Critical Analysis Essay on “Young Goodman Brown”
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750 word essay, MLA style, 3 out side sources, critical analysis essay on “Young Goodman Brown”
Young Goodman Brown
Hawthorne, Nathaniel
Published:1835
Categorie(s):Fiction, Short Stories
Source:http://gutenberg.org
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About Hawthorne:
NathanielHawthornewasbornonJuly 4,1804,in Salem,Massachu-setts, wherehisbirthplaceis nowamuseum.WilliamHathorne,who
emigratedfrom Englandin 1630,wasthe first ofHawthorne’sancestors
to arrive in the colonies. Afterarriving, WilliampersecutedQuakers.
William’sson John Hathornewasoneofthe judges whooversawthe
SalemWitchTrials.(Onetheoryisthathavinglearned aboutthis,theau-thor addedthe “w” to hissurname in hisearlytwenties, shortly after
graduatingfrom college.)Hawthorne’sfather, NathanielHathorne,Sr.,
wasasea captainwhodiedin 1808ofyellowfever, whenHawthorne
wasonlyfouryearsold,in Raymond,Maine.HawthorneattendedBow-doinCollegeatthe expenseofanunclefrom 1821to 1824,befriending
classmatesHenryWadsworthLongfellowandfuture presidentFranklin
Pierce.Whilethere hejoined the DeltaKappaEpsilonfraternity. Until
the publicationofhisTwice-ToldTalesin 1837,Hawthornewrotein the
comparative obscurityofwhathecalled his”owl’s nest”in the family
home.Ashelooked backonthis periodofhislife, hewrote:”Ihavenot
lived, butonlydreamedaboutliving.” Andyetit wasthis periodof
broodingandwritingthat hadformed, asMalcolmCowleywasto de-scribeit,”thecentralfactinHawthorne’scareer,”his”termofapprentice-ship” that wouldeventually result in the
“richly meditatedfiction.”
Hawthornewashiredin 1839as aweigherandgaugeratthe Boston
CustomHouse.Hehadbecomeengagedinthepreviousyeartotheillus-trator andtranscendentalist SophiaPeabody.Seekingapossiblehome
for himselfand Sophia,hejoined the transcendentalist utopiancom-munityatBrookFarmin 1841;later that year,however,heleft whenhe
becamedissatisfiedwithfarming andthe experiment.(His BrookFarm
adventurewouldproveaninspiration for hisnovelTheBlithedaleRo-mance.)HemarriedSophiain 1842;they movedto TheOldMansein
Concord,Massachusetts,wherethey lived for three years. Therehe
wrotemostof the tales collected in Mossesfrom an OldManse.
Hawthorneand his wifethen movedto Salem and later to the
Berkshires,returningin 1852toConcordandanewhomeTheWayside,
previouslyownedbythe Alcotts.Theirneighborsin Concordincluded
RalphWaldoEmersonand HenryDavidThoreau.LikeHawthorne,
Sophiawasareclusiveperson.Shewasbedriddenwithheadachesuntil
hersisterintroduced hertoHawthorne,afterwhichherheadachesseem
to haveabated.TheHawthornesenjoyedalong marriage,oftentaking
walksin thepark.Sophiagreatlyadmiredherhusband’swork.In oneof
herjournals, she writes:”I amalwayssodazzledandbewilderedwith
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the richness,the depth,the… jewels ofbeautyin hisproductionsthat I
amalwayslooking forwardtoasecondreadingwhereI canponderand
museand fully take in the miraculouswealthofthoughts.” In 1846,
Hawthornewasappointed surveyor (determining the quantity and
valueofimported goods)atthe SalemCustomHouse.Likehisearlier
appointmentto the customhousein Boston,this employmentwasvul-nerabletothe politicsofthe spoilssystem.ADemocrat,Hawthornelost
thisjob duetothechangeofadministrationinWashingtonafterthepres-identialelectionof1848.Hawthorne’scareerasanovelistwasboostedby
TheScarletLetterin 1850,in whichthe prefacerefersto histhree-year
tenure in the CustomHouseatSalem.TheHouseofthe SevenGables
(1851) andTheBlithedaleRomance(1852) followedin quicksuccession.
In 1852, hewrotethe campaign biographyofhisoldfriend Franklin
Pierce.WithPierce’selectionaspresident,Hawthornewasrewardedin
1853withthe positionofUnitedStatesconsulin Liverpool.In 1857,his
appointmentendedandthe Hawthornefamily toured FranceandItaly.
