| |
| I TRUST that somewhere and somehow | |
| You all have heard of Hagenau, | |
| A quiet, quaint, and ancient town | |
| Among the green Alsatian hills, | |
| A place of valleys, streams, and mills, | 5 |
| Where Barbarossa’s castle, brown | |
| With rust of centuries, still looks down | |
| On the broad, drowsy land below,— | |
| On shadowy forests filled with game, | |
| And the blue river winding slow | 10 |
| Through meadows, where the hedges grow | |
| That give this little town its name. | |
| |
| It happened in the good old times, | |
| While yet the Master-singers filled | |
| The noisy workshop and the guild | 15 |
| With various melodies and rhymes, | |
| That here in Hagenau there dwelt | |
| A cobbler,—one who loved debate, | |
| And, arguing from a postulate, | |
| Would say what others only felt; | 20 |
| A man of forecast and of thrift, | |
| And of a shrewd and careful mind | |
| In this world’s business, but inclined | |
| Somewhat to let the next world drift. | |
| |
| Hans Sachs with vast delight he read, | 25 |
| And Regenbogen’s rhymes of love, | |
| For their poetic fame had spread | |
| Even to the town of Hagenau; | |
| And some Quick Melody of the Plough, | |
| Or Double Harmony of the Dove | 30 |
| Was always running in his head. | |
| He kept, moreover, at his side, | |
| Among his leathers and his tools, | |
| Reynard the Fox, the Ship of Fools, | |
| Or Eulenspiegel, open wide; | 35 |
| With these he was much edified: | |
| He thought them wiser than the Schools. | |
| |
| His good wife, full of godly fear, | |
| Liked not these worldly themes to hear; | |
| The Psalter was her book of songs; | 40 |
| The only music to her ear | |
| Was that which to the Church belongs, | |
| When the loud choir on Sunday chanted, | |
| And the two angels carved in wood, | |
| That by the windy organ stood, | 45 |
| Blew on their trumpets loud and clear, | |
| And all the echoes, far and near, | |
| Gibbered as if the church were haunted. | |
| |
| Outside his door, one afternoon, | |
| This humble votary of the muse | 50 |
| Sat in the narrow strip of shade | |
| By a projecting cornice made, | |
| Mending the Burgomaster’s shoes, | |
| And singing a familiar tune:— | |
| |
| “Our ingress into the world | 55 |
| Was naked and bare; | |
| Our progress through the world | |
| Is trouble and care; | |
| Our egress from the world | |
| Will be nobody knows where: | 60 |
| But if we do well here | |
| We shall do well there; | |
| And I could tell you no more, | |
| Should I preach a whole year!” | |
| |
| Thus sang the cobbler at his work; | 65 |
| And with his gestures marked the time, | |
| Closing together with a jerk | |
| Of his waxed thread the stitch and rhyme. | |
| |
| Meanwhile his quiet little dame | |
| Was leaning o’er the window-sill, | 70 |
| Eager, excited, but mouse-still, | |
| Gazing impatiently to see | |
| What the great throng of folk might be | |
| That onward in procession came, | |
| Along the unfrequented street, | 75 |
| With horns that blew, and drums that beat, | |
| And banners flying, and the flame | |
| Of tapers, and, at times, the sweet | |
| Voices of nuns; and as they sang | |
| Suddenly all the church-bells rang. | 80 |
| |
| In a gay coach, above the crowd, | |
| There sat a monk in ample hood, | |
| Who with his right hand held aloft | |
| A red and ponderous cross of wood, | |
| To which at times he meekly bowed. | 85 |
| In front three horsemen rode, and oft, | |
| With voice and air importunate, | |
| A boisterous herald cried aloud: | |
| “The grace of God is at your gate!” | |
| So onward to the church they passed. | 90 |
| |
| The cobbler slowly turned his last, | |
| And, wagging his sagacious head, | |
| Unto his kneeling housewife said: | |
| “’T is the monk Tetzel. I have heard | |
| The cawings of that reverend bird. | 95 |
| Don’t let him cheat you of your gold; | |
| Indulgence is not bought and sold.” | |
| |
| The church of Hagenau, that night, | |
| Was full of people, full of light; | |
| An odor of incense filled the air, | 100 |
| The priest intoned, the organ groaned | |
| Its inarticulate despair; | |
| The candles on the altar blazed, | |
| And full in front of it upraised | |
| The red cross stood against the glare. | 105 |
| Below, upon the altar-rail | |
| Indulgences were set to sale, | |
| Like ballads at a country fair. | |
| A heavy strong-box, iron-bound | |
| And carved with many a quaint device, | 110 |
| Received, with a melodious sound, | |
| The coin that purchased Paradise. | |
| |
| Then from the pulpit overhead, | |
| Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow, | |
| Thundered upon the crowd below. | 115 |
| “Good people all, draw near!” he said; | |
| “Purchase these letters, signed and sealed, | |
| By which all sins, though unrevealed | |
| And unrepented, are forgiven! | |
| Count but the gain, count not the loss! | 120 |
