ACT FOUR

The Crucible

A cell in Salem jail, that fall.

At the back is a high bun red window’, near it, a great, heavy door. Along the v•alls are tw o benches.

The place i.s in darkness but for the moonlight seeping through the bars. It appears einp,ty. Presently footsteps are heurd coming do ‘n a CGFi idor beyond the call, keys rattle, and the door sz iiigs open. Marshal Herrick enters z ith a lantern.

He is nearly drtink, and heat y-footed. He goes to a bench and nudges a bundle of ra,gs Iyini on it.

HERRICK: Sarah, wake up! Sarah Good! He then ci’os.se.s to the other hench.

SARAH GOOD, rising in her rags. Oh, Majesty! Comin‘, coinin’! Tituba, he’s here, His Majesty’s

comc!

HERRICK: Go to the north cell; this place is wantcd now. He hangs his lantei ii on the v!all. Tituba sits up.

TITUBA: That don’t look to me like H is Majesty; look to me like the marshal.

HERRICK, taking out a flask.’ Get along with you now, clear this place. He drinks, and 8’arali food comes and peers up into his face.

SARAH GOOD: Oh, is it you, Marshal! 1 thought sure you be the Devil comin’ for us. Could I have a sip of cider for me goin’- away ?

HERRICK. handing her the fla.sk. And where are you off to, Sarah?

TITUBA, as Saruh drink.s. We goin’ to Barbados, soon the Devil gits here with the feathers and the

wings.

HERRICK: Oh? A happy voyage to you.

SARAH GOOD: A pair of bluebirds wingin’ southerly, the two o1’ us! Oh, it be a grand transformation, Marshal! She raises the flask to drink again.

HERRICK, taking the flask ft oin her lips.’ You’d best give me that or you’ll ncvcr rise off the ground. Come along now.

TITUBA: I’ll speak to him for you, if you desircs to come along, Marshal. HERRlCK: I’d not refuse it, Tituba; it’s the proper morning to fly into Hell.

TITUBA: Oh, it be no Hell in Barbados. Devil, him be pleasurc-man in Barbados, lain bc sing in’ and dancin’ in Bai’bados. It’s you folks—you riles him up ‘round lierc; it be too cold ’round here for that Old Boy. He freezc his soul in Massachusetts, but in Barbados be just as sweet and—fi bellon!ing cove is heard, and Tituba leaps tip and calls to the ›i’indoiv: Aye, sir! That’s him, Sarah!

SARAH GOOD: I’m hcre. Majesty! They hurriedly pick up their raps as Hopkins, a guard, enter s.

HOPKINS: The Deputy Governor’s arrived.

HERRIC K, grubbing Titubu. Come along, come along. TITUBA, resisting hint.’ No, he comin’ for me. 1 goin’ home!

HERRICK, ptilling her to the doc . That’s not Satan, just a poor old cow with a hatful of milk. Come along now. out with you!

TITUBA, ea//if7g to the window!.’ Take mc home, Devil! Takc mc home!

SARAH GOOD,/o/looking the shooting Tituba out.’ Tcll him I’m goin’, Tituba! Now you tell him Sarah Good is goin’ too!

In the corridor outside Tituba calls on—“Take me home, Devil, De› il take me home.’ ” and Hopkins i!oic’e orJer.s her to move on. Herrick rc•tui ns end begins to push old regs und str uiv into a corner. Hearing footsteps, he tui us, and enter Daiiforth and Judge Hathorne. They at e in gi eatcoats and v•ear hats against the bitter cold. They are followed in by Cheever, who can res a dispatch e’ase and a fiat v!ooden box containing his w•ritiiig materials.

HERRICK: Good morning, Excellency. DANFORTH: Where is Mr. Parris?

PIERRICK: I’ll fetch him. He siarts for fee door.

DANFORTH: Marshal. Herrick z’tops. When did Reverend Hale arrive? H ER RIC K: It were toward midnight, I think.

DANFORTH, Suspiciously.’ What is he about here?

HERRIC’K: He goes among them that will hang, sir. And he prays with them. He sits with Goody Nurse now. And Mr. Parris with him.

DANFORTH: Indeed. That man have no authority to enter here, Marshal. Why have you let him in? HERRICK: Why, Mr. Pari’is command me, sir. 1 cannot deny him.

DANFORTH: Arc you dnink, Marshal?

HERRICK: No, sir; it is a bitter night, and I have no fire here. DANFORTH, containing his anger. Fetch Mr. Parris.

HERRICK: Aye, sir.

