The Minister's Black Veil


The sexton stood in the porch of Milford meeting-house pulling lustily at the bell-rope. The old people of the village came stooping along the street. Children with bright faces tripped merrily beside their parents or mimicked a graver gait in the conscious dignity of their Sunday clothes. Spruce bachelors looked sidelong at the pretty maidens, and fancied that the Sabbath sunshine made them prettier than on week-days. When the throng had mostly streamed into the porch, the sexton began to toll the bell, keeping his eye on the Reverend Mr. Hooper's door. The first glimpse of the clergyman's figure was the signal for the bell to cease its summons.

"But what has good Parson Hooper got upon his face?" cried the sexton, in astonishment.

All within hearing immediately turned about and beheld the semblance of Mr. Hooper pacing slowly his meditative way toward the meeting-house. With one accord they started, expressing more wonder than if some strange minister were coming to dust the cushions of Mr. Hooper's pulpit.

"Are you sure it is our parson?" inquired Goodman Gray of the sexton.

"Of a certainty it is good Mr. Hooper," replied the sexton. "He was to have exchanged pulpits with Parson Shute of Westbury, but Parson Shute sent to excuse himself yesterday, being to preach a funeral sermon."

The cause of so much amazement may appear sufficiently slight. Mr. Hooper, a gentlemanly person of about thirty, though still a bachelor, was dressed with due clerical neatness, as if a careful wife had starched his band and brushed the weekly dust from his Sunday's garb. There was but one thing remarkable in his appearance. Swathed about his forehead and hanging down over his face, so low as to be shaken by his breath, Mr. Hooper had on a black veil. On a nearer view it seemed to consist of two folds of crape, which entirely concealed his features except the mouth and chin, but probably did not intercept his sight further than to give a darkened aspect to all living and inanimate things. With this gloomy shade before him good Mr. Hooper walked onward at a slow and quiet pace, stooping somewhat and looking on the ground, as is customary with abstracted men, yet nodding kindly to those of his parishioners who still waited on the meeting-house steps. But so wonder-struck were they that his greeting hardly met with a return.

"I can't really feel as if good Mr. Hooper's face was behind that piece of crape," said the sexton.

"I don't like it," muttered an old woman as she hobbled into the meeting-house. "He has changed himself into something awful only by hiding his face."

"Our parson has gone mad!" cried Goodman Gray, following him across the threshold.

A rumor of some unaccountable phenomenon had preceded Mr. Hooper into the meeting-house and set all the congregation astir. Few could refrain from twisting their heads toward the door; many stood upright and turned directly about; while several little boys clambered upon the seats, and came down again with a terrible racket. There was a general bustle, a rustling of the women's gowns and shuffling of the men's feet, greatly at variance with that hushed repose which should attend the entrance of the minister. But Mr. Hooper appeared not to notice the perturbation of his people. He entered with an almost noiseless step, bent his head mildly to the pews on each side and bowed as he passed his oldest parishioner, a white-haired great-grandsire, who occupied an arm-chair in the centre of the aisle. It was strange to observe how slowly this venerable man became conscious of something singular in the appearance of his pastor. He seemed not fully to partake of the prevailing wonder till Mr. Hooper had ascended the stairs and showed himself in the pulpit, face to face with his congregation except for the black veil. That mysterious emblem was never once withdrawn. It shook with his measured breath as he gave out the psalm, it threw its obscurity between him and the holy page as he read the Scriptures, and while he prayed the veil lay heavily on his uplifted countenance. Did he seek to hide it from the dread Being whom he was addressing?

Such was the effect of this simple piece of crape that more than one woman of delicate nerves was forced to leave the meeting-house. Yet perhaps the pale-faced congregation was almost as fearful a sight to the minister as his black veil to them.

Mr. Hooper had the reputation of a good preacher, but not an energetic one: he strove to win his people heavenward by mild, persuasive influences rather than to drive them thither by the thunders of the word. The sermon which he now delivered was marked by the same characteristics of style and manner as the general series of his pulpit oratory, but there was something either in the sentiment of the discourse itself or in the imagination of the auditors which made it greatly the most powerful effort that they had ever heard from their pastor's lips. It was tinged rather more darkly than usual with the gentle gloom of Mr. Hooper's temperament. The subject had reference to secret sin and those sad mysteries which we hide from our nearest and dearest, and would fain conceal from our own consciousness, even forgetting that the Omniscient can detect them. A subtle power was breathed into his words. Each member of the congregation, the most innocent girl and the man of hardened breast, felt as if the preacher had crept upon them behind his awful veil and discovered their hoarded iniquity of deed or thought. Many spread their clasped hands on their bosoms. There was nothing terrible in what Mr. Hooper said—at least, no violence; and yet with every tremor of his melancholy voice the hearers quaked. An unsought pathos came hand in hand with awe. So sensible were the audience of some unwonted attribute in their minister that they longed for a breath of wind to blow aside the veil, almost believing that a stranger's visage would be discovered, though the form, gesture and voice were those of Mr. Hooper.