TheyreturnedtoTheWaysidein1860,andthatyearsawthepublication
ofTheMarbleFaun.Failinghealth(which biographerEdwardMiller
speculateswasstomachcancer)preventedhimfrom completingseveral
moreromances. Hawthornediedin hissleep onMay19,1864,in Ply-mouth,NewHampshirewhileonatour ofthe WhiteMountainswith
Pierce.Hewasburiedin SleepyHollowCemetery,Concord,Massachu-setts.WifeSophiaanddaughterUnawereoriginallyburiedin England.
However,in June 2006,they werere-interredin plotsadjacentto Nath-aniel.NathanielandSophiaHawthornehadthree children:Una,Julian,
andRose.Unawasavictimofmentalillness anddiedyoung.Julian
movedoutwest,servedajail term for embezzlementandwroteabook
abouthisfather.RosemarriedGeorgeParsonsLathropandtheybecame
RomanCatholics.AfterGeorge’sdeath,RosebecameaDominicannun.
Shefounded the DominicanSistersofHawthorneto carefor victimsof
incurable cancer. Source: Wikipedia
Also available on Feedbooks for Hawthorne:
•The Scarlet Letter(1850)
•The House of the Seven Gables(1851)
•The Minister’s Black Veil(1837)
•Rappaccini’s Daughter(1844)
•The Birth-Mark(1843)
•Biographical Stories(1842)
•The Blithedale Romance(1852)
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•The Marble Faun(1860)
•Fire Worship(1843)
•Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment(1837)
Note:This book is brought to you by Feedbooks
http://www.feedbooks.com
Strictly for personal use, do not use this file for commercial purposes.
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YoungGoodmanBrowncameforthatsunsetinto thestreetatSalemvil-lage; butputhisheadback,aftercrossingthe threshold, to exchangea
partingkiss withhisyoung wife.AndFaith,as the wifewasaptly
named,thrust herownprettyheadinto the street,letting the windplay
with the pink ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman Brown.
“Dearestheart,”whisperedshe,softlyandrathersadly,whenherlips
wereclose to hisear, “prithee putoffyourjourney untilsunrise and
sleep in yourownbedto-night. Alone womanis troubled withsuch
dreamsandsuch thoughts that she’s afeardofherselfsometimes. Pray
tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year.”
“MyloveandmyFaith,”repliedyoungGoodmanBrown,”ofallnights
in the year,this onenightmustI tarry awayfrom thee. Myjourney, as
thou callestit, forth andbackagain,mustneedsbedone’twixt nowand
sunrise.What,mysweet,prettywife,dostthou doubtmealready,and
we but three months married?”
“Then Godblessyoue!”said Faith,withthe pinkribbons; “and may
you find all well whn you come back.”
“Amen!” criedGoodmanBrown.”Saythy prayers,dearFaith,andgo
to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee.”
Sotheyparted;andtheyoungmanpursuedhiswayuntil,beingabout
to turn the corner bythe meeting-house,helooked backandsaw the
headofFaithstillpeepingafterhimwithamelancholyair,inspiteofher
pink ribbons.
“PoorlittleFaith!”thoughthe,for hisheartsmotehim.”Whatawretch
amItoleave heronsuchanerrand!Shetalksofdreams,too.Methought
asshespokethere wastrouble in herface,asif adreamhadwarnedher
whatworkis tobedonetonight. Butno,no;’t wouldkillhertothink it.
Well,she’sablessedangelonearth;andafterthis onenightI’ll clingto
her skirts and follow her to heaven.”
Withthisexcellentresolveforthefuture,GoodmanBrownfelthimself
justified inmakingmorehasteonhispresentevilpurpose.Hehadtaken
adrearyroad, darkenedbyallthe gloomiesttrees ofthe forest, which
barelystoodasideto let the narrowpathcreepthrough, andclosedim-mediatelybehind.Itwasallaslonely ascouldbe;andthere isthis pecu-liarity in suchasolitude,that the
traveller knowsnotwhomaybecon-cealedbytheinnumerable trunksandthethickboughsoverhead;sothat
withlonely footsteps he mayyet be passing through an unseen
multitude.
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“There maybeadevilishIndian behindevery tree,” said Goodman
Brownto himself;and heglancedfearfully behindhimas headded,
“What if the devil himself should be at my very elbow!”
Hisheadbeingturned back,hepassedacrookofthe road,and,look-ingforwardagain,beheldthefigureofaman,ingraveanddecentattire,
seatedatthefootofanoldtree.HearoseatGoodmanBrown’sapproach
and walked onward side by side with him.
