Hathorne. Put it over your daughter's shoulders.
Hutchins. Oh, your worships, I pray you not! It will kill her!
Ann. Oh, do not! do not! It will kill me! Oh, mother, do not! Oh, your worships! Oh, Minister Parris!
Parris. Why put the maid to this needless agony?
Corwin. Put the cape over her shoulders.
[Widow Hutchins approaches Ann hesitatingly, and throws the cape over her shoulders. Ann sinks upon the floor, shrieking.
Ann. Take it off! Take it off! It burns! It burns! Take it off! Have mercy! I shall die! I shall die!
Hathorne. Take off the cape; that is enough. Olive Corey, what say you to this? This is the cape you gave Ann Hutchins.
Olive. Oh, mother! mother!
Martha (pushing forward). Nay, I will speak again. Ye shall not keep me from it; ye shall not send me out of the meeting-house! (The afflicted cry out.) Peace, or I will afflict ye in earnest! I will speak! If I be a witch, as ye say, then ye have some reason to fear me, even ye most worshipful magistrates and ministers. It might happen to ye even to fall upon the floor in torment, and it would ill accord with your offices. Ye shall hear me. I speak no more for myself—ye may go hang me—I speak for my child. Ye shall not hang her, or judgment will come upon ye. Ye know there is no guile in her; it were monstrous to call her a witch. It were less blasphemy to call her an angel than a witch, and ye know it. Ye know it, all ye maids she hath played with and done her little kindnesses to, ye who would now go hang her. That cape—that cape, most worshipful magistrates, did the dear child earn with her own little hands, that she might give it to Ann, whom she loved so much. Knowing, as she did, that Ann was poor, and able to have but little bravery of apparel, it was often on her mind to give her somewhat of her own, albeit that was but scanty; and she hath toiled overtimes at her wheel all winter, and sold the yarn in Salem, and so gained a penny at a time wherewithal to buy that cape for Ann. And now will it hang her, the dear child?
Dear Ann, dost thou not remember how thou and my Olive have spent days together, and slept together many a night, and lain awake till dawn talking? Dost thou not remember how thou couldst go nowhere without Olive, nor she without thee, and how no little junketing were complete to the one were the other not there? Dost thou not remember how Olive wept when thy father died? Mercy Lewis, dost thou not remember how my Olive came over and helped thee in thy work that time thou wert ailing, and how she lent thee her shoes to walk to Salem?
Oh, dear children, oh, maids, who have been playmates and friends with my dear child, ye will not do her this harm! Do ye not know that she hath never harmed ye, and would die first? Think of the time when this sickness, that is nigh to madness, shall have passed over, and all is quiet again. Then will ye sit in the meeting-house of a Lord's day, and look over at the place where my poor child was wont to sit listening in her little Sabbath best, and ye will see her no more, but will say to yourselves that ye have murdered her. And then of a week-day ye will see her no more spinning at her wheel in the doorway, nor tending the flowers in her garden. She will come smiling in at your doors no more, nor walk the village street, and ye will always see where she is not, and know that ye have murdered her. Oh, poor children, ye are in truth young, and your minds, I doubt not, sore bewildered! If I have spoken harshly to ye, I pray ye heed it not, except as concerns me. I wot well that I am now done with this world, and I feel already the wind that bloweth over Gallows Hill in my face. But consider well ere ye do any harm to my dear child, else verily the day will come when ye will be more to be pitied than she. Oh, ye will not harm her! Ye will take back your accusation! Oh, worshipful magistrates, oh, Minister Parris, I pray you have mercy upon this child! I pray you mercy as you will need mercy! [Falls upon her knees.
Hathorne. Rise, woman; it is not now mercy, but justice that has to be considered.
Parris. In straits like this there is no mercy in the divine will. Shall mercy be shown Satan?
Corwin. Mercy Lewis, is it in truth Olive Corey who afflicts you?
Mercy (hesitating). I am not so sure as I was.
Other Afflicted Girls. Nor I! nor I! nor I!
Mercy. Last time I was somewhat blinded and could not see her face. Methinks she was something taller than Olive.
Ann (shrieks). Oh, Olive is upon me! The sun shines on her face! I see her, she is choking me! Oh! oh!
Mercy (to Ann). Hush! If she be put away you'll not get Paul Bayley; I'll tell you that for a certainty, Ann Hutchins.
Ann. Oh! oh! she is killing me!
Mercy. I see her naught; 'tis a taller person who is afflicting Ann. (To Ann.) Leave your outcries or I will confess to the magistrates. [Ann becomes quiet.
Corwin. Ann Hutchins, saw you in truth Olive Corey afflicting you?
