Читать книгу Poems of American History - Группа авторов - Страница 23

The wind blows east,—the wind blows west,—

It blows upon the gallows tree:

Oh, little babe beneath my breast,

He died for thee!—he died for me!

The judges came,—the children came

(Some mother's heart o'er each had yearned),

They set their black lies on my name:—

"A God-accursèd witch who learned

"Each night (they said) the Devil's art,

Through Salem wood by devils drawn."—

I, whose heart beat against his heart

From dark till dawn!—from dark till dawn!

He faced them in his fearless scorn

(The sun was on him as he stood):

"No purer is her babe unborn;

I prove her sinless with my blood."

They spared the babe beneath my breast,—

They bound his hands,—they set me free,—

Hush, hush, my babe! hush, hush and rest;

He died for thee!—he died for me!

They dragged him, bound, to Gallows Hill

(I saw the flowers among the grass);

The women came,—I hear them still,—

They held their babes to see him pass.

God curse them!—Nay,—Oh God forgive!

He said it while their lips reviled;

He kissed my lips,—he whispered: "Live!

The father loves thee in the child."

Then earth and sky grew black,—I fell—

I lay as stone beside their stone.

They did their work. They earned their Hell.

I woke on Gallows Hill, alone.

Oh Christ who suffered, Christ who blessed,

Shield him upon the gallows tree!

O babe, his babe, beneath my breast,

He died for thee!—he died for me!

Ednah Proctor Clarke.

The case of Giles Corey is one of the most tragic in all this hideous drama. When arrested and brought before the court, he refused to plead—"stood mute," as the law termed it. The penalty for "standing mute," according to the English law of the time, was that the prisoner "be remanded to prison ... and there be laid on his back on the bare floor...; that there be placed upon his body as great a weight of iron as he can bear, and more," until death should ensue. This was the penalty Giles Corey suffered.

THE TRIAL

From "Giles Corey of the Salem Farms"

[September 7, 1692]

Scene II.—Interior of the Meeting-house. Mather and the Magistrates seated in front of the pulpit. Before them a raised platform. Martha in chains. Corey near her. Mary Walcot in a chair. A crowd of spectators, among them Gloyd. Confusion and murmurs during the scene.

HATHORNE

Call Martha Corey.

MARTHA

I am here.

HATHORNE

Come forward.

She ascends the platform.

The Jurors of our Sovereign Lord and Lady

The King and Queen, here present, do accuse you

Of having on the tenth of June last past,

And divers other times before and after,

Wickedly used and practised certain arts

Called Witchcrafts, Sorceries, and Incantations,

Against one Mary Walcot, single woman,

Of Salem Village: by which wicked arts

The aforesaid Mary Walcot was tormented,

Tortured, afflicted, pined, consumed, and wasted,

Against the peace of our Sovereign Lord and Lady

The King and Queen, as well as of the Statute

Made and provided in that case. What say you?

MARTHA

Before I answer, give me leave to pray.

HATHORNE

We have not sent for you, nor are we here,

To hear you pray, but to examine you

In whatsoever is alleged against you

Why do you hurt this person?

MARTHA

I do not.

I am not guilty of the charge against me.

MARY

Avoid, she-devil! You may torment me now!

Avoid, avoid, Witch!

MARTHA

I am innocent.

I never had to do with any Witchcraft

Since I was born. I am a gospel woman.

MARY

You are a gospel Witch!

MARTHA (clasping her hands) Ah me! ah me! Oh, give me leave to pray!

MARY (stretching out her hands) She hurts me now. See, she has pinched my hands!

HATHORNE

Who made these marks

Upon her hands?

MARTHA

I do not know. I stand

Apart from her. I did not touch her hands.

HATHORNE

Who hurt her then?

MARTHA

I know not.

HATHORNE

Do you think

She is bewitched?

MARTHA

Indeed I do not think so.

I am no Witch, and have no faith in Witches.

HATHORNE

Then answer me: When certain persons came

To see you yesterday, how did you know

Beforehand why they came?

MARTHA

I had had speech;

The children said I hurt them, and I thought

These people came to question me about it.

HATHORNE

How did you know the children had been told

To note the clothes you wore?

MARTHA

My husband told me

What others said about it.

HATHORNE

Goodman Corey,

Say, did you tell her?