“You arelate, GoodmanBrown,”saidhe.”The clockofthe OldSouth
wasstriking asI camethrough Boston,andthat is full fifteen minutes
agone.”
“Faithkeptmebackawhile,”repliedtheyoungman,withatremorin
hisvoice,caused bythe suddenappearanceofhiscompanion,though
not wholly unexpected.
Itwasnowdeepduskintheforest,anddeepestinthatpartofit where
these two werejourneying. Asnearlyascouldbediscerned,the second
travellerwasaboutfifty yearsold,apparentlyin thesamerankoflife as
GoodmanBrown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him,
though perhapsmorein expressionthan features. Stillthey mighthave
beentaken for father andson.Andyet,though the elderpersonwasas
simplycladasthe younger,andassimplein mannertoo, hehadanin-describableairofonewhoknewtheworld,andwhowouldnothavefelt
abashedatthegovernor’sdinnertableorinKingWilliam’scourt,wereit
possiblethathisaffairsshouldcallhimthither.Butthe onlything about
himthatcouldbefixeduponasremarkablewashisstaff,whichborethe
likenessofagreatblacksnake,socuriouslywroughtthatit mightalmost
beseento twist andwriggleitself like aliving serpent.This,ofcourse,
must have been an ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light.
“Come,GoodmanBrown,”criedhisfellow-traveller,”thisisadullpace
for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you are so soon weary.”
“Friend,” said the other,exchanging hisslow pacefor a full stop,
“havingkeptcovenantbymeetingtheehere,it ismypurposenowtore-turn whence I came. I have scruples touching the matter thou wot’st of.”
“Sayestthou so?”repliedheoftheserpent,smilingapart.”Letuswalk
on,nevertheless,reasoning as wego;andif I convince thee notthou
shalt turn back. We are but a little way in the forest yet.”
“Toofar!toofar!”exclaimedthegoodman,unconsciouslyresuminghis
walk.”Myfather neverwentinto the woodsonsuchanerrand,norhis
father beforehim.WehavebeenaraceofhonestmenandgoodChristi-anssincethe daysofthe martyrs;andshallI bethe first ofthe nameof
Brown that ever took this path and kept”
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“Such company,thou wouldstsay,”observedthe elderperson,inter-pretinghispause.”Wellsaid,GoodmanBrown!I havebeenaswellac-quaintedwithyourfamily aswitheveraoneamongthe
Puritans;and
that’s notrifle to say.I helpedyourgrandfather,the constable,whenhe
lashedtheQuakerwomansosmartlythroughthestreetsofSalem;andit
wasI that broughtyourfather apitch-pineknot,kindledatmyown
hearth,to setfire to anIndian village,in KingPhilip’swar.Theywere
mygoodfriends, both;andmanyapleasantwalkhavewehadalong
this path,andreturnedmerrilyaftermidnight.I wouldfain befriends
with you for their sake.”
“Ifit beasthou sayest,”repliedGoodmanBrown,”Imarveltheynever
spokeofthese matters;or,verily,I marvelnot,seeingthat the least ru-morofthe sortwouldhavedriventhem from NewEngland.Wearea
people of prayer, and good worksto boot, and abide no such
wickedness.”
“Wickednessornot,”saidthetravellerwiththetwistedstaff,”Ihavea
verygeneralacquaintanceherein NewEngland.Thedeaconsofmanya
church havedrunkthe communion winewithme;the selectmen of
diverstowns makemetheir chairman;andamajorityofthe Greatand
GeneralCourtarefirm supportersofmyinterest. ThegovernorandI,
too—But these are state secrets.”
“Canthis beso?”criedGoodmanBrown,withastareofamazementat
hisundisturbedcompanion. “Howbeit, I havenothingto dowiththe
governorandcouncil;they havetheir ownways,andarenorule for a
simplehusbandmanlike me.But,wereI togoonwiththee, howshould
I meetthe eyeofthat goodoldman,ourminister,atSalemvillage?Oh,
his voice would make me tremble both Sabbath day and lecture day.”
Thusfar the eldertraveller hadlistened withduegravity;butnow
burstintoafitofirrepressible mirth,shakinghimselfsoviolentlythathis
snake-like staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy.
“Ha! ha!ha!”shouted heagainandagain;then composing himself,
“Well, goon,GoodmanBrown,goon;but,prithee,don’tkillmewith
laughing.”
“Well,then,toendthe matteratonce,”saidGoodmanBrown,consid-erably nettled,”there is mywife,Faith.It wouldbreakherdearlittle
heart; and I’d rather break my own.”