Ann (sullenly). It might have been Goody Corey.
Corwin. Mercy Lewis, saw you of a certainty Olive Corey walking in the wood with a black man?
Mercy. It was the wane of the moon; I might have been mistaken. It might have been Goody Corey; their carriage is somewhat the same.
Corwin. Give me the cape, Widow Hutchins. (Widow Hutchins hands him the cape; he puts it over his shoulders.) Verily I perceive no great inconvenience from the cape, except it is an ill fit.
[Takes it off and lays it on the table. The two magistrates and Minister Parris whisper together.
Hathorne. Having now received the testimony of the afflicted and the witnesses, and duly weighted the same according to our judgment, being aided to a decision, as we believe, by the divine wisdom which we have invoked, we declare the damsel Olive Corey free and quit of the charges against her. And Martha Corey, the wife of Giles Corey, of Salem Village, we commit unto the jail in Salem until—
Giles. Send Martha to Salem jail! Out upon ye! Why, ye be gone clean mad, magistrates and ministers and all! Send Martha to jail! Why, she must home with me this night and get supper! How think ye I am going to live and keep my house? Load Martha down with chains in jail! Martha a witch! Then, by the Lord, she keeps His company overmuch for one of her trade, for she goes to prayer forty times a day. Martha a witch! Think ye Goodwife Martha Corey gallops a broomstick to the hill of a night, with her decent petticoats flapping? Who says so? I would I had my musket, and he'd not say so twice to Giles Corey. And let him say so twice as 'tis, and meet my fist, an he dares. I be an old man, but I could hold my own in my day, and there be some of me left yet. Who says so twice to old Giles Corey? Martha a witch! Verily she could not stop praying long enough to dance a jig through with the devil. Martha! Out upon ye, ye lying devil's tool of a parson, that seasons murder with prayer! Out upon ye, ye magistrates! your hands be redder than your fine trappings! Martha a witch! Ye yourselves be witches, and serving Satan, and he a-tickling in his sleeve at ye. Send Martha in chains to Salem jail, ye will, will ye? (Forces his way to Martha, and throws his arm around her.) Be not afraid, good lass, thy man will save thee. Thou shalt not go to jail! I say thou shalt not! I'll cut my way through a whole king's army ere thou shalt. I'll raise the devil myself ere thou shalt, and set him tooth and claw on the whole brood of them. I'll—(One of the afflicted shrieks. Giles turns upon them.) Why, devil take ye, ye lying hussies, ye have done this! Ye should be whipped through the town at the tail of a cart, every one of ye. Ye ill-favored little jades, puling because no man will have ye, and putting each other up to this d— mischief for lack of something better. Out upon ye, ye little—
Mercy (jumping up and screaming in agony). Oh, Giles Corey is upon me! He is afflicting me grievously! Oh, I will not! Chain him! chain him! chain him!
Ann. Oh, this is worse than the others! This is dreadful! He's strangling me! I—Oh—your—worships! Oh—help!—help! [Falls upon the floor.
Afflicted Girls. Chain him! chain him!
Hathorne. Marshal, take Giles Corey into custody and chain him.
[Marshal and Constables advance. Tableau—Curtain falls.
Act IV.
The living-room in Giles Corey's house. Nancy Fox and the child Phœbe Morse sit beside the hearth; each has her apron over her face, weeping.
Phœbe (sobbing). I—want my Aunt—Corey and—my Uncle Corey. Why don't they come? Oh, deary me!
[Phœbe jumps up and runs to the window.
Nancy. See you anybody coming?
Phœbe. There is a dame in a black hood coming past the popple-trees. Oh, Nancy, come quick; see if it be Aunt Corey!
Nancy. Where be my spectacles—where be they? (Runs about the room searching.) Oh Lord, what's the use of living to be so old that you're scattered all over the house like a seed thistle! Having to hunt everywhere for your eyes and your wits whenever you want to use 'em, and having other folks a-meddling with 'em! Where be the spectacles? They be not in the cupboard; they be not on the dresser. Where be they? I trow this be witch-work. I know well enough what has become of my good horn spectacles. Goody Bishop hath witched them away, thinking they would suit well with her fine hood. I know well that I—
Phœbe (sobbing aloud). Oh, Nancy, it is not Aunt Corey. It is only Goodwife Nourse.
Nancy. May the black beast catch her! Be you sure?
Phœbe. Yes; she is passing our gate. Oh, Nancy, what shall we do? what shall we do?
Nancy. I would that I had my fingers in old man Hathorne's fine wig. I would yank it off for him, and fling it to the pigs. A-sending master and mistress to jail, and they no more witches than I be!
Phœbe. Oh, Nancy, be we witches? They have not sent us to jail.
