Roger. [Feeling Dimsdell's pulse] There's been no change.
A very long trance.
At times he mumbles; at other times, as now,
He lies like death. If ev'ry murderer
Were stricken with the image of the thing
Which he would deal, 'twould be a blessing! Yet
When consciousness returns, with it will come
The murderous disposition; for in these cases
The mind, although it wanders while the trance
Is on, always comes back upon its path
Where first it left It. Therefore, 'twere wise in me
To be on guard. Well, so I am; but what—
What fear should drive me hence, or make me leave
The study of his case? He hath no arms
But such as both of us were born with;
And despite my age I am his equal that way.
Ah! a chair swung by a furious man
Might make an omelet of my brain;

[Removes chair.

top

Enter Governor Bellingham in robes of office.

Governor. Good morning, Doctor.

Roger. Good morning, Governor. I wish you, sir,
As happy and as prosperous a term
In office, as that just closing.

Governor. I thank you, sir.
Has Dimsdell recovered from his trance?

Roger. Not yet. There he lies.

Governor. Wonderful!
Can you account for his condition, Doctor?

Roger. There's no accounting for it, Governor.
This is the second trance I've seen him in;
How many more he's had, God only knows.

Governor. 'Tis most unfortunate that we must lack
His eloquence to-day. The people, who
Always love high-sounding words more than
Wise thoughts, prefer the music of his voice
To good old Wilson's drone. Why isn't he in bed?

Roger. Oh! there are many reasons; 'twould take too long
To tell you now; but at another time
I'll ask your patience for a tale more strange
Than ever made your flesh to creep.

Governor. Is there mystery in the case?

Roger. Mystery! aye, and miracle, too!
You know him, Governor—a man whose nerves
Are gossamers, too fine to sift the music
Of the blasts that blow about our burly world,
And only fit for harps whereon Zephyrus
In Elysium might breathe.—And yet this man—
Oh! you'd not believe it if I told you.

top

Enter Servant.

Servant. Your worship is asked for at the door.

[Exit Servant.

I must be gone. We servants of the State
Are slaves to show, and serve the people best
When most we trick them. The pageant of the day
Goes much against my better judgment, but
The crowd will have it so, and so farewell.

Roger. One moment, if you please. If he revives
He'll pick the thread of life up where he dropt it;
He may desire to preach, as he hath promised you,
And, if he doth, 'twere better not to thwart him.

Governor. Very well. I'll speak to Wilson.

Roger. I'm sorry I cannot go with you. Farewell.

Exit Governor. Dimsdell moves. Roger goes to his side and examines him.

The pulse hath quickened. He moves his lips.

Dimsdell mumbles indistinctly.

I cannot catch it.—

Dimsdell. Think of it no more, my love.—
Our troubles now are ended, Hester;
The gentle current of our mingled lives,
Long parted by the barren, rocky isle
Of hard necessity, flows reunited on.

Roger. Indeed!

Dimsdell. How sweet it is, in the afternoon of life,
To walk thus, hand in hand, Hester. And as
top The golden sun of love falls gently down
Into the purple glory of the West,
We'll follow it.

Roger. A lengthy jump—from sinning youth
Plump into the middle of an honored age!
Yet thus the mind, in trance or dream, achieves
Without an effort what it wills. Again?

Dimsdell. Sir, take my daughter and my blessing, too;
Cherish her as the apple of thine eye;
Still shield her from the buffets of the world;
Let thy tenderness breathe gentle love
Like an Italian air sung at twilight,
When the melody without tunes that within
Until the soul arising on the wings
Of music soars into Heaven.

Roger. Is there nothing in heredity? Or will
The orange-blossom take its fragrance from
The Heaven above; its origin forgot?

Dimsdell. Hester, although the snow upon thy head
Be white as that on yonder distant mount,
Thine eyes are blue and deep as Leman's lake
That lies before us.

Roger. Thus in our dreams we picture what we wish;
Not held to time or place; and while the body,
Like an anchor, sinks in mud, the wingÉd craft
Swings with the tide of thought.
He's in Geneva now; Hester with him;
His daughter honorably married;
And all the pains of yesterday forgot.

[Roger makes notes.

top

Dimsdell. Good night, dear wife, good night.
The stars of Heaven melt into angel forms
Which stoop to lift me to the gates of bliss.
Farewell, farewell! Nay, weep not, Hester;
Our sins are now forgiven.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of th' shadow of death,
I will fear no evil.—Say it with me, Hester.

[Examines Dimsdell.

The pulse is weak—a clammy sweat—
'Tis but the culmination of the trance.
'Tis but a dream. A dream! Yet one must die;
And to our human thought that death were best
That came preceded by a flag of truce
To parley peace. To pass away in dreams—
Without the vain regret for work undone;
Without a load of sin to weight the soul;
With all the argentry of honored age
To frost our past; with all the fiercer heats
Of life burnt out into the cold, gray ash—
That were peace! Then might a man yield up
The willing ghost as calmly as a child
That falls asleep upon its mother's breast
To wake in paradise.

Dimsdell starts up.

Dimsdell. I see thee now—and now I'll kill, kill, kill—
If thou be Satan I cannot harm thee—
But if a man—

Dimsdell attempts to reach Roger, who keeps the one chair of the room in front of him and thus wards off Dimsdell.

top

Roger. Madman, listen! Thou canst not harm me, yet I am not Satan. My name is Roger Prynne. I am the husband of the woman you have wronged.

Dimsdell. Thou Roger Prynne?

Roger. Aye, Roger Prynne and thine accuser.

Dimsdell looks about the room as though dazed.

Dimsdell. Why, how is this?—But now, the Governor's garden—and now, my room!—But now, just now, old Doctor Chillingworth—and now, mine enemy, Roger Prynne! Thou art the Devil himself!—Thou shalt not trick me thus.