“Nay,if thatbethecase,”answeredtheother,”e’engothyways,Good-manBrown.Iwouldnotfortwentyoldwomenlike theonehobblingbe-fore us that Faith should come to any harm.”
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Ashespoke hepointedhisstaff atafemale figure onthe path,in
whomGoodmanBrownrecognizedaverypiousandexemplarydame,
whohadtaught himhiscatechismin youth,andwasstillhismoraland
spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin.
“Amarvel,truly, thatGoodyCloyseshouldbesofarin thewilderness
at nightfall,”said he.”But withyourleave, friend, I shall take acut
through the woodsuntilwehaveleft this Christianwomanbehind.Be-ing astrangerto you,she mightaskwhomI wasconsortingwithand
whither I was going.”
“Be it so,”saidhisfellow-traveller. “Betake youto the woods,andlet
me keep the path.”
Accordinglythe youngmanturned aside,buttook careto watchhis
companion,whoadvancedsoftlyalongtheroaduntilhehadcomewith-in astaff’slength ofthe olddame.She,meanwhile,wasmakingthe best
ofherway,withsingular speedfor so agedawoman,andmumbling
someindistinct words—aprayer,doubtless—asshewent.Thetraveller
putforth hisstaffandtouchedherwitheredneckwithwhatseemedthe
serpent’s tail.
“The devil!” screamed the pious old lady.
“Then GoodyCloyseknowsheroldfriend?” observedthe traveller,
confronting her and leaning on his writhing stick.
“Ah, forsooth, andis it yourworshipindeed?” criedthe gooddame.
“Yea, truly is it, and in the veryimage ofmyoldgossip,Goodman
Brown,the grandfatherofthe sillyfellow that nowis. But—wouldyour
worshipbelieveit?—my broomstickhathstrangelydisappeared,stolen,
asI suspect,bythatunhangedwitch,GoodyCory,andthat, too,whenI
wasallanointedwiththe juice ofsmallage, andcinquefoil,andwolf’s
bane”
“Mingled withfine wheatandthe fat ofanew-bornbabe,”said the
shape of old Goodman Brown.
“Ah, yourworshipknowsthe recipe,” cried the oldlady, cackling
aloud.”So,asIwassaying,beingallreadyfor themeeting,andnohorse
to rideon,I madeupmymindto foot it; for they tell methere is anice
youngmanto betaken into communionto-night. Butnowyourgood
worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling.”
“That canhardlybe,”answeredherfriend. “I maynotspareyoumy
arm, Goody Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you will.”
Sosaying,hethrew it downatherfeet, where,perhaps,it assumed
life,beingoneoftherodswhichits ownerhadformerlylent totheEgyp-tian magi.Ofthis fact, however, GoodmanBrown could not take
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cognizance.Hehadcastuphiseyesin astonishment,and,looking down
again, beheld neitherGoodyCloysenorthe serpentine staff, but his
fellow-traveller alone,whowaitedfor himascalmlyasif nothinghad
happened.
“Thatoldwomantaught memycatechism,”saidthe youngman;and
there was a world of meaning in this simple comment.
Theycontinuedtowalkonward,whiletheeldertravellerexhortedhis
companionto makegoodspeedandperseverein the path,discoursing
soaptlythat hisargumentsseemedratherto springupin the bosomof
hisauditorthan tobesuggestedbyhimself.Astheywent,hepluckeda
branchofmapletoservefor awalkingstick,andbegantostripit ofthe
twigsandlittleboughs,whichwerewetwitheveningdew.Themoment
hisfingers touched them they becamestrangelywitheredanddriedup
aswithaweek’ssunshine.Thusthe pairproceeded,atagoodfree pace,
untilsuddenly, in agloomyhollowofthe road, GoodmanBrownsat
himself down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any farther.
“Friend,”saidhe,stubbornly,”mymindis madeup.Notanotherstep
willI budgeonthis errand.Whatif awretchedoldwomandochooseto
gotothedevilwhenIthoughtshewasgoingtoheaven:isthatanyreas-on why I should quit my dear Faith and go after her?”
“You willthink betterofthis byandby,”saidhisacquaintance,com-posedly.”Sithereandrestyourselfawhile;andwhenyoufeellike mov-ing again, there is my staff to help you
along.”
