Hester Prynne accepted her punishment bravely. She walked up the wooden steps to the platform, and turned to face the stares of the crowd.
A thousand eyes fixed on her, looking at the scarlet letter on her bosom. People today might laugh at a sight like this, but in those early years of New England, religious feeling was very strong, and the shame of Hester Prynne’s sin was felt deeply by young and old throughout the town.
As she stood there, feeling every eye upon her, she felt she wanted to scream and throw herself off the platform, or else go mad at once. Pictures from the past came and went inside her head: pictures of her village in Old England, of her dead parents – her father’s face with his white beard, her mother’s look of worried love. And her own face – a girl’s face in the dark mirror where she had often stared at it. And then the face of a man old in years, a thin, white face, with the serious look of one who spends most of his time studying books. A man whose eyes seemed to see into the human soul when their owner wished it, and whose left shoulder was a little higher than his right. Next came pictures of the tall grey houses and great churches of the city of Amsterdam, where a new life had begun for her with this older man.
And then, suddenly, she was back in the Boston market-place, standing on the platform of the scaffold.
Could it be true? She held the child so close to her bosom that it cried out. She looked down at the scarlet letter, touched it with her finger to be sure that the child and the shame were real. Yes – these thins were real – everything else had disappeared.
After a time the woman noticed two figures on the edge of the crowd. An Indian was standing there, and by his side was a white man, small and intelligent-looking, and wearing clothes that showed he had been travelling in wild places. And although he had arranged his clothes to hide it, it was clear to Hester Prynne that one of the man’s shoulders was higher than the other.
Again, she pulled the child to her bosom so violently that it cried out in pain. But the mother did not seem to hear it.
The man on the edge of the crowd had been looking closely at Hester Prynne for some time before she saw him. At first, his face had become dark and angry – but only for a moment, then it was calm again. Soon he saw Hester staring, and knew that she recognized him.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to a man near him. ‘Who is this woman, and why is she standing there in public shame?’
‘You must be a stranger here, friend,’ said the man, looking at the questioner and his Indian companion, ‘or you would know about the evil Mistress Prynne. She has brought great shame on Mr Dimmesdale’s church.’
‘It is true,’ said the stranger. ‘I am new here. I have had many accidents on land and at sea, and I’ve been a prisoner of the wild men in the south. This Indian has helped me get free. Please tell me what brought this Hester Prynne to the scaffold.’
‘She was the wife of an Englishman who lived in Amsterdam,’ said the townsman. ‘He decided to come to Massachusetts, and sent his wife ahead of him as he had business matters to bring to an end before he could leave. During the two years that the woman has lived here in Boston, there has been no news of Master Prynne; and his young wife, you see …’
‘Ah, I understand,’ said the stranger, with a cold smile. ‘And who is the father of the child she is holding?’
‘That remains a mystery,’ said the other man. ‘Hester Prynne refuses to speak his name.’
‘Her husband should come and find the man,’ said the stranger, with another smile.
‘Yes, indeed he should if he is still alive,’ replied the townsman. ‘Our magistrates, you see, decided to be merciful. She is obviously guilty of adultery, and the usual punishment for adultery is death. But Mistress Prynne is young and good-looking, and her husband is probably at the bottom of the sea. So, in their mercy, the magistrates have ordered her to stand on the scaffold for three hours, and to wear the scarlet “A” for adultery for the rest of her life.’
‘A sensible punishment,’ said the stranger. ‘It will warn others against this sin. However, it is wrong that the father of her child, who has also sinned, is not standing by her side on the scaffold. But he will be known! He will be known!’
the stranger thanked the townsman, whispered a few words to his Indian companion, and then they both moved away through the crowd.
During this conversation, Hester Prynne had been watching the stranger – and was glad to have the staring crowd between herself and him. It was better to stand like this, than to have to meet him alone, and she feared the moment of that meeting greatly. Lost in these thoughts, she did not at first hear the voice behind her.
‘Listen to me, Hester Prynne!’ the voice said again.
It was the voice of the famous John Wilson, the oldest priest in Boston, and a kind man. He stood with the other priests and officers of the town on a balcony outside the meeting-house, which was close behind the scaffold.
‘I have asked my young friend’ – Mr Wilson put a hand on the shoulder of the pale young priest beside him – ‘to ask you once again for the name of the man who brought this terrible shame upon you. Mr Dimmesdale has been your priest, and is the best man to do it. Speak to the woman, Mr Dimmesdale. It is important to her soul, and to you, who cares about her soul. Persuade her to tell the truth!’
The young priest had large, sad brown eyes, and lips that trembled as he spoke. He seemed shy and sensitive, and his face had a fearful, half-frightened look. But when he spoke, his simple words and sweet voice went straight to people’s hearts and often brought tears to their eyes.
He stepped forward on the balcony and looked down at the woman below him.
‘Hester Prynne,’ he said. ‘If you think it will bring peace to your soul, and will bring you closer to the path to heaven, speak out the name of the man! Do not be silent because you feel sorry for him. Believe me, Hester, although he may have to step down from a high place and stand beside you on the platform of shame, it is better to do that than to hide a guilty heart through his life. Heaven has allowed you public shame, and the chance to win an open battle with the evil inside you and the sadness outside. Do you refuse to give him that same chance – which he may be too afraid to take himself?’
Hester shook her head, her face now as pale as the young priest’s.
‘I will not speak his name,’ she said. ‘My child must find a father in heaven. She will never know one on earth!’
Again she was asked, and again she refused. Then the oldest priest spoke to the crowd about all the evil in the world, and about the sin that brought the mark of the scarlet letter. For an hour or more he spoke, but Hester Prynne kept her place alone upon the platform of shame.
When the hours of punishment were over, she was taken back to the prison. And it was whispered by those who stared after her that the scarlet letter threw a terrible, ghostly light into the darkness inside the prison doors.