hawthorne young goodman brown

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To deny the existenceof Tophet, when he felt itsfrcry toftuÍ esraging within his breast. I rushedto the side of the boat, intending to fling myselfoÍ r shofe; but the wheels, as they began theirrevolutions, threw a dash of spray over me socold so deadly cold, with the chill that willnever Ieave those waters until Death be drowned

in his own river-that with a shiver and a heart-guake I awoke. Thank Heaven it was a Dream!

u843,1846)

YotlNG GooDMÁN BRow^I

MaÍ ciÍ jcr couider,,Yoang Good'mall Broun''oxe of Hautborre,Í Í ,lpreme 4fh!t|c s,/cce!Í e!.Hexry lamet called it a "rxagniljcent little rc-mance," axd Maft Vatt Doren termed it "oneof tbe uorld's &edt taler," lt alto, one nuiadd, one of HauÍ borxe't aost rcpreJenldtile

ttories, Here dre tbe Neu England. seting, tbePutitan charucters,be concetr uitb morality, and,particalatly, tbe seating rccogttitiottof et.il )t theuorld' Tbe É nowledgeo| 'il brilgt ndlnril)] toRobin in " i147Kinsman, llajor Molineux," anderen to Doflatello in The Marble Farn, and.pre-vmably ix Í bejr caret Í be erlacatiue i|npd.t iÍpd,.dmonÍ . Bat t/le admitsiolz tbat euil is lxi-l,ettal is detlasÍ atin?o Yo|,|1l8Goodman Broun.Completely disillt:ioned, wbetrlter e uas tbe tic-titn of a uisiox or a dÍ edm,be /las lot t'aitb inthe uo d, ánd' bir,,d'yn& bott uas gloom.''

Tbe nat.ratit,e tates place dt Í be time oÍ t/:)euitchctaft

frenzy,ubex iÍ was eas1 to believ-e lz

diabolitm, and tbe story is enticbed. by Hau-t/roi',?e'!marterll baxdlitg of ,be atnolpberc. ltzthe blacÁnestof tbe uoods t/le d,eail appean intbe fietb' axd a uitcbe!, jdbb.'th dtttdctr deaoÍ ee|Jrom exalted potitiotl.t.Screecbetand hrid. ligbxempbasize be gotbic nature of Haunon?e'J !ce1?e,dnd tbe !/tggerted resenceof Indiax sacbens addtanot/lerÉ jntlof terrot. You,lg Goodlnan Btoult,sdppeal Í o Heale abfilpÍ l)]en.jDdter the |teeÍ in8,il!t | í ! u í olA lrddjlio,? o e couId exotcize Satanb), /:eute oÍ a diljne nane. Át tbe end Hawtbotneleat,e.r he reatler tncettain dbo t exactly obdthdppened,but Young Goodnan Broun car?.le1)et

Jbpel tbe bottott oI bis nidú gbt eXch'''ia]l'

Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunsetinto the streetat Salem village; but put his headback, aí ter crossing the threshold, to exchangeaparting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, asthe wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty

YOUNG GOODATAN BROV/N 221,

head into the street, etting the wind play withthe pink ribbons of her cap while she called toGoodman Brown.

"Dearest heart," v,hispered she, softly andrather sadly, when her lips were close to his ear,"prithee put off your joutney until sunrise andsleep in your own bed to'night' Á lone woman

is troubled with such dreams and such thoughtsthat she's afeared of herself sometimes. Praytarry with me this night, dear husband, of allnights in the year."

"My love and my Faith," replied young Good-man Brown, "of all nights io the year, this onenight must I taüy away from thee.My journey, asthou callest it, forth and back again, must needsbe done 'twixt now and sunrise. What, my sv/eet,pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and webut three months married?"

"Then God bless you!" said Faith, with thepink ribbons; ..and may you É ndall well when

you come back."..Átnen!'' cried Goodman Brown. ..Saythy pray.ers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and noharm will come to thee."

