The Man of Adamant

  Produced by David Widger. HTML version by Al Haines

  THE SNOW-IMAGE

  AND

  OTHER TWICE-TOLD TALES

  THE MAN OF ADAMANT

  By

  Nathaniel Hawthorne

  In the old times of religious gloom and intolerance lived RichardDigby, the gloomiest and most intolerant of a stern brotherhood. Hisplan of salvation was so narrow, that, like a plank in a tempestuoussea, it could avail no sinner but himself, who bestrode ittriumphantly, and hurled anathemas against the wretches whom he sawstruggling with the billows of eternal death. In his view of thematter, it was a most abominable crime--as, indeed, it is a greatfolly--for men to trust to their own strength, or even to grapple toany other fragment of the wreck, save this narrow plank, which,moreover, he took special care to keep out of their reach. In otherwords, as his creed was like no man's else, and being well pleased thatProvidence had intrusted him alone, of mortals, with the treasure of atrue faith, Richard Digby determined to seclude himself to the sole andconstant enjoyment of his happy fortune.

  "And verily," thought he, "I deem it a chief condition of Heaven'smercy to myself, that I hold no communion with those abominable myriadswhich it hath cast off to perish. Peradventure, were I to tarry longerin the tents of Kedar, the gracious boon would be revoked, and I alsobe swallowed up in the deluge of wrath, or consumed in the storm offire and brimstone, or involved in whatever new kind of ruin isordained for the horrible perversity of this generation."

  So Richard Digby took an axe, to hew space enough for a tabernacle inthe wilderness, and some few other necessaries, especially a sword andgun, to smite and slay any intruder upon his hallowed seclusion; andplunged into the dreariest depths of the forest. On its verge,however, he paused a moment, to shake off the dust of his feet againstthe village where he had dwelt, and to invoke a curse on themeeting-house, which he regarded as a temple of heathen idolatry. Hefelt a curiosity, also, to see whether the fire and brimstone would notrush down from Heaven at once, now that the one righteous man hadprovided for his own safety. But, as the sunshine continued to fallpeacefully on the cottages and fields, and the husbandmen labored andchildren played, and as there were many tokens of present happiness,and nothing ominous of a speedy judgment, he turned away, somewhatdisappointed. The farther he went, however, and the lonelier he felthimself, and the thicker the trees stood along his path, and the darkerthe shadow overhead, so much the more did Richard Digby exult. Hetalked to himself, as he strode onward; he read his Bible to himself,as he sat beneath the trees; and, as the gloom of the forest hid theblessed sky, I had almost added, that, at morning, noon, and eventide,he prayed to himself. So congenial was this mode of life to hisdisposition, that he often laughed to himself, but was displeased whenan echo tossed him back the long loud roar.

  In this manner, he journeyed onward three days and two nights, andcame, on the third evening, to the mouth of a cave, which, at firstsight, reminded him of Elijah's cave at Horeb, though perhaps it moreresembled Abraham's sepulchral cave at Machpelah. It entered into theheart of a rocky hill. There was so dense a veil of tangled foliageabout it, that none but a sworn lover of gloomy recesses would havediscovered the low arch of its entrance, or have dared to step withinits vaulted chamber, where the burning eyes of a panther mightencounter him. If Nature meant this remote and dismal cavern for theuse of man, it could only be to bury in its gloom the victims of apestilence, and then to block up its mouth with stones, and avoid thespot forever after. There was nothing bright nor cheerful near it,except a bubbling fountain, some twenty paces off, at which RichardDigby hardly threw away a glance. But he thrust his head into thecave, shivered, and congratulated himself.

  "The finger of Providence hath pointed my way!" cried he, aloud, whilethe tomb-like den returned a strange echo, as if some one within weremocking him. "Here my soul will be at peace; for the wicked will notfind me. Here I can read the Scriptures, and be no more provoked withlying interpretations. Here I can offer up acceptable prayers, becausemy voice will not be mingled with the sinful supplications of themultitude. Of a truth, the only way to heaven leadeth through thenarrow entrance of this cave,--and I alone have found it!"

