Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882). Complete Poetical Works. 1893.

Christus: A Mystery

Part III. The New England Tragedies. John Endicott. Act III

SCENE I.—The Court of Assistants. ENDICOTT, BELLINGHAM, ATHERTON, and other magistrates. KEMPTHORN, MERRY, and constables. Afterwards WHARTON, EDITH, and CHRISTISON.

CALL Captain Simon Kempthorn.

Simon Kempthorn,

Come to the bar!

You are accused of bringing

Into this Jurisdiction, from Barbadoes,

Some persons of that sort and sect of people

Known by the name of Quakers, and maintaining

Most dangerous and heretical opinions;

Purposely coming here to propagate

Their heresies and errors; bringing with them

And spreading sundry books here, which contain

Their doctrines most corrupt and blasphemous,

And contrary to the truth professed among us.

What say you to this charge?

I do acknowledge,

Among the passengers on board the Swallow

Were certain persons saying Thee and Thou.

They seemed a harmless people, mostways silent,

Particularly when they said their prayers.

Harmless and silent as the pestilence!

You ’d better have brought the fever or the plague

Among us in your ship! Therefore, this Court,

For preservation of the Peace and Truth,

Hereby commands you speedily to transport,

Or cause to be transported speedily,

The aforesaid persons hence unto Barbadoes,

From whence they came; you paying all the charges

Of their imprisonment.

Worshipful sir,

No ship e’er prospered that has carried Quakers

Against their will! I knew a vessel once—

And for the more effectual performance

Hereof you are to give security

In bonds amounting to one hundred pounds.

On your refusal, you will be committed

To prison till you do it.

But you see

I cannot do it. The law, sir, of Barbadoes

Forbids the landing Quakers on the island.

Then you will be committed. Who comes next?

There is another charge against the Captain.

What is it?

Profane swearing, please your Worship.

He cursed and swore from Dock Square to the Court-house.

Then let him stand in the pillory for one hour.

Who ’s next?

The Quakers.

Call them.

Edward Wharton,

Come to the bar!

Yea, even to the bench.

Take off your hat.

My hat offendeth not.

If it offendeth any, let him take it;

For I shall not resist.

Take off his hat.

Let him be fined ten shillings for contempt.

What evil have I done?

Your hair ’s too long;

And in not putting off your hat to us

You ’ve disobeyed and broken that commandment

Which sayeth “Honor thy father and thy mother.”

John Endicott, thou art become too proud;

And lovest him who putteth off the hat,

And honoreth thee by bowing of the body,

And sayeth “Worshipful sir!” ’T is time for thee

To give such follies over, for thou mayest

Be drawing very near unto thy grave.

Now, sirrah, leave your canting. Take the oath.

Nay, sirrah me no sirrahs!

Will you swear?

Nay, I will not.

You made a great disturbance

And uproar yesterday in the Meeting-house,

Having your hat on.

I made no disturbance;

For peacefully I stood, like other people.

I spake no words; moved against none my hand;

But by the hair they haled me out, and dashed

Their books into my face.

You, Edward Wharton,

On pain of death, depart this Jurisdiction

Within ten days. Such is your sentence. Go.

John Endicott, it had been well for thee

If this day’s doings thou hadst left undone.

But, banish me as far as thou hast power,

Beyond the guard and presence of my God

Thou canst not banish me!

Depart the Court;

We have no time to listen to your babble.

Who ’s next?[Exit WHARTON.

This woman, for the same offence.

What is your name?

’T is to the world unknown,

But written in the Book of Life.

Take heed

It be not written in the Book of Death!

What is it?

Edith Christison.

The daughter

Of Wenlock Christison?

I am his daughter.

Your father hath given us trouble many times.

A bold man and a violent, who sets

At naught the authority of our Church and State,

And is in banishment on pain of death.

Where are you living?

In the Lord.

Make answer

Without evasion. Where?

My outward being

Is in Barbadoes.

Then why come you here?

I come upon an errand of the Lord.

’T is not the business of the Lord you ’re doing;

It is the Devil’s. Will you take the oath?

Give her the Book.

You offer me this Book

To swear on; and it saith, “Swear not at all,

Neither by heaven, because it is God’s Throne,

Nor by the earth, because it is his footstool!”

I dare not swear.

You dare not? Yet you Quakers

Deny this Book of Holy Writ, the Bible,

To be the Word of God.

Christ is the Word

The everlasting oath of God. I dare not

You own yourself a Quaker,—do you not;

I own that in derision and reproach

I am so called.

Then you deny the Scripture

To be the rule of life.

Yea, I believe

The Inner Light, and not the Written Word,

To be the rule of life.

And you deny

That the Lord’s Day is holy.

