No More Learning

Shows them.

HATHORNE.
And there are persons here who know the truth
Of what has now been said. What answer make you?

MARTHA.
I make no answer. Give me leave to pray.

HATHORNE.
Whom would you pray to?

MARTHA.
To my God and Father.

HATHORNE.
Who is your God and Father?

MARTHA.
The Almighty!

HATHORNE.
Doth he you pray to say that he is God?
It is the Prince of Darkness, and not God.

MARY.
There is a dark shape whispering in her ear.

HATHORNE.
What does it say to you?

MARTHA.
I see no shape.

HATHORNE.
Did you not hear it whisper?

MARTHA.
I heard nothing.

MARY.
What torture! Ah, what agony I suffer!

Falls into a swoon.

HATHORNE.
You see this woman cannot stand before you.
If you would look for mercy, you must look
In God's way, by confession of your guilt.
Why does your spectre haunt and hurt this person?

MARTHA.
I do not know. He who appeared of old
In Samuel's shape, a saint and glorified,
May come in whatsoever shape he chooses.
I cannot help it. I am sick at heart!

COREY.
O Martha, Martha! let me hold your hand.

HATHORNE.
No; stand aside, old man.

MARY (starting up).
Look there! Look there!
I see a little bird, a yellow bird
Perched on her finger; and it pecks at me.
Ah, it will tear mine eyes out!

MARTHA.
I see nothing.

HATHORNE.
'T is the Familiar Spirit that attends her.

MARY.
Now it has flown away. It sits up there
Upon the rafters. It is gone; is vanished.

MARTHA.
Giles, wipe these tears of anger from mine eyes.
Wipe the sweat from my forehead. I am faint.

She leans against the railing.

MARY.
Oh, she is crushing me with all her weight!

HATHORNE.
Did you not carry once the Devil's Book
To this young woman?

MARTHA.
Never.

HATHORNE.
Have you signed it,
Or touched it?

MARTHA.
No; I never saw it.

HATHORNE.
Did you not scourge her with an iron rod?

MARTHA.
No, I did not. If any Evil Spirit
Has taken my shape to do these evil deeds,
I cannot help it. I am innocent.

HATHORNE.
Did you not say the Magistrates were blind?
That you would open their eyes?

MARTHA (with a scornful laugh).
Yes, I said that;
If you call me a sorceress, you are blind!
If you accuse the innocent, you are blind!
Can the innocent be guilty?

HATHORNE.
Did you not
On one occasion hide your husband's saddle
To hinder him from coming to the sessions?

MARTHA.
I thought it was a folly in a farmer
To waste his time pursuing such illusions.

HATHORNE.
What was the bird that this young woman saw
Just now upon your hand?

MARTHA.
I know no bird.

HATHORNE.
Have you not dealt with a Familiar Spirit?

MARTHA.
No, never, never!

HATHORNE.
What then was the Book
You showed to this young woman, and besought her
To write in it?

MARTHA.
Where should I have a book?
I showed her none, nor have none.

MARY.
The next Sabbath
Is the Communion Day, but Martha Corey
Will not be there!

MARTHA.
Ah, you are all against me.
What can I do or say?

HATHORNE.
You can confess.

MARTHA.
No, I cannot, for I am innocent.

HATHORNE.
We have the proof of many witnesses
That you are guilty.

MARTHA.
Give me leave to speak.
Will you condemn me on such evidence,--
You who have known me for so many years?
Will you condemn me in this house of God,
Where I so long have worshipped with you all?
Where I have eaten the bread and drunk the wine
So many times at our Lord's Table with you?
Bear witness, you that hear me; you all know
That I have led a blameless life among you,
That never any whisper of suspicion
Was breathed against me till this accusation.
And shall this count for nothing? Will you take
My life away from me, because this girl,
Who is distraught, and not in her right mind,
Accuses me of things I blush to name?

HATHORNE.
What! is it not enough? Would you hear more?
Giles Corey!

COREY.
I am here.

HATHORNE.
Come forward, then.

COREY ascends the platform.

Is it not true, that on a certain night
You were impeded strangely in your prayers?
That something hindered you? and that you left
This woman here, your wife, kneeling alone
Upon the hearth?

COREY.
Yes; I cannot deny it.

HATHORNE.
Did you not say the Devil hindered you?

COREY.
I think I said some words to that effect.

HATHORNE.
Is it not true, that fourteen head of cattle,
To you belonging, broke from their enclosure
And leaped into the river, and were drowned?

COREY.
It is most true.

HATHORNE.
And did you not then say
That they were overlooked?

COREY.
So much I said.
I see; they're drawing round me closer, closer,
A net I cannot break, cannot escape from! (Aside).

HATHORNE.
Who did these things?

COREY.
I do not know who did them.

HATHORNE.
Then I will tell you. It is some one near you;
You see her now; this woman, your own wife.

