Twice Told Tales

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

  THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT.

  There is an admirable foundation for a philosophic romance in the curious history of the early settlement of Mount Wollaston, or Merry Mount. In the slight sketch here attempted the facts recorded on the grave pages of our New England annalists have wrought themselves almost spontaneously into a sort of allegory. The masques, mummeries and festive customs described in the text are in accordance with the manners of the age. Authority on these points may be found in Strutt's _Book of English Sports and Pastimes_.

  Bright were the days at Merry Mount when the Maypole was thebanner-staff of that gay colony. They who reared it, should theirbanner be triumphant, were to pour sunshine over New England's ruggedhills and scatter flower-seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloomwere contending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come, bringing deepverdure to the forest, and roses in her lap of a more vivid hue thanthe tender buds of spring. But May, or her mirthful spirit, dwelt allthe year round at Merry Mount, sporting with the summer months andrevelling with autumn and basking in the glow of winter's fireside.Through a world of toil and care she flitted with a dream-like smile,and came hither to find a home among the lightsome hearts of MerryMount.

  Never had the Maypole been so gayly decked as at sunset on Midsummereve. This venerated emblem was a pine tree which had preserved theslender grace of youth, while it equalled the loftiest height of theold wood-monarchs. From its top streamed a silken banner colored likethe rainbow. Down nearly to the ground the pole was dressed withbirchen boughs, and others of the liveliest green, and some withsilvery leaves fastened by ribbons that fluttered in fantastic knotsof twenty different colors, but no sad ones. Garden-flowers andblossoms of the wilderness laughed gladly forth amid the verdure, sofresh and dewy that they must have grown by magic on that happy pinetree. Where this green and flowery splendor terminated the shaft ofthe Maypole was stained with the seven brilliant hues of the banner atits top. On the lowest green bough hung an abundant wreath ofroses--some that had been gathered in the sunniest spots of theforest, and others, of still richer blush, which the colonists hadreared from English seed. O people of the Golden Age, the chief ofyour husbandry was to raise flowers!

  But what was the wild throng that stood hand in hand about theMaypole? It could not be that the fauns and nymphs, when driven fromtheir classic groves and homes of ancient fable, had sought refuge, asall the persecuted did, in the fresh woods of the West. These wereGothic monsters, though perhaps of Grecian ancestry. On the shouldersof a comely youth uprose the head and branching antlers of a stag; asecond, human in all other points, had the grim visage of a wolf; athird, still with the trunk and limbs of a mortal man, showed thebeard and horns of a venerable he-goat. There was the likeness of abear erect, brute in all but his hind legs, which were adorned withpink silk stockings. And here, again, almost as wondrous, stood a realbear of the dark forest, lending each of his forepaws to the grasp ofa human hand and as ready for the dance as any in that circle. Hisinferior nature rose halfway to meet his companions as they stooped.Other faces wore the similitude of man or woman, but distorted orextravagant, with red noses pendulous before their mouths, whichseemed of awful depth and stretched from ear to ear in an eternal fitof laughter. Here might be seen the salvage man--well known inheraldry--hairy as a baboon and girdled with green leaves. By hisside--a nobler figure, but still a counterfeit--appeared an Indianhunter with feathery crest and wampum-belt. Many of this strangecompany wore foolscaps and had little bells appended to theirgarments, tinkling with a silvery sound responsive to the inaudiblemusic of their gleesome spirits. Some youths and maidens were ofsoberer garb, yet well maintained their places in the irregular throngby the expression of wild revelry upon their features.

  Such were the colonists of Merry Mount as they stood in the broadsmile of sunset round their venerated Maypole. Had a wandererbewildered in the melancholy forest heard their mirth and stolen ahalf-affrighted glance, he might have fancied them the crew of Comus,some already transformed to brutes, some midway between man and beast,and the others rioting in the flow of tipsy jollity that foreran thechange; but a band of Puritans who watched the scene, invisiblethemselves, compared the masques to those devils and ruined souls withwhom their superstition peopled the black wilderness.

  Within the ring of monsters appeared the two airiest forms that hadever trodden on any more solid footing than a purple-and-golden cloud.One was a youth in glistening apparel with a scarf of the rainbowpattern crosswise on his breast. His right hand held a gildedstaff--the ensign of high dignity among the revellers--and his leftgrasped the slender fingers of a fair maiden not less gayly decoratedthan himself. Bright roses glowed in contrast with the dark and glossycurls of each, and were scattered round their feet or had sprung upspontaneously there. Behind this lightsome couple, so close to theMaypole that its boughs shaded his jovial face, stood the figure of anEnglish priest, canonically dressed, yet decked with flowers, inheathen fashion, and wearing a chaplet of the native vine leaves. Bythe riot of his rolling eye and the pagan decorations of his holygarb, he seemed the wildest monster there, and the very Comus of thecrew.

  "Votaries of the Maypole," cried the flower-decked priest, "merrilyall day long have the woods echoed to your mirth. But be this yourmerriest hour, my hearts! Lo! here stand the Lord and Lady of the May,whom I, a clerk of Oxford and high priest of Merry Mount, am presentlyto join in holy matrimony.--Up with your nimble spirits, yemorrice-dancers, green men and glee-maidens, bears and wolves andhorned gentlemen! Come! a chorus now rich with the old mirth of MerryEngland and the wilder glee of this fresh forest, and then a dance, