Historical fiction, American; New England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
The muffled female, who had hitherto sat motionless in the front rank
of the audience, now arose and with slow, stately and unwavering step
ascended the pulpit stairs. The quaverings of incipient harmony were
hushed and the divine sat in speechless and almost terrified
astonishment while she undid the door and stood up in the sacred desk
from which his maledictions had just been thundered. She then divested
herself of the cloak and hood, and appeared in a most singular array. A
shapeless robe of sackcloth was girded about her waist with a knotted
cord; her raven hair fell down upon her shoulders, and its blackness
was defiled by pale streaks of ashes, which she had strewn upon her
head. Her eyebrows, dark and strongly defined, added to the deathly
whiteness of a countenance which, emaciated with want and wild with
enthusiasm and strange sorrows, retained no trace of earlier beauty.
This figure stood gazing earnestly on the audience, and there was no
sound nor any movement except a faint shuddering which every man
observed in his neighbor, but was scarcely conscious of in himself. At
length, when her fit of inspiration came, she spoke for the first few
moments in a low voice and not invariably distinct utterance. Her
discourse gave evidence of an imagination hopelessly entangled with her
reason; it was a vague and incomprehensible rhapsody, which, however,
seemed to spread its own atmosphere round the hearer’s soul, and to
move his feelings by some influence unconnected with the words. As she
proceeded beautiful but shadowy images would sometimes be seen like
bright things moving in a turbid river, or a strong and singularly
shaped idea leapt forth and seized at once on the understanding or the
heart. But the course of her unearthly eloquence soon led her to the
persecutions of her sect, and from thence the step was short to her own
peculiar sorrows. She was naturally a woman of mighty passions, and
hatred and revenge now wrapped themselves in the garb of piety. The
character of her speech was changed; her images became distinct though
wild, and her denunciations had an almost hellish bitterness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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