COREY

I must speak the truth;

I did not tell her. It was some one else.

HATHORNE

Did you not say your husband told you so?

How dare you tell a lie in this assembly?

Who told you of the clothes? Confess the truth.

MARTHA bites her lips, and is silent.

You bite your lips, but do not answer me!

MARY

Ah, she is biting me! Avoid, avoid!

HATHORNE

You said your husband told you.

MARTHA

Yes, he told me

The children said I troubled them.

HATHORNE

Then tell me,

Why do you trouble them?

MARTHA

I have denied it.

MARY

She threatened me; stabbed at me with her spindle;

And, when my brother thrust her with his sword,

He tore her gown, and cut a piece away.

Here are they both, the spindle and the cloth.

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

'Tis 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?—'Twere 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!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

GILES COREY

[September 19, 1692]

Giles Corey was a Wizzard strong,

A stubborn wretch was he;

And fitt was he to hang on high

Upon the Locust-tree.

So when before the magistrates

For triall he did come,

He would no true confession make,

But was compleatlie dumbe.

"Giles Corey," said the Magistrate,

"What hast thou heare to pleade

To these that now accuse thy soule

Of crimes and horrid deed?"

Giles Corey, he said not a worde,

No single worde spoke he.

"Giles Corey," saith the Magistrate,

"We'll press it out of thee."

They got them then a heavy beam,

They laid it on his breast;

They loaded it with heavy stones,

And hard upon him prest.

"More weight!" now said this wretched man;

"More weight!" again he cried;

And he did no confession make,

But wickedly he dyed.

One of the most assiduous of the prosecutors had been John Hale, minister of the First Church at Beverly. In October the accusers "cried out" against his wife, who was widely known for generous and disinterested virtues. Hale knew the "innocence and piety of his wife, and stood between her and the storm he had helped to raise. The whole community became convinced that the accusers in crying out upon Mrs. Hale had perjured themselves, and from that moment their power was destroyed."

MISTRESS HALE OF BEVERLY

[October, 1692]

The roadside forests here and there were touched with tawny gold;

The days were shortening, and at dusk the sea looked blue and cold;

Through his long fields the minister paced, restless, up and down;

Before, the land-locked harbor lay; behind, the little town.

No careless chant of harvester or fisherman awoke

The silent air; no clanging hoof, no curling weft of smoke,

Where late the blacksmith's anvil rang; all dumb as death,—and why?

Why? echoed back the minister's chilled heart, for sole reply.

His wife was watching from the door; she came to meet him now

A weary sadness in her voice, a care upon her brow.

A vague, oppressive mystery, a hint of unknown fear,

Hung hovering over every roof: it was the witchcraft year.

She laid her hand upon his arm, and looked into his face,

And as he turned away she turned, beside him keeping pace:

And, "Oh, my husband, let me speak!" said gentle Mistress Hale,

"For truth is fallen in the street, and falsehoods vile prevail.

"The very air we breathe is thick with whisperings of hell;

The foolish trust the quaking bog, where wise men sink as well,

Who follow them: O husband mine, for love of me, beware

Of touching slime that from the pit is oozing everywhere!

"The rulers and the ministers, tell me, what have they done,

Through all the dreadful weeks since this dark inquest was begun,

Save to encourage thoughtless girls in their unhallowed ways,

And bring to an untimely end many a good woman's days?

"Think of our neighbor, Goodwife Hoar; because she would not say

She was in league with evil powers, she pines in jail to-day.

Think of our trusty field-hand, Job,—a swaggerer, it is true,—

Boasting he feared no Devil, they have condemned him, too.

"And Bridget Bishop, when she lived yonder at Ryal-side,

What if she kept a shovel-board, and trimmed with laces wide

Her scarlet bodice: grant she was too frivolous and vain;

How dared they take away the life they could not give again?

"Nor soberness availeth aught; for who hath suffered worse,

Through persecutions undeserved, than good Rebecca Nurse?

Forsaken of her kith and kin, alone in her despair,

It almost seemed as if God's ear were closed against her prayer.

"They spare not even infancy: poor little Dorcas Good,

The vagrant's child—but four years old!—who says that baby could

To Satan sign her soul away condemns this business blind,

As but the senseless babbling of a weak and wicked mind.

