COTTON MATHER

The Whole History of Grandfather's Chair

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

COTTON MATHER, THE WHOLE HISTORY OF GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR by Nathaniel Hawthorne



Accordingly, the next evening, Grandfather resumed the history of his
beloved chair.

"Master Ezekiel Cheever," said he, "died in 1707, after having taught
school about seventy years. It would require a pretty good scholar in
arithmetic to tell how many stripes he had inflicted, and how many birch
rods he had worn out, during all that time, in his fatherly tenderness
for his pupils. Almost all the great men of that period, and for many
years back, had been whipped into eminence by Master Cheever. Moreover,
he had written a Latin Accidence, which was used in schools more than
half a century after his death; so that the good old man, even in his
grave, was still the cause of trouble and stripes to idle schoolboys."

Grandfather proceeded to say, that, when Master Cheever died, he
bequeathed the chair to the most learned man that was educated at his
school, or that had ever been born in America. This was the renowned
Cotton Mather, minister of the Old North Church in Boston.

"And author of the Magnalia, Grandfather, which we sometimes see you
reading," said Laurence.

"Yes, Laurence," replied Grandfather. "The Magnalia is a strange,
pedantic history, in which true events and real personages move before
the reader with the dreamy aspect which they wore in Cotton Mather's
singular mind. This huge volume, however, was written and published
before our chair came into his possession. But, as he was the author of
more books than there are days in the year, we may conclude that he
wrote a great deal while sitting in this chair."

"I am tired of these schoolmasters and learned men," said Charley. "I
wish some stirring man, that knew how to do something in the world, like
Sir William Phips, would sit in the chair."

"Such men seldom have leisure to sit quietly in a chair," said
Grandfather. "We must make the best of such people as we have."

As Cotton Mather was a very distinguished man, Grandfather took some
pains to give the children a lively conception of his character. Over
the door of his library were painted these words, BE SHORT,--as a
warning to visitors that they must not do the world so much harm as
needlessly to interrupt this great man's wonderful labors. On entering
the room you would probably behold it crowded, and piled, and heaped
with books. There were huge, ponderous folios, and quartos, and little
duodecimos, in English, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Chaldaic, and all other
languages that either originated at the confusion of Babel or have since
come into use.

All these books, no doubt, were tossed about in confusion, thus forming
a visible emblem of the manner in which their contents were crowded into
Cotton Mather's brain. And in the middle of the room stood table, on
which, besides printed volumes, were strewn manuscript sermons,
historical tracts, and political pamphlets, all written in such a queer,
blind, crabbed, fantastical hand, that a writing-master would have gone
raving mad at the sight of them. By this table stood Grandfather's
chair, which seemed to have contracted an air of deep erudition, as if
its cushion were stuffed with Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and other hard
matters.

In this chair, from one year's end to another, sat that prodigious
bookworm, Cotton Mather, sometimes devouring a great book, and sometimes
scribbling one as big. In Grandfather's younger days there used to be a
wax figure of him in one of the Boston museums, representing a solemn,
dark-visaged person, in a minister's black gown, and with a black-letter
volume before him.

"It is difficult, my children," observed Grandfather, "to make you
understand such a character as Cotton Mather's, in whom there was so
much good, and yet so many failings and frailties. Undoubtedly he was a
pious man. Often he kept fasts; and once, for three whole days, he
allowed himself not a morsel of food, but spent the time in prayer and
religious meditation. Many a live-long night did he watch and pray.
These fasts and vigils made him meagre and haggard, and probably caused
him to appear as if he hardly belonged to the world."

"Was not the witchcraft delusion partly caused by Cotton Mather?"
inquired Laurence.

"He was the chief agent of the mischief," answered Grandfather; "but we
will not suppose that he acted otherwise than conscientiously. He
believed that there were evil spirits all about the world. Doubtless he
imagined that they were hidden in the corners and crevices of his
library, and that they peeped out from among the leaves of many of his
books, as he turned them over, at midnight. He supposed that these
unlovely demons were everywhere, in the sunshine as well as in the
darkness, and that they were hidden in men's hearts, and stole into
their most secret thoughts."