So they parted; and the young rnan pursuedhis way until, being about to turn the coiner bythe meeting-house,he looked back and saw thehead of Faith stiil peeping after him with amelancholyait, in spite of her pink tibbons.''Poor little Faithl' thoughthe , for his heartsmote him. "\rhat a wretch am I to leave her onsuch an errandl She talks of dreams, too. Me-thought as she spoke there was trouble in herface, as if

a dreaor had warned her what work isto be done to,night. But no, no; 't would kill herto think it. \ü/cll, she,sa blessedangel on earth;and r Í r e rhi sonenigh l II | inq o her ski rIs ndfollow her to hca'en-

l7ith this excellent resolve for the future,Goodman Brov.n felt himself justií ed in makingmore has ieon h i s presenr r i l purpose. e hadlai:r.n dre.rry oad.darkcnedby all the gloomiesrtreesof the forest, which barely stood aside to letthe Í raf'o\r'Path cfeeP through, and closed imme.diatelybehind.It was all as lonely as cotld be;and theÍ e s this Peculiafity n such a solitude, thatlhe traveller knows not wbo may be concealedbythe innumerable runks and the thick boughsover,head; so that with lonely footstepshe may yet bepassing through an unseenmultitude.

"There may be a devilish Indian behind everytree,'' said Goodman Brown to himself; aod heglanced fearfully behind him as he added, "ri7iratif thc devil himself should be at my very elbow!"



222 NATHÁNIELHAVTHORNE

His head being turned back, he passed a crookof the road, and, looking forward again, beheldthe figure of a man, in grave and decent attire,seated at the foot of an old tree, He arose atGoodman Brown's approach and walked onwardside by sidewjth him.

"You are late,Goodman Brown," said he. "The

clock of the Old South was striking as I camethrough Boston, and that is full fifteen minutesagone.

"Faith kept me back a while," replied the youngman, with a tÍ emoÍ n his voice' caused by thesuddeo appearanceof his companion, though notwholly unexpected.

It was now deepdusk in the forest,and deepestin thatpartof it where hese wo were ourneying.Ás nearly as could be discerned, he second ravel.ler was about fií ty years old, apparently in thesame ank of life as Goodman Brown, and bearinga considerable fesemblance o him, though per-

haps more in expression than featuÍ es' till theymight have been taken for father and son' Ándyet, though the elder person was as simply clad asthe younger, ancl as simple in manner too, he badan indescribableair of one q'ho knew the world,and who would not have felt abashed at thegovernor's dinner table of in Kiog lTilliam'scourt, were it possible that his affairs should callhim thither. But the only thing about him thatcould be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff,rvhich bote the likeness of a é .reat lack soake, socuriously wrought that it might almost be seen totwist and wtiggle itself like a living serpent.This,

of course, must bave been an ocular deception,assistedby the uncertain ight."Come, Goodman Brown," cried his fellor.

traveller, "this is a dull pace for the beginningof a journey. Take my staE, if you are so soonweary."

"Frieod," said the other, exchanginghis slowpace for a full stop, "having kept covenant byneeting thee here' it is my PuÍ Posenow to retuÍ nwhence I ceme. have scruples ouching the matterthou wot'stof."

"Sayest thou so?" replied he of the serpent,smiling apart. "Let us walk on, nevertheless,teasoning as we go; and if I convince thee not

thou slralt turn back' rüí e are but a little way inthe forest yet,"

"Too far! too far!" exclaimed the goodman,unconsciously resuming his walk. "My fathernever went into the woods on such an etrand, norhis father before him. S7e have been a race ofhonest men and good Christians since the days of

the martyrs;aÍ Id hall i be the first of the name ofBÍ own that evertook this Path and kePt',-

"Such company, thou wouldst say," observedthe elder person, nteÍ Pretin8 is parrse'...ü7ellsaid, Goodman Brown ! I have been as well ac-guainted with yor:r family as v'ith ever a oneamong the Puritans; and that's no trifle to say.

I helped your grandfather, be constable,when heIashed he Quaker woman so smartly through thestreetsof Salem; and it was I that brought yourfathera pitch'pine not, kindled at mv own heart,to set frre to an Indian village, in King Philip'swar. They were my good friends, both; and manya pleasantvralk have we had along this path, andreturned merrily after midnight. I would fain befriends with you í or their sake.''

"If it be as thou sayest," replied GoodmanBrown, "I marvel they never spoke of thesematters; or, verily, l marvel not, seeing that theleast rumor oí the sort would have driven them

from New England. \üe ale a PeoPle of prayer,and good works to boot, and abide no such wick-edness."