DANFORTH: There is a prodigious stench in this place. IIERRICK: 1 have only now cleared the people out for you. DANFORTH: Beware hard drink, Marshal.

HERRICK: Aye, sir. He waits an instant for fiirther or ders. But Danforth, in diSSatisfactiOlf, tame his back on him, and Herr ick goes otit. There is a pause. Dnnforth stands in thought.

HATHORNE: Let you question Hale, Excellency; I should not be surprised he have been preaching in Andover lately.

DANFORTH: We’ll come to that; speak nothing of Andover. Parris prays with him. That’s strange.

He blows oii his hands, mo»es toward the window, and looks out.

HATHORNE: Excellency, I wonder if it bc wise to let Mr. Parris so continuously with the prisoners.

Konforth turns to hint, intc•re.vteJ. ! thirlk, sometimes, the man has a mad look these days. DANFORTH: Mad?

HATHORNE: I met him yesterday coming out of his house, and 1 bid him good morning—and he wept and went his way. I think it is not well the village sees him so unsteady.

DANFORTH: Perhaps he have some sorrow.

CHEEVER, .stumping his feet against the cold.’ I think it be the cows, sir. DANFORTI-I: Cows’?

CHEEVER: There be so many cows wanderin’ the highroads, now their masters are in the jails, and much disagreement who they will belong to now. I know Mr. Parris be arguin’ with farmers all yesterday—there is great contention, sir, about the cows. Contention make him weep, sir; it were always a man that weep for contention. He turns, as do Hathorne and Hanforth, hearing omeone coming up the corridor. Danforth raise.s his head as Parris enters. He is gaunt, frightened, s/7d sweafixg iii his greatcoat.

PARRIS, /p Danforth, instantly.‘ Oh, good morning, sir, thank you for coining, I beg your pardon wakin’ you so carly. Good morning, Judge Hathorne.

DANFORTH: Reverend Hale havc no right to cntci’ this—

PARRIS: Excellency, a moment. He hurries back anJ shuts the door.

HATHORNE: Do you leave him alone with the prisoners’? DANFORTH: What’s his business here?

PARRIS, prayerfully holding up his hands. Exeellcncy, hcar me. It is a providence. Reverend Hale has returned to bring Rebecca Nurse to Clod.

DANFORTH, surprised.‘ He bids her confess‘?

PARRIS, sitting.’ Hear me. Rebecca have not given me a word this three month since she came. Now she sits with him, and her sister and Martha Corcy and two or three others, and he pleads with them, confess their crimes and save their lives.

DANFORTH: Why this is indeed a providence. And they soften, they soften’?

PARRIS: Not yet, not yet. But I thought to summon you, sir, that we might think on whcthcr it be not wise, to—He dares not say i/. I had thought to put a question, sir, and I hope you will not— DANFORTH : Mr. Parris, be plain, what troubles you?

PARRIS: There is news, sir. that the court—the court must reckon with. My niece, sir, my niece—I believc she has vanished.

DANFORTH: Vanished!

PARRIS: I had thought to advise you of it earlier in the week, but— DANFORTH: Why? How long is she gone?

PARRIS: This be the third night. You see, sir, she told me she would stay a night with Mercy

Lewis. And next day, when she does not return, I send to Mr. Lewis to inquire. Mercy told him she would sleep in mJ house for a night.

DANFORTH: They are both gone?! PARRIS, in}’ear of him. Thcy are, sir.

DANFORTH. alarmed. 1 will send a party for their. Where may they be?

PARRIS: Excellency, I think thcy be aboard a ship. Danforth stands ngape. My daughtcr tells me how she heard them speaking of ships last week, and tonight I discover my—my strongbox is broke into. He presses hi.› fingei.s ugain.st his eye.s to keep back rear s.

HATHORNE, astonislied.‘ She have robbed you?

PARRIS: Thirty-one pound is gone. I am penniless. He covers his face and sobs.

DANFORTH: Mr. Parris, you are a brainlcss man! He walks in thought, deeply wonied.

PARRIS: Excellency, it profit nothing you should blamc me. I cannot think they would run off except they fear to keep in Salem any more. Ne is pleading. Mark it, sir, Abigail had close knowledge of the town, and since the news of Andover has broken here—

DANFORTH : Andover is remedied. The court returns there on Friday, and will resume examinations.

PARRIS: 1 am sure of it, sir. But the rumor here speaks rebellion in Andover, and it— LAN FORTH: There is no rebellion in Andover!

PARRIS: 1 tell you what is said here, sir. Andover have thrown out the court, they say, and will

have no part of witchcraft. There be a faction here, feeding on that ncws, and I tell you true, sir, I

fear there will be riot here.

