. [Singing behind the scenes]
In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
O, what can a maiden do,
If, while he walks close by her side,
Her lover begins to woo?
Diggory. Now I wonder where she learnt all those profane songs? From some liberal folk in the old country, no doubt; they ill become a puritan. If she were a little slower in her speech, what an angel she would be! As it is, she is a very good woman, tongue and all.
Betsey. [Singing again, behind the scenes.]
For her, of buttercups and violets,
A circlet for her hair he makes;
And sings, in roundelays and triolets,
A song that soon her fancy takes.
In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
O, what can a maiden do,
If, while he walks close by her side,
Her lover begins to woo?
Diggory. I'm not a judge of songs, but if she means half she says—and a woman sometimes does—some one is about to be the top feather in Fortune's cap; it may be me. I'll try my luck once more. [Going toward R. wing] Why, here she comes.
top
Enter Betsey, with a pair of butter paddles.
Betsey. [Entering.]
Adown the moonlit path they walk,
Through all the world called lover's lane,
And hand in hand they sigh and talk
Of the love that binds them, happy twain!
What are you gaping like a great gaby for?
Diggory. For Fortune to drop the plum into my mouth.
Betsey. Where is the plum?
Diggory. There. [Pointing at her.]
Betsey. You silly fellow! yesterday I was a peach; the day before strawberries and cream; the day before that a rose; and last week a dove—marry, I don't coo for you! Can I be all these things at once and still be Betsey Tomkins?
Diggory. O, Betsey, thou art all the world to me!
Betsey. O, Diggory, thou art a great fool to me! Why, man, thy head is as soft as a pat of butter; I could take it between my paddles, like this, and mold it into any shape I chose.
Diggory. So you may, Betsey; so you may. And, Betsey, for the love of mercy, mold it into the head of thy future husband.
Betsey. 'Twould take a pair of shears to do that.
Diggory. Wouldst thou marry me, Betsey, if I should lose my pretty locks?
Betsey. I would not marry you with them, that's flat.
Diggory. Shall I shave my head or only clip it close?
Betsey. Cut it off, Diggory, cut it off.
Diggory. Kiss me but once, Betsey, and I'll cut my head top off; 'tis of little use to me now, and if thou dost marry me—well, thy head shall rest upon my shoulder, like this, and one head is enough for any pair of shoulders.
Betsey. In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
O, what can a maiden do, etc.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
—The same as in Scene I of this act. Dimsdell asleep upon a garden bench, half reclining. Enter Roger Prynne, called Chillingworth. Roger. To kill were easy; aye, but—to stretch his life
As on a rack—were that not better still?
Dead, I'd bury with him my revenge;
But while he lives the old account will stand
At daily usury.
I'll tent his agony, prolong it here,
Even here where I may feed upon it;
Not send him hence beyond my reach. Aye!
I'll fight with death to keep him for mine own.
But, now—
O, I must calm myself or miss my aim!
For, like a hunter when first he sees the buck,
My nerves are all unstrung. This weakling trick
Of overearnestness betrays the fool
In me; and yet we know it, though we profit not,
The eager hand doth ever spill the cup
That lifted carefully would quench our thirst.
I must assume a wise placidity;
As he puts on—Ah! damnÉd hypocrite!—
The air of purity. (Approaches Dimsdell.)
I'll drink dissimulation at the source;
top I'll study him.—Thus might an angel look
When, wearied with the music of the spheres,
He laid him down upon a roseate bank
To dream of holiness!—He hath not stirred.—
'Twas well I did not speak to Bellingham,
For we have not been noted. Good, so far.
All eyes are busy with their own affairs;
I'll wake him now and foil discovery.
Takes vial from pocket medicine case.
Our native drugs are balanced well; one plant
Sucks in the beams the sleepy moon sends down,
Another drinks the waking draught of dawn.
That made him sleep, but this—Ah!
A mouldy mummied corse that in the tomb
A thousand years had lain, would wake once more,
If but three drops of this should touch its lips.
I'll give you, sir, but two.
Drops liquid into glass and fills with wine.
There, swallow it.
Administering to Dimsdell.
Now, let me see—he must not know how long
He slept,—and by the sun it is not long—
I have't; I'll make him think he merely lost
Himself while I was talking.