"\Wickedness r not," said the ttaveller v'ith thetwjsted staff, "I have a very geoeral acquaintancehere in New England. The deacons of many achurch have druok the comn'runionwine with me;the selectmen of divers towns make me theirchairman; and a majority oí the Great and Gen.eral Court are firm supportersof my intefest.Thegovernor and I, too- But these are state secrets."

"Can this be so?" cried Goodman Brown, witha staÍ e of amazementat his undisturbed com-

panion."Howbeit,

I have nothing to do withthe goveÍ norand council; they have their ownways, and are no rule for a simple husbandmanlikc mc. But, were I to go on with thee, bowshould I meet the eye of that good old man, ourminister, at Salem village? Oh, his voice q'ouldmake me tremble both Sabbath day and lecturcd"y."

Thus far the elder traveller had listened withdue gravity; but now burst into a bit of irrepre-s-sible pirth, shaking himself so violently that hissnakelike staff actuallyseemed o wtiggle in sym-pathy.

"Ha ! ha ! ha !" shouted he again and again; then

composing himself, "Well, go on, GoodmanBrown, go on; but, pfithee, don't kil l me withlaughing."

.'.i7ell' then, to end the matteÍ at once,'' saidGoodman Brown, considerably nettled, "there ismy wife, Faith. It would break her dear littleheart: nd T d ralherbreakmy own.

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"Nay, if that be the case," answered the other,"e'en go thy ways,Goodman Brown. I would not.í or twenty old women like the one hobbling be.iore us that Faith should come to any harm."

As he spoke he pointed his staff at a femaleigure on the path, in whom Goodman Brownrecognized a very pious and exemplary dane,

sho had taught him his catechism n youth, andnas stil l his moral and spiritual adviser, ointlyrr th the minister nd DeaconGookin.

..Á marvel' truly, that Goody Cloyse should beso í ar in the wildernessat nightfall, '' said he.''But $.ith your leave, riend, I shall take a cutrhrough the woods until we have left this Chris-lirn woman behind. Being a stranger to you, shemight ask whom I was consorting with ands hither I was going."

..B€ it so,'' said his felloq-traveller'.,Betakelou to the woods, and let me keep the path."

Accordingly the young man turned aside, but

look care to watch his companion, q'ho advancedsoftly along the road until he had comc within astaff's length of the old darne. She, meanwhile,nas makiog the best of her way, with singularspeed or so aged a woman, and mumbling someindistinctwords-a prayer,doubtless-as she went.The traveller put forth his staff and touched hern'ithered neck with what seemed the serpent'st. rl.

"The devil !" screamed he pious old lady."Then Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?"

observedthe traveller, coní ronting her and lean-ing on his writhing stick.

..Áh, fotsooth, nd is it your worship ndeed?'':ried the good dame. "Yca, truly is it, and inthe very image of my old gossip, GoodmanBÍ own, the grandfather of the silly í ellow thateow is. But-would your worship believe it ?-mybroomstick hath strangely disappeared,stolen, asI suspect,by that unhanged witch, Goody Cory,rnd that, too, when I was all anoioted with theruice of smallage, and cinquefoil, and wolf's53ne"_

"N{ingled with fine wheatand the fat of a ne{'born babe," said the shape of old GoodmanBÍ own.

.'Áh, your worshipknows he recipe,'' riedthe

old lady, cackling aloud. "So, as I was sayiog,5eiog all ready for the meeting, aod no horse toridc on, I made up my mind to foot it; for theytell me theÍ e s a nice young man to be takenioto communion to-ni8ht. But now your goodworship will lend me your arm, and we shall be, h . r P i n ' f w i n L l ; n o "

YOUNG GooD]ú ÁN BRowN 223

"That can hardly be," answered her friend. "Imay not spare you my arm, Goody Cloyse; buthere s my stafi, f you will."

So saying, he threw it down at her feet,where,perhaps, it assumed ife, being one of the rodswhich its owner had formerly lent to the Egyptianmagi. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown

could not take cognizance. He had cast up hiseyes in astonishment,and, lookiog down again,beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentinestaff, but his fellow-trar.elleralone, who waitedfor hirn as calmly as if nothinghad happened.

