GIỚI THIỆU VĂN HỌC THIỆN TRÌ

CHÀNG TUỔI TRẺ GOODMAN BROWN

Nathaniel Hawthorne

(1804-1864)

Vào lúc hoàng hôn buông xuống ở làng Salem, chàng thanh niên Goodman Brown rời nhà ra đi; nhưng sau khi qua khỏi ngạch cửa, chàng lại quay đầu vào trong nhà trở lại để hôn từ giã người vợ trẻ của mình. Còn Faith, cái tên (có nghĩa là “Chung Thủy”) rất hợp với cô vợ của chàng, cũng ló mái đầu đội mũ xinh xắn của mình ra đường, để làn gió đùa với những chiếc nơ hồng trên mũ khi nàng cất tiếng gọi Goodman Brown.

“Anh yêu ơi,” nàng thỏ thẻ giọng buồn buồn khi kề môi bên tai chàng, “em xin anh hoãn đến bình minh hãy đi, và ngủ lại nhà đêm nay. Người phụ nữ một thân một mình hay có những giấc mơ và ý nghĩ đôi khi làm nàng sợ cả chính mình. Anh hãy ở lại với em tối nay, người chồng yêu dấu của em, chỉ một đêm nay trong năm nữa thôi.”

“Em Faith yêu dấu của anh,” chàng Goodman Brown đáp lại,”trọn năm chỉ có đêm nay anh phải đi xa em. Chuyến đi này, như em biết, anh đi rồi sẽ trở lại, và anh phải đi trước bình minh. Mình mới cưới nhau có ba tháng, mà sao em đã nghi ngờ anh rồi, cô vợ diu dàng xinh đẹp của anh?”

“Thôi thế thì xin Chúa phù hộ cho anh vậy,” Faith đáp lại, trên mũ có gắn những chiếc nơ hồng, “em cầu xin anh trở về được khỏe mạnh.”

“Amen!” Goodman Brown nói. “Faith ơi, em hãy cầu nguyện và đi ngủ lúc hoàng hôn buông xuống thì em sẽ chẳng bị hại bao giờ.”

Thế là họ chia tay; và chàng trai trẻ đi theo con đường của mình cho đến khi sắp phải quẹo nơi góc đường cạnh tòa nhà dùng làm chỗ hội họp dân làng, chàng quay lại nhìn, và còn thấy mái đầu của Faith vẫn dõi theo bóng chàng với vẻ buồn bã dù nàng đội mũ có gắn những chiếc nơ hồng.

“Ôi Faith bé nhỏ đáng thương!” chàng thầm nghĩ, tim đau nhói. “Mình thật tồi tệ khi bỏ vợ đi thế này! Nàng có nói nàng nằm mộng. Mình thấy dường như lúc nàng nói trên gương mặt nàng lộ vẻ lo âu, như thể điềm mộng báo cho nàng biết chuyện gì sẽ phải làm tối nay. Nhưng không, không, nếu biết nàng sẽ chết được. Nàng qủa là một thiên thần được ban ân sủng trên cõi đời này; và sau đêm nay, mình sẽ bám lấy vạt áo của nàng để cùng theo nàng lên trời.”

Với quyết tâm dũng mãnh hướng về tương lai này, Goodman Brown cảm thấy mình có đủ lý do chính đáng để tiến hành nhanh chóng mục đích xấu chàng hiện có. Chàng đã chọn theo một nẻo đường tăm tối, đầy cây cối rậm rì nhất trong khu rừng, cây mọc san sát đến nỗi hầu như không còn chỗ để đi, và khi chàng đã đi qua rồi thì cây khép kín ngay. Chàng chưa bao giờ một thân một mình như thế này; và có một cái gì đó kỳ đặc ở chốn cô tịch này khiến lữ khách không thể biết được ai núp đằng sau vô số thân cây với những cành lá um tùm phủ kín trên đầu; dày đặc đến độ với từng bước chân đơn độc chàng có thể đang đi qua một đám đông người mà không hề thấy họ.

Goodman Brown nhủ thầm, “Đằng sau mỗi thân cây có thể có một tên da đỏ hung ác đang núp.” Rồi sợ hãi liếc nhìn về phía sau, chàng lại nghĩ tiếp, “Biết đâu tên quỷ hung ác ấy đang kề bên hông mình không chừng!“

Vừa quay đầu lại, chàng đã đi qua một khúc quanh của lối đi. Lúc chàng nhìn về phía trước chàng thấy bóng một người đàn ông ăn mặc nghiêm trang chỉnh tề ngồi nơi gốc cây. Khi Goodman Brown đến gần, ông ta đứng dậy và cùng đi bên cạnh chàng.

“Anh trễ rồi, Goodman Brown à,” người ấy nói. “ Đồng hồ của khu phố Cổ Miền Nam đã điểm lúc tôi đi qua Boston, và như thế là đã mất trọn 15 phút.”

“Faith giữ tôi lại một hồi.” Chàng thanh niên đáp lại giọng run run trước sự xuất hiện đột ngột của người đồng hành này, dù chàng không hẳn là không mong đợi ông ta.

Lúc bấy giờ trong rừng trời đã tối nhiều, và tối nhất là chỗ hai người đang đi. Ánh sáng vừa đủ cho thấy người lữ khách thứ hai khoảng 50 tuổi, thuộc tầng lớp xã hội cũng như Goodman Brown, và khá giống chàng về dáng vẻ hơn là nét mặt. Tuy vậy, họ trông như hai cha con. Người lớn tuổi hơn có cách ăn mặc và dáng điệu cũng đơn giản như Goodman Brown, nhưng ông ta có một phong cách khó tả của một người hiểu đời, một người sẽ không thấy ngại ngùng nếu được ăn tối với ngài Thống đốc hoặc được mời đến triều đình của vua Williams nếu vì công việc ông ta ó thể phải đến những nơi đó. Nhưng vật duy nhất đáng lưu ý nơi ông ta chính là cây trượng có hình một con rắn đen thật lớn, được đẽo gọt thật kỳ lạ trông nó uốn éo y như rắn thật. Tất nhiên đấy chỉ là hình rắn giả lừa mắt trần do ánh sáng chập chờn gây ra.

“Đến đây, Goodman Brown,” người cùng đi với chàng cất tiếng gọi. “Bắt đầu đi thế này là chậm rồi đấy. Anh hãy cầm lấy cây trượng của tôi nếu anh đã thấy mệt sớm như thế.”

“Ông bạn à,” Goodman Brown đang đi chậm bỗng chàng dừng lại nói. “tôi đã giữ đúng thỏa thuận sẽ gặp ông tại đây rồi, giờ mục đích của tôi là muốn quay về chỗ của mình. Tôi ngần ngại không muốn đề cập đến điều ông muốn nói.”

“Ngươi nói thế à?” người đàn ông nói với con rắn, miệng mỉm cười.”Dù sao chúng ta hãy đi tiếp đã, vừa đi vừa nói cho ra lẽ, và nếu tôi không thuyết phục được anh, anh sẽ quay trở lại. Chúng ta mới đi vào trong rừng có một đoạn ngắn thôi mà.”

“Đi quá xa, quá xa rồi!” Goodman kêu lên, nhưng không ý thức rằng chàng đang bước đi tiếp. “Cha tôi chưa bao giờ đi vào rừng có việc như thế này, cả ông của tôi trước đây cũng không bao giờ đi như vầy. Chúng tôi là những người lương thiện, những con chiên ngoan đạo từ thời các vị thánh tử đạo; liệu tôi sẽ trở thành người mang tên Brown đầu tiên và kết...”

