FRIAR CLAUS. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
A cheerful friar explores his monastery's wine cellar, sampling and remarking on each cask with a blend of religious reverence and clear self-indulgence.
The poem
I always enter this sacred place With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace, Pausing long enough on each stair To breathe an ejaculatory prayer, And a benediction on the vines That produce these various sorts of wines! For my part, I am well content That we have got through with the tedious Lent! Fasting is all very well for those Who have to contend with invisible foes; But I am quite sure it does not agree With a quiet, peaceable man like me, Who am not of that nervous and meagre kind, That are always distressed in body and mind! And at times it really does me good To come down among this brotherhood, Dwelling forever underground, Silent, contemplative, round and sound; Each one old, and brown with mould, But filled to the lips with the ardor of youth, With the latent power and love of truth, And with virtues fervent and manifold. I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, When buds are swelling on every side, And the sap begins to move in the vine, Then in all cellars, far and wide, The oldest as well as the newest wine Begins to stir itself, and ferment, With a kind of revolt and discontent At being so long in darkness pent, And fain would burst from its sombre tun To bask on the hillside in the sun; As in the bosom of us poor friars, The tumult of half-subdued desires For the world that we have left behind Disturbs at times all peace of mind! And now that we have lived through Lent, My duty it is, as often before, To open awhile the prison-door, And give these restless spirits vent. Now here is a cask that stands alone, And has stood a hundred years or more, Its beard of cobwebs, long and hoar, Trailing and sweeping along the floor, Like Barbarossa, who sits in his cave, Taciturn, sombre, sedate, and grave, Till his beard has grown through the table of stone! It is of the quick and not of the dead! In its veins the blood is hot and red, And a heart still beats in those ribs of oak That time may have tamed, but has not broke! It comes from Bacharach on the Rhine, Is one of the three best kinds of wine, And costs some hundred florins the ohm; But that I do not consider dear, When I remember that every year Four butts are sent to the Pope of Rome. And whenever a goblet thereof I drain, The old rhyme keeps running in my brain; At Bacharach on the Rhine, At Hochheim on the Main, And at Wurzburg on the Stein, Grow the three best kinds of wine! They are all good wines, and better far Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr. In particular, Wurzburg well may boast Of its blessed wine of the Holy Ghost, Which of all wines I like the most. This I shall draw for the Abbot's drinking, Who seems to be much of my way of thinking. Fills a flagon. Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings! What a delicious fragrance springs From the deep flagon, while it fills, As of hyacinths and daffodils! Between this cask and the Abbot's lips Many have been the sips and slips; Many have been the draughts of wine, On their way to his, that have stopped at mine; And many a time my soul has hankered For a deep draught out of his silver tankard, When it should have been busy with other affairs, Less with its longings and more with its prayers. But now there is no such awkward condition, No danger of death and eternal perdition; So here's to the Abbot and Brothers all, Who dwell in this convent of Peter and Paul! He drinks. O cordial delicious! O soother of pain! It flashes like sunshine into my brain! A benison rest on the Bishop who sends Such a fudder of wine as this to his friends! And now a flagon for such as may ask A draught from the noble Bacharach cask, And I will be gone, though I know full well The cellar's a cheerfuller place than the cell. Behold where he stands, all sound and good, Brown and old in his oaken hood; Silent he seems externally As any Carthusian monk may be; But within, what a spirit of deep unrest! What a seething and simmering in his breast! As if the heaving of his great heart Would burst his belt of oak apart! Let me unloose this button of wood, And quiet a little his turbulent mood. Sets it running. See! how its currents gleam and shine, As if they had caught the purple hues Of autumn sunsets on the Rhine, Descending and mingling with the dews; Or as if the grapes were stained with the blood Of the innocent boy, who, some years back, Was taken and crucified by the Jews, In that ancient town of Bacharach! Perdition upon those infidel Jews, In that ancient town of Bacharach! The beautiful town, that gives us wine With the fragrant odor of Muscadine! I should deem it wrong to let this pass Without first touching my lips to the glass, For here in the midst of the current I stand Like the stone Pfalz in the midst of the river, Taking toll upon either hand, And much more grateful to the giver. He drinks. Here, now, is a very inferior kind, Such as in any town you may find, Such as one might imagine would suit The rascal who drank wine out of a boot. And, after all, it was not a crime, For he won thereby Dorf Huffelsheim. A jolly old toper! who at a pull Could drink a postilion's jack-boot full, And ask with a laugh, when that was done, If the fellow had left the other one! This wine is as good as we can afford To the friars who sit at the lower board, And cannot distinguish bad from good, And are far better off than if they could, Being rather the rude disciples of beer, Than of anything more refined and dear! Fills the flagon and departs.
A cheerful friar explores his monastery's wine cellar, sampling and remarking on each cask with a blend of religious reverence and clear self-indulgence. He employs the language of devotion—prayers, blessings, and spiritual obligations—to embellish what is essentially an enthusiastic drinking spree. The poem humorously depicts a man skilled at convincing himself that his indulgences are entirely sacred.
Line-by-line
I always enter this sacred place / With a thoughtful, solemn, and reverent pace,
For my part, I am well content / That we have got through with the tedious Lent!