Every day

Is the Lord’s Day. It runs through all our lives,

As through the pages of the Holy Bible,

“Thus saith the Lord.”

You are accused of making

An horrible disturbance, and affrighting

The people in the Meeting-house on Sunday.

What answer make you?

I do not deny

That I was present in your Steeple-house

On the First Day; but I made no disturbance.

Why came you there?

Because the Lord commanded.

His word was in my heart, a burning fire

Shut up within me and consuming me,

And I was very weary with forbearing;

I could not stay.

’T was not the Lord that sent you;

As an incarnate devil did you come!

On the First Day, when, seated in my chamber,

I heard the bells toll, calling you together,

The sound struck at my life, as once at his,

The holy man, our Founder, when he heard

The far-off bells toll in the Vale of Beavor.

It sounded like a market bell to call

The folk together, that the Priest might set

His wares to sale. And the Lord said within me,

“Thou must go cry aloud against that Idol,

And all the worshippers thereof.” I went

Barefooted, clad in sackcloth, and I stood

And listened at the threshold; and I heard

The praying and the singing and the preaching,

Which were but outward forms, and without power.

Then rose a cry within me, and my heart

Was filled with admonitions and reproofs.

Remembering how the Prophets and Apostles

Denounced the covetous hirelings and diviners,

I entered in, and spake the words the Lord

Commanded me to speak. I could no less.

Are you a Prophetess?

Is it not written,

“Upon my handmaidens will I pour out

My spirit, and they shall prophesy”?

Enough;

For out of your own mouth are you condemned!

Need we hear further?

We are satisfied.

It is sufficient. Edith Christison,

The sentence of the Court is, that you be

Scourged in three towns, with forty stripes save one,

Then banished upon pain of death!

Your sentence

Is truly no more terrible to me

Than had you blown a feather into the air,

And, as it fell upon me, you had said,

“Take heed it hurt thee not!” God’s will be done!

Woe to the city of blood! The stone shall cry

Out of the wall; the beam from out the timber

Shall answer it! Woe unto him that buildeth

A town with blood, and stablisheth a city

By his iniquity!

Who is it makes

Such outcry here?

I, Wenlock Christison!

Banished on pain of death, why come you here?

I come to warn you that you shed no more

The blood of innocent men! It cries aloud

For vengeance to the Lord!

Your life is forfeit

Unto the law; and you shall surely die,

And shall not live.

Like unto Eleazer,

Maintaining the excellence of ancient years

And the honor of his gray head, I stand before you;

Like him disdaining all hypocrisy,

Lest, through desire to live a little longer,

I get a stain to my old age and name!

Being in banishment, on pain of death,

You come now in among us in rebellion.

I come not in among you in rebellion,

But in obedience to the Lord of Heaven.

Not in contempt to any Magistrate,

But only in the love I bear your souls,

As ye shall know hereafter, when all men

Give an account of deeds done in the body!

God’s righteous judgments ye cannot escape.

Those who have gone before you said the same,

And yet no judgment of the Lord hath fallen

Upon us.

He but waiteth till the measure

Of your iniquities shall be filled up,

And ye have run your race. Then will his wrath

Descend upon you to the uttermost!

For thy part, Humphrey Atherton, it hangs

Over thy head already. It shall come

Suddenly, as a thief doth in the night,

And in the hour when least thou thinkest of it!

We have a law, and by that law you die.

I, a free man of England and freeborn,

Appeal unto the laws of mine own nation!

There ’s no appeal to England from this Court!

What! do you think our statutes are but paper?

Are but dead leaves that rustle in the wind?

Or litter to be trampled under foot?

What say ye, Judges of the Court,—what say ye?

Shall this man suffer death? Speak your opinions.

I am a mortal man, and die I must,

And that erelong; and I must then appear

Before the awful judgment-seat of Christ,

To give account of deeds done in the body.

My greatest glory on that day will be,

That I have given my vote against this man.

If, Thomas Danforth, thou hast nothing more

To glory in upon that dreadful day

Than blood of innocent people, then thy glory

Will be turned into shame! The Lord hath said it!

I cannot give consent, while other men

Who have been banished upon pain of death

Are now in their own houses here among us.

Ye that will not consent, make record of it.

I thank my God that I am not afraid

To give my judgment. Wenlock Christison,

You must be taken back from hence to prison,

Thence to the place of public execution,

There to be hanged till you be dead—dead,—dead!

If ye have power to take my life from me,—

Which I do question,—God hath power to raise

The principle of life in other men,

And send them here among you. There shall be

No peace unto the wicked, saith my God.

Listen, ye Magistrates, for the Lord hath said it!

The day ye put his servitors to death,

That day the Day of your own Visitation,

The Day of Wrath, shall pass above your heads,

And ye shall be accursed forevermore!