HATfIORNE: Riot! Why at every execution I have seen naught but high satisfaction in the town.

PARRIS: Judge Hathorne—it were another sort that hanged till now. Rebecca Nurse is no Bridget that lived three year with Bishop before she married him. John Proctor is not Isaac Ward that drank his family to ruin. To Danforth: I would to God it were not so. Excellency, but these people have great weight yet in the town. Let Rebecca stand upon the gibbet and send up some righteous prayer, and I fear she’ll wake a vengeance on you.

HATHORNE: Excellency, she is condemned a witch. The court have—

DANFORTH, in deep concei n, raising a hai7d to Hathorne. Pray you. To Par i is.’ How do yoti propose, then?

PARRIS: Excellency. I would postpone these hangin’s for a time. DANFORTH: There will be no postponement.

PARRIS: Now Mr. Hale’s returned, there is hope, I think—for if he bring even one of these to God, that confession surely damns the others in the public eyc, and none may doubt more that they are all linked to Hell. This way, unconfessed and claiming innocence, doubts are multiplied, many honest people will wccp for them, and our good purpose is lost in their tears.

DANFORTH, after thinkii7g a moment, then going to Chee›•er.’ Give me the list.

CheeveF opens Ihe dispatch case, .sear ches.

PARRIS: It cannot be forgot, sir, that when I summoned the congregation for John Proctor’s excommunication there were hardly thirty people come to hear it. That speak a discontent, I think, and —

DANFORTH, studying the list.’ Thcrc will be no postponement. PARRIS: Excellency—

DANFORTH: Now, sir which of these in your opinion may be brought to God’? I will myself strive with him till dawn. He hands the list to Parris, who mci ely glances at it.

PARILIS: There is not sufficient time till dawn.

DANFORTH: I shall do my utmost. Which of them do you have hope for?

PARRIS, nor even glancing at the list no ’, and in a quavering voice, quietly.‘ Excellency—a dagger

—He chokes up.

DANFORTH: What do you say?

PARRIS: Tonight, when I open my door to leave my house—a dagger clattered to the ground. Silence. Daiiforth absorbs this. Now Pat ris cries oot. You cannot hang this sort. There is danger for inc. I dare not step outside at night!

Re›•erend Hale enters. They look at him for air instant in silence. He is steeped in sorrow, exhau.ited, and more dii ect thun he ever v o.s.

DANFORTH: Accept my congratulations, Reverend hale; we are gladdened to see you returned to your good work.

HALL. coming to Hanforth nov-. You must pardon their. They will not budge.

Herrick enters, ›i’aits.

DANFORTH, conciliatop•. You misunderstand, sir; I cannot pardon thcse whcn twelve are already hanged for the same crime. It is not just.

PARRIS, ii!ith failing heart.’ Rebecca will not confess?

HALE: The sun will risc in a few minutes. Excellency, I must have more time.

DANFORTH: Now hear me, and beguile yourselves no more. I will not receive a singlc plea for pardon or postponement. Them that will not confess will hang. Twelve are already executed; the names of these seven are given out. and the village expects to see them die this morning. Postponement now speaks a floundering on my part; reprieve or pardon must cast doubt upon the guilt of’ them that died till now. While I speak God’s law, I will not crack its voice with whimpering. It’

retaliation is your fcar, know this—I should hang ten thousand that dared to rise against the law, and an ocean of salt tears could not melt the resolution of the statutes. Now draw yourselves up like men and help me, as you are bound by Heaven to do. Slave you spoken with them all, Mr. Hale’?

HALE: All but Proctor. He is in the dungeon. DANFORTH, to Her rick.’ What’s Proctor’s way now?

HERRICK: He sits like some great bird; you’d not know he lived except he will take food from time to time.

DANFORTH, after thinking a moment.’ His wife—his wife must be well on with child now. HERRICK: She is, sir.

DANFORTI-I: What think you, Mr. Parris? You have closer knowledge of this man; might her presence soften him?

PARRIS: It is possiblc, sir. He have not laid eyes on her these three months. I should summon her. DANFORTH. to Herrick.’ Is he yet adamant? Has he struck at you again?

HERRICK: He cannot, sir, he is chained to the wall now.

DANFORTH, after thinking on it.’ Fctch Goody Proctor to me. Then let you bring him up. HER RICK: Aye, sir. Herrick goes. There is silence.

HALE: Excellency, if you postpone a week and publish to the town that you are striving for their confessions, that speak mercy on your part, not faltering.

DANFORTH: Mr. hale, as God have not empowered me like Joshua to stop this sun from rising, so I cannot withhold from them the perfection of their punishment.

