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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409644" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Student's Tale; The Cobbler of Hagenau</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I trust that somewhere and somehow<br>You all have heard of Hagenau,<br>A quiet, quaint, and ancient town<br>Among the green Alsatian hills,<br>A place of valleys, streams, and mills,<br>Where Barbarossa's castle, brown<br>With rust of centuries, still looks down<br>On the broad, drowsy land below,--<br>On shadowy forests filled with game,<br>And the blue river winding slow<br>Through meadows, where the hedges grow<br>That give this little town its name.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It happened in the good old times,<br>While yet the Master-singers filled<br>The noisy workshop and the guild<br>With various melodies and rhymes,<br>That here in Hagenau there dwelt<br>A cobbler,--one who loved debate,<br>And, arguing from a postulate,<br>Would say what others only felt;<br>A man of forecast and of thrift,<br>And of a shrewd and careful mind<br>In this world's business, but inclined<br>Somewhat to let the next world drift.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hans Sachs with vast delight he read,<br>And Regenbogen's rhymes of love,<br>For their poetic fame had spread<br>Even to the town of Hagenau;<br>And some Quick Melody of the Plough,<br>Or Double Harmony of the Dove,<br>Was always running in his head.<br>He kept, moreover, at his side,<br>Among his leathers and his tools,<br>Reynard the Fox, the Ship of Fools,<br>Or Eulenspiegel, open wide;<br>With these he was much edified:<br>He thought them wiser than the Schools.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His good wife, full of godly fear,<br>Liked not these worldly themes to hear;<br>The Psalter was her book of songs;<br>The only music to her ear<br>Was that which to the Church belongs,<br>When the loud choir on Sunday chanted,<br>And the two angels carved in wood,<br>That by the windy organ stood,<br>Blew on their trumpets loud and clear,<br>And all the echoes, far and near,<br>Gibbered as if the church were haunted.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Outside his door, one afternoon,<br>This humble votary of the muse<br>Sat in the narrow strip of shade<br>By a projecting cornice made,<br>Mending the Burgomaster's shoes,<br>And singing a familiar tune:--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Our ingress into the world <br>Was naked and bare;<br>Our progress through the world<br>Is trouble and care;<br>Our egress from the world<br>Will be nobody knows where;<br>But if we do well here<br>We shall do well there;<br>And I could tell you no more,<br>Should I preach a whole year!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus sang the cobbler at his work;<br>And with his gestures marked the time<br>Closing together with a jerk<br>Of his waxed thread the stitch and rhyme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meanwhile his quiet little dame<br>Was leaning o'er the window-sill,<br>Eager, excited, but mouse-still,<br>Gazing impatiently to see<br>What the great throng of folk might be<br>That onward in procession came,<br>Along the unfrequented street,<br>With horns that blew, and drums that beat,<br>And banners flying, and the flame<br>Of tapers, and, at times, the sweet<br>Voices of nuns; and as they sang<br>Suddenly all the church-bells rang.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In a gay coach, above the crowd,<br>There sat a monk in ample hood,<br>Who with his right hand held aloft<br>A red and ponderous cross of wood,<br>To which at times he meekly bowed.<br>In front three horsemen rode, and oft,<br>With voice and air importunate,<br>A boisterous herald cried aloud:<br>'The grace of God is at your gate!'<br>So onward to the church they passed.<br>The cobbler slowly tuned his last,<br>And, wagging his sagacious head,<br>Unto his kneeling housewife said:<br>''Tis the monk Tetzel. I have heard<br>The cawings of that reverend bird.<br>Don't let him cheat you of your gold;<br>Indulgence is not bought and sold.'<br>The church of Hagenau, that night,<br>Was full of people, full of light;<br>An odor of incense filled the air,<br>The priest intoned, the organ groaned<br>Its inarticulate despair;<br>The candles on the altar blazed,<br>And full in front of it upraised<br>The red cross stood against the glare.<br>Below, upon the altar-rail<br>Indulgences were set to sale,<br>Like ballads at a country fair.<br>A heavy strong-box, iron-bound<br>And carved with many a quaint device,<br>Received, with a melodious sound,<br>The coin that purchased Paradise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then from the pulpit overhead,<br>Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow,<br>Thundered upon the crowd below.<br>Good people all, draw near!' he said;<br>'Purchase these letters, signed and sealed,<br>By which all sins, though unrevealed<br>And unrepented, are forgiven!<br>Count but the gain, count not the loss<br>Your gold and silver are but dross,<br>And yet they pave the way to heaven.