| Your gold and silver are but dross, | |
| And yet they pave the way to heaven. | |
| I hear your mothers and your sires | |
| Cry from their purgatorial fires, | |
| And will ye not their ransom pay? | 125 |
| O senseless people! when the gate | |
| Of heaven is open, will ye wait? | |
| Will ye not enter in to-day? | |
| To-morrow it will be too late; | |
| I shall be gone upon my way. | 130 |
| Make haste! bring money while ye may!” | |
| |
| The women shuddered, and turned pale; | |
| Allured by hope or driven by fear, | |
| With many a sob and many a tear, | |
| All crowded to the altar-rail. | 135 |
| Pieces of silver and of gold | |
| Into the tinkling strong-box fell | |
| Like pebbles dropped into a well; | |
| And soon the ballads were all sold. | |
| The cobbler’s wife among the rest | 140 |
| Slipped into the capacious chest | |
| A golden florin; then withdrew, | |
| Hiding the paper in her breast; | |
| And homeward through the darkness went | |
| Comforted, quieted, content; | 145 |
| She did not walk, she rather flew, | |
| A dove that settles to her nest, | |
| When some appalling bird of prey | |
| That scared her has been driven away. | |
| |
| The days went by, the monk was gone, | 150 |
| The summer passed, the winter came; | |
| Though seasons changed, yet still the same | |
| The daily round of life went on; | |
| The daily round of household care, | |
| The narrow life of toil and prayer. | 155 |
| But in her heart the cobbler’s dame | |
| Had now a treasure beyond price, | |
| A secret joy without a name, | |
| The certainty of Paradise. | |
| Alas, alas! Dust unto dust! | 160 |
| Before the winter wore away, | |
| Her body in the churchyard lay, | |
| Her patient soul was with the Just! | |
| After her death, among the things | |
| That even the poor preserve with care,— | 165 |
| Some little trinkets and cheap rings, | |
| A locket with her mother’s hair, | |
| Her wedding gown, the faded flowers | |
| She wore upon her wedding day,— | |
| Among these memories of past hours, | 170 |
| That so much of the heart reveal, | |
| Carefully kept and put away, | |
| The Letter of Indulgence lay | |
| Folded, with signature and seal. | |
| |
| Meanwhile the Priest, aggrieved and pained, | 175 |
| Waited and wondered that no word | |
| Of mass or requiem he heard, | |
| As by the Holy Church ordained: | |
| Then to the Magistrate complained, | |
| That as this woman had been dead | 180 |
| A week or more, and no mass said, | |
| It was rank heresy, or at least | |
| Contempt of Church; thus said the Priest; | |
| And straight the cobbler was arraigned. | |
| |
| He came, confiding in his cause, | 185 |
| But rather doubtful of the laws. | |
| The Justice from his elbow-chair | |
| Gave him a look that seemed to say: | |
| “Thou standest before a Magistrate, | |
| Therefore do not prevaricate!” | 190 |
| Then asked him in a business way, | |
| Kindly but cold: “Is thy wife dead?” | |
| The cobbler meekly bowed his head; | |
| “She is,” came struggling from his throat | |
| Scarce audibly. The Justice wrote | 195 |
| The words down in a book, and then | |
| Continued, as he raised his pen; | |
| “She is; and hath a mass been said | |
| For the salvation of her soul? | |
| Come, speak the truth! confess the whole!” | 200 |
| The cobbler without pause replied: | |
| “Of mass or prayer there was no need; | |
| For at the moment when she died | |
| Her soul was with the glorified!” | |
| And from his pocket with all speed | 205 |
| He drew the priestly title-deed, | |
| And prayed the Justice he would read. | |
| |
| The Justice read, amused, amazed; | |
| And as he read his mirth increased; | |
| At times his shaggy brows he raised, | 210 |
| Now wondering at the cobbler gazed, | |
| Now archly at the angry Priest. | |
| “From all excesses, sins, and crimes | |
| Thou hast committed in past times | |
| Thee I absolve! And furthermore, | 215 |
| Purified from all earthly taints, | |
| To the communion of the Saints | |
| And to the sacraments restore! | |
| All stains of weakness, and all trace | |
| Of shame and censure I efface; | 220 |
| Remit the pains thou shouldst endure, | |
| And make thee innocent and pure, | |
| So that in dying, unto thee | |
| The gates of heaven shall open be! | |
| Though long thou livest, yet this grace | 225 |
| Until the moment of thy death | |
| Unchangeable continueth!” | |
| |
| Then said he to the Priest: “I find | |
| This document is duly signed | |
| Brother John Tetzel, his own hand. | 230 |
| At all tribunals in the land | |
| In evidence it may be used; | |
| Therefore acquitted is the accused.” | |
| Then to the cobbler turned: “My friend, | |
| Pray tell me, didst thou ever read | 235 |
| Reynard the Fox?”—“Oh yes, indeed!”— | |
| “I thought so. Don’t forget the end.” | |
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