HALE. harder new. If you think God wills you to raise rebellion, Mr. Danforth. you are mistaken! DANFORTH, instantly. You have heard rebellion spoken in thc town?

HALE: Excellency, there arc orphans wandering from house to house; abandoned cattle bellow on the highroads, thc stink o1”rotting crops hangs everywhere, and no man knows when the liarlots cry will end his life—and you wonder yet if rebellion’s spoke’? Better you should marvel how thcy do not burn your province!

DANFORTI-I: Mr. Hale, have you preached in Andover this month’s HALE: Thank God they have no need of me in Andover.

DANFORTH: You ba1“1Ie me, sir. Why have you returned here?

HALE: Why, it is all simple. I come to do the Devil’s work. I come to counsel Christians they should belic themselves. His snrcasm collapses. Therc is blood on my head! Can you not sec the blood on my head!!

PARRIS: Hush’. for he has heard footstep.s. They ull face the door. Herrick enter.s with F.li–abeth. Her v!risls are linked bj• heat y chain, which Herrick non! removes. Her clothes are dii t)•, her face is pale mid gaimt. Herrick goes out.

DANFORTH, ver y politely. Goody Proctor. She is silent. I hope you are hcarty? ELIZABETH, as a naming reminder.’ I am yet six month before my time.

DANFORTH: Pray be at youi ease, we come not for your life. We—uncertain hon to plead, for lie is not accustomed to it. Mr. Hale. will you speak with the woman?

HALE: Goody Proctor, your husband is marked to hang this morning.

ELIZABETH, quietly.’ I have heard it.

HALE: You know, do you not, that I have no connection with the court’? She seems to doubt if. 1 come of my own, Goody Proctor. I would save your husband’s life, for if he is takcn I count myself his murderer. Do you undcrstand me?

ELIZABETII: What do you want of rue’?

HALE: Goody Proctor, I have gone this three month like our Lord into the wilderness. I havc sought a Christian way, for damnation’s doubled on a minister who counsels mcn to lie.

HATHORNE: It is no tic. you cannot speak of lies. HALE: It is a lie! They are innocent!

DANFORTH: 1’11 hear no more of that!

HALE, continuing to Eli-abeth. Let you not mistake your duty as 1 mistook my own. I came into this village like a bridegroom to his beloved, bearing gifts of high religion; the very crowns of holy law I brought, and what I touched with my bright confidence, it died; and where I turned the eye of my grcat faith, blood flowed up. Beware, Goody Proctor leave to no laith wlicn faith brings blood. It is mistaken law that leads you to sacrifice. Life, woman, life is God’s most precious gift; no principle, however glorious, may justify the taking of it. I beg you. woman, prevail upon your husband to confcss. Let him give his lie. Quail not before God’s judgment in this, for it may well be Clod damns a liar less than he that throws his life away for pride. Will you plead with him? 1 cannot think lie will listen to another.

ELIZAB ETH, qtiietli. 1 think that be the Devil’s argument.

HALE, with a cfimactic desperation.‘ Woman, before the laws of God we are as swine! We cannot read His will!

ELIZABETH: I cannot dispute with you, sir: I lack learning for it.

DANFORTH, going to her. Goody Proctor, you are not summoned here for dispntation. Be there no wifely tenderness within you’? He will die with the sunrise. Your husband. Do you understand it’? She only food aI him. What say you? Will you contend with him? She is si/em. Are you stone? I tell you true, woman, had I no other proof o1’ your unnatural life, your dry eyes now would be sufficient evidence that you delivered up your soul to Hell! A very ape would weep at such calamity! Have the Devil dried up any tear of pity in you‘? She i.› ileum. Take her out. It profit nothing she should speak to hint!

ELIZABETH, quietly.’ Let inc spcak with him, Exccllcncy.

PARRIS, with hope. You’ll strive with him? She hesitates. DANFORTH: Will you plead for his confession or will you not? ELIZABETH: I promise nothing. Let me speak with him.

A sound—the sibilance of dragging feet on stone. They turn. A pause. Herrick enters with John Proctor. His wrists are chained. He is another man, bearded, filthy, his eyes misty as though webs had overgrown them. He halts inside the doorway, his eye caught by the sight of Elizabeth. The emotion flowing between them prevents anyone from speaking for an instant. Now Hale, visibly affected, goes to Danforth and speaks quietly.

HALE: Pray, leave them, Excellency.

DANFORTH, pressing Hale impatiently aside. lMx. Proctor, you have been notified, have you not? Proctor is silent, staring at Elizabeth. I see light in the sky, Mister; let you counsel with your wife, and may God help you turn your back on Hell. Proctor is silent, staring at Elizabeth.