Withoutmorewords,hethrew hiscompanion the maplestick, and
wasasspeedily outofsight asif hehadvanishedinto the deepening
gloom.Theyoungmansatafewmomentsbythe roadside,applauding
himselfgreatly,and thinking withhowclear aconscience heshould
meetthe ministerin hismorningwalk,norshrinkfromthe eyeofgood
oldDeaconGookin.Andwhatcalmsleepwouldbehisthat verynight,
whichwasto havebeenspent so wickedly,butso purelyandsweetly
now,in thearmsofFaith!Amidstthesepleasantandpraiseworthymed-itations, GoodmanBrownheardthetramp ofhorsesalongtheroad,and
deemedit advisable to concealhimselfwithinthe vergeofthe forest,
conscious ofthe guiltypurposethat hadbroughthimthither, though
now so happily turned from it.
Oncamethe hooftramps andthe voicesofthe riders, two graveold
voices,conversingsoberlyastheydrewnear.Thesemingledsoundsap-pearedto passalongthe road, withinafew yardsofthe youngman’s
hiding-place;but,owingdoubtlesstothedepthofthegloomatthatpar-ticular spot,neitherthe travellers northeir steedswerevisible.Though
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their figures brushedthe smallboughsbythe wayside,it couldnotbe
seenthat they intercepted, evenfor amoment,the faint gleamfrom the
strip ofbright sky athwart whichthey musthavepassed.Goodman
Brown alternately crouched and stood on tiptoe, pulling aside the
branchesandthrustingforthhisheadasfarashedurstwithoutdiscern-ing somuchasashadow.Itvexedhimthemore,becausehecouldhave
sworn,weresuchathing possible,that herecognizedthe voicesofthe
ministerandDeaconGookin,jogging alongquietly,astheywerewontto
do,whenboundto someordinationorecclesiasticalcouncil.Whileyet
within hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch.
“Of the two, reverend sir,” said the voicelike the deacon’s,”I had
rather missanordinationdinnerthan to-night’s meeting.Theytell me
that someofourcommunityareto beherefromFalmouthandbeyond,
andothersfromConnecticutandRhodeIsland,besidesseveraloftheIn-dianpowwows,who,aftertheir fashion,knowalmostasmuchdeviltry
asthe bestofus.Moreover,there is agoodlyyoungwomanto betaken
into communion.”
“Mighty well,DeaconGookin!”replied the solemn oldtones ofthe
minister.”Spur up,orweshallbelate. Nothingcanbedone,youknow,
until I get on the ground.”
Thehoofsclattered again;andthe voices,talking sostrangelyin the
emptyair,passedonthroughtheforest,wherenochurchhadeverbeen
gatheredorsolitary Christianprayed.Whither,then, could these holy
menbejourneying sodeepinto the heathenwilderness?YoungGood-manBrowncaughtholdofatree for support,beingreadytosinkdown
onthe ground,faint andoverburdenedwiththe heavysickness ofhis
heart.Helooked upto the sky, doubtingwhetherthere really wasa
heavenabovehim.Yettherewasthebluearch,andthestarsbrightening
in it.
“With heavenaboveandFaithbelow,I willyetstandfirm againstthe
devil!” cried Goodman Brown.
Whilehestillgazedupwardinto the deeparchofthe firmament and
hadlifted hishandsto pray,acloud,though nowindwasstirring,hur-ried acrossthe zenithandhidthe brighteningstars. Thebluesky was
stillvisible,exceptdirectlyoverhead,wherethisblackmassofcloudwas
sweepingswiftlynorthward.Aloftin theair,asif fromthedepthsofthe
cloud,cameaconfusedanddoubtfulsoundofvoices.Oncethe listener
fanciedthathecoulddistinguishtheaccentsoftowns-peopleofhisown,
menandwomen,bothpiousandungodly,manyofwhomhehadmetat
thecommuniontable,andhadseenothersriotingatthetavern.Thenext
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moment,so indistinct werethe sounds, hedoubtedwhetherhehad
heardaught butthe murmurofthe oldforest, whisperingwithouta
wind.Thencameastrongerswellofthose familiar tones, hearddailyin
the sunshineatSalemvillage,butneveruntilnowfromacloudofnight
Therewasonevoiceofayoungwoman,utteringlamentations, yetwith
anuncertainsorrow,andentreatingfor some favor, which,perhaps,it
wouldgrievehertoobtain;andalltheunseenmultitude,bothsaintsand
sinners, seemed to encourage her onward.
“Faith!” shouted GoodmanBrown,in avoiceofagonyanddespera-tion; andtheechoesoftheforestmockedhim,crying,”Faith!Faith!”asif
bewildered wretches were seeking her all through the wilderness.
