III.

THE RECOGNITION.

FROM this intense consciousness of being the object of severe and

universal observation, the wearer of the scarlet letter was at

length relieved, by discerning, on the outskirts of the crowd, a

figure which irresistibly took possession of her thoughts. An

Indian, in his native garb, was standing there; but the red men were

not so infrequent visitors of the English settlements, that one of

them would have attracted any notice from Hester Prynne, at such a

time; much less would he have excluded all other objects and ideas

from her mind. By the Indian's side, and evidently sustaining a

companionship with him, stood a white man, clad in a strange

disarray of civilised and savage costume.

He was small in stature, with a furrowed visage, which, as yet,

could hardly be termed aged. There was a remarkable intelligence in

his features, as of a person who had so cultivated his mental part

that it could not fail to mould the physical to itself, and become

manifest by unmistakable tokens. Although, by a seemingly careless

arrangement of his heterogeneous garb, he had endeavoured to conceal

or abate the peculiarity, it was sufficiently evident to Hester

Prynne, that one of this man's shoulders rose higher than the other.

Again, at the first instant of perceiving that thin visage, and the

slight deformity of the figure, she pressed her infant to her bosom

with so convulsive a force that the poor babe uttered another cry of

pain. But the mother did not seem to hear it.

At his arrival in the market-place, and some time before she saw

him, the stranger had bent his eyes on Hester Prynne. It was

carelessly, at first, like a man chiefly accustomed to look inward,

and to whom external matters are of little value and import, unless

they bear relation to something within his mind. Very soon, however,

his look became keen and penetrative. A writhing horror twisted itself

across his features, like a snake gliding swiftly over them, and

making one little pause, with all its wreathed intervolutions, in open

sight. His face darkened with some powerful emotion, which,

nevertheless, he so instantaneously controlled by an effort of his

will, that, save at a single moment, its expression might have

passed for calmness. After a brief space, the convulsion grew almost

imperceptible, and finally subsided into the depths of his nature.

When he found the eyes of Hester Prynne fastened on his own, and saw

that she appeared to recognise him, he slowly and calmly raised his

finger, made a gesture with it in the air, and laid it on his lips.

Then, touching the shoulder of a townsman who stood next to him,

he addressed him, in a formal and courteous manner.

"I pray you, good sir," said he, "who is this woman?- and

wherefore is she here set up to public shame?"

"You must needs be a stranger in this region, friend," answered

the townsman, looking curiously at the questioner and his savage

companion, "else you would surely have heard of Mistress Hester

Prynne, and her evil doings. She hath raised a great scandal, I

promise you, in godly Master Dimmesdale's church."

"You say truly," replied the other. "I am a stranger, and have

been a wanderer, sorely against my will. I have met with grievous

mishaps by sea and land, and have been long held in bonds among the

heathen folk, to the southward; and am now brought hither by this

Indian, to be redeemed out of my captivity. Will it please you,

therefore, to tell me of Hester Prynne's- have I her name rightly?- of

this woman's offences, and what has brought her to yonder scaffold?"

"Truly, friend; and methinks it must gladden your heart, after

your troubles and sojourn in the wilderness," said the townsman, "to

find yourself, at length, in a land where iniquity is searched out,

and punished in the sight of rulers and people; as here in our godly

New England. Yonder woman, sir, you must know, was the wife of a

certain learned man, English by birth, but who had long dwelt in

Amsterdam, whence, some good time agone, he was minded to cross over

and cast in his lot with us of the Massachusetts. To this purpose,

he sent his wife before him, remaining himself to look after some

necessary affairs. Marry, good sir, in some two years, or less, that

the woman has been a dweller here in Boston, no tidings have come of

this learned gentleman, Master Prynne; and his young wife, look you,

being left to her own misguidance-"

"Ah!- aha!- I conceive you," said the stranger, with a bitter smile.

"So learned a man as you speak of should have learned this, too, in

his books. And who, by your favour, sir, may be the father of yonder

babe- it is some three or four months old, I should judge- which

Mistress Prynne is holding in her arms?"