At the close of the services the people hurried out with indecorous confusion, eager to communicate their pent-up amazement, and conscious of lighter spirits the moment they lost sight of the black veil. Some gathered in little circles, huddled closely together, with their mouths all whispering in the centre; some went homeward alone, wrapped in silent meditation; some talked loudly and profaned the Sabbath-day with ostentatious laughter. A few shook their sagacious heads, intimating that they could penetrate the mystery, while one or two affirmed that there was no mystery at all, but only that Mr. Hooper's eyes were so weakened by the midnight lamp as to require a shade.

After a brief interval forth came good Mr. Hooper also, in the rear of his flock. Turning his veiled face from one group to another, he paid due reverence to the hoary heads, saluted the middle-aged with kind dignity as their friend and spiritual guide, greeted the young with mingled authority and love, and laid his hands on the little children's heads to bless them. Such was always his custom on the Sabbath-day. Strange and bewildered looks repaid him for his courtesy. None, as on former occasions, aspired to the honor of walking by their pastor's side. Old Squire Saunders—doubtless by an accidental lapse of memory—neglected to invite Mr. Hooper to his table, where the good clergyman had been wont to bless the food almost every Sunday since his settlement. He returned, therefore, to the parsonage, and at the moment of closing the door was observed to look back upon the people, all of whom had their eyes fixed upon the minister. A sad smile gleamed faintly from beneath the black veil and flickered about his mouth, glimmering as he disappeared.

"How strange," said a lady, "that a simple black veil, such as any woman might wear on her bonnet, should become such a terrible thing on Mr. Hooper's face!"

"Something must surely be amiss with Mr. Hooper's intellects," observed her husband, the physician of the village. "But the strangest part of the affair is the effect of this vagary even on a sober-minded man like myself. The black veil, though it covers only our pastor's face, throws its influence over his whole person and makes him ghost-like from head to foot. Do you not feel it so?"

"Truly do I," replied the lady; "and I would not be alone with him for the world. I wonder he is not afraid to be alone with himself."

"Men sometimes are so," said her husband.

The afternoon service was attended with similar circumstances. At its conclusion the bell tolled for the funeral of a young lady. The relatives and friends were assembled in the house and the more distant acquaintances stood about the door, speaking of the good qualities of the deceased, when their talk was interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Hooper, still covered with his black veil. It was now an appropriate emblem. The clergyman stepped into the room where the corpse was laid, and bent over the coffin to take a last farewell of his deceased parishioner. As he stooped the veil hung straight down from his forehead, so that, if her eye-lids had not been closed for ever, the dead maiden might have seen his face. Could Mr. Hooper be fearful of her glance, that he so hastily caught back the black veil? A person who watched the interview between the dead and living scrupled not to affirm that at the instant when the clergyman's features were disclosed the corpse had slightly shuddered, rustling the shroud and muslin cap, though the countenance retained the composure of death. A superstitious old woman was the only witness of this prodigy.

From the coffin Mr. Hooper passed into the chamber of the mourners, and thence to the head of the staircase, to make the funeral prayer. It was a tender and heart-dissolving prayer, full of sorrow, yet so imbued with celestial hopes that the music of a heavenly harp swept by the fingers of the dead seemed faintly to be heard among the saddest accents of the minister. The people trembled, though they but darkly understood him, when he prayed that they and himself, and all of mortal race, might be ready, as he trusted this young maiden had been, for the dreadful hour that should snatch the veil from their faces. The bearers went heavily forth and the mourners followed, saddening all the street, with the dead before them and Mr. Hooper in his black veil behind.

"Why do you look back?" said one in the procession to his partner.

"I had a fancy," replied she, "that the minister and the maiden's spirit were walking hand in hand."

"And so had I at the same moment," said the other.

