[adapted]

by
Nathaniel Hawthorne

Young Goodman Brown walked out into the street at sunset in Salem village. But after he stepped outside, he turned back to give a goodbye kiss to his young wife. Faith, which was her name, leaned her pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons on her cap, while she called to Goodman Brown.

“Dearest heart,” she whispered softly and a little sadly, when her lips were close to his ear, “please wait and take your trip in the morning instead, and sleep in your own bed tonight. A woman alone has such strange dreams and thoughts that she gets scared of herself sometimes. Please stay with me tonight, dear husband, especially tonight of all nights in the year.”

“My love and my Faith,” said young Goodman Brown, “of all nights in the year, I must stay away from you this one night. My journey, as you call it, must be done between now and sunrise. What, my sweet and pretty wife, do you already doubt me? We’ve only been married three months.”

“Then God bless you!” said Faith, with her pink ribbons. “And may everything be well when you come back.”

“Amen!” said Goodman Brown. “Say your prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed before dark, and nothing bad will happen to you.”

So they said goodbye; and the young man kept walking until, just as he was about to turn the corner by the church, he looked back and saw Faith’s head still peeking out, looking sad — even with her pink ribbons.

“Poor little Faith!” he thought, feeling guilty. “What a bad man I am to leave her for such a reason! She even spoke of dreams. I thought I saw worry on her face, like a dream had warned her about what I’m going to do tonight. But no, no; thinking that way would break her heart. She’s an angel on earth; and after this one night, I’ll stay close to her forever and follow her to heaven.”

With this good promise for the future, Goodman Brown felt better about walking quickly toward his secret, bad plan. He was now on a lonely, sad road, with the darkest trees of the forest all around him. The trees barely made space for the narrow path, and they seemed to close up again behind him. It was very quiet and empty; but in such a place, a traveler never knows who might be hiding behind the many tree trunks or above in the thick branches. So even though he walks alone, he might be passing by many people he cannot see.

“There might be a devilish Indian behind every tree,” said Goodman Brown to himself. He looked behind him with fear and added, “What if the devil himself is right next to me?”

While his head was turned, he passed a bend in the road. When he looked ahead again, he saw a man, dressed in proper and serious clothes, sitting at the bottom of an old tree. The man stood up when Goodman Brown came near and started walking beside him.

“You are late, Goodman Brown,” the man said. “The clock at Old South Church was striking when I passed through Boston — and that was fifteen minutes ago.”

“Faith made me stay a little longer,” said the young man, his voice shaking a bit, because the sudden appearance of the other man had startled him, even though he had partly expected it.

It was now very dark in the forest, and even darker in the part where these two were walking. As well as could be seen, the second traveler looked about fifty years old. He seemed to be from the same social class as Goodman Brown, and he looked a lot like him — though maybe more in his expression than his face. They might have been mistaken for father and son. And even though the older man was dressed as simply as the younger and acted simply too, he had a certain look, like someone who knew a lot about the world. He looked like he would feel comfortable at a fancy dinner with the governor or even at King William’s court, if he were ever called there. The only strange thing about him was his staff. It looked like a large black snake, carved so well that it almost seemed to move and wiggle like a real snake. Of course, this must have been a trick of the eyes, helped by the dim light.

“Come on, Goodman Brown,” said the man, “you are walking very slowly for the start of a journey. Take my staff, if you’re already tired.”

“Friend,” said Goodman Brown, stopping completely, “I promised to meet you here, and I’ve done that. But now I plan to go back where I came from. I have doubts about the thing you know about.”

“You say so?” said the man with the snake-like staff, smiling a little to himself. “Let’s keep walking anyway, and we’ll talk as we go. If I don’t change your mind, then you can go back. We haven’t gone very far into the forest yet.”

“Too far! Too far!” cried Goodman Brown, starting to walk again without meaning to. “My father never went into the woods for something like this, nor his father before him. We have always been an honest family and good Christians since the time of the early church martyrs. And should I be the first Brown to take this path and stay —”

“With such company, you mean to say,” said the older man, guessing why he stopped. “Well said, Goodman Brown! I have known your family as well as any family among the Puritans — and that’s saying something. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he whipped that Quaker woman so well through the streets of Salem. And I gave your father a piece of pinewood, lit at my own fire, to burn down an Indian village during King Philip’s War. They were good friends of mine. We had many pleasant walks on this same path and came back happy after midnight. I would like to be friends with you, for their sake.”

