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The Scarlet Letter

106 pages • 3 hours read

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Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Introduction

Chapters 1-4

Chapters 5-8

Chapters 9-12

Chapters 13-16

Chapters 17-20

Chapters 21-24

Character Analysis

Symbols & Motifs

Important Quotes

Essay Topics

Discussion Questions

Introduction Summary: “The Custom-House”

Hawthorne discusses the merits of sharing autobiographical information with his readers and then describes the circumstances he says inspired The Scarlet Letter .

Hawthorne explains that he has always felt drawn to Salem—his birthplace, and the town where his ancestors lived for centuries. When he decided to take a break from writing in 1846, he therefore took a job overseeing the Salem Custom House. He found the work deadening and his colleagues unimaginative and incompetent. He draws particular attention to the “Inspector” and the “Collector”: the former is an elderly but vigorous and cheerful man Hawthorne describes as having “no soul, no heart, no mind; nothing […] but instincts” (20), while the latter is a retired military officer who spends most of his time staring into space. Hawthorne’s account of these and other coworkers is generally good-humored, but he notes that their complacency and amorality might have worn off on him if he had remained at the Custom House.

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the scarlet letter introduction essay

The Scarlet Letter

Nathaniel hawthorne, everything you need for every book you read..

Welcome to the LitCharts study guide on Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter . Created by the original team behind SparkNotes, LitCharts are the world's best literature guides.

The Scarlet Letter: Introduction

The scarlet letter: plot summary, the scarlet letter: detailed summary & analysis, the scarlet letter: themes, the scarlet letter: quotes, the scarlet letter: characters, the scarlet letter: symbols, the scarlet letter: literary devices, the scarlet letter: quizzes, the scarlet letter: theme wheel, brief biography of nathaniel hawthorne.

The Scarlet Letter PDF

Historical Context of The Scarlet Letter

Other books related to the scarlet letter.

  • Full Title: The Scarlet Letter
  • When Written: 1848-1850
  • Where Written: Salem, Massachusetts
  • When Published: 1850
  • Literary Period: Transcendentalism
  • Genre: Novel
  • Setting: Boston, Massachusetts in the 1640s
  • Climax: Dimmesdale's confession and death
  • Antagonist: Roger Chillingworth; the Puritans
  • Point of View: Third person omniscient

Extra Credit for The Scarlet Letter

Hawthorne and the Salem Witch Trials: Nathaniel Hawthorne was a direct descendent of John Hathorne, (1641-1717), a Puritan justice of the peace. Justice Hathorne is best known for his role as the lead judge in the Salem Witch Trials, in which he sentenced numerous innocent people to death for allegedly practicing witchcraft. Nathaniel added a "w" to his name to distance himself from his infamous ancestor.

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The Scarlet Letter

By nathaniel hawthorne, introduction: “the custom-house”.

  • Year Published: 1850
  • Language: English
  • Country of Origin: United States of America
  • Source: Hawthorne, N. (1850). The Scarlet Letter. Boston, MA: Ticknor and Fields.
  • Flesch–Kincaid Level: 11.0
  • Word Count: 15,617
  • Genre: Tragedy
  • Keywords: 19th century literature, american literature, nathaniel hawthorne
  • ✎ Cite This
  • Passage PDF

Hawthorne, N. (1850). Introduction: “The Custom-House”. The Scarlet Letter (Lit2Go Edition). Retrieved February 24, 2024, from https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/127/the-scarlet-letter/2264/introduction-the-custom-house/

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. "Introduction: “The Custom-House”." The Scarlet Letter . Lit2Go Edition. 1850. Web. https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/127/the-scarlet-letter/2264/introduction-the-custom-house/ >. February 24, 2024.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, "Introduction: “The Custom-House”," The Scarlet Letter , Lit2Go Edition, (1850), accessed February 24, 2024, https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/127/the-scarlet-letter/2264/introduction-the-custom-house/ .

It is a little remarkable, that—though disinclined to talk overmuch of myself and my affairs at the fireside, and to my personal friends—an autobiographical impulse should twice in my life have taken possession of me, in addressing the public. The first time was three or four years since, when I favoured the reader—inexcusably, and for no earthly reason that either the indulgent reader or the intrusive author could imagine—with a description of my way of life in the deep quietude of an Old Manse. And now—because, beyond my deserts, I was happy enough to find a listener or two on the former occasion—I again seize the public by the button, and talk of my three years’ experience in a Custom–House. The example of the famous “P. P. , Clerk of this Parish,” was never more faithfully followed. The truth seems to be, however, that when he casts his leaves forth upon the wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand him better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates. Some authors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves in such confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly be addressed only and exclusively to the one heart and mind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at large on the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segment of the writer’s own nature, and complete his circle of existence by bringing him into communion with it. It is scarcely decorous, however, to speak all, even where we speak impersonally. But, as thoughts are frozen and utterance benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with his audience, it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a kind and apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is listening to our talk; and then, a native reserve being thawed by this genial consciousness, we may prate of the circumstances that lie around us, and even of ourself, but still keep the inmost Me behind its veil. To this extent, and within these limits, an author, methinks, may be autobiographical, without violating either the reader’s rights or his own.

It will be seen, likewise, that this Custom–House sketch has a certain propriety, of a kind always recognised in literature, as explaining how a large portion of the following pages came into my possession, and as offering proofs of the authenticity of a narrative therein contained. This, in fact—a desire to put myself in my true position as editor, or very little more, of the most prolix among the tales that make up my volume—this, and no other, is my true reason for assuming a personal relation with the public. In accomplishing the main purpose, it has appeared allowable, by a few extra touches, to give a faint representation of a mode of life not heretofore described, together with some of the characters that move in it, among whom the author happened to make one.

In my native town of Salem, at the head of what, half a century ago, in the days of old King Derby, was a bustling wharf—but which is now burdened with decayed wooden warehouses, and exhibits few or no symptoms of commercial life; except, perhaps, a bark or brig, half–way down its melancholy length, discharging hides; or, nearer at hand, a Nova Scotia schooner, pitching out her cargo of firewood—at the head, I say, of this dilapidated wharf, which the tide often overflows, and along which, at the base and in the rear of the row of buildings, the track of many languid years is seen in a border of unthrifty grass—here, with a view from its front windows adown this not very enlivening prospect, and thence across the harbour, stands a spacious edifice of brick. From the loftiest point of its roof, during precisely three and a half hours of each forenoon, floats or droops, in breeze or calm, the banner of the republic; but with the thirteen stripes turned vertically, instead of horizontally, and thus indicating that a civil, and not a military, post of Uncle Sam’s government is here established. Its front is ornamented with a portico of half–a–dozen wooden pillars, supporting a balcony, beneath which a flight of wide granite steps descends towards the street Over the entrance hovers an enormous specimen of the American eagle, with outspread wings, a shield before her breast, and, if I recollect aright, a bunch of intermingled thunder–bolts and barbed arrows in each claw. With the customary infirmity of temper that characterizes this unhappy fowl, she appears by the fierceness of her beak and eye, and the general truculency of her attitude, to threaten mischief to the inoffensive community; and especially to warn all citizens careful of their safety against intruding on the premises which she overshadows with her wings. Nevertheless, vixenly as she looks, many people are seeking at this very moment to shelter themselves under the wing of the federal eagle; imagining, I presume, that her bosom has all the softness and snugness of an eiderdown pillow. But she has no great tenderness even in her best of moods, and, sooner or later—oftener soon than late—is apt to fling off her nestlings with a scratch of her claw, a dab of her beak, or a rankling wound from her barbed arrows.

The pavement round about the above–described edifice—which we may as well name at once as the Custom–House of the port—has grass enough growing in its chinks to show that it has not, of late days, been worn by any multitudinous resort of business. In some months of the year, however, there often chances a forenoon when affairs move onward with a livelier tread. Such occasions might remind the elderly citizen of that period, before the last war with England, when Salem was a port by itself; not scorned, as she is now, by her own merchants and ship–owners, who permit her wharves to crumble to ruin while their ventures go to swell, needlessly and imperceptibly, the mighty flood of commerce at New York or Boston. On some such morning, when three or four vessels happen to have arrived at once usually from Africa or South America—or to be on the verge of their departure thitherward, there is a sound of frequent feet passing briskly up and down the granite steps. Here, before his own wife has greeted him, you may greet the sea–flushed ship–master, just in port, with his vessel’s papers under his arm in a tarnished tin box. Here, too, comes his owner, cheerful, sombre, gracious or in the sulks, accordingly as his scheme of the now accomplished voyage has been realized in merchandise that will readily be turned to gold, or has buried him under a bulk of incommodities such as nobody will care to rid him of. Here, likewise—the germ of the wrinkle–browed, grizzly–bearded, careworn merchant—we have the smart young clerk, who gets the taste of traffic as a wolf–cub does of blood, and already sends adventures in his master’s ships, when he had better be sailing mimic boats upon a mill–pond. Another figure in the scene is the outward–bound sailor, in quest of a protection; or the recently arrived one, pale and feeble, seeking a passport to the hospital. Nor must we forget the captains of the rusty little schooners that bring firewood from the British provinces; a rough–looking set of tarpaulins, without the alertness of the Yankee aspect, but contributing an item of no slight importance to our decaying trade.

Cluster all these individuals together, as they sometimes were, with other miscellaneous ones to diversify the group, and, for the time being, it made the Custom–House a stirring scene. More frequently, however, on ascending the steps, you would discern—in the entry if it were summer time, or in their appropriate rooms if wintry or inclement weathers row of venerable figures, sitting in old–fashioned chairs, which were tipped on their hind legs back against the wall. Oftentimes they were asleep, but occasionally might be heard talking together, ill voices between a speech and a snore, and with that lack of energy that distinguishes the occupants of alms–houses, and all other human beings who depend for subsistence on charity, on monopolized labour, or anything else but their own independent exertions. These old gentlemen—seated, like Matthew at the receipt of custom, but not very liable to be summoned thence, like him, for apostolic errands—were Custom–House officers.

Furthermore, on the left hand as you enter the front door, is a certain room or office, about fifteen feet square, and of a lofty height, with two of its arched windows commanding a view of the aforesaid dilapidated wharf, and the third looking across a narrow lane, and along a portion of Derby Street. All three give glimpses of the shops of grocers, block–makers, slop–sellers, and ship–chandlers, around the doors of which are generally to be seen, laughing and gossiping, clusters of old salts, and such other wharf–rats as haunt the Wapping of a seaport. The room itself is cobwebbed, and dingy with old paint; its floor is strewn with grey sand, in a fashion that has elsewhere fallen into long disuse; and it is easy to conclude, from the general slovenliness of the place, that this is a sanctuary into which womankind, with her tools of magic, the broom and mop, has very infrequent access. In the way of furniture, there is a stove with a voluminous funnel; an old pine desk with a three–legged stool beside it; two or three wooden–bottom chairs, exceedingly decrepit and infirm; and—not to forget the library—on some shelves, a score or two of volumes of the Acts of Congress, and a bulky Digest of the Revenue laws. A tin pipe ascends through the ceiling, and forms a medium of vocal communication with other parts of be edifice. And here, some six months ago—pacing from corner to corner, or lounging on the long–legged tool, with his elbow on the desk, and his eyes wandering up and down the columns of the morning newspaper—you might have recognised, honoured reader, the same individual who welcomed you into his cheery little study, where the sunshine glimmered so pleasantly through the willow branches on the western side of the Old Manse. But now, should you go thither to seek him, you would inquire in vain for the Locofoco Surveyor. The besom of reform hath swept him out of office, and a worthier successor wears his dignity and pockets his emoluments.

This old town of Salem—my native place, though I have dwelt much away from it both in boyhood and maturer years—possesses, or did possess, a hold on my affection, the force of which I have never realized during my seasons of actual residence here. Indeed, so far as its physical aspect is concerned, with its flat, unvaried surface, covered chiefly with wooden houses, few or none of which pretend to architectural beauty—its irregularity, which is neither picturesque nor quaint, but only tame—its long and lazy street, lounging wearisomely through the whole extent of the peninsula, with Gallows Hill and New Guinea at one end, and a view of the alms–house at the other—such being the features of my native town, it would be quite as reasonable to form a sentimental attachment to a disarranged checker–board. And yet, though invariably happiest elsewhere, there is within me a feeling for Old Salem, which, in lack of a better phrase, I must be content to call affection. The sentiment is probably assignable to the deep and aged roots which my family has stuck into the soil. It is now nearly two centuries and a quarter since the original Briton, the earliest emigrant of my name, made his appearance in the wild and forest—bordered settlement which has since become a city. And here his descendants have been born and died, and have mingled their earthly substance with the soil, until no small portion of it must necessarily be akin to the mortal frame wherewith, for a little while, I walk the streets. In part, therefore, the attachment which I speak of is the mere sensuous sympathy of dust for dust. Few of my countrymen can know what it is; nor, as frequent transplantation is perhaps better for the stock, need they consider it desirable to know.

But the sentiment has likewise its moral quality. The figure of that first ancestor, invested by family tradition with a dim and dusky grandeur, was present to my boyish imagination as far back as I can remember. It still haunts me, and induces a sort of home–feeling with the past, which I scarcely claim in reference to the present phase of the town. I seem to have a stronger claim to a residence here on account of this grave, bearded, sable–cloaked, and steeple–crowned progenitor–who came so early, with his Bible and his sword, and trode the unworn street with such a stately port, and made so large a figure, as a man of war and peace—a stronger claim than for myself, whose name is seldom heard and my face hardly known. He was a soldier, legislator, judge; he was a ruler in the Church; he had all the Puritanic traits, both good and evil. He was likewise a bitter persecutor; as witness the Quakers, who have remembered him in their histories, and relate an incident of his hard severity towards a woman of their sect, which will last longer, it is to be feared, than any record of his better deeds, although these were many. His son, too, inherited the persecuting spirit, and made himself so conspicuous in the martyrdom of the witches, that their blood may fairly be said to have left a stain upon him. So deep a stain, indeed, that his dry old bones, in the Charter–street burial–ground, must still retain it, if they have not crumbled utterly to dust I know not whether these ancestors of mine bethought themselves to repent, and ask pardon of Heaven for their cruelties; or whether they are now groaning under the heavy consequences of them in another state of being. At all events, I, the present writer, as their representative, hereby take shame upon myself for their sakes, and pray that any curse incurred by them—as I have heard, and as the dreary and unprosperous condition of the race, for many a long year back, would argue to exist—may be now and henceforth removed.

Doubtless, however, either of these stern and black–browed Puritans would have thought it quite a sufficient retribution for his sins that, after so long a lapse of years, the old trunk of the family tree, with so much venerable moss upon it, should have borne, as its topmost bough, an idler like myself. No aim that I have ever cherished would they recognise as laudable; no success of mine—if my life, beyond its domestic scope, had ever been brightened by success—would they deem otherwise than worthless, if not positively disgraceful. “What is he?” murmurs one grey shadow of my forefathers to the other. “A writer of story books! What kind of business in life—what mode of glorifying God, or being serviceable to mankind in his day and generation—may that be? Why, the degenerate fellow might as well have been a fiddler!” Such are the compliments bandied between my great grandsires and myself, across the gulf of time And yet, let them scorn me as they will, strong traits of their nature have intertwined themselves with mine.

Planted deep, in the town’s earliest infancy and childhood, by these two earnest and energetic men, the race has ever since subsisted here; always, too, in respectability; never, so far as I have known, disgraced by a single unworthy member; but seldom or never, on the other hand, after the first two generations, performing any memorable deed, or so much as putting forward a claim to public notice. Gradually, they have sunk almost out of sight; as old houses, here and there about the streets, get covered half–way to the eaves by the accumulation of new soil. From father to son, for above a hundred years, they followed the sea; a grey–headed shipmaster, in each generation, retiring from the quarter–deck to the homestead, while a boy of fourteen took the hereditary place before the mast, confronting the salt spray and the gale which had blustered against his sire and grandsire. The boy, also in due time, passed from the forecastle to the cabin, spent a tempestuous manhood, and returned from his world–wanderings, to grow old, and die, and mingle his dust with the natal earth. This long connexion of a family with one spot, as its place of birth and burial, creates a kindred between the human being and the locality, quite independent of any charm in the scenery or moral circumstances that surround him. It is not love but instinct. The new inhabitant—who came himself from a foreign land, or whose father or grandfather came—has little claim to be called a Salemite; he has no conception of the oyster—like tenacity with which an old settler, over whom his third century is creeping, clings to the spot where his successive generations have been embedded. It is no matter that the place is joyless for him; that he is weary of the old wooden houses, the mud and dust, the dead level of site and sentiment, the chill east wind, and the chillest of social atmospheres;—all these, and whatever faults besides he may see or imagine, are nothing to the purpose. The spell survives, and just as powerfully as if the natal spot were an earthly paradise. So has it been in my case. I felt it almost as a destiny to make Salem my home; so that the mould of features and cast of character which had all along been familiar here—ever, as one representative of the race lay down in the grave, another assuming, as it were, his sentry–march along the main street—might still in my little day be seen and recognised in the old town. Nevertheless, this very sentiment is an evidence that the connexion, which has become an unhealthy one, should at least be severed. Human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and re–planted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn–out soil. My children have had other birth–places, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into accustomed earth.

On emerging from the Old Manse, it was chiefly this strange, indolent, unjoyous attachment for my native town that brought me to fill a place in Uncle Sam’s brick edifice, when I might as well, or better, have gone somewhere else. My doom was on me, It was not the first time, nor the second, that I had gone away—as it seemed, permanently—but yet returned, like the bad halfpenny, or as if Salem were for me the inevitable centre of the universe. So, one fine morning I ascended the flight of granite steps, with the President’s commission in my pocket, and was introduced to the corps of gentlemen who were to aid me in my weighty responsibility as chief executive officer of the Custom–House.