Nancy. I know not what we be. My old head will not hold it all. It is time they came home. There is not a crumb of sweet-cake in the house, and the stopple is so tight in the cider-barrel that I cannot stir it a peg. [Weeps.
Phœbe. Nancy, did they send Aunt Corey and Uncle Corey to jail because I stuck the pins in my doll?
Nancy. I know not. I tell ye my old head spins round like a flax-wheel; when I put my finger on one spoke 'tis another one. These things be too much for a poor old woman like me. It takes folks like their worships the magistrates and Minister Parris to deal with black men and witches, and keep their wits in no need of physic.
Phœbe. Oh, Nancy, I know what I will do! Oh, 'tis well I snatched my doll off the meeting-house table that day after the trial, and ran home with it under my apron! (Runs to the settle, takes up the doll, which is lying there, and kisses it.) Here is one kiss for Aunt Corey, here is another kiss for Aunt Corey, here is another, and another, and another. Here is one kiss for Uncle Corey, and here is another kiss for Uncle Corey, and here is another, and another, and another. There, Nancy! will not this do away with the pin pricks, and they be let out of jail?
Nancy. I know not. My old head bobs like a pumpkin in a pond. I would master and mistress were home. These be troublous times for an old woman. I would I could stir the stopple in the cider-barrel. Look again, and see if mistress be not coming up the road.
Phœbe. It is of no use. I have looked for a whole week, and she has not come in sight. I want my Aunt Corey! Nancy, have I not done away with the pin pricks? Tell me, will she be not let out of jail? Oh, there's Paul coming past the window! He's got home! Olive! Olive!
Enter Paul Bayley. Phœbe runs to him.
Phœbe. Oh, Paul, they've put Aunt Corey and Uncle Corey in Salem jail while you were gone! Can't you get them out, Paul, can't you?
Paul. Where is Olive?
Phœbe. She is in her chamber. She stays there all the time at prayer. Olive! Olive! Paul is come.
[Calls at the foot of chamber stairs.
Paul. Olive!
Olive comes slowly down the stairs and enters.
Paul (seizing her in his arms). Oh, my poor lass, what is this that hath come to thee?
Olive. This is what thou feared when we parted, Paul, and more.
Paul. I but heard of it as I came through Salem on my way hither. Oh, 'tis devilish work!
Olive. They let me loose, but father and mother are in Salem jail.
Paul. Poor lass!
Olive. Can you do naught to help them, Paul?
Paul. Olive, I will help them, if there be any justice or unclouded minds left in the colony.
Olive. Thou art in truth here, Paul; it is thy voice.
Paul. Whose voice should it be, dear heart?
Olive. I know not. For a week I have thought I heard so many voices. The air seemed full of voices a-calling me, but I heeded them not, Paul. I kept all the time at prayer and heeded them not.
Paul. Of course thou didst not. There were no voices to heed.
Olive. Sometimes I thought I heard birds twittering, and sometimes I thought there was something black at my elbow, and in the night-time faces at my window. Paul, was there aught there?
Paul. No, no; there was naught there. Birds and black beasts and faces! This be all folly, Olive!
Olive. They saw a black man by my side in the meeting-house— Ann saw him. She cried out that the cape I gave her put her to dreadful torment. Can I have been a witch unknowingly, and so done this great evil to my father and mother? Tell me, Paul.
Paul. Call up thy wits, Olive! I tell thee thou art no witch. There was no black man at thy side in the meeting-house. Black man! I would one would verily lay hands on that lying hussy. Thou art no witch.
[Phœbe rushes to Olive, and clings to her, sobbing.
Phœbe. You are not a witch, Olive. You are not. If Ann says so I will pinch her and scratch her. I will! yes, I will—I will scratch her till the blood runs. You are not a witch. I was the one that got them into jail. I stuck pins into my doll, but I have made up for it now. They'll be let out. Don't cry, Olive.
Nancy. Don't you fret yourself, Olive. I trow there's no witch-mark on you. It's Goody Bishop in her fine silk hood that's at the bottom on't. I know, I know. Perchance Paul could loose the stopple in the cider-barrel. I am needful of somewhat to warm my old bones. This witch-work makes them to creep with chills like long snakes.
Olive. They say my mother will soon be hanged, and I perchance a witch, and the cause of it. I cannot get over it. (Moves away from them.) If I be a witch, I shall hurt thee, as I perchance have hurt them. [Weeps.
Paul. Olive Corey, what is that?
Olive (looking up). What? What mean you, Paul? [Nancy and Phœbe stare.
Paul. There, over the cupboard. Is it— Yes, 'tis—cobwebs. I trow I never saw such a sight in Goodwife Corey's house before.