HALE, quietly. Excellency, let—

Danforth brushes past Hale and walks out. Hale follows. Cheever stands and follows, Hathorne behind. Herrick goes. Parris, from a safe distance, offers.

PARRIS: lf you desire a cup of cider, Mr. Proctor, I am sure I—Proctor turns an icy stare at him, and he breaks off. Parris raises his palms toward PFoctor. God lead you now. Parris goes out.

Alone. Proctor walks to her, halts. It is as though they stood in a spinning world. It is beyond sorrow, above it. He reaches out his hand as though toward an embodiment not quite real, and as he touches her, a strange soft sound, half laughter, half amazement, comes from his throat. He pats her hand. She covers his hand with hers. And then, weak, he sits. Then she sits, facing him.

PROCTOR: The child?

ELIZABETH: It grows.

PROCTOR: There is no word of the boys?

ELIZABETH: They’re well. Rebecca’s Samuel keeps them.

PROCTOR: You have not seen them?

ELIZABETH: I have not. She catches a weakening in herself and downs it.

PROCTOR: You are a—marvel, Elizabeth. ELIZABETH : You—have been tortured?

PROCTOR: Aye. Pause. She will not let herself be drowned in the sea that threatens her. They come for my life now.

ELIZABETH: 1 know it.

Pause.

PROCTOR: None—have yet confessed? ELIZABETH: There be many confessed.

PROCTOR: Who are they?

ELIZABETH: There be a hundred or more, they say. Goody Ballard is one; Isaiah Goodkind is one. There be many.

PROCTOR: Rebecca?

ELIZABETH: Not Rebecca. She is one foot in Heaven now; naught may hurt her more. PROCTOR: And Giles‘?

ELIZABETH: You have not heard of it? PROCTOR: 1 hear nothin’, where I am kept. ELIZABETFI: Giles is dead.

He looks at her iIicredulously.

PROCTOR: When were he hanged?

ELIZABETI I, quietly, faciuall) .’ I-Ie were not hanged. I Ie would not answer aye or nay to his indictment; for if he denied the charge they’d hang him surely, and auction out his property. So he stand mute, and died Christian under the law. And so his sons will have his farm. It is the law, for he could not be condemned a wizard without he answer the indictment, aye or nay.

PROCTOR: Then how does he die? ELIZABETH, gently. Thcy prcss him, John. PROCTOR: Press?

ELIZABETH: Great stoncs they lay upon his chcst until he plead aye or nay. With o tender smile for

the old man. They say he give them but two words. “More weight,” he says. And died. PROCTOR, numbed—a thread to v eave into his agon) . “More weight.” ELIZABETH: Aye. lt were a fearsome wan, Cities Corey. Pause.

PROCTOR, Dit/7 gi eat Jorce of will, bit /7Of qtiite looking at her.’ I have been thinking I would confess to them, Elizabeth. She shows nothing. What say you? If I give them that?

ELIZABETH: I cannot judge you, John.

Pause.

PROCTOR, .simply-o pure question. What would you have me do?

ELIZABETH: As you will, I would have it. SfigJif pause. 1 want you living, John. That’s sure. PROCTOR — he pan.›’es, then z•ilh a flai,ling of hope: Giles’ wife‘? I lave she confessed‘?

ELIZABETH: She will not.

Pause.

PROCTOR: It is a pretcnsc, Elizabeth.

ELIZABETI I: What is’?

PROCTOR: I cannot mount the gibbet like a saint. It is a fraud. I am not that inan. She is silent. My honesty is broke, Elizabeth; 1 am no good man. Nothing’s spoiled by giving them this lie that were not rotten long before.

ELIZABETl1: And yet you’ve not confessed till now. That speak goodness in you.

PROCTOR: Spite only keeps me silent. It is hard to give a lie to dogs. Pause, for the first time he turns directl¿• to her. I would have your forgiveness. Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH: It is not for me to give, John, I am—

PROCTOR : I’d have you see some honesty in it. Let them that ncver lied die now to keep their souls. It is pretcnse for mc, a vanity that will not blind God nor kccp my children out of the wind. Pause. What say you?

ELIZABETH, Upon a ñeovii7g Sob that alwa !s threatens. John. it come to naught that I should forgive you, if you’ll not forgive yourself. NOV’ l7e turns ais!ay a little, in great agony. It is not my soul, loll, it is yours. He stnnds, as though in physical pain, slowly rising to his feet with a great immortal longing to find his answer. It is difjiCult tO Sf?y. arid she is on the verge of tears.