I doubt greatly—or, rather, I do not doubt at all—whether any public functionary of the United States, either in the civil or military line, has ever had such a patriarchal body of veterans under his orders as myself. The whereabouts of the Oldest Inhabitant was at once settled when I looked at them. For upwards of twenty years before this epoch, the independent position of the Collector had kept the Salem Custom–House out of the whirlpool of political vicissitude, which makes the tenure of office generally so fragile. A soldier—New England’s most distinguished soldier—he stood firmly on the pedestal of his gallant services; and, himself secure in the wise liberality of the successive administrations through which he had held office, he had been the safety of his subordinates in many an hour of danger and heart–quake General Miller was radically conservative; a man over whose kindly nature habit had no slight influence; attaching himself strongly to familiar faces, and with difficulty moved to change, even when change might have brought unquestionable improvement. Thus, on taking charge of my department, I found few but aged men. They were ancient sea–captains, for the most part, who, after being tossed on every sea, and standing up sturdily against life’s tempestuous blast, had finally drifted into this quiet nook, where, with little to disturb them, except the periodical terrors of a Presidential election, they one and all acquired a new lease of existence. Though by no means less liable than their fellow–men to age and infirmity, they had evidently some talisman or other that kept death at bay. Two or three of their number, as I was assured, being gouty and rheumatic, or perhaps bed–ridden, never dreamed of making their appearance at the Custom–House during a large part of the year; but, after a torpid winter, would creep out into the warm sunshine of May or June, go lazily about what they termed duty, and, at their own leisure and convenience, betake themselves to bed again. I must plead guilty to the charge of abbreviating the official breath of more than one of these venerable servants of the republic. They were allowed, on my representation, to rest from their arduous labours, and soon afterwards—as if their sole principle of life had been zeal for their country’s service—as I verily believe it was—withdrew to a better world. It is a pious consolation to me that, through my interference, a sufficient space was allowed them for repentance of the evil and corrupt practices into which, as a matter of course, every Custom–House officer must be supposed to fall. Neither the front nor the back entrance of the Custom–House opens on the road to Paradise.

The greater part of my officers were Whigs. It was well for their venerable brotherhood that the new Surveyor was not a politician, and though a faithful Democrat in principle, neither received nor held his office with any reference to political services. Had it been otherwise—had an active politician been put into this influential post, to assume the easy task of making head against a Whig Collector, whose infirmities withheld him from the personal administration of his office—hardly a man of the old corps would have drawn the breath of official life within a month after the exterminating angel had come up the Custom–House steps. According to the received code in such matters, it would have been nothing short of duty, in a politician, to bring every one of those white heads under the axe of the guillotine. It was plain enough to discern that the old fellows dreaded some such discourtesy at my hands. It pained, and at the same time amused me, to behold the terrors that attended my advent, to see a furrowed cheek, weather–beaten by half a century of storm, turn ashy pale at the glance of so harmless an individual as myself; to detect, as one or another addressed me, the tremor of a voice which, in long–past days, had been wont to bellow through a speaking–trumpet, hoarsely enough to frighten Boreas himself to silence. They knew, these excellent old persons, that, by all established rule—and, as regarded some of them, weighed by their own lack of efficiency for business—they ought to have given place to younger men, more orthodox in politics, and altogether fitter than themselves to serve our common Uncle. I knew it, too, but could never quite find in my heart to act upon the knowledge. Much and deservedly to my own discredit, therefore, and considerably to the detriment of my official conscience, they continued, during my incumbency, to creep about the wharves, and loiter up and down the Custom–House steps. They spent a good deal of time, also, asleep in their accustomed corners, with their chairs tilted back against the walls; awaking, however, once or twice in the forenoon, to bore one another with the several thousandth repetition of old sea–stories and mouldy jokes, that had grown to be passwords and countersigns among them.

The discovery was soon made, I imagine, that the new Surveyor had no great harm in him. So, with lightsome hearts and the happy consciousness of being usefully employed—in their own behalf at least, if not for our beloved country—these good old gentlemen went through the various formalities of office. Sagaciously under their spectacles, did they peep into the holds of vessels Mighty was their fuss about little matters, and marvellous, sometimes, the obtuseness that allowed greater ones to slip between their fingers Whenever such a mischance occurred—when a waggon–load of valuable merchandise had been smuggled ashore, at noonday, perhaps, and directly beneath their unsuspicious noses—nothing could exceed the vigilance and alacrity with which they proceeded to lock, and double–lock, and secure with tape and sealing—wax, all the avenues of the delinquent vessel. Instead of a reprimand for their previous negligence, the case seemed rather to require an eulogium on their praiseworthy caution after the mischief had happened; a grateful recognition of the promptitude of their zeal the moment that there was no longer any remedy.

Unless people are more than commonly disagreeable, it is my foolish habit to contract a kindness for them. The better part of my companion’s character, if it have a better part, is that which usually comes uppermost in my regard, and forms the type whereby I recognise the man. As most of these old Custom–House officers had good traits, and as my position in reference to them, being paternal and protective, was favourable to the growth of friendly sentiments, I soon grew to like them all. It was pleasant in the summer forenoons—when the fervent heat, that almost liquefied the rest of the human family, merely communicated a genial warmth to their half torpid systems—it was pleasant to hear them chatting in the back entry, a row of them all tipped against the wall, as usual; while the frozen witticisms of past generations were thawed out, and came bubbling with laughter from their lips. Externally, the jollity of aged men has much in common with the mirth of children; the intellect, any more than a deep sense of humour, has little to do with the matter; it is, with both, a gleam that plays upon the surface, and imparts a sunny and cheery aspect alike to the green branch and grey, mouldering trunk. In one case, however, it is real sunshine; in the other, it more resembles the phosphorescent glow of decaying wood. It would be sad injustice, the reader must understand, to represent all my excellent old friends as in their dotage. In the first place, my coadjutors were not invariably old; there were men among them in their strength and prime, of marked ability and energy, and altogether superior to the sluggish and dependent mode of life on which their evil stars had cast them. Then, moreover, the white locks of age were sometimes found to be the thatch of an intellectual tenement in good repair. But, as respects the majority of my corps of veterans, there will be no wrong done if I characterize them generally as a set of wearisome old souls, who had gathered nothing worth preservation from their varied experience of life. They seemed to have flung away all the golden grain of practical wisdom, which they had enjoyed so many opportunities of harvesting, and most carefully to have stored their memory with the husks. They spoke with far more interest and unction of their morning’s breakfast, or yesterday’s, to–day’s, or tomorrow’s dinner, than of the shipwreck of forty or fifty years ago, and all the world’s wonders which they had witnessed with their youthful eyes.

The father of the Custom–House—the patriarch, not only of this little squad of officials, but, I am bold to say, of the respectable body of tide–waiters all over the United States—was a certain permanent Inspector. He might truly be termed a legitimate son of the revenue system, dyed in the wool, or rather born in the purple; since his sire, a Revolutionary colonel, and formerly collector of the port, had created an office for him, and appointed him to fill it, at a period of the early ages which few living men can now remember. This Inspector, when I first knew him, was a man of fourscore years, or thereabouts, and certainly one of the most wonderful specimens of winter–green that you would be likely to discover in a lifetime’s search. With his florid cheek, his compact figure smartly arrayed in a bright–buttoned blue coat, his brisk and vigorous step, and his hale and hearty aspect, altogether he seemed—not young, indeed—but a kind of new contrivance of Mother Nature in the shape of man, whom age and infirmity had no business to touch. His voice and laugh, which perpetually re–echoed through the Custom–House, had nothing of the tremulous quaver and cackle of an old man’s utterance; they came strutting out of his lungs, like the crow of a cock, or the blast of a clarion. Looking at him merely as an animal—and there was very little else to look at—he was a most satisfactory object, from the thorough healthfulness and wholesomeness of his system, and his capacity, at that extreme age, to enjoy all, or nearly all, the delights which he had ever aimed at or conceived of. The careless security of his life in the Custom–House, on a regular income, and with but slight and infrequent apprehensions of removal, had no doubt contributed to make time pass lightly over him. The original and more potent causes, however, lay in the rare perfection of his animal nature, the moderate proportion of intellect, and the very trifling admixture of moral and spiritual ingredients; these latter qualities, indeed, being in barely enough measure to keep the old gentleman from walking on all–fours. He possessed no power of thought no depth of feeling, no troublesome sensibilities: nothing, in short, but a few commonplace instincts, which, aided by the cheerful temper which grew inevitably out of his physical well–being, did duty very respectably, and to general acceptance, in lieu of a heart. He had been the husband of three wives, all long since dead; the father of twenty children, most of whom, at every age of childhood or maturity, had likewise returned to dust. Here, one would suppose, might have been sorrow enough to imbue the sunniest disposition through and through with a sable tinge. Not so with our old Inspector One brief sigh sufficed to carry off the entire burden of these dismal reminiscences. The next moment he was as ready for sport as any unbreeched infant: far readier than the Collector’s junior clerk, who at nineteen years was much the elder and graver man of the two.

I used to watch and study this patriarchal personage with, I think, livelier curiosity than any other form of humanity there presented to my notice. He was, in truth, a rare phenomenon; so perfect, in one point of view; so shallow, so delusive, so impalpable such an absolute nonentity, in every other. My conclusion was that he had no soul, no heart, no mind; nothing, as I have already said, but instincts; and yet, withal, so cunningly had the few materials of his character been put together that there was no painful perception of deficiency, but, on my part, an entire contentment with what I found in him. It might be difficult—and it was so—to conceive how he should exist hereafter, so earthly and sensuous did he seem; but surely his existence here, admitting that it was to terminate with his last breath, had been not unkindly given; with no higher moral responsibilities than the beasts of the field, but with a larger scope of enjoyment than theirs, and with all their blessed immunity from the dreariness and duskiness of age.

One point in which he had vastly the advantage over his four–footed brethren was his ability to recollect the good dinners which it had made no small portion of the happiness of his life to eat. His gourmandism was a highly agreeable trait; and to hear him talk of roast meat was as appetizing as a pickle or an oyster. As he possessed no higher attribute, and neither sacrificed nor vitiated any spiritual endowment by devoting all his energies and ingenuities to subserve the delight and profit of his maw, it always pleased and satisfied me to hear him expatiate on fish, poultry, and butcher’s meat, and the most eligible methods of preparing them for the table. His reminiscences of good cheer, however ancient the date of the actual banquet, seemed to bring the savour of pig or turkey under one’s very nostrils. There were flavours on his palate that had lingered there not less than sixty or seventy years, and were still apparently as fresh as that of the mutton chop which he had just devoured for his breakfast. I have heard him smack his lips over dinners, every guest at which, except himself, had long been food for worms. It was marvellous to observe how the ghosts of bygone meals were continually rising up before him—not in anger or retribution, but as if grateful for his former appreciation, and seeking to repudiate an endless series of enjoyment. at once shadowy and sensual, A tender loin of beef, a hind–quarter of veal, a spare–rib of pork, a particular chicken, or a remarkably praiseworthy turkey, which had perhaps adorned his board in the days of the elder Adams, would be remembered; while all the subsequent experience of our race, and all the events that brightened or darkened his individual career, had gone over him with as little permanent effect as the passing breeze. The chief tragic event of the old man’s life, so far as I could judge, was his mishap with a certain goose, which lived and died some twenty or forty years ago: a goose of most promising figure, but which, at table, proved so inveterately tough, that the carving–knife would make no impression on its carcase, and it could only be divided with an axe and handsaw.

But it is time to quit this sketch; on which, however, I should be glad to dwell at considerably more length, because of all men whom I have ever known, this individual was fittest to be a Custom–House officer. Most persons, owing to causes which I may not have space to hint at, suffer moral detriment from this peculiar mode of life. The old Inspector was incapable of it; and, were he to continue in office to tile end of time, would be just as good as he was then, and sit down to dinner with just as good an appetite.

There is one likeness, without which my gallery of Custom–House portraits would be strangely incomplete, but which my comparatively few opportunities for observation enable me to sketch only in the merest outline. It is that of the Collector, our gallant old General, who, after his brilliant military service, subsequently to which he had ruled over a wild Western territory, had come hither, twenty years before, to spend the decline of his varied and honourable life.

The brave soldier had already numbered, nearly or quite, his three–score years and ten, and was pursuing the remainder of his earthly march, burdened with infirmities which even the martial music of his own spirit–stirring recollections could do little towards lightening. The step was palsied now, that had been foremost in the charge. It was only with the assistance of a servant, and by leaning his hand heavily on the iron balustrade, that he could slowly and painfully ascend the Custom–House steps, and, with a toilsome progress across the floor, attain his customary chair beside the fireplace. There he used to sit, gazing with a somewhat dim serenity of aspect at the figures that came and went, amid the rustle of papers, the administering of oaths, the discussion of business, and the casual talk of the office; all which sounds and circumstances seemed but indistinctly to impress his senses, and hardly to make their way into his inner sphere of contemplation. His countenance, in this repose, was mild and kindly. If his notice was sought, an expression of courtesy and interest gleamed out upon his features, proving that there was light within him, and that it was only the outward medium of the intellectual lamp that obstructed the rays in their passage. The closer you penetrated to the substance of his mind, the sounder it appeared. When no longer called upon to speak or listen—either of which operations cost him an evident effort—his face would briefly subside into its former not uncheerful quietude. It was not painful to behold this look; for, though dim, it had not the imbecility of decaying age. The framework of his nature, originally strong and massive, was not yet crumpled into ruin.

To observe and define his character, however, under such disadvantages, was as difficult a task as to trace out and build up anew, in imagination, an old fortress, like Ticonderoga, from a view of its grey and broken ruins. Here and there, perchance, the walls may remain almost complete; but elsewhere may be only a shapeless mound, cumbrous with its very strength, and overgrown, through long years of peace and neglect, with grass and alien weeds.

Nevertheless, looking at the old warrior with affection—for, slight as was the communication between us, my feeling towards him, like that of all bipeds and quadrupeds who knew him, might not improperly be termed so,—I could discern the main points of his portrait. It was marked with the noble and heroic qualities which showed it to be not a mere accident, but of good right, that he had won a distinguished name. His spirit could never, I conceive, have been characterized by an uneasy activity; it must, at any period of his life, have required an impulse to set him in motion; but once stirred up, with obstacles to overcome, and an adequate object to be attained, it was not in the man to give out or fail. The heat that had formerly pervaded his nature, and which was not yet extinct, was never of the kind that flashes and flickers in a blaze; but rather a deep red glow, as of iron in a furnace. Weight, solidity, firmness—this was the expression of his repose, even in such decay as had crept untimely over him at the period of which I speak. But I could imagine, even then, that, under some excitement which should go deeply into his consciousness—roused by a trumpets real, loud enough to awaken all of his energies that were not dead, but only slumbering—he was yet capable of flinging off his infirmities like a sick man’s gown, dropping the staff of age to seize a battle–sword, and starting up once more a warrior. And, in so intense a moment his demeanour would have still been calm. Such an exhibition, however, was but to be pictured in fancy; not to be anticipated, nor desired. What I saw in him—as evidently as the indestructible ramparts of Old Ticonderoga, already cited as the most appropriate simile—was the features of stubborn and ponderous endurance, which might well have amounted to obstinacy in his earlier days; of integrity, that, like most of his other endowments, lay in a somewhat heavy mass, and was just as unmalleable or unmanageable as a ton of iron ore; and of benevolence which, fiercely as he led the bayonets on at Chippewa or Fort Erie, I take to be of quite as genuine a stamp as what actuates any or all the polemical philanthropists of the age. He had slain men with his own hand, for aught I know—certainly, they had fallen like blades of grass at the sweep of the scythe before the charge to which his spirit imparted its triumphant energy—but, be that as it might, there was never in his heart so much cruelty as would have brushed the down off a butterfly’s wing. I have not known the man to whose innate kindliness I would more confidently make an appeal.

Many characteristics—and those, too, which contribute not the least forcibly to impart resemblance in a sketch—must have vanished, or been obscured, before I met the General. All merely graceful attributes are usually the most evanescent; nor does nature adorn the human ruin with blossoms of new beauty, that have their roots and proper nutriment only in the chinks and crevices of decay, as she sows wall–flowers over the ruined fortress of Ticonderoga. Still, even in respect of grace and beauty, there were points well worth noting. A ray of humour, now and then, would make its way through the veil of dim obstruction, and glimmer pleasantly upon our faces. A trait of native elegance, seldom seen in the masculine character after childhood or early youth, was shown in the General’s fondness for the sight and fragrance of flowers. An old soldier might be supposed to prize only the bloody laurel on his brow; but here was one who seemed to have a young girl’s appreciation of the floral tribe.

There, beside the fireplace, the brave old General used to sit; while the Surveyor—though seldom, when it could be avoided, taking upon himself the difficult task of engaging him in conversation—was fond of standing at a distance, and watching his quiet and almost slumberous countenance. He seemed away from us, although we saw him but a few yards off; remote, though we passed close beside his chair; unattainable, though we might have stretched forth our hands and touched his own. It might be that he lived a more real life within his thoughts than amid the unappropriate environment of the Collector’s office. The evolutions of the parade; the tumult of the battle; the flourish of old heroic music, heard thirty years before—such scenes and sounds, perhaps, were all alive before his intellectual sense. Meanwhile, the merchants and ship–masters, the spruce clerks and uncouth sailors, entered and departed; the bustle of his commercial and Custom–House life kept up its little murmur round about him; and neither with the men nor their affairs did the General appear to sustain the most distant relation. He was as much out of place as an old sword—now rusty, but which had flashed once in the battle’s front, and showed still a bright gleam along its blade—would have been among the inkstands, paper–folders, and mahogany rulers on the Deputy Collector’s desk.