Olive. I will brush them down, Paul.
Paul (looking at the floor). And I doubt me much if the floor has been swept up this week past, and the hearth is all strewn with ashes. I trow Goodwife Corey would weep could she see her house thus.
Olive. I will get the broom, Paul.
Paul. I know well thou hast not spun this last week, that the cream is too far gone to be churned, and the cheeses have not been turned.
Nancy. 'Tis so, Paul; and there's no sweet-cake in the house, either.
Paul. Thou art no such housewife as thy mother, Olive Corey! One would say she had not taught thee. I trow she was a good housewife, and notable among the neighbors; but this will take from her reputation that she hath so brought thee up. I trow could she see this house 'twould give her a new ache in her heart among all the others.
Olive. I will mind the house, Paul.
Paul. Ay, mind the house, poor lass! Know you, Olive, that there is a rumor abroad in Salem that your father will refuse to plead, and will stand mute at his trial?
Olive. Wherefore will he do that?
Paul. I scarcely know why. Has he made a will, 'twill not be valid were he to plead at a criminal trial; there will be an attainder on it. They say that is one reason, and that he thinks thus to show his scorn of the whole devilish work, and of a trial that is no trial.
Olive. What is the penalty if he stand mute?
Paul. 'Tis a severe one; but he shall not stand mute.
Phœbe. Oh, Paul, get Aunt Corey out of jail! Can't you get Aunt Corey out of jail?
Nancy. Perchance you could pry up the hook of the jail door with the old knife. It will be dark to-night. There is no moon until three o'clock in the morning.
Olive. Paul, think you not that my father's sons-in-law might do somewhat? They are men of influence. Their wives are but my half-sisters, but they are his own daughters. I marvel they have not come to me since this trouble.
Paul. Olive, his sons-in-law have sent in their written testimony against him and your mother.
Olive. Paul, it cannot be so!
Paul. They have surely so testified. There is no help to be had from them. I have a plan.
Olive. All is useless, Paul. His sons-in-law, his own daughters' husbands, have turned against him! There is no help anywhere. My mother will soon be hanged. Minister Parris said so last night when he came. And he knelt yonder and prayed that I might no longer practise witchcraft. My father and mother are lost, and I have brought it upon them. Talk no more to me, Paul.
Paul. Then, perchance your mother be a witch, Olive Corey.
Olive. My mother is not a witch.
Paul. Doth not Minister Parris say so? And if he speak truth when he calls you a witch, why speaks he not truth of your mother also? I trow, if you be a witch, she is.
Olive. My mother is no witch, and I am no witch, Paul Bayley!
Paul. Mind you stick to that, poor lass! Now, I go to Boston to the Governor. There lies the only hope for thy parents.
Olive. Think you the Governor will listen? Oh, he must listen! Thou hast a masterful way with thee, Paul. When wilt thou start? Oh, if I had not thee!
Paul. I would I could make myself twenty-fold 'twixt thee and evil, sweet. I will get Goodman Nourse's horse and start to-night.
Olive. Then go, go! Do not wait!
Paul. I will not wait. Good-by, dear heart. Keep good courage, and put foolish fancies away from thee. [Embraces her.
Olive (freeing herself). This is no time for love-making, Paul. I will mind the house well and keep at prayer. Thou need'st not fear. Now, haste, haste! Do not wait!
Paul. I will be on the Boston path in a half-hour. Good-by, Olive. Please God, I'll bring thee back good news. [Exit Paul.
[Olive stands in the door watching him depart. Phœbe steals up to her and throws her arms around her. Olive turns suddenly and embraces the child.
Olive. Come, sweet; while Paul sets forth to the Governor, we will go to prayer. Nancy, come, we will go to prayer that the Governor may lend a gracious ear, and our feet be kept clear of the snares of Satan. Come, we will go to prayer; there is naught left for us but to go to prayer!
Tableau—Curtain falls.
Act V.
Six weeks later. Giles Corey's cell in Salem jail. It is early morning. Giles, heavily chained, is sleeping upon his bed. A noise is heard at the door. Giles stirs and raises himself.
Giles. Yes, Martha, I'm coming. (Noise continues.) I'm coming, Martha. (Stares around the cell.) God help me, but I thought 'twas Martha calling me to supper, and 'tis a month since she died on Gallows Hill. I verily thought that I smelt the pork frying and the pan-cakes.
The door is opened and the Guard, bringing a dish of porridge, enters; he sets it on the floor beside the bed, then examines Giles's chains.