That night the handsomest couple in Milford village were to be joined in wedlock. Though reckoned a melancholy man, Mr. Hooper had a placid cheerfulness for such occasions which often excited a sympathetic smile where livelier merriment would have been thrown away. There was no quality of his disposition which made him more beloved than this. The company at the wedding awaited his arrival with impatience, trusting that the strange awe which had gathered over him throughout the day would now be dispelled. But such was not the result. When Mr. Hooper came, the first thing that their eyes rested on was the same horrible black veil which had added deeper gloom to the funeral and could portend nothing but evil to the wedding. Such was its immediate effect on the guests that a cloud seemed to have rolled duskily from beneath the black crape and dimmed the light of the candles. The bridal pair stood up before the minister, but the bride's cold fingers quivered in the tremulous hand of the bridegroom, and her death-like paleness caused a whisper that the maiden who had been buried a few hours before was come from her grave to be married. If ever another wedding were so dismal, it was that famous one where they tolled the wedding-knell.

After performing the ceremony Mr. Hooper raised a glass of wine to his lips, wishing happiness to the new-married couple in a strain of mild pleasantry that ought to have brightened the features of the guests like a cheerful gleam from the hearth. At that instant, catching a glimpse of his figure in the looking-glass, the black veil involved his own spirit in the horror with which it overwhelmed all others. His frame shuddered, his lips grew white, he spilt the untasted wine upon the carpet and rushed forth into the darkness, for the Earth too had on her black veil.

The next day the whole village of Milford talked of little else than Parson Hooper's black veil. That, and the mystery concealed behind it, supplied a topic for discussion between acquaintances meeting in the street and good women gossipping at their open windows. It was the first item of news that the tavernkeeper told to his guests. The children babbled of it on their way to school. One imitative little imp covered his face with an old black handkerchief, thereby so affrighting his playmates that the panic seized himself and he wellnigh lost his wits by his own waggery.

It was remarkable that, of all the busybodies and impertinent people in the parish, not one ventured to put the plain question to Mr. Hooper wherefore he did this thing. Hitherto, whenever there appeared the slightest call for such interference, he had never lacked advisers nor shown himself averse to be guided by their judgment. If he erred at all, it was by so painful a degree of self-distrust that even the mildest censure would lead him to consider an indifferent action as a crime. Yet, though so well acquainted with this amiable weakness, no individual among his parishioners chose to make the black veil a subject of friendly remonstrance. There was a feeling of dread, neither plainly confessed nor carefully concealed, which caused each to shift the responsibility upon another, till at length it was found expedient to send a deputation of the church, in order to deal with Mr. Hooper about the mystery before it should grow into a scandal. Never did an embassy so ill discharge its duties. The minister received them with friendly courtesy, but became silent after they were seated, leaving to his visitors the whole burden of introducing their important business. The topic, it might be supposed, was obvious enough. There was the black veil swathed round Mr. Hooper's forehead and concealing every feature above his placid mouth, on which, at times, they could perceive the glimmering of a melancholy smile. But that piece of crape, to their imagination, seemed to hang down before his heart, the symbol of a fearful secret between him and them. Were the veil but cast aside, they might speak freely of it, but not till then. Thus they sat a considerable time, speechless, confused and shrinking uneasily from Mr. Hooper's eye, which they felt to be fixed upon them with an invisible glance. Finally, the deputies returned abashed to their constituents, pronouncing the matter too weighty to be handled except by a council of the churches, if, indeed, it might not require a General Synod.

But there was one person in the village unappalled by the awe with which the black veil had impressed all besides herself. When the deputies returned without an explanation, or even venturing to demand one, she with the calm energy of her character determined to chase away the strange cloud that appeared to be settling round Mr. Hooper every moment more darkly than before. As his plighted wife it should be her privilege to know what the black veil concealed. At the minister's first visit, therefore, she entered upon the subject with a direct simplicity which made the task easier both for him and her. After he had seated himself she fixed her eyes steadfastly upon the veil, but could discern nothing of the dreadful gloom that had so overawed the multitude; it was but a double fold of crape hanging down from his forehead to his mouth and slightly stirring with his breath.

"No," said she, aloud, and smiling, "there is nothing terrible in this piece of crape, except that it hides a face which I am always glad to look upon. Come, good sir; let the sun shine from behind the cloud. First lay aside your black veil, then tell me why you put it on."

Mr. Hooper's smile glimmered faintly.

"There is an hour to come," said he, "when all of us shall cast aside our veils. Take it not amiss, beloved friend, if I wear this piece of crape till then."

"Your words are a mystery too," returned the young lady. "Take away the veil from them, at least."