There was one thing that much aided me in renewing and re–creating the stalwart soldier of the Niagara frontier—the man of true and simple energy. It was the recollection of those memorable words of his—“I’ll try, Sir”—spoken on the very verge of a desperate and heroic enterprise, and breathing the soul and spirit of New England hardihood, comprehending all perils, and encountering all. If, in our country, valour were rewarded by heraldic honour, this phrase—which it seems so easy to speak, but which only he, with such a task of danger and glory before him, has ever spoken—would be the best and fittest of all mottoes for the General’s shield of arms. It contributes greatly towards a man’s moral and intellectual health to be brought into habits of companionship with individuals unlike himself, who care little for his pursuits, and whose sphere and abilities he must go out of himself to appreciate. The accidents of my life have often afforded me this advantage, but never with more fulness and variety than during my continuance in office. There was one man, especially, the observation of whose character gave me a new idea of talent. His gifts were emphatically those of a man of business; prompt, acute, clear–minded; with an eye that saw through all perplexities, and a faculty of arrangement that made them vanish as by the waving of an enchanter’s wand. Bred up from boyhood in the Custom–House, it was his proper field of activity; and the many intricacies of business, so harassing to the interloper, presented themselves before him with the regularity of a perfectly comprehended system. In my contemplation, he stood as the ideal of his class. He was, indeed, the Custom–House in himself; or, at all events, the mainspring that kept its variously revolving wheels in motion; for, in an institution like this, where its officers are appointed to subserve their own profit and convenience, and seldom with a leading reference to their fitness for the duty to be performed, they must perforce seek elsewhere the dexterity which is not in them. Thus, by an inevitable necessity, as a magnet attracts steel–filings, so did our man of business draw to himself the difficulties which everybody met with. With an easy condescension, and kind forbearance towards our stupidity—which, to his order of mind, must have seemed little short of crime—would he forth–with, by the merest touch of his finger, make the incomprehensible as clear as daylight. The merchants valued him not less than we, his esoteric friends. His integrity was perfect; it was a law of nature with him, rather than a choice or a principle; nor can it be otherwise than the main condition of an intellect so remarkably clear and accurate as his to be honest and regular in the administration of affairs. A stain on his conscience, as to anything that came within the range of his vocation, would trouble such a man very much in the same way, though to a far greater degree, than an error in the balance of an account, or an ink–blot on the fair page of a book of record. Here, in a word—and it is a rare instance in my life—I had met with a person thoroughly adapted to the situation which he held.

Such were some of the people with whom I now found myself connected. I took it in good part, at the hands of Providence, that I was thrown into a position so little akin to my past habits; and set myself seriously to gather from it whatever profit was to be had. After my fellowship of toil and impracticable schemes with the dreamy brethren of Brook Farm; after living for three years within the subtle influence of an intellect like Emerson’s; after those wild, free days on the Assabeth, indulging fantastic speculations, beside our fire of fallen boughs, with Ellery Channing; after talking with Thoreau about pine–trees and Indian relics in his hermitage at Walden; after growing fastidious by sympathy with the classic refinement of Hillard’s culture; after becoming imbued with poetic sentiment at Longfellow’s hearthstone—it was time, at length, that I should exercise other faculties of my nature, and nourish myself with food for which I had hitherto had little appetite. Even the old Inspector was desirable, as a change of diet, to a man who had known Alcott. I looked upon it as an evidence, in some measure, of a system naturally well balanced, and lacking no essential part of a thorough organization, that, with such associates to remember, I could mingle at once with men of altogether different qualities, and never murmur at the change.

Literature, its exertions and objects, were now of little moment in my regard. I cared not at this period for books; they were apart from me. Nature—except it were human nature—the nature that is developed in earth and sky, was, in one sense, hidden from me; and all the imaginative delight wherewith it had been spiritualized passed away out of my mind. A gift, a faculty, if it had not been departed, was suspended and inanimate within me. There would have been something sad, unutterably dreary, in all this, had I not been conscious that it lay at my own option to recall whatever was valuable in the past. It might be true, indeed, that this was a life which could not, with impunity, be lived too long; else, it might make me permanently other than I had been, without transforming me into any shape which it would be worth my while to take. But I never considered it as other than a transitory life. There was always a prophetic instinct, a low whisper in my ear, that within no long period, and whenever a new change of custom should be essential to my good, change would come.

Meanwhile, there I was, a Surveyor of the Revenue and, so far as I have been able to understand, as good a Surveyor as need be. A man of thought, fancy, and sensibility (had he ten times the Surveyor’s proportion of those qualities), may, at any time, be a man of affairs, if he will only choose to give himself the trouble. My fellow–officers, and the merchants and sea–captains with whom my official duties brought me into any manner of connection, viewed me in no other light, and probably knew me in no other character. None of them, I presume, had ever read a page of my inditing, or would have cared a fig the more for me if they had read them all; nor would it have mended the matter, in the least, had those same unprofitable pages been written with a pen like that of Burns or of Chaucer, each of whom was a Custom–House officer in his day, as well as I. It is a good lesson—though it may often be a hard one—for a man who has dreamed of literary fame, and of making for himself a rank among the world’s dignitaries by such means, to step aside out of the narrow circle in which his claims are recognized and to find how utterly devoid of significance, beyond that circle, is all that he achieves, and all he aims at. I know not that I especially needed the lesson, either in the way of warning or rebuke; but at any rate, I learned it thoroughly: nor, it gives me pleasure to reflect, did the truth, as it came home to my perception, ever cost me a pang, or require to be thrown off in a sigh. In the way of literary talk, it is true, the Naval Officer—an excellent fellow, who came into the office with me, and went out only a little later—would often engage me in a discussion about one or the other of his favourite topics, Napoleon or Shakespeare. The Collector’s junior clerk, too a young gentleman who, it was whispered occasionally covered a sheet of Uncle Sam’s letter paper with what (at the distance of a few yards) looked very much like poetry—used now and then to speak to me of books, as matters with which I might possibly be conversant. This was my all of lettered intercourse; and it was quite sufficient for my necessities.

No longer seeking or caring that my name should be blasoned abroad on title–pages, I smiled to think that it had now another kind of vogue. The Custom–House marker imprinted it, with a stencil and black paint, on pepper–bags, and baskets of anatto, and cigar–boxes, and bales of all kinds of dutiable merchandise, in testimony that these commodities had paid the impost, and gone regularly through the office. Borne on such queer vehicle of fame, a knowledge of my existence, so far as a name conveys it, was carried where it had never been before, and, I hope, will never go again.

But the past was not dead. Once in a great while, the thoughts that had seemed so vital and so active, yet had been put to rest so quietly, revived again. One of the most remarkable occasions, when the habit of bygone days awoke in me, was that which brings it within the law of literary propriety to offer the public the sketch which I am now writing.

In the second storey of the Custom–House there is a large room, in which the brick–work and naked rafters have never been covered with panelling and plaster. The edifice—originally projected on a scale adapted to the old commercial enterprise of the port, and with an idea of subsequent prosperity destined never to be realized—contains far more space than its occupants know what to do with. This airy hall, therefore, over the Collector’s apartments, remains unfinished to this day, and, in spite of the aged cobwebs that festoon its dusky beams, appears still to await the labour of the carpenter and mason. At one end of the room, in a recess, were a number of barrels piled one upon another, containing bundles of official documents. Large quantities of similar rubbish lay lumbering the floor. It was sorrowful to think how many days, and weeks, and months, and years of toil had been wasted on these musty papers, which were now only an encumbrance on earth, and were hidden away in this forgotten corner, never more to be glanced at by human eyes. But then, what reams of other manuscripts—filled, not with the dulness of official formalities, but with the thought of inventive brains and the rich effusion of deep hearts—had gone equally to oblivion; and that, moreover, without serving a purpose in their day, as these heaped–up papers had, and—saddest of all—without purchasing for their writers the comfortable livelihood which the clerks of the Custom–House had gained by these worthless scratchings of the pen. Yet not altogether worthless, perhaps, as materials of local history. Here, no doubt, statistics of the former commerce of Salem might be discovered, and memorials of her princely merchants—old King Derby—old Billy Gray—old Simon Forrester—and many another magnate in his day, whose powdered head, however, was scarcely in the tomb before his mountain pile of wealth began to dwindle. The founders of the greater part of the families which now compose the aristocracy of Salem might here be traced, from the petty and obscure beginnings of their traffic, at periods generally much posterior to the Revolution, upward to what their children look upon as long–established rank,

Prior to the Revolution there is a dearth of records; the earlier documents and archives of the Custom–House having, probably, been carried off to Halifax, when all the king’s officials accompanied the British army in its flight from Boston. It has often been a matter of regret with me; for, going back, perhaps, to the days of the Protectorate, those papers must have contained many references to forgotten or remembered men, and to antique customs, which would have affected me with the same pleasure as when I used to pick up Indian arrow–heads in the field near the Old Manse.

But, one idle and rainy day, it was my fortune to make a discovery of some little interest. Poking and burrowing into the heaped–up rubbish in the corner, unfolding one and another document, and reading the names of vessels that had long ago foundered at sea or rotted at the wharves, and those of merchants never heard of now on ‘Change, nor very readily decipherable on their mossy tombstones; glancing at such matters with the saddened, weary, half–reluctant interest which we bestow on the corpse of dead activity—and exerting my fancy, sluggish with little use, to raise up from these dry bones an image of the old towns brighter aspect, when India was a new region, and only Salem knew the way thither—I chanced to lay my hand on a small package, carefully done up in a piece of ancient yellow parchment. This envelope had the air of an official record of some period long past, when clerks engrossed their stiff and formal chirography on more substantial materials than at present. There was something about it that quickened an instinctive curiosity, and made me undo the faded red tape that tied up the package, with the sense that a treasure would here be brought to light. Unbending the rigid folds of the parchment cover, I found it to be a commission, under the hand and seal of Governor Shirley, in favour of one Jonathan Pine, as Surveyor of His Majesty’s Customs for the Port of Salem, in the Province of Massachusetts Bay. I remembered to have read (probably in Felt’s “Annals”) a notice of the decease of Mr. Surveyor Pue, about fourscore years ago; and likewise, in a newspaper of recent times, an account of the digging up of his remains in the little graveyard of St. Peter’s Church, during the renewal of that edifice. Nothing, if I rightly call to mind, was left of my respected predecessor, save an imperfect skeleton, and some fragments of apparel, and a wig of majestic frizzle, which, unlike the head that it once adorned, was in very satisfactory preservation. But, on examining the papers which the parchment commission served to envelop, I found more traces of Mr. Pue’s mental part, and the internal operations of his head, than the frizzled wig had contained of the venerable skull itself.

They were documents, in short, not official, but of a private nature, or, at least, written in his private capacity, and apparently with his own hand. I could account for their being included in the heap of Custom–House lumber only by the fact that Mr. Pine’s death had happened suddenly, and that these papers, which he probably kept in his official desk, had never come to the knowledge of his heirs, or were supposed to relate to the business of the revenue. On the transfer of the archives to Halifax, this package, proving to be of no public concern, was left behind, and had remained ever since unopened.

The ancient Surveyor—being little molested, suppose, at that early day with business pertaining to his office—seems to have devoted some of his many leisure hours to researches as a local antiquarian, and other inquisitions of a similar nature. These supplied material for petty activity to a mind that would otherwise have been eaten up with rust.

A portion of his facts, by–the–by, did me good service in the preparation of the article entitled “MAIN STREET,” included in the present volume. The remainder may perhaps be applied to purposes equally valuable hereafter, or not impossibly may be worked up, so far as they go, into a regular history of Salem, should my veneration for the natal soil ever impel me to so pious a task. Meanwhile, they shall be at the command of any gentleman, inclined and competent, to take the unprofitable labour off my hands. As a final disposition I contemplate depositing them with the Essex Historical Society. But the object that most drew my attention to the mysterious package was a certain affair of fine red cloth, much worn and faded, There were traces about it of gold embroidery, which, however, was greatly frayed and defaced, so that none, or very little, of the glitter was left. It had been wrought, as was easy to perceive, with wonderful skill of needlework; and the stitch (as I am assured by ladies conversant with such mysteries) gives evidence of a now forgotten art, not to be discovered even by the process of picking out the threads. This rag of scarlet cloth—for time, and wear, and a sacrilegious moth had reduced it to little other than a rag—on careful examination, assumed the shape of a letter.

It was the capital letter A. By an accurate measurement, each limb proved to be precisely three inches and a quarter in length. It had been intended, there could be no doubt, as an ornamental article of dress; but how it was to be worn, or what rank, honour, and dignity, in by–past times, were signified by it, was a riddle which (so evanescent are the fashions of the world in these particulars) I saw little hope of solving. And yet it strangely interested me. My eyes fastened themselves upon the old scarlet letter, and would not be turned aside. Certainly there was some deep meaning in it most worthy of interpretation, and which, as it were, streamed forth from the mystic symbol, subtly communicating itself to my sensibilities, but evading the analysis of my mind.

When thus perplexed—and cogitating, among other hypotheses, whether the letter might not have been one of those decorations which the white men used to contrive in order to take the eyes of Indians—I happened to place it on my breast. It seemed to me—the reader may smile, but must not doubt my word—it seemed to me, then, that I experienced a sensation not altogether physical, yet almost so, as of burning heat, and as if the letter were not of red cloth, but red–hot iron. I shuddered, and involuntarily let it fall upon the floor.

In the absorbing contemplation of the scarlet letter, I had hitherto neglected to examine a small roll of dingy paper, around which it had been twisted. This I now opened, and had the satisfaction to find recorded by the old Surveyor’s pen, a reasonably complete explanation of the whole affair. There were several foolscap sheets, containing many particulars respecting the life and conversation of one Hester Prynne, who appeared to have been rather a noteworthy personage in the view of our ancestors. She had flourished during the period between the early days of Massachusetts and the close of the seventeenth century. Aged persons, alive in the time of Mr. Surveyor Pue, and from whose oral testimony he had made up his narrative, remembered her, in their youth, as a very old, but not decrepit woman, of a stately and solemn aspect. It had been her habit, from an almost immemorial date, to go about the country as a kind of voluntary nurse, and doing whatever miscellaneous good she might; taking upon herself, likewise, to give advice in all matters, especially those of the heart, by which means—as a person of such propensities inevitably must—she gained from many people the reverence due to an angel, but, I should imagine, was looked upon by others as an intruder and a nuisance. Prying further into the manuscript, I found the record of other doings and sufferings of this singular woman, for most of which the reader is referred to the story entitled “THE SCARLET LETTER”; and it should be borne carefully in mind that the main facts of that story are authorized and authenticated by the document of Mr. Surveyor Pue. The original papers, together with the scarlet letter itself—a most curious relic—are still in my possession, and shall be freely exhibited to whomsoever, induced by the great interest of the narrative, may desire a sight of them I must not be understood affirming that, in the dressing up of the tale, and imagining the motives and modes of passion that influenced the characters who figure in it, I have invariably confined myself within the limits of the old Surveyor’s half–a–dozen sheets of foolscap. On the contrary, I have allowed myself, as to such points, nearly, or altogether, as much license as if the facts had been entirely of my own invention. What I contend for is the authenticity of the outline.

This incident recalled my mind, in some degree, to its old track. There seemed to be here the groundwork of a tale. It impressed me as if the ancient Surveyor, in his garb of a hundred years gone by, and wearing his immortal wig—which was buried with him, but did not perish in the grave—had bet me in the deserted chamber of the Custom–House. In his port was the dignity of one who had borne His Majesty’s commission, and who was therefore illuminated by a ray of the splendour that shone so dazzlingly about the throne. How unlike alas the hangdog look of a republican official, who, as the servant of the people, feels himself less than the least, and below the lowest of his masters. With his own ghostly hand, the obscurely seen, but majestic, figure had imparted to me the scarlet symbol and the little roll of explanatory manuscript. With his own ghostly voice he had exhorted me, on the sacred consideration of my filial duty and reverence towards him—who might reasonably regard himself as my official ancestor—to bring his mouldy and moth–eaten lucubrations before the public. “Do this,” said the ghost of Mr. Surveyor Pue, emphatically nodding the head that looked so imposing within its memorable wig; “do this, and the profit shall be all your own. You will shortly need it; for it is not in your days as it was in mine, when a man’s office was a life–lease, and oftentimes an heirloom. But I charge you, in this matter of old Mistress Prynne, give to your predecessor’s memory the credit which will be rightfully due” And I said to the ghost of Mr. Surveyor Pue—“I will”.

