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The Scarlet Letter

23. The Revelation Of The Scarlet Letter
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 more 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.
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 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 splendour--and had shed down a shower
of golden truths upon them.
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
 
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