"Elizabeth, I will," said he, "so far as my vow may suffer me. Know, then, this veil is a type and a symbol, and I am bound to wear it ever, both in light and darkness, in solitude and before the gaze of multitudes, and as with strangers, so with my familiar friends. No mortal eye will see it withdrawn. This dismal shade must separate me from the world; even you, Elizabeth, can never come behind it."

"What grievous affliction hath befallen you," she earnestly inquired, "that you should thus darken your eyes for ever?"

"If it be a sign of mourning," replied Mr. Hooper, "I, perhaps, like most other mortals, have sorrows dark enough to be typified by a black veil."

"But what if the world will not believe that it is the type of an innocent sorrow?" urged Elizabeth. "Beloved and respected as you are, there may be whispers that you hide your face under the consciousness of secret sin. For the sake of your holy office do away this scandal."

The color rose into her cheeks as she intimated the nature of the rumors that were already abroad in the village. But Mr. Hooper's mildness did not forsake him. He even smiled again—that same sad smile which always appeared like a faint glimmering of light proceeding from the obscurity beneath the veil.

"If I hide my face for sorrow, there is cause enough," he merely replied; "and if I cover it for secret sin, what mortal might not do the same?" And with this gentle but unconquerable obstinacy did he resist all her entreaties.

At length Elizabeth sat silent. For a few moments she appeared lost in thought, considering, probably, what new methods might be tried to withdraw her lover from so dark a fantasy, which, if it had no other meaning, was perhaps a symptom of mental disease. Though of a firmer character than his own, the tears rolled down her cheeks. But in an instant, as it were, a new feeling took the place of sorrow: her eyes were fixed insensibly on the black veil, when like a sudden twilight in the air its terrors fell around her. She arose and stood trembling before him.

"And do you feel it, then, at last?" said he, mournfully.

She made no reply, but covered her eyes with her hand and turned to leave the room. He rushed forward and caught her arm.

"Have patience with me, Elizabeth!" cried he, passionately. "Do not desert me though this veil must be between us here on earth. Be mine, and hereafter there shall be no veil over my face, no darkness between our souls. It is but a mortal veil; it is not for eternity. Oh, you know not how lonely I am, and how frightened to be alone behind my black veil! Do not leave me in this miserable obscurity for ever."

"Lift the veil but once and look me in the face," said she.

"Never! It cannot be!" replied Mr. Hooper.

"Then farewell!" said Elizabeth.

She withdrew her arm from his grasp and slowly departed, pausing at the door to give one long, shuddering gaze that seemed almost to penetrate the mystery of the black veil. But even amid his grief Mr. Hooper smiled to think that only a material emblem had separated him from happiness, though the horrors which it shadowed forth must be drawn darkly between the fondest of lovers.

From that time no attempts were made to remove Mr. Hooper's black veil or by a direct appeal to discover the secret which it was supposed to hide. By persons who claimed a superiority to popular prejudice it was reckoned merely an eccentric whim, such as often mingles with the sober actions of men otherwise rational and tinges them all with its own semblance of insanity. But with the multitude good Mr. Hooper was irreparably a bugbear. He could not walk the street with any peace of mind, so conscious was he that the gentle and timid would turn aside to avoid him, and that others would make it a point of hardihood to throw themselves in his way. The impertinence of the latter class compelled him to give up his customary walk at sunset to the burial-ground; for when he leaned pensively over the gate, there would always be faces behind the gravestones peeping at his black veil. A fable went the rounds that the stare of the dead people drove him thence. It grieved him to the very depth of his kind heart to observe how the children fled from his approach, breaking up their merriest sports while his melancholy figure was yet afar off. Their instinctive dread caused him to feel more strongly than aught else that a preternatural horror was interwoven with the threads of the black crape. In truth, his own antipathy to the veil was known to be so great that he never willingly passed before a mirror nor stooped to drink at a still fountain lest in its peaceful bosom he should be affrighted by himself. This was what gave plausibility to the whispers that Mr. Hooper's conscience tortured him for some great crime too horrible to be entirely concealed or otherwise than so obscurely intimated. Thus from beneath the black veil there rolled a cloud into the sunshine, an ambiguity of sin or sorrow, which enveloped the poor minister, so that love or sympathy could never reach him. It was said that ghost and fiend consorted with him there. With self-shudderings and outward terrors he walked continually in its shadow, groping darkly within his own soul or gazing through a medium that saddened the whole world. Even the lawless wind, it was believed, respected his dreadful secret and never blew aside the veil. But still good Mr. Hooper sadly smiled at the pale visages of the worldly throng as he passed by.

Among all its bad influences, the black veil had the one desirable effect of making its wearer a very efficient clergyman. By the aid of his mysterious emblem—for there was no other apparent cause—he became a man of awful power over souls that were in agony for sin. His converts always regarded him with a dread peculiar to themselves, affirming, though but figuratively, that before he brought them to celestial light they had been with him behind the black veil. Its gloom, indeed, enabled him to sympathize with all dark affections. Dying sinners cried aloud for Mr. Hooper and would not yield their breath till he appeared, though ever, as he stooped to whisper consolation, they shuddered at the veiled face so near their own. Such were the terrors of the black veil even when Death had bared his visage. Strangers came long distances to attend service at his church with the mere idle purpose of gazing at his figure because it was forbidden them to behold his face. But many were made to quake ere they departed. Once, during Governor Belcher's administration, Mr. Hooper was appointed to preach the election sermon. Covered with his black veil, he stood before the chief magistrate, the council and the representatives, and wrought so deep an impression that the legislative measures of that year were characterized by all the gloom and piety of our earliest ancestral sway.

In this manner Mr. Hooper spent a long life, irreproachable in outward act, yet shrouded in dismal suspicions; kind and loving, though unloved and dimly feared; a man apart from men, shunned in their health and joy, but ever summoned to their aid in mortal anguish. As years wore on, shedding their snows above his sable veil, he acquired a name throughout the New England churches, and they called him Father Hooper. Nearly all his parishioners who were of mature age when he was settled had been borne away by many a funeral: he had one congregation in the church and a more crowded one in the churchyard; and, having wrought so late into the evening and done his work so well, it was now good Father Hooper's turn to rest.

Several persons were visible by the shaded candlelight in the death-chamber of the old clergyman. Natural connections he had none. But there was the decorously grave though unmoved physician, seeking only to mitigate the last pangs of the patient whom he could not save. There were the deacons and other eminently pious members of his church. There, also, was the Reverend Mr. Clark of Westbury, a young and zealous divine who had ridden in haste to pray by the bedside of the expiring minister. There was the nurse—no hired handmaiden of Death, but one whose calm affection had endured thus long in secrecy, in solitude, amid the chill of age, and would not perish even at the dying-hour. Who but Elizabeth! And there lay the hoary head of good Father Hooper upon the death-pillow with the black veil still swathed about his brow and reaching down over his face, so that each more difficult gasp of his faint breath caused it to stir. All through life that piece of crape had hung between him and the world; it had separated him from cheerful brotherhood and woman's love and kept him in that saddest of all prisons his own heart; and still it lay upon his face, as if to deepen the gloom of his darksome chamber and shade him from the sunshine of eternity.

For some time previous his mind had been confused, wavering doubtfully between the past and the present, and hovering forward, as it were, at intervals, into the indistinctness of the world to come. There had been feverish turns which tossed him from side to side and wore away what little strength he had. But in his most convulsive struggles and in the wildest vagaries of his intellect, when no other thought retained its sober influence, he still showed an awful solicitude lest the black veil should slip aside. Even if his bewildered soul could have forgotten, there was a faithful woman at his pillow who with averted eyes would have covered that aged face which she had last beheld in the comeliness of manhood.

At length the death-stricken old man lay quietly in the torpor of mental and bodily exhaustion, with an imperceptible pulse and breath that grew fainter and fainter except when a long, deep and irregular inspiration seemed to prelude the flight of his spirit.

The minister of Westbury approached the bedside.

"Venerable Father Hooper," said he, "the moment of your release is at hand. Are you ready for the lifting of the veil that shuts in time from eternity?"

Father Hooper at first replied merely by a feeble motion of his head; then—apprehensive, perhaps, that his meaning might be doubtful—he exerted himself to speak.

"Yea," said he, in faint accents; "my soul hath a patient weariness until that veil be lifted."

"And is it fitting," resumed the Reverend Mr. Clark, "that a man so given to prayer, of such a blameless example, holy in deed and thought, so far as mortal judgment may pronounce,—is it fitting that a father in the Church should leave a shadow on his memory that may seem to blacken a life so pure? I pray you, my venerable brother, let not this thing be! Suffer us to be gladdened by your triumphant aspect as you go to your reward. Before the veil of eternity be lifted let me cast aside this black veil from your face;" and, thus speaking, the Reverend Mr. Clark bent forward to reveal the mystery of so many years.