And at times it really does me good / To come down among this brotherhood,
I have heard it said, that at Easter-tide, / When buds are swelling on every side,
Now here is a cask that stands alone, / And has stood a hundred years or more,
At Bacharach on the Rhine, / At Hochheim on the Main,
They are all good wines, and better far / Than those of the Neckar, or those of the Ahr.
Ah! how the streamlet laughs and sings! / What a delicious fragrance springs
O cordial delicious! O soother of pain! / It flashes like sunshine into my brain!
See! how its currents gleam and shine, / As if they had caught the purple hues
Here, now, is a very inferior kind, / Such as in any town you may find,
Tone & mood
Comic and self-satisfied, with a warm undercurrent of true sensory pleasure. The friar isn't a villain or a bitter hypocrite — he's just a man who loves life and has a knack for expressing that joy as if it's a matter of duty. The tone remains light and affectionate throughout, although one section veers into a dark reflection on historical prejudice that feels out of place in an otherwise playful poem.
Symbols & metaphors
- The wine cellar — The cellar represents the hidden, unofficial life that flows beneath the rigid structure of monastic discipline. It's a space where the friar's true nature — one that seeks pleasure, enjoys company, and embraces the senses — can exist without restraint.
- The ancient cask — The hundred-year-old Bacharach cask is likened to the sleeping Emperor Barbarossa and a quiet monk. It embodies the notion that age and outward calm can harbor significant inner energy — a flattering reflection that the friar holds up to himself.
- Lent — Lent embodies the institutional church's call for self-denial. The friar's relief at its conclusion, along with his labeling of it as "tedious," highlights the poem's main comic tension between formal piety and human desire.
- The flagon — Each time the friar fills a flagon, it reflects a minor act of self-indulgence cloaked in duty. The ongoing cycle of filling and drinking shapes the poem like a sequence of toasts, with each one becoming a bit more relaxed than the one before.
- The brotherhood of casks — Referring to the wine casks as a "brotherhood" mixes the friar's religious life with his passion for wine. It implies that the cellar offers him a sense of warmth and belonging similar to what he finds in monastic life.
- The Rhine wines — The specific named wines — Bacharach, Hochheim, Würzburg — anchor the poem in authentic German geography and culture. They serve as indicators of connoisseurship, demonstrating that the friar's tastes are sophisticated rather than just straightforward.
Historical context
Longfellow published this poem in his dramatic work *The Golden Legend* (1851), which was later included in the larger trilogy *Christus: A Mystery* (1872). It features a dramatic monologue set in a medieval German monastery, showcasing Longfellow's strong connection to German language, literature, and his travel experiences. He spent time in Germany during the 1820s and 1830s and taught modern languages at Harvard. The Rhine wine culture he describes — places like Bacharach, Hochheim, and Würzburg — was familiar to educated American readers of his time through German Romantic literature. The character of the wine-loving friar is a classic comic figure in medieval and Renaissance European literature, showing up in works from Chaucer to Rabelais. Longfellow portrays this type with affection, but the poem also includes a reference to blood libel that hints at the antisemitic folklore present in the historical sources he was using.
FAQ
A friar at a medieval German monastery heads down to the wine cellar after Lent wraps up, chatting to himself as he samples the wines. He employs religious phrases to rationalize his drinking, ultimately enjoying himself quite a bit. This piece is more of a comedic character study than a traditional story with a plot.
No. He is a fictional character that Longfellow invented for *The Golden Legend*, a dramatic poem set in medieval Germany. Both the name and the character type — the cheerful, wine-loving friar — come from a rich tradition of humorous clerical figures in European literature.
Mostly warm and humorous. The friar isn't portrayed as a villain; Longfellow clearly sees him as funny and likable. The poem lightly pokes fun at religious hypocrisy without a sense of anger. However, one passage referring to a blood libel legend stands out as a stark contrast to the otherwise cheerful tone.
When the friar describes the red color of the wine, he ties it to a medieval antisemitic legend that falsely accused Jewish people in Bacharach of crucifying a Christian child. This blood libel myth historically justified violence against Jewish communities. Longfellow is presenting a piece of folklore associated with Bacharach in his sources. While he doesn’t endorse it, he also doesn’t challenge it, making the passage deeply offensive by today’s standards.
Lent is the forty-day period of fasting and penance that Christians observe leading up to Easter. The friar's relief at its conclusion, along with his description of it as "tedious," highlights the poem's main joke: a man who has committed to a life of religious discipline is surprisingly eager to be finished with the one time of year that truly demands it.
It’s the poem’s main comedic idea. The casks are old, quiet, thoughtful, and hidden away underground — reminiscent of the monastic ideal. Yet, they’re also brimming with warmth, fermentation, and barely restrained energy. The friar makes this comparison to imply that the wine is more vibrant and virtuous than the monks, serving as a clever bit of self-justification.
It’s an authentic German drinking toast that Longfellow took from Rhine wine traditions. The three towns were renowned for their exceptional wines in the area. Longfellow includes it in the poem to add a genuine historical touch and to portray the friar as a true connoisseur, not merely an ordinary drinker.
It’s a scene from *The Golden Legend* (1851), a lengthy dramatic poem by Longfellow that draws inspiration from a medieval German verse tale by Hartmann von Aue. Later, the complete work found its place in *Christus: A Mystery* (1872), which is Longfellow's grand trilogy exploring the history of Christianity. Within this broader narrative, Friar Claus plays a minor comic role.