A White Heron

“The good women suspected that Sylvia loitered occasionally on her own account; there never was such a child for straying about out-of-doors since the world was made! Everybody said that it was a good change for a little maid who had tried to grow for eight years in a crowded manufacturing town, but, as for Sylvia herself, it seemed as if she never had been alive at all before she came to live at the farm.”

Mrs. Tilley, the “good woman,” builds characterization of her granddaughter through backstory. She describes Sylvia’s enjoyment of being outdoors and her past in a city, a setting that is juxtaposed with the woods. Sylvia feels that she was never “alive at all” before she came “to live at the farm,” which gives a deeper characterization of her feelings of belonging and adoration for the natural world. The passage shows strong themes, voice, and characterization.

“There was a stirring in the great boughs overhead. They were full of little birds and beasts that seemed to be wide awake, and going about their world, or else saying good-night to each other in sleepy twitters.”

The birds are personified, given the human qualities of being about to speak by “saying good-night to each other” and to be “wide awake” making noises overhead. Sylvia notices their songs and considers the birds’ voices akin to friends. She senses the “stirring,” and other “beasts,” which displays her keen understanding of the woods and immerses readers due to imagery.

“Suddenly this little woods-girl is horror-stricken to hear a clear whistle not very far away. Not a bird’s whistle, which would have a sort of friendliness, but a boy’s whistle, determined and somewhat aggressive.”

The use of sound (one of the five senses) is particularly important when the hunter whistles. Sylvia’s reaction reveals she is so attuned to the woods that she can differentiate between a bird’s whistle and the qualities it carries, such as friendliness, and a boy’s whistle, which signifies determination and aggression. Thus, she is “horror-stricken” to hear a strange, unnatural whistle.

“It did not seem to be her fault, and she hung her head as if the stem of it were broken, but managed to answer ‘Sylvy,’ with much effort when her companion asked her name again.”

The literary simile of Sylvia hanging her head “as if a stem” brings to mind flora. She is compared to a flower, her neck like a stem, which both informs readers of her shyness and delicacy and utilizes figurative language that matches the theme of the natural world.

“There ain’t a foot o’ ground she don’t know her way over, and the wild creatur’s counts her one o’ themselves. Squer’ls she’ll tame to come and feed right out o’ her hands, and all sorts o’ birds. Last winter she got the jay-birds to bangeing here, and I believe she’d ‘a’ scanted herself of her own meals to have plenty to throw amongst ’em if I hadn’t kep watch.”

Mrs. Tilley’s speech displays her unique, rural dialect. Due to word choice, including incomplete or misspelled words and improper grammar, one can hear her vernacular. Words such as “Squer’ls” “o’” “ain’t” “creatur’s” and “‘em” fit Mrs. Tilley’s informal, grammatically incorrect, regional speech. Through her story, Sylvia’s selfless identity is illuminated, for the girl feeds the birds over herself. Sylvia’s ardent attachment to the woods and its creatures fits the themes of environmentalism, human-animal connections, and her blending into nature.

“She knew that strange white bird, and had once stolen softly near where it stood in some bright green swamp grass, away over at the other side of the woods. […] Not far beyond were the salt marshes just this side of the sea itself, which Sylvia wondered and dreamed much about, but never had seen, whose great voice could sometimes be heard above the noise of the woods on stormy nights.”

Sylvia’s internal monologue reveals her knowledge of the heron’s location and awareness of the setting and her desire to view the sea. The setting feels alive in the passage, specifically through the personification of the sea “whose great voice” can be heard “above the noise of the woods.” The imagery of “bright swamp grasses,” the girl sneaking up softly on the “strange white bird,” and the sea’s voice contribute to the setting acting as a living character from Sylvia’s perspective.

“Sylvia would have liked him vastly better without his gun; she could not understand why he killed the very birds he seemed to like so much.”

Sylvia’s attitude toward the hunter is shown in this telling section, as the straightforward lines signify she would have “liked him vastly better without his gun.” Though she views his hunting negatively, her confusion is more prominent, as she cannot understand why the hunter chooses to kill the birds he claims to treasure. The primary conflict concerns the invasion of nature, and Sylvia’s point of view foreshadows that she doesn’t believe in killing wild animals, which leads to her decision later to save the heron.

