The Crucible

by Arthur Miller

  GILES: I’m not sayin’ she’s touched the Devil, now, but I’d admire to know what books she reads and why she hides them. She’ll not answer me, y’ see.

  HALE: Aye, we’ll discuss it. To all: Now mark me, if the Devil is in her you will witness some frightful wonders in this room, so please to keep your wits about you. Mr. Putnam, stand close in case she flies. Now, Betty, dear, will you sit up? Putnam comes in closer, ready—handed. Hale sits Betty up, but she hangs limp in his hands. Hmmm. He observes her carefully. The others watch breathlessly. Can you hear me? I am John Hale, minister of Beverly. I have come to help you, dear. Do you remember my two little girls in Beverly? She does not stir in his hands.

  PARRIS, in fright: How can it be the Devil? Why would he choose my house to strike? We have all manner of licentious people in the village!

  HALE: What victory would the Devil have to win a soul already bad? It is the best the Devil wants, and who is better than the minister?

  GILES: That’s deep, Mr. Parris, deep, deep!

  PARRIS, with resolution now: Betty! Answer Mr. Hale! Betty!

  HALE: Does someone afflict you, child? It need not be a woman, mind you, or a man. Perhaps some bird invisible to others comes to you—perhaps a pig, a mouse, or any beast at all. Is there some figure bids you fly? The child remains limp in his hands. In silence he lays her back on the pillow. Now, holding out his hands toward her, he intones: In nomine Domini Sabaoth sui filiique ite ad infernos. She does not stir. He turns to Abigail, his eyes narrowing. Abigail, what sort of dancing were you doing with her in the forest?

  ABIGAIL: Why—common dancing is all.

  PARRIS: I think I ought to say that I—I saw a kettle in the grass where they were dancing.

  ABIGAIL: That were only soup.

  HALE: What sort of soup were in this kettle, Abigail?

  ABIGAIL: Why, it were beans—and lentils, I think, and—

  HALE : Mr. Parris, you did not notice, did you, any living thing in the kettle? A mouse, perhaps, a spider, a frog—?

  PARRIS, fearfully : I—do believe there were some movement—in the soup.

  ABIGAIL: That jumped in, we never put it in!

  HALE, quickly: What jumped in?

  ABIGAIL: Why, a very little frog jumped—

  PARRIS: A frog, Abby!

  HALE, grasping Abigail : Abigail, it may be your cousin is dying. Did you call the Devil last night?

  ABIGAIL: I never called him! Tituba, Tituba ...

  PARRIS, blanched: She called the Devil?

  HALE: I should like to speak with Tituba.

  PARRIS: Goody Ann, will you bring her up? Mrs. Putnam exits.

  HALE: How did she call him?

  ABIGAIL: I know not—she spoke Barbados.

  HALE: Did you feel any strangeness when she called him? A sudden cold wind, perhaps? A trembling below the ground?

  ABIGAIL: I didn’t see no Devil! Shaking Betty: Betty, wake up. Betty! Betty!

  HALE: You cannot evade me, Abigail. Did your cousin drink any of the brew in that kettle?

  ABIGAIL: She never drank it!

  HALE: Did you drink it?

  ABIGAIL: No, sir!

  HALE: Did Tituba ask you to drink it?

  ABIGAIL: She tried, but I refused.

  HALE: Why are you concealing? Have you sold yourself to Lucifer?

  ABIGAIL: I never sold myself! I’m a good girl! I’m a proper girl!

  Mrs. Putnam enters with Tituba, and instantly Abigail points at Tituba.

  ABIGAIL: She made me do it! She made Betty do it!

  TITUBA, shocked and angry: Abby!

  ABIGAIL: She makes me drink blood!

  PARRIS: Blood!!

  MRS. PUTNAM: My baby’s blood?

  TITUBA: No, no, chicken blood. I give she chicken blood!

  HALE: Woman, have you enlisted these children for the Devil?

  TITUBA: No, no, sir, I don’t truck with no Devil!

  HALE: Why can she not wake? Are you silencing this child?

  TITUBA: I love me Betty!

  HALE: You have sent your spirit out upon this child, have you not? Are you gathering souls for the Devil?

  ABIGAIL: She sends her spirit on me in church; she makes me laugh at prayer!

  PARRIS: She have often laughed at prayer!

  ABIGAIL: She comes to me every night to go and drink blood!

  TITUBA: You beg me to conjure! She beg me make charm—

  ABIGAIL : Don’t lie! To Hale: She comes to me while I sleep; she’s always making me dream corruptions!