On Hester Prynne’s story, therefore, I bestowed much thought. It was the subject of my meditations for many an hour, while pacing to and fro across my room, or traversing, with a hundredfold repetition, the long extent from the front door of the Custom–House to the side entrance, and back again. Great were the weariness and annoyance of the old Inspector and the Weighers and Gaugers, whose slumbers were disturbed by the unmercifully lengthened tramp of my passing and returning footsteps. Remembering their own former habits, they used to say that the Surveyor was walking the quarter–deck. They probably fancied that my sole object—and, indeed, the sole object for which a sane man could ever put himself into voluntary motion—was to get an appetite for dinner. And, to say the truth, an appetite, sharpened by the east wind that generally blew along the passage, was the only valuable result of so much indefatigable exercise. So little adapted is the atmosphere of a Custom–house to the delicate harvest of fancy and sensibility, that, had I remained there through ten Presidencies yet to come, I doubt whether the tale of “The Scarlet Letter” would ever have been brought before the public eye. My imagination was a tarnished mirror. It would not reflect, or only with miserable dimness, the figures with which I did my best to people it. The characters of the narrative would not be warmed and rendered malleable by any heat that I could kindle at my intellectual forge. They would take neither the glow of passion nor the tenderness of sentiment, but retained all the rigidity of dead corpses, and stared me in the face with a fixed and ghastly grin of contemptuous defiance. “What have you to do with us?” that expression seemed to say. “The little power you might have once possessed over the tribe of unrealities is gone You have bartered it for a pittance of the public gold. Go then, and earn your wages” In short, the almost torpid creatures of my own fancy twitted me with imbecility, and not without fair occasion.

It was not merely during the three hours and a half which Uncle Sam claimed as his share of my daily life that this wretched numbness held possession of me. It went with me on my sea–shore walks and rambles into the country, whenever—which was seldom and reluctantly—I bestirred myself to seek that invigorating charm of Nature which used to give me such freshness and activity of thought, the moment that I stepped across the threshold of the Old Manse. The same torpor, as regarded the capacity for intellectual effort, accompanied me home, and weighed upon me in the chamber which I most absurdly termed my study. Nor did it quit me when, late at night, I sat in the deserted parlour, lighted only by the glimmering coal–fire and the moon, striving to picture forth imaginary scenes, which, the next day, might flow out on the brightening page in many–hued description.

If the imaginative faculty refused to act at such an hour, it might well be deemed a hopeless case. Moonlight, in a familiar room, falling so white upon the carpet, and showing all its figures so distinctly—making every object so minutely visible, yet so unlike a morning or noontide visibility—is a medium the most suitable for a romance–writer to get acquainted with his illusive guests. There is the little domestic scenery of the well–known apartment; the chairs, with each its separate individuality; the centre–table, sustaining a work–basket, a volume or two, and an extinguished lamp; the sofa; the book–case; the picture on the wall—all these details, so completely seen, are so spiritualised by the unusual light, that they seem to lose their actual substance, and become things of intellect. Nothing is too small or too trifling to undergo this change, and acquire dignity thereby. A child’s shoe; the doll, seated in her little wicker carriage; the hobby–horse—whatever, in a word, has been used or played with during the day is now invested with a quality of strangeness and remoteness, though still almost as vividly present as by daylight. Thus, therefore, the floor of our familiar room has become a neutral territory, somewhere between the real world and fairy–land, where the Actual and the Imaginary may meet, and each imbue itself with the nature of the other. Ghosts might enter here without affrighting us. It would be too much in keeping with the scene to excite surprise, were we to look about us and discover a form, beloved, but gone hence, now sitting quietly in a streak of this magic moonshine, with an aspect that would make us doubt whether it had returned from afar, or had never once stirred from our fireside.

The somewhat dim coal fire has an essential Influence in producing the effect which I would describe. It throws its unobtrusive tinge throughout the room, with a faint ruddiness upon the walls and ceiling, and a reflected gleam upon the polish of the furniture. This warmer light mingles itself with the cold spirituality of the moon–beams, and communicates, as it were, a heart and sensibilities of human tenderness to the forms which fancy summons tip. It converts them from snow–images into men and women. Glancing at the looking–glass, we behold—deep within its haunted verge—the smouldering glow of the half–extinguished anthracite, the white moon–beams on the floor, and a repetition of all the gleam and shadow of the picture, with one remove further from the actual, and nearer to the imaginative. Then, at such an hour, and with this scene before him, if a man, sitting all alone, cannot dream strange things, and make them look like truth, he need never try to write romances.

But, for myself, during the whole of my Custom–House experience, moonlight and sunshine, and the glow of firelight, were just alike in my regard; and neither of them was of one whit more avail than the twinkle of a tallow–candle. An entire class of susceptibilities, and a gift connected with them—of no great richness or value, but the best I had—was gone from me.

It is my belief, however, that had I attempted a different order of composition, my faculties would not have been found so pointless and inefficacious. I might, for instance, have contented myself with writing out the narratives of a veteran shipmaster, one of the Inspectors, whom I should be most ungrateful not to mention, since scarcely a day passed that he did not stir me to laughter and admiration by his marvelous gifts as a story–teller. Could I have preserved the picturesque force of his style, and the humourous colouring which nature taught him how to throw over his descriptions, the result, I honestly believe, would have been something new in literature. Or I might readily have found a more serious task. It was a folly, with the materiality of this daily life pressing so intrusively upon me, to attempt to fling myself back into another age, or to insist on creating the semblance of a world out of airy matter, when, at every moment, the impalpable beauty of my soap–bubble was broken by the rude contact of some actual circumstance. The wiser effort would have been to diffuse thought and imagination through the opaque substance of to–day, and thus to make it a bright transparency; to spiritualise the burden that began to weigh so heavily; to seek, resolutely, the true and indestructible value that lay hidden in the petty and wearisome incidents, and ordinary characters with which I was now conversant. The fault was mine. The page of life that was spread out before me seemed dull and commonplace only because I had not fathomed its deeper import. A better book than I shall ever write was there; leaf after leaf presenting itself to me, just as it was written out by the reality of the flitting hour, and vanishing as fast as written, only because my brain wanted the insight, and my hand the cunning, to transcribe it. At some future day, it may be, I shall remember a few scattered fragments and broken paragraphs, and write them down, and find the letters turn to gold upon the page.

These perceptions had come too late. At the Instant, I was only conscious that what would have been a pleasure once was now a hopeless toil. There was no occasion to make much moan about this state of affairs. I had ceased to be a writer of tolerably poor tales and essays, and had become a tolerably good Surveyor of the Customs. That was all. But, nevertheless, it is anything but agreeable to be haunted by a suspicion that one’s intellect is dwindling away, or exhaling, without your consciousness, like ether out of a phial; so that, at every glance, you find a smaller and less volatile residuum. Of the fact there could be no doubt and, examining myself and others, I was led to conclusions, in reference to the effect of public office on the character, not very favourable to the mode of life in question. In some other form, perhaps, I may hereafter develop these effects. Suffice it here to say that a Custom–House officer of long continuance can hardly be a very praiseworthy or respectable personage, for many reasons; one of them, the tenure by which he holds his situation, and another, the very nature of his business, which—though, I trust, an honest one—is of such a sort that he does not share in the united effort of mankind.

An effect—which I believe to be observable, more or less, in every individual who has occupied the position—is, that while he leans on the mighty arm of the Republic, his own proper strength, departs from him. He loses, in an extent proportioned to the weakness or force of his original nature, the capability of self–support. If he possesses an unusual share of native energy, or the enervating magic of place do not operate too long upon him, his forfeited powers may be redeemable. The ejected officer—fortunate in the unkindly shove that sends him forth betimes, to struggle amid a struggling world—may return to himself, and become all that he has ever been. But this seldom happens. He usually keeps his ground just long enough for his own ruin, and is then thrust out, with sinews all unstrung, to totter along the difficult footpath of life as he best may. Conscious of his own infirmity—that his tempered steel and elasticity are lost—he for ever afterwards looks wistfully about him in quest of support external to himself. His pervading and continual hope—a hallucination, which, in the face of all discouragement, and making light of impossibilities, haunts him while he lives, and, I fancy, like the convulsive throes of the cholera, torments him for a brief space after death—is, that finally, and in no long time, by some happy coincidence of circumstances, he shall be restored to office. This faith, more than anything else, steals the pith and availability out of whatever enterprise he may dream of undertaking. Why should he toil and moil, and be at so much trouble to pick himself up out of the mud, when, in a little while hence, the strong arm of his Uncle will raise and support him? Why should he work for his living here, or go to dig gold in California, when he is so soon to be made happy, at monthly intervals, with a little pile of glittering coin out of his Uncle’s pocket? It is sadly curious to observe how slight a taste of office suffices to infect a poor fellow with this singular disease. Uncle Sam’s gold—meaning no disrespect to the worthy old gentleman—has, in this respect, a quality of enchantment like that of the devil’s wages. Whoever touches it should look well to himself, or he may find the bargain to go hard against him, involving, if not his soul, yet many of its better attributes; its sturdy force, its courage and constancy, its truth, its self–reliance, and all that gives the emphasis to manly character.

Here was a fine prospect in the distance. Not that the Surveyor brought the lesson home to himself, or admitted that he could be so utterly undone, either by continuance in office or ejectment. Yet my reflections were not the most comfortable. I began to grow melancholy and restless; continually prying into my mind, to discover which of its poor properties were gone, and what degree of detriment had already accrued to the remainder. I endeavoured to calculate how much longer I could stay in the Custom–House, and yet go forth a man. To confess the truth, it was my greatest apprehension—as it would never be a measure of policy to turn out so quiet an individual as myself; and it being hardly in the nature of a public officer to resign—it was my chief trouble, therefore, that I was likely to grow grey and decrepit in the Surveyorship, and become much such another animal as the old Inspector. Might it not, in the tedious lapse of official life that lay before me, finally be with me as it was with this venerable friend—to make the dinner–hour the nucleus of the day, and to spend the rest of it, as an old dog spends it, asleep in the sunshine or in the shade? A dreary look–forward, this, for a man who felt it to be the best definition of happiness to live throughout the whole range of his faculties and sensibilities But, all this while, I was giving myself very unnecessary alarm. Providence had meditated better things for me than I could possibly imagine for myself.

A remarkable event of the third year of my Surveyorship—to adopt the tone of “P. P.”—was the election of General Taylor to the Presidency. It is essential, in order to a complete estimate of the advantages of official life, to view the incumbent at the in–coming of a hostile administration. His position is then one of the most singularly irksome, and, in every contingency, disagreeable, that a wretched mortal can possibly occupy; with seldom an alternative of good on either hand, although what presents itself to him as the worst event may very probably be the best. But it is a strange experience, to a man of pride and sensibility, to know that his interests are within the control of individuals who neither love nor understand him, and by whom, since one or the other must needs happen, he would rather be injured than obliged. Strange, too, for one who has kept his calmness throughout the contest, to observe the bloodthirstiness that is developed in the hour of triumph, and to be conscious that he is himself among its objects! There are few uglier traits of human nature than this tendency—which I now witnessed in men no worse than their neighbours—to grow cruel, merely because they possessed the power of inflicting harm. If the guillotine, as applied to office–holders, were a literal fact, instead of one of the most apt of metaphors, it is my sincere belief that the active members of the victorious party were sufficiently excited to have chopped off all our heads, and have thanked Heaven for the opportunity! It appears to me—who have been a calm and curious observer, as well in victory as defeat—that this fierce and bitter spirit of malice and revenge has never distinguished the many triumphs of my own party as it now did that of the Whigs. The Democrats take the offices, as a general rule, because they need them, and because the practice of many years has made it the law of political warfare, which unless a different system be proclaimed, it was weakness and cowardice to murmur at. But the long habit of victory has made them generous. They know how to spare when they see occasion; and when they strike, the axe may be sharp indeed, but its edge is seldom poisoned with ill–will; nor is it their custom ignominiously to kick the head which they have just struck off.

In short, unpleasant as was my predicament, at best, I saw much reason to congratulate myself that I was on the losing side rather than the triumphant one. If, heretofore, l had been none of the warmest of partisans I began now, at this season of peril and adversity, to be pretty acutely sensible with which party my predilections lay; nor was it without something like regret and shame that, according to a reasonable calculation of chances, I saw my own prospect of retaining office to be better than those of my democratic brethren. But who can see an inch into futurity beyond his nose? My own head was the first that fell

The moment when a man’s head drops off is seldom or never, I am inclined to think, precisely the most agreeable of his life. Nevertheless, like the greater part of our misfortunes, even so serious a contingency brings its remedy and consolation with it, if the sufferer will but make the best rather than the worst, of the accident which has befallen him. In my particular case the consolatory topics were close at hand, and, indeed, had suggested themselves to my meditations a considerable time before it was requisite to use them. In view of my previous weariness of office, and vague thoughts of resignation, my fortune somewhat resembled that of a person who should entertain an idea of committing suicide, and although beyond his hopes, meet with the good hap to be murdered. In the Custom–House, as before in the Old Manse, I had spent three years—a term long enough to rest a weary brain: long enough to break off old intellectual habits, and make room for new ones: long enough, and too long, to have lived in an unnatural state, doing what was really of no advantage nor delight to any human being, and withholding myself from toil that would, at least, have stilled an unquiet impulse in me. Then, moreover, as regarded his unceremonious ejectment, the late Surveyor was not altogether ill–pleased to be recognised by the Whigs as an enemy; since his inactivity in political affairs—his tendency to roam, at will, in that broad and quiet field where all mankind may meet, rather than confine himself to those narrow paths where brethren of the same household must diverge from one another—had sometimes made it questionable with his brother Democrats whether he was a friend. Now, after he had won the crown of martyrdom (though with no longer a head to wear it on), the point might be looked upon as settled. Finally, little heroic as he was, it seemed more decorous to be overthrown in the downfall of the party with which he had been content to stand than to remain a forlorn survivor, when so many worthier men were falling: and at last, after subsisting for four years on the mercy of a hostile administration, to be compelled then to define his position anew, and claim the yet more humiliating mercy of a friendly one.

Meanwhile, the press had taken up my affair, and kept me for a week or two careering through the public prints, in my decapitated state, like Irving’s Headless Horseman, ghastly and grim, and longing to be buried, as a political dead man ought. So much for my figurative self. The real human being all this time, with his head safely on his shoulders, had brought himself to the comfortable conclusion that everything was for the best; and making an investment in ink, paper, and steel pens, had opened his long–disused writing desk, and was again a literary man. Now it was that the lucubrations of my ancient predecessor, Mr. Surveyor Pue, came into play. Rusty through long idleness, some little space was requisite before my intellectual machinery could be brought to work upon the tale with an effect in any degree satisfactory. Even yet, though my thoughts were ultimately much absorbed in the task, it wears, to my eye, a stern and sombre aspect: too much ungladdened by genial sunshine; too little relieved by the tender and familiar influences which soften almost every scene of nature and real life, and undoubtedly should soften every picture of them. This uncaptivating effect is perhaps due to the period of hardly accomplished revolution, and still seething turmoil, in which the story shaped itself. It is no indication, however, of a lack of cheerfulness in the writer’s mind: for he was happier while straying through the gloom of these sunless fantasies than at any time since he had quitted the Old Manse. Some of the briefer articles, which contribute to make up the volume, have likewise been written since my involuntary withdrawal from the toils and honours of public life, and the remainder are gleaned from annuals and magazines, of such antique date, that they have gone round the circle, and come back to novelty again. Keeping up the metaphor of the political guillotine, the whole may be considered as the POSTHUMOUS PAPERS OF A DECAPITATED SURVEYOR: and the sketch which I am now bringing to a close, if too autobiographical for a modest person to publish in his lifetime, will readily be excused in a gentleman who writes from beyond the grave. Peace be with all the world My blessing on my friends My forgiveness to my enemies For I am in the realm of quiet

The life of the Custom—House lies like a dream behind me. The old Inspector—who, by–the–bye, l regret to say, was overthrown and killed by a horse some time ago, else he would certainly have lived for ever—he, and all those other venerable personages who sat with him at the receipt of custom, are but shadows in my view: white–headed and wrinkled images, which my fancy used to sport with, and has now flung aside for ever. The merchants—Pingree, Phillips, Shepard, Upton, Kimball, Bertram, Hunt—these and many other names, which had such classic familiarity for my ear six months ago,—these men of traffic, who seemed to occupy so important a position in the world—how little time has it required to disconnect me from them all, not merely in act, but recollection It is with an effort that

I recall the figures and appellations of these few. Soon, likewise, my old native town will loom upon me through the haze of memory, a mist brooding over and around it; as if it were no portion of the real earth, but an overgrown village in cloud–land, with only imaginary inhabitants to people its wooden houses and walk its homely lanes, and the unpicturesque prolixity of its main street. Henceforth it ceases to be a reality of my life; I am a citizen of somewhere else. My good townspeople will not much regret me, for—though it has been as dear an object as any, in my literary efforts, to be of some importance in their eyes, and to win myself a pleasant memory in this abode and burial–place of so many of my forefathers—there has never been, for me, the genial atmosphere which a literary man requires in order to ripen the best harvest of his mind. I shall do better amongst other faces; and these familiar ones, it need hardly be said, will do just as well without me.

It may be, however—oh, transporting and triumphant thought I—that the great–grandchildren of the present race may sometimes think kindly of the scribbler of bygone days, when the antiquary of days to come, among the sites memorable in the town’s history, shall point out the locality of THE TOWN PUMP.

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Introduction & Overview of The Scarlet Letter

The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Scarlet Letter Summary & Study Guide Description

Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter is famous for presenting some of the greatest interpretive difficulties in all of American literature. While not recognized by Hawthorne himself as his most important work, the novel is regarded not only as his greatest accomplishment, but frequently as the greatest novel in American literary history. After it was published in 1850, critics hailed it as initiating a distinctive American literary tradition. Ironically, it is a novel in which, in terms of action, almost nothing happens. Hawthorne's emotional, psychological drama revolves around Hester Prynne, who is convicted of adultery in colonial Boston by the civil and Puritan authorities. She is condemned to wear the scarlet letter "A" on her chest as a permanent sign of her sin. The narrative describes the effort to resolve the torment suffered by Hester and her co-adulterer, the minister Arthur Dimmesdale, in the years after their affair. In fact, the story excludes even the representation of the passionate moment which enables the entire novel. It begins at the close of Hester's imprisonment many months after her affair and proceeds through many years to her final acceptance of her place in the community as the wearer of the scarlet letter. Hawthorne was masterful in the use of symbolism, and the scarlet letter "A" stands as his most potent symbol, around which interpretations of the novel revolve. At one interpretive pole the "A" stands for adultery and sin, and the novel is the story of individual punishment and reconciliation. At another pole it stands for America and allegory, and the story suggests national sin and its human cost. Yet possibly the most convincing reading, taking account of all others, sees the "A" as a symbol of ambiguity, the very fact of multiple interpretations and the difficulty of achieving consensus.

