Then from the pulpit overhead, Tetzel the monk, with fiery glow, Thundered upon the crowd below. "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 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? 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. 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. 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 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; 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, 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. 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! 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,— 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, 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, 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 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, 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!" 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 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!" 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 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, 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, 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; 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 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. 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 Reynard the Fox?"—"O yes, indeed!"— "I thought so. Don't forget the end."
INTERLUDE
"What was the end? I am ashamed Not to remember Reynard's fate; I have not read the book of late; Was he not hanged?" the Poet said. The Student gravely shook his head, And answered: "You exaggerate. There was a tournament proclaimed, And Reynard fought with Isegrim The Wolf, and having vanquished him, Rose to high honor in the State, And Keeper of the Seals was named!"