Thecryofgrief,rage,andterror wasyetpiercingthe night,whenthe
unhappyhusbandheldhisbreathfor aresponse. Therewasascream,
drownedimmediately in alouder murmurofvoices,fading into far-off
laughter, asthe darkcloudsweptaway,leaving the clearandsilentsky
aboveGoodmanBrown.Butsomethingfluttered lightly downthrough
theairandcaughtonthebranchofatree.Theyoungmanseizedit, and
beheld a pink ribbon.
“MyFaithis gone!”criedhe,afteronestupefiedmoment.”Thereis no
goodonearth;andsin is butaname.Come,devil;for to thee is this
world given.”
And,maddenedwithdespair,sothat helaughed loud andlong, did
GoodmanBrowngrasphisstaffandsetforthagain,atsucharatethathe
seemedtofly alongthe forestpathratherthan towalkorrun.Theroad
grew wilderand drearierand morefaintly traced, and vanished at
length, leaving himin the heartofthe darkwilderness,stillrushingon-wardwiththe instinct that guidesmortalmanto evil.Thewholeforest
waspeopledwithfrightful sounds—thecreakingofthe trees, the howl-ing ofwildbeasts,andthe yellofIndians; whilesometimes the wind
tolledlike adistantchurchbell,andsometimesgaveabroadroararound
the traveller, asif allNaturewerelaughing himto scorn. Buthewas
himselfthe chief horrorofthe scene, and shrank notfrom its other
horrors.
“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Goodman Brown when the wind laughed at him.
“Letushearwhichwilllaugh loudest. Thinknotto frighten mewith
yourdeviltry.Comewitch,comewizard,comeIndian powwow,come
devilhimself,andherecomes GoodmanBrown.Youmayaswellfear
him as he fear you.”
In truth, allthrough the hauntedforest there could benothingmore
frightful than the figure ofGoodmanBrown.Onheflew among the
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blackpines,brandishinghisstaff withfrenzied gestures,nowgiving
venttoaninspiration ofhorridblasphemy,andnowshoutingforthsuch
laughter assetallthe echoesofthe forestlaughing like demonsaround
him.Thefiend in hisownshapeis less hideousthan whenherages in
the breastofman.Thusspedthe demoniaconhiscourse,until,quiver-ing amongthe trees, hesawared light beforehim,aswhenthe felled
trunks andbranchesofaclearinghavebeensetonfire, andthrow up
theirlurid blazeagainstthesky,atthehourofmidnight.Hepaused,ina
lull ofthe tempest that haddrivenhimonward,andheardthe swellof
whatseemedahymn,rollingsolemnlyfrom adistancewiththe weight
ofmanyvoices.Heknewthe tune; it wasafamiliar onein the choirof
the village meeting-house.The verse died heavily away, and was
lengthened byachorus,notofhumanvoices,butofallthesoundsofthe
benighted wildernesspealingin awful harmony together. Goodman
Browncriedout,andhiscrywaslost to hisownearbyits unisonwith
the cry of the desert.
In the interval ofsilence hestole forward untilthe light glaredfull
uponhiseyes.Atoneextremityofanopenspace, hemmedin bythe
darkwallofthe forest, arosearock,bearingsomerude,naturalresemb-lanceeithertoanalterorapulpit,andsurroundedbyfourblazingpines,
their tops aflame, their stems untouched,like candles at an evening
meeting.Themassoffoliage thathadovergrownthesummitoftherock
wasallonfire, blazinghighinto the nightandfitfully illuminating the
wholefield. Eachpendenttwig andleafy festoon wasin ablaze.Asthe
redlight aroseandfell,anumerouscongregationalternatelyshoneforth,
thendisappearedinshadow,andagaingrew,asit were,outofthedark-ness, peopling the heart of the solitary woods at once.
“A grave and dark-clad company,” quoth Goodman Brown.
In truth they weresuch.Amongthem, quiveringto andfro between
gloomandsplendor,appearedfaces that wouldbeseennextdayatthe
councilboardofthe province,andotherswhich,SabbathafterSabbath,
looked devoutlyheavenward,andbenignantlyoverthe crowdedpews,
fromtheholiestpulpitsintheland.Someaffirmthatthelady ofthegov-ernorwasthere.Atleast there werehighdameswellknowntoher,and
wivesofhonoredhusbands,andwidows,agreatmultitude,andancient
maidens,allofexcellentrepute,andfair younggirls,whotrembled lest
theirmothersshouldespythem.Eitherthesuddengleamsoflight flash-ing overthe obscurefieldbedazzledGoodmanBrown,orherecognized
ascoreofthechurchmembersofSalemvillagefamousfor theirespecial
sanctity.GoodoldDeaconGookinhadarrived,andwaitedatthe skirts
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ofthat venerablesaint,hisrevered pastor.But,irreverently consorting
withthesegrave,reputable,andpiouspeople,theseeldersofthechurch,
these chastedamesanddewyvirgins,there weremenofdissolutelives
andwomenofspottedfame, wretchesgivenoverto allmeanandfilthy
vice,andsuspectedevenofhorridcrimes.It wasstrangeto seethat the
goodshranknotfrom the wicked,norwerethe sinnersabashedbythe
saints. Scatteredalsoamong their pale-facedenemies werethe Indian
priests,orpowwows,whohadoftenscaredtheirnativeforestwithmore
hideous incantations than any known to English witchcraft.