But, exerting a sudden energy that made all the beholders stand aghast, Father Hooper snatched both his hands from beneath the bedclothes and pressed them strongly on the black veil, resolute to struggle if the minister of Westbury would contend with a dying man.

"Never!" cried the veiled clergyman. "On earth, never!"

"Dark old man," exclaimed the affrighted minister, "with what horrible crime upon your soul are you now passing to the judgment?"

Father Hooper's breath heaved: it rattled in his throat; but, with a mighty effort grasping forward with his hands, he caught hold of life and held it back till he should speak. He even raised himself in bed, and there he sat shivering with the arms of Death around him, while the black veil hung down, awful at that last moment in the gathered terrors of a lifetime. And yet the faint, sad smile so often there now seemed to glimmer from its obscurity and linger on Father Hooper's lips.

"Why do you tremble at me alone?" cried he, turning his veiled face round the circle of pale spectators. "Tremble also at each other. Have men avoided me and women shown no pity and children screamed and fled only for my black veil? What but the mystery which it obscurely typifies has made this piece of crape so awful? When the friend shows his inmost heart to his friend, the lover to his best-beloved; when man does not vainly shrink from the eye of his Creator, loathsomely treasuring up the secret of his sin,—then deem me a monster for the symbol beneath which I have lived and die. I look around me, and, lo! on every visage a black veil!"

While his auditors shrank from one another in mutual affright, Father Hooper fell back upon his pillow, a veiled corpse with a faint smile lingering on the lips. Still veiled, they laid him in his coffin, and a veiled corpse they bore him to the grave. The grass of many years has sprung up and withered on that grave, the burial-stone is moss-grown, and good Mr. Hooper's face is dust; but awful is still the thought that it mouldered beneath the black veil.


  1. Although Elizabeth does not know the purpose of the veil, this line serves as a metaphor for how Hooper hides his own goodness by wearing the mask of sin. She wants simply to see his face; however, readers understand the veil doesn’t simply hide Hooper’s face, but rather it represents the hidden sins of all humankind.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  2. Hawthorne uses the descriptor "pale-faced" here to sharply contrast the dark and light visages of Hooper and his congregation. The use of “pale-faced” gives not only the image of fearful or nervous people, but also a direct contrast to the blackness of Hooper’s veil. This contrast presents an image of darkness and light in the scene that could symbolize or allude to the forces of good and evil.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  3. Hawthorne incorporates this description to appeal to the sense of sound of the ominous bellows implied by the church bell. Hawthorne uses this implied sound at the beginning of the story to set a gloomy tone for the entire story.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  4. The story takes place in the Puritan town of Milford, Massachusetts. The Puritans were a powerful religious and political force in the 16th century. They emerged when certain Protestants were not satisfied with Henry VIII’s Church of England. Those who segregated became known as Puritans because they wanted the church to return its “purest” state. Hawthorne uses the Puritans and their strict adherence to biblical teachings to provide contextual framing for the story.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  5. Here we recognize the metaphorical significance of the veil: when one keeps a hidden sin on their heart, they lose themselves and they lose themselves and miss out on what life has to offer. Whether the veil symbolizes Hooper’s own sin or all of humankind’s hidden sins does not alter the metaphor, because he dies misunderstood and saddened by the burden of hidden sins.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  6. This statement makes it seem as though the veil is a personal symbol of a secret sin. The ubiquitous influence of sin is indicated by the proclamation that he is “bound to wear” the veil “in solitude and before the gaze of multitudes.”

