University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

The Forest. Hester's Hut, on one side. At back an opening among the trees, showing a forest path lost in obscurity. Sunlight alternates with deep shadow. Indications of a brook among the trees; the light sparkling on it fitfully.
Enter Hester from the Hut.
Hester.
Ripple of the brook, and rest of the sunshine
Asleep under trees:—
Restless am I as the water's murmur
And wandering breeze.
Sunlight flies from me ere I near it:—
The brook's moan stays!
Grief never dies from me; still I hear it,
Through nights and days,
Sob 'mid the woodland—the stream intoning
My heart's own woe.
Ah, sad brooklet, why still art moaning?
What dost thou know?
Is it a secret of this dark forest
Told unto thee;—
Fearsomely wrong, that thou abhorrest,
And so must flee
Whispering ever the hapless tidings?
Couldst thou but cease;—
Hushing thy plaint, with my spirit's chidings;—
I should find peace!

[Hester sinks down upon a mossy bank by the brook, musing. A pause, the music continuing.
Hester.
Ah, still how gently,
Blending, returning,
With long endeavor—
Fleeting as foam,
Yet enduring forever—
Sweet thoughts of home
Awake in me yearning!
And still my heart doth wander
Far to its childhood blest
In England yonder
O, innocence! flown like a bird from the storm-blown nest—
Come back to me!
Dreams of the church-bell, and prayers that I knew—
Come true, come true!
[She kneels.
O Father in heaven! if still
To call thee Father I dare:—
Grant me to do thy will;
My burden here to bear!
Unto my heart restore
Sweet faith again, and rest,
That humbly I once more
May trust my soul to thy care.

[After a pause there is heard in the distance a madrigal sung by new Pilgrims, from England, who gradually draw nearer.
MADRIGAL (of the new Pilgrims).

Hester.
Hark! How those voices
Make answer to my longing
With song well known to me of yore,
That now, returning, my spirit rejoices,
And brings dear memories thronging
Back from the days of old!

Enter a band of Pilgrims, with women, children etc.
[Hester advances, hesitating, towards the group, as though to welcome them.
Two Puritan Men
(accompanying the Pilgrims as guides).
Nay; hold her aloof.
A witch she is,
And wanton, too;—
An outcast soul.
Beware!

[The Pilgrims draw away from Hester in dread and scorn. Hester, suddenly remembering, shrinks, clutching the Scarlet Letter. The others continue to move away.
Hester
(alone).
O Ruler of heaven!
Are these thy creatures?
Can it be, Thou hast given
To men thy features—
With hearts of clay
And lips of flame,
To blacken thine image
And a soul to blast in Thy name?
Ah, then farewell
To meek repentance:
No longer I dwell
In mercy's bound.
Lord, give them sentence
Of anguish profound!—
As I, too, fling them my curse,
Like a brand from the fire of my bosom.
May it burn and wither
Their wandering souls,
Hither and thither;—
Cling to them, haunting,
And humble their vaunting,
To crumble in ashes
Of endless death!

[Goes into her hut, with a gesture of despair.
The scene darkens, as though with a passing Cloud.
Enter Chillingworth and Governor Bellingham.
Bellingham.
What cry was that?

Chill.
The wildwood, sighing.

Bell.
Nay, rather the wail
Of human sorrow undying.

Chill.
Portents prevail
In this favored land,
Where only a barrier frail
Between spirit and flesh may stand.
Belike you heard
Some evil bird,
Or the shriek of a dark soul winging
Its way to the nether world.

Bell.
Most learned leech,
Thou art so skilled
In nature-speech,
With marvel filled,—
Tell me, canst thou yet reach
The source of wasting woe
That, with agony slow,
Consumes the life
Of Arthur, our friend?

Chill.
A strife without end!
The ancient mystery
Of body and mind.
Hidden and strange the history!

Bell.
Much do I fear,—
So great his worth,
So tender his spirit and pure,—
Not long he will endure
These bonds of earth,
But, leaving us lonely,
Take flight to heaven.

Chill.
To heaven? No, no!
Of such disaster be sure
There need be no dread.
I would not grieve thee,—
With thoughts of woe.
Arthur I guard, as the night guards a flower
From the sun strong-rayed.
If the blossom shall flourish
Or fail and fade,—
Not well may I know.

Bell.
Thou knowest him dear to us:
Save him; oh, save!
Hold him still near to us,
Far from the grave.

Chill.
Deep within me I nourish
Desire that he live.
And ere he should perish,
My soul to perdition I'd give.

Bell.
Thou lovest him well.
[Exit Bellingham.