  TITUBA: Why you say that, Abby?

  ABIGAIL: Sometimes I wake and find myself standing in the open doorway and not a stitch on my body! I always hear her laughing in my sleep. I hear her singing her Barbados songs and tempting me with—

  TITUBA: Mister Reverend, I never—

  HALE, resolved now: Tituba, I want you to wake this child.

  TITUBA: I have no power on this child, sir.

  HALE: You most certainly do, and you will free her from it now! When did you compact with the Devil?

  TITUBA: I don’t compact with no Devil!

  PARRIS: You will confess yourself or I will take you out and whip you to your death, Tituba!

  PUTNAM: This woman must be hanged! She must be taken and hanged!

  TITUBA, terrified, falls to her knees: No, no, don’t hang Tituba! I tell him I don’t desire to work for him, sir.

  PARRIS: The Devil?

  HALE: Then you saw him! Tituba weeps. Now Tituba, I know that when we bind ourselves to Hell it is very hard to break with it. We are going to help you tear yourself free—

  TITUBA, frightened by the coming process: Mister Reverend, I do believe somebody else be witchin’ these children.

  HALE: Who?

  TITUBA: I don’t know, sir, but the Devil got him numerous witches.

  HALE: Does he! It is a clue. Tituba, look into my eyes. Come, look into me. She raises her eyes to his fearfully. You would be a good Christian woman, would you not, Tituba?

  TITUBA: Aye, sir, a good Christian woman.

  HALE: And you love these little children?

  TITUBA: Oh, yes, sir, I don’t desire to hurt little children.

  HALE: And you love God, Tituba?

  TITUBA: I love God with all my bein’.

  HALE: Now, in God’s holy name—

  TITUBA: Bless Him. Bless Him. She is rocking on her knees, sobbing in terror.

  HALE: And to His glory—

  TITUBA: Eternal glory. Bless Him—bless God ...

  HALE: Open yourself, Tituba—open yourself and let God’s holy light shine on you.

  TITUBA: Oh, bless the Lord.

  HALE: When the Devil comes to you does he ever come—with another person? She stares up into his face. Perhaps another person in the village? Someone you know.

  PARRIS: Who came with him?

  PUTNAM : Sarah Good? Did you ever see Sarah Good with him? Or Osburn?

  PARRIS: Was it man or woman came with him?

  TITUBA: Man or woman. Was—was woman.

  PARRIS: What woman? A woman, you said. What woman?

  TITUBA: It was black dark, and I—

  PARRIS: You could see him, why could you not see her?

  TITUBA: Well, they was always talking; they was always runnin’ round and carryin’ on—

  PARRIS: You mean out of Salem? Salem witches?

  TITUBA: I believe so, yes, sir.

  Now Hale takes her hand. She is surprised.

  HALE: Tituba. You must have no fear to tell us who they are, do you understand? We will protect you. The Devil can never overcome a minister. You know that, do you not?

  TITUBA-She kisses Hale’s hand: Aye, sir, oh, I do.

  HALE: You have confessed yourself to witchcraft, and that speaks a wish to come to Heaven’s side. And we will bless you, Tituba.

  TITUBA, deeply relieved: Oh, God bless you, Mr. Hale!

  HALE, with rising exaltation: You are God’s instrument put in our hands to discov
er the Devil’s agents among us. You are selected, Tituba, you are chosen to help us cleanse our village. So speak utterly, Tituba, turn your back on him and face God—face God, Tituba, and God will protect you.

  TITUBA, joining with him: Oh, God, protect Tituba!

  HALE, kindly: Who came to you with the Devil? Two? Three? Four? How many?

  Tituba pants and begins rocking back and forth again, staring ahead.

  TITUBA: There was four. There was four.

  PARRIS, pressing in on her: Who? Who? Their names, their names!

  TITUBA, suddenly bursting out: Oh, how many times he bid me kill you, Mr. Parris!

  PARRIS: Kill me!

  TITUBA, in a fury: He say Mr. Parris must be kill! Mr. Parris no goodly man, Mr. Parris mean man and no gentle man, and he bid me rise out of my bed and cut your throat! They gasp. But I tell him “No! I don’t hate that man. I don’t want kill that man.” But he say, “You work for me, Tituba, and I make you free! I give you pretty dress to wear, and put you way high up in the air, and you gone fly back to Barbados!” And I say, “You lie, Devil, you lie!” And then he come one stormy night to me, and he say, “Look! I have white people belong to me.” And I look—and there was Goody Good.