"That old woman taught me my catechism,"said the young man; and there was a world ofmeaning n this simple comment.

Thev continuedto walk onward. while the eldertraveller exhorted his companion to make goodspeed and persevere n the path, discoursing soaptly that his arguments seemed rather to springup in the bosom of his auditor than to be sug-

gested by himself. Ás they $'ent, he plucked abranch of maple to serve for a walkiog stick, andbegan to strip it of the twigs and little boughs,which were wet with evening dew. The momenthis fingcrs touched them they became strangelywitheredand dried up as with a week'ssunshine.Thus the pair proceeded, t a good free pace,untilsuddenly, n a gloomy hollow of the road, Good-man Brown sat himself down oo the stump of atree and rcfuscd to go any farther.

"Friend," said he, stubbornly, in y mind ismade up. Not another step will I budge oo thiserrand.

.!í hatif a q'retchedold woman do choose

to 8o to the devilwhen

I thought she was Í pingto heaven: is that any reason why I should quitmy dear Faith and go after her?"

"You will think betterof this by and by," saidhis acquaintance, omposedly. "Sit hele and restyourself a while; and v.hen you í eel like movingagain, there is my stafi to help you aloog."

Without more v'ords, he threw his companionthe maple stick. and was as speedilyout oÍ sightas if he had vanished into the deepeniog gloom.The young man sat a few moments by the road-side, applauding himself greatly, and thinkingwith how clear a consciencehe should meet themioister in his morning walk, nor shrink from

the eye of good old Deacon Gookin. Ánd whatcalm sleep would be his that very night, whichwas to have beenspent so wickedly, but so purelyaod sweetly now' in the arms of Faith ! Ámidstthese pleasant and praiseworthy meditations,Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses alongthe road, and deemed t advisable to concealhim-



224 NATHÁN|ELHA\YTHoRNE

sclf s'ithin the verge of the forest, conscious ofthe guilty purpose that had brought him thither,thoughnov'so happily urned rom t'

On came the hoof trampsand the voices of thcriders, tv.o grave old voices, conversing soberlyas they drew neat. These mingled sounds ap-pearedto passalong the road, within a few yards

of the young mao's hiding-place;but, owingdoubtless o the depth of the gloom at that par,ticula! spot, neither the travellers nor their steedswere visible' Though their í gures brushed thesmall boughs by the r.ayside, t could not be seenthat they intercepted, even for a moment, thefaint gleam from the sirip of bÍ ight sky athNartwhich thcy must haye passed. Goodman BrownalternatelycÍ ouchedand stood on tiptoe, pullingaside the braochesand thrusting forth his head asfar as he durst without discerning so much as ashadow. It vexed him the more, becausehe couldhave sworn, v/ere such a thing possible, that he

recognized he voices of the minister and DeaconGookin, jogging along guietly, as they were wontto do, when bound to some ordination oÍ ecclesias.tical council. While yet within hearing, one ofthc riders stopped o pluck a switch

..Of the tl.o, Ievclends iÍ , , , aid the voice ik ethe deacon's, I had rather miss an ordinationdinncr thao to-night's meeting.They tell me thatsome of our comrnunity are to be here from Fal-rnouth aod beyond, and others from Connecticutand Rhode Island, besides everalof the Indiaopowwows, who, after their fashion, know almostas much deviltry as the best of us. Moreover,

there is a goodly young woman to be taken intocommunion.""Miphty well. Deacon Gookin rcplicd the

solemn old tones of the minister. "Spur up, of $/eshail be late. Nothing can be done, you know,uotil I get on the ground."

The hoofs clattered again; and the voices,talk-ing so strangely n the cmptyair, passedon throughthe forest, n'here no church had ever been gath-ered or solitary Christian prayed. \7hither, then,could these holy men be journeying so deep intothe heathenwilderness Young Goodman Browncaught hold oí a tlcc for support' being ready tosink down on the ground, faint and overbutdenedwith the heavy sicLnessof his heart. He lookeduP to the sky, doubting whether thefe Í eally wasa heavenabove hirn. Yct there was the blue arch,and the stars brightcning in it.

..1ü7ithheavenabor'eand Faitlr below, I will yetstand firm against the der.il " cried GoodnanBrown.