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  7. The word "crape," an anglicized version of "crepe," refers to a silk or wool piece of cloth that has a thick consistency. It is also the name given to a mourning piece worn on the arms of funeral attendees.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  8. A reoccurring symbol in the story is the contrast between light and dark, with light symbolizing goodness and dark symbolizing evil. Here, the darkness of the veil overcomes “the light of the candles,” perhaps indicating how evil can overpower good.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  9. Since the veil symbolizes hidden sins, we look for the influence of the veil to have a metaphorical meaning that contributes to the lesson of the parable. This seems to be a metaphor for how secretive sins can change the appearance, emotion, and entire personality of the sinner.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  10. The capitalization of “Being” indicates that Hawthorne is alluding to God. The question posed here asks if Reverend Hooper wishes to hide his face from God. This could imply that Hooper has committed a sin and is ashamed to show his face to God.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  11. A "sexton" is someone who maintains and looks out for a church graveyard, keeps the graveyard clean and, more commonly in past centuries, digs graves for the deceased.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  12. Reverend Hooper's sad smile, so often mentioned in the story, may indicate his sorrowful recognition that he has failed to make clear to his congregation what the veil represents. If he had told the townspeople that he wore the veil as a symbol for hidden sins, the purpose would have been annulled by the proclamation. The smile, then, is directed at himself for having lost an opportunity to make himself understood.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  13. This line supports the idea that the veil represents one of Hooper’s personal sins. If the burden of his sins were lifted then he would be free to lift his veil. Although the story never directly implies one interpretation of the symbolism of the black veil, it may be argued that either of the two interpretations are realistically the same. If the veil represents one of Hooper’s sins, then the townspeople’s fixation on his sin simply indicates that they want to distract themselves from their own hidden sins.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  14. Reverend Hooper's dying comment is perhaps the closest he comes to explaining the meaning of the veil. Though we never know for certain whether the veil is a symbol for all the hidden sins of humankind or one specific sin of which he does not want to outright confess, the veil can come forth to mean both in these last words, suggesting all people have hidden sins they wish not explain.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  15. This is an indication that even Reverend Hooper, who knows exactly why he put on the veil, cannot help but react fearfully to the sight of himself covered by the veil. Its influence is all-pervasive, affecting both the wearer and those who view it. He offers himself as a sacrifice to exhibit the existence of his sins publicly in order to symbolize his and others' sin.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  16. Ironically, if the congregation had paid attention to the sermon, they might have connected the sermon's subject with the minister’s veil. Readers should connect the subject of the sermon with the symbolism of the veil: the black veil that hides Hooper’s face is a metaphor for the hidden sins we keep close to our hearts but never speak of.

    — Evan, Owl Eyes Staff
  17. An unintended consequence of Reverend Hooper's veil—an effect he would not have foreseen—is his isolation from the rest of mankind. A question for all readers is, "Did this isolation serve a purpose?"

    — Stephen Holliday
  18. The desire for dying sinners to want Reverend Hooper at their bedside indicates that perhaps the veil has accomplished one of its desired effects. The sinners recognize their likeness with Hooper and are drawn to his mysterious veil because they want to see that they are not alone in their sin.

    — Stephen Holliday
  19. Hawthorne resolves some of the ambiguity that pervades this story. Reverend Hooper is fighting his own inner demons while ostensibly trying to teach his congregation. If he were to reveal the meaning of the black veil, he would no longer be carrying a hidden burden, thus becoming a martyr for all the sinners in his congregation.

    — Stephen Holliday
  20. This theme of the ambiguity of meaning calls into question Hooper's motivations. If the veil is meant to teach about hidden sin, then why, when Hooper realizes the meaning has been misunderstood, does he not explain himself? Perhaps the ambiguity Hooper allows to surround the veil represents the disillusionment that hidden sins bring to their carriers.

    — Stephen Holliday
  21. An important theme in a lot of Hawthorne's works is the role of women in Puritan society. In Hawthorne's "Young Goodman Brown," "The Minister's Black Veil," "The Birthmark," and his novel The Scarlet Letter, women's lives are often blighted by the actions of men. The women in Hawthorne's works are frequently characterized by an innate ability to love and a desire for human connection, while his men are restricted in their emotional expression by the constraint of societal norms.

    — Stephen Holliday
  22. This observation fuels some of the congregation's belief that Reverend Hooper's veil symbolizes a specific act of sin—a relationship with the maiden whose funeral he is attending. The sight of Hooper walking with the dead maiden also establishes a supernatural element, an aspect of the Gothic sub-genre that Hawthorne routinely incorporates in his works.

    — Stephen Holliday
  23. This is the second explicit reference to the veil’s meaning: it is a symbol of sin that can be relinquished at the end of one’s life. However, as with the sermon at the beginning of the story, the congregation cannot quite make the connection between the symbol and its meaning.

    — Stephen Holliday
  24. Hawthorne may be alluding to Jonathan Edward's sermon "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," given in 1741 in Enfield, Connecticut, which affected his congregation so profoundly that a few women fainted at the horrific images of sin Edwards used to convince his listeners that they were one small step from damnation.

    — Stephen Holliday
  25. An important theme in this story is the effect of the veil not only on Reverend Hooper's congregation but on Reverend Hooper himself. In this context, since the veil is potentially symbolic of hidden sin, it separates Hooper from the holiness of the scripture.