"Of a truth, friend, that matter remaineth a riddle; and the

Daniel who shall expound it is yet a-wanting," answered the

townsman. "Madam Hester absolutely refuseth to speak, and the

magistrates have laid their heads together in vain. Peradventure the

guilty one stands looking on at this sad spectacle, unknown of man,

and forgetting that God sees him."

"The learned man," observed the stranger, with another smile,

"should come himself, to look into the mystery."

"It behooves him well, if he be still in life," responded the

townsman. "Now, good sir, our Massachusetts magistracy, bethinking

themselves that this woman is youthful and fair, and doubtless was

strongly tempted to her fall- and that, moreover, as is most likely,

her husband may be at the bottom of the sea- they have not been bold

to put in force the extremity of our righteous law against her. The

penalty thereof is death. But in their great mercy and tenderness of

heart, they have doomed Mistress Prynne to stand only a space of three

hours on the platform of the pillory, and then and thereafter, for the

remainder of her natural life, to wear a mark of shame upon her

bosom."

"A wise sentence!" remarked the stranger, gravely bowing his head.

"Thus she will be a living sermon against sin, until the ignominious

letter be engraved upon her tombstone. It irks me, nevertheless,

that the partner of her iniquity should not, at least, stand on the

scaffold by her side. But he will be known!- he will be known!- he

will be known!"

He bowed courteously to the communicative townsman, and,

whispering a few words to his Indian attendant, they both made their

way through the crowd.

While this passed, Hester Prynne had been standing on her

pedestal, still with a fixed gaze towards the stranger; so fixed a

gaze that, at moments of intense absorption, all other objects in

the visible world seemed to vanish, leaving only him and her. Such

an interview, perhaps, would have been more terrible than even to meet

him as she now did, with the hot, mid-day sun burning down upon her

face, and lighting up its shame; with the scarlet token of infamy on

her breast; with the sin-born infant in her arms; with a whole people,

drawn forth as to a festival, staring at the features that should have

been seen only in the quiet gleam of the fireside, in the happy shadow

of a home, or beneath a matronly veil, at church. Dreadful as it

was, she was conscious of a shelter in the presence of these

thousand witnesses. It was better to stand thus, with so many

betwixt him and her, than to greet him, face to face, they two

alone. She fled for refuge, as it were, to the public exposure, and

dreaded the moment when its protection should be withdrawn from her.

Involved in these thoughts, she scarcely heard a voice behind her,

until it had repeated her name more than once, in a loud and solemn

tone, audible to the whole multitude.

"Hearken unto me, Hester Prynne!" said the voice.

It has already been noticed, that directly over the platform on

which Hester Prynne stood was a kind of balcony, or open gallery,

appended to the meeting-house. It was the place whence proclamations

were wont to be made, amidst an assemblage of the magistracy, with all

the ceremonial that attended such public observances in those days.

Here, to witness the scene which we are describing, sat Governor

Bellingham himself, with four sergeants about his chair, bearing

halberds, as a guard of honour. He wore a dark feather in his hat, a

border of embroidery on his cloak, and a black velvet tunic beneath; a

gentleman advanced in years, with a hard experience written in his

wrinkles. He was not ill fitted to be the head and representative of a

community, which owed its origin and progress, and its present state

of development, not to the impulses of youth, but to the stern and

tempered energies of manhood, and the sombre sagacity of age;

accomplishing so much, precisely because it imagined and hoped so

little. The other eminent characters, by whom the chief ruler was

surrounded, were distinguished by a dignity of mien, belonging to a

period when the forms of authority were felt to possess the sacredness

of Divine institutions. They were, doubtless, good men, just, and

sage. But, out of the whole human family, it would not have been

easy to select the same number of wise and virtuous persons, who

should be less capable of sitting in judgment on an erring woman's

heart, and disentangling its mesh of good and evil, than the sages

of rigid aspect towards whom Hester Prynne now turned her face. She

seemed conscious, indeed, that whatever sympathy she might expect, lay

in the larger and warmer heart of the multitude; for, as she lifted

her eyes towards the balcony, the unhappy woman grew pale and

trembled.