  In regard to this cave it was observable that the roof, so far as theimperfect light permitted it to be seen, was hung with substancesresembling opaque icicles; for the damps of unknown centuries, drippingdown continually, had become as hard as adamant; and wherever thatmoisture fell, it seemed to possess the power of converting what itbathed to stone. The fallen leaves and sprigs of foliage, which thewind had swept into the cave, and the little feathery shrubs, rootednear the threshold, were not wet with a natural dew, but had beenembalmed by this wondrous process. And here I am put in mind thatRichard Digby, before he withdrew himself from the world, was supposedby skilful physicians to have contracted a disease for which no remedywas written in their medical books. It was a deposition of calculousparticles within his heart, caused by an obstructed circulation of theblood; and, unless a miracle should be wrought for him, there wasdanger that the malady might act on the entire substance of the organ,and change his fleshy heart to stone. Many, indeed, affirmed that theprocess was already near its consummation. Richard Digby, however,could never be convinced that any such direful work was going on withinhim; nor when he saw the sprigs of marble foliage, did his heart eventhrob the quicker, at the similitude suggested by these once tenderherbs. It may be that this same insensibility was a symptom of thedisease.

  Be that as it might, Richard Digby was well contented with hissepulchral cave. So dearly did he love this congenial spot, that,instead of going a few paces to the bubbling spring for water, heallayed his thirst with now and then a drop of moisture from the roof,which, had it fallen anywhere but on his tongue, would have beencongealed into a pebble. For a man predisposed to stoniness of theheart, this surely was unwholesome liquor. But there he dwelt, forthree days more eating herbs and roots, drinking his own destruction,sleeping, as it were, in a tomb, and awaking to the solitude of death,yet esteeming this horrible mode of life as hardly inferior tocelestial bliss. Perhaps superior; for, above the sky, there would beangels to disturb him. At the close of the third day, he sat in theportal of his mansion, reading the Bible aloud, because no other earcould profit by it, and reading it amiss, because the rays of thesetting sun did not penetrate the dismal depth of shadow round abouthim, nor fall upon the sacred page. Suddenly, however, a faint gleamof light was thrown over the volume, and, raising his eyes, RichardDigby saw that a young woman stood before the mouth of the cave, andthat the sunbeams bathed her white garment, which thus seemed topossess a radiance of its own.

  "Good evening, Richard," said the girl; "I have come from afar to findthee."

  The slender grace and gentle loveliness of this young woman were atonce recognized by Richard Digby. Her name was Mary Goffe. She hadbeen a convert to his preaching of the word in England, before heyielded himself to that exclusive bigotry which now enfolded him withsuch an iron grasp that no other sentiment could reach his bosom. Whenhe came a pilgrim to America, she had remained in her father's hall;but now, as it appeared, had crossed the ocean after him, impelled bythe same faith that led other exiles hither, and perhaps by love almostas holy. What else but faith and love united could have sustained sodelicate a creature, wandering thus far into the forest, with hergolden hair dishevelled by the boughs, and her feet wounded by thethorns? Yet, weary and faint though she must have been, and affrightedat the dreariness of the cave, she looked on the lonely man with a mildand pitying expression, such as might beam from an angel's eyes,toward
s an afflicted mortal. But the recluse, frowning sternly uponher, and keeping his finger between the leaves of his half-closedBible, motioned her away with his hand.

  "Off!" cried he. "I am sanctified, and thou art sinful. Away!"

  "O Richard," said she, earnestly, "I have come this weary way because Iheard that a grievous distemper had seized upon thy heart; and a greatPhysician hath given me the skill to cure it. There is no other remedythan this which I have brought thee. Turn me not away, therefore, norrefuse my medicine; for then must this dismal cave be thy sepulchre."

  "Away!" replied Richard Digby, still with a dark frown. "My heart isin better condition than thine own. Leave me, earthly one; for the sunis almost set; and when no light reaches the door of the cave, then ismy prayer-time."

  Now, great as was her need, Mary Goffe did not plead with thisstony-hearted man for shelter and