!7hile he still gazed upward into the deep archof the firmament and had lifted his hands toprr1.a c loud. houqhno wind was st i r r ing. rrr-ried across the zeoith and hid the brighteningst i rs . he blue"ky

ra. . l i l l v i . rb le. xcepr i rc . l lvovcrhead, where this black mass of cloud $'assweeping swiftly northward' Áloft in the air, as if

í rom the depths of the cloud, came a confusedanddoubtful sound of voices. Once thc listenerfancied that he could distinguish the accents oftov.ns.peopleoí his own, men and women, botllpious and ungodly, many of whom he had rnetat the comnuniontable,and had seenothers iot'ing at the tavern. The next moment, so indistinctwere the sounds,he doubtedwhether he had heardaué ]ht ut the mufn]uf of the old forest, t.hisper.ing without a wind. Then came a stronger swellof those familiar tones, heard daily in the sun-shioe at Salem r.illage, but never until now froma cloud of night. There was one voice, of a young

womarr' utteriné l amentations,yet with an uncer.tain sorrow, and entreating or some favor, which,perhaps, t would grieve her to obtain; and all theunseen mriltitude, both saints and sinners, seemed

h " . ^ . - , , . . 1

"Faith " shouted oodmanBroq'n, n a voiceofagony and desperation; and the echoes of theí orestmocked him, crying, ..Faithl Faith!'' as ifbe.i,ilderedwrctches x.ere seeking heÍ all throughthc wilderness.

The cry of grief, rage, and tertoÍ was yet Pietc'ing the right, when the uohappy husband held hisbreath or a response. here v'asa scream,drowned

immediately n a louder murmur of r'oices, adinginto far-off aughter,as the dark cloud swept away,leaving the clear and silent sky above GoodmanBÍ os'n. But something í uttered lightly downthrough the air atrd caught on the branch of atree. The young man seized it, and beheld a pinkribbon.

"My Faith is gone!" cried he , after one stupe'6ed moment. "There is no good on earth; and sinis but a name, Come, devil; for to thee is thisworld given."

Árrd, maddcned with despair,so that he laughedloud and long, did Goodman Brown grasp hisstaf and set forth again, at such a rate that heseemed o fly along the forest path rather than towalk or run. The road grew wilder and drearierand more faintly traced, and vanished at length,leaving him ir the heart of the dark wilderness,still rushing onward with the instinct that guidesmortal man to evil. The whole fotest was peopledwith frightful sounds-the creaking of the trees,

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the howling of wild beasts, nd theyell of Indians;s'hile sometimesthe wind tolled like a distant;hurch bell, and sometimes gave a broad roararound the traveller, as if all Nature were laugh-ing him to scorn. But he was himself the chiefhorrot of the scene'and shrank not from its otheÍhorrors.

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Goodman Brown whenthe wind laughed at him. "Let us hear which willlaugh loudest.Think not to frighten me with yourdeviltry. Come witch, come wizard, come Indianpow-wow, come devil himself, and here comesGoodman Brown. You may as well fear him as hefear you."

In truth, all through the haunted forest therecould be nothing more frightful than the fgure ofGoodman Brown. Orr he flew among the blackpines,brandishing is staí wiLh renzied esrures,oow giving vent to an inspiration of hordd blas-phemy, and now shouting forth such laughter as

set all the echoes of the forest laughing like de-mons aÍ oundhim. The fiend in his own shape sless hideous than when he rages n the bteast ofman. Thus sped the demoniac on h is couÍ se, ntil,quivering among the trees, he saw a red lightbefore him, as when the felled trunks andbranches of a clearing have been set on fire, andthrow up their lurid blaze against the sky, at thehour of midnight. He paused, in a lull of thetempest that had driveo him onward, and heardthe swell of what seemeda hymn, rolling solemnlyfrom a distancewith the weight of many voices.He knew the tune; it was a famiÍ iar one in the

choir of the village meeting-house. he versediedheavily away, and was lengthened by a chorus, notof human voices,but of all the sounds of the be-nighted wilderness pealing in awful harmonytogethef. Goodman Browrl cried out, and his crywas lost to his own ear by its unison with the ctyof the desert.