Dimsdell stirs. Roger pours a glass of wine and takes position he occupied when Dimsdell fell asleep. Speaks as in continuation of former speech.
top
Mellow wine
Is Nature's golden bounty unto man.
And it hath well been said: Dame Nature is
A gentle mother if we follow her;
But if she drives our steps no fury wields
A fiercer lash; yet all her punishments
Are kindly meant; our puny faculties
Would nest forever fledgeling in our minds,
Did not her wise austerity compel
Their flight.
Dimsdell wakes with a start and recovers himself as one who would not seem rude.
Or, put the same in other words:
That man is noble who doth fear no fate
Which may afflict humanity; but, like
A gallant soldier, meets the charge half way,
And takes his wounds a-jesting.
Now ev'ry one of us, whom Nature whips,
Must take it meekly; for she means our good;
And learn to go along with her.
Dimsdell. I fear
I dozed and lost the thread of argument.
I pray you, pardon me.
Roger. I did not note it.
But, be it so, come sun yourself; drive out
The fog and vapor that becloud your mind,
And let the warmth of nature take their place.
Nature retrieves our losses, or charges them
Against us; all things do rest, even the plants
Do slumber as they grow.
Dimsdell.top How greedily
The flow'rs drink up the wine our golden sun
Pours down on them, yet blush to own their drinking!
Roger. This is the New World, man; and Nature here
Is lusty; drink in thy dole of heat and light;
For even I, drenched in the golden rain,
Feel pulsings of lost paradise that make
My blood leap with th' quick-step bound of youth.
This is the very show'r of gold in which
Jove comes to fill the longing world with life.
And as he kisses her with ling'ring lips,
All Nature lies wide open to th' warm embrace
And quickens in his arms.—All, all, but thou!
For thou art single as the northern pole;
As cold, as distant, and unreachable
To what hath passion's warmth; and, though
Thy life be at its summer solstice—bright
With day—thy heart still turns to barren ice,
More bleak than many a wintry age.
Dimsdell. How can I change my disposition, Doctor?
Roger. Widen the thin ecliptic of thy life;
Revolve upon another axis, man;
Let love, the sun of life, beam meltingly
Upon thy heart and thaw it into happiness.
Marry, man, marry.
Dimsdell. I cannot marry: I have my work to do.
Roger. If work precedent were to love, the world
Would be unpeopled. This is the month of June,
And now the locust and the linden tree
Do wed the zephyrs as they blow, and weight
The air with oversweetness.—What song is that?
top
[Voice of Betsey singing behind scenes.]
For her, of buttercups and violets,
A circlet for her hair he makes;
And sings, in roundelays and triolets,
A song that soon her fancy takes.
In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
O, what can a maiden do,
If, while he walks close by her side,
Her lover begins to woo?
Roger. That maid is innocent and happy too.
You may have noticed that—when the heart
Is pure—love overflows the lips in song
As sweet and limpid as a mountain spring;
But—when it's bitter with base treachery—
It dams itself against all utterance,
And either mines the soul, or, breaking forth,
Sweeps downward to destruction. Oh! 'tis true,
Love is the lyric happiness of youth;
And they, who sing its perfect melody,
Do from the honest parish register
Still take their tune. And so must you. For you
Are now in the very period of youth
When myriads of unborn beings knock loud and long
Upon the willing portals of the heart
For entrance into life. Deny it not;
I say but truth—I once was young myself.
Behold the means!
Enter Martha Wilson, carrying a bunch of roses.
Dimsdell. Oh! Oh! [Clasps his breast.]
top
Roger. Whither so fast, Martha, that thou canst not speak to us?
Martha. Oh! I beg your pardon, Doctor. Good morning, sir. I seek my father; is he with the Governor?
Roger. Knowledge is costly, Martha; yet thou art rich enough to buy more than information. For one of those sweet roses, I'll tell you he is well and with the Governor.
Martha. You beg it prettily.
[Giving Roger a rose.
Roger. Pure and fragrant as the giver—marry, the blush becomes it not so well; it does not come and go. Martha, thy father and the Governor are in the library. Is that not worth another rose?
Martha. Nay, only a very little one; for when he talks of books he's always loath to come with me.