COREY.
I call the heavens to witness, it is false!
She never harmed me, never hindered me
In anything but what I should not do.
And I bear witness in the sight of heaven,
And in God's house here, that I never knew her
As otherwise than patient, brave, and true,
Faithful, forgiving, full of charity,
A virtuous and industrious and good wife!

HATHORNE.
Tut, tut, man; do not rant so in your speech;
You are a witness, not an advocate!
Here, Sheriff, take this woman back to prison.

MARTHA.
O Giles, this day you've sworn away my life!

MARY.
Go, go and join the Witches at the door.
Do you not hear the drum? Do you not see them?
Go quick. They're waiting for you. You are late.
[Exit MARTHA; COREY following.

COREY.
The dream! the dream! the dream!

HATHORNE.
What does he say?
Giles Corey, go not hence. You are yourself
Accused of Witchcraft and of Sorcery
By many witnesses. Say, are you guilty?

COREY.
I know my death is foreordained by you,
Mine and my wife's. Therefore I will not answer.

During the rest of the scene he remains silent.

HATHORNE.
Do you refuse to plead? --'T were better for you
To make confession, or to plead Not Guilty. --
Do you not hear me? --Answer, are you guilty?
Do you not know a heavier doom awaits you,
If you refuse to plead, than if found guilty?
Where is John Gloyd?

GLOYD (coming forward).
Here am I.

HATHORNE.
Tell the Court
Have you not seen the supernatural power
Of this old man?
Have you not seen him do
Strange feats of strength?

GLOYD.
I've seen him lead the field,
On a hot day, in mowing, and against
Us younger men; and I have wrestled with him.
He threw me like a feather. I have seen him
Lift up a barrel with his single hands,
Which two strong men could hardly lift together,
And, holding it above his head, drink from it.

HATHORNE.
That is enough; we need not question further.
What answer do you make to this, Giles Corey?

MARY.
See there! See there!

HATHORNE.
What is it? I see nothing.

MARY.
Look! Look! It is the ghost of Robert Goodell,
Whom fifteen years ago this man did murder
By stamping on his body! In his shroud
He comes here to bear witness to the crime!

The crowd shrinks back from COREY in horror.

HATHORNE.
Ghosts of the dead and voices of the living
Bear witness to your guilt, and you must die!
It might have been an easier death. Your doom
Will be on your own head, and not on ours.
Twice more will you be questioned of these things;
Twice more have room to plead or to confess.
If you are contumacious to the Court,
And if, when questioned, you refuse to answer,
Then by the Statute you will be condemned
To the peine forte et dure! To have your body
Pressed by great weights until you shall be dead!
And may the Lord have mercy on your soul!


ACT V.

SCENE I. -- COREy's farm as in Act II. , Scene I. Enter RICHARD
GARDNER, looking round him.

GARDNER.
Here stands the house as I remember it.
The four tall poplar-trees before the door;
The house, the barn, the orchard, and the well,
With its moss-covered bucket and its trough;
The garden, with its hedge of currant-bushes;
The woods, the harvest-fields; and, far beyond,
The pleasant landscape stretching to the sea.
But everything is silent and deserted!
No bleat of flocks, no bellowing of herds,
No sound of flails, that should be beating now;
Nor man nor beast astir. What can this mean?

Knocks at the door.

What ho! Giles Corey! Hillo-ho! Giles Corey! --
No answer but the echo from the barn,
And the ill-omened cawing of the crow,
That yonder wings his flight across the fields,
As if he scented carrion in the air.

Enter TITUBA with a basket.

What woman's this, that, like an apparition,
Haunts this deserted homestead in broad day?
Woman, who are you?

TITUBA.
I'm Tituba.
I am John Indian's wife. I am a Witch.

GARDNER.
What are you doing here?

TITUBA.
I am gathering herbs,--
Cinquefoil, and saxifrage, and pennyroyal.

GARDNER (looking at the herbs).
This is not cinquefoil, it is deadly nightshade!
This is not saxifrage, but hellebore!
This is not pennyroyal, it is henbane!
Do you come here to poison these good people?

TITUBA.
I get these for the Doctor in the Village.
Beware of Tituba. I pinch the children;
Make little poppets and stick pins in them,
And then the children cry out they are pricked.
The Black Dog came to me and said, "Serve me! "
I was afraid. He made me hurt the children.

GARDNER.
Poor soul! She's crazed, with all these Devil's doings.

TITUBA.
Will you, sir, sign the book?

GARDNER.
No, I'll not sign it.
Where is Giles Corey? Do you know Giles Corey!

TITUBA.
He's safe enough. He's down there in the prison.

GARDNER.
Corey in prison? What is he accused of?

TITURA.
Giles Corey and Martha Corey are in prison
Down there in Salem Village. Both are witches.
She came to me and whispered, "Kill the children! "
Both signed the Book!