Giles. Make sure they be strong, else it will verily go hard with the hussies. They will screech louder yet, and be more like pin-cushions than ever. Art sure they be strong? 'Twere a pity such guileless and tender maids should suffer, and old Giles Corey's hands be rough. He hath hewn wood and handled the plough for nigh eighty years with them, and now these pretty maids say he hurts their soft flesh. In truth, they must be sore afflicted. Prithee are the chains well riveted? I thought last night one link seemed somewhat loose as though it might be forced, and old Giles Corey hath still some strength; and hath he witchcraft, as they say, it might well make him stronger. Be wary about the chains for the sake of those godly and tender maids.
[Exit Guard. Giles takes the dish of porridge and eats.
Giles (making a wry face). This be rare porridge; it be rare enough to charge the cook on't with witchcraft. It might well have been scorched in some hell-fire. I trow Martha would have flung it to the pigs. I verily thought 'twas Martha calling me to supper, and I smelt the good food cooking, and Martha hung a month since on Gallows Hill. Who's that at the door now?
Guard opens the door and Paul Bayley enters. Giles takes another spoonful of porridge.
Paul. Good-day, Goodman Corey.
Giles. Taste this porridge, will ye.
Paul (tastes the porridge). 'Tis burned.
Giles. It be rare food to keep up the soul of an old man who hath set himself to undergo what I have set myself to undergo. But it matters not. I trow old Giles Corey may well have eat all his life unknowingly to this end, and hath now somewhat of strength to fall back upon. He needs no dainty fare to make him strong to undergo what he hath set himself. How fares my daughter?
Paul. As well as she can fare, poor lass! I saw her last evening. She is now calmer in her mind, and she goeth about the house like her mother.
Giles. Her mother set great store by her. She would often strive in prayer that she should not make an idol of her before the Lord.
Paul. Goodman, it goes hard to tell you, but I had an audience yesterday again with Governor Phipps, an' 'twas in vain.
Giles (laughing). In vain, say ye 'twas in vain? Why, I looked to see the pardon sticking out of your waistcoat pocket! Why went ye again to Boston? Know ye not that this whole land is now a bedlam, and the Governors and the magistrates swell the ravings? Seek ye in bedlam for justice of madmen? It is not now pardon or justice that we have to think on, but death, and the best that can be made out on't. Know ye that my trial will be held this afternoon?
Paul. Yes, Goodman Corey.
Giles. Sit ye down on this stool. I have much I would say to ye.
[Paul seats himself on a stool. Giles sits on his bed.
Giles. Master Bayley, ye have been long a-courting my daughter. Do ye propose in good faith to take her to wife?
Paul. With the best faith that be in me.
Giles. Then I tell ye, man, take her speedily—take her within three weeks.
Paul. I would take her with all my heart, goodman, would she be willing.
Giles. She must needs be willing. Why, devil take it! be ye not smart enough to make her willing? It will all go for naught if she be not willing. Tell her her father bids her. She hath ever minded her father.
Paul. I will tell her so, goodman.
Giles. Tell her 'tis the last command her father gives her. If she say no, hear it yes. Do not ye give it up if ye have to drag her to 't. Why, she must not be left alone in the world. It be a hard world. Old Giles hath gone far in it, and found it ever a hard world. Verily it be not cleared any more than the woods of Massachusetts. It be hard enough for a man; a young maid must needs have somebody to hold aside the boughs for her. Wed her, if she will or no. I have somewhat to show ye, Master Bayley. (Draws a document from his waistcoat.) See ye this?
[Paul takes the document and examines it.
Giles. See ye what 'tis?
Paul. It is a deed whereby you convey all your property to me, so I be Olive's husband. Wherefore?
Giles. It be drawn up in good form. It be duly witnessed. You see that it be all in good form, Paul.
Paul. I see. But wherefore?
Giles. It will stand in law; there will be no getting loose from it. It be a good and trusty document. But—so be it that this afternoon I stand trial for witchcraft, and plead guilty or not guilty, this same good and trusty document will be worth less than the parchment 'tis writ on. 'Tis so with the law. There will be an attainder on't. My sons-in-law that testified to the undoing of Martha and me will have their share, and thou and Olive perchance have naught in this bedlam. I bear no ill will toward my sons-in-law and my daughters, who have been put up by them to deal falsely with Martha and me, but I would not that they have my goods. I bear no ill will; it becometh not a man so near death to bear ill will. But they shall not have my goods; I say they shall not. There shall be no attainder on this document. I will stand mute at my trial.
Paul. Goodman Corey, know you the penalty?
Giles. I trow I know it better than the catechism. 'Tis to be pressed beneath stone weights until I be dead.
Paul. I say you shall not do this thing. What think you I care for your goods? I'll have naught to do with them, nor will Olive. This is madness!