“ý anh muốn nói ‘kết bạn với người như vầy, phải không?”người lớn tuổi nhận xét, tìm cách diễn dịch việc mình dừng lại. “Anh nói phải lắm, Goodman Brown ạ! Lâu nay tôi quen biết rõ gia dình anh như một người trong nhóm những người theo Thanh giáo; đấy không phải chuyện nhỏ đâu. Tôi đã giúp ông của anh, lúc ấy ông là tuần viên (cảnh sát/người giữ trật tự) trong làng, khi ông ấy lấy roi quất người đàn bà theo phái Quaker trên đường làng Salem; và cũng chính tôi đã đem đến cho cha anh bó đuốc làm với thông ba lá thắp từ bếp lửa nhà tôi để đốt cháy một ngôi làng Da Đỏ trong cuộc chiến tranh Vua Philip* dẫn đầu. Cả hai người, ông và cha anh, đều là bạn tốt của tôi. Chúng tôi đã cùng nhau đi lại trên lối mòn này nhiều lần, và sau nửa đêm trở về vui vẻ. Vì họ tôi sẽ vui lòng kết bạn với anh.”

“Nếu những gì ông nói quả là có thật,” Goodman Brown đáp, “tôi lấy làm ngạc nhiên vì cha ông tôi chẳng hề nói cho tôi biết chuyện này; hoặc, thành thực mà nói, tôi sẽ chẳng ngạc nhiên chút nào, vì tôi biết rằng nếu có những lời đồn đãi như thế hẳn ông cha tôi đã bỏ xứ New England này đi lâu rồi. Chúng tôi là những người biết cầu nguyện, hơn nữa, chúng tôi làm việc đàng hoàng, và không chấp nhận những gì tàn ác như vậy.”

“Tàn ác hay không tàn ác,” người lữ khách với chiếc trượng uốn éo hình con rắn nói, “Tôi quen biết rất nhiều người ở vùng New England này. Các vị trợ tế của nhiều nhà thờ từng uống rượu hiệp thông với tôi. Các quan chức trong vùng bầu tôi làm chủ tịch. Những nhà làm luật cai trị miền thuộc địa theo giáo phái Puritan đều ủng hộ lợi ích của tôi. Ngay cả Ngài Thống đốc và tôi –Nhưng thôi đây là chuyện mật của tiểu bang.”

“Sao lại có chuyện như thế?” Goodman Brown trố mắt kinh ngạc nhìn người đồng hành trông thật bình thản của mình. “ Dù sao đi nữa, tôi chẳng liên hệ gì với ngài Thống đốc và hội đồng làng; họ có cách của họ và họ không có gì để phải nói tới một nhà nông quèn như tôi. Nhưng nếu tôi tiếp tục đi với ông thế này, làm sao tôi còn dám nhìn vào mắt ông cụ đức hạnh tốt là vị mục sư của chúng tôi ở làng Salem? Ôi, giọng của cụ ấy sẽ làm tôi run sợ vào ngày Sabbath và ngày học giáo lý.”

Nãy giờ người lữ khách lớn tuổi hơn nghiêm nghị lắng nghe; nhưng đến đây ông ta bỗng bật ra cười một hơi, không kềm chế được, khiến cả người ông ta rung lên đến nỗi cây trượng hình giống con rắn của ông trông có vẻ cũng uốn éo theo ông như đồng cảm thật sự.

“Ha! ha! ha!” ông ta vẫn cười lớn tiếng, rồi ráng kềm mình lại, ông nói, “Này, anh Goodman Brown, hãy đi tiếp, đi tiếp, nhưng chớ có làm tôi chết vì cười nhé.”

“À, thôi để kết thúc vấn đề ngay,” Goodman Brown nói tỏ vẻ rất bực bội, “còn Faith, vợ tôi nữa. Chuyện này sẽ khiến tâm hồn nhỏ bé dịu dàng của nàng rất đau buồn; tôi thà tan nát lòng mình còn hơn để Faith chịu như thế.”

“ Không, nếu quả như thế,“ người kia trả lời, “anh Goodman Brown à, tôi chẳng muốn vì hai mươi người đàn bà như cái bà đang đi khệnh khạng trước mặt chúng ta kia mà Faith phải bị hại.”

Vừa nói ông ta vừa chỉa cây trượng vào một bóng người đàn bà đi phía trước, Goodman Brown nhận ra đó là một phụ nữ rất ngoan đạo và gương mẫu, người đã từng dạy anh giáo lý vấn đáp khi anh còn nhỏ, và là cố vấn đạo đức tâm linh cho anh, cùng nhà truyền giáo và ngài phó tế Gookin.

“Thật kỳ lạ bà Goody Cloyse lại đi vào chốn rừng hoang vu vào lúc trời tối như vầy,”chàng nói. “Nhưng nếu ông bạn cho phép, tôi sẽ đi băng ngang cánh rừng cho đến khi chúng ta bỏ lại người đàn bà Thiên Chúa giáo này phía sau. Vì bà ấy không biết ông, bà có thể hỏi tôi đang đi với ai và đi đâu.”

“Anh đã nói thế thì anh cứ đi vào rừng, để tôi đi theo con lộ này vậy.”

Nói là làm, chàng trai trẻ quay đi, nhưng cẩn thận quan sát người đồng hành với mình lúc đó đang đi trên đường thật nhẹ nhàng cho đến khi ông chỉ còn cách người đàn bà một cây trượng. Trong khi ấy bà ta rảo bước thoăn thoắt nhanh hơn so với tuổi của bà, vừa đi bà vừa lẩm nhẩm cái gì đó không rõ, hẳn là bà đang cầu nguyện. Người lữ khách giơ cây trượng ra đụng vào sau cổ nhăn nheo của bà với đầu trượng giống như đuôi rắn.

“Đồ quỷ dữ!” bà lão ngoan đạo la to lên.

“Thế ra Goody Cloyse biết đây là bạn xưa của bà à?” người lữ khách lên tiếng khi đứng đối mặt với bà và tựa vào cây gậy uốn éo của mình.

“À, thật thế à, ngài khả kính đấy sao?” bà già hiền từ cất tiếng nói lớn. “Vâng, quả thật thế, và ngài trông y như hình dạng của Goodman Brown, người mà tôi đã có lời đồn đãi hồi xưa, tức là ông nội của anh chàng ngốc nghếch có cùng tên hiện giờ. Nhưng – ngài khả kính có tin không? –cây chổi của tôi đã biến mất một cách lạ lùng, tôi nghi nó bị mụ phù thủy không bị xử treo cổ tên là Goody Cory lấy cắp, và cũng thế, khi tôi làm lễ xức dầu bằng nước rau cần hoang (smallage), pha chế với hoa ngũ đài vàng (cinquefoil), và hoa bờm sói màu tím (aconite/wolf’s bane), “trộn với bột lúa mì và mỡ của trẻ sơ sinh,” bóng người có dạng giống lão Goodman Brown nói thêm.

“À, thế ngài cũng biết công thức pha chế dầu xức,” bà già nói lớn, tiếng nghe lanh lãnh. “Như tôi nói, tôi đã sẵn sàng đến dự buổi họp, và không có ngựa nên tôi quyết định đi bộ vì họ cho tôi biết rằng tối nay sẽ có một chàng trai trẻ dễ mến đến dự lễ hiệp thông. Nhưng bây giờ nếu ngài khả kính cho tôi vịn cánh tay ngài, thì chỉ trong chớp mắt chúng ta sẽ đi đến đó ngay.”

"Không thể được," người kia đáp. "Goody Cloyse, tôi không thể để bà vịn cánh tay của tôi được, nhưng bà có thể dùng cây trượng này nếu bà muốn."

Nói xong người ấy ném cây trượng xuống cạnh chân bà già, tại đấy có lẽ cây trượng được hóa thành rắn thật, vì trước kia nó vốn là một trong những khúc cây được chủ nó cho những đạo sĩ Ai Cập mượn. Tuy nhiên, Goodman Brown không hề biết về sự kiện này. Chàng trố mắt ngước nhìn kinh ngạc, rồi khi nhìn xuống lại, chàng không còn thấy Goody Cloyse và cây trượng đâu nữa, chỉ còn thấy người đàn ông đi với chàng đang đứng một mình, bình tĩnh chờ chàng như thể không có chuyện gì xảy ra.

"Bà già ấy dạy tôi giáo lý đó," chàng trai trẻ nói; một lời bình phẩm thật đầy ý nghĩa.