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The Scarlet Letter Summary and Analysis

Home » Literature Explained – Literary Synopses and Book Summaries » The Scarlet Letter » The Scarlet Letter Summary and Analysis

Scarlet Letter Summary and Synopsis

Short Summary: The Scarlet Letter is a novel providing a view of Puritan society in the 17th century.

The story takes place in Boston, following young Hester Prynne and her life as an outcast having been caught committing adultery when she gives birth to a daughter. Her husband had sent her to Boston from Europe, planning to follow her. When he never arrived, many people assumed he’d been lost at sea.

Still, Hester is punished for her adultery and is forced to wear a scarlet letter “A” on her chest for the rest of her life. When her husband returns under a false identity, Hester and her young daughter must navigate the fallout of sin, betrayal, and revenge.

the scarlet letter summary

Literary Elements of The Scarlet Letter

the scarlet letter synopsis

Type of Work: Novel

Genres: Historical; romance  

Published Date: 1850  

Setting: Boston, MA during the 17th century

Main Characters: Hester Prynne  

Protagonist: Hester Prynne

Antagonist: Roger Chillingworth

Major Thematic Elements: The human experience of sin; society and personal identity; the presentation of evil  

Motifs: Civilization and wilderness; night and day; names

Exposition: A preamble relayed by a nameless narrator recounts the discovery of a manuscript found in a customhouse in Salem, Massachusetts of which he was the surveyor. The manuscript was written by a past surveyor telling events that happened two hundred years prior to the narrator’s time. The Scarlet Letter , as a result, is a fictional retelling of the manuscript.

Conflict: When Hester Prynne’s husband mysteriously fails to meet her in Boston after their emigration from Europe, she has an affair and gives birth to a child. Enraged, the community forces her to wear the letter “A” on her clothes, standing for “adulterer.”  

Plot: Past-tense chronological told by an unnamed narrator.  

Major Symbols: The letter; the town scaffold; the meteor; Pearl; the rosebush  

Climax: A meteor traces an “A” in the sky and Dimmesdale confronts his role in the sin Hester is being punished for.  

Literary Significance of the Scarlet Letter

the scarlet letter summary

In this novel, Hawthorne has used Puritan culture as a symbol for humankind in general when under extreme pressure. The way people react to change, fear, distress, etc. can all be examined in this tale. The problems that these individuals face are problems that humankind in general repeatedly faces—betrayal, revenge, jealousy, fear, sadness, etc. are all emotions that are born of great pressure. The novel begs the question—is how we react to these issues ever really different, even after all these years of human development? At our core, have we really changed? This timeless exploration of the human condition earned The Scarlet Letter an unmoving place in the English literary canon, and the novel continues to be studied to this day.  

The Scarlet Letter Book Summary, Plot Outline

the scarlet letter in depth summary

The novel’s action opens in 17th century Boston as a young woman emerges from a prison building holding an infant and wearing a scarlet “A” on her chest. She is being punished for adultery by having to stand on scaffolding to be mocked by the townspeople for three hours and continuing to wear the “A” on her clothes from then on. Hester arrived in Boston ahead of her husband, who was supposed to follow her there but never arrived. People assumed he was lost at sea on the journey. In chapter three, Hester is standing before the town on the scaffold and is confronted by the town fathers, who demand that she reveal the name of her child’s father. She refuses.

An elderly onlooker in the crowd is later called to visit Hester in prison in chapter four. He is a doctor named Roger Chillingworth. However, Hester has already recognized him in her time on the scaffold as her husband in disguise. He tells Hester that he plans to get revenge on her and the partner to her affair. He swears her to secrecy not to reveal his true identity and she wonders aloud whether he might be a devil sent to torment her.

Several years pass after Hester is released from a few months’ prison sentence. Although Hester can leave Boston, she stays and lives on as an example of a disgraced woman. Hester is able to support herself by working as a seamstress, and her daughter, Pearl, grows into a willful, inquisitive, and rebellious young girl. The two live on the outskirts of town, shunned by the community. In chapter eight, the question of whether or not Hester and Pearl should stay together is brought up by town officials. They believe that either Pearl is a demon-child and should be taken away for Hester’s sake or that Pearl is a normal girl and should be removed from Hester for Pearl’s healthy development. The young minister, Arthur Dimmesdale, interrupts and says that Pearl was sent by God and should stay with her mother.

In chapter nine, Chillingworth is described as having become the town doctor. When Arthur Dimmesdale begins showing signs of severe health problems, Chillingworth petitions the town officials to assign him to live with Dimmesdale so that he can work to cure him. Chillingworth suspects that there is a connection between Hester and Pearl and Dimmesdale’s failing health—that there is a secret there worth uncovering. After spending some time with Dimmesdale, Chillingworth becomes convinced that he is who Hester had her affair with.

As time goes on, Dimmesdale’s health continues to worsen and his psychological condition declines. Chillingworth adds to this by playing mind games with his patience, thereby enacting his revenge. Dimmesdale starts to whip himself and deprive himself of sleep to meditate on his sin. In chapter twelve, Dimmesdale stands on the scaffold at night. Hester and Pearl walk by and join him on the scaffold, forming an “electric chain” which causes Dimmesdale to feel soothed. Pearl asks Dimmesdale to join them again on the scaffold the following day at noon, but Dimmesdale refuses. A bright meteor flashes through the sky, and the trio notice Chillingworth watching them.

As time goes on, Hester commits herself to volunteering and being a source of aid to people in need. Although she’s still an object of scorn and torment, she begins to win back the favor of her community. She even asks Chillingworth to stop tormenting Dimmesdale. Aware of how wretched he has become, Chillingworth places all blame on Hester for what has happened. In chapter fifteen, Hester talks to Pearl about the meaning of the scarlet “A” that she wears and Pearl is able to put two-and-two together about their situation and Dimmesdale’s bad health.

In the next chapter, Hester arranges to meet Dimmesdale in the forest to tell him about Chillingworth’s real identity. When they meet, they decide to flee to Europe where they can live as a family with young Pearl. They agree to depart in four days. Hester removes the scarlet letter from her chest and lets her hair down, feeling a sense of relief. Chillingworth, however, has discovered their plan and books travel on the same ship.

In chapter twenty-three, after delivering an election sermon, Dimmesdale calls for Hester and Pearl to join him on the scaffold. When they do, he confesses publicly to his sins and to being Pearl’s father. He removes his garments and reveals a letter “A” emblazoned into his chest. He falls down atop the scaffold and Pearl kisses him. After this, he dies.

Having been foiled on his revenge, Chillingworth dies a year later. Hester and Pearl leave Boston without keeping anyone there updated on their lives. Several years later, Hester returns to Boston alone, taking up home in the cottage where she and Pearl used to live and continues to do charity work. She receives letters from Pearl from time to time, updating her mother on her new life having married a European aristocrat and started a family of her own. When Hester dies, she is buried next to Dimmesdale, sharing his tomb, which shows a scarlet “A” on it.

The Scarlet Letter

Introduction the scarlet letter.

This historical novel of American Romanticism was written by Nathaniel Hawthorne and published in 1850. It created a lot of controversy in literary circles. It showed the settings of the Puritan region of Massachusetts Colony of the 1650s, narrating a storyline of a woman, Hester Prynne, who suffers after having an affair with a church minister. However, she alone has to suffer for that affair with her daughter for having none of her crime. Her struggle to go through this repentance won her readers’ hearts. Despite comprising strong strictures against the hypocrisy of the religious bureaucracy, this novel is still considered Hawthorne’s tour de force.

Summary The Scarlet Letter

The story begins with a crowd preparing to punish a woman, Hester Prynne, for giving birth to a baby girl without revealing the husband’s identity. The crowd punishes her by making her wear a scarlet letter “A” on her dress to show the public that she is ashamed of her action. She is also forced to stand three hours on the scaffold to demonstrate that she feels ashamed at her sin. Women, mostly jealous of her beauty and dignified manner, taunt her and ask her the name of her husband, receiving only her refusal in response.

During the shaming ceremony, the woman happens to see her lost husband as a misshapen unknown person peering at her from the crowd. He gestures to her to remain quiet to protect his own identity. Choosing the name of Roger Chillingworth, he soon discovers the truth about her from his inquiry from different people. Then, he angrily raises the voice for the punishment of the father of the child, too, but without becoming prominent in the crowd.

Meanwhile, the local church ministers, Arthur Dimmesdale and John Wilson ask her about the likely father of the child, but they also face her staunch refusal. When she reaches the prison cell, she meets her husband, Roger Chillingworth, in the guise of a physician. As a physician he suggests her some herbs and plants, though, both of them talk about their marriage and their mistakes. However, Hester faces his probe about the identity of the father of the girl to which she again refuses to share with him. He does not force her, however, but claims to know it one day and asks her not to reveal his identity.  Hester willingly agrees to his proposal.

After she wins her release, she tries to settle in the town, but ultimately leaves for the outskirts facing staunch public resentment. She takes shelter in a hut on the outskirts of town and earns her bread through her needlework skills. Living a quiet and simple life, she starts playing with her daughter to whom she names, Pearl. However, strangely, Pearl takes her “A” locket to her heart, always playing with it. Finding no other playmates, Pearl soon develops into an impulsive girl about whom the order of the church authorities soon arrives about separating her from her imperfect mother.

Adamant as she is in her refusal about uncovering the identity of her husband, she is adamant in handing over her girl. Therefore, she meets Bellingham, the Governor of the city, who is present with the church authorities, Dimmesdale as well as Wilson. Hester, immediately, sensing the upper-hand of the religious authority, pleas to Dimmesdale who asks Governor to stop this mother-daughter cruel segregation to which he agrees.

It soon transpires in the town that Dimmesdale is witnessing a sharp decline in his health at which Chillingworth arrives at his lodging to treat him. He, however, senses that this decline is due to some psychological guilt and not due to some physical ailment. Soon he sees a symbol of shame on his chest. The more the minister hides his guilt, the more tormenting it becomes for him. At last, he visits the site where Hester got punishment and confesses his guilt in isolation, for having no courage to do it publicly. On the other hand, his deteriorating health also shocks Hester, who decides to break her silence .

Later, Hester meets the minister and narrates her ordeal, telling him about her revengeful husband, Chillingworth. She begs him to leave Boston to start life afresh somewhere else. Gaining strength from this new freedom from his shameful past, the church minister delivers a fiery sermon but suddenly loses his control. He climbs on the same scaffold to confess his guilt and tells everyone about his affair with Hester. Afterward, he dies in the arms of Hester. The controversy of seeing the same letter “A” carved on his chest also faces the same fierce refusal from a few in the crowd. Shortly after this incident, Chillingworth, too, dies, leaving a good amount of inheritance for Pearl. Hester, after left alone, starts living in the same cottage. After her death, her body is buried in the grave near Dimmesdale’s.

Major Themes in The Scarlet Letter

  • Sin: Sense of sin, its impacts, and its manipulation and exploitation for ulterior motives is the major theme of The Scarlet Letter. Hester Prynne has committed this sense of having an illicit relationship with a church minister. The church minister, Arthur Dimmesdale, has committed the same offense and equally guilty as Hester. However, he sits on the jury as Hester doesn’t reveal his identity while she is standing in the criminal enclosure. When the court accuses her of adultery, as the punishment for her sin, she is excluded from the social circle and forced to wear scarlet color “A” sown on her dress. Dimmesdale does not show any remorse. However, what impacts the readers most is the way Hester dignifiedly hides this fact and only discloses when it becomes imperative. Chillingworth does not show any mercy on her.
  • Conformity to Religion: Religion must need confirmation, or else the person may face subjection of censure. One of the novel’s major themes, The Scarlet Letter, confirms the religiosity of those times of puritanism, for Hester, has not confirmed its convention of the religion to stay chaste. Dimmesdale, too, shows the same trait, but he keeps it hiding, while Hester could not hide due to the birth of Pearl, her daughter from Dimmesdale. That is why she has to undergo sufferings for defying a religious convention.
  • Criticism of Puritanism: The Scarlet Letter is also a critique of puritanism as well as stricture on it. It is a critique that shows how puritanism, a theological concept, has crept into public life, overtaking every social, moral , and financial aspects of life. As a stricture, it shows that it has not done good to the public life, for Hester has to undergo suffering for defying its principles, while Dimmesdale enjoys privileges because of aligning with the religious clergy.
  • Public and Individual Guilt: The novel also demonstrates that when an individual, such as Hester, is caught for some guilt, he must undergo suffering that they do not deserve. However, when the whole public is involved, there is a deafening silence from the clergy as well as the jury. Dimmesdale represents the public morality and the public as the church minister but has no guts and courage like Hester to stand up for a trial. However, he feels it in his heart as an individual and has displayed the symbol on his chest.
  • Moral Codes: Moral codes, ethical frameworks, and their social confirmation is another smaller thematic strand in that Hester defies a social value of the ethical framework of the Puritan social fabric. As it happens openly and people see a piece of evidence , she gets punished for violating this code. However, the case of Dimmesdale stays hidden, the reason that he does not face any punishment; rather, he faces only mental stigma.
  • Gender Suppression: Gender suppression and feministic resilience is another partial theme that The Scarlet Letter demonstrated through Hester’s character . However, it does not seem that Hawthorne has consciously inserted it. Instead, it seems that it is part of the story that whereas Hester is involved, she faces punishment while it comes to a man, Chillingworth as well as Dimmesdale, they hoodwink not only the legality but also the religiosity.
  • Mockery of Law: The novel shows that when a law does not protect the weaker section of the society, such as Hester Prynne, it ceases to exist as a law. Mr. Dimmesdale shows that some segments can wield law for their own purposes. Therefore, it needs to be changed, as the novel has mocked such a law.
  • Domination of Patriarchy: The novel also shows that patriarchy always conspires to win when men and women are put against each other. Hester Prynne has no way to win against Dimmesdale, for he is as much responsible for bringing Pearl into this world as Hester is, yet he gets away while she faces imprisonment as well as a stricture.
  • Redemption: Despite being relegated to the background, the redemption theme comes in the open when Hester has to endure long-sufferings for her sin. However, Dimmesdale wins it through his sermons and isolated confession.

Major Characters in The Scarlet Letter

  • Hester Prynne: Hester Prynne is not only the primary female character but also the protagonist of the novel on account of her dignified manner, resilience, and patience to suffer the stigma of adultery. When the jury awards her punishment, she does not remonstrate. She chooses to wear the scarlet letter ‘A’ and leaves the town to live the rest of her life in isolation with her daughter Pearl. On the other hand, Dimmesdale, the minister of the city, who had seduced her, stays hidden until the end. Meanwhile, Hester’s husband, Roger Chillingworth, sees her and asks her the name of the child’s real father, Pearl, but she refuses. When the Governor, Bellingham, too, turns against her by ordering the retrieval of Pearl from her custody, she subtly makes Dimmesdale confess his guilt, though it does not happen publicly.
  • Arthur Dimmesdale: A respected and reverend church minister, Arthur Dimmesdale, hoodwinks Hester into his love, committing adultery followed by the birth of Pearl, his daughter. However, when she faces public shame, he distances himself from her, sitting on the theological bureaucracy’s higher stand. Inwardly though, he is aware of his culpability, which gnaws at him and forces him to accept his guilt by the end, showing the sign on his chest after which he dies on the scaffold.
  • Pearl : Pearl is Hester Prynne’s illegitimate daughter and symbol of her parents’ love and passion. She is inquisitive by nature. As she is naughty as a child and fails to recite the Bible, the church plans to put her in foster care. However, the church gives her another chance to Pearl and allows her to stay with her mother with Dimmesdale’s and Governor Bellingham’s approval. Pearl is also a reminder and symbol of the minister’s adulterous affair. Dimmesdale finally dies, confessing his crime. Also, Pearl gets considerable property from her stepfather, Chillingworth.
  • Roger Chillingworth: A Dutch, Roger Chillingworth is the assumed name of the former husband of Hester Prynne, who is amazed at finding his beloved wife in an adulterous affair and having a child, Pearl. However, he does not disclose his identity and let the clergy decides her fate, though he comes to meet her as a physician to counsel her. He also plans to avenge this from Dimmesdale about whom he comes to know somehow.
  • Governor Bellingham: He is an authoritative and manipulative person who exploits the helplessness of Hester Prynne and orders to take Pearl away from her. His role seems critical in forcing Hester to seek help from Dimmesdale. However, his role appears to include the other side of the story as he accepts Dimmesdale’s reasoning of letting her stay with her mother.
  • General Miller: General Miller is the first official of the Custom House. His collecting duty has made him a politically strong person. He protects the employees and workers from being fired. That is why his role seems like a minor character in the novel.
  • Mistress Hibbins: Hibbins’ character sheds light on the witch-hunting of those times. Despite being Governor Bellingham’s sister, she is killed when it transpires that she meets the “Black Man” in the woods for witchery.
  • Inspector : He is the inspector at the Custom House and has been a product of nepotism, for his father created that seat to keep his son in the job. Due to his father’s influence, he seems to have harbored the emotion of being a permanent employee.
  • John Wilson : He is another minister of the church who is involved with Dimmesdale to award punishment to Hester Prynne.