Chill.
(alone).
Ay, indeed—with the love of hell!
With such love here I await
The holy man.
Why does he linger afar, so late?
To yonder lonely mission he fared
Of Eliot, our Indian apostle.
Ha! can it be he has fancied or dared
My grasp to elude?
In vain were the plan!
For his life is pursued
By the silent foot-fall, still, of my hate.
Round him is woven the web of his fate,
While I, ever near,
As leech and friend,
Have watched the quivering wounds of his soul.
My skill alone has kept him whole;
That over him, so, I might gloat, to the end.
No, no; he shall not die!
As music his cries of pain
Ring sweet through my brain;
And I live by my joy in his agony.
He shall have life,—
Long life of restless days,
And nights of endless woe!

Enter, from the forest, Arthur.
Arthur
(startled).
What! Is it thou—
My kind physician?

Chill.
Yea, Arthur; waiting;
For even now
Methought thou wouldst return.

Arthur.
Good friend, I feel
Thy kindly will;
Yet sometimes, weary, the soul
Must wander still,
With only God for its goal.

Chill.
Yet in thy weakness
'Tis best thou lean on me,
And yield with meekness;
For a grief at the spirit's core,
Like smouldering flame,
Will set its mark
On the outward frame.
Wouldst have me heal
Thy bodily woe?—
Lay open the dark,
Deep trouble or wound in the soul below.

Arthur.
No, no;—to thee? No;
Nor to any physician of earth!
For a soul's disease
To the healer of souls
I go; since He, as Him it may please,
Can kill or can cure.
But who art thou,
With daring so sure
Thyself to thrust
'Twixt the sufferer's dearth
And the bounty supreme, all-wise, of his God?

Chill.
Nay; I but told you
That which I must.
Be patient; and heed;
Thy strength guard well.
Election sermon to-morrow thou preachest.
Thy mind must be calm,
To weigh what thou teachest,
And minister balm
To thy reverent flock
Who bow before thee
And truly adore thee—
Their shepherd, their saint and sheltering rock.
Too well thy tender pity I know.
Thy heart still bleeds for another's woe,
And is ever oppressed
With the sorrow of her whose wrong is confessed.

Arthur.
Ha! Thou meanest—

Chill.
Hester Prynne!
[Arthur, greatly agitated, seems about to remonstrate, or deny; but Chillingworth continues.
Nay; dare not protest:
Thou shalt not deny!
Turmoil of soul above all must thou dread;
For it saps thy force, and deepens disease.
So good I know thee, so saintly kind,—
For this poor woman thou long hast repined.
And so have I!
But now, instead,
Calm thy compassion! Canst not appease
Her conscience with thy sympathy?
[Indicating Hester's hut.
Lo, here she dwells:
And, now we are nigh,
Wilt thou not see her?

Arthur
(excited, amazed).
I?—Thou forgetest—
How may it be,
Since here, condemned, she dwells apart?

Chill.
Thou art her pastor. Thou hast the right
To see her, talk with her—heart to heart.

Arthur.
Dost thou think that I, then—

Chill.
Yea; thou of all men:
Thy heart is so pure.
Ah, go to her. Go!

Arthur.
And thou!—Dost thou wait near?

Chill.
Nay; homeward I fare:
These herbs I now must distill.

Arthur
(gives token of relief; aside).
At last! At last!

Chill
(aside).
Now let her deal with the man as she will,
And the black flower blossom as it may!

Arthur
(to Chill.)
For a time, farewell.

Chill.
I go. (Aside.)
Fare ill!
[Exit Chillingworth.

Arthur
(alone).
So long it seems—long years!—
I have dwelt amid darkness and tears,
In the bonds of sin:
While evil has gnawed at my life, without.
And remorse has drained it, within.
And long, ah, long since I knew
The touch of a happiness true,
Or words without fear!
Would God I might break the chains of doubt,
And call to thee, Hester! Hester!

[Turns away; sinking down on the moss.
Enter Hester, from hut.
Hester.
Thou, Arthur,—here?

Arthur.
Who speaks?

Hester.
'Tis I.

Arthur.
Thou, truly, Hester,—here in life?

Hester.
Know'st thou me not; so long the time
'Twixt then and now?

Arthur
I know thee well, but long is the time
'Twixt then and now,—
Since our hidden joy was in its prime;
For grief sets age upon my brow.
And thou; ah, thou,—
Hast thou found peace?

Hester
(pausing, shakes head and makes a gesture).
Alas!—Or thou release?

Arthur.
Nay; naught but despair!
What else could be mine,
Since, tho' I wander whithersoe'er,
My life is wrapt in dark deceit?

Hester.
Yet still thy people reverence thee.

Arthur.
Hence the greater my misery:
For Satan laughs, while my people praise.
Happy art thou, who bearest
On thy breast the Scarlet Letter.

Hester.
Happy!—what dost thou say?

