Mary E. Wilkins Freeman - Giles Corey, Yeoman
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Mary E. Wilkins Freeman >> Giles Corey, Yeoman
[_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.