II.
THE MARKET-PLACE.
The grass-plot before the jail, in Prison Lane, on a certain summermorning, not less than two centuries ago, was occupied by a prettylarge number of the inhabitants of Boston; all with their eyesintently fastened on the iron-clamped oaken door. Amongst any otherpopulation, or at a later period in the history of New England, thegrim rigidity that petrified the bearded physiognomies of these goodpeople would have augured some awful business in hand. It could havebetokened nothing short of the anticipated execution of some notedculprit, on whom the sentence of a legal tribunal had but confirmedthe verdict of public sentiment. But, in that early severity of thePuritan character, an inference of this kind could not so indubitablybe drawn. It might be that a sluggish bond-servant, or an undutifulchild, whom his parents had given over to the civil authority, was tobe corrected at the whipping-post. It might be, that an Antinomian, aQuaker, or other heterodox religionist was to be scourged out of thetown, or an idle and vagrant Indian, whom the white man's fire-waterhad made riotous about the streets, was to be driven with stripes intothe shadow of the forest. It might be, too, that a witch, like oldMistress Hibbins, the bitter-tempered widow of the magistrate, was todie upon the gallows. In either case, there was very much the samesolemnity of demeanor on the part of the spectators; as befitted apeople amongst whom religion and law were almost identical, and inwhose character both were so thoroughly interfused, that the mildestand the severest acts of public discipline were alike made venerableand awful. Meagre, indeed, and cold was the sympathy that atransgressor might look for, from such bystanders, at the scaffold. Onthe other hand, a penalty, which, in our days, would infer a degree ofmocking infamy and ridicule, might then be invested with almost asstern a dignity as the punishment of death itself.
It was a circumstance to be noted, on the summer morning when ourstory begins its course, that the women, of whom there were several inthe crowd, appeared to take a peculiar interest in whatever penalinfliction might be expected to ensue. The age had not so muchrefinement, that any sense of impropriety restrained the wearers ofpetticoat and farthingale from stepping forth into the public ways,and wedging their not unsubstantial persons, if occasion were, intothe throng nearest to the scaffold at an execution. Morally, as wellas materially, there was a coarser fibre in those wives and maidens ofold English birth and breeding, than in their fair descendants,separated from them by a series of six or seven generations; for,throughout that chain of ancestry, every successive mother hastransmitted to her child a fainter bloom, a more delicate and brieferbeauty, and a slighter physical frame, if not a character of lessforce and solidity, than her own. The women who were now standingabout the prison-door stood within less than half a century of theperiod when the man-like Elizabeth had been the not altogetherunsuitable representative of the sex. They were her countrywomen; andthe beef and ale of their native land, with a moral diet not a whitmore refined, entered largely into their composition. The brightmorning sun, therefore, shone on broad shoulders and well-developedbusts, and on round and ruddy cheeks, that had ripened in the far-offisland, and had hardly yet grown paler or thinner in the atmosphere ofNew England. There was, moreover, a boldness and rotundity of speechamong these matrons, as most of them seemed to be, that would startleus at the present day, whether in respect to its purport or its volumeof tone.
"Goodwives," said a hard-featured dame of fifty, "I'll tell ye a pieceof my mind. It would be greatly for the public behoof, if we women,being of mature age and church-members in good repute, should have thehandling of such malefactresses as this Hester Prynne. What think ye,gossips? If the hussy stood up for judgment before us five, that arenow here in a knot together, would she come off with such a sentenceas the worshipful magistrates have awarded? Marry, I trow not!"
"People say," said another, "that the Reverend Master Dimmesdale, hergodly pastor, takes it very grievously to heart that such a scandalshould have come upon his congregation."
"The magistrates are God-fearing gentlemen, but mercifulovermuch,--that is a truth," added a third autumnal matron. "At thevery least, they should have put the brand of a hot iron on HesterPrynne's forehead. Madam Hester would have winced at that, I warrantme. But she,--the naughty baggage,--little will she care what theyput upon the bodice of her gown! Why, look you, she may cover it witha brooch, or such like heathenish adornment, and so walk the streetsas brave as ever!"
"Ah, but," interposed, more softly, a young wife, holding a child bythe hand, "let her cover the mark as she will, the pang of it will bealways in her heart."