In the interval of silence he stole forward untilthe light glared full upon his eyes.At ooe extrem-ity of an open space,hemmed n by the dark wallof the forest, arosea rock, bearing some rude, nat'utal tesemblance ither to an altar or a pulpit, andsurrounded by four blazing pines. their topsaflame. their stems untouched. ike candles at an

evelin8 meeting. The mass of foliage that hadovergrown the summit of the rock was all onfire, blazing high into the night and fitfully illumi-natirg the whole field. Each pendent twig andleafy festoon was in a blaze' Ás the red lightarose and fell, a numerous co[gregation alter-nately shooe folth, then disappeared n shadow,

YOUNG GOODMAN BROIYN 225

and again grew, as it were, out of the darkness,peopling the heart of the solitary woods at once.

..Á grave and dark-cladcompany,,'quoth Good.man Brown.

In truth they were such. Ámong them, quiver.í ng to and fro between gloom and splendor,appeared faces that would be seen next day at

the council board of the province, and otherswhich, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devoutlyheavenward, and benignantly over the crowdedpews, from the holiest PulPits iÍ | he land. Someamtm that the lady of the governor was there.Át least thele were high dames well known tohet, and wives of honored husbands,and widows,a gfeat multitude, and ancient maidens, all ofexcellent tepute, and fair young girls, who trem-bled lest their mothers should espy them. Eitherthe sudden gleams of light flashing over the ob'scure field bedazzled Goodman Brown, or herecognized a score oí the church members of

Salem village famous for their especial sanctity.Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waitedat the skirts of that venerable saint, his reveredpastor. But, irreverently consorting with thesegrave, reputable, and pious people, these eldersof the church, these chaste dames and dewyvirgins, there were men of dissolute lives andwomen of spotted fame, wretches given over toall mean and frlthy vice, and suspected evenof horrid crimes. It was strange to see that thegood shrank not from the wicked, nor werethe sinners abashed by the saints. Scattered alsoamong theiÍ pale.faced enemies wele the Indianpriests,

or powwows,who

had often scared theirnative forests with more hideous incantationsthan any known to English witchcraft.

"But where is Faith?" thought GoodmanBrown; and, as hope came into his heart, hetrembled.

Ánother verse of the hymn arose, a slow andmournful strain, such as the pious love, but joinedto words which expressed all that our naturecan conceive of sin, and darkly hinted at farmore. Unfathomable to mere mortals is the loreof É ends.Verse after verse was sung; and stillthe chorus of the desert swelled between likethe deepest one of a mighty organ; and with thefinal peal of the dreadful anthem there camea sound, as if the roaring wind, the rushingstreams, the howling boasts, and every othervoice of the unconcertedwilderness were minglingand according with the voice of guilty man inhomage to the prince of all. The four blazingpines thfew up a loftier flame, and obscurely



226 NATHANIELHAWTHORNE

discovered shapes and visages of horror on thesmoke wreaths above the impior-rsassembly. Átthe same moment the fire on the rock shot redlyforth and formed a glowing arch above itsbase, where now appeared a figure. With rever-ence be it spoken, the figure bore no slightsimilitude, both in garb and manner, to some

grave divine of the New England churches."Bring forth the convertsl" cried a voice thatechoed through the í eld and rollcd into theforest.

Át the word, Goodman Brown stepped forthfrom the shadow of the trees and approached hecongregatioo,with whom he felt a loathful brother-hood by the symPathy oÍ all that was wickedin his heart. He could have well-nigh swornthat the shape of his owo dead father beckonedhim to advance, looking downward from asmoke wreath, while a woman, with dim featuÍ esof despair, hrew out her hand to warn him back.!üi/'as

this

mother? But he had no Power toletreat one step, nor to resist, even in thought,when the minister and good old Deacon Gookinseized his arms and led him to the blazing rock.Thither came also the slender form of a veiledfemale, led beween Goody Cloyse, that piousteacher of the catechism, and Martha Carrier,who had received the devil's promise to bequeen of hell. A rampant hag was she. Ándthere stood the proselltes beoeath the canopy of6re.

"lVelcome, my children," said the dark figure,"to the communion of your race. Ye have foundthus young your nature and your destiny. My

chil<iren, ook behind you!"They turned; and flashing forth, as it were,

in a sheet of Rame, the 6end worshippers wereseen; the smile of welcome gleameddarkly onevery visage.