Cheer up, dear heart! they have not power to harm us.

SCENE II.—A street. Enter JOHN ENDICOTT and UPSALL.

Scourged in three towns! and yet the busy people

Go up and down the streets on their affairs

Of business or of pleasure, as if nothing

Had happened to disturb them or their thoughts!

When bloody tragedies like this are acted,

The pulses of a nation should stand still;

The town should be in mourning, and the people

Speak only in low whispers to each other.

I know this people; and that underneath

A cold outside there burns a secret fire

That will find vent, and will not be put out,

Till every remnant of these barbarous laws

Shall be to ashes burned, and blown away.

Scourged in three towns! It is incredible

Such things can be! I feel the blood within me

Fast mounting in rebellion, since in vain

Have I implored compassion of my father!

You know your father only as a father;

I know him better as a Magistrate.

He is a man both loving and severe;

A tender heart; a will inflexible.

None ever loved him more than I have loved him.

He is an upright man and a just man

In all things save the treatment of the Quakers.

Yet I have found him cruel and unjust

Even as a father. He has driven me forth

Into the street; has shut his door upon me,

With words of bitterness. I am as homeless

As these poor Quakers are.

Then come with me.

You shall be welcome for your father’s sake,

And the old friendship that has been between us.

He will relent erelong. A father’s anger

Is like a sword without a handle, piercing

Both ways alike, and wounding him that wields it

No less than him that it is pointed at.[Exeunt.

SCENE III.—The prison. Night. EDITH reading the Bible by a lamp.

“Blessed are ye when men shall persecute you,

And shall revile you, and shall say against you

All manner of evil falsely for my sake!

Rejoice, and be exceeding glad, for great

Is your reward in heaven. For so the prophets,

Which were before you, have been persecuted.”

Edith!

Who is it that speaketh?

Saul of Tarsus:

As thou didst call me once.

Yea, I remember.

Thou art the Governor’s son.

I am ashamed

Thou shouldst remember me.

Why comest thou

Into this dark guest-chamber in the night?

What seekest thou?

Forgiveness!

I forgive

All who have injured me. What hast thou done?

I have betrayed thee, thinking that in this

I did God service. Now, in deep contrition,

I come to rescue thee.

From what?

From prison.

I am safe here within these gloomy walls.

From scourging in the streets, and in three towns!

Remembering who was scourged for me, I shrink not

Nor shudder at the forty stripes save one.

Perhaps from death itself!

I fear not death,

Knowing who died for me.

Surely some divine

Ambassador is speaking through those lips

And looking through those eyes! I cannot answer!

If all these prison doors stood opened wide

I would not cross the threshold,—not one step.

There are invisible bars I cannot break;

There are invisible doors that shut me in,

And keep me ever steadfast to my purpose.

Thou hast the patience and the faith of Saints!

Thy Priest hath been with me this day to save me,

Not only from the death that comes to all,

But from the second death!

The Pharisee!

My heart revolts against him and his creed!

Alas! the coat that was without a seam

Is rent asunder by contending sects;

Each bears away a portion of the garment,

Blindly believing that he has the whole!

When Death, the Healer, shall have touched our eyes

With moist clay of the grave, then shall we see

The truth as we have never yet beheld it.

But he that overcometh shall not be

Hurt of the second death. Has he forgotten

The many mansions in our father’s house?

There is no pity in his iron heart!

The hands that now bear stamped upon their palms

The burning sign of Heresy, hereafter

Shall be uplifted against such accusers,

And then the imprinted letter and its meaning

Will not be Heresy, but Holiness!

Remember, thou condemnest thine own father!

I have no father! He has cast me off.

I am as homeless as the wind that moans

And wanders through the streets. Oh, come with me!

Do not delay. Thy God shall be my God,

And where thou goest I will go.

I cannot.

Yet will I not deny it, nor conceal it;

From the first moment I beheld thy face

I felt a tenderness in my soul towards thee.

My mind has since been inward to the Lord,

Waiting his word. It has not yet been spoken.

I cannot wait. Trust me. Oh, come with me!

In the next room, my father, an old man,

Sitteth imprisoned and condemned to death,

Willing to prove his faith by martyrdom;

And thinkest thou his daughter would do less?

Oh, life is sweet, and death is terrible!

I have too long walked hand in hand with death

To shudder at that pale familiar face.

But leave me now. I wish to be alone.

Not yet. Oh, let me stay.

Urge me no more.

Alas! good-night. I will not say good-by!

Put this temptation underneath thy feet.

To him that overcometh shall be given

The white stone with the new name written on it,

That no man knows save him that doth receive it,

And I will give thee a new name, and call thee

Paul of Damascus and not Saul of Tarsus.