Giles. 'Tis not all for the goods. I would Olive had them, and not those foul traitors; but 'tis not all. Were there no goods and no attainder, I would still do this thing. Paul, they say that Martha spake fair words when they had her there on Gallows Hill.
Paul. She spake like a martyr at the door of heaven.
Giles. Did they let her speak long?
Paul. They cut her short, Minister Parris saying, “Let not this firebrand of hell burn longer.”
Giles. Then they put the rope to her neck. Martha had a fair neck when she was a maid. Did she struggle much?
Paul. Not much.
Giles. Then they left her hanging there a space. It was a wet day, and the rain pelted on her. I remember it was a wet day. The rain pelted on her, and the wind blew, and she swung in it. I swear to thee, lass, I will make amends! I will suffer twenty pangs for thy one.
Paul. 'Tis not you who should make amends.
Giles. I tell ye I did Martha harm. When she chid my folly and the folly of others, I did bawl out at her, and say among folk things to her undoing, though I meant it not as they took it. Now I will make amends, and the King himself shall not stop me. Martha was a good wife. I know not how I shall make myself seemly for the court this afternoon. My coat has many stitches loose in it. She was a good wife. I will make amends to thee, lass; I swear I shall make amends to thee! I will come where thou art by a harder road than the one I made thee go.
Paul. It was not you, goodman. You overblame yourself. Those foul-mouthed jades did it, and those bloodthirsty magistrates.
Giles. I tell ye I did part on't. I was wroth with her that she made light of this witch-work over which I was so mightily wrought up, and I said words that they twisted to her undoing. Verily, words can be made to fit all fancies. 'Twere safer to be mute—as I'll be this afternoon.
Paul. Goodman Corey, you must not think of this thing. There is still some hope from the trial. They will not dare murder you too.
Giles. There be some things in this world folks may not bear, but there be no wickedness they'll stick at when they get started on the way to 't. 'Tis death in any case, and what would ye have me do? Stand before their mad worships and those screeching jades, and plead as though I were before folk of sound mind and understanding? Think ye I would so humble myself for naught?
Paul. But Olive! I tell you 'twill kill her! There may be a chance yet, and you should throw not away however small a one for Olive's sake. She can bear no more.
Giles. There is no chance, and if there were—I tell ye if I had a hundred daughters, and every one such a maid as she, and every one were to break her heart, I would do this thing I have set myself to do. There be that which is beyond human ties to force a man, there be that which is at the root of things.
Paul. We will have none of your goods, I tell you that, Giles Corey!
Giles. Goods. The goods be the least of it! Old Giles Corey be not a deep man. I trow he hath had a somewhat hard skull, but when a man draws in sight of death he hath a better grasp at his wits than he hath dreamed of. This be verily a mightier work than ye think. It shall be not only old Giles Corey that lies pressed to death under the stones, but the backbone of this great evil in the land shall be broke by the same weight. I tell ye it will be so. I have clearer understanding, now I be so near the end on't. They will dare no more after me. To-day shall I stand mute at my trial, but my dumbness shall drown out the clamor of my accusers. Old Giles Corey will have the best on't. 'Tis for this, and not for the goods, I will stand mute; for this, and to make amends to Martha.
Paul. Giles Corey, you shall not die this dreadful death. If death it must be, and it may yet not be, choose the easier one.
Giles. Think ye I cannot do it? (Rises.) Master Paul Bayley, you see before you Giles Corey. He be verily an old man, he be over eighty years old, but there be somewhat of the first of him left. He hath never had much power of speech; his words have been rough, and not given to pleasing. He hath been a rude man, an unlettered man, and a sinner. He hath brawled and blasphemed with the worst of them in his day. He hath given blow for blow, and I trow the other man's cheek smarted sorer than old Giles's. Now he be a man of the covenant, but he be still stiff with his old ways, and hath no nimbleness to shunt a blow. Old Giles Corey hath no fine wisdom to save his life, and no grace of tongue, but he hath power to die as he will, and no man hath greater.
Paul. Goodman Corey, I— [Guard opens the door.
Guard. Here is your daughter to see you, Goodman Corey.
Giles. Tell her I will see her not. What brought her here? I know. Minister Parris hath sent her, thinking to tempt me from my plan. I will see her not.
Olive (from without). Father, you cannot send me away.
Giles. Why come you here? Go home and mind the house.
Olive. Father, I pray you not to send me away.
Paul. If you be hard with her, you will kill her.
Giles. Come in.
Enter Olive.
Olive. What is this you will do, father?
Giles. My duty, lass.
Olive. Father, you will not die this dreadful death?
Giles. That will I, lass.