Writing Style of The Scarlet Letter‎

Despite its being written around three centuries back, The Scarlet Letter still shows the beauty of the language used by Nathaniel Hawthorne in his masterpiece. Its diction is subtle and ornate, its sentences are long, complex, and intricate, while its terseness and concision resonate in the minds of its readers. However, this style ’s major feature is Romanticism, shown through a battle between the forces of good and evil.

Analysis of Literary Devices in The Scarlet Letter

  • Action: The novel’s main action comprises the sufferings and woes of Hester Prynne when she is tried for adultery, thrown in prison, and subsequently ordered to keep away from the town. The rising action occurs when Dimmesdale and Wilson both award punishment, while the falling action occurs when Dimmesdale confesses his sin and punishes himself, showing his sense of shame carved on his chest.
  • Allegory : The Scarlet Letter shows the use of allegory not only through its places, symbols, and incidents but also through the characters, which resemble abstract ideas such as sin, sense of sin, hypocrisy, authority, shame, and condemnation.
  • Antagonist : Although it seems that Dimmesdale is the main antagonist of The Scarlet Letter in the opening chapters, it is Roger Chillingworth, who is the antagonist of the novel on account of his machinations, and stooped physical deformity that is equal to the distortion of his soul.
  • Allusion : There are various examples of allusions given in the novel The Scarlet Letter. The first allusion is of Hester as she seems Eve thrown out of Paradise. Therefore, it seems a Biblical allusion. The second illusion is to Babylon, an ancient city, and third to Sir Thomas Overbury, the poet Overbury. Some other Biblical allusions include Cain, the Holy Spirit, the Pearl , and Adam and Even.
  • Conflict : The are two types of conflicts in the novel The Scarlet Letter. The first one is the external conflict that starts between Hester Prynne and the authorities, including the religious church ministers, that ends in the defeat of Hester. The second conflict is the mental conflict going on in the mind of Dimmesdale because of his part in punishing Hester and her innocence.
  • Characters: The Scarlet Letter presents both static as well as dynamic characters . The church minister, Arthur Dimmesdale, Hester Prynne, and Pearl are dynamic characters as they change with the storyline. However, static characters include Mistress Hibbins and Governor Richard Bellingham, as they do not change during the course of the novel.
  • Climax : The climax in the novel arrives when Dimmesdale and Wilson are on the jury to punish Hester.
  • Foreshadowing : The novel, The Scarlet Letter, shows various examples of foreshadowing . For example, i. A throng of bearded men, in sad-colored garments and gray steeple-crowned hats, intermixed with women, some wearing hoods, and others bareheaded, was assembled in front of a wooden edifice, the door of which was heavily timbered with oak, and studded with iron spikes. (Chapter-1) ii. It was a circumstance to be noted, on the summer morning when our story begins its course, that the women, of whom there were several in the crowd, appeared to take a peculiar interest in whatever penal infliction might be expected to ensue. (Chapter-2) iii. “It is done!” muttered the minister, covering his face with his hands. “The whole town will awake, and hurry forth, and find me here!” (Chapter-XII)
  • Hyperbole : Hyperbole or exaggeration occurs in the novel at several places. For example, i. Her spirit sank with the idea that all must have been a delusion, and that, vividly as she had dreamed it, there could be no real bond betwixt the clergyman and herself. ii. The minister started to his feet, gasping for breath, and clutching at his heart as if he would have torn it out of his bosom. (Chapter-XII) Both of these statements shows facts overblown and exaggerated even if they are in emotions and not in reality.
  • Imagery : Imagery means to use of five senses such as in these examples: i. When they found voice to speak, it was at first, only to utter remarks and inquiries such as any two acquaintances might have made, about the gloomy sky, the threatening storm, and, next, the health of each. (Chapter-XVII) ii. There played around her mouth, and beamed out of her eyes, a radiant and tender smile, that seemed gushing from the very heart of womanhood. A crimson flush was glowing on her cheek, that had been long so pale. (Chapter-XVIII) The first example shows the images of sound color as well as sight, while the second, too, demonstrates the presence of these images.
  • Metaphor : The novel shows good use of various metaphors . For example, i. Hester’s first motion had been to cover her bosom with her clasped hands. (Chapter-VI) ii. she seemed the unpremeditated offshoot of a passionate moment. (Chapter-VII) iii. No golden light had ever been so precious as the gloom of this dark forest. (XVII) iv. The instillment thereof into her mind would probably have caused this aged sister to drop down dead, at once, as by the effect of an intensely poisonous infusion. (Chapter-XX)
  • Mood : The novel, The Scarlet Letter, shows a satirical mood , though, at times, it becomes quite somber, serious, ironic as well as jubilant by the end.
  • Motif : The most important motifs of the novel, The Scarlet Letter, is of light and darkness for Pearl and Hester.
  • Narrator : The novel is narrated by a third-person narrator , though the writer himself enters the novel to narrate its introduction . Even the third-person narrator is also the writer.
  • Personification : Personification means to attribute human acts and emotions to non-living objects . For example, i. While the shadow of his figure, which the sunlight cast upon the floor, was tremulous with the vehemence of his appeal. (Chapter-VIII) ii. The crisis flung back to them their consciousness, and revealed to each heart its history and experience, as life never does, except at such breathless epochs. (Chapter-XVII) iii. They needed something slight and casual to run before, and throw open the doors of intercourse, so that their real thoughts might be led across the threshold. (Chapter-XVII) Both of these examples show sunlight and crisis personified here.
  • Protagonist : Hester Prynne is the protagonist of the novel. She comes into the novel from the very start and captures the readers’ interest through her extraordinary qualities until the end when Dimmesdale accepts his fault and dies.
  • Paradox : The Scarlet Letter shows the use of paradox as “Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her teachers—stern and wild ones—and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss.” (Chapter-XVIII). The narrator means that these have made her strong instead of a weak creature.
  • Rhetorical Questions : The novel shows good use of rhetorical questions in several places. For example, i. But Arthur Dimmesdale! Were such a man once more to fall, what plea could be urged in extenuation of his crime? None; unless it avail him somewhat, that he was broken down by long and exquisite suffering (Chapter-XVIII) ii. “Do I feel joy again?” cried he, wondering at himself. “Methought the germ of it was dead in me! (Chapter-XVIII) iii. But where was his mind? (Chapter-XXII) This example shows the use of rhetorical questions posed by different characters such as Dimmesdale, himself, and then the narrator.
  • Theme : A theme is a central idea that the novelist or the writer wants to stress upon. The novel, The Scarlet Letter shows the titular thematic strands of color and gender marginality, patriarchy, hypocrisy, and love.
  • Setting : The setting of the novel, The Scarlet Letter, is the city of Boston in the 1600s.
  • Simile : The novel shows good use of various similes. For example, i. But yet returned, like the bad half-penny. (Introduction) ii. a quality of enchantment like that of the Devil’s wages… (Introduction) iii. He now dug into the poor clergyman’s heart, like a miner searching for gold; (Chapter-X) iv. Sometimes, a light glimmered out of the physician’s eyes, burning blue and ominous, like the reflection of a furnace, or, let us say, like one of those gleams of ghastly fire that darted from Bunyan’s1 awful door-way in the hill-side, and quivered on the pilgrim’s face. (Chapter-X)

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  • Nathaniel Hawthorne 

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Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter: Resilience and Redemption Essay

Introduction, plot summary: love, hate, and guilt, the main characters: a triangle of struggle, the themes of resolve and confession, the society reflection.

Nathaniel Hawthorne was a 19th-century American writer who remains renowned for his input in the classical literature. Some researchers even phrase him as “one of the most significant and influential writers” of his age (Lei, 2015, p. 2164). Among the legacy of Hawthorne, it is worth mentioning The scarlet letter , a work which became vital for the writer’s fame. The plot of the novel immerses the readers into the 17th century to demonstrate the environment of the Puritan era in America. The events revolve around the punishment of a young woman, Hester Prynne, who is accused of adultery. Through the main characters, Hester, her husband “Chillingworth” and her lover Dimmesdale, the author used symbolism to unveil his message about adamant will and redemption. Moreover, thanks to the historical fiction genre, Hawthorne managed to elaborate on notable aspects of social history.

Throughout the plot, the reader finds out about a fictive public scandal in 17th-century Boston. The public attention is caught by the young woman, Hester Prynne, who gave birth to an illegitimate child and is accused of adultery. As a result, Hester must regularly stand on the village’s scaffold and wear the scarlet “A” letter on her clothes. Moreover, she resides in prison, shunned by all the villagers. Despite the humiliation, Hester refuses to name her lover, the father of the child.

During one of the trials, it turns out that Hester’s husband, presumably missed, has returned to the village. Enraged by the wife’s betrayal, the husband vows to avenge his pride by destroying Hester’s love for good. The husband takes up a different persona of a doctor, Roger Chillingworth. With this play, he aims to gain the village’s trust and deduce the identity of his adversary.

Chillingworth gets closer to the head of Boston’s church, a young priest Reverend Dimmesdale, who experiences health issues. At the same time, Hester is released from the detention and lives isolated on the outskirts of the village. Her sewing skills only help her in earning money for living alone. However, she successfully defends her newborn daughter, Pearl, from the attempts to take the child away. Furthermore, she remains adamant in refusing to divulge the identity of Pearl’s father.

Gradually, Chillingworth starts to suspect that Dimmesdale could indeed be Hester’s lover. After all, Dimmesdale’s condition appears to be connected to some unresolved mental torment. Chillingworth discusses the matter with the priest several times, trying to make him confess the presumed sins. Eventually, Chillingworth confirms his suspicions when he notices the same “A” letter on Dimmesdale’s body, that his wife wears. However, he is unable to act with hostility due to the earlier promise to Hester.

In the end, Dimmesdale and Hester meet in the forest and confirm their love, while Dimmesdale contemplates about the public confession. Despite several failed attempts, he brings himself to the public reveal as Hester’s lover and Pearl’s father. This act frees Dimmesdale from spiritual suffering and allows him to die peacefully. Chillingworth, who was unable to stop the confession, dies on the next year while leaving the fortune to Pearl. Afterward, mother and daughter leave for England, only to return before Hester’s death. She wears the “A” letter to the very end, and after the demise, she is buried alongside Dimmesdale.

The plot and the central themes undoubtedly revolve around three leading characters: Hester, Dimmesdale, and Chillingworth. Among them, Hester should be considered the main protagonist of the whole story. She is described as a young woman who was unhappily married to an elderly husband. Thus, she could not abstain from searching for a true love, which she found in Dimmesdale. Her name is partially symbolic – according to Lei (2015), the name is derived from the Greek goddess of household Hestia, while the “Prynne” surname alludes to her adultery. However, her nature is characterized by her powerful will and refusal to give up in despair. As Elbert (2014) states, Hester is an epitome of a motherly figure who genuinely cares about her love and child. Hence, Hester managed to endure all the hardships while proudly wearing the scarlet letter.

At the same time, Dimmesdale presents a person who is shameful of his wrongdoings but painfully struggles in the attempt to confess. He is a highly revered head of the town’s church. Furthermore, according to the book, he is so “passionate about God and religion,” that the followers always cling to him (Hawthorne, 2004, p. 64). However, the sin realization slowly kills Dimmesdale since he does not live up to the declared ideals. Eventually, Dimmesdale manages to cope with the shame and release his doubts by voicing the truth to everyone. While he dies soon after, he feels relieved because he finally did the right thing.

Chillingworth represents the dark side of the characters’ past. Most researchers agree on the opinion that he acts as the novel’s villain (İsaoğlu, 2015). He sought a happy family live by marriage with Hester but feels betrayed by her sin. Thus, he is ready to use deceit so he could achieve his form of justice. On this premise, Chillingworth pressures both Hester and Dimmesdale in pursuit of his goal. However, his efforts prove to be futile because of Hester’s resolve and Dimmesdale’s newfound courage to confess. At least, Chillingworth manages to change his ways at the end of life by leaving the fortune to Pearl.

Among the important topics explored in the novel, one should name the unconditional and steadfast love, as well as the struggle to redeem one’s sins as the most central themes. Hester’s unwavering personality demonstrates the first aspect from the beginning to the end. Even when her life was crumbling, she abandoned nether her love for Dimmesdale, nor hope for a better future she eventually attained. Secondly, the suffering of Dimmesdale showcases how destructive one’s unconfessed sin can become. According to Lei (2015), the character serves as a parallel to the Original Sin of Adam and Eve. Nonetheless, the author shows the hardships of redemption, which still can lead to salvation.

While the mentioned themes dominate throughout the novel, one can see one more aspect highlighted by the author. In the description of the 17th century, Hawthorne presents the flaws of society, which remain actual to the present days. Particularly, Hawthorne accentuates the ostracizing of Hester to demonstrate the inability of the community to understand her conditions. Hence, one can apply a famous saying that people fear what they do not understand. Such a failure leads to the isolation of society members who are not evil and just lost their way.

In his historical fiction, The scarlet letter , Hawthorne succeeded in exposing notable moral themes. The plot is centered around the adultery of the main heroine Hester and a local priest Dimmesdale. The capacity of the former to withstand social pressure and the final resolve of the latter to reveal the sin emphasize the topics of spiritual resilience and the redemption of the mistakes. Also, Hawthorne touched the issues of society’s everlasting shortcomings, like the misunderstanding and isolation of those who break the public rules.

Elbert, M. (2014) ‘The woman’s law in Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter ’, in Bendixen, A. (ed.) A companion to the American novel . Hoboken, NJ: John Wiley & Son, pp. 373-393.

Hawthorne, N. (2004) The scarlet letter . Smyrna, DE: Prestwick House Inc.

İsaoğlu, H. (2015) ‘A Freudian psychoanalytic analysis of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter ’, The Journal of Academic Social Science Studies , 3(32), pp. 499-511.

Lei, N. (2015) ‘A brief study on the symbolic meaning of the main characters’ name in The Scarlet Letter ’, Theory and Practice in Language Studies , 5(10), pp. 2164-2168.

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IvyPanda. (2020, July 7). Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter: Resilience and Redemption. https://ivypanda.com/essays/hawthornes-the-scarlet-letter-resilience-and-redemption/

"Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter: Resilience and Redemption." IvyPanda , 7 July 2020, ivypanda.com/essays/hawthornes-the-scarlet-letter-resilience-and-redemption/.

IvyPanda . (2020) 'Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter: Resilience and Redemption'. 7 July.

IvyPanda . 2020. "Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter: Resilience and Redemption." July 7, 2020. https://ivypanda.com/essays/hawthornes-the-scarlet-letter-resilience-and-redemption/.

1. IvyPanda . "Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter: Resilience and Redemption." July 7, 2020. https://ivypanda.com/essays/hawthornes-the-scarlet-letter-resilience-and-redemption/.

Bibliography

IvyPanda . "Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter: Resilience and Redemption." July 7, 2020. https://ivypanda.com/essays/hawthornes-the-scarlet-letter-resilience-and-redemption/.

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The Scarlet Letter Nathaniel Hawthorne

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The Scarlet Letter Essays

The little human a incarnate anonymous, the scarlet letter.

In The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, many of the characters suffer from the tolls of sin, but none as horribly as Hester's daughter Pearl. She alone suffers from sin that is not her own, but rather that of her mother. From the day she is...

Perception Blanketed by Passion William Kyunghyun

In the Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, Hester and Dimmesdale are entangled in self-delusion because they are both caught up in a false interpretation of their respective sins and in an opaque vision of a better life. Hester is confused by...

Original Sin Helen Huggins

In Hawthorne's intricately woven tale The Scarlet Letter, his characters create a parallel theme with the Biblical story of Original Sin. By examining the characters and their interactions and insights about each other, one can examine the...

Hawthorne's "Witch-Baby" in The Scarlet Letter Frances G. Tilney

A few moments before Reverend Dimmsdale professes his sin to the crowd of onlookers, Hester's hopes of escape are dashed by the knowledge that Roger Chillingworth also booked a passage on the departing shipa ship that she prayed would give her and...

Hester's Role as Both the Sinner and Saint Marielle Macher

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us," stated Oliver Wendell Holmes. This eventually proves to be especially true for Hester Prynne, the main character in Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet...

The Immense Effect of Symbolism in The Scarlet Letter Megan Leach

Hawthorne wrote his great, psychological novel, The Scarlet Letter, not only in the literal sense, but also symbolically to thoroughly instill his strong ideas into the minds of readers. He uses sunshine, the forest, roses, the scarlet letter,...

Sin: Hawthorne's Biblical Truth Joshua Prophett

In Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, Hawthorne writes the consequences of one sinful act in a Puritan community. This sinful act involves three main characters, Hester, Dimmesdale, and Chillingsworth. As The Scarlet Letter progresses, each...

Sin's Evolution in The Scarlet Letter Zachary Anderson

Evolution is defined as "a process of change"(Webster's Dictionary), and it has been proved many times in the past that sin is a direct process that leads to change in one's spiritual as well as fleshly life. The three main characters, Hester,...

A Natural Mirror of Impurity Meagan Bass

The entity of Nature acts as a double-edged sword in Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter. In the novel, Nature shows its ability to both harm and heal through its effects on the characters. The novel highlights Nature's complexity by showing...

Religious Oppression in The Scarlet Letter Daniel Tvert

In Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, Hester Prynne has committed adultery, and her subsequent bearing of an illegitimate child has cast her beyond the pale of polite society. It is difficult for us, in the late twentieth century, to...

