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The eloquent voice, on which the souls of the listening audience
had been borne aloft, as on the swelling waves of the sea, at length came to a
pause. There was a momentary silence, profound as what should follow the
utterance of oracles. Then ensued a murmur and half-hushed tumult; as if the
auditors, released from the high spell that had transported them into the region
of another’s mind, were returning into themselves, with all their awe and wonder
still heavy on them. In a moment more, the crowd began to gush forth from the
doors of the church. Now that there was an end, they needed other breath, more
fit to support the gross and earthly life into which they relapsed, than that
atmosphere which the preacher had converted into words of flame, and had
burdened with the rich fragrance of his thought.
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The eloquent voice, which had moved the souls of the audience like
waves on the sea, finally grew quiet. For a moment all was silent, as though
prophecy had just been spoken. And then there was a murmur, a half-stifled
clamor. The listeners, as if waking from a spell, returned to themselves with a
mix of awe and wonder still weighing heavily upon them. After another moment,
the crowd began to pour out of the church. Now that the sermon was over they
needed fresh air, something to support the physical life they were reentering.
They needed relief from the atmosphere of flame and deep perfume that the
minister’s words had created.
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In the open air their rapture broke into speech. The street and the
market-place absolutely babbled, from side to side, with applauses of the
minister. His hearers could not rest until they had told one another of what
each knew better than he could tell or hear. According to their united
testimony, never had man spoken in so wise, so high, and so holy a spirit, as he
that spake this day; nor had inspiration ever breathed through mortal lips more
evidently than it did through his. Its influence could be seen, as it were,
descending upon him, and possessing him, and continually lifting him out of the
written discourse that lay before him, and filling him with ideas that must have
been as marvellous to himself as to his audience. His subject, it appeared, had
been the relation between the Deity and the communities of mankind, with a
special reference to the New England which they were here planting in the
wilderness. And, as he drew towards the close, a spirit as of prophecy had come
upon him, constraining him to its purpose as mightily as the old prophets of
Israel were constrained; only with this difference, that, whereas the Jewish
seers had denounced judgments and ruin on their country, it was his mission to
foretell a high and glorious destiny for the newly gathered people of the Lord.
But, throughout it all, and through the whole discourse, there had been a
certain deep, sad undertone of pathos, which could not be interpreted otherwise
than as the natural regret of one soon to pass away. Yes; their minister whom
they so loved—and who so loved them all, that he could not depart heavenward
without a sigh—had the foreboding of untimely death upon him, and would soon
leave them in their tears! This idea of his transitory stay on earth gave the
last emphasis to the effect which the preacher had produced; it was as if an
angel, in his passage to the skies, had shaken his bright wings over the people
for an instant,—at once a shadow and a splendor,—and had shed down a shower of
golden truths upon them.
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Once in the open air, the crowd burst into speech, filling the street and the
marketplace with their praise of the minister. They could not rest until they
had told each other about what had happened, which everyone already knew better
than anyone could say. They all agreed that no one had ever spoken with such
wisdom and great holiness as their minister had that day. Inspiration, they
felt, had never filled human speech as much as it had filled his. It was as
though the Holy Spirit had descended upon him, possessed him, and lifted him
above the words written on the page. It filled him with ideas that must have
been as marvelous to him as they were to his audience. His subject had been the
relationship between God and human communities, with especial attention paid to
the communities of New England founded in the wilderness. As he drew toward his
conclusion, something like a prophetic spirit had come to him, bending him to
its purpose just as it had used the old prophets of Israel. Only the Jewish
prophets had predicted judgment and ruin for their country, but their minister
spoke of the glorious destiny awaiting the newly gathered community of God. Yet
throughout the whole sermon, there had been an undertone of deep sadness. It
could only be interpreted as the natural regret of a man about to die. Yes,
their minister, whom they loved so dearly—and who loved them so much that he
could not depart for Heaven without a sigh—sensed that his death was approaching
and that he would soon leave them in tears. The idea that the minister’s time on
earth would be short made the sermon’s effect even stronger. It was as though an
angel on his way to Heaven had shaken his bright wings over the people for a
moment, sending a shower of golden truths down upon them.
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Thus, there had come to the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale—as to most men, in their
various spheres, though seldom recognized 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 of 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!
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And so there had come to the Reverend Mr. Dimmesdale—as there comes to most
men, though they seldom recognize it until too late—a period of life more
brilliant and full of triumph than any that had come before or would come after.
At this moment he stood at the highest peak to which intellect, eloquence, and
purity could elevate a clergyman in the early days of New England, when the
profession of minister was already a lofty pedestal. This was the minister’s
position, as he bowed his head forward on the pulpit at the end of his Election
Sermon. And meanwhile Hester Prynne was standing beside the scaffold of the
pillory with the scarlet letter still burning on her breast!
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Now was heard again the clangor 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.
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The sound of the band was heard again, as were the rhythmic steps of the
militia members as they walked out from the church door. The procession was to
march from there to the town hall, where a great banquet would complete the
day’s ceremonies.
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Once more, therefore, the train of venerable and majestic fathers was 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 market-place, their presence was greeted by a
shout. This—though doubtless it might acquire additional force and volume from
the childlike loyalty which the age awarded to its rulers—was felt to be an
irrepressible outburst of the 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 honored by his mortal brethren as the preacher!
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And so the parade of community elders moved along a broad path as the people
cleared the way for them, drawing back with reverence as the Governor,
magistrates, old and wise men, holy ministers, and all other powerful and
well-regarded townsmen walked into the middle of the crowd. The procession was
greeted by a shout as it reached the center of the marketplace. Those who had
listened to the minister’s eloquence speech, still ringing in their ears, felt
an irrepressible outburst of enthusiasm, strengthened by their childlike loyalty
to their leaders, which each person passed along to his neighbor. The feeling
had barely been contained inside the church. Now, underneath the sky, it rang
upward to the heights. There were enough people and enough great, harmonious
feeling to produce a sound more impressive than the blast of the organ, the
thunder, or the roar of the sea. Never before had a shout like this gone up from
the soil of New England! Never had there been a New England man so honored by
his fellow man as this preacher!
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