Only be sure of this, for I know it now: Whatever you will do, it is a good man does it. He ttirns his doubting, .sc•art’hing gas-e upon her. I have read my heart this three month, John. Pause. I have sins of my own to count. It needs a cold wife to prompt lechery.

PROCTOR, in greaf pain. Enough, enough—

ELIZABETH, now pouring out her heart. Better you should know me! PROCTOR: I will not hear it! 1 know you!

ELIZABETH: You takc my sins upon you. John— PROCTOR, in agoaJ’. No, I take my own, my own!

ELIZABETH: John, I counted myself so plain, so poorly made, no honest love could come to me! Suspicion kissed you when I did; I ncver knew how I should say my love. It wcrc a cold house I kcpt! In fi ight, she swerves, as Hathorne enters.

I-IATI-IORNE: What say you, Proctor‘? The sun is soon up.

Phroctoi“, his chest heaving, stares, turns to Eli-abeth. She comes to him as though to plead, her

ELIZABETH: Do what you will. But let none be your judge. There be no higher judge under Heaven than Proctor is! Forgive me, forgive me, John—1 never knew such goodness in the world! She covers her face, v’eeping.

Proe’tor turns from her to Hathorne, he is off the eat th, his voice hullov•.

PROCTOR: 1 want my life.

HATHORNE, electi ified, smprised. You’ll confess yourselY!

PROCTOR: I will have my life.

HATHORNE, with a mystical tone. God be praiscd! It is a providcnce! He i ushes out the door, and his voice is heard calling dot›’ii the corridor. He will confess! Proctor will confess!

PROCTOR. v’ith a ciy, as he strides to the door. Why do you cry it? /fl great yarn he iff?”f7$ back to her . lt is evil, is it not? It is evil.

ELIZABETH, in ten or, weeping.’ I cannot judgc you, John, 1 cannot!

PROCTOR: Then who will judge we? Suddenly clasping his hands.’ God in Heaven, what is John Proctor, what is John Proctor? He moves as nil unimal, and a /a y is riding iii him, a taiitali-ed search. I think it is honest, I think so; 1 am no saint.

is though she had denied this he calls angi il al her: Let Rebecca go like a saint; for me it is fraud! f’pices are beard in the hall, speaking together in suppressed excitement.

ELIZABETH: I am not your judge, I cannot be. .4s though i›•ing him release. Do as you will, do as you will!

PROCTOR: Would you give them such a lie? Say it. Would you ever give them this? She cannot un veer. You would not; if tongs of fire were singeing you you would not! lt is evil. Good, then —it is evil, and I do it!

Hathorne enters i› ith Hanforth, arid, ith them, Chee›•er, Parris, and Hale. It is a businesslike, rapid entrance, as though the ice had beeii bi okeii.

DANFORTH, ith great relief and gratitude. Praise to God, man, praise to God; you shall be blessed in Heaven for this. 6″heever has hurried to the bench w ith pen, ink, and paper. Proctor matches him. Now then, let us have it. Are you ready, Mi-. Cheever?

PROCTOR, with a cold, cold hot ror at their efficiency. Why must it be written?

DANFORTH: Why, for thc good instruction of the village, Mister; this we shall post upon the church door! To Parris, tirgently.‘ Where is the marshal?

PARRIS, runs to the door and calls down the corridor. Marshal! Hurry!

DANFORTH: Now, then, Mistcr, will you speak slowly. and directly to the point, for Mr. Cliccver’s sake. He is on record nov , and is really dictating to Cheever, r!ho writes. Mr. Proctor, have you sccn the Devil in your life? Proctor ’s jaw’s lock. Come, man, thcrc is light in the sky; the town waits at the scaffold; I would give out this news. Did you see the Devil?

PROCTOR: I did.

PARRIS: Praise God!

DANFORTH: And when he come to you, what were his demand? Proctor is silent. Danforth helps.

Did he bid you to do his work upon the earth? PROCTOR: He did.

DANFORTH: And you bound yourself to his scrvicc? Danforth turns, as Rebecca Nurse enters, with Herrick helping to support her. She is barely able to n’alk. Come in, cone in, woman!

REBECCA, brightening as she sees Proctor . Ah, John! You are well, then, ch?

Proctor turns his face to the wall.

DANFORTH: Couragc, man, courage—let her witness your good example that she may come to Clod her self. Now hear it, Coody Nurse! Say on, Mr. Proctor. Did you bind yourself to the Devil ’s service?

REBECCA, astonisl7ed.’ Why, Jolin!