The Gossips]
"What do we talk of marks and brands, whether on the bodice of hergown, or the flesh of her forehead?" cried another female, the ugliestas well as the most pitiless of these self-constituted judges. "Thiswoman has brought shame upon us all, and ought to die. Is there notlaw for it? Truly, there is, both in the Scripture and thestatute-book. Then let the magistrates, who have made it of no effect,thank themselves if their own wives and daughters go astray!"
"Mercy on us, goodwife," exclaimed a man in the crowd, "is there novirtue in woman, save what springs from a wholesome fear of thegallows? That is the hardest word yet! Hush, now, gossips! for thelock is turning in the prison-door, and here comes Mistress Prynneherself."
The door of the jail being flung open from within, there appeared, inthe first place, like a black shadow emerging into sunshine, the grimand grisly presence of the town-beadle, with a sword by his side, andhis staff of office in his hand. This personage prefigured andrepresented in his aspect the whole dismal severity of the Puritaniccode of law, which it was his business to administer in its final andclosest application to the offender. Stretching forth the officialstaff in his left hand, he laid his right upon the shoulder of a youngwoman, whom he thus drew forward; until, on the threshold of theprison-door, she repelled him, by an action marked with naturaldignity and force of character, and stepped into the open air, as ifby her own free will. She bore in her arms a child, a baby of somethree months old, who winked and turned aside its little face from thetoo vivid light of day; because its existence, heretofore, had broughtit acquainted only with the gray twilight of a dungeon, or otherdarksome apartment of the prison.
When the young woman--the mother of this child--stood fully revealedbefore the crowd, it seemed to be her first impulse to clasp theinfant closely to her bosom; not so much by an impulse of motherlyaffection, as that she might thereby conceal a certain token, whichwas wrought or fastened into her dress. In a moment, however, wiselyjudging that one token of her shame would but poorly serve to hideanother, she took the baby on her arm, and, with a burning blush, andyet a haughty smile, and a glance that would not be abashed, lookedaround at her towns-people and neighbors. On the breast of her gown,in fine red cloth, surrounded with an elaborate embroidery andfantastic flourishes of gold-thread, appeared the letter A. It was soartistically done, and with so much fertility and gorgeous luxurianceof fancy, that it had all the effect of a last and fitting decorationto the apparel which she wore; and which was of a splendor inaccordance with the taste of the age, but greatly beyond what wasallowed by the sumptuary regulations of the colony.
The young woman was tall, with a figure of perfect elegance on a largescale. She had dark and abundant hair, so glossy that it threw off thesunshine with a gleam, and a face which, besides being beautiful fromregularity of feature and richness of complexion, had theimpressiveness belonging to a marked brow and deep black eyes. She waslady-like, too, after the manner of the feminine gentility of thosedays; characterized by a certain state and dignity, rather than by thedelicate, evanescent, and indescribable grace, which is now recognizedas its indication. And never had Hester Prynne appeared morelady-like, in the antique interpretation of the term, than as sheissued from the prison. Those who had before known her, and hadexpected to behold her dimmed and obscured by a disastrous cloud, wereas
tonished, and even startled, to perceive how her beauty shone out,and made a halo of the misfortune and ignominy in which she wasenveloped. It may be true, that, to a sensitive observer, there wassomething exquisitely painful in it. Her attire, which, indeed, shehad wrought for the occasion, in prison, and had modelled much afterher own fancy, seemed to express the attitude of her spirit, thedesperate recklessness of her mood, by its wild and picturesquepeculiarity. But the point which drew all eyes, and, as it were,transfigured the wearer,--so that both men and women, who had beenfamiliarly acquainted with Hester Prynne, were now impressed as ifthey beheld her for the first time,--was that SCARLET LETTER, sofantastically embroidered and illuminated upon her bosom. It had theeffect of a spell, taking her out of the ordinary relations withhumanity, and enclosing her in a sphere by herself.
"She hath good skill at her needle, that's certain," remarked one ofher female spectators; "but did ever a woman, before this brazenhussy, contrive such a way of showing it! Why, gossips, what is it butto laugh in the faces of our godly magistrates, and make a pride outof what they, worthy gentlemen, meant for a punishment?"