GARDNER.

Begone, you imp of darkness!
You Devil's dam!

TITUBA.
Beware of Tituba!
[Exit.

GARDNER.
How often out at sea on stormy nights,
When the waves thundered round me, and the wind
Bellowed, and beat the canvas, and my ship
Clove through the solid darkness, like a wedge,
I've thought of him upon his pleasant farm,
Living in quiet with his thrifty housewife,
And envied him, and wished his fate were mine!
And now I find him shipwrecked utterly,
Drifting upon this sea of sorceries,
And lost, perhaps, beyond all aid of man!
[Exit.


SCENE II. . -- The prison. GILES COREY at a table on which are
some papers.

COREY.
Now I have done with earth and all its cares;
I give my worldly goods to my dear children;
My body I bequeath to my tormentors,
And my immortal soul to Him who made it.
O God! who in thy wisdom dost afflict me
With an affliction greater than most men
Have ever yet endured or shall endure,
Suffer me not in this last bitter hour
For any pains of death to fall from Thee!

MARTHA is heard singing.
Arise, O righteous Lord!
And disappoint my foes;
They are but thine avenging sword,
Whose wounds are swift to close.

COREY.
Hark, hark! it is her voice! She is not dead!
She lives! I am not utterly forsaken!

MARTHA, singing.
By thine abounding grace,
And mercies multiplied,
I shall awake, and see thy face;
I shall be satisfied.

COREY hides his face in his hands. Enter the JAILER, followed by
RICHARD GARDNER.

JAILER.
Here's a seafaring man, one Richard Gardner,
A friend of yours, who asks to speak with you.

COREY rises. They embrace.

COREY.
I'm glad to see you, ay, right glad to see you.

GARDNER.
And I am most sorely grieved to see you thus.

COREY.
Of all the friends I had in happier days,
You are the first, ay, and the only one,
That comes to seek me out in my disgrace!
And you but come in time to say farewell,
They've dug my grave already in the field.
I thank you. There is something in your presence,
I know not what it is, that gives me strength.
Perhaps it is the bearing of a man
Familiar with all dangers of the deep,
Familiar with the cries of drowning men,
With fire, and wreck, and foundering ships at sea!

GARDNER.
Ah, I have never known a wreck like yours!
Would I could save you!

COREY.
Do not speak of that.
It is too late. I am resolved to die.

GARDNER.
Why would you die who have so much to live for? --
Your daughters, and--

COREY.
You cannot say the word.
My daughters have gone from me. They are married;
They have their homes, their thoughts, apart from me;
I will not say their hearts,--that were too cruel.
What would you have me do?

GARDNER.
Confess and live.
COREY.
That's what they said who came here yesterday
To lay a heavy weight upon my conscience
By telling me that I was driven forth
As an unworthy member of their church.

GARDNER.
It is an awful death.

COREY.
'T is but to drown,
And have the weight of all the seas upon you.

GARDNER.
Say something; say enough to fend off death
Till this tornado of fanaticism
Blows itself out. Let me come in between you
And your severer self, with my plain sense;
Do not be obstinate.

COREY.
I will not plead.
If I deny, I am condemned already,
In courts where ghosts appear as witnesses,
And swear men's lives away. If I confess,
Then I confess a lie, to buy a life
Which is not life, but only death in life.
I will not bear false witness against any,
Not even against myself, whom I count least.

GARDNER (aside).
Ah, what a noble character is this!

COREY.
I pray you, do not urge me to do that
You would not do yourself. I have already
The bitter taste of death upon my lips;
I feel the pressure of the heavy weight
That will crush out my life within this hour;
But if a word could save me, and that word
Were not the Truth; nay, if it did but swerve
A hair's-breadth from the Truth, I would not say it!

GARDNER (aside).
How mean I seem beside a man like this!

COREY.
As for my wife, my Martha and my Martyr,--
Whose virtues, like the stars, unseen by day,
Though numberless, do but await the dark
To manifest themselves unto all eyes,--
She who first won me from my evil ways,
And taught me how to live by her example,
By her example teaches me to die,
And leads me onward to the better life!

SHERIFF (without).
Giles Corey! Come! The hour has struck!

COREY.
I come!
Here is my body; ye may torture it,
But the immortal soul ye cannot crush!
[Exeunt.


SCENE III-- A street in the Village. Enter GLOYD and others.

GLOYD.
Quick, or we shall be late!

A MAN.
That's not the way.
Come here; come up this lane.

GLOYD.
I wonder now
If the old man will die, and will not speak?
He's obstinate enough and tough enough
For anything on earth.

A bell tolls.

Hark! What is that?

A MAN.
The passing bell. He's dead!

GLOYD.
We are too late.
[Exeunt in haste.


SCENE IV. -- A field near the graveyard, GILES COREY lying dead,
with a great stone on his breast.