Arthur.
Ah, better, far better
To wear that raiment,
Than life-long lurk in deceit.
Woe unto me!—
My letter in secret still doth burn
With a pain that never and never dies;
As though I stood at the judgment-seat,
Nor offered even confession's payment;
While, from the throne above,
Like trumpet-blasts,
I hear the accusing voice:—
“Thou, consecrate and placed
O'er men, to teach them purity,
False art thou to thy trust!
Thy calling hast thou disgraced.
Soiled are thy robes, and thou
Liest low in the dust;
A withered bough,
That God into flame unending casts!”
Had I but one friend,
Or a foe—the worst—
To whom I might bend
Each day, and be known as a sinner vile,—
E'en so much truth might reconcile
My soul to life. But, now, each breath
Is falsehood, emptiness—death!

Hester.
Such a friend thou hast—
Behold!—in me,
O'er the bitter present, the vanished past
Of thy sin and mine,
To weep, with thee.

Arthur.
Ay! Friend so true,
Forgiving and tender,—
Could charity human
The wrong undo,
Then were I saved by the faith of a woman
Thro' pitying tears of rainbow splendor.

Hester.
Alas, not only a friend
Serves thy behoof:
There dwells with thee under thy roof
The enemy thou dost desire;
A foe accursed!

Arthur.
What mean'st thou? That man;—
Gray Chillingworth?
Thou sayest that he
My soul's deep may scan?
Long since I felt his presence was hate,
And the grasp of his hand the clutch of fate.
But, since thou dost know,
Tell me:—why is he my foe?

Hester.
Know, then, the truth till now from thee hid:
This man of dread
Who now doth hold us both appalled—
He, Arthur, was my husband!

Arthur.
Thy husband? O hideous thought,
Beyond belief!
Woman, what wrong hast thou wrought,—
My soul to lay bare
With its anguish of sin,
That he, like a hawk of the air,
Might pierce within,
And the secret black from my bosom tear?
Thou hast struck me a blow
None else might dare;
And hast laid me low
In the dust at his feet.
Where now shall I turn,—
By mine enemy pent?
No refuge, now, for my soul's distress,
Save the tangle deep of the wilderness
Wherein to hide.
[Pause.
Or else—ah, see!
[Takes out a phial from within his vestments.
Hester, herein I hold a key
To the prisoning earth.
Wide it would open the gate
To a life beyond:
For cunningly Chillingworth
This poison distilled
From herbs that give death.
Who knows if God willed,—
Or hell-born hate—
That I the potion found?
'Tis mine; and be it a foe or friend,
If its lips touch mine, my woe will end.

Hester
(seizes the poison-phial from him).
No, no. It is not thine!
If freedom come,
It shall be from my lips,—
Not those of death, that strike thee dumb.
Why here abide?
Is the world not wide?
Nay; bend thy steps to the path of the sea!
It bore thee hither, and so again
May carry thee hence, to make thee free.

Arthur.
I cannot go! No strength have I
To battle longer;
Far, far from thee
To toil and strive new life to find.
The endless pain
Of sin unspoken my steps would track
And fling me prone.
Ah, think!—in distant lands to wander;
Exiled, unknown
To die!

Hester
(softly).
Thou shalt not go alone!

Arthur.
Hester!

Hester.
With thee I go! We look not back,
But forth with brave endeavor.
To thee my strength I lend:
My arm will shelter, my love enfold thee.
No siren of death from me can withhold thee.
Let our hearts take wing—
As here the symbol of wrong I fling
From my breast forever!
[Tearing off the Scarlet Letter, she throws it far from her. The white hood, dropping from her head, lets her hair fall loose.
Strong are we and young:
Ay; thou art so, my friend.
And dost thou not still find in me
The beauty once to thee so dear?

Arthur.
O Hester! the glow
Of thy love my love of life renews.
Thy blood beats warm:
With thee I brave the storm!
At last we are free:
The cloud of sorrow fades far behind us,
And never the mist of the future shall blind us.

Hester.
Ay; the past is gone!
We look to the coming years;
Since grief is done with, and dawn
Makes joy of our midnight fears.

Arthur.
Thro' the forest the sunshine breaks,
In a flood of radiance rolled;
And within us the splendor awakes
Of happiness yet untold.
Ah, Hester, the golden ray
Of hope shines bright in thine eyes.

Hester.
Lo, the wings of a ship in the bay
Wait but for the winds to arise,
And waft us, with blessing divine,
Far from this land of death.

Arthur.
O love! each tone of thine
To me is heaven's breath!

Hester and Arthur.
Quick, let us haste
From the desert waste
And lingering shadows of olden sorrow,
To follow the star of a golden morrow!
The white sail gleams
With a light of dreams;
It beckons us on with gladdening hope,
No more in anguish dark to grope.
To a land of new life
The ship's prow speeds;
Nor omens drear in its flight it heeds:
For grief is but foam in the sharp keel's furrow—
Quick, then, escape! Nor cast
One glance at the stormy past!