"There," resumed the sable form, "are allwhom ye have leveÍ enced fom youth' Ye deemedthem holier than yourselves and shrank fromyour own sin, contrastingt with their l i i.es ofrighteousncss and prayerful aspirations heaven-ward, Yet here are they all in tny worshippingassembly. This night it shall be granted you toknow their secretdeeds: how hoary-bearded lders

of the church have whispered wantoo woÍ ds tothe young maids of their households; Í or manya woman, eager for widows' weeds, has givenher husband a drink at bedtime and let himsleep his last sleep n her bosom; how beardlessyouths have made haste to inherit their fathers'wealth; and how fair daorsels-blush not, sweet

qÍ lg5-hxyg dug little graves io the ga|den, aodbidden me, the sole guest, to an infaot's funeral.By the sympathy of your human hearts for sinye shall scent out al.l the places-whether inchurch,bedchamber, tÍ eet,ield, or forest-wherecrime has beeo committed, and shall exult tobehold the whole earth ooe stain of guilt, one

migbty blood spot. Far more than this. It shallbe yours to penetrate, n every bosom, the deepmystery of sin, the fountaio of all wicked arts,and which inexhaustibly supplies more evil im-pulses than human power-than my powet atits utmost-can make manifest irr deeds. Ándnow, my children, look upoo each other."

They did so; and, by the blaze of the hell-kindled torches, the wretched man beheld hisFaith, and the wife her husband, trembling beforethat unhallowed altar.

"Lo, there ye stand, my children," said thefrgure, in a deep and solemn tone, almost sadwith

its despairing awfulncss, as if his onceangelic nature could yet mourn for our miserablerace. "Depending upon one another's hearts, yehad still hoped that virtue were not all a dream.Now are ye undeceived. Evil is the nature ofmankind. Evil must be your only happiness.

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come again, my children, to tlre communion ofyour race.

"Welcome," repeated he fieod worshippers, none cry of despair and triumph.

Ánd there they stood, tlre only pair, as itseemed,who were yet hesitating on the verge ofwickedness in this dark world. Á basin washol lowed, natuÍ al ly,n the rock. Did it contaio

water, reddenedby the lurid light? or was itblood? or, perchance, a liquid flame2 Hereio didthe shape of evil diP his hand and Pí ePare tolay the mark of baPtism upon their Í oreheads,that tbey might be partakers of the mystery ofsin, more conscious of the sccret guilt of others,both in deed and thought, than they could nowbe of their own. The husbandcastooe look at hispale wife, and Faith at him. \,(/hat pollutedwretches would the next glance show them toeach other, shuddering alike at what they dis-closedand what they saw!

"Faith! Faith!" oied the husband, 'look up

ro heaven, nd resist he wickedone.''l7hether Faith obeyed he knew not. Hardlyhad he spoken when he found himself amidcalm night and solitüde, listening to a roaf ofthe wind which died heavily away through theforest. He staggered against tbe rock, and fcltit chil l .lod darnp; while a hanging twig, that

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had been all on í re, besprinkled his cheek withthc coldest dew.

The next morning young Goodman Browncame slowly into fhe stleet of Salem village,starilrg around him like a bewildered man. Thegood old minister was taking a walk along thegraveyard to get an appetite for breakfast and

meditate his sermon, and bestowed a blessing, ashe passed, on Goodman Brown. He shrank fromthe venerable saint as if to avoid an anathema.Old Deacon Gookin was at domestic worship,and the holy words of his prayet were heardthrough the open window. "\7hat God doth thewizard pray to?" quoth Goodman Brown. GoodyCloyse, that excellent old Christian, stood in theeaÍ lysunshine at her own lattice, catechizing alittle gid who had brought her a pint of morning'smilk. Goodman Brown snatched away the childas from the grasp of the fiend himself. Turningthe corner by the rneeting-house, e spied the

head of Faith, with the pink ribbons, gazingaoxiously forth, aod bursting into such joy atsight of him that she skipped a1oo8 the stÍ eetand almost kissed her husband before the wholevillage. But Goodman Brown looked sternly andsadly into her face, and passed on without agreetrng.