Roger. Nay, slander him not. But, Martha, books or no books, for two more roses I will bring him here; and, truly, fathers were cheap at three roses apiece. What say you?
Martha. Nay, I'll go myself; but do not think I grudge the roses; here they are. You have not begged of me [To Dimsdell]. May I beg you to accept this? Gentlemen, farewell.
[Exit Martha.
Roger. Roses, and you asked her not!
In love! in love! up to the eyes in love!
She'll drown in love unless you marry her!
Dimsdell. Oh! that I were worthy of her!
Roger. Dost love her, Dimsdell? Ah! she's worthy love.
She's fair and young; of gentle birth and rich;
And warm and pure and spirit-like as flame
That floats above new brandy.
Dimsdell. Out upon thee, satyr! Thou dishonorest her.
top
Roger. Not a whit. Is't dishonor to her purity
To urge thy smoky flame to brightness worthy
Of her? 'Tis what she wishes most; witness
Her confusion and her telltale blushes.
Do me justice, man; my thoughts are pure
And dwell on lawful marriage only. Thou, thou
Alone, couldst see impurity in that.
I spoke of thee, man, of thee; and who
Beside thyself would think a mottled thought
Could touch a maiden linked to thee in words
Or fact?
[Clutching at his breast.
Roger. Had I young daughters by the score, each fair
As Hebe, as voluptuous as Venus,
All thinly clad as in the golden age,
I could not wish a chaster keeper of them.
Nay, had I wives in droves like Solomon,
I'd make thee Kislah Aga of my harem,
Chief eunuch and sole security—What!
Call me satyr when I urge in bounds
The boundless beauties of pure maidenhood,
And bid thee wed them! Thus best advices are
Construed amiss, and what we kindly mean
Turned into scorn and filthiness!
Dimsdell. Forgive me, Doctor; I'm ill at ease. This pain
Is like a stick thrust in a spring; it muddies
[Pressing his hands to his breast.
Roger. Come, Dimsdell, listen to a bit of reason.
Thy body is as sound as a red apple
In November. The pain's imaginary.
top Marry, man, marry; thy wife will prove
A counter-irritant and drive the pain away.
Dimsdell. No more of that, I pray you.
Roger. Not enough of it, not enough of it!
Dimsdell. No more, no more! I must not marry.
Roger. Think once again, man; if that thy mind
Can pardon the suggestion—and, mark, I urge it
With all diffidence—there is a way,
Wherein the low opinion thou doth hold
Of thine own virtues—not held by any else—
May wed with beauty all unspeakable,
Raise up a noble lady, and show thy christian
Spirit to the world.
Dimsdell. And what is that?
Roger. Wed Hester Prynne.
Dimsdell. Wed Hester Prynne?
Roger. Aye! 'twas that I said.
She is a paragon—nay, beauty's self.
All other women are but kitchen-maids
Beside her loveliness.
Dimsdell. Wed Hester Prynne!
Roger. I hear her husband left her well to do;
And as for that small blot that sullies her
'Twill fade when covered by thy name.
Dimsdell. Hester Prynne!
Roger. What act more merciful, more christianlike?
Redeem the reputation of her child,
And to the jeers of fools stop up thine ears;
Enwrap thee in her gentle arms, lay down
Thine aching head upon her tender breast,
top And dream thyself in paradise.
Dimsdell. Thou fiend of Hell! I know thee now; thou cam'st
But once in thine own form, and ever since
Hast been too near me in a worser one.
Back to the pit, I say! No more of tempting!
Roger. Art mad? I'm man as thou dost seem to be;
I'm not a fiend.
Dimsdell. What dost thou know?
[Shaking Roger by the shoulders.
Roger. Only this—thou art as cowardly
As thou art lecherous. What! betray
A woman! Desert her in her misery!
Refuse to marry her!
And all the while, cloaked in thy ministry,
Dispense the sacraments of God to children—
How canst thou do it?
Dimsdell. If thou be not Satan, why raise this cloud?
Why vanish from my sight? Yet I did touch him even now—
I'll kill him—Kill, kill, kill—now, now, now—
Roger. In trance again! Help! Help! Help!
Dimsdell becomes rigid; with arm uplifted as if to strike a death blow. His speech thickens, and he stands motionless. Roger supports him.
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