Червона літера
The Procession
Asthesacrededificewastoomuchthrongedtoadmitanotherauditor,shetookupherpositionclosebesidethescaffoldofthepillory.Itwasinsufficientproximitytobringthewholesermontoherears,intheshapeofanindistinctbutvariedmurmurandflowoftheminister’sverypeculiarvoice.
Thisvocalorganwasinitselfarichendowment,insomuchthatalistener,comprehendingnothingofthelanguageinwhichthepreacherspoke,mightstillhavebeenswayedtoandfrobythemeretoneandcadence.Likeallothermusic,itbreathedpassionandpathos,andemotionshighortender,inatonguenativetothehumanheart,wherevereducated.Muffledasthesoundwasbyitspassagethroughthechurchwalls,HesterPrynnelistenedwithsuchintenseness,andsympathizedsointimately,thatthesermonhadthroughoutameaningforher,entirelyapartfromitsindistinguishablewords.These,perhaps,ifmoredistinctlyheard,mighthavebeenonlyagrossermedium,andhavecloggedthespiritualsense.Nowshecaughtthelowundertone,asofthewindsinkingdowntoreposeitself;thenascendedwithit,asitrosethroughprogressivegradationsofsweetnessandpower,untilitsvolumeseemedtoenvelopherwithanatmosphereofaweandsolemngrandeur.Andyet,majesticasthevoicesometimesbecame,therewasforeverinitanessentialcharacterofplaintiveness.