Had Goodman Brown fallen asleep in theforest and only dreamed a wild dream of a witch-meeting?

Be it so if you will; but, alas! t was a dreamof evil omen for young Goodman Brown. Á stern,a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if not adesperate man did he become from the nightof that fearful dream. On the Sabbath day, whenthe congregationwere singing a holy psalm, hecould not listen becausean anthem of sin rushedloudly upon his ear and drowned all the blessedstrain. When the mioister spoke from the pulpitwith power and fervid eloquence, and, with hishand on the open Bible, of the sacred tluthsof our religion, and of saint-like lives and tri-umphant deaths, and of future bliss or miseryunutterable, hen did Goodman Brown turn pale,dreading lest the roof should thunder down uponthe gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often,awakening suddenly at midnight, he shrank from

the bosom of Faith; and at morning or eventide,when the family knelt down at prayer, he scowledand mutteredto himself, and gazed sternly at hiswife' and turned away. Ánd when he had livedlong, and was bome to his grave a hoary corpse,followed by Faith, an aged woman, and childtenand grandchildten, a goodly procession, besides

RÁPPAccINrsDÁUGHTER 221

neighbors not a few, they carved no hopeful verseupon his tombstone, or his dying hour was gloom.

[1835,1846]

RAPPÁCCINI,S DÁUGHTER

Publjsbed origitall1 in tóe Democratic RlDecenzber.1844, "Rappaccini's Dargbter" it oneof Hawtbotue's ldtef 4?ld ,aoll chdracteirí ic,dler'lYritten ulitb cour/ntl?lÍ e aft, it cornbiles teleralof tbe tbemet ubicb disinguisb the artbot's bestuork' First of all' t|:ete s tbe rien,iÍ ubo it

famou Jot his prcfesional skill but tubo is alsoexperit?renting airl, noth'tmr ot drrgs tubicb baoeonll a doubtlal hanarz ralue, Tbe eldetly Dr.Rapparcini Jee/|,lr o polre'Í sall the siú Í et and'ixsctatable qtalities u,bicb Hawlhotne oJtet arsociateruith old rnen.He belongsuith Dt. Cacapb-od.el, the alcbemist of "Tbe Grcat Carbtncle";

Cbillixguotb af The Scadet Letter, ard. tbepre do rcien r,s ol tbe anlini:bed. tonance!,Ágain, tbere is the rooelit's |atloú teconttaú oftbe bead ard tbe bedrt; Dr. Rappacdni rcemtdeaoid of ordinary brmar e??Totionr nd it dp-patextl1 much mo|e coflcefnedabou! Í /le ruccetsof bit expetiment tbd,l abo l Í he Í átdl bdÍ ln it, igb, do to h daugbter. Tbe coty is alto ricbin symbolisttt, tlotdbll tbe rtuggettio,T bdt tbedatzgeroa.r dppd.citzi garden really a modernEdet atd tbd! Í be doctol binrelf is a Áind o|co, e,7poÍ .11,1datn ubo deliberately uotÉ s uitbetlil, Tbe abottiue tolnance beÍ u]ee Bealtice axdGiouanxi is baxdled coldIy' and Í be cbatactet'stbemseluet rcem largell synbolic )rtegers. Tbesttccess f Í beJto,.1,derpite these im)tatioxs,fu atÍ ib te to Hd,a[botxe't att, By deJt ue of dertip-ti"e colot did ndrratire bits tbe uriter maintainsthe rcadet't i te,.eÍ t,/,|til bemeand plot coixcide,?e4t!1,2 be ftal sentetces.Ás ia,,Etbafl BMnd,''lbe cold axd almott maligrzobiec,iritl oJ the beadh sboun lo be dangetoas, Inpubes or actionrubicb igt?ofe he beatt and faltify bumat emotionscalz ead onl1 to desÍ ruction,

Á young man, named Giovanni Guasconti,came,very long ago, from the more southern region

of Italy, to pursue his studies at the Universityof Padua. Giovanni, who had but a scantysupplyof Sold ducats io his pocket, took lodgings ina high and gloomy chamber of an old edificewhich looked not unworthy to have been thepalace of a Paduan noble, and which, in fact,exhibited over its entrance the armorial bearings

hawthorne young goodman brown

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