Band music in distance.

Roger. Trick thee? Why, madman, thou hast been in trance since yester noon. Trick thee! I like the word! 'Tis now the time of day when thou shouldst preach the great Election Sermon, the one event that makes or mars you preachers. Dost hear the music? A day hath passed since thou wast in the garden. They are marching even now to the market place.

[Aloud, but to himself.

Roger. Do? Stay here and settle our account; or else go on and publish thyself as what thou art—a hypocrite.

Dimsdell. I see it now!—Ah! Satan! Satan!—thou wouldst affright my soul and make me lose my well earned honors. Why, Roger Prynne is dead—dead. 'Twas told on good report two years ago. And now—oh! try it if thou wilt—I'll have thee burnt, burnt—burnt at the stake, if thou accusest me! Who would believe thee? Stand aside, I say! Let me pass!

Roger. How came the stigma on thy breast?

top

Dimsdell. Thou knowest!—Make way, I tell thee!—Thou didst place it there!—Make way!

They struggle. Roger interposes the chair between himself and Dimsdell. Finally, Dimsdell wrenches the chair from Roger, flings it aside, and, grappling him, chokes Roger to death.

Dimsdell. [Panting] A man! A man! A man!—Dead! dead! dead!—Nay—like a man!—Like a dead man!—A trick!—A devilish trick!—Did he not come in angel form—and then as Doctor Chillingworth—and then as Roger Prynne—and now,—and now, as a dead body?

Spurning Roger with his foot.

O, Devil, I'll avoid thee yet!—I'll confess my crime and thus unslip the noose about my soul!

Hurriedly prepares to depart.

[Exit.

Dimsdell. And now, good friends, Electors and Elected,
Although my speech hath run a lengthened course,
And what I purposed hath been said in full,
There's more comes to me now.
What is our purpose and our destiny?

Curtain rises rapidly, disclosing stage set as in Act I, Scene III. Dimsdell upon a rostrum on church steps. Militia standing at rest. Citizens and officials in gala attire.

top

We call us English, Anglo-Saxon;
And from the Old we come to build the New,
The equal England of our expectation.
Here in the wilderness, the first small germs
Of man's long-promised freedom find their soil;
Here hidden will they rot a little while;
Anon, the sprouts will break our troubled land,
Thrust forth the first red blades, and thence grow on,
Forever and forever!
I see this vast expanse of continent,
That dwarfs the noble states of cultured Europe,
Spread out before me like a map, from pole
To pole, and from the rising to the setting sun.
I see it teem with myriads; I see
Its densely peopled towns and villages;
I see its ports, greater than any known,
Send forth their riches to the hungry world.
I see, O blessed, wondrous sight! the strength
Of Anglo-Saxondom—our mighty England
And our great America, as one—
The Lion and the Eagle side by side,—
Leading the vanguard of humanity!
And more I see; I see the rise of man
Merely as man!
Let the day come, O Lord, when man, without
Addition to that noble title—man—
Can stand erect before his fellow-man,
Outface Oppression with his flashing eye,
And stamp and grind proud Tyranny to dust.
Put in our hearts, O, Gracious God, the yeast
top Of freedom; let it work our natures free,
Although it break to recombine again
The atoms of each state.
Send down thy pulsing tongues of burning truth;
Fire our souls with love of human kind;
Let hate consume itself; let war thresh out
The brutal part of man, and fit us for
The last long period of peace.

A pause, then cries severally.

First Citizen. Is he an angel or a man? Sure Gabriel himself.

Second Citizen. Look! He faints.

Third Citizen. Poor minister!

Dimsdell. [Rallying himself] I will speak on.

Governor. My pious friend, wear not thy body out
To please our willing ears. Thou hast exceeded
Thy feeble strength already. Cease, man;
Demosthenes himself could not have stood
The strain which thou hast undergone. Prithee,—

Dimsdell. I thank you; reason not my wastefulness,
For, if you make me answer you, you cause
More waste. My taper's burnt already.
It flickers even now, and, ere I leave
This place, my light, my life will go.
Question me not,
For, now I have fulfilled my public function,
There hurries on a duty of a private kind
I must perform at once or not at all;
Too long delayed already.
top My friends, my life is flowing fast away,
I, that should be at full or on the turn,
Am near my lowest ebb.
This gnawing at my heart hath eaten through,
And now my soul releasing body bondage
Will take its flight—but where?

First Citizen. It goes to Heaven when it flies;
But go not now.

Dimsdell. Behold yon woman with The Scarlet Letter.

Citizens. Oh, shame upon her! Fie!

Dimsdell. Nay, shame on me; her sufferings have made
Her pure, but mine, beneath this lying robe,
Have eaten up my heart. Hypocrisy
Lie there [Taking off gown]. Now, while I do descend these steps
I leave my former life behind.

Descends and goes toward pillory.

Come, Hester, come!
Come take my hand, although it be unworthy.

Second Citizen. Is the man mad, my masters?

Dimsdell. Not mad, friend, not mad; but newly sane.
Come, my victim, come; assist me up
The pillory, there let us stand together—
The woman of The Scarlet Letter,
And he who did this wrong.

First Citizen. That holy man is mad. He an adulterer!
I'll believe it when th' Devil grows blind.

Dimsdell. Support me, Hester.

Dimsdell and Hester ascend pillory together.

Ho! all ye people of the Commonwealth,
top Behold the man for whom you oft have sought,
The man who should have borne The Scarlet Letter;
For I am he.
If that the last words of one sinful man
May warn a multitude from sin, who knows
But that his errors tend toward good at last.
Let me not think my suffering in vain,
Or that my crime confessed will lead on others
Unto their downfall.

Behold me as I am—O, what a pang