Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882). Complete Poetical Works. 1893.
Christus: A MysteryPart III. The New England Tragedies. John Endicott. Act II
S
All night these words were ringing in mine ears!
A sorrowful sweet face; a look that pierced me
With meek reproach; a voice of resignation
That had a life of suffering in its tone;
And that was all! And yet I could not sleep,
Or, when I slept, I dreamed that awful dream!
I stood beneath the elm-tree on the Common
On which the Quakers have been hanged, and heard
A voice, not hers, that cried amid the darkness,
“This is Aceldama, the field of blood!
I will have mercy, and not sacrifice!”
The sun is up already; and my heart
Sickens and sinks within me when I think
How may tragedies will be enacted
Before his setting. As the earth rolls round,
It seems to me a huge Ixion’s wheel,
Upon whose whirling spokes we are bound fast,
And must go with it! Ah, how bright the sun
Strikes on the sea and on the masts of vessels,
That are uplifted in the morning air,
Like crosses of some peaceable crusade!
It makes me long to sail for lands unknown,
No matter whither! Under me, in shadow,
Gloomy and narrow lies the little town,
Still sleeping, but to wake and toil awhile,
Then sleep again. How dismal looks the prison,
How grim and sombre in the sunless street,—
The prison where she sleeps, or wakes and waits
For what I dare not think of,—death, perhaps!
A word that has been said may be unsaid:
It is but air. But when a deed is done
It cannot be undone, nor can our thoughts
Reach out to all the mischiefs that may follow.
’T is time for morning prayers. I will go down.
My father, though severe, is kind and just;
And when his heart is tender with devotion,—
When from his lips have fallen the words, “Forgive us
As we forgive,”—then will I intercede
For these poor people, and perhaps may save them.[Exit.
And bless the man who first invented flip!
Up for Barbadoes, and the Windward Islands.
They made an uproar in the Meeting-house
Yesterday, and they ’re now in prison for it.
I owe you little thanks for bringing them
To the Three Mariners.
I tell you, Goodman Cole, that Quaker girl
Is precious as a sea-bream’s eye. I tell you
It was a lucky day when first she set
Her little foot upon the Swallow’s deck,
Bringing good luck, fair winds, and pleasant weather.
I have a seat in the new Meeting-house,
A cow-right on the Common; and, besides,
Am corporal in the Great Artillery.
I rid me of the vagabonds at once.
If you have fiddlers?
If you want fiddling you must go elsewhere,
To the Green Dragon and the Admiral Vernon,
And other such disreputable places.
But the Three Mariners is an orderly house,
Most orderly, quiet, and respectable.
Lord Leigh said he could be as quiet here
As at the Governor’s. And have I not
King Charles’s Twelve Good Rules, all framed and glazed,
Hanging in my best parlor?
To good King Charles. Will you not drink the King?
Then drink confusion to old Parson Palmer.
And so preached o’er his liquor, just as you do.
His great buff doublet bellying like a mainsail,
And all his streamers fluttering in the wind.
What holds he in his hand?
To the new laws enacted by the Court.
Has lately risen, commonly called Quakers,
Who take upon themselves to be commissioned
Immediately of God, and furthermore
Infallibly assisted by the Spirit
To write and utter blasphemous opinions,
Despising Government and the order of God
In Church and Commonwealth, and speaking evil
Of Dignities, reproaching and reviling
The Magistrates and Ministers, and seeking
To turn the people from their faith, and thus
Gain proselytes to their pernicious ways;—
This Court, considering the premises,
And to prevent like mischief as is wrought
By their means in our land, doth hereby order,
That whatsoever master or commander
Of any ship, bark, pink, or catch shall bring
To any roadstead, harbor, creek, or cove
Within this Jurisdiction any Quakers,
Or other blasphemous Heretics, shall pay
Unto the Treasurer of the Commonwealth
One hundred pounds, and for default thereof
Be put in prison, and continue there
Till the said sum be satisfied and paid.”
Shall henceforth entertain, or shall conceal
Quakers, or other blasphemous Heretics,
Knowing them so to be, every such person
Shall forfeit to the country forty shillings
For each hour’s entertainment or concealment,
And shall be sent to prison, as aforesaid,
Until the forfeiture be wholly paid.”
The hour, your fine will be some forty pounds!
If any Quaker or Quakers shall presume
To come henceforth into this Jurisdiction,
Every male Quaker for the first offence
Shall have one ear cut off; and shall be kept
At labor in the Workhouse, till such time
As he be sent away at his own charge.
And for the repetition of the offence
Shall have his other ear cut off, and then
Be branded in the palm of his right hand.
And every woman Quaker shall be whipt
Severely in three towns; and every Quaker,
Or he or she, that shall for a third time
Herein again offend, shall have their tongues
Bored through with a hot iron, and shall be
Sentenced to Banishment on pain of Death.”
O patience of the Lord! How long, how long,
Ere thou avenge the blood of Thine Elect?
Who shall defend the horrible opinions
Of Quakers, by denying due respect
To equals and superiors, and withdrawing
From Church Assemblies, and thereby approving
The abusive and destructive practices
Of this accursed sect, in opposition
To all the orthodox received opinions
Of godly men, shall be forthwith committed
Unto close prison for one month; and then
Refusing to retract and to reform
The opinions as aforesaid, he shall be
Sentenced to Banishment on pain of Death.