The voice which had called her attention was that of the reverend

and famous John Wilson, the eldest clergyman of Boston, a great

scholar, like most of his contemporaries in the profession, and withal

a man of kind and genial spirit. This last attribute, however, had

been less carefully developed than his intellectual gifts, and was, in

truth, rather a matter of shame than self-congratulation with him.

There he stood, with a border of grizzled locks beneath his skull-cap;

while his grey eyes, accustomed to the shaded light of his study, were

winking, like those of Hester's infant, in the unadulterated sunshine.

He looked like the darkly engraved portraits which we see prefixed

to old volumes of sermons; and had no more right than one of those

portraits would have, to step forth, as he now did, and meddle with

a question of human guilt, passion, and anguish.

"Hester Prynne," said the clergyman, "I have striven with my young

brother here, under whose preaching of the Word you have been

privileged to sit"- here Mr. Wilson laid his hand on the shoulder of a

pale young man beside him- "I have sought, I say, to persuade this

godly youth, that he should deal with you, here in the face of Heaven,

and before these wise and upright rulers, and in hearing of all the

people, as touching the vileness and blackness of your sin. Knowing

your natural temper better than I, he could the better judge what

arguments to use, whether of tenderness or terror, such as might

prevail over your hardness and obstinacy; insomuch that you should

no longer hide the name of him who tempted you to this grievous

fall. But he opposes to me (with a young man's over-softness, albeit

wise beyond his years) that it were wronging the very nature of

woman to force her to lay open her heart's secrets in such broad

daylight, and in presence of so great a multitude. Truly, as I

sought to convince him, the shame lay in the commission of the sin,

and not in the showing of it forth. What say you to it, once again,

brother Dimmesdale! Must it be thou, or I, that shall deal with this

poor sinner's soul?"

There was a murmur among the dignified and reverend occupants of the

balcony; and Governor Bellingham gave expression to its purport,

speaking in an authoritative voice, although tempered with respect

towards the youthful clergyman whom he addressed.

"Good Master Dimmesdale," said he, "the responsibility of this

woman's soul lies greatly with you. It behooves you, therefore, to

exhort her to repentance, and to confession, as a proof and

consequence thereof."

The directness of this appeal drew the eyes of the whole crowd

upon the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale; a young clergyman, who had come from

one of the great English universities, bringing all the learning of

the age into our wild forest-land. His eloquence and religious fervour

had already given the earnest of high eminence in his profession. He

was a person of very striking aspect, with a white, lofty, and

impending brow, large, brown, melancholy eyes, and a mouth which,

unless when he forcibly compressed it, was apt to be tremulous,

expressing both nervous sensibility and a vast power of

self-restraint. Notwithstanding his high native gifts and scholar-like

attainments, there was an air about this young minister- an

apprehensive, a startled, a half-frightened look- as of a being who

felt himself quite astray and at a loss in the pathway of human

existence, and could only be at ease in some seclusion of his own.

Therefore, so far as his duties would permit, he trod in the shadowy

bypaths, and thus kept himself simple and childlike; coming forth,

when occasion was, with a freshness, and fragrance, and dewy purity of

thought, which, as many people said, affected them like the speech

of an angel.

Such was the young man whom the Reverend Mr. Wilson and the Governor

had introduced so openly to the public notice, bidding him speak, in

the hearing of all men, to that mystery of a woman's soul, so sacred

even in its pollution. The trying nature of his position drove the

blood from his cheek, and made his lips tremulous.

"Speak to the woman, my brother," said Mr. Wilson. "It is of

moment to her soul, and therefore, as the worshipful Governor says,

momentous to thine own, in whose charge hers is. Exhort her to confess

the truth!"

The Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale bent his head, in silent prayer, as it

seemed, and then came forward.