Họ lại đi tiếp; vừa đi người lữ khách lớn tuổi vừa thúc giục người đồng hành với mình đi nhanh hơn và kiên trì theo lối mòn ấy, ông ta ăn nói khôn khéo đến độ lý luận của ông như phát xuất từ trong thâm tâm người nghe, chứ không phải do ông tự nghĩ ra. Trên đường, ông ta bẻ một cành cây phong để làm gậy, và ông bắt đầu tước các nhánh nhỏ hãy còn ướt sương đêm. Ngay khi ngón tay ông chạm vào, kỳ lạ thay các nhánh cây ấy liền héo khô ngay như thể chúng bị phơi ngoài nắng cả tuần. Thế là cả hai người ung dung đi tiếp cho đến khi tại một chỗ trũng tối tăm trên đường, Goodman Brown đột ngột dừng lại ngồi trên một gốc cây đã bị đốn và từ chối không chịu đi tiếp nữa.

“Này ông,“ chàng bướng bỉnh nói, “tôi đã quyết rồi. Tôi sẽ không nhích thêm một bước nào nữa để tiếp tục lo chuyện này. Sao cái bà già chết tiệt ấy lại chọn đi theo quỷ dữ trong khi tôi cứ nghĩ bà ta sẽ đi lên thiên đàng: có phải vì lý do ấy mà tôi phải bỏ nàng Faith yêu dấu của tôi để theo bà ta không?”

“Rồi anh sẽ suy nghĩ chính chắn hơn,” người kia bình thản nói. “Hãy ngồi nghỉ một chốc đã; và khi nào anh muốn đi tiếp, cây gậy của tôi sẽ giúp anh.”

Chẳng nói gì thêm, ông ta ném cành cây phong cho người cùng đi với mình, và khuất dạng thật nhanh như thể ông đã biến mất vào chỗ tối tăm sâu thẳm ấy. Chàng thanh niên ngồi bên con lộ trong chốc lát, vỗ tay lớn tự khen mình, thầm nghĩ sáng mai khi đi gặp vị giáo sĩ lòng chàng sẽ nhẹ nhàng thanh thản biết bao, và chàng sẽ không phải tránh né ánh mắt của ngài phó tế Gookin hiền hậu. Rồi chàng sẽ được ngủ một giấc thật an lành tối nay, mà nếu không quyết định như thế chàng sẽ phải trải qua một đêm tối dữ tợn. Nhưng giờ thì khác, tối nay sẽ thật trong sáng ngọt ngào làm sao trong vòng tay của Faith! Đang miên man với những ý nghĩ thú vị và tốt lành như vậy chàng bỗng nghe thấy tiếng vó ngựa trên đường, chàng nghĩ mình nên ẩn mình nơi mép rừng vì chàng biết rõ mục đích tội lỗi đã khiến chàng đi đến đây, dù bây giờ chàng rất vui mừng đã quay lưng, không dấn thân đi tiếp nữa.

Tiếng vó ngựa và tiếng người cỡi ngựa nghe rõ dần, nghiêm nghị tỉnh táo, nghe biết đó là những người có tuổi. Các âm thanh ấy hoà vào nhau vang vang trên con lộ, cách chỗ chàng trai trẻ đang núp độ một vài thước*, nhưng vì chỗ ấy trũng sâu và tối tăm, chàng không thể thấy cả người lẫn ngựa. Mặc dù bóng họ có quẹt vào các nhánh cây bên lề đường, chàng vẫn không thể thấy họ cả khi họ thoáng đi qua vùng có chút ánh sáng mờ mờ từ trên trời rọi xuống. Goodman Brown khi cuối xuống khi nhón gót, vẹt cành cây qua một bên, lấy can đảm thò đầu ra nhìn, nhưng vẫn không thể thấy họ được. Chàng cảm thấy bực bội vì, nếu quả thật có chuyện này xảy ra, thì chàng dám thề rằng chàng đã nghe thấy tiếng vị giáo sĩ và viên phó tế Gookin, cùng im lặng đi cạnh nhau như họ thường làm mỗi khi họ phải đi làm lễ thánh hay thi hành một mục vụ nào đó. Khi họ đến gần đủ để chàng nghe thấy, một trong hai người cưỡi ngựa dừng lại đổi dây cương.

Người có giọng giống như viên phó tế nói, “Thưa ngài, tôi thà không dự tiệc thánh chứ không thể bỏ cuộc họp tối nay được. Họ nói với tôi rằng một số người trong họ đạo của chúng ta đến từ Falmouth hay xa hơn thế nữa, lại có người từ Connecticut và Rhode Island đến dự, ngoài ra còn có người của các bộ tộc Da Đỏ biết rành các phù phép, hơn cả người giỏi nhất trong số chúng ta nữa. Hơn thế nữa, lại có một cô gái trẻ xinh đẹp cũng sẽ đến làm lễ gia nhập giáo đoàn nữa.”

“Tốt lắm, ngài phó tế Gookin ạ.” Giọng nói nghiêm nghị của vị giáo sĩ vang lên,”Hãy thúc ngựa mà đi không thôi chúng ta sẽ trễ. Ngài biết là chúng ta chẳng làm gì được cho đến khi chúng ta có mặt ở đấy.”

Tiếng vó ngựa lại vang lên; và giọng nói lại văng vẳng trong không gian một cách kỳ lạ giữa chốn rừng rậm, nơi trước đây không hề có người của nhà thờ tụ tập hay một con chiên nào đến để cầu nguyện cả. Vậy thì những vị tu hành này đi đâu mà phải vào sâu nơi hoang dã của ngoại đạo thế này? Chàng Goodman Brown trẻ tuổi vịn lấy một nhành cây, chàng bỗng thấy mình sắp quỵ ngã xuống đất, choáng váng như muốn xỉu vì tâm tư đau đớn trĩu nặng. Chàng ngước nhìn bầu trời, không còn tin có bầu trời trên đầu mình nữa. Vậy mà vẫn còn khung trời xanh thẫm với những vì sao sáng trên trời cao.

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Goodman Brown la to lên: “Trên có Trời, dưới có Faith, tôi thề sẽ đứng vững không bị quỷ dữ lung lạc!”

Trong khi chàng vẫn còn ngước nhìn vòm trời tối đen thăm thẳm, hai tay chắp lại cầu nguyện, dù lúc ấy không hề có một ngọn gió, lại có một đám mây bay ngang qua và che khuất các vì sao sáng. Chàng vẫn còn thấy chút bầu trời xanh, nhưng ngay trên đầu chàng lại không thấy được, vì bị đám mây đen bay vụt về phương bắc che khuất. Trên không trung, chừng như từ trong đám mây ấy vẳng ra những tiếng nói lộn xộn, không rõ ràng. Có lúc chàng tưởng mình có thể phân biệt được đấy là giọng nói của những người dân trong làng chàng ở, giọng đàn ông, giọng đàn bà, giọng người ngoan đạo cùng giọng kẻ không biết đạo lý là gì, nhiều người chàng đã từng gặp tại bàn hiệp thông và những người khác chàng từng thấy họ gây náo loạn nơi quán rượu. Liền sau đó, các âm thanh ấy lại trở nên không rõ ràng nữa, khiến chàng ngờ rằng mình chẳng hề nghe thấy tiếng gì cả ngoại trừ tiếng rì rào của rừng già, thì thầm dù trời lặng gió. Rồi một loạt tiếng nói lớn mạnh rất quen thuộc, tiếng mà hàng ngày chàng từng nghe thấy giữa thanh thiên bạch nhật trong làng Salem của chàng, chứ chưa hề nghe từ trong đám mây đêm như bây giờ. Có tiếng một phụ nữ trẻ than thở, tuy trong lời than đó có đượm chút gì đó buồn buồn, nàng van xin người ta giúp nàng việc gì đó mà có lẽ nếu đạt được rồi nàng sẽ đau khổ. Đám đông người mà chàng không hề thấy mặt, trong đó có cả người thánh thiện lẫn kẻ tội lỗi, dường như đều khuyến khích nàng đi tiếp.

