The Scarlet Letter

Thus, there had come to the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale--as to most

men, in their various spheres, though seldom recognised until

they see it far behind them--an epoch of life more brilliant and

full of triumph than any previous one, or than any which could

hereafter be. He stood, at this moment, on the very proudest

eminence of superiority, to which the gifts or intellect, rich

lore, prevailing eloquence, and a reputation of whitest

sanctity, could exalt a clergyman in New England's earliest

days, when the professional character was of itself a lofty

pedestal. Such was the position which the minister occupied, as

he bowed his head forward on the cushions of the pulpit at the

close of his Election Sermon. Meanwhile Hester Prynne was

standing beside the scaffold of the pillory, with the scarlet

letter still burning on her breast!

Now was heard again the clamour of the music, and the measured

tramp of the military escort issuing from the church door. The

procession was to be marshalled thence to the town hall, where a

solemn banquet would complete the ceremonies of the day.

Once more, therefore, the train of venerable and majestic

fathers were seen moving through a broad pathway of the people,

who drew back reverently, on either side, as the Governor and

magistrates, the old and wise men, the holy ministers, and all

that were eminent and renowned, advanced into the midst of them.

When they were fairly in the marketplace, their presence was

greeted by a shout. This--though doubtless it might acquire

additional force and volume from the child-like loyalty which

the age awarded to its rulers--was felt to be an irrepressible

outburst of enthusiasm kindled in the auditors by that high

strain of eloquence which was yet reverberating in their ears.

Each felt the impulse in himself, and in the same breath, caught

it from his neighbour. Within the church, it had hardly been

kept down; beneath the sky it pealed upward to the zenith. There

were human beings enough, and enough of highly wrought and

symphonious feeling to produce that more impressive sound than

the organ tones of the blast, or the thunder, or the roar of the

sea; even that mighty swell of many voices, blended into one

great voice by the universal impulse which makes likewise one

vast heart out of the many. Never, from the soil of New England

had gone up such a shout! Never, on New England soil had stood

the man so honoured by his mortal brethren as the preacher!

How fared it with him, then? Were there not the brilliant

particles of a halo in the air about his head? So etherealised

by spirit as he was, and so apotheosised by worshipping

admirers, did his footsteps, in the procession, really tread

upon the dust of earth?

As the ranks of military men and civil fathers moved onward, all

eyes were turned towards the point where the minister was seen

to approach among them. The shout died into a murmur, as one

portion of the crowd after another obtained a glimpse of him.

How feeble and pale he looked, amid all his triumph! The

energy--or say, rather, the inspiration which had held him up,

until he should have delivered the sacred message that had

brought its own strength along with it from heaven--was

withdrawn, now that it had so faithfully performed its office.

The glow, which they had just before beheld burning on his

cheek, was extinguished, like a flame that sinks down hopelessly

among the late decaying embers. It seemed hardly the face of a

man alive, with such a death-like hue: it was hardly a man with

life in him, that tottered on his path so nervously, yet

tottered, and did not fall!