    — Stephen Holliday
  26. Just as the veil darkens the congregation's view of Reverend Hooper, the veil also darkens Hooper's view of the world around him both literally and figuratively. The “darkened aspect” that the veil gives him symbolizes a gloomy and sin-ridden view of the world.

    — Stephen Holliday
  27. Note the images of light throughout this paragraph and how they change immediately after Reverend Hooper appears in his veil. Light and dark frequently contrast with one another in the narrative, creating a symbolic conflict between good and evil.

    — Stephen Holliday
  28. Hawthorne explicitly calls this story a parable because he intends to use it to teach a lesson about moral behavior. However, scholars have argued for years about the nature of what exactly is being taught.

    — Stephen Holliday
  29. An unintended casualty of the veil is Reverend Hooper's fiancee, Elizabeth, whose hope for a normal married life is swept away when Hooper refuses to take off his veil. Now that they are both older, she is as devoted to the maintenance of Hooper's veil as he is, even if she doesn't understand its purpose. The breakdown of their relationship symbolizes how hidden sins and secrets can ruin relationships even between the closest of lovers.

    — Stephen Holliday
  30. Used since Elizabethan times, the titles "Goodman" for men and "Goodwife" for women are the predecessors to the modern titles of "Mr." and "Mrs."

    — M.P. Ossa
  31. This is a clear indication that the minister attending Reverend Hooper believes, as some of Hooper's congregation believe, that the veil is a symbol of some specific sin or sins committed by Reverend Hooper. It is never directly settled in the story whether he wears it for a specific sin or to represent all the hidden sins of people.

    — Stephen Holliday
  32. Hooper makes it clear that he feels the veil has cut him off from the fellowship of others. More importantly, he is as afraid as everyone else. The townspeople believe the Minister has created his own loneliness and fear voluntarily, and they don’t understand that he wears the veil as a symbol for all of their sins.

    — Stephen Holliday
  33. Hooper's enigmatic smile, characteristic of his mild personality, becomes a symbol of his detachment from the rest of mankind because no one can understand the smile behind the veil. The smile becomes as mysterious as the veil. Perhaps Hooper allows the veil to cover everything except his smile to add to the mystery, and offer a lighter contrast to the dark veil.

    — Stephen Holliday
  34. This statement has been interpreted in two possible ways by readers and literary critics. First, Hooper may refer generically to the hidden sins of all men. Secondly, Hooper could be referring to his specific personal sins. That he never actually discloses his precise meaning creates a tension in the story that is never resolved to anyone's satisfaction.

    — Stephen Holliday
  35. Elizabeth, Hooper's fiancee, exhibits the bravery and loyalty that allow her to confront Hooper directly about his reasons for the veil. Hawthorne includes Elizabeth in the story to show how somebody’s secret sins can distance that person, even from a lover.

    — Stephen Holliday
  36. The veil's power prevents anyone from even discussing it with Reverend Hooper. It has ceased to be a physical hindrance to communication and has become the symbol of an impenetrable barrier between Hooper and the rest of his community.

    — Stephen Holliday
  37. This may indicate that Reverend Hooper's reaction to the veil has become pathological—that is, abnormal. Even though he donned the veil to make a point about secret sins, his point is now secondary to the veil's negative effects, making this a metaphor for how sins can overtake a sinner.

    — Stephen Holliday
  38. This and the later image of Reverend Hooper and the dead woman walking together lead some of the congregation to believe Hooper wears the veil to symbolize his sinful affair with the woman. However, without direct indication of the sin, readers can still interpret the veil to be a representation of all the hidden sins of the community.

    — Stephen Holliday
  39. In other words, the solemnity of the funeral makes the veil acceptable. Perhaps this suggests that the veil symbolizes an enduring presence of death as well as darkness because it hides the light of the minister’s face.

    — Stephen Holliday
  40. Hawthorne switches the joy of marriage to the sadness of a funeral in this scene—the bride and the dead young woman of the earlier funeral have exchanged places. Hawthorne does this to contrast not only light with darkness but also beginnings with ends.

    — Stephen Holliday
  41. Hooper's "sad smile" becomes a symbol of his realization that no one seems to understand the veil's purpose. The “sad smile” symbolizes the facade people put on when their hearts are burdened by a darkness, but they chose to hide their woes from the world.

    — Stephen Holliday
  42. Hawthorne's skillful use of the limited omniscient narrator creates dramatic irony—readers know precisely the reasons why Squire Saunders fails to invite Reverend Hooper for dinner.

    — Stephen Holliday