By the Court. Edward Rawson, Secretary.”
Now, hangman, do your duty. Burn those books.
Forerunners are they of some judgment on us;
And, in the love and tenderness I bear
Unto this town and people, I beseech you,
O Magistrates, take heed, lest ye be found
As fighters against God!
For speaking words such as some younger man,
I, or another, should have said before you.
Such laws as these are cruel and oppressive;
A blot on this fair town, and a disgrace
To any Christian people.
I never thought that any good would come
Of this young popinjay, with his long hair
And his great boots, fit only for the Russians
Or barbarous Indians, as his father says!
Men call it the Lost Town! The blood of Abel
Cries from the ground, and at the final judgment
The Lord will say, “Cain, Cain! where is thy brother?”
And to consume the truth of God, I tell you
That every flame is a loud tongue of fire
To publish it abroad to all the world
Louder than tongues of men!
There ’s a brave fellow! There ’s a man of pluck!
A man who ’s not afraid to say his say,
Though a whole town ’s against him. Rain, rain, rain,
Bones of St. Botolph, and put out this fire!
Fetch me a mug of ale, your strongest ale.
Two gills of brandy in it.[Exit C
Not a drop more, I say. You ’ve had enough.
And Merry is my name.
I like it; and I ’ll drink your merry health
Till all is blue.
Into the stocks, with the red letter D
Hung round about your neck for drunkenness.
You ’re a free-drinker,—yes, and a freethinker!
I ’ll swear to that.
The other day one Shorthose had his tongue
Put into a cleft stick for profane swearing.
In the King’s name.
Listen to me. “Hereby you are required,
In the King’s name, to apprehend the body
Of Simon Kempthorn, mariner, and him
Safely to bring before me, there to answer
All such objections as are laid to him,
Touching the Quakers.” Signed, John Endicott.
You may be whipped for that.
I feel like Master Josselyn when he found
The hornet’s nest, and thought it some strange fruit,
Until the seeds came out, and then he dropped it.[Exit.
With my own eyes, heard him with my own ears.
With Nicholas Upsall, when the laws were read
To-day against the Quakers, and I heard him
Denounce and vilipend them as unjust,
And cruel, wicked, and abominable.
A burden heavier than I can bear!
Surely the power of Satan must be great
Upon the earth, if even the elect
Are thus deceived and fall away from grace!
You ’ve done your duty, though you ’ve done it roughly,
And every word you ’ve uttered since you came
Has stabbed me to the heart!
Your Worship’s pardon!
And brought up in the reverence of the Lord!
The child of all my hopes and my affections!
He upon whom I leaned as a sure staff
For my old age! It is God’s chastisement
For leaning upon any arm but His!
With the delusions and deceits of Satan.
At once, forever, must they be crushed out,
Or all the land will reek with heresy!
Pray, have you any children?
From a great care. Enough; my private griefs
Too long have kept me from the public service.
The hour has come; and I am eager now
To sit in judgment on these Heretics.
Come in. Who is it?(Not looking up).
Who are in prison, and await their trial.
I have been angry with you, but ’t is passed.
For when I hear your footsteps come or go,
See in your features your dead mother’s face,
And in your voice detect some tone of hers,
All anger vanishes, and I remember
The days that are no more, and come no more,
When as a child you sat upon my knee,
And prattled of your playthings, and the games
You played among the pear trees in the orchard!
Plead with you to be mild and merciful!
For mercy more becomes a Magistrate
Than the vindictive wrath which men call justice!
’T is like the falling of the snow, whose crystals
The traveller plays with, thoughtless of his danger,
Until he sees the air so full of light
That it is dark; and blindly staggering onward,
Lost and bewildered, he sits down to rest;
There falls a pleasant drowsiness upon him,
And what he thinks is sleep, alas! is death.
And doubting and believing, has not said,
“Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief”?
Whose shining shapes are like the stars descending;
Until at last, bewildered and dismayed,
Blinded by that which seemed to give us light,
We sink to sleep, and find that it is death,
Death to the soul through all eternity!
Alas that I should see you growing up
To man’s estate, and in the admonition
And nurture of the Law, to find you now
Pleading for Heretics!
Perhaps all men are Heretics. Who dares
To say that he alone has found the truth?
We cannot always feel and think and act
As those who go before us. Had you done so,
You would not now be here.
The doom of Heretics, and the fate of those
Who aid and comfort them? Have you forgotten
That in the market-place this very day
You trampled on the laws? What right have you,
An inexperienced and untravelled youth,
To sit in judgment here upon the acts
Of older men and wiser than yourself,
Thus stirring up sedition in the streets,
And making me a byword and a jest?
Were powerless if the acts of older men
Went not before them. ’T is these laws themselves
Stir up sedition, not my judgment of them.
To be the judge of my own son! Begone!
When you are tired of feeding upon husks,
Return again to duty and submission,
But not till then.
He ’s gone! I hear the hall door shut behind him.
It sends a dismal echo through my heart,
As if forever it had closed between us,
And I should look upon his face no more!
Oh, this will drag me down into my grave,—
To that eternal resting-place wherein
Man lieth down, and riseth not again!
Till the heavens be no more he shall not wake,
Nor be roused from his sleep; for Thou dost change
His countenance, and sendest him away![Exit.