PROCTOR, through his teeth, his j’ace turiiecl from Rebecca.’ I did.

DANFORTH: Now, woman, you surely sec it profit nothin’ to kccp this conspiracy any further. Will you contcss yourself with him?

REBECCA: Oh, John—God send his mercy on you! DANFORTI-I: I say, will you confess yourself, Goody Nurse’?

REBECCA: Why, it is a lie, it is a lie; how may I damn myself? I cannot, I cannot.

DANFORTH: Mr. Proctor. When the Devil came to you did you see Rebecca Nurse in his company*

Proctor is silent. Cone, man, take courage id you ever see her with the Devil’? PROCTOR, HlmoSt inoltdibl¿.’ No.

Danforth, now sensing ti ouble, glances at John and goes to the table, and picks up a sheet—the list of condemned.

DANFORTH: Did you ever see licr sister, Mary Easty, with the Dcvil‘? PROCTOR: No, I did not.

DANFORTH, his eyes rim i ow on Pi octor=. Did you ever see Martha Corey with the Devil? PROCTOR: I did not.

DANFORTH, realizing, slowly putting the sheet down. Did you ever see anyone with the Devil? PROCTOR: I did not.

DANFORTH: Proctor, you mistake mc. I am not empowered to tradc your life for a lie. You have most certainly seen some person with the Devil. Proctor is .silent. Mr. Proctor, a score of people have already testified they saw this woman with the Devil.

PROCTOR: Then it is proved. Why must I say it’?

DANFORTH: Why “must” you say it! Why. you should rejoice to say it if your soul is truly purged of any love for Hell!

PROCTOR: They think to go like saints. I like rlot to spoil their names. DANFORTH, inquiring, incredulous.’ Mr. Proctor. do you think they go like saints? PROCTOR, evading. This woman never thought she done the Devil’s work.

DANFORTH: Look you, sir. I think you mistake your duty herc. It matters nothing what she thought— she is convicted of the unnatural murder of children, .and you for sending your spirit out upon Mary Warren. Your soul alone is the issue hcrc, Mistcr, and you will provc its whitcncss or you cannot live

in a Christian country. Will you tell me now what persons conspired with you in the Devil’s company? Proctor i.s silent. To your knowledge was Rebecca Nurse ever—

PROCTOR: I speak my own sins: I cannot judge another. Ci3•iiig out, v•ith hatred: 1 have no tongue

for it.

HALE, quickly to Danforth.’ Excellency, it is enough he confess himself. Let him sign it, let him sign it.

PARRIS, /evcrisñ/J . It is a great service, sir. It is a weighty name; it will strike the village that Proctor confess. I beg you, let him sign it. The sun is up, Excellency!

DANFORTH, consider s, Ihen with dissatisfaction.’ Come, then, sign your testimony. To Clieever . Give it to him. Cheevei goes to Proctor, the conJessiolf and a pen in hand. Proctor does not look at it. Come, man, sign it.

PROCTOR, after glancing at the confession.’ You have all witnessed It—it is cnough. DANFORTH: You will not sign it?

PROCTOR: You have all witnessed it; what more is needed’?

DANFORTH: Do you sport with me? You will sign your nainc or it is no confcssion. Mister! His bi east heaving with agoni-ed breathin,g, Proctor now lays the payer doyen and signs his name.

PARRIS: Praise be to the Lord!

Proctor has just finished signing when Danforth reaches for the paper. But Proctor snatches it up, and nods’ a ild tet row i.s i i›iiig in him, and a houndles anger.

DANFORTH, perplexed, but politely extending his hand.’ If you please, sir. PROCTOR: No.

DANFORTH, as though Proctor did riot understand. Mr. Proctor, I must have—

PROCTOR : No, no. I have signed it. You have seen me. It is done! You have no necd for this. PARRIS: Proctor, the village must have proof that—

PROCTOR : Damn the village! I confess to God, and God has sccn my name on this! It is cnough! DANFORTH: No, sir, it is—

PROCTOR : You came to save my soul, did you not? Here! I have confessed myself; it is enough! DANFORTH: You have not con—

PROCTOR: I have confcsscd myself Is there no good pcnitcncc but it be public’? God does not need my name nailed upon the church! Clod sees my name: Ciod knows how black my sins are! It is enough!

DANFORTH: Mr. Proctor—

PROCTOR: You will not use me! I am no Sarah Ciood or Tituba, 1 am John Proctor! You will not usc me! It is no part of salvation that you should use me!

DANFORTH: I do not wish to—

PROCTOR: I have three children—how may I teach them to walk like men in the world, and 1 sold my friends?