“If what you say is true,” said Goodman Brown, “I’m surprised they never spoke of these things — or maybe I’m not surprised, since just a rumor of it would have gotten them kicked out of New England. We are people of prayer and good works, and we do not allow such evil things.”

“Evil or not,” said the man with the snake-like staff, “I know many people in New England. The church leaders have shared communion wine with me. The town leaders often make me their chairman. And most of the Great and General Court supports me. Even the governor and I — well, that’s a secret.”

“Can that really be true?” said Goodman Brown, staring in shock at how calm the man was. “Anyway, I have nothing to do with the governor and council. They live one way, and I live another. But if I keep walking with you, how could I look in the face of our good old minister in Salem village? Oh, just hearing his voice would make me shake on Sabbath day and lecture day!”

Until now, the older traveler had listened seriously. But now he suddenly started laughing loudly, shaking so hard that his snake-like walking stick seemed to wiggle along with him.

“Ha! ha! ha!” he laughed again and again. Then, calming down, he said, “Go on, Goodman Brown, go on; but please don’t kill me with laughter.”

“Well, then, to finish this once and for all,” said Goodman Brown, feeling annoyed, “there is my wife, Faith. It would break her sweet little heart. And I would rather break my own than hurt hers.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” said the other man, “then go ahead and leave, Goodman Brown. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to Faith — not even for twenty old women like the one hobbling ahead of us.”

As he spoke, he pointed his staff toward a woman on the path. Goodman Brown saw that it was a very religious and respected old lady who had taught him his church lessons when he was a boy. She was still one of his spiritual guides, along with the minister and Deacon Gookin.

“It’s really strange that Goody Cloyse would be this deep in the forest at night,” said Goodman Brown. “But with your permission, friend, I’ll take a shortcut through the woods, so we pass her. She doesn’t know you, and she might ask who I’m walking with and where I’m going.”

“All right,” said the other traveler. “Go into the woods, and I’ll stay on the path.”

So the young man stepped into the forest but made sure to keep an eye on his companion, who walked quietly down the road until he was only a few feet from the old woman. She, meanwhile, was walking quickly — surprisingly fast for someone so old — and she was mumbling some unclear words, probably a prayer, as she walked. The traveler reached out his staff and touched her wrinkled neck with what looked like the tail of a snake.

“The devil!” screamed the religious old woman.

“So, Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?” said the traveler, facing her and leaning on his twisting staff.

“Oh my! Is it really your honor?” cried the old woman. “Yes, it truly is — and you look just like my old friend, Goodman Brown’s grandfather, that foolish young man’s grandfather. But — would you believe it? — my broomstick has mysteriously disappeared. I think that wicked witch Goody Cory stole it, and that too when I was already covered in the special potion of smallage, cinquefoil, and wolfsbane —”

“Mixed with fine wheat and the fat of a newborn baby,” added the figure who looked like old Goodman Brown.

“Ah, your honor knows the recipe!” laughed the old woman loudly. “So, as I was saying, I was all ready to go to the meeting, but I had no broomstick to ride. They told me there is a nice young man who will join us tonight. But now, your honor, will you give me your arm, and we’ll be there in no time?”

“That won’t work,” said her friend. “I can’t give you my arm, Goody Cloyse. But here, take my staff if you want.”

With that, he threw the staff at her feet. Maybe it came to life — like the magic rods used by the Egyptian magicians. But Goodman Brown couldn’t see that happen. He had looked up in surprise, and when he looked down again, Goody Cloyse and the snake-like staff were both gone. Only the traveler stood there, waiting calmly, as if nothing had happened.

“That old woman taught me my catechism,” said the young man quietly. His words carried deep meaning.

They kept walking forward, while the older traveler encouraged him to keep going and not give up. He spoke so wisely that the young man felt as if the thoughts came from inside himself, not from someone else. As they walked, the traveler broke a maple branch to use as a walking stick. He began to tear off the twigs, which were wet with dew. But as soon as he touched them, they dried up, as if they had been in the hot sun for a week.

