Rises, and sinks back dead; his head failing aside upon his shoulder.
BELLINGHAM.
O ghastly sight! Like one who has been hanged!
Endicott! Endicott! He makes no answer!
Raises Endicott's head.
He breathes no more! How bright this signet-ring Glitters upon his hand, where he has worn it Through such long years of trouble, as if Death Had given him this memento of affection, And whispered in his ear, "Remember me!"How placid and how quiet is his face, Now that the struggle and the strife are ended Only the acrid spirit of the times Corroded this true steel.Oh, rest in peace, Courageous heart! Forever rest in peace!
GILES COREY OF THE SALEM FARMS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
GILES COREY Farmer.
JOHN HATHORNE Magistrate.
COTTON MATHER Minister of the Gospel.
JONATHAN WALCOT A youth.
RICHARD GARDNER Sea-Captain.
JOHN GLOYD Corey's hired man.
MARTHA Wife of Giles Corey.
TITUBA An Indian woman.
MARY WALCOT One of the Afflicted.
The Scene is in Salem in the year 1692.
PROLOGUE.
Delusions of the days that once have been, Witchcraft and wonders of the world unseen, Phantoms of air, and necromantic arts That crushed the weak and awed the stoutest hearts,--These are our theme to-night; and vaguely here, Through the dim mists that crowd the atmosphere, We draw the outlines of weird figures cast In shadow on the background of the Past,Who would believe that in the quiet town Of Salem, and, amid the woods that crown The neighboring hillsides, and the sunny farms That fold it safe in their paternal arms,--Who would believe that in those peaceful streets, Where the great elms shut out the summer heats, Where quiet reigns, and breathes through brain and breast The benediction of unbroken rest,--Who would believe such deeds could find a place As these whose tragic history we retrace?
'T was but a village then; the goodman ploughed His ample acres under sun or cloud;The goodwife at her doorstep sat and spun, And gossiped with her neighbors in the sun;The only men of dignity and state Were then the Minister and the Magistrate, Who ruled their little realm with iron rod, Less in the love than in the fear of God;And who believed devoutly in the Powers Of Darkness, working in this world of ours, In spells of Witchcraft, incantations dread, And shrouded apparitions of the dead.
Upon this simple folk "with fire and flame,"Saith the old chronicle, "the Devil came;Scattering his firebrands and his poisonous darts, To set on fire of Hell all tongues and hearts!
And 't is no wonder; for, with all his host, There most he rages where he hateth most, And is most hated; so on us he brings All these stupendous and portentous things!"Something of this our scene to-night will show;And ye who listen to the Tale of Woe, Be not too swift in casting the first stone, Nor think New England bears the guilt alone, This sudden burst of wickedness and crime Was but the common madness of the time, When in all lands, that lie within the sound Of Sabbath bells, a Witch was burned or drowned.
ACT I.
SCENE I.-- The woods near Salem Village.Enter TITUBA, with a basket of herbs.
TITUBA.
Here's monk's-hood, that breeds fever in the blood;And deadly nightshade, that makes men see ghosts;And henbane, that will shake them with convulsions;And meadow-saffron and black hellebore, That rack the nerves, and puff the skin with dropsy;And bitter-sweet, and briony, and eye-bright, That cause eruptions, nosebleed, rheumatisms;I know them, and the places where they hide In field and meadow; and I know their secrets, And gather them because they give me power Over all men and women.Armed with these, I, Tituba, an Indian and a slave, Am stronger than the captain with his sword, Am richer than the merchant with his money, Am wiser than the scholar with his books, Mightier than Ministers and Magistrates, With all the fear and reverence that attend them!
For I can fill their bones with aches and pains, Can make them cough with asthma, shake with palsy, Can make their daughters see and talk with ghosts, Or fall into delirium and convulsions;I have the Evil Eye, the Evil Hand;
A touch from me and they are weak with pain, A look from me, and they consume and die.
The death of cattle and the blight of corn, The shipwreck, the tornado, and the fire,--These are my doings, and they know it not.
Thus I work vengeance on mine enemies Who, while they call me slave, are slaves to me!
Exit TITUBA.Enter MATHER, booted and spurred, with a riding-whip in his hand.
MATHER.
Methinks that I have come by paths unknown Into the land and atmosphere of Witches;For, meditating as I journeyed on, Lo! I have lost my way! If I remember Rightly, it is Scribonius the learned That tells the story of a man who, praying For one that was possessed by Evil Spirits, Was struck by Evil Spirits in the face;I, journeying to circumvent the Witches, Surely by Witches have been led astray.
I am persuaded there are few affairs In which the Devil doth not interfere.
We cannot undertake a journey even, But Satan will be there to meddle with it By hindering or by furthering.He hath led me Into this thicket, struck me in the face With branches of the trees, and so entangled The fetlocks of my horse with vines and brambles, That I must needs dismount, and search on foot For the lost pathway leading to the village.
Re-enter TITUBA.
What shape is this? What monstrous apparition, Exceeding fierce, that none may pass that way?
Tell me, good woman, if you are a woman--TITUBA.
I am a woman, but I am not good, I am a Witch!
MATHER.
Then tell me, Witch and woman, For you must know the pathways through this wood, Where lieth Salem Village?
TITUBA.
Reverend sir, The village is near by.I'm going there With these few herbs.I'll lead you.Follow me.
MATHER.
First say, who are you? I am loath to follow A stranger in this wilderness, for fear Of being misled, and left in some morass.
Who are you?
TITUBA.
I am Tituba the Witch, Wife of John Indian.
MATHER.
You are Tituba?
