_Ursula._ Her child.

_Roger._ Hath Hester Prynne a child? Well, well; that is news indeed! G.o.d 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._ G.o.d 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! G.o.d help the women; we are unwelcome when we come, abused while we stay, and driven hence with ill-usage.

_Roger._ Adulteress! That cannot be! There's some Mistake, or some deceit in this. Her great n.o.bility 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 G.o.d! My Hester!

Woman, didst thou say that she is married?

_Ursula._ Nay, I said she is a widow, sir.

_Roger._ Who is her paramour?

_Ursula._ I do not know. [_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.

_Roger._ I thank thee. Go. [_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, 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 pa.s.sions of the baser man?

For this--to be cornuted in mine age And die a by-word?

My purposes! My purposes! O, G.o.d!

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 pa.s.s!

Henceforth, for me there's nothing on this side Of h.e.l.l, but study of revenge on him Who wrought her shame. He must have used foul means; For she was ever chaste in thought and deed.

h.e.l.l fiend! Now, under an a.s.sumed name, I'll ferret out her l.u.s.ty paramour; Contrive some means to deeply punish him, And satisfy my fathomless revenge. [_Exit._

SCENE II.--_Another street. Enter REV. ARTHUR DIMSDELL, alone._

_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 h.e.l.l! 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._ 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.

My hand upon it. [_Going._

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

_Governor._ Agreed. Come, we're late. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_The Market Place.--Church with Portico, L.--A pillory on a raised Platform, R.--The GOVERNOR and COUNCIL seated in portico.--A crowd of TOWNSFOLK._

_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, 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.