SECTION III. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
This section of Longfellow's *Evangeline* introduces the wise old notary public, Father Leblanc.
The poem
Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public; Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung 270 Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; and glasses with horn bows Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom supernal. Father of twenty children was he, and more than a hundred Children's children rode on his knee, and heard his great watch tick. Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, 275 Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English. Now, though warier grown, without all guile or suspicion, Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, and childlike. He was beloved by all, and most of all by the children; For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, 280 And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses, And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child who unchristened Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the chambers of children; And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in the stable, And how the fever was cured by a spider shut up in a nutshell, 285 And of the marvelous powers of four-leaved clover and horseshoes, With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the village. Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand, "Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast heard the talk in the village, 290 And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these ships and their errand." Then with modest demeanor made answer the notary public,-- "Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am never the wiser; And what their errand may be I know no better than others. Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil intention 295 Brings them here, for we are at peace; and why then molest us?" "God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith; "Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore? Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of the strongest!" But, without heeding his warmth, continued the notary public,-- 300 "Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. 305 "Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statute of Justice Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in its left hand, And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. 310 Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. But in the course of time the laws of the land were corrupted; Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the mighty Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace 315 That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long a suspicion Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, 320 Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." 325 Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language; All his thoughts were congealed into lines on his face, as the vapors Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes in the winter. Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, 330 Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength in the village of Grand-Pre; While from his pocket the notary drew his papers and inkhorn, Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age of the parties, Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep and in cattle. 335 Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well were completed, And the great seal of the law was set like a sun on the margin. Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw on the table Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of silver; And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and bridegroom, 340 Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their welfare. Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly bowed and departed, While in silence the others sat and mused by the fireside, Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out of its corner. Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men 345 Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre, Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach was made in the king-row. Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure, Sat the lovers and whispered together, beholding the moon rise Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the meadows. 350 Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway Rose the guests and departed; and silence reigned in the household. 355 Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on the door-step Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled it with gladness. Carefully then were covered the embers that glowed on the hearth-stone, And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of the farmer. Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evangeline followed. 360 Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden. Silent she passed through the hall, and entered the door of her chamber. Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of white, and its clothes-press Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were carefully folded 365 Linen and woolen stuffs, by the hand of Evangeline woven This was the precious dower she would bring to her husband in marriage, Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her skill as a housewife. Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mellow and radiant moonlight Streamed through the windows, and lighted the room, till the heart of the maiden 370 Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous tides of the ocean. Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as she stood with Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of her chamber! Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow. 375 Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a feeling of sadness Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of clouds in the moonlight Flitted across the floor and darkened the room for a moment. And, as she gazed from the window, she saw serenely the moon pass Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star follow her footsteps, 380 As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wandered with Hagar.
This section of Longfellow's *Evangeline* introduces the wise old notary public, Father Leblanc. He shares a parable about justice to help calm the fiery blacksmith, Basil, before he oversees the official betrothal contract for Evangeline and Gabriel. The evening concludes peacefully, with the older men engaged in a game of draughts, the young lovers sharing whispers under the moonlight, and Evangeline heading to her chamber, filled with joy but also a subtle, unspoken sadness.
Line-by-line
Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean, / Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public;
Four long years in the times of the war had he languished a captive, / Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend of the English.
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the forest, / And of the goblin that came in the night to water the horses,
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil the blacksmith, / Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly extending his right hand,
"God's name!" shouted the hasty and somewhat irascible blacksmith; / "Must we in all things look for the how, and the why, and the wherefore?"
"Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice / Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me,"
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was ended, the blacksmith / Stood like a man who fain would speak, but findeth no language;
Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on the table, / Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with home-brewed
Soon was the game begun. In friendly contention the old men / Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful manoeuvre,
Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, / Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.
Thus was the evening passed. Anon the bell from the belfry / Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, and straightway
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the darkness, / Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of the maiden.
Little she dreamed that below, among the trees of the orchard, / Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of her lamp and her shadow.
Tone & mood
The tone feels both warm and nostalgic — like a lovely afternoon that you know is coming to an end. Longfellow's writing shows a deep love for this community and its traditions, yet there's a consistent sense of unease lurking beneath the surface. The folk tales, the story of the orphan girl, the forget-me-not stars, and the biblical closing image — all subtly set the stage for something disastrous. The mood isn't bleak, but it also doesn’t allow for complete comfort.
Symbols & metaphors
- The statue of Justice — The bronze statue in Father Leblanc's parable illustrates the divide between the ideal of justice and its shortcomings in reality. Justice, holding scales and a sword, fails to stop the execution of an innocent girl. The birds nesting boldly in the scales imply that when the law functions properly, life thrives in its presence — yet the statue's destruction by lightning serves as a divine correction that comes too late. This symbol deeply connects with the Acadians' own plight: they face expulsion by a power that asserts its legal authority.
- The magpie's nest — The magpie — known for its habit of snatching shiny things — has stashed the pearl necklace in its nest among the scales of Justice. This illustrates how corruption can lurk within the very institutions designed to uphold integrity. The truth was always present, woven into the fabric of justice itself, but no one bothered to look until it was too late.
- The stars as forget-me-nots — The well-known couplet that likens stars to forget-me-nots of the angels transforms the night sky into a memorial. Forget-me-nots symbolize remembrance and farewells. In a poem about a people who will be scattered and erased from their homeland, this image compels the reader — and the universe — to remember what is on the verge of being lost.