"Is it not like the ancient tale they tell of Phaeton,

Whose ignorant hands were trusted with the horses of the sun?

Our teachers now by witless youths are led on and beguiled:

Woe to the land, the Scripture saith, whose ruler is a child!

"God grant this dismal day be short! Except help soon arrive,

To ruin these deluded ones will our fair country drive.

If I to-morrow were accused, what further could I plead

Than those who died, whom neither judge nor minister would heed?

"I pray thee, husband, enter not their councils any more!

My heart aches with forebodings! Do not leave me, I implore!

Yet if to turn this curse aside my life might but avail,

In Christ's name would I yield it up," said gentle Mistress Hale.

The minister of Beverly dreamed a strange dream that night:

He dreamed the tide came up, blood-red, through inlet, cove, and bight,

Till Salem village was submerged; until Bass River rose,

A threatening crimson gulf, that yawned the hamlet to inclose.

It rushed in at the cottage-doors whence women fled and wept;

Close to the little meeting-house with serpent curves it crept;

The grave-mounds in the burying-ground were sunk beneath its flood;

The doorstone of the parsonage was dashed with spray of blood.

And on the threshold, praying, knelt his dear and honored wife,

As one who would that deluge stay at cost of her own life.—

"Oh, save her! save us, Christ!" the cry unlocked him from his dream,

And at his casement in the east he saw the day-star gleam.

The minister that morning said, "Only this once I go,

Beloved wife; I cannot tell if witches be or no.

We on the judgment-throne have sat in place of God too long;

I fear me much lest we have done His flock a grievous wrong:

"And this before my brethren will I testify to-day."

Around him quiet wooded isles and placid waters lay,

As unto Salem-Side he crossed. He reached the court-room small,

Just as a shrill, unearthly shriek echoed from wall to wall.

"Woe! Mistress Hale tormenteth me! She came in like a bird,

Perched on her husband's shoulder!" Then silence fell; no word

Spake either judge or minister, while with profound amaze

Each fixed upon the other's face his horror-stricken gaze.

But, while the accuser writhed in wild contortions on the floor,

One rose and said, "Let all withdraw! the court is closed!" no more:

For well the land knew Mistress Hale's rare loveliness and worth;

Her virtues bloomed like flowers of heaven along the paths of earth.

The minister of Beverly went homeward riding fast;

His wife shrank back from his strange look, affrighted and aghast.

"Dear wife thou ailest! Shut thyself into thy room!" said he;

"Whoever comes, the latch-string keep drawn in from all save me!"

Nor his life's treasure from close guard did he one moment lose,

Until across the ferry came a messenger with news

That the bewitched ones acted now vain mummeries of woe;

The judges looked and wondered still, but all the accused let go.

The dark cloud rolled from off the land; the golden leaves dropped down

Along the winding wood-paths of the little sea-side town:

In Salem Village there was peace; with witchcraft-trials passed

The nightmare-terror from the vexed New England air at last.

Again in natural tones men dared to laugh aloud and speak;

From Naugus Head the fisher's shout rang back to Jeffrey's Creek;

The phantom-soldiery withdrew, that haunted Gloucester shore;

The teamster's voice through Wenham Woods broke into psalms once more.

The minister of Beverly thereafter sorely grieved

That he had inquisition held with counsellors deceived;

Forsaking love's unerring light and duty's solid ground,

And groping in the shadowy void, where truth is never found.

Errors are almost trespasses; rarely indeed we know

How our mistakes hurt other hearts, until some random blow

Has well-nigh broken our own. Alas! regret could not restore

To lonely hearths the presences that gladdened them before.

As with the grain our fathers sowed sprang up Old England's weeds,

So to their lofty piety clung superstition's seeds.

Though tares grow with it, wheat is wheat: by food from heaven we live:

Yet whoso asks for daily bread must add, "Our sins forgive!"

Truth made transparent in a life, tried gold of character,

Were Mistress Hale's, and this is all that history says of her;

Their simple force, like sunlight, broke the hideous midnight spell,

And sight restored again to eyes obscured by films of hell.

The minister's long fields are still with dews of summer wet;

The roof that sheltered Mistress Hale tradition points to yet.

Green be her memory ever kept all over Cape-Ann-Side,

Whose unobtrusive excellence awed back delusion's tide!

Lucy Larcom.