DANFORTH: You have not sold your friends—

PROCTOR: Beguile inc not! I blacken all of them when this is nailcd to the church the very day they hang for silence!

DANFORTH: Mr. Proctor, I must have good and lcgal proof’that you—

PROCTOR: You arc the high court, your word is good enough! Tell them I confessed iiiyself; say Proctor broke his knees and wept like a woman; say what you will, but my name cannot— DANFORTH, n ith str.spicion.’ lt is the same, is it not? If I report it or you sign to it?

PROCTOR—ñe knows it is insane: No, it is not the same! What others say and what I sign to is not

the same!

DANFORTH: Why? Do you mean to deny this confcssion when you arc free? PROCTOR: I mean to deny nothing!

DANFORTH: Then explain to mc, Mr. Proctor, why you will not let—

PROCTOR, v ith a ci j• of his whole soul. Because it is my nainc! Bccausc I cannot have another in icy life! Because I IU field sign myse)f to lies! Because 1 am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you icy soul; leave inc my name!

DANFORTH, pointing at the confession in Proctor ’s hand. Is that document a lie? If it is a lie I will not accept it! What say you? I will not deal in lies, Mister! Proctor is motionless. You will give me your honest confession in my hand, or 1 cannot keep you from the rope. Proctor does not reply. Which way do you go, Mister?

His breast heaving, his eyes staring, Proctor tears the paper anJ crumples it, and he is n•eeping in fw y, but ct ect.

DANFORTH: Marshal!

PARRIS, hysterically, as though the tear ing paper z’ere his life: Proctor, Proctor! HALE: Man, you will hang! You cannot!

PROCTOR, his eyes fit11 of tears. I can. And there’s your first marvel, that I can. You have made your magic now, for now I do think I scc somc shrcd of goodness in John Proctor. Not cnough to weave a banner with, but wliitc cnough to kccp it front such dogs. Eli-abeth, in a burst of terror, rushes to hint and v’eeps ngainst his hand. Givc thcin no tcar! Tears plcasurc them! Show honor now, show a stony heart and sink them with it! he hns lifted her, and kisses her nov with gi eat passion.

REBECCA: Let you lcar nothing! Another judgment waits us all!

DANFORTI-I: Hang them high over the town! Who weeps for these, weeps for corruption! He sz!eeps out past them. Herr ick starts to lead Rebecca, who almost collapses, btft Proctor catches her, and she glances up at /7im apologetically.

REBECCA: I’ve had no breakfast.

HERRICK: Come, man.

Herrick escorts them out, Hathorne and Cheever behind them. Elizabeth stands staring at the empty

doorway.

PARRIS, in deadly fear, to Elizabeth. Go to him, Goody Proctor! There is yet time!

From outside a drumroll strikes the air. Parris is startled. Elizabeth jeFks about toward the window.

PARRIS: Go to him! He rushes out the door, as though to hold back his fate. Proctor! Proctor! Again, a short buFSt of drums.

HALE: Woman, plead with him! He starts to rush out the door, and then goes back to her. Woman! lt is pride, it is vanity. She avoids his eyes, and moves to the window. He drops to his knees.

Be his helper! What profit him to bleed? Shall the dust praise him’? Shall the worms declare his

truth? Go to him, take his shame away!

ELIZABETH, supporting herself against collapse, grips the bars of the window, and with a cry: He have his goodness now. God forbid I take it from him!

The final drumroll crashes, then heightens violently. Hale weeps in frantic prayer, and the new sun is pouring in upon her face, and the drums Fattle like bones in the morning aiF.

THE CURTAIN FALLS

ECHOES DOWN THE CORRIDOR

Not long after the fever died, Parris was voted from office, walked out on the highroad. and was never heard of again.

The legend has it that Abigail turned up later as a prostitute in Boston.

Twenty years after the last execution, the government awarded compensation to the victims still living, and to the families o1“ the dead. However, it is evident that somc pcoplc still were unwilling to admit their total guilt, and also that the factionalism was still alive, for some beneficiaries were actually not victims at all, but informers.

Elizabeth Proctor married again, four years after Proctor’s death.

In solemn meeting, the congregation rescinded the excommunications—this in March 1712. But they did so upon orders of the government. The juiy, however, wrote a statement praying forgiveness of all who had suffered.

Certain farms which had belongcd to the victims were left to ruin, and for more than a century no one would buy them or live on them.

To all intents and purposes, the power of theocracy in Massachusetts was broken.

THE CRUCIBLE

A PLAY BY ARTHUR MILLER STAGED BY JED HARRIS

CAST

(in order ofnppenronce)