Olive. Then I say to you, father, so will I also. The stones will press you down a few hours' space, and they will press me down so long as I may live. You will be soon dead and out of the pains, but you will leave your death with the living.
Giles. Then must the living bear it.
Olive. Father, you may yet be acquitted. Plead at your trial.
Giles. Work the bellows in the face of the north wind. Oh, lass, why came you here? 'Tis worse than the stones. Talk no more to me, good lass; womenkind should meddle not with men's plans. But promise me you will wed with Paul here within three weeks.
Olive. I will never wed.
Giles. Ye will not, hey? Ye will wed with Master Paul Bayley within three weeks. 'Tis the last command your father gives thee.
Olive. Think you I can wed when you—
Giles. Ay, I do think so, lass, and so ye will.
Olive. Father, I will not. But if you plead I will, I promise you I will.
Giles. I will not, and you will. Lass, since you be here, I pray you set a stitch in this seam in my coat. I would look tidy at the trial, for thy mother's sake. Hast thou thy huswife with thee?
Olive. Yes, father.
[Olive threads a needle, and standing beside her father, sets the stitch; weeps as she does so.
Giles. Know you every tear adds weight to the stones, lass?
Olive. Then will I weep not. [Mends.
Giles. Be the child and the old woman well?
Olive. Yes, father.
Giles. Look out for them as you best can. And see to 't the little maid's linen chest is well filled, as your mother would have.
[Olive breaks off the thread.
Giles. Be the stitch set strong?
Olive. Yes, father.
Giles (turning and folding her to his arms). Oh, my good lass, the stones be naught, but this cometh hard, this cometh hard! Could they not have spared me this?
Olive. Father, listen to me, listen to me—
Giles. Lass, I must listen to naught but the voice of God. 'Tis that speaks, and bids me do this thing. Thou must come not betwixt thy father and his God.
Olive. Father! father!
Giles. Go, Olive, I can bear no more. Tell me thou wilt wed as I command you.
Olive. As thou wilt, father! father! but I will love no man as I love thee.
Giles. Go, lass. Give me a kiss. There, now go! I command thee to go! Paul, take her hence. I charge ye do by her when her father be dead and gone, as ye would were he at thy elbow. Take her hence. I would go to prayer.
[Exeunt Paul and Olive.
Olive (as the door closes). Father! father!
Giles Corey stands alone in cell. Curtain falls.
Act VI.
Three weeks later. Lane near Salem overhung by blossoming apple-trees. Enter Hathorne, Corwin, and Parris.
Corwin. 'Tis better here, a little removed from the field where they are putting Giles Corey to death. I could bear the sight of it no longer.
Hathorne. You are fainthearted, good Master Corwin.
Corwin. Fainthearted or not, 'tis too much for me. I was brought not up in the shambles, nor bred butcher by trade.
Parris. Your worship, you should strive in prayer, lest you falter not in the strife against Satan.
Corwin. I know not that I have faltered in any strife against Satan.
Parris. Perchance 'tis but your worship's delicate frame of body causeth you to shrink from this stern duty.
Hathorne. This torment of Giles Corey's can last but a little space now. He hath still his chance to speak and avert his death, and he will do it erelong. They have increased the weights mightily. Fear not, good Master Corwin, Giles Corey will not die; erelong his old tongue will wag like a millwheel.
Corwin. I doubt much, good Master Hathorne, if Giles Corey speak. And if he does not speak, and so be put to death, as is decreed, I doubt much if the temper of the people will stand more. There are those who have sympathy with Giles Corey. I heard many murmurs in the streets of Salem this morning.
Hathorne. Let them murmur.
Parris. Ay, let them murmur, so long as we wield the sword of the Lord and of Gideon.
Enter first Messenger.
Hathorne. Here comes a man from the field. How goes it now with Giles Corey?
Messenger. Your worship, Giles Corey has not spoken.
Parris. And he hath been under the weights since early light. Truly such obstinacy is marvellous. [Exit Messenger.
Hathorne. Satan gives a strength beyond human measure to his disciples.
Enter Olive and Paul Bayley, appearing in the distance. Olive wears a white gown and white bonnet.
Hathorne. Who is that maid coming in a bride bonnet?
Corwin. 'Tis Corey's daughter. I marvel that Paul lets her come hither. 'Tis no place for her, so near. Master Hathorne, let us withdraw a little way. I would not see her distress. I am somewhat shaken in nerve this morning.
[Corwin, Hathorne, and Parris exeunt at other end of lane.
Olive (as she and Paul advance). Who were those men, Paul?
Paul. The magistrates and Minister Parris, sweet.
Olive. Are they gone?
Paul. Yes, they are quite out of sight. Oh, why wouldst thou come here, dear heart?