The two men kept walking quickly, until they reached a dark, low place on the path. Suddenly, Goodman Brown sat down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any farther.

“Friend,” he said stubbornly, “I’ve made up my mind. I won’t take another step on this journey. So what if an old woman wants to follow the devil when I thought she was going to heaven? That’s no reason for me to leave my dear Faith and follow her.”

“You’ll change your mind later,” said the other man calmly. “Sit here and rest for a while. When you’re ready to go again, you can use my staff to help you.”

Without saying more, he tossed the maple stick to Goodman Brown and disappeared as quickly as if he had vanished into the deep dark woods. Goodman Brown sat for a few minutes by the side of the road, feeling proud of himself. He thought how happy he would be to meet the minister during his morning walk, and how he wouldn’t feel ashamed in front of good old Deacon Gookin. And how sweet and peaceful his sleep would be that night — when it was supposed to be filled with sin, it would now be spent purely in the arms of Faith.

As he was thinking these good and happy thoughts, Goodman Brown heard the sound of horses coming down the road. Quickly, he stepped into the edge of the forest to hide, still feeling a little guilty about why he had come, even though he had changed his mind.

The sound of hoofbeats and voices grew louder. Two old men were talking seriously as they rode past. Their voices came very close to where Goodman Brown was hiding, just a few yards away. But because it was so dark in that spot, he couldn’t see the men or their horses at all. Even though their bodies brushed the branches near the road, they didn’t block the faint light from the sky. Goodman Brown bent down and stood on his tiptoes, pushed aside branches, and stuck out his head as far as he dared — but he still couldn’t see even a shadow. This bothered him even more because he was sure — if such a thing were possible — that the voices belonged to the minister and Deacon Gookin, riding together like they often did when going to church meetings. While he was still listening, one of the men stopped to break off a small branch to use as a stick.

“Between the two, reverend sir,” said the voice that sounded like Deacon Gookin’s, “I would rather miss a special church dinner than tonight’s meeting. They say some folks from our town will be there, and others from far away — Falmouth, Connecticut, and Rhode Island. Even some Indian leaders will be coming, and they know nearly as much wickedness as the rest of us. And there’s also a fine young woman who will be joining our group tonight.”

“Very good, Deacon Gookin!” replied another deep, serious voice, like the minister’s. “Let’s hurry up, or we’ll be late. We can’t begin until I arrive.”

The horses’ hoofs made noise again as the riders continued. Their strange conversation faded into the forest, a place where no church had ever been built and no lone Christian had ever prayed. So where were these holy men going, so deep into the wild woods?

Young Goodman Brown grabbed onto a tree to keep himself from falling. He felt faint and heart-sick with shock and sorrow. He looked up at the sky, wondering if there really was a heaven above him. But yes, he could see the blue sky above, and the stars starting to shine.

“With heaven above me, and Faith waiting at home, I will still stand strong against the devil!” Goodman Brown cried out.

While he was still looking up at the sky and had raised his hands to pray, a dark cloud quickly crossed the middle of the sky and covered the bright stars — even though there was no wind. The sky was still clear around the edges, but directly overhead, this black cloud was moving fast toward the north. Up high, as if from inside the cloud, came a strange, jumbled sound of voices. Goodman Brown thought he could make out familiar voices — people from his own town — some holy, some sinful. He had seen many of them at church during communion, and others drinking and laughing in the tavern.

But the sounds were so unclear that he wasn’t sure if he had really heard anything, or if it was just the forest whispering around him without any wind. Then, suddenly, the voices grew louder — voices he was used to hearing every day in the sunlight of Salem village. But never before had they come from a dark cloud at night.

One voice was that of a young woman. She was crying and begging for something — not sure if she truly wanted it or not. And all the invisible people — both good and bad — seemed to be pushing her forward.

“Faith!” Goodman Brown cried out in pain and fear.

The forest echoed back to him: “Faith! Faith!” — as if lost and confused people were also looking for her in the dark woods.

The sound of his grief and terror still echoed in the night when he stopped to listen for an answer. There was a scream — but it was quickly drowned out by a louder wave of voices, which faded into faraway laughter as the dark cloud passed, leaving the sky clear and quiet above Goodman Brown.