  PARRIS: Sarah Good!

  TITUBA, rocking and weeping: Aye, sir, and Goody Osburn.

  MRS. PUTNAM: I knew it! Goody Osburn were midwife to me three times. I begged you, Thomas, did I not? I begged him not to call Osburn because I feared her. My babies always shriveled in her hands!

  HALE: Take courage, you must give us all their names. How can you bear to see this child suffering? Look at her, Tituba. He is indicating Betty on the bed. Look at her God-given innocence; her soul is so tender; we must protect her, Tituba; the Devil is out and preying on her like a beast upon the flesh of the pure lamb. God will bless you for your help.

  Abigail rises, staring as though inspired, and cries out.

  ABIGAIL: I want to open myself! They turn to her, startled. She is enraptured, as though in a pearly light. I want the light of God, I want the sweet love of Jesus! I danced for the Devil; I saw him; I wrote in his book; I go back to Jesus; I kiss His hand. I saw Sarah Good with the Devil! I saw Goody Osburn with the Devil! I saw Bridget Bishop with the Devil!

  As she is speaking, Betty is rising from the bed, a fever in her eyes, and picks up the chant.

  BETTY, staring too: I saw George Jacobs with the Devil! I saw Goody Howe with the Devil!

  PARRIS: She speaks! He rushes to embrace Betty. She speaks!

  HALE: Glory to God! It is broken, they are free!

  BETTY, calling out hysterically and with great relief: I saw Martha Bellows with the Devil!

  ABIGAIL: I saw Goody Sibber with the Devil! It is rising to a great glee.

  PUTNAM: The marshal, I’ll call the marshal!

  Parris is shouting a prayer of thanksgiving.

  BETTY: I saw Alice Barrow with the Devil!

  The curtain begins to fall.

  HALE, as Putnam goes out: Let the marshal bring irons!

  ABIGAIL: I saw Goody Hawkins with the Devil!

  BETTY: I saw Goody Bibber with the Devil!

  ABIGAIL: I saw Goody Booth with the Devil!

  On their ecstatic cries

  THE CURTAIN FALLS

  ACT TWO

  The common room of Proctor’s house, eight days later.

  At the right is a door opening on the fields outside. A fireplace is at the left, and behind it a stairway leading upstairs. It is the low, dark, and rather long living room of the time. As the curtain rises, the room is empty. From above, Elizabeth is heard softly singing to the children. Presently the door opens and John Proctor enters, carrying his gun. He glances about the room as he comes toward the fireplace, then halts for an instant as he hears her singing. He continues on to the fireplace, leans the gun against the wall as he swings a pot out of the fire and smells it. Then he lifts out the ladle and tastes. He is not quite pleased. He reaches to a cupboard, takes a pinch of salt, and drops it into the pot. As he is tasting again, her footsteps are heard on the stair. He swings the pot into the fireplace and goes to a basin and washes his hands and face. Elizabeth enters.

  ELIZABETH: What keeps you so late? It’s almost dark.

  PROCTOR: I were planting far out to the forest edge.

  ELIZABETH: Oh, you’re done then.

  PROCTOR: Aye, the farm is seeded. The boys asleep?

  ELIZABETH: They will be soon. And she goes to the fireplace, proceeds to ladle up stew in a dish.

  PROCTOR: Pray now for a fair summer.

  ELIZABETH: Aye.

  PROCTOR: Are you well today?

  ELIZABETH: I am. She brings the plate to the table, and, indicating the food: It is a rabbit.

  PROCTOR, going to the table: Oh, is it! In Jonathan’s trap?

  ELIZABETH: No, she walked into the house this afternoon; I found her sittin’ in the corner like she come to visit.

  PROCTOR: Oh, that’s a good sign walkin’ in.

  ELIZABETH: Pray God. It hurt my heart to strip her, poor rabbit. She sits and watches him taste it.

  PROCTOR: It’s well seasoned.

  ELIZABETH, blushing with pleasure: I took great care. She’s tender?

  PROCTOR: Aye. He eats. She watches him. I think we’ll see green fields soon. It’s warm as blood beneath the clods.

  ELIZABETH: That’s well.

  Proctor eats, then looks up.

  PROCTOR: If the crop is good I’ll buy George Jacobs’ heifer. How would that please you?

  ELIZABETH: Aye, it would.

  PROCTOR, with a grin: I mean to please you, Elizabeth.

  ELIZABETH—it is hard to say: I know it, John.