<br>I hear your mothers and your sires<br>Cry from their purgatorial fires,<br>And will ye not their ransom pay?<br>O senseless people! when the gate<br>Of heaven is open, will ye wait?<br>Will ye not enter in to-day?<br>To-morrow it will be too late;<br>I shall be gone upon my way.<br>Make haste! bring money while ye may!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The women shuddered, and turned pale;<br>Allured by hope or driven by fear,<br>With many a sob and many a tear,<br>All crowded to the altar-rail.<br>Pieces of silver and of gold<br>Into the tinkling strong-box fell<br>Like pebbles dropped into a well;<br>And soon the ballads were all sold.<br>The cobbler's wife among the rest<br>Slipped into the capacious chest<br>A golden florin; then withdrew,<br>Hiding the paper in her breast;<br>And homeward through the darkness went<br>Comforted, quieted, content;<br>She did not walk, she rather flew,<br>A dove that settles to her nest,<br>When some appalling bird of prey<br>That scared her has been driven away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The days went by, the monk was gone,<br>The summer passed, the winter came;<br>Though seasons changed, yet still the same<br>The daily round of life went on;<br>The daily round of household care,<br>The narrow life of toil and prayer.<br>But in her heart the cobbler's dame<br>Had now a treasure beyond price,<br>A secret joy without a name,<br>The certainty of Paradise.<br>Alas, alas! Dust unto dust!<br>Before the winter wore away,<br>Her body in the churchyard lay,<br>Her patient soul was with the Just!<br>After her death, among the things<br>That even the poor preserve with care,--<br>Some little trinkets and cheap rings,<br>A locket with her mother's hair,<br>Her wedding gown, the faded flowers<br>She wore upon her wedding day,--<br>Among these memories of past hours,<br>That so much of the heart reveal,<br>Carefully kept and put away,<br>The Letter of Indulgence lay<br>Folded, with signature and seal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meanwhile the Priest, aggrieved and pained,<br>Waited and wondered that no word<br>Of mass or requiem he heard,<br>As by the Holy Church ordained;<br>Then to the Magistrate complained,<br>That as this woman had been dead<br>A week or more, and no mass said,<br>It was rank heresy, or at least<br>Contempt of Church; thus said the Priest<br>And straight the cobbler was arraigned.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He came, confiding in his cause,<br>But rather doubtful of the laws.<br>The Justice from his elbow-chair<br>Gave him a look that seemed to say:<br>'Thou standest before a Magistrate,<br>Therefore do not prevaricate!'<br>Then asked him in a business way,<br>Kindly but cold: 'Is thy wife dead?'<br>The cobbler meekly bowed his head;<br>'She is,' came struggling from his throat<br>Scarce audibly. The Justice wrote<br>The words down in a book, and then<br>Continued, as he raised his pen:<br>'She is; and hath a mass been said<br>For the salvation of her soul?<br>Come, speak the truth! confess the whole!'<br>The cobbler without pause replied:<br>'Of mass or prayer there was no need;<br>For at the moment when she died<br>Her soul was with the glorified!'<br>And from his pocket with all speed<br>He drew the priestly title-deed,<br>And prayed the Justice he would read.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Justice read, amused, amazed;<br>And as he read his mirth increased;<br>At times his shaggy brows he raised,<br>Now wondering at the cobbler gazed,<br>Now archly at the angry Priest.<br>'From all excesses, sins, and crimes<br>Thou hast committed in past times_<br>Thee I absolve! And furthermore,<br>Purified from all earthly taints,<br>To the communion of the Saints<br>And to the sacraments restore!<br>All stains of weakness, and all trace<br>Of shame and censure I efface;<br>Remit the pains thou shouldst endure,<br>And make thee innocent and pure,<br>So that in dying, unto thee<br>The gates of heaven shall open be!<br>Though long thou livest, yet this grace<br>Until the moment of thy death<br>Unchangeable continueth!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then said he to the Priest: 'I find<br>This document is duly signed<br>Brother John Tetzel, his own hand.<br>At all tribunals in the land<br>In evidence it may be used;<br>Therefore acquitted is the accused.'<br>Then to the cobbler turned: 'My friend,<br>Pray tell me, didst thou ever read<br>Reynard the Fox?'--'O yes, indeed!'?<br>'I thought so. Don't forget the end.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Wadsworth+Longfellow">Henry Wadsworth Longfellow</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=409644" data-title="Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Student's Tale; The Cobbler of Hagenau de Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" data-description="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,
Where Barbarossa's castle, brown
With rust of centuries, still looks down
O..."></div>
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