- The hearth embers — The gentle act of covering the hearth embers at the end of the evening resonates throughout the entire poem. Fire on the hearth symbolizes home, warmth, and a sense of continuity. By covering the embers to keep them safe overnight, there's a glimmer of hope — the anticipation of relighting them come morning. However, the Acadians will not see that morning.
- Evangeline's woven linens — The hand-woven linen and woolen items in Evangeline's clothes-press reflect her identity as a capable, independent woman who is prepared for marriage. Longfellow describes them as a dower "better than flocks and herds." They also symbolize the domestic life that is on the brink of disruption — all that diligent work, all that planning for a future that won't unfold as she hoped.
- Ishmael and Hagar — The closing biblical reference — the star trailing the moon 'as young Ishmael wandered with Hagar out of Abraham's tent' — calls to mind one of the Bible's powerful tales of exile. Hagar and Ishmael were cast out, sent into the wilderness with nothing. Longfellow positions this image at the very end of the section, right after the betrothal contract is signed, clearly hinting at the expulsion that is about to occur.
Historical context
*Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie* was published in 1847 and narrates the Grand Dérangement — the forced removal of the French-speaking Acadian people from Nova Scotia by British colonial authorities in 1755. Longfellow drew inspiration from a tale shared with him by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Section III of Part One unfolds on the eve of the expulsion, at a betrothal gathering in the home of Evangeline's father, Benedict Bellefontaine. The Acadians sense that something is amiss — British ships have appeared in the harbor — yet most still hold on to the belief that they are safe. Longfellow composed the poem in dactylic hexameter, the same meter used in Homer's *Iliad* and *Odyssey*, a purposeful choice that elevates the narrative of these everyday farmers and villagers to the grandeur of a classical epic. The poem gained immense popularity in the nineteenth century and significantly influenced how Americans perceived the Acadian people and their fate.
FAQ
No, this is a passage from *Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie*, a lengthy narrative poem by Longfellow published in 1847. In this section, one evening unfolds in the village of Grand-Pré: a gathering at Evangeline's home where the notary Father Leblanc prepares her betrothal contract with Gabriel, the blacksmith Basil debates about justice, and the night concludes with Evangeline going to bed, filled with happiness but also a lingering sadness.
Father Leblanc is the village notary—the legal official responsible for recording contracts and documents. Longfellow provides an in-depth portrayal of him because he serves as the moral backbone of the scene. He is old, wise, cherished, and patient. His four years as a prisoner of war lend him authority when he advises against panic. Additionally, he preserves the village's folk traditions, which Longfellow aims to capture in the poem before the community faces destruction.
The parable tells the story of a city where an orphan girl is unjustly executed for stealing a pearl necklace. Following her death, a lightning strike destroys the bronze statue of Justice in the town square, revealing a magpie's nest inside the scales, which holds the missing necklace. Father Leblanc shares this tale in response to Basil's furious assertion that 'might is the right of the strongest.' His message is that divine justice ultimately rectifies human wrongdoing. However, the story carries a bittersweet truth: the girl is still gone. Justice arrived, but it was too late to save her.
Because the parable doesn't really address his objection. Basil's anger stems from the injustice occurring *now*, affecting real people. Father Leblanc's story suggests that justice will prevail *eventually* — but Basil understands that "eventually" offers little solace when you're the one facing oppression. Longfellow acknowledges both perspectives. The blacksmith's frustration is genuine, and the frozen-vapor simile perfectly captures the sense of an emotion that has no outlet.
It is Longfellow's metaphor for the stars. Forget-me-nots are tiny blue flowers, and their name expresses a wish to be remembered. By referring to the stars as the forget-me-nots of the angels, Longfellow transforms the night sky into a memorial — a sign that the angels, and by extension God, still remember the people below. In the poem's context, where an entire community faces erasure from their homeland, this image holds profound significance.
Ishmael and Hagar were expelled from Abraham's household and sent into the wilderness—one of the Bible's key stories of exile. Longfellow likens a star following the moon to Ishmael following Hagar, hinting at the Acadians' impending expulsion. The betrothal contract has just been signed, Evangeline is joyful, yet the poem ends with a haunting image of people being forced from their home. This serves as a subtle but powerful foreshadowing.
Dactylic hexameter is the meter used in Homer's *Iliad* and *Odyssey* — each line consists of six metrical feet, with the main foot being a dactyl (one stressed syllable followed by two unstressed ones). Longfellow chose this meter intentionally to elevate the tale of everyday Acadian farmers with the majesty of classical epic. It also produces a flowing, wave-like rhythm that complements the poem's coastal backdrop and its feeling of an unstoppable tide of history.
They come from French-Canadian and Acadian folk traditions. The Loup-garou is a werewolf, while the Letiche is the ghost of an unchristened child, destined to haunt nurseries. The goblin that waters horses at night is a familiar European household spirit. By documenting these beliefs, Longfellow achieves two goals: he highlights the richness of Acadian folk culture and makes the reader aware of the loss that will occur as this community disperses.