Pearl Prynne - A Blessing And A Curse Sugato De

"This child hath come from the hand of the almighty, to work in many ways upon her heart. It was meant for a blessing, for the one blessing of her life! It was meant, doubtless, for a retribution too, a torture to be felt at many an unthought of...

The Garden of Eden in America: Dichotomies in The Scarlet Letter Adam Weissman

The story of Adam and Eve illustrates the sinful nature of man. A common theory about the story of Adam and Eve is that God intended Adam and Eve to eat the fruit from the tree of knowledge. The argument is, if God had not intended Adam to eat the...

Criticism of Puritan Society: Nature in Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter" Anonymous

Throughout the late 18th century and 19th century, Romanticism was a highly popular literary style adopted by many novelists. Nature, a prominent element of Romanticism, is used in these authors' writings not just for descriptions and images, but...

Threads Anonymous

Threads are rather insignificant by themselves. It is when a weaver connects them together that they form a beautiful tapestry. Each thread now contributes to the quality of the tapestry and are bound together by the common picture that form. In a...

Law of Nature Versus Man in The Scarlet Letter Anonymous

In The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne demonstrates the need for humans to abide by the laws of nature and conscience, rather than the laws of man, to achieve happiness.

The laws of nature, enforced only by the human conscience, govern every...

A Scarlet I: The Use of Irony Within The Scarlet Letter Robin Bates

"Irony is the gaiety of reflection and the joy of wisdom." Through this statement, Anatole France, a 1921 Nobel Prize recipient, states his belief that irony is only lighthearted reflection. However, Nathaniel Hawthorne employs irony to reveal...

The Fear of Miscegenation in Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter Cole DeLaune

By the middle of the nineteenth century, the young American establishment appeared to have surmounted the instability of its formative stages. The citizens of what had originated as a disorganized and inefficient alliance of thirteen diverse...

The Destruction of an Unconfessed Soul Travis Hodges

In the first chapter of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, a solitary rosebush stands in front of a gloomy prison to symbolize "some sweet moral blossom, that may be found along the track, or relieve the darkening close of a tale of human...

More Than Meets The Eye Igor Petrovich Reznik

"Don't judge a book by its cover." Everyone knows this hackneyed quote, but people still judge others based on outer appearance. By doing so, these people ignore the possible inner greatness of those they so quickly set aside. The character Hester...

Rosebush and Black Weeds: Botanical Metaphors in The Scarlet Letter Anonymous

Nature. It is a word that seems so expansive and all-inclusive. Within a novel, elements of nature and setting often become so expected and mundane that they are easily glossed over in order to get to the "more important" elements of a story-the...

The Influence of British Literature on the Birth of American Artistry Colter Ross Brown

The idea that our American literary culture has been influenced since its inception by Britain's is not a new one; after all, the two countries are rather like two branches of the same tree. Even though the mindsets are of distinctly different...

Puritan Influence in Contemporary American Society J. Andres Gannon

Puritans are often mischaracterized as overly strict and moral persons whose lives revolve around killjoy attitudes and laws against all innocent social pleasures. Qualities of sympathy, charity, and compassion are rarely tied to Puritanism or...

Sinners at the Hands of an Oppressive Society Livia Antonina Romano

In The Scarlet Letter , author Nathaniel Hawthorne uses Hester Prynne, an unhappily married seamstress, and Arthur Dimmesdale, the local Puritan clergyman, to prove that a community that forcefully suppresses the natural desires of an individual...

Significance of Names in The Scarlet Letter Anonymous

Why does Hawthorne give Hester Prynne the name Hester? Hawthorne himself, as is well known, changed his family name from Hathorne, to distance himself from those Puritan ancestors whose achievements and excesses haunted his fiction. The Scarlet...

the scarlet letter introduction essay

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Essays on The Scarlet Letter

Prompt examples for "the scarlet letter" essays, symbolism of the scarlet letter.

Discuss the symbolism of the scarlet letter "A" in Nathaniel Hawthorne's novel. How does it represent various themes such as sin, guilt, redemption, and social ostracism? Analyze its evolving significance throughout the story.

Hester Prynne as a Strong Female Character

Analyze the character of Hester Prynne and her transformation throughout the novel. How does Hester embody resilience, independence, and strength in the face of societal judgment and punishment?

Effects of Guilt and Shame

Examine the psychological and emotional effects of guilt and shame on the characters, particularly Hester, Arthur Dimmesdale, and Roger Chillingworth. How do these emotions shape their actions and relationships?

Puritan Society and Hypocrisy

Discuss the portrayal of Puritan society in "The Scarlet Letter." How does the novel critique the hypocrisy, rigid moral code, and religious intolerance of the society depicted in the story?

Narrative Structure and Symbolism

Explore the narrative structure and use of symbolism in the novel. How does Hawthorne use the scaffold, the forest, and other symbols to convey deeper themes and messages?

Redemption and Forgiveness

Analyze the theme of redemption and forgiveness in the story. How do characters seek redemption, and what role does forgiveness play in their paths to reconciliation and personal growth?

Feminism in "The Scarlet Letter" by Nathaniel Hawthorne

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A Critique of Themes on Feminism in "The Scarlet Letter"

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A Puritan Society's Criticism: The Meaning of Nature in The Scarlet Letter by Hawthorne

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Roger Chillingworth's Role in The Scarlet Letter

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Nathaniel Hawthorne

Novel, Romance Novel, Historical Fiction, Psychological Fiction, Historical Novel, Reference Work, Domestic Fiction

Hester Prynne, Pearl, Roger Chillingworth, Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, Governor Bellingham, Mistress Hibbins, Reverend Mr. John Wilson, Narrator

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the scarlet letter introduction essay

About the Book

Themes and Analysis

The scarlet letter, by nathaniel hawthorne.

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ‘The Scarlet Letter’ is stuffed with themes that border around aspects of religion and human morality such as sinning, confessing, and being penalized for such sin - much to the author’s intention of sending some strong moral lessons to his readership.

Victor Onuorah

Written by Victor Onuorah

Degree in Journalism from University of Nigeria, Nsukka.

Hawthorne’s move to go by such name as ‘ The Scarlet Letter ’ for the book’s title is symbolic in itself and already hints at the themes of penitence and punishment for the crime of adultery committed by two of the book’s major characters in Hester Prynne and the priest – Arthur Dimmesdale. There are some foundational themes as there are other subsets that still carry a vital message in them. The most important ones will be analyzed in this article.

Sin and Punishment

These are probably the two most obvious themes of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s ‘ The Scarlet Letter ’ and they are very clearly executed throughout the pages of the book – beginning from the first chapter. 

Hester Prynne, who is the heroine of the book, is one of the characters who bear such guilts of sin and punishment. The sin for which she is being punished is that of adultery – which she commits with a Christian preacher, Arthur Dimmesdale.

Being she lives in the era of a Christian-inspired puritan society, her punishment becomes one of massive social shaming and disgrace – whereby she has to wear a dress with a large inscription of the letter ‘A’ appearing on her chest in blood red color. 

Contrition and Penitence

Hester and Dimmesdale – two prominent characters harboring the most damnable sin of their era – appear to have had a contrite heart after the act, particularly with Hester, who is publicly announced and disgraced. 

Readers could feel the genuineness of Hester’s contrite heart, having been legally married to Roger Chillingworth, her long lost husband – even though she would never regret the love she feels for Dimmesdale and the product of such love being her child, Pearl. 

Gender and Status Inequality Before the Law

Nathaniel Hawthorne, through ‘ The Scarlet Letter ,’ may have tried to point out the sheer inequality of the purity society before the rule of law. Hawthorne’s time is critical of several aspects of Puritanism, and here questions why preacher Arthur Dimmesdale doesn’t get served the same amount of humiliation as Hester gets. 

Though an argument can be raised that the executors of the puritan laws don’t punish Dimmesdale because they do not know for sure if he committed the crime – especially with Hester refusing to give that information out. Still, one can easily sense that they don’t do enough to get the man who’s responsible. 

Two hypotheses here are one; their interest in not punishing men but the women in such crimes. Two, Dimmesdale’s religious status makes him a very important person, so the executors would be tricky with handling a case of such a class. 

Necromancy and witchcraft

There is a massive dose of talks and meetings about and with witches, and even the devil – who is referred to in the book as ‘ The Black Man .’ These subjects are part of what gives the book its dark, spooky ambiance characteristic of gothic fiction. 

Mistress Hibbins is a high-profile suspect whose behavior is, by a puritan society’s standards, termed diabolic and hellish. Hibbins goes about negatively influencing people – like Hester and Pearl – instilling strange, anti puritan mentality in them, conducting and attending meetings and conventions where they invoke and commune with ‘The Black Man’ or devil himself. 

Key Moments in The Scarlet Letter

  • After losing his job with the Salem Custom House, a man puts together a piece of the manuscript that he had discovered littering in the attic of his former job. On the cover is an inscription, ‘Scarlet Letter A .’ 
  • The story which he has assembled from it narratives the story of a young woman called Hester Prynne who lives in a 1600s puritan society. 
  • She appears to have been imprisoned for a heinous crime and is processioned out and made to stand over a public platform wearing a dress with the scarlet letter ‘A’ written boldly on her breast, on which she also carries her baby. 
  • The crime for which she is paraded is adultery, and under a typical puritan leadership, social shaming and scorning are the repercussions for such acts. 
  • While she faces the worse moment of her life, a man stands a stone’s throw away in the crowd observing the whole event. His name is Roger Chillingworth, the long-lost husband of the woman being punished at the platform. 
  • On the platform with Hester is a popular preacher of the town, rev. Arthur Dimmesdale publicly pressures her to say who’s responsible for her baby, but Hester wouldn’t tell and is thrust back into her cell.
  • With a keen interest in the matter, Chillingworth lies that he is a doctor to get access to his wife, and when he gets past security into the cell, he threatens her not to let anyone know she is married to him and that if she does, he would search out the man responsible and hurt him very badly.
  • Following her release, Hester moves away from town and tries to survive as a dressmaker with young Pearl. Chillingworth is still in town posing as a doctor as he tries to unearth the father of his wife’s baby. And by now, Dimmesdale, the popular town people’s preacher, has failing health and is being tended to by Chillingworth. 
  • Pearl grows fond of the scarlet ‘A’ on her mother’s breast, but Hester wouldn’t tell her the truth about it. 
  • With Chillingworth now spending so much time with Dimmesdale, he starts to notice an unusually strange correlation between Hester’s case and the preacher’s health history. 
  • One faithful day during Dimmesdale’s medical examination, Chillingworth finds that his patient has a similar scarlet letter ‘A’ etched inside his chest. He is convinced Dimmesdale is Hester’s lover and father of the illegitimate child, Pearl. 
  • With this knowledge, Chillingworth decides to exert revenge on Dimmesdale by giving him the wrong meds and treating him so much so that his health deteriorates further by the day. 
  • For Dimmesdale, it seems that his inability to confess publicly is eating him up and causing him constant emotional trauma and heartache. And on several occasions, he doesn’t eat and chastises and whips himself for his mistake. 
  • On a faithful day, just after twilight, troubled by his guilt, Dimmesdale climbs up the platform and is joined by Hester and her daughter shortly, while Chillingworth skulks by the shadows observing them before a shooting star shimmers through the night sky to reveal his presence. 
  • What follows next is an exchange of emotions. Hester begs Chillingworth to stop torturing Dimmesdale, but he argues he’s lenient to him. 
  • Hester then plans a rendezvous with Dimmesdale in the wilderness, where she exposes Chillingworth’s real identity and begs Dimmesdale to elope with her across the Atlantic to start afresh in a new, distant town. He agrees to go with her after he has delivered a scheduled sermon. 
  • On the day of the sermon, Dimmesdale is moved by his preaching that he decides to confess publicly that he is Hester’s lover and the father to Pearl (both of who had joined him on the platform). Opening his chest, he exposes a scarlet cut he had been carrying in his chest and dies as soon as Pearl kisses him.
  • Chillingworth’s revenge is taken from him, and he dies a few months later. Hester leaves town with her daughter – explores Europe and marries a wealthy home, and seldom writes her mother. 
  • When Hester dies, she is laid to rest beside Dimmesdale, and the later ‘A’ is erected in their resting place.

Style and Tone

Nathaniel Hawthorne’s writing style is typically one that deploys a lot of metaphors and symbolism to execute his works – with the end goal often having a ton of morals to impact on the reader.

Hawthorne’s works are mostly mysterious, somber, and morose in terms of their themes and storylines. ‘ The Scarlet Letter ’ is no different from his typical style and follows his trademark standard for novel writing. 

The tone in ‘ The Scarlet Letter ’ is mostly sad and contrite, but also critical and disenchantment about puritan cultures, their leaders, and their tendency for being highly hypocritical.

Figurative Languages

Hawthorne brings the pages of ‘The Scarlet Letter’ to life with his heavy use of figurative expressions. Among the figurative language used include metaphor – which seems to appear pervasively throughout the book.

The author also uses tools like irony and personification to highlight his critiques of the purity legacy and traditions. 

Analysis of Symbols in The Scarlet Letter

This is perhaps the foremost symbolism in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s book and represents a variety of things. One such thing is that it serves as an identity for the transgressor or sinner of adultery – as is the case with the protagonist, Hester Prynne. 

Hester’s daughter’s character also has an allegorical attachment to its overall essence. Pearl is a direct repercussion of Hester’s son of adultery, but also a symbol of hope for a better life, in the latter part of the book.

Chillingworth

In the book’s reality, he is the husband of Hester, but in terms of the motif to which he represents, Chillingworth proves to be as his name appears; cold. He’s a cold and means man towards the people around him, and this is perhaps one of the reasons Hester could never find love with him. 

What is the main theme in ‘The Scarlet Letter’ by Nathaniel Hawthorne?

Sin and punishment are probably the two most discussed themes in ‘ The Scarlet Letter ,’ and these subjects are pervasive and heavily indulged in by the author throughout the book. 

What does the color red represent in ‘The Scarlet Letter’?

The color red represents sin, and in the book’s case, the sin of adultery – which Hester, the protagonist, is indicted of from the onset of the book. 

What narrative style is deployed by Nathaniel Hawthorne in ‘The Scarlet Letter’?

Nathaniel Hawthorne utilizes the third person narrative technique in his book, ‘ The Scarlet Letter, ’ as this allows the narrator to tell his story subjectively – but from a rounded, three-dimensional standpoint on the characters. 

Victor Onuorah

About Victor Onuorah

Victor is as much a prolific writer as he is an avid reader. With a degree in Journalism, he goes around scouring literary storehouses and archives; picking up, dusting the dirt off, and leaving clean even the most crooked pieces of literature all with the skill of analysis.

Cite This Page

Onuorah, Victor " The Scarlet Letter Themes and Analysis 📖 " Book Analysis , https://bookanalysis.com/nathaniel-hawthorne/the-scarlet-letter/themes-analysis/ . Accessed 24 February 2024.

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Critical Essays Symbolism in The Scarlet Letter

Introduction

Nathaniel Hawthorne is one of the most prolific symbolists in American literature, and a study of his symbols is necessary to understanding his novels. Generally speaking, a symbol is something used to stand for something else. In literature, a symbol is most often a concrete object used to represent an idea more abstract and broader in scope and meaning — often a moral, religious, or philosophical concept or value. Symbols can range from the most obvious substitution of one thing for another, to creations as massive, complex, and perplexing as Melville's white whale in Moby Dick.

An allegory in literature is a story where characters, objects, and events have a hidden meaning and are used to present some universal lesson. Hawthorne has a perfect atmosphere for the symbols in The Scarlet Letter because the Puritans saw the world through allegory. For them, simple patterns, like the meteor streaking through the sky, became religious or moral interpretations for human events. Objects, such as the scaffold, were ritualistic symbols for such concepts as sin and penitence.

Whereas the Puritans translated such rituals into moral and repressive exercises, Hawthorne turns their interpretations around in The Scarlet Letter. The Puritan community sees Hester as a fallen woman, Dimmesdale as a saint, and would have seen the disguised Chillingworth as a victim — a husband betrayed. Instead, Hawthorne ultimately presents Hester as a woman who represents a sensitive human being with a heart and emotions; Dimmesdale as a minister who is not very saint-like in private but, instead, morally weak and unable to confess his hidden sin; and Chillingworth as a husband who is the worst possible offender of humanity and single-mindedly pursuing an evil goal.

Hawthorne's embodiment of these characters is denied by the Puritan mentality: At the end of the novel, even watching and hearing Dimmesdale's confession, many members of the Puritan community still deny what they saw. Thus, using his characters as symbols, Hawthorne discloses the grim underside of Puritanism that lurks beneath the public piety.

Some of Hawthorne's symbols change their meaning, depending on the context, and some are static. Examples of static symbols are the Reverend Mr. Wilson, who represents the Church, or Governor Bellingham, who represents the State. But many of Hawthorne's symbols change — particularly his characters — depending on their treatment by the community and their reactions to their sins. His characters, the scarlet A, light and darkness, color imagery, and the settings of forest and village serve symbolic purposes.

Hester is the public sinner who demonstrates the effect of punishment on sensitivity and human nature. She is seen as a fallen woman, a culprit who deserves the ignominy of her immoral choice. She struggles with her recognition of the letter's symbolism just as people struggle with their moral choices. The paradox is that the Puritans stigmatize her with the mark of sin and, in so doing, reduce her to a dull, lifeless woman whose characteristic color is gray and whose vitality and femininity are suppressed.