Here Grandfather was interrupted by little Alice, who hid her face in
his lap, and murmured a wish that he would not talk any more about
Cotton Mather and the evil spirits. Grandfather kissed her, and told her
that angels were the only spirits whom she had anything to do with.

He then spoke of the public affairs of the period.

A new War between France and England had broken out in 1702, and had
been raging ever since. In the course of it, New England suffered much
injury from the French and Indians, who often came through the woods
from Canada and assaulted the frontier towns. Villages were sometimes
burned, and the inhabitants slaughtered, within a day's ride of Boston.
The people of New England had a bitter hatred against the French, not
only for the mischief which they did with their own hands, but because
they incited the Indians to hostility.

The New-Englanders knew that they could never dwell in security until
the provinces of France should be subdued and brought under the English
government. They frequently, in time of war, undertook military
expeditions against Acadia and Canada, and sometimes besieged the
fortresses by which those territories were defended. But the most
earnest wish of their hearts was to take Quebec, and so get possession
of the whole province of Canada. Sir William Phips had once attempted
it, but without success.

Fleets and soldiers were often sent from England to assist the colonists
in their warlike undertakings. In 1710 Port Royal, a fortress of Acadia,
was taken by the English. The next year, in the month of June, a fleet,
commanded by Admiral Sir Hovenden Walker, arrived in Boston Harbor. On
board of this fleet was the English General Hill, with seven regiments
of soldiers, who had been fighting under the Duke of Marlborough in
Flanders. The government of Massachusetts was called upon to find
provisions for the army and fleet, and to raise more men to assist in
taking Canada.

What with recruiting and drilling of soldiers, there was now nothing but
warlike bustle in the streets of Boston. The drum and fife, the rattle
of arms, and the shouts of boys were heard from morning till night. In
about a month the fleet set sail, carrying four regiments from New
England and New York, besides the English soldiers. The whole army
amounted to at least seven thousand men. They steered for the mouth of
the river St. Lawrence.

"Cotton Mather prayed most fervently for their success," continued
Grandfather, "both in his pulpit and when he kneeled down in the
solitude of his library, resting his face on our old chair. But
Providence ordered the result otherwise. In a few weeks tidings were
received that eight or nine of the vessels had been wrecked in the St.
Lawrence, and that above a thousand drowned soldiers had been washed
ashore on the banks of that mighty river. After this misfortune Sir
Hovenden Walker set sail for England; and many pious people began to
think it a sin even to wish for the conquest of Canada."

"I would never give it up so," cried Charley.

"Nor did they, as we shall see," replied Grandfather. "However, no more
attempts were made during this war, which came to a close in 1713. The
people of New England were probably glad of some repose; for their young
men had been made soldiers, till many of them were fit for nothing else.
And those who remained at home had been heavily taxed to pay for the
arms, ammunition; fortifications, and all the other endless expenses of
a war. There was great need of the prayers of Cotton Mather and of all
pious men, not only on account of the sufferings of the people, but
because the old moral and religious character of New England was in
danger of being utterly lost."

"How glorious it would have been," remarked Laurence, "if our
forefathers could have kept the country unspotted with blood!"

"Yes," said Grandfather; "but there was a stern, warlike spirit in them
from the beginning. They seem never to have thought of questioning
either the morality or piety of war."

The next event which Grandfather spoke of was one that Cotton Mather, as
well as most of the other inhabitants of New England, heartily rejoiced
at. This was the accession of the Elector of Hanover to the throne of
England, in 1714, on the death of Queen Anne. Hitherto the people had
been in continual dread that the male line of the Stuarts, who were
descended from the beheaded King Charles and the banished King James,
would be restored to the throne.

"The importance of this event," observed Grandfather, "was a thousand
times greater than that of a Presidential election in our own days. If
the people dislike their President, they may get rid of him in four
years; whereas a dynasty of kings may wear the crown for an unlimited
period."

The German elector was proclaimed king from the balcony of the town-
house in Boston, by the title of George I.; while the trumpets sounded
and the people cried amen. That night the town was illuminated; and
Cotton Mather threw aside book and pen, and left Grandfather’s chair
vacant, while he walked hither and thither to witness the rejoicings.