"It were well," muttered the most iron-visaged of the old dames, "ifwe stripped Madam Hester's rich gown off her dainty shoulders; and asfor the red letter, which she hath stitched so curiously, I'll bestowa rag of mine own rheumatic flannel, to make a fitter one!"
"O, peace, neighbors, peace!" whispered their youngest companion; "donot let her hear you! Not a stitch in that embroidered letter but shehas felt it in her heart."
The grim beadle now made a gesture with his staff.
"Make way, good people, make way, in the King's name!" cried he. "Opena passage; and, I promise ye, Mistress Prynne shall be set where man,woman, and child may have a fair sight of her brave apparel, from thistime till an hour past meridian. A blessing on the righteous Colony ofthe Massachusetts, where iniquity is dragged out into the sunshine!Come along, Madam Hester, and show your scarlet letter in themarket-place!"
A lane was forthwith opened through the crowd of spectators. Precededby the beadle, and attended by an irregular procession ofstern-browed men and unkindly visaged women, Hester Prynne set forthtowards the place appointed for her punishment. A crowd of eager andcurious school-boys, understanding little of the matter in hand,except that it gave them a half-holiday, ran before her progress,turning their heads continually to stare into her face, and at thewinking baby in her arms, and at the ignominious letter on her breast.It was no great distance, in those days, from the prison-door to themarket-place. Measured by the prisoner's experience, however, it mightbe reckoned a journey of some length; for, haughty as her demeanorwas, she perchance underwent an agony from every footstep of thosethat thronged to see her, as if her heart had been flung into thestreet for them all to spurn and trample upon. In our nature, however,there is a provision, alike marvellous and merciful, that the sufferershould never know the intensity of what he endures by its presenttorture, but chiefly by the pang that rankles after it. With almost aserene deportment, therefore, Hester Prynne passed through thisportion of her ordeal, and came to a sort of scaffold, at the westernextremity of the market-place. It stood nearly beneath the eaves ofBoston's earliest church, and appeared to be a fixture there.
In fact, this scaffold constituted a portion of a penal machine, whichnow, for two or three generations past, has been merely historical andtraditionary among us, but was held, in the old time, to be aseffectual an agent, in the promotion of good citizenship, as ever wasthe guillotine among the terrorists of France. It was, in short, theplatform of the pillory; and above it rose the framework of thatinstrument of discipline, so fashioned as to confine the human head inits tight grasp, and thus hold it up to the public gaze. The veryideal of ignominy was embodied and made manifest in this contrivanceof wood and iron. There can be no outrage, methinks, against ourcommon nature,--whatever be the delinquencies of the individual,--nooutrage more flagrant than to forbid the culprit to hide his face forshame; as it was the essence of this punishment to do. In HesterPrynne's instance, however, as not unfrequently in other cases, hersentence bore, that she should stand a certain time upon the platform,but without undergoing that gripe about the neck and confinement ofthe head, the proneness to which was the most devilish characteristicof this ugly engine. Knowing well her part, she ascended a flight ofwooden steps, and was thus displayed to the surrounding multitude, atabout the height of a man's shoulders above the street.
Had there been a Papist among the crowd of Puritans, he might haveseen in this beautiful woman, so picturesque in her attire and mien,and with the infant at her bosom, an object to remind him of the imageof Divine Maternity, which so many illustrious painters have vied withone another to represent; something which should remind him, indeed,but only by contrast, of that sacred image of sinless motherhood,whose infant was to redeem the world. Here, there was the taint ofdeepest sin in the most sacred quality of human life, working sucheffect, that the world was only the darker for this woman's beauty,and the more lost for the infant that she had borne.