Olive. Thou thinkest to cheat me, Paul; but thou canst not cheat me. Three fields away to the right have they dragged my father this morning. I knew it, I knew it, although you strove so hard to keep it from me. I'll be as near my father's death-bed on my wedding-day as I can.
Paul. I pray thee, sweetheart, come away with me. This will do no good.
Olive. Loyalty doth good to the heart that holds it, if to no other. Think you I'll forsake my father because 'tis my wedding-day, Paul? Oh, I trow not, I trow not, or I'd make thee no true wife.
Paul. It but puts thee to needless torment.
Olive. Torment! torment! Think of what he this moment bears! Oh, my father, my father! Paul Bayley, why have I wedded you this dreadful day!
Paul. Hush! Thy father wished it, sweetheart.
Olive. I swear to you I'll never love any other than my father. I love you not.
Paul. Thou needst not, poor lass!
Olive (clinging to him). Nay, I love thee, but I hate myself for it on this day.
Paul (caressing her). Poor lass! Poor lass!
Olive. Why wear I this bridal gear, and my father over yonder on his dreadful death-bed? Why could you not have gone your own way and let me gone mine all the rest of my life in black apparel, a-mourning for my father? That would have beseemed me. This needed not have been so; it needed never have been so.
Paul. Never? I tell thee, sweet, as well say to these apple blossoms that they need never be apples, and to that rose-bush against the wall that its buds need not be roses. In faith, we be far set in that course of nature, dear, with the apple blossoms and the rose-buds, where the beginning cannot be without the end. Our own motion be lost, and we be swept along with a current that is mightier than death, whether we would have it so or not.
Olive. I know not. I only know I would be faithful to my poor father. But 'twas his last wish that I should wed thee thus.
Paul. Yes, dear.
Olive. He said so that morning before his trial. Oh, Paul, I can see it now, the trial! I have been to the trial every day since. Shall I go every day of my life? Perchance thou may often come home and find thy wife gone to the trial, and no supper. I will go on my wedding-day; my father shall have no slights put upon him. I can see him stand there, mute. They cry out upon him and mock him and lay false charges upon him, and he stands mute. The judge declares the dreadful penalty, and he stands mute. Oh, my father, my poor father! I tell ye my father will not mind anything. The Governor and the justices may command him as they will, the afflicted may clamor and gibe as they will, and I may pray to him, but he will not mind, he will stand mute. I tell ye there be not power enough in the colony to make him speak. Ye know not my father. He will have the best of it.
Paul. Thou speakest like his daughter now. Keep thyself up to this, sweet. The daughter of a hero should have some brave stuff in her. Thy father does a greater deed than thou knowest. His dumbness will save the colonies from more than thou dreamest of. 'Twill put an end to this dreadful madness; he himself hath foretold it. [A clamor is heard.
Olive. Paul, Paul, what is that?
Paul. Naught but some boys shouting, sweet.
Olive. 'Twas not. Oh, my father, my father!
Paul. Olive, thou must not stay here.
Olive. I must stay. Who is coming? [Paul and Olive step aside.
Enter second Messenger. Hathorne, Corwin, and Parris advance to meet him.
Hathorne. How goes it now with Giles Corey?
Messenger. Your worship, Giles Corey hath not spoken.
Hathorne. What! Have they not increased the weights?
Messenger. They have doubled the weights, your worship.
Parris. I trow Satan himself hath put his shoulder under the stones to take off the strain. [Exit Messenger.
Hathorne. 'Tis a marvel the old tavern-brawler endures so long, but he'll soon speak now.
Corwin. Hush, good master, his daughter can hear.
Hathorne. Let her then withdraw if it please her not. I'll warrant he cannot bear much more; he will soon speak.
Parris. Yea, he cannot withstand the double weight unless his master help him.
[Corwin speaks aside to Paul and motions him to take Olive away. Paul takes her by the arm. She shakes her head and will not go.
Hathorne. I trow 'twill take other than an unlettered clown like Giles Corey to stand firm under this stress. He'll speak soon.
Parris. Yea, that he will. He can never hold out. He hath not the mind for it.
Hathorne. It takes a man of finer wit than he to undergo it. He will speak. Oh yes, fear ye not, he will speak.
Olive (breaking away from Paul). My father will not speak!
Hathorne. Girl!
Olive. My father will not speak. I tell ye there be not stones enough in the provinces to make him speak. Ye know not my father. My father will have the best of ye all.
Enter third Messenger, running.
Hathorne. How goes it now with Giles Corey?
Messenger. Giles Corey is dead, and he has not spoken.
Olive clings to Paul as curtain falls.
THE END.