“ButwhereisFaith?”thoughtGoodmanBrown;and,ashopecamein-to his heart, he trembled.
Anotherverseofthe hymnarose,aslowandmournfulstrain,suchas
the piouslove, butjoined to wordswhichexpressedallthat ournature
canconceiveofsin,anddarklyhintedatfarmore.Unfathomabletomere
mortalsis the lore offiends. Verseafterversewassung; andstill the
chorusofthe desertswelledbetweenlike the deepesttone ofamighty
organ;and withthe final pealofthat dreadfulanthem there came a
sound,asif the roaring wind,the rushingstreams,the howlingbeasts,
andeveryothervoiceofthe unconcertedwildernesswereminglingand
accordingwiththe voiceofguiltymanin homageto the princeofall.
Thefour blazing pinesthrew upa loftier flame, and obscurelydis-coveredshapesandvisagesofhorroronthe smokewreathsabovethe
impious assembly.Atthe samemomentthe fire onthe rockshotredly
forth andformed aglowingarchaboveits base,wherenowappeareda
figure. Withreverencebeit spoken,the figure borenoslightsimilitude,
bothin garband manner,to some gravedivineofthe NewEngland
churches.
“Bringforth the converts!”criedavoicethat echoedthrough the field
and rolled into the forest.
Atthe word,GoodmanBrownsteppedforth from the shadowofthe
trees and approachedthe congregation, withwhomhefelt aloathful
brotherhoodbythe sympathy ofallthat waswickedin hisheart.He
could have well-nighsworn that the shape of hisown deadfather
beckonedhimto advance,looking downwardfrom asmoke wreath,
whileawoman,withdimfeatures ofdespair,threw outherhandto
warnhimback.Wasit hismother?Buthehadnopowerto retreatone
step, norto resist, even in thought, whenthe ministerand goodold
DeaconGookinseizedhisarmsandled himtothe blazingrock.Thither
came also the slender form of a veiledfemale, led between Goody
Cloyse,thatpiousteacherofthecatechism,andMarthaCarrier,whohad
13
receivedthedevil’spromisetobequeenofhell.Arampanthagwasshe.
And there stood the proselytes beneath the canopy of fire.
“Welcome, mychildren,”saidthe darkfigure, “to the communionof
yourrace.Yehavefound thusyoungyournatureandyourdestiny.My
children, look behind you!”
Theyturned; andflashing forth, asit were,in asheet offlame, the
fiend worshipperswereseen; the smileofwelcomegleameddarklyon
every visage.
“There,” resumed the sable form, “are allwhomyehavereverenced
from youth.Yedeemedthem holierthan yourselves,andshrank from
yourownsin,contrastingit withtheirlives ofrighteousnessandprayer-fulaspirationsheavenward.Yetherearetheyallin myworshippingas-sembly.Thisnightit shall begrantedyouto
knowtheir secret deeds:
howhoary-beardedeldersofthe churchhavewhisperedwantonwords
to the youngmaidsoftheir households;howmanyawoman,eagerfor
widows’weeds,hasgivenherhusbandadrinkatbedtimeandlet him
sleephislast sleepin herbosom;howbeardlessyouthshavemadehaste
to inherit their fathers’ wealth;andhowfair damsels—blushnot,sweet
ones—haveduglittle gravesin the garden,and biddenme,the sole
guestto aninfant’s funeral. Bythe sympathy ofyourhumanheartsfor
sin yeshall scent outallthe places—whetherin church, bedchamber,
street,field, orforest—where crimehasbeencommitted,andshallexult
to beholdthe wholeearthonestainofguilt,onemightybloodspot.Far
morethan this. It shallbeyoursto penetrate,in everybosom,the deep
mysteryofsin,the fountain ofallwickedarts,andwhichinexhaustibly
supplies moreevilimpulses than humanpower—thanmypoweratits
utmost—canmakemanifestin deeds.Andnow,mychildren,look upon
each other.”
