The scratching of quill tip and parchment grates heavily in John Proctor’s ears. He winces, only subtly. He will give nothing away to Governor Danforth. He will not give him the satisfaction.
He looks down at his name, his so-called confession, etched in black ink. His soul saved. But then why does it feel like he just signed his soul to the Devil and not God? Perhaps the Devil is in Salem after all, corrupting its people with accusations and folly, tarnishing their names.
How ironic the Devil calls himself a man of God. And Proctor has given him his name. His own name. His children’s name. The names of others. All for the world to see. To see his name. His own name. It is his name.
A hand reaches for the parchment. The Devil’s hand.
No.
Proctor snatches the paper before Danforth has the chance to wrap anticipating and clammy fingers around, no doubt smudging the ink with them. Smudging names.
Danforth is taken aback by this action, yet he does not show it. He extends his out again, in a gentle manner.
"If you please, sir.”
Proctor’s grip tightens around paper. He states into Danforth’s eyes. “No.”
"Mr. Proctor, I must have – ”
"No, no. I have signed it. You have seen me. It is done. You have no need for this.”
Reverend Parris leaps to both men frantically. “Proctor, the village must have proof that - "
"Damn the village!” Proctor yells to Parris. He whips his head to Danforth. “I confess to God, and God has seen my name on this! It is enough!”
"No, sir, it is - ” begins Danforth’s retort. But Proctor is not finished.
"You came to save my soul, did you not? Here! I have confessed myself. It is enough!”
Danforth tries again to speak, “You have no con - ”
”I have confessed myself!” Proctor says louder than before, words echoing. “Is there no good penitence but it be public? God does not need my name nailed upon the church! God sees my name; God knows how black my sins are! It is enough!”
"Mr. Proctor - ”
You will not use me! I am no Sarah Good or Tituba. I am John Proctor! You will not use me! It is no part of salvation that you should use me!
"I do not wish to - ”
"I have three children. How may I teach them to walk like men in the world, and I sold my friends?”
"You have not sold your friends-” Danforth tries to retort with a grain of sympathy that even was not aware of.
"Beguile me not!” Proctor says, tossing his word aside. “I blacken all of them when this is nailed to the church the very day they hang for silence!”
He shakes and crumples the paper at Danforth. His actions mask his trembling hands. He’s not even sure if they tremble out of fear or anger.
Danforth finger jabs at the table. “Mr. Proctor, I must have good and legal proof that you - ”
Proctor turns to him again, his voice almost cracking. His voice almost begging, “You are the high court, your word is good enough! Tell them I confessed myself. Say Proctor broke his knees and wept like a woman. Say what you will, but my name cannot - ”
"It is the same, is it not?” Danforth says with force, finally able to gain some control, “If I report it or you sign to it?”
"No, it is not the same!” Proctor says in near bewilderment, “What others say and what I sign to is not the same!”
"Why? Do you mean to deny this confession when you are free?”
"I mean to deny nothing!”
"Then explain to me. Mr. Proctor, why you will not let - ”
"BECAUSE IT IS MY NAME!”
Proctor screams this to Danforth, to God, to anyone who has the capacity to listen.
“Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies! Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul!”
"LEAVE ME MY NAME!”
It’s not too hard to imagine a similar scene taking place in 1953, although perhaps not as dramatic.
The 1950s was a turbulent time for society in America. Yes, World War II was over. We had defeated Fascism and the Depression because of it. In an idyllic world, we would have, well – an idyllic world.
But, tensions were high. The Cold War had begun between the United States and the Soviet Union. Instead of gunfire and napalm, it was espionage and secret agents. It was a secret war, waged by men in suits and conflicting ideologies.
Though each side had their soldiers on the battlefield, their weapons were never used. In the atomic age, atomic bombs were the weapon of choice. One side builds one, the other ten, and the other one hundred.
Mutually assured destruction.
In the midst of all of that, the Red Menace was bubbling in the United States. And it wasn’t the communist party.
Senator Joseph McCarthy began a crusade to root out any government official, any military official, and any official in the film industry that may have had ties with the communist party. He had little to go on, but it didn’t matter. The paranoia and the finger-pointing, the naming of names, gave him all that he’d need.
Truth be told, many of them in the film industry were communists. But that was twenty, thirty years ago, during a time where the grand and holy powers of capitalism had destroyed the nation’s economy, leaving millions with nothing.
They just wanted something different.
Hundreds of men and women sat before The House of Un-American Activities Committee, a kangaroo trial, with cameras capturing the whole thing. Those who confessed and gave up fellow workers and friends were free to go about their day and lives. Those who refused or did not cooperate were put in contempt and blacklisted from their profession.
”Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist party?” they’d be asked.
This process ran rampant in the film industry, actors, directors, and writers. Many refused to cooperate, and many talked, mostly to save their own careers.
Rights upheld by the Constitution were tossed aside. It was abhorred.
It was a witch hunt.
It was what inspired Arthur Miller to write The Crucible in 1953, a dramatization of the Salem Witch Trials that occurred in 1692.
The McCarthy trials and the trials that happened in Salem were all too eerily similar. With the opening of the play in 1953, Miller found himself in front of the committee only a few years after, where he refused to name those involved in the communist party. Miller was blacklisted.
The play itself is rooted in historical accounts and transcripts taken down during the 1692 trials. Yet, due to its themes being rooted in what was at the time modern issues and politics, the events of the trial are very much dramatized to meet the needs of the themes that Miller was hoping to achieve.
The question has to be asked which aspects of the play are true and which are fiction?
If you were to look at a script of The Crucible, you will notice that Arthur Miller had already written an addendum on the historical accuracy of the play, and the liberties he took with the material of the Salem Witch Trials.
He noted the change of Abigail Williams’s age, the number of judges being reduced, and that several people of the trial have been condensed into a single character.
It is important to note that the characters, their names and fates, were all real. They were genuine human beings who either died for the wrong reasons or sentenced those wrongly accused to death, directly and indirectly.
The thing that caters more to the fictitious side of the play, Miller had already discussed. But that isn’t to say that those are the only alterations that persist in the play.
Perhaps the biggest changes that have been made are that of John Proctor and Abigail Williams.
Abigail was not a servant to the Proctor family. She didn’t even know the Proctors, which means she certainly didn’t have an affair with John.
John Proctor was also nearly 30 years older than what he appears to be in the play. It’s also important to know that John Proctor never confessed to witchcraft, unlike in the play. He maintained his innocence throughout the trials, which ultimately led to him being hanged.
In the play, Rebecca Nurse, John Proctor, and Martha Corey were all hanged on the same day. In reality, they were hanged on separate days in separate months: July, August, and September.
The opening of the play itself, with Tituba and the girls dancing in the forest only to be discovered by Reverend Parris, never took place.
There are dozens of other small inconsistencies with the events of the play and the events that actually took place. And, again, much of what is portrayed in the play is based on the true events and people of the trials. As Miller has stated, things have been changed to fit a particular narrative a theme that he was attempting to create.
With that being said, The Crucible in itself should not be the de facto version of events that took place during the Salem Witch Trials. The line of fact and fiction when it comes to events like these should not be blurred. Not only would the true accounts of the trials and those who suffered from them come lost and altered.
As the play shows, it is not the cost of truths that are dangerous.
It is the cost of lies.