THE SCARLET LETTER
A monologue from the
book by Nathaniel Hawthorne
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from The Scarlet Letter. Nathaniel Hawthorne. Boston:
Ticknor, Reed & Fields, 1850. |
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- STRANGER: Hester ... I ask not wherefore, nor how,
thou hast fallen into the pit, or say rather, thou hast ascended
to the pedestal of infamy, on which I found thee. The reason
is not far to seek. It was my folly, and thy weakness. I,—a
man of thought,—the book-worm of great libraries,—a
man already in decay, having given my best years to feed the
hungry dream of knowledge,—what had I to do with youth and
beauty like thine own! Misshapen from my birth-hour, how could
I delude myself with the idea that intellectual gifts might veil
physical deformity in a young girl’s fantasy! Men call me
wise. If sages were ever wise in their own behoof, I might have
foreseen all this. I might have known that, as I came out of
the vast and dismal forest, and entered this settlement of Christian
men, the very first object to meet my eyes would be thyself,
Hester Prynne, standing up, a statue of ignominy, before the
people. Nay, from the moment when we came down the old church-steps
together, a married pair, I might have beheld the bale-fire of
that scarlet letter blazing at the end of our path! It was my
folly! I have said it. But, up to that epoch of my life, I had
lived in vain. The world had been so cheerless! My heart was
a habitation large enough for many guests, but lonely and chill,
and without a household fire. I longed to kindle one! It seemed
not so wild a dream,—old as I was, and sombre as I was,
and misshapen as I was,—that the simple bliss, which is
scattered far and wide, for all mankind to gather up, might yet
be mine. And so, Hester, I drew thee into my heart, into its
innermost chamber, and sought to warm thee by the warmth which
thy presence made there! ... We have wronged each other. Mine
was the first wrong, when I betrayed thy budding youth into a
false and unnatural relation with my decay. Therefore, as a man
who has not thought and philosophized in vain, I seek no vengeance,
plot no evil against thee. Between thee and me, the scale hangs
fairly balanced. But, Hester, the man lives who has wronged us
both! Who is he? [Pause.] Believe me, Hester, there are
few things,—whether in the outward world, or, to a certain
depth, in the invisible sphere of thought,—few things hidden
from the man, who devotes himself earnestly and unreservedly
to the solution of a mystery. Thou mayest cover up thy secret
from the prying multitude. Thou mayest conceal it, too, from
the ministers and magistrates, even as thou didst this day, when
they sought to wrench the name out of thy heart, and give thee
a partner on thy pedestal. But, as for me, I come to the inquest
with other senses than they possess. I shall seek this man, as
I have sought truth in books; as I have sought gold in alchemy.
There is a sympathy that will make me conscious of him. I shall
see him tremble. I shall feel myself shudder, suddenly and unawares.
Sooner or later, he must needs be mine! He bears no letter of
infamy wrought into his garment, as thou dost; but I shall read
it on his heart. Yet fear not for him! Think not that I shall
interfere with Heaven’s own method of retribution, or, to
my own loss, betray him to the gripe of human law. Neither do
thou imagine that I shall contrive aught against his life; no,
nor against his fame, if, as I judge, he be a man of fair repute.
Let him live! Let him hide himself in outward honor, if he may!
Not the less he shall be mine!
MORE MONOLOGUES BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE |
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