Theydidso;and,bytheblazeofthehell-kindledtorches,thewretched
manbeheldhisFaith,andthe wifeherhusband,trembling beforethat
unhallowed altar.
“Lo,thereyestand,mychildren,”saidthefigure,inadeepandsolemn
tone, almost sad withits despairingawfulness,as if hisonceangelic
naturecould yetmournfor ourmiserablerace. “Depending uponone
another’shearts,yehadstillhopedthatvirtuewerenotalladream.Now
areyeundeceived.Evilisthenatureofmankind.Evilmustbeyouronly
happiness.Welcomeagain, mychildren, to the communion of your
race.”
“Welcome,”repeatedthe fiendworshippers,in onecryofdespairand
triumph.
14
Andthere theystood,the onlypair,asit seemed,whowereyethesit-atingonthe vergeofwickednessin this darkworld.Abasinwashol-lowed,naturally,in therock.Didit
containwater,reddenedbythelurid
light? orwasit blood?or,perchance,aliquid flame? Hereindidthe
shapeofevildiphishandandpreparetolay the markofbaptismupon
theirforeheads,thattheymightbepartakersofthemysteryofsin,more
consciousofthe secret guiltofothers,bothin deedandthought, than
they couldnowbeoftheir own.Thehusbandcastonelook athispale
wife,andFaithathim.Whatpollutedwretcheswouldthe nextglance
showthem to eachother,shuddering alikeatwhatthey disclosedand
what they saw!
“Faith! Faith!”criedthe husband,”look upto heaven,andresist the
wicked one.”
WhetherFaithobeyedheknewnot.Hardlyhadhespokenwhenhe
found himselfamidcalm nightandsolitude, listening to aroar ofthe
windwhichdiedheavilyawaythrough the forest. Hestaggeredagainst
the rock,andfeltit chillanddamp;whileahangingtwig, thathadbeen
all on fire, besprinkled his cheek with the coldest dew.
ThenextmorningyoungGoodmanBrowncameslowlyinto thestreet
ofSalemvillage,staringaroundhimlike abewilderedman.Thegood
oldministerwastakingawalkalongthegraveyardtogetanappetitefor
breakfast and meditatehissermon, and bestowed a blessing, as he
passed,onGoodmanBrown.Heshrankfromthevenerablesaintasif to
avoidananathema.OldDeaconGookinwasatdomesticworship,and
the holywordsofhisprayerwereheardthrough the openwindow.
“What Goddoththe wizardprayto?” quothGoodmanBrown.Goody
Cloyse,that excellentoldChristian,stood in the earlysunshine ather
own lattice, catechizing a little girl whohad brought hera pintof
morning’smilk.GoodmanBrownsnatchedawaythe childasfrom the
graspofthe fiend himself.Turningthe cornerbythe meeting-house,he
spied the headofFaith,withthe pinkribbons, gazinganxiouslyforth,
andburstinginto such joy atsight ofhimthat she skipped alongthe
street and almost kissed herhusband before the wholevillage.But
GoodmanBrownlooked sternlyandsadlyinto herface, andpassedon
without a greeting.
HadGoodmanBrownfallen asleepin the forest andonlydreameda
wild dream of a witch-meeting?
Beit soif youwill;but,alas!it wasadreamofevilomenfor young
GoodmanBrown.Astern,asad,adarklymeditative,adistrustful,if not
adesperatemandidhebecomefromthenightofthatfearfuldream.On
15
the Sabbathday,whenthe congregationweresingingaholypsalm,he
couldnotlistenbecauseananthemofsinrushedloudlyuponhisearand
drownedalltheblessedstrain.Whentheministerspokefromthepulpit
withpowerandfervid eloquence,and,withhishandonthe openBible,
ofthesacredtruthsofourreligion,andofsaint-likelives andtriumphant
deaths,and offuture blissormiseryunutterable,then didGoodman
Brownturn pale,dreadinglest the roofshouldthunder downuponthe
grayblasphemerandhishearers.Often,wakingsuddenlyatmidnight,
heshrankfrom the bosomofFaith;andatmorningoreventide,when
the family kneltdownatprayer,hescowled andmutteredto himself,
andgazedsternlyathiswife,andturned away.Andwhenhehadlived
long, andwasborneto hisgraveahoarycorpse,followed byFaith,an
agedwoman,andchildrenandgrandchildren,agoodlyprocession,be-sidesneighborsnotafew, they carvednohopefulverseuponhistomb-stone, for his dying hour was gloom.
16
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