The scene was not without a mixture of awe, such as must always investthe spectacle of guilt and shame in a fellow-creature, before societyshall have grown corrupt enough to smile, instead of shuddering, atit. The witnesses of Hester Prynne's disgrace had not yet passedbeyond their simplicity. They were stern enough to look upon herdeath, had that been the sentence, without a murmur at its severity,but had none of the heartlessness of another social state, which wouldfind only a theme for jest in an exhibition like the present. Even hadthere been a disposition to turn the matter into ridicule, it musthave been repressed and overpowered by the solemn presence of men noless dignified than the Governor, and several of his counsellors, ajudge, a general, and the ministers of the town; all of whom sat orstood in a balcony of the meeting-house, looking down upon theplatform. When such personages could constitute a part of thespectacle, without risking the majesty or reverence of rank andoffice, it was safely to be inferred that the infliction of a legalsentence would have an earnest and effectual meaning. Accordingly, thecrowd was sombre and grave. The unhappy culprit sustained herself asbest a woman might, under the heavy weight of a thousand unrelentingeyes, all fastened upon her, and concentrated at her bosom. It wasalmost intolerable to be borne. Of an impulsive and passionate nature,she had fortified herself to encounter the stings and venomous stabsof public contumely, wreaking itself in every variety of insult; butthere was a quality so much more terrible in the solemn mood of thepopular mind, that she longed rather to behold all those rigidcountenances contorted with scornful merriment, and herself theobject. Had a roar of laughter burst from the multitude,--each man,each woman, each little shrill-voiced child, contributing theirindividual parts,--Hester Prynne might have repaid them all with abitter and disdainful smile. But, under the leaden infliction which itwas her doom to endure, she felt, at moments, as if she must needsshriek out with the full power of her lungs, and cast herself from thescaffold down upon the ground, or else go mad at once.
Yet there were intervals when the whole scene, in which she was themost conspicuous object, seemed to vanish from her eyes, or, at least,glimmered indistinctly before them, like a mass of imperfectly shapedand spectral images. Her mind, and especially her memory, waspreternaturally active, and kept bringing up other scenes than thisroughly hewn street of a little town, on the edge of the Westernwilderness; other faces than were lowering upon her from beneath thebrims of those steeple-crowned hats. Reminiscences the most triflingand immaterial, passages of infancy and school-days, sports, childishquarrels, and the little domestic traits of her maiden years, cameswarming back upon her, intermingled with recollections of whateverwas gravest in her subsequent life; one picture precisely as vivid asanother; as if all were of similar importance, or all alike a play.Possibly, it was an instinctive device of her spirit, to relieveitself, by the exhibition of these phantasmagoric forms, from thecruel weight and hardness of the reality.
Be that as it might, the scaffol
d of the pillory was a point of viewthat revealed to Hester Prynne the entire track along which she hadbeen treading, since her happy infancy. Standing on that miserableeminence, she saw again her native village, in Old England, and herpaternal home; a decayed house of gray stone, with a poverty-strickenaspect, but retaining a half-obliterated shield of arms over theportal, in token of antique gentility. She saw her father's face, withits bald brow, and reverend white beard, that flowed over theold-fashioned Elizabethan ruff; her mother's, too, with the look ofheedful and anxious love which it always wore in her remembrance, andwhich, even since her death, had so often laid the impediment of agentle remonstrance in her daughter's pathway. She saw her ownface, glowing with girlish beauty, and illuminating all the interiorof the dusky mirror in which she had been wont to gaze at it. Thereshe beheld another countenance, of a man well stricken in years, apale, thin, scholar-like visage, with eyes dim and bleared by thelamplight that had served them to pore over many ponderous books. Yetthose same bleared optics had a strange, penetrating power, when itwas their owner's purpose to read the human soul. This figure of thestudy and the cloister, as Hester Prynne's womanly fancy failed not torecall, was slightly deformed, with the left shoulder a trifle higherthan the right. Next rose before her, in memory's picture-gallery, theintricate and narrow thoroughfares, the tall, gray houses, the hugecathedrals, and the public edifices, ancient in date and quaint inarchitecture, of a Continental city; where a new life had awaited her,still in connection with the misshapen scholar; a new life, butfeeding itself on time-worn materials, like a tuft of green moss on acrumbling wall. Lastly, in lieu of these shifting scenes, came backthe rude market-place of the Puritan settlement, with all thetowns-people assembled and levelling their stern regards at HesterPrynne,--yes, at herself,--who stood on the scaffold of the pillory,an infant on her arm, and the letter A, in scarlet, fantasticallyembroidered with gold-thread, upon her bosom!
"Standing on the Miserable Eminence"]
Could it be true? She clutched the child so fiercely to her breast,that it sent forth a cry; she turned her eyes downward at the scarletletter, and even touched it with her finger, to assure herself thatthe infant and the shame were real. Yes!--these were herrealities,--all else had vanished!
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