“Faith!” Goodman Brown kêu to, giọng chàng thật thống thiết, tuyệt vọng; và tiếng dội của rừng thẳm cũng gào lên như chế nhạo chàng, “Faith! Faith!”như thể những tên vô lại cũng đang cuống cuồng tìm nàng khắp chốn rừng hoang.

Tiếng kêu thống thiết, giận dữ và kinh hoàng của người chồng đau khổ như xé tan đêm đen, chờ đợi tiếng vợ mình đáp lại. Có tiếng la to nhưng liền bị tiếng người xì xào còn to hơn nữa át đi, khiến nó tan loãng mất trong tiếng cười từ xa vọng đến, ngay khi đám mây đen bay vụt qua, chỉ còn lại bầu trời trong và yên lặng phía trên đầu Goodman Brown. Nhưng rồi một vật gì đó bay phớt nhẹ qua trên không trung và vướng lại nơi một nhánh cây. Chàng thanh niên chụp lấy nó, và thấy trong tay mình một chiếc nơ màu hồng.

“Faith của tôi đã đi mất rồi!” chàng gào lên sau một phút mất bình tĩnh. “Không còn gì tốt lành trên đời này nữa; và tội lỗi chỉ là danh xưng. Hỡi ma quỷ, ngươi cứ đến đi; thế giới này đã thuộc về ngươi rồi đó.”

Hóa điên lên vì quá thất vọng, chàng cười rú lên, cầm lấy cây trượng và lại đi tiếp, nhanh đến độ như bay chứ không còn đi bộ hay chạy nữa. Con đường trở nên hoang vu và thâm u hơn, và lối đi nhòa hẳn, không rõ ràng nữa, rồi cuối cùng cũng mất dấu, chỉ có chàng giữa miền hoang vu tối đen, lao về phía trước theo bản năng xua đẩy con người về phía ma quỷ. Toàn bộ khu rừng chỉ có những âm thanh rùng rợn, tiếng cây cối rít, tiếng hú của thú hoang, tiếng reo hò của người Da Đỏ, tiếng gió lúc thì rền vang như tiếng chuông nhà thờ từ xa vọng lại, lúc lại gầm gừ quanh chàng, như thể thiên nhiên đang cười nhạo khinh bỉ chàng. Nhưng chính chàng mới là cái kinh hoàng chính trong cảnh tượng ấy, và chàng không cần tránh những điều kinh hoàng khác ở đó nữa.

"Ha! ha! ha!" Goodman gầm lên khi gió cười nhạo chàng. "Để nghe xem ai cười lớn nhất. Đừng hòng làm ta sợ phù phép của ngươi. Hỡi các phù thủy, thầy bùa, người Da Đỏ nhảy múa lên đồng, hỡi quỷ dữ hãy đến đây. Goodman Brown đã đến rồi. Có thể các ngươi sợ hắn cũng như hắn sợ các ngươi vậy."

Quả thực, khắp cả khu rừng đầy ma quỷ không có gì trông kinh hoàng hơn hình thù của Goodman Brown. Chàng cứ tiếp tục bay qua những cây thông tối đen, tay quơ gậy một cách điên cuồng, lúc thì nguyền rủa Thượng Đế thậm tệ, lúc lại cười hô hố khiến cả khu rừng dội lại tiếng cười như thể lũ quỹ dữ đang ở quanh chàng.

"Nhưng Faith đâu rồi?" Goodman thầm nghĩ, và với hy vọng, chàng thấy lòng mình hồi hộp.

Thánh ca khác với lúc trước lại trỗi lên, giờ với tiết điệu chậm và buồn, nghe như tiếng tâm tình ai oán, hòa cùng lời ca diễn tả tất cả những gì con người có thể biết về tội lỗi, và còn hàm chứa những nhiều điều hơn cả tội lỗi nữa. Con người không thể lường được trong đó có cả những câu chuyện của quỷ dữ. Lời hát cứ ngân vang; và điệp khúc của rừng hoang lại trỗi lên xen giữa lời ca nghe như âm thanh trầm lắng nhất của đàn organ; cùng với chuỗi dài đồng ca thê thảm đó là một thứ âm thanh nghe như tiếng gió rú, tiếng nước chảy xiết, tiếng thú hoang gầm vang, và đủ thứ âm thanh khác của rừng hoang hỗn lọan cùng hòa lẫn nhau, và hòa theo tiếng của kẻ tội lỗi để bày tỏ lòng tôn kính đối với ông hoàng của muôn loài. Bốn cây thông đang cháy bốc lửa lên thật cao, làm lộ ra những hình thù và mặt người thật kinh dị trên các vòng hoa bằng khói tỏa trên đám người vô đạo đang tụ họp. Ngay khi ấy lửa trên tảng đá bắn lên đỏ rực, tạo thành một vòng cung sáng chói phía trên bệ đá, và trên bệ bỗng xuất hiện một cái bóng. Với lòng thành kính phải nói rằng cái bóng ấy không có nét gì tương tự, về cả cách ăn mặc lẫn bộ điệu, với các đấng tu hành trang nghiêm ở nhà thờ vùng New England.

“Hãy đem đến đây những người mới cải đạo!”một tiếng nói to vang dội cả cánh đồng, rồi mất hút về phía cánh rừng.

Khi nghe thấy tiếng ấy Goodman Brown từ trong bóng cây tối đen bước tới gần cộng đoàn, một cộng đoàn mà chàng cảm thấy đồng cảm với một thứ tình anh em đáng ghê tởm từ tất cả những gì độc ác có trong thâm tâm. Chàng gần như có thể thề rằng chàng thấy bóng người cha quá cố đang nhìn xuống từ một vòng hoa bằng khói, vẫy tay kêu chàng tiến tới, trong khi một người phụ nữ với vẻ thất vọng lại xua tay ra dấu cho chàng hãy lùi lại. Có phải đó là mẹ chàng không? Nhưng chàng không có sức lùi bước, và cũng không có sức cưỡng lại việc bước tới nữa, ngay cả trong tư tưởng cũng không, khi nhà truyền giáo và ngài phó tế già hiền hậu Gookin đã nắm chặt cánh tay chàng và dẫn chàng đến tảng đá đang cháy rực. Cùng đi đến đó có một bóng một phụ nữ thon thả đeo mạng che mặt, được dẫn đi giữa Goody Cloyse, bà giáo sùng đạo dạy lớp giáo lý vấn đáp, và Martha Carrier, người đã nhận lời hứa của ma quỷ để trở thành nữ hoàng cõi địa ngục --một mụ phù thủy bất trị. Và thế là những người cải đạo đứng đấy, dưới láng trại làm bằng lửa đỏ.

Bóng đen lên tiếng: “Chào mừng các con ta đã đến đây dự buổi hiệp thông với đồng loại của mình. Các con đã thấy bản thể và số phần của mình vẫn tươi trẻ. Này các con, hãy quay nhìn lại phía sau!”

Họ quay lại; và bỗng dưng trong màn lửa loé lên bóng những kẻ thờ phượng ma quỷ, với nụ cười đón chào đầy thâm ý đen tối hiện ra trên từng gương mặt.