  He gets up, goes to her, kisses her. She receives it. With a certain disappointment, he returns to the table.

  PROCTOR, as gently as he can: Cider?

  ELIZABETH, with a sense of reprimanding herself for having forgot : Aye! She gets up and goes and pours a glass for him. He now arches his back.

  PROCTOR: This farm’s a continent when you go foot by foot droppin’ seeds in it.

  ELIZABETH, coming with the cider: It must be.

  PROCTOR, he drinks a long draught, then, putting the glass down: You ought to bring some flowers in the house.

  ELIZABETH: Oh! I forgot! I will tomorrow.

  PROCTOR: It’s winter in here yet. On Sunday let you come with me, and we’ll walk the farm together; I never see such a load of flowers on the earth. With good feeling he goes and looks up at the sky through the open doorway. Lilacs have a purple smell. Lilac is the smell of nightfall, I think. Massachusetts is a beauty in the spring!

  ELIZABETH: Aye, it is.

  There is a pause. She is watching him from the table as he stands there absorbing the night. It is as though she would speak but cannot. Instead, now, she takes up his plate and glass and fork and goes with them to the basin. Her back is turned to him. He turns to her and watches her. A sense of their separation, rises.

  PROCTOR: I think you’re sad again. Are you?

  ELIZABETH—she doesn’t want friction, and yet she must: You come so late I thought you’d gone to Salem this afternoon.

  PROCTOR: Why? I have no business in Salem.

  ELIZABETH: You did speak of going, earlier this week.

  PROCTOR—he knows what she means: I thought better of it since.

  ELIZABETH: Mary Warren’s there today.

  PROCTOR: Why’d you let her? You heard me forbid her to go to Salem any more!

  ELIZABETH: I couldn’t stop her.

  PROCTOR, holding back a full condemnation of her: It is a fault, it is a fault, Elizabeth—you’re the mistress here, not Mary Warren.

  ELIZABETH: She frightened all my strength away.

  PROCTOR: How may that mouse frighten you, Elizabeth? You—

  ELIZABETH : It is a mouse no more. I forbid her go, and she raises up her chin like the daughter of a prince and says to me, “I must go to Salem, Goody Proctor; I am an official
of the court!”

  PROCTOR: Court! What court?

  ELIZABETH: Aye, it is a proper court they have now. They’ve sent four judges out of Boston, she says, weighty magistrates of the General Court, and at the head sits the Deputy Governor of the Province.

  PROCTOR, astonished: Why, she’s mad.

  ELIZABETH: I would to God she were. There be fourteen people in the jail now, she says. Proctor simply looks at her, unable to grasp it. And they’ll be tried, and the court have power to hang them too, she says.

  PROCTOR, scoffing, but without conviction: Ah, they’d never hang—

  ELIZABETH : The Deputy Governor promise hangin’ if they’ll not confess, John. The town’s gone wild, I think. She speak of Abigail, and I thought she were a saint, to hear her. Abigail brings the other girls into the court, and where she walks the crowd will part like the sea for Israel. And folks are brought before them, and if they scream and howl and fall to the floor—the person’s clapped in the jail for bewitchin’ them.

  PROCTOR, wide-eyed: Oh, it is a black mischief.

  ELIZABETH: I think you must go to Salem, John. He turns to her. I think so. You must tell them it is a fraud.

  PROCTOR, thinking beyond this: Aye, it is, it is surely.

  ELIZABETH: Let you go to Ezekiel Cheever—he knows you well. And tell him what she said to you last week in her uncle’s house. She said it had naught to do with witchcraft, did she not?

  PROCTOR, in thought: Aye, she did, she did. Now a pause.

  ELIZABETH, quietly, fearing to anger him by prodding: God forbid you keep that from the court, John. I think they must be told.

  PROCTOR, quietly, struggling with his thought: Aye, they must, they must. It is a wonder they do believe her.

  ELIZABETH: I would go to Salem now, John—let you go tonight.

  PROCTOR: I’ll think on it.

  ELIZABETH, with her courage now: You cannot keep it, John.

  PROCTOR, angering: I know I cannot keep it. I say I will think on it!

  ELIZABETH, hurt, and very coldly: Good, then, let you think on it. She stands and starts to walk out of the room.

  PROCTOR: I am only wondering how I may prove what she told me, Elizabeth. If the girl’s a saint now, I think it is not easy to prove she’s fraud, and the town gone so silly. She told it to me in a room alone- have no proof for it.

  ELIZABETH: You were alone with her?