Over the seven years of her punishment, Hester's inner struggle changes from a victim of Puritan branding to a decisive woman in tune with human nature. When she meets Dimmesdale in the forest in Chapter 18, Hawthorne says, "The tendency of her fate and fortunes had been to set her free. The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread."

In time, even the Puritan community sees the letter as meaning "Able" or "Angel." Her sensitivity with society's victims turns her symbolic meaning from a person whose life was originally twisted and repressed to a strong and sensitive woman with respect for the humanity of others. In her final years, "the scarlet letter ceased to be a stigma which attracted the world's scorn and bitterness, and became a type of something to be sorrowed over, and looked upon with awe, yet with reverence, too." Since her character is strongly tied to the scarlet letter, Hester represents the public sinner who changes and learns from her own sorrow to understand the humanity of others. Often human beings who suffer great loss and life-changing experiences become survivors with an increased understanding and sympathy for the human losses of others. Hester is such a symbol.

Dimmesdale, on the other hand, is the secret sinner whose public and private faces are opposites. Even as the beadle — an obvious symbol of the righteous Colony of Massachusetts — proclaims that the settlement is a place where "iniquity is dragged out into the sunshine," the colony, along with the Reverend Mr. Wilson, is in awe of Dimmesdale's goodness and sanctity. Inside the good minister, however, is a storm raging between holiness and self-torture. He is unable to reveal his sin.

At worst, Dimmesdale is a symbol of hypocrisy and self-centered intellectualism; he knows what is right but has not the courage to make himself do the public act. When Hester tells him that the ship for Europe leaves in four days, he is delighted with the timing. He will be able to give his Election Sermon and "fulfill his public duties" before escaping. At best, his public piety is a disdainful act when he worries that his congregation will see his features in Pearl's face.

Dimmesdale's inner struggle is intense, and he struggles to do the right thing. He realizes the scaffold is the place to confess and also his shelter from his tormenter, Chillingworth. Yet, the very thing that makes Dimmesdale a symbol of the secret sinner is also what redeems him. Sin and its acknowledgment humanize Dimmesdale. When he leaves the forest and realizes the extent of the devil's grip on his soul, he passionately writes his sermon and makes his decision to confess. As a symbol, he represents the secret sinner who fights the good fight in his soul and eventually wins.

Pearl is the strongest of these allegorical images because she is nearly all symbol, little reality. Dimmesdale sees Pearl as the "freedom of a broken law"; Hester sees her as "the living hieroglyphic" of their sin; and the community sees her as the result of the devil's work. She is the scarlet letter in the flesh, a reminder of Hester's sin. As Hester tells the pious community leaders in Chapter 8, ". . . she is my happiness! — she is my torture . . . See ye not, she is the scarlet letter, only capable of being loved, and so endowed with a million-fold the power of retribution for my sin?"

Pearl is also the imagination of the artist, an idea so powerful that the Puritans could not even conceive of it, let alone understand it, except in terms of transgression. She is natural law unleashed, the freedom of the unrestrained wilderness, the result of repressed passion. When Hester meets Dimmesdale in the forest, Pearl is reluctant to come across the brook to see them because they represent the Puritan society in which she has no happy role. Here in the forest, she is free and in harmony with nature. Her image in the brook is a common symbol of Hawthorne's. He often uses a mirror to symbolize the imagination of the artist; Pearl is a product of that imagination. When Dimmesdale confesses his sin in the light of the sun, Pearl is free to become a human being. All along, Hester felt there was this redeemable nature in her daughter, and here she sees her faith rewarded. Pearl can now feel human grief and sorrow, as Hester can, and she becomes a sin redeemed.

Chillingworth is consistently a symbol of cold reason and intellect unencumbered by human compassion. While Dimmesdale has intellect but lacks will, Chillingworth has both. He is fiendish, evil, and intent on revenge. In his first appearance in the novel, he is compared to a snake, an obvious allusion to the Garden of Eden. Chillingworth becomes the essence of evil when he sees the scarlet letter on Dimmesdale's breast in Chapter 10, where there is "no need to ask how Satan comports himself when a precious human soul is lost to heaven, and won into his kingdom."

Eventually, his evil is so pervasive that Chillingworth awakens the distrust of the Puritan community and the recognition of Pearl. As time goes by and Dimmesdale becomes more frail under the constant torture of Chillingworth, the community worries that their minister is losing a battle with the devil himself. Even Pearl recognizes that Chillingworth is a creature of the Black Man and warns her mother to stay away from him. Chillingworth loses his reason to live when Dimmesdale eludes him at the scaffold in the final scenes of the novel. "All his strength and energy — all his vital and intellectual force — seemed at once to desert him; insomuch that he positively withered up, shrivelled away, and almost vanished from mortal sight." As a symbol, Chillingworth's job is done.

The Scarlet A

Besides the characters, the most obvious symbol is the scarlet letter itself, which has various meanings depending on its context. It is a sign of adultery, penance, and penitence. It brings about Hester's suffering and loneliness and also provides her rejuvenation. In the book, it first appears as an actual material object in The Custom House preface. Then it becomes an elaborately gold-embroidered A over Hester's heart and is magnified in the armor breast-plate at Governor Bellingham's mansion. Here Hester is hidden by the gigantic, magnified symbol just as her life and feelings are hidden behind the sign of her sin.

Still later, the letter is an immense red A in the sky, a green A of eel-grass arranged by Pearl, the A on Hester's dress decorated by Pearl with prickly burrs, an A on Dimmesdale's chest seen by some spectators at the Election Day procession, and, finally, represented by the epitaph "On a field, sable, the letter A, gules" (gules being the heraldic term for "red") on the tombstone Hester and Dimmesdale share.

In all these examples, the meaning of the symbol depends on the context and sometimes the interpreter. For example, in the second scaffold scene, the community sees the scarlet A in the sky as a sign that the dying Governor Winthrop has become an angel; Dimmesdale, however, sees it as a sign of his own secret sin. The community initially sees the letter on Hester's bosom as a mark of just punishment and a symbol to deter others from sin. Hester is a Fallen Woman with a symbol of her guilt. Later, when she becomes a frequent visitor in homes of pain and sorrow, the A is seen to represent "Able" or "Angel." It has rejuvenated Hester and changed her meaning in the eyes of the community.

Light and Color

Light and darkness, sunshine and shadows, noon and midnight, are all manifestations of the same images. Likewise, colors — such as red, gray, and black — play a role in the symbolic nature of the background and scenery. But, similar to the characters, the context determines what role the light or colors play. The Scarlet Letter 's first chapter ends with an admonition to "relieve the darkening close of a tale of human frailty and sorrow" with "some sweet moral blossom." These opposites are found throughout the novel and often set the tone and define which side of good and evil envelop the characters.

In Chapter 16, Hester and Dimmesdale meet in the forest with a "gray expanse of cloud" and a narrow path hemmed in by the black and dense forest. The feelings of the lovers, weighed down by guilt, are reflected in the darkness of nature. Every so often, sunshine flickers on the setting. But Pearl reminds her mother that the sun will not shine on the sinful Hester; it does shine, however, when Hester passionately lets down her hair. The sun is the symbol of untroubled, guilt-free happiness, or perhaps the approval of God and nature. It also seems to be, at times, the light of truth and grace.

Darkness is always associated with Chillingworth. It is also part of the description of the jail in Chapter 1, the scene of sin and punishment. The Puritans in that scene wear gray hats, and the darkness of the jail is relieved by the sunshine of the outside. When Hester comes into the sunshine from the darkness, she must squint at the light of day, and her iniquity is placed for all to see. Noon is the time of Dimmesdale's confession, and daylight is the symbol of exposure. Nighttime, however, is the symbol of concealment, and Dimmesdale stands on the scaffold at midnight, concealing his confession from the community. In the end, even the grave of Dimmesdale and Hester is in darkness. "So sombre is it, and relieved only by one ever-glowing point of light gloomier than the shadow . . ." The light, of course, is the scarlet letter, shining out of the darkness of the Puritanic gloom.

Colors play a similar role to light and darkness. One of the predominant colors is red, seen in the roses, the letter, Pearl's clothing, the "scarlet woman," Chillingworth's eyes, and the streak of the meteor. At night and always with the physician, the letter is associated with darkness and evil; in the other associations, it is a part of nature, passion, lawlessness, and imagination. The context determines the meaning. Black and gray are colors associated with the Puritans, gloom, death, sin, and the narrow path of righteousness through the forest of sin. Three chapters that contain a multitude of color images are Chapters 5, 11, and 12.

Even Hawthorne's settings are symbolic. The Puritan village with its marketplace and scaffold is a place of rigid rules, concern with sin and punishment, and self-examination. Public humiliation and penance are symbolized by the scaffold, the only place where Dimmesdale can go to atone for his guilt and escape his tormentor's clutches. The collective community that watches, at beginning and end, is a symbol of the rigid Puritan point of view with unquestioning obedience to the law. The Church and State are ubiquitous forces to contend with in this colony, as Hester finds out to her dismay. They see Dimmesdale as a figure of public approval, Chillingworth, at least initially, as a man of learning to be revered, and Hester as the outcast. Predominant colors are black and gray, and the gloom of the community is omnipresent.

However, nearby is the forest, home of the Black Man but also a place of freedom. Here the sun shines on Pearl, and she absorbs and keeps it. The forest represents a natural world, governed by natural laws, as opposed to the artificial, Puritan community with its man-made laws. In this world, Hester can take off her cap, let down her hair, and discuss plans with Dimmesdale to be together away from the rigid laws of the Puritans. As part of this forest, the brook provides "a boundary between two worlds." Pearl refuses to cross this boundary into the Puritan world when Hester beckons to her. However, the forest is also a moral wilderness that Hester finds herself in once she is forced to wear the sign of her guilt.

The forest is also a symbolic place where witches gather, souls are signed away to the devil, and Dimmesdale can "yield himself with deliberate choice . . . to what he knew was deadly sin." In these instances, the forest is a symbol of the world of darkness and evil. Mistress Hibbins knows on sight those who would wander "in the forest" or, in other words, secretly do Satan's work. When Dimmesdale leaves the forest with his escape plan in mind, he is tempted to sin on numerous occasions during his journey back to the village. The forest, then, is a symbol of man's temptation.

Every chapter in The Scarlet Letter has symbols displayed through characterization, setting, colors, and light. Perhaps the most dramatic chapters using these techniques are the chapters comprising the three scaffold scenes and the meeting in the forest between Hester and Dimmesdale. Hawthorne's ability to introduce these symbols and change them through the context of his story is but one of the reasons The Scarlet Letter is considered his masterpiece and a peerless example of the romance novel.

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  1. The Scarlet Letter The Custom-House: Introductory Summary & Analysis

    Summary: The Custom-House: Introductory. This introduction provides a frame for the main narrative of The Scarlet Letter. The nameless narrator, who shares quite a few traits with the book's author, takes a post as the "chief executive officer," or surveyor, of the Salem Custom House. ("Customs" are the taxes paid on foreign imports ...

  2. The Scarlet Letter: A+ Student Essay

    Read a sample prompt and A+ essay response on The Scarlet Letter. Search all of SparkNotes Search. Suggestions. Use up and down arrows to review and enter to select. ... Although The Scarlet Letter was written in 1850, long before the emergence of what we now refer to as feminism, the novel amounts to a spirited, pre-feminist defense of women ...

  3. The Scarlet Letter Introduction Summary & Analysis

    Introduction Summary: "The Custom-House". Hawthorne discusses the merits of sharing autobiographical information with his readers and then describes the circumstances he says inspired The Scarlet Letter. Hawthorne explains that he has always felt drawn to Salem—his birthplace, and the town where his ancestors lived for centuries.

  4. The Scarlet Letter

    The Scarlet Letter, novel by Nathaniel Hawthorne, published in 1850.It is considered a masterpiece of American literature and a classic moral study.. Summary. The novel is set in a village in Puritan New England.The main character is Hester Prynne, a young woman who has borne a child out of wedlock.Hester believes herself a widow, but her husband, Roger Chillingworth, arrives in New England ...

  5. The Scarlet Letter

    Full-length critical introduction that examines the setting, characters, and themes. One fascinating chapter treats the scarlet "A" as a character. ... New Essays on "The Scarlet Letter ...

  6. The Scarlet Letter: Mini Essays

    Confronted by the ambiguous symbol of the garden, we begin to look for other inconsistencies and for other examples of decay and disrepair in Puritan society. From a general summary to chapter summaries to explanations of famous quotes, the SparkNotes The Scarlet Letter Study Guide has everything you need to ace quizzes, tests, and essays.

  7. The Scarlet Letter Study Guide

    The Scarlet Letter paints a very unflattering portrait of the Puritans, a religious group that dominated late seventeenth-century English settlement in Massachusetts. Puritanism began in England during the reign of Queen Elizabeth (1558-1603). The name "Puritanism" came from the group's intent to purify the Church of England by making government and religious practice conform more closely to ...

  8. The Scarlet Letter Analysis

    Dive deep into Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter with extended analysis, commentary, and discussion ... Start an essay ... The "Custom-House" introduction is the author's attempt to ...

  9. Introduction: "The Custom-House"

    So little adapted is the atmosphere of a Custom-house to the delicate harvest of fancy and sensibility, that, had I remained there through ten Presidencies yet to come, I doubt whether the tale of "The Scarlet Letter" would ever have been brought before the public eye. My imagination was a tarnished mirror.

  10. The Custom-House

    Summary. Hawthorne begins The Scarlet Letter with a long introductory essay that generally functions as a preface but, more specifically, accomplishes four significant goals: outlines autobiographical information about the author, describes the conflict between the artistic impulse and the commercial environment, defines the romance novel (which Hawthorne is credited with refining and ...

  11. The Scarlet Letter

    Hawthorne's emotional, psychological drama revolves around Hester Prynne, who is convicted of adultery in colonial Boston by the civil and Puritan authorities. She is condemned to wear the scarlet letter "A" on her chest as a permanent sign of her sin. The narrative describes the effort to resolve the torment suffered by Hester and her co ...

  12. The Scarlet Letter Summary and Analysis

    Scarlet Letter Summary and Synopsis. Short Summary: The Scarlet Letter is a novel providing a view of Puritan society in the 17th century. The story takes place in Boston, following young Hester Prynne and her life as an outcast having been caught committing adultery when she gives birth to a daughter. Her husband had sent her to Boston from ...

  13. The Scarlet Letter

    Introduction The Scarlet Letter. This historical novel of American Romanticism was written by Nathaniel Hawthorne and published in 1850. It created a lot of controversy in literary circles. It showed the settings of the Puritan region of Massachusetts Colony of the 1650s, narrating a storyline of a woman, Hester Prynne, who suffers after having an affair with a church minister.

  14. The Scarlet Letter at a Glance

    The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, adulteress Hester Prynne must wear a scarlet A to mark her shame. Her lover, Arthur Dimmesdale, remains unidentified and is wracked with guilt, while her husband, Roger Chillingworth, seeks revenge. The Scarlet Letter's symbolism helps create a powerful drama in Puritan Boston: a kiss, evil, sin, nature, the scarlet letter, and the punishing scaffold.

  15. Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter: Resilience and Redemption Essay

    Among the legacy of Hawthorne, it is worth mentioning The scarlet letter, a work which became vital for the writer's fame. The plot of the novel immerses the readers into the 17th century to demonstrate the environment of the Puritan era in America. The events revolve around the punishment of a young woman, Hester Prynne, who is accused of ...

  16. The Scarlet Letter Essays

    The Little Human A Incarnate Anonymous. The Scarlet Letter. In The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne, many of the characters suffer from the tolls of sin, but none as horribly as Hester's daughter Pearl. She alone suffers from sin that is not her own, but rather that of her mother.

  17. Essays on The Scarlet Letter

    Like all academic papers, essays on The Scarlet Letter must have a great introduction followed by relevant evidence on the main body. Then, the conclusion should sum up all the points of view and possible solutions. Check out our samples of The Scarlet Letter research paper topics for examples of solid content, structure, and outline.

  18. The Scarlet Letter Themes and Analysis

    Nathaniel Hawthorne's 'The Scarlet Letter' is stuffed with themes that border around aspects of religion and human morality such as sinning, confessing, and being penalized for such sin - much to the author's intention of sending some strong moral lessons to his readership. Written by Victor Onuorah. Degree in Journalism from University ...

  19. Symbolism in The Scarlet Letter

    The Scarlet A. Besides the characters, the most obvious symbol is the scarlet letter itself, which has various meanings depending on its context. It is a sign of adultery, penance, and penitence. It brings about Hester's suffering and loneliness and also provides her rejuvenation.

  20. The Scarlet Letter: Suggested Essay Topics

    5. Children play a variety of roles in this novel. Pearl is both a blessing and a curse to Hester, and she seems at times to serve as Hester's conscience. The town children, on the other hand, are cruel and brutally honest about their opinion of Hester and Pearl.

  21. The Scarlet Letter Essay

    The Scarlet Letter Introduction The Scarlet Letter is a classic tale of sin, punishment, and revenge. It was written in 1850 by the famous American author Nathaniel Hawthorne. It documents the lives of three tragic characters, each of whom suffer greatly because of his or her sins. Shot Plot The story begins with Hester Prynne, a resident of a ...

  22. The Scarlet Letter: Full Book Summary

    The Scarlet Letter is the final product. The story begins in seventeenth-century Boston, then a Puritan settlement. A young woman, Hester Prynne, is led from the town prison with her infant daughter, Pearl, in her arms and the scarlet letter "A" on her breast. A man in the crowd tells an elderly onlooker that Hester is being punished for ...