Cái bóng như con hồ tinh nói tiếp: “Có mặt đủ cả những người mà hồi còn nhỏ các con đã kính trọng. Các con cho họ thánh thiện hơn mình, và xa lánh tội lỗi các con gây ra khi đem đọ tội lỗi ấy với đời sống đứng đắn luôn nguyện cầu mong mỏi được lên thiên đàng của họ. Nhưng tất cả bọn họ đều có mặt trong buổi lễ đàn này. Tối nay các con sẽ được ta cho phép được biết về những hành tung bí mật của họ: những vị trưởng thượng râu bạc nơi nhà thờ đã thì thầm lời khiếm nhã với các cô hầu dọn phòng cho họ; có những phụ nữ chỉ mong được mặc áo tang, nên trước khi đi ngủ, họ cho chồng uống một liều thuốc và để chồng nằm ngủ với mình đêm cuối cùng; có những người trẻ chưa mọc râu mà đã thúc đòi thừa hưởng gia tài của cha chúng; có những cô gái đẹp, má đỏ môi hồng, lại đào những huyệt nhỏ trong vườn nhà, và mời ta, người khách duy nhất đến dự tang lễ của đứa trẻ thơ. Bằng trái tim con người thương cảm cho tội lỗi, các con sẽ đánh hơi thấy mùi tội ác ở mọi chốn –nơi nhà thờ, trên giường ngủ, ngoài phố, trên cánh đồng hay trong rừng rậm, và các con sẽ vui mừng thấy toàn thể trái đất đều nhuộm một màu tội phạm, một vũng máu thật to. Còn hơn thế nữa. Các con sẽ chiếm được vòi nước tuôn trào mọi nghệ thuật ác độc nhất khi các con đi sâu vào chốn thâm cung tội lỗi trong lòng mỗi người, cái vòi không ngừng cung cấp những thôi thúc xấu xa, hơn cả sức mạnh của loài người, và hơn cả sức mạnh của chính ta ở đỉnh cao của nó, khi sức mạnh đó hiển thành hành động. Và bây giờ, hỡi các con của ta, hãy nhìn vào mặt nhau.”

Họ nhìn nhau, và trong ánh lửa của những ngọn đuốc thắp lên từ hỏa ngục, anh chàng khốn nạn nhìn thấy nàng Faith của anh đang run sợ trước cái bàn thờ tội ác ấy, và người vợ cũng trông thấy chồng mình.

“Này các con, các con đang đứng đấy,’ cái bóng ấy lên tiếng, giọng trầm và nghiêm nghị, buồn bã với vẻ thất vọng đáng sợ, như thể bản chất thánh thiện trước đây hắn từng có vẫn còn có thể than vãn cho loài người khốn khổ chúng ta. “Dựa vào tấm lòng đối với nhau, các con đã từng hy vọng đức hạnh không phải chỉ có trong mơ. Giờ đây các con không còn bị lừa phỉnh nữa. Bản chất loài người vốn xấu xa, tội lỗi. Xấu xa tội lỗi phải là hạnh phúc duy nhất của các con. Lần nữa ta chào mừng các con đã đến dự lễ hiệp thông với giống người của mình.”

“Xin chào mừng,” những kẻ thờ phượng ma quỷ đồng thanh lập lại, tiếng lộ vẻ vừa thất vọng vừa đắc thắng.

Và thế là họ, có lẽ là cặp vợ chồng duy nhất, đứng đó, vẫn còn ngần ngừ chưa bước tới chỗ tội ác của thế giới tối ám. Một cái chậu trống không nằm lõm vào trong tảng đá. Nó chứa nước bị ánh sáng chói rực làm có màu đỏ chăng, hay đấy là máu? Cái bóng quỷ ấy nhúng tay vào cái chậu, chuẩn bị làm phép bí tích lên trán của cặp vợ chồng, để họ được dự phần vào bí ẩn tội lỗi, để họ ý thức rõ hơn nữa tội lỗi được dấu kín của những người khác, cả trong tư tưởng lẫn hành động, hơn cả ý thức về tội của chính họ. Anh chồng liếc nhìn cô vợ xanh xao của mình, và Faith cũng liếc nhìn anh. Nhìn thêm lần nữa, họ chỉ thấy hai kẻ khốn nạn, và họ rung sợ trước cái họ và người phối ngẫu của họ để lộ ra cũng như về điều họ thấy!

Anh chồng la to lên: “Faith! Faith! Hãy nhìn lên trời, và hãy chống cự lại kẻ hiểm ác.”

Chàng không biết Faith có nghe lời chàng hay không. Nói xong chàng thấy mình đang ở giữa đêm đen tĩnh mịch, đang lắng nghe tiếng gió gầm gừ, nặng nề tan biến vào khu rừng. Chàng loạng choạng tựa vào tảng đá, và cảm thấy nó vừa lạnh vừa ẩm; khi ấy một cành cây nãy giờ vẫn cháy rắc lên má chàng những hạt sương lạnh giá.

Sáng hôm sau chàng thanh niên Goodman Brown chậm chạp đi trên con đường làng Salem, trừng mắt nhìn chung quanh chàng như kẻ thất thần.Vị giáo sĩ già hiền từ đang thả bộ dọc theo nghĩa địa để ăn sáng thấy ngon miệng hơn, vừa đi ông vừa nghiền ngẫm bài giảng của mình; khi đi ngang, ông làm dấu ban phước lành cho Goodman Brown. Chàng vội vàng tránh vị khả kính thánh thiện ấy như tránh kẻ mình không ưa. Vị phó tế Gookin đang hành lễ trong một nhà dân, và người ta có thể nghe những lời cầu nguyện hiền lành của ông vang ra từ cửa sổ. Goodman Brown nói: “Tên phù thủy đó cầu nguyện Thượng đế nào thế?” Goody Cloyse, tín hữu Ky Tô già xuất chúng, đang đứng dưới nắng sớm nơi khung mắc cáo, giảng giáo lý cho cô bé đem bình sữa sáng đến cho bà. Goodman Brown liền kéo đứa bé đi như thể kéo nó ra khỏi bàn tay ma quỷ. Khi chàng rẽ vào góc đường cạnh bên nhà tụ họp dân làng, chàng nhìn thấy mái đầu của Faith, với những dây nơ hồng, đang lo lắng nhìn về phía trước, và khi thấy bóng chàng, nàng vui mừng quá, liền chạy nhanh ra ngoài đường và suýt nữa nàng đã hôn chàng trước mặt làng xóm. Nhưng Goodman Brown nhìn vào mặt nàng một cách thật nghiêm khắc và buồn bã, rồi đi tiếp mà không chào hỏi nàng gì cả.

Phải chăng Goodman Brown đã ngủ quên trong rừng và chỉ nằm mơ một giấc mơ ngông cuồng về buổi họp mặt của các phù thủy?

Nếu bạn đọc muốn, xin cứ nghĩ như vậy; nhưng trời ơi, đối với Goodman Brown đó lại là một giấc mơ về điềm xấu xa tàn ác. Kể từ đêm nằm mộng thấy điều kinh hoàng đó, chàng bỗng trở thành một người nghiêm khắc, buồn bã, trầm tư một cách bí hiểm, một người không tin ai, nếu không muốn nói là tuyệt vọng. Vào ngày Sa bát, khi cộng đoàn đang hát bài thánh ca, chàng không thể lắng nghe được bài hát ấy vì một bài đầy tội lỗi khác đã ùa vào tai chàng làm át cả âm điệu thánh ca. Khi vị giáo sĩ từ trên bục cất tiếng giảng đạo hùng hồn, đầy nhiệt huyết, tay đặt trên quyển Thánh kinh đang mở ra, rao giảng về những sự thật thiêng liêng của tôn giáo chúng ta, về cuộc đời của các vị thánh sống và cái chết của các vị tử đạo, về tương lai tràn đầy ân phúc hay khốn khổ cùng cực, thì Goodman Brown mặt mày tái xanh, nơm nớp lo sợ mái nhà sẽ đổ sập xuống đầu kẻ phỉ báng Chúa già nua kia cùng đám người đang ngồi nghe. Nửa đêm Goodman Brown thường bất ngờ thức dậy, tránh né người vợ của mình; và vào buổi sáng hay chiều tối, khi cả nhà quỳ gối cầu nguyện, chàng lại cau mày, lầm bầm trong miệng, nhìn vợ một cách nghiêm khắc, rồi quay đi. Đến cuối đời, khi chỉ là một xác chết già nua được người ta đem đi mai táng, theo sau là Faith, một người đàn bà luống tuổi, cùng lũ con cháu –một đám tang khá trang nghiêm, có vài người hàng xóm tháp tùng – người ta không hề khắc lên bia mộ của Goodman Brown một lời hy vọng nào vì ông qua đời vào giờ quỷ ám.