“She had never seen anybody so charming and delightful; the woman’s heart, asleep in the child, was vaguely thrilled by a dream of love. […] She grieved because the longed-for white heron was elusive, but she did not lead the guest, she only followed, and there was no such thing as speaking first. The sound of her own unquestioned voice would have terrified her.”

In this coming-of-age moment, young Sylvia feels her “woman’s heart” stirring with her early sexuality. This is the first time she’s felt an attraction to a man. Sylvia is infatuated by his “charming” and “delightful” character to the point of losing her love for the wilderness when she grieves the “elusive heron.” Through the lens of a revisionist fairy tale, Sylvia is starting to fall in love with her “prince” and wants to find the heron for him, to satisfy his desires. However, by not leading the hunter or speaking unless prompted, Sylvia remains true to her loyalty to nature.

“There was the huge tree asleep yet in the paling moonlight, and small and silly Sylvia began with utmost bravery to mount to the top of it, with tingling, eager blood coursing the channels of her whole frame, with her bare feet and fingers, that pinched and held like bird's claws to the monstrous ladder reaching up, up, almost to the sky itself.”

The pine tree is personified as being “asleep,” and compared to “small and silly Sylvia” as a being of grandeur, a “monstrous ladder” much larger than her. The action’s pacing in the long, plot-driven sentence brings readers along with Sylvia by using words like “tingling, eager blood coursing” and “up, up, almost to the sky itself.” Sylvia’s bravery to climb the tree is a significant shift in her journey; she faces her choice of favoring the hunter or heron by climbing the tree. The figurative language of her feet and fingers holding the tree “like bird’s claws” also compares her to the heron and solidifies her belonging to the woods.

“It [the pine tree] must truly have been amazed that morning through all its ponderous frame as it felt this determined spark of a human spirit wending its way from higher branch to branch. […] The old pine must have loved his new dependent. More than all the hawks, and bats, and moths, and even the sweet-voiced thrushes, was the brave, beating heart of the solitary, gray-eyed child. And the tree stood still and frowned away the winds…”

The pine tree is personified with emotions of amazement and the ability to ponder when he feels the “determined spark of a human spirit” climbing his branches. The pronoun “his” rather than “its” describes the tree as male. The magical elements continue when the tree admits he loves his “new dependent” and safeguards her from the winds so Sylvia won’t fall. The pine makes decisions, performs actions, and experiences feelings, all of which personify him and hint that he could be the “prince” in the revisionist fairy tale. He not only protects Sylvia but allows her to access her love of wilderness.

“Now look down again, Sylvia, where the green marsh is set among the shining birches and dark hemlocks; there you saw the white heron once you will see him again; look, look! a white spot of him like a single floating feather comes up from the dead hemlock and grows larger, and rises […] with steady sweep of wing and outstretched slender neck and crested head.”

Again, the pine tree is personified by speaking to Sylvia. His voice tells her to “look down again” so she may find the heron. The tree even repeats “look, look” until she notices the “white spot of him like a single floating feather,” a simile that reflects the heron’s lightness of spirit, not just his figure.

“She knows his secret now, the wild, light, slender bird that floats and wavers, and goes back like an arrow presently to his home in the green world beneath.”

The heron flying “like an arrow” functions on two levels: as a simile and as a point in the plot. The heron literally points to his home, giving Sylvia the answer to her quest. She completes her goal of finding the heron, though she admires him and his “wild, light, slender” form that “floats” and “wavers,” and holds his secret close to her heart.

“What is this suddenly forbids her and makes her dumb? Has she been nine years growing and now, when the great world for the first time puts out a hand to her, she must thrust it aside for a bird’s sake? […] Sylvia cannot speak; she cannot tell the heron’s secret and give its life away.”

The use of rhetorical questions at the climax of the story increases the tension. Sylvia’s main conflict reaches its peak when she must decide to speak or remain silent. She physically “cannot speak” because she decides to show the heron mercy, for she can’t reveal his secret and “give its life away.” During her time in the pine tree, Sylvia finds her true character. She remains loyal and empathetic to the heron and the natural world instead of making the hunter happy.