The Scarlet Letter

It is inconceivable, the agony with which this public veneration

tortured him. It was his genuine impulse to adore the truth, and

to reckon all things shadow-like, and utterly devoid of weight

or value, that had not its divine essence as the life within

their life. Then what was he?--a substance?--or the dimmest of

all shadows? He longed to speak out from his own pulpit at the

full height of his voice, and tell the people what he was. "I,

whom you behold in these black garments of the priesthood--I,

who ascend the sacred desk, and turn my pale face heavenward,

taking upon myself to hold communion in your behalf with the

Most High Omniscience--I, in whose daily life you discern the

sanctity of Enoch--I, whose footsteps, as you suppose, leave a

gleam along my earthly track, whereby the Pilgrims that shall

come after me may be guided to the regions of the blest--I, who

have laid the hand of baptism upon your children--I, who have

breathed the parting prayer over your dying friends, to whom the

Amen sounded faintly from a world which they had quitted--I,

your pastor, whom you so reverence and trust, am utterly a

pollution and a lie!"

More than once, Mr. Dimmesdale had gone into the pulpit, with a

purpose never to come down its steps until he should have spoken

words like the above. More than once he had cleared his throat,

and drawn in the long, deep, and tremulous breath, which, when

sent forth again, would come burdened with the black secret of

his soul. More than once--nay, more than a hundred times--he had

actually spoken! Spoken! But how? He had told his hearers that

he was altogether vile, a viler companion of the vilest, the

worst of sinners, an abomination, a thing of unimaginable

iniquity, and that the only wonder was that they did not see his

wretched body shrivelled up before their eyes by the burning

wrath of the Almighty! Could there be plainer speech than this?

Would not the people start up in their seats, by a simultaneous

impulse, and tear him down out of the pulpit which he defiled?

Not so, indeed! They heard it all, and did but reverence him the

more. They little guessed what deadly purport lurked in those

self-condemning words. "The godly youth!" said they among

themselves. "The saint on earth! Alas! if he discern such

sinfulness in his own white soul, what horrid spectacle would he

behold in thine or mine!" The minister well knew--subtle, but

remorseful hypocrite that he was!--the light in which his vague

confession would be viewed. He had striven to put a cheat upon

himself by making the avowal of a guilty conscience, but had

gained only one other sin, and a self-acknowledged shame,

without the momentary relief of being self-deceived. He had

spoken the very truth, and transformed it into the veriest

falsehood. And yet, by the constitution of his nature, he loved

the truth, and loathed the lie, as few men ever did. Therefore,

above all things else, he loathed his miserable self!