Phan Thiện Trì chuyển ngữ

Dec. 2019

Young Goodman Brown

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Young Goodman Brown (1846) is one of Hawthorne's finest works in the genre of Dark Romanticism, an allegory about lost faith and virtue.
"Come witch, come wizard, come Indian powwow, come devil himself, and here comes Goodman Brown. You may as well fear him as he fear you."

Young Goodman Brown came forth at sunset into the street at Salem village; but put his head back, after crossing the threshold, to exchange a parting kiss with his young wife. And Faith, as the wife was aptly named, thrust her own pretty head into the street, letting the wind play with the pink ribbons of her cap while she called to Goodman Brown.

"Dearest heart," whispered she, softly and rather sadly, when her lips were close to his ear, "prithee put off your journey until sunrise and sleep in your own bed to-night. A lone woman is troubled with such dreams and such thoughts that she's afeard of herself sometimes. Pray tarry with me this night, dear husband, of all nights in the year."

"My love and my Faith," replied young Goodman Brown, "of all nights in the year, this one night must I tarry away from thee. My journey, as thou callest it, forth and back again, must needs be done 'twixt now and sunrise. What, my sweet, pretty wife, dost thou doubt me already, and we but three months married?"

"Then God bless you!" said Faith, with the pink ribbons; "and may you find all well when you come back."

"Amen!" cried Goodman Brown. "Say thy prayers, dear Faith, and go to bed at dusk, and no harm will come to thee."

So they parted; and the young man pursued his way until, being about to turn the corner by the meeting-house, he looked back and saw the head of Faith still peeping after him with a melancholy air, in spite of her pink ribbons.

"Poor little Faith!" thought he, for his heart smote him. "What a wretch am I to leave her on such an errand! She talks of dreams, too. Methought as she spoke there was trouble in her face, as if a dream had warned her what work is to be done tonight. But no, no; 't would kill her to think it. Well, she's a blessed angel on earth; and after this one night I'll cling to her skirts and follow her to heaven."

With this excellent resolve for the future, Goodman Brown felt himself justified in making more haste on his present evil purpose. He had taken a dreary road, darkened by all the gloomiest trees of the forest, which barely stood aside to let the narrow path creep through, and closed immediately behind. It was all as lonely as could be; and there is this peculiarity in such a solitude, that the traveller knows not who may be concealed by the innumerable trunks and the thick boughs overhead; so that with lonely footsteps he may yet be passing through an unseen multitude.

"There may be a devilish Indian behind every tree," said Goodman Brown to himself; and he glanced fearfully behind him as he added, "What if the devil himself should be at my very elbow!"

His head being turned back, he passed a crook of the road, and, looking forward again, beheld the figure of a man, in grave and decent attire, seated at the foot of an old tree. He arose at Goodman Brown's approach and walked onward side by side with him.

"You are late, Goodman Brown," said he. "The clock of the Old South was striking as I came through Boston, and that is full fifteen minutes agone."

"Faith kept me back a while," replied the young man, with a tremor in his voice, caused by the sudden appearance of his companion, though not wholly unexpected.

It was now deep dusk in the forest, and deepest in that part of it where these two were journeying. As nearly as could be discerned, the second traveller was about fifty years old, apparently in the same rank of life as Goodman Brown, and bearing a considerable resemblance to him, though perhaps more in expression than features. Still they might have been taken for father and son. And yet, though the elder person was as simply clad as the younger, and as simple in manner too, he had an indescribable air of one who knew the world, and who would not have felt abashed at the governor's dinner table or in King William's court, were it possible that his affairs should call him thither. But the only thing about him that could be fixed upon as remarkable was his staff, which bore the likeness of a great black snake, so curiously wrought that it might almost be seen to twist and wriggle itself like a living serpent. This, of course, must have been an ocular deception, assisted by the uncertain light.

"Come, Goodman Brown," cried his fellow-traveller, "this is a dull pace for the beginning of a journey. Take my staff, if you are so soon weary."

"Friend," said the other, exchanging his slow pace for a full stop, "having kept covenant by meeting thee here, it is my purpose now to return whence I came. I have scruples touching the matter thou wot'st of."

"Sayest thou so?" replied he of the serpent, smiling apart. "Let us walk on, nevertheless, reasoning as we go; and if I convince thee not thou shalt turn back. We are but a little way in the forest yet."

"Too far! too far!" exclaimed the goodman, unconsciously resuming his walk. "My father never went into the woods on such an errand, nor his father before him. We have been a race of honest men and good Christians since the days of the martyrs; and shall I be the first of the name of Brown that ever took this path and kept"

"Such company, thou wouldst say," observed the elder person, interpreting his pause. "Well said, Goodman Brown! I have been as well acquainted with your family as with ever a one among the Puritans; and that's no trifle to say. I helped your grandfather, the constable, when he lashed the Quaker woman so smartly through the streets of Salem; and it was I that brought your father a pitch-pine knot, kindled at my own hearth, to set fire to an Indian village, in King Philip's war. They were my good friends, both; and many a pleasant walk have we had along this path, and returned merrily after midnight. I would fain be friends with you for their sake."

"If it be as thou sayest," replied Goodman Brown, "I marvel they never spoke of these matters; or, verily, I marvel not, seeing that the least rumor of the sort would have driven them from New England. We are a people of prayer, and good works to boot, and abide no such wickedness."

"Wickedness or not," said the traveller with the twisted staff, "I have a very general acquaintance here in New England. The deacons of many a church have drunk the communion wine with me; the selectmen of divers towns make me their chairman; and a majority of the Great and General Court are firm supporters of my interest. The governor and I, too—But these are state secrets."

"Can this be so?" cried Goodman Brown, with a stare of amazement at his undisturbed companion. "Howbeit, I have nothing to do with the governor and council; they have their own ways, and are no rule for a simple husbandman like me. But, were I to go on with thee, how should I meet the eye of that good old man, our minister, at Salem village? Oh, his voice would make me tremble both Sabbath day and lecture day."

Thus far the elder traveller had listened with due gravity; but now burst into a fit of irrepressible mirth, shaking himself so violently that his snake-like staff actually seemed to wriggle in sympathy.

"Ha! ha! ha!" shouted he again and again; then composing himself, "Well, go on, Goodman Brown, go on; but, prithee, don't kill me with laughing."

"Well, then, to end the matter at once," said Goodman Brown, considerably nettled, "there is my wife, Faith. It would break her dear little heart; and I'd rather break my own."

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

As he spoke he pointed his staff at a female figure on the path, in whom Goodman Brown recognized a very pious and exemplary dame, who had taught him his catechism in youth, and was still his moral and spiritual adviser, jointly with the minister and Deacon Gookin.

"A marvel, truly, that Goody Cloyse should be so far in the wilderness at nightfall," said he. "But with your leave, friend, I shall take a cut through the woods until we have left this Christian woman behind. Being a stranger to you, she might ask whom I was consorting with and whither I was going."

"Be it so," said his fellow-traveller. "Betake you to the woods, and let me keep the path."

Accordingly the young man turned aside, but took care to watch his companion, who advanced softly along the road until he had come within a staff's length of the old dame. She, meanwhile, was making the best of her way, with singular speed for so aged a woman, and mumbling some indistinct words—a prayer, doubtless—as she went. The traveller put forth his staff and touched her withered neck with what seemed the serpent's tail.

"The devil!" screamed the pious old lady.

"Then Goody Cloyse knows her old friend?" observed the traveller, confronting her and leaning on his writhing stick.

"Ah, forsooth, and is it your worship indeed?" cried the good dame. "Yea, truly is it, and in the very image of my old gossip, Goodman Brown, the grandfather of the silly fellow that now is. But—would your worship believe it?—my broomstick hath strangely disappeared, stolen, as I suspect, by that unhanged witch, Goody Cory, and that, too, when I was all anointed with the juice of smallage, and cinquefoil, and wolf's bane"

"Mingled with fine wheat and the fat of a new-born babe," said the shape of old Goodman Brown.

"Ah, your worship knows the recipe," cried the old lady, cackling aloud. "So, as I was saying, being all ready for the meeting, and no horse to ride on, I made up my mind to foot it; for they tell me there is a nice young man to be taken into communion to-night. But now your good worship will lend me your arm, and we shall be there in a twinkling."