"Hester Prynne," said he, leaning over the balcony, and looking down

steadfastly into her eyes, "thou hearest what this good man says,

and seest the accountability under which I labour. If thou feelest

it to be for thy soul's peace, and that thy earthly punishment will

thereby be made more effectual to salvation, I charge thee to speak

out the name of thy fellow-sinner and fellow-sufferer! Be not silent

from any mistaken pity and tenderness for him; for believe me, Hester,

though he were to step down from a high place, and stand there

beside thee, on thy pedestal of shame, yet better were it so, than

to hide a guilty heart through life. What can thy silence do for

him, except it tempt him- yea, compel him, as it were- to add

hypocrisy to sin? Heaven hath granted thee an open ignominy, that

thereby thou mayest work out an open triumph over the evil within

thee, and the sorrow without. Take heed how thou deniest to him-

who, perchance, hath not the courage to grasp it for himself- the

bitter, but wholesome, cup that is now presented to thy lips!"

The young pastor's voice was tremulously sweet, rich, deep, and

broken. The feeling that it so evidently manifested, rather than the

direct purport of the words, caused it to vibrate within all hearts,

and brought the listeners into one accord of sympathy. Even the poor

baby, at Hester's bosom, was affected by the same influence; for it

directed its hitherto vacant gaze towards Mr. Dimmesdale, and held

up its little arms, with a half-pleased, half-plaintive murmur. So

powerful seemed the minister's appeal, that the people could not

believe but that Hester Prynne would speak out the guilty name; or

else that the guilty one himself, in whatever high or lowly place he

stood, would be drawn forth by an inward and inevitable necessity, and

compelled to ascend the scaffold.

Hester shook her head.

"Woman, transgress not beyond the limits of Heaven's mercy!" cried

the Reverend Mr. Wilson, more harshly than before. "That little babe

hath been gifted with a voice, to second and confirm the counsel which

thou hast heard. Speak out the name! That, and thy repentance, may

avail to take the scarlet letter off thy breast."

"Never!" replied Hester Prynne, looking, not at Mr. Wilson, but into

the deep and troubled eyes of the younger clergyman. "It is too deeply

branded. Ye cannot take it off. And would that I might endure his

agony, as well as mine!"

"Speak, woman!" said another voice, coldly and sternly, proceeding

from the crowd about the scaffold. "Speak; and give your child a

father!"

"I will not speak!" answered Hester, turning pale as death, but

responding to this voice, which she too surely recognized. "And my

child must seek a heavenly Father; she shall never know an earthly

one!"

"She will not speak!" murmured Mr. Dimmesdale, who, leaning over the

balcony, with his hand upon his heart, had awaited the result of his

appeal. He now drew back, with a long respiration. "Wondrous

strength and generosity of a woman's heart! She will not speak!"

Discerning the impractible state of the poor culprit's mind, the

elder clergyman, who had carefully prepared himself for the

occasion, addressed to the multitude a discourse on sin, in all its

branches, but with continual reference to the ignominious letter. So

forcibly did he dwell upon this symbol, for the hour or more during

which his periods were rolling over the people's heads, that it

assumed new terrors in their imagination, and seemed to derive its

scarlet hue from the flames of the infernal pit. Hester Prynne,

meanwhile, kept her place upon the pedestal of shame, with glazed

eyes, and an air of weary indifference. She had borne, that morning,

all that nature could endure; and as her temperament was not of the

order that escapes from too intense suffering by a swoon, her spirit

could only shelter itself beneath a stony crust of insensibility,

while the faculties of animal life remained entire. In this state, the

voice of the preacher thundered remorselessly, but unavailingly,

upon her ears. The infant, during the latter portion of her ordeal,

pierced the air with its wailings and screams; she strove to hush

it, mechanically, but seemed scarcely to sympathise with its

trouble. With the same hard demeanour, she was led back to prison, and

vanished from the public gaze within its iron-clamped portal. It was

whispered, by those who peered after her, that the scarlet letter

threw a lurid gleam along the dark passage-way of the interior.