Mary E. Wilkins Freeman - Giles Corey, Yeoman
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Mary E. Wilkins Freeman >> Giles Corey, Yeoman
_Ann._ A black man hath been whispering in her ear, telling her
what to say.
_Hathorne._ What say you to that, Goody?
_Martha._ I say if that be so, he told me not to his own advantage.
I see with whom I have to do. I pray you give me leave to go to
prayer.
_Hathorne._ You are not here to go to prayer. I much fear that your
many prayers have been to your master, the devil. Constables, bring
forward the body of the accused.
[Afflicted Girls _shriek._ Constables _lead_ Olive _forward._
Martha _is led to one side._
_Martha._ Be of good cheer, dear child.
_Giles._ Yes, be not afraid of them, lass; thy father is here.
_Hathorne._ Silence! Olive Corey, why do you so afflict these other
maids?
_Olive._ I do not, your worship.
_Ann._ She is looking at me. Oh, bid her look away, or she will
kill me!
_Olive._ Oh, Ann, I do not! What mean you, dear Ann?
_Hathorne._ I charge you, Olive Corey, keep your eyes upon the
floor.
_Giles._ Look where you please, lass, and thy old father will
uphold thee in it; and I only wish your blue eyes could shoot pins
into the lying hussies.
_Hathorne._ Goodman, an ye disturb the peace again, ye shall be
removed from court. Ann Hutchins, you have seen this maid hurt you?
_Ann._ Many a time she hath hurt me nigh to death.
_Olive._ Oh, Ann, I hurt thee?
_Ann._ There is a flock of yellow birds around her head.
[Olive _moves her head involuntarily, and looks up._
_Afflicted Girls._ See her look at them!
_Hathorne._ What say you to that, Olive?
_Olive._ I did not see them.
_Hathorne._ Ann Hutchins, did you see this maid walking in the wood
with a black man last week?
_Ann._ Yes, your worship.
_Hathorne._ How did he go?
_Ann._ In black clothes, and he had white hair.
_Hathorne._ How went the accused?
_Ann._ She went in her flowered petticoat, and the flowers stood
out, and smelt like real ones; her kerchief shone like a cobweb in
the grass in the morning, and gold sparks flew out of her hair.
Goody Corey fixed her up so with her devilish arts to trap Paul
Bayley.
_Hathorne._ What mean you?
_Ann._ To trap the black man, your worship. I knew not what I said,
I was in such torment.
_Hathorne._ Olive Corey, did your mother ever so change your
appearance by her arts?
_Olive._ My mother hath no arts, your worship.
_Ann._ Her cheeks were redder than was common, and her eyes shone
like stars.
_Hathorne._ Olive, did your mother so change your looks?
_Olive._ No, your worship; I do not know what Ann may mean. I fear
she be ill.
_Hathorne._ Mercy Lewis, did you see Olive Corey with the black
man?
_Mercy._ Yes, your worship; and she called out to me to go with
them to the dance, and I should have the black man for a partner;
and when I would not she afflicted me, pulling my hair and pinching
me.
_Hathorne._ How appeared she to you?
_Mercy._ She was dressed like a puppet, finer than I had ever seen
her.
_Hathorne._ Olive, what did you wear when you walked with the black
man?
_Olive._ Your worship, I walked with no black man.
_Ann._ There he is now, standing behind her, looking over her
shoulder.
_Hathorne._ What say you to that, Olive?
_Olive_ (_looking in terror over her shoulder_). I see no one. I
pray you, let my father stand near me.
_Parris._ Nay; the black man is enough for you.
_Giles_ (_forcing his way to his daughter_). Here I be, lass; and it
will go hard if the hussies can see the black man and old Giles in
one place. Where be the black man now, jades?
_Hathorne_ (_angrily_). Marshal!
_Corwin_ (_interposing_). Nay, good Master Hathorne, let Goodman
Corey keep his standing. The maid looks near swooning, and albeit
his manner be rude, yet his argument hath somewhat of force. In
truth, he and the black man cannot occupy one place. Mercy Lewis,
see you now this black man anywhere?
_Mercy._ Yes, your worship.
_Corwin._ Where?
_Mercy._ Whispering in your worship's ear.
_Parris._ May the Lord protect his magistrates from the wiles of
Satan, and maintain them in safety for the weal of his afflicted
people!
_Hathorne._ This be going too far. This be presumption! Who of you
now see the black man whispering to the worshipful esquire Jonathan
Corwin?
_Mercy._ He is gone now out of the meeting-house. 'Twas but for a
moment I saw him.
_Corwin._ Speak up, children. Did any other of ye see the black man
whispering to me?
_Afflicted Girls._ No! no! no!
_Corwin._ Mercy Lewis, you say of a truth you saw him?
_Mercy._ Your worship, it may have been Minister Parris's shadow
falling across the platform.
_Corwin._ This is but levity, and hath naught to do with the trial.
_Hathorne._ We will proceed with the examination. Widow Eunice
Hutchins, produce the cape.
[Widow Hutchins _comes forward, holding the cape by a corner._
_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_ Phoebe Morse _sit beside the hearth; each has her apron over
her face, weeping._
_Phoebe_ (_sobbing_). I--want my Aunt--Corey and--my Uncle Corey.
Why don't they come? Oh, deary me!
[Phoebe _jumps up and runs to the window._
_Nancy._ See you anybody coming?
_Phoebe._ 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--
_Phoebe_ (_sobbing aloud_). Oh, Nancy, it is not Aunt Corey. It is
only Goodwife Nourse.
_Nancy._ May the black beast catch her! Be you sure?
_Phoebe._ 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!
_Phoebe._ 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._
_Phoebe._ 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.
_Phoebe._ 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.
_Phoebe._ 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. Phoebe _runs to him._
_Phoebe._ 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?
_Phoebe._ 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.
[Phoebe _rushes to_ Olive, _and clings to her, sobbing._
_Phoebe._ 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_
Phoebe _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.
_Phoebe._ 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._ Phoebe _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.