"That can hardly be," answered her friend. "I may not spare you my arm, Goody Cloyse; but here is my staff, if you will."

So saying, he threw it down at her feet, where, perhaps, it assumed life, being one of the rods which its owner had formerly lent to the Egyptian magi. Of this fact, however, Goodman Brown could not take cognizance. He had cast up his eyes in astonishment, and, looking down again, beheld neither Goody Cloyse nor the serpentine staff, but his fellow-traveller alone, who waited for him as calmly as if nothing had happened.

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

They continued to walk onward, while the elder traveller exhorted his companion to make good speed and persevere in the path, discoursing so aptly that his arguments seemed rather to spring up in the bosom of his auditor than to be suggested by himself. As they went, he plucked a branch of maple to serve for a walking stick, and began to strip it of the twigs and little boughs, which were wet with evening dew. The moment his fingers touched them they became strangely withered and dried up as with a week's sunshine. Thus the pair proceeded, at a good free pace, until suddenly, in a gloomy hollow of the road, Goodman Brown sat himself down on the stump of a tree and refused to go any farther.

"Friend," said he, stubbornly, "my mind is made up. Not another step will I budge on this errand. What if a wretched old woman do choose to go to the devil when I thought she was going to heaven: is that any reason why I should quit my dear Faith and go after her?"

"You will think better of this by and by," said his acquaintance, composedly. "Sit here and rest yourself a while; and when you feel like moving again, there is my staff to help you along."

Without more words, he threw his companion the maple stick, and was as speedily out of sight as if he had vanished into the deepening gloom. The young man sat a few moments by the roadside, applauding himself greatly, and thinking with how clear a conscience he should meet the minister in his morning walk, nor shrink from the eye of good old Deacon Gookin. And what calm sleep would be his that very night, which was to have been spent so wickedly, but so purely and sweetly now, in the arms of Faith! Amidst these pleasant and praiseworthy meditations, Goodman Brown heard the tramp of horses along the road, and deemed it advisable to conceal himself within the verge of the forest, conscious of the guilty purpose that had brought him thither, though now so happily turned from it.

On came the hoof tramps and the voices of the riders, two grave old voices, conversing soberly as they drew near. These mingled sounds appeared to pass along the road, within a few yards of the young man's hiding-place; but, owing doubtless to the depth of the gloom at that particular spot, neither the travellers nor their steeds were visible. Though their figures brushed the small boughs by the wayside, it could not be seen that they intercepted, even for a moment, the faint gleam from the strip of bright sky athwart which they must have passed. Goodman Brown alternately crouched and stood on tiptoe, pulling aside the branches and thrusting forth his head as far as he durst without discerning so much as a shadow. It vexed him the more, because he could have sworn, were such a thing possible, that he recognized the voices of the minister and Deacon Gookin, jogging along quietly, as they were wont to do, when bound to some ordination or ecclesiastical council. While yet within hearing, one of the riders stopped to pluck a switch.

"Of the two, reverend sir," said the voice like the deacon's, "I had rather miss an ordination dinner than to-night's meeting. They tell me that some of our community are to be here from Falmouth and beyond, and others from Connecticut and Rhode Island, besides several of the Indian powwows, who, after their fashion, know almost as much deviltry as the best of us. Moreover, there is a goodly young woman to be taken into communion."

"Mighty well, Deacon Gookin!" replied the solemn old tones of the minister. "Spur up, or we shall be late. Nothing can be done, you know, until I get on the ground."

The hoofs clattered again; and the voices, talking so strangely in the empty air, passed on through the forest, where no church had ever been gathered or solitary Christian prayed. Whither, then, could these holy men be journeying so deep into the heathen wilderness? Young Goodman Brown caught hold of a tree for support, being ready to sink down on the ground, faint and overburdened with the heavy sickness of his heart. He looked up to the sky, doubting whether there really was a heaven above him. Yet there was the blue arch, and the stars brightening in it.

"With heaven above and Faith below, I will yet stand firm against the devil!" cried Goodman Brown.

While he still gazed upward into the deep arch of the firmament and had lifted his hands to pray, a cloud, though no wind was stirring, hurried across the zenith and hid the brightening stars. The blue sky was still visible, except directly overhead, where this black mass of cloud was sweeping swiftly northward. Aloft in the air, as if from the depths of the cloud, came a confused and doubtful sound of voices. Once the listener fancied that he could distinguish the accents of towns-people of his own, men and women, both pious and ungodly, many of whom he had met at the communion table, and had seen others rioting at the tavern. The next moment, so indistinct were the sounds, he doubted whether he had heard aught but the murmur of the old forest, whispering without a wind. Then came a stronger swell of those familiar tones, heard daily in the sunshine at Salem village, but never until now from a cloud of night. There was one voice of a young woman, uttering lamentations, yet with an uncertain sorrow, and entreating for some favor, which, perhaps, it would grieve her to obtain; and all the unseen multitude, both saints and sinners, seemed to encourage her onward.

"Faith!" shouted Goodman Brown, in a voice of agony and desperation; and the echoes of the forest mocked him, crying, "Faith! Faith!" as if bewildered wretches were seeking her all through the wilderness.

The cry of grief, rage, and terror was yet piercing the night, when the unhappy husband held his breath for a response. There was a scream, drowned immediately in a louder murmur of voices, fading into far-off laughter, as the dark cloud swept away, leaving the clear and silent sky above Goodman Brown. But something fluttered lightly down through the air and caught on the branch of a tree. The young man seized it, and beheld a pink ribbon.

"My Faith is gone!" cried he, after one stupefied moment. "There is no good on earth; and sin is but a name. Come, devil; for to thee is this world given."

And, maddened with despair, so that he laughed loud and long, did Goodman Brown grasp his staff and set forth again, at such a rate that he seemed to fly along the forest path rather than to walk or run. The road grew wilder and drearier and more faintly traced, and vanished at length, leaving him in the heart of the dark wilderness, still rushing onward with the instinct that guides mortal man to evil. The whole forest was peopled with frightful sounds—the creaking of the trees, the howling of wild beasts, and the yell of Indians; while sometimes the wind tolled like a distant church bell, and sometimes gave a broad roar around the traveller, as if all Nature were laughing him to scorn. But he was himself the chief horror of the scene, and shrank not from its other horrors.

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Goodman Brown when the wind laughed at him.

"Let us hear which will laugh loudest. Think not to frighten me with your deviltry. Come witch, come wizard, come Indian powwow, come devil himself, and here comes Goodman Brown. You may as well fear him as he fear you."

In truth, all through the haunted forest there could be nothing more frightful than the figure of Goodman Brown. On he flew among the black pines, brandishing his staff with frenzied gestures, now giving vent to an inspiration of horrid blasphemy, and now shouting forth such laughter as set all the echoes of the forest laughing like demons around him. The fiend in his own shape is less hideous than when he rages in the breast of man. Thus sped the demoniac on his course, until, quivering among the trees, he saw a red light before him, as when the felled trunks and branches of a clearing have been set on fire, and throw up their lurid blaze against the sky, at the hour of midnight. He paused, in a lull of the tempest that had driven him onward, and heard the swell of what seemed a hymn, rolling solemnly from a distance with the weight of many voices. He knew the tune; it was a familiar one in the choir of the village meeting-house. The verse died heavily away, and was lengthened by a chorus, not of human voices, but of all the sounds of the benighted wilderness pealing in awful harmony together. Goodman Brown cried out, and his cry was lost to his own ear by its unison with the cry of the desert.

In the interval of silence he stole forward until the light glared full upon his eyes. At one extremity of an open space, hemmed in by the dark wall of the forest, arose a rock, bearing some rude, natural resemblance either to an alter or a pulpit, and surrounded by four blazing pines, their tops aflame, their stems untouched, like candles at an evening meeting. The mass of foliage that had overgrown the summit of the rock was all on fire, blazing high into the night and fitfully illuminating the whole field. Each pendent twig and leafy festoon was in a blaze. As the red light arose and fell, a numerous congregation alternately shone forth, then disappeared in shadow, and again grew, as it were, out of the darkness, peopling the heart of the solitary woods at once.

"A grave and dark-clad company," quoth Goodman Brown.

In truth they were such. Among them, quivering to and fro between gloom and splendor, appeared faces that would be seen next day at the council board of the province, and others which, Sabbath after Sabbath, looked devoutly heavenward, and benignantly over the crowded pews, from the holiest pulpits in the land. Some affirm that the lady of the governor was there. At least there were high dames well known to her, and wives of honored husbands, and widows, a great multitude, and ancient maidens, all of excellent repute, and fair young girls, who trembled lest their mothers should espy them. Either the sudden gleams of light flashing over the obscure field bedazzled Goodman Brown, or he recognized a score of the church members of Salem village famous for their especial sanctity. Good old Deacon Gookin had arrived, and waited at the skirts of that venerable saint, his revered pastor. But, irreverently consorting with these grave, reputable, and pious people, these elders of the church, these chaste dames and dewy virgins, there were men of dissolute lives and women of spotted fame, wretches given over to all mean and filthy vice, and suspected even of horrid crimes. It was strange to see that the good shrank not from the wicked, nor were the sinners abashed by the saints. Scattered also among their pale-faced enemies were the Indian priests, or powwows, who had often scared their native forest with more hideous incantations than any known to English witchcraft.

"But where is Faith?" thought Goodman Brown; and, as hope came into his heart, he trembled.

Another verse of the hymn arose, a slow and mournful strain, such as the pious love, but joined to words which expressed all that our nature can conceive of sin, and darkly hinted at far more. Unfathomable to mere mortals is the lore of fiends. Verse after verse was sung; and still the chorus of the desert swelled between like the deepest tone of a mighty organ; and with the final peal of that dreadful anthem there came a sound, as if the roaring wind, the rushing streams, the howling beasts, and every other voice of the unconcerted wilderness were mingling and according with the voice of guilty man in homage to the prince of all. The four blazing pines threw up a loftier flame, and obscurely discovered shapes and visages of horror on the smoke wreaths above the impious assembly. At the same moment the fire on the rock shot redly forth and formed a glowing arch above its base, where now appeared a figure. With reverence be it spoken, the figure bore no slight similitude, both in garb and manner, to some grave divine of the New England churches.

"Bring forth the converts!" cried a voice that echoed through the field and rolled into the forest.

At the word, Goodman Brown stepped forth from the shadow of the trees and approached the congregation, with whom he felt a loathful brotherhood by the sympathy of all that was wicked in his heart. He could have well-nigh sworn that the shape of his own dead father beckoned him to advance, looking downward from a smoke wreath, while a woman, with dim features of despair, threw out her hand to warn him back. Was it his mother? But he had no power to retreat one step, nor to resist, even in thought, when the minister and good old Deacon Gookin seized his arms and led him to the blazing rock. Thither came also the slender form of a veiled female, led between Goody Cloyse, that pious teacher of the catechism, and Martha Carrier, who had received the devil's promise to be queen of hell. A rampant hag was she. And there stood the proselytes beneath the canopy of fire.

"Welcome, my children," said the dark figure, "to the communion of your race. Ye have found thus young your nature and your destiny. My children, look behind you!"

They turned; and flashing forth, as it were, in a sheet of flame, the fiend worshippers were seen; the smile of welcome gleamed darkly on every visage.

"There," resumed the sable form, "are all whom ye have reverenced from youth. Ye deemed them holier than yourselves, and shrank from your own sin, contrasting it with their lives of righteousness and prayerful aspirations heavenward. Yet here are they all in my worshipping assembly. This night it shall be granted you to know their secret deeds: how hoary-bearded elders of the church have whispered wanton words to the young maids of their households; how many a woman, eager for widows' weeds, has given her husband a drink at bedtime and let him sleep his last sleep in her bosom; how beardless youths have made haste to inherit their fathers' wealth; and how fair damsels—blush not, sweet ones—have dug little graves in the garden, and bidden me, the sole guest to an infant's funeral. By the sympathy of your human hearts for sin ye shall scent out all the places—whether in church, bedchamber, street, field, or forest—where crime has been committed, and shall exult to behold the whole earth one stain of guilt, one mighty blood spot. Far more than this. It shall be yours to penetrate, in every bosom, the deep mystery of sin, the fountain of all wicked arts, and which inexhaustibly supplies more evil impulses than human power—than my power at its utmost can make manifest in deeds. And now, my children, look upon each other."

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

"Lo, there ye stand, my children," said the figure, in a deep and solemn tone, almost sad with its despairing awfulness, as if his once angelic nature could yet mourn for our miserable race. "Depending upon one another's hearts, ye had still hoped that virtue were not all a dream. Now are ye undeceived. Evil is the nature of mankind. Evil must be your only happiness. Welcome again, my children, to the communion of your race."

"Welcome," repeated the fiend worshippers, in one cry of despair and triumph.

And there they stood, the only pair, as it seemed, who were yet hesitating on the verge of wickedness in this dark world. A basin was hollowed, naturally, in the rock. Did it contain water, reddened by the lurid light? or was it blood? or, perchance, a liquid flame? Herein did the shape of evil dip his hand and prepare to lay the mark of baptism upon their foreheads, that they might be partakers of the mystery of sin, more conscious of the secret guilt of others, both in deed and thought, than they could now be of their own. The husband cast one look at his pale wife, and Faith at him. What polluted wretches would the next glance show them to each other, shuddering alike at what they disclosed and what they saw!

"Faith! Faith!" cried the husband, "look up to heaven, and resist the wicked one."

Whether Faith obeyed he knew not. Hardly had he spoken when he found himself amid calm night and solitude, listening to a roar of the wind which died heavily away through the forest. He staggered against the rock, and felt it chill and damp; while a hanging twig, that had been all on fire, besprinkled his cheek with the coldest dew.

The next morning young Goodman Brown came slowly into the street of Salem village, staring around him like a bewildered man. The good old minister was taking a walk along the graveyard to get an appetite for breakfast and meditate his sermon, and bestowed a blessing, as he passed, on Goodman Brown. He shrank from the venerable saint as if to avoid an anathema. Old Deacon Gookin was at domestic worship, and the holy words of his prayer were heard through the open window. "What God doth the wizard pray to?" quoth Goodman Brown. Goody Cloyse, that excellent old Christian, stood in the early sunshine at her own lattice, catechizing a little girl who had brought her a pint of morning's milk. Goodman Brown snatched away the child as from the grasp of the fiend himself. Turning the corner by the meeting-house, he spied the head of Faith, with the pink ribbons, gazing anxiously forth, and bursting into such joy at sight of him that she skipped along the street and almost kissed her husband before the whole village. But Goodman Brown looked sternly and sadly into her face, and passed on without a greeting.

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

Be it so if you will; but, alas! it was a dream of evil omen for young Goodman Brown. A stern, a sad, a darkly meditative, a distrustful, if not a desperate man did he become from the night of that fearful dream. On the Sabbath day, when the congregation were singing a holy psalm, he could not listen because an anthem of sin rushed loudly upon his ear and drowned all the blessed strain. When the minister spoke from the pulpit with power and fervid eloquence, and, with his hand on the open Bible, of the sacred truths of our religion, and of saint-like lives and triumphant deaths, and of future bliss or misery unutterable, then did Goodman Brown turn pale, dreading lest the roof should thunder down upon the gray blasphemer and his hearers. Often, waking suddenly at midnight, he shrank from the bosom of Faith; and at morning or eventide, when the family knelt down at prayer, he scowled and muttered to himself, and gazed sternly at his wife, and turned away. And when he had lived long, and was borne to his grave a hoary corpse, followed by Faith, an aged woman, and children and grandchildren, a goodly procession, besides neighbors not a few, they carved no hopeful verse upon his tombstone, for his dying hour was gloom.

GIỚI THIỆU VĂN HỌC THIỆN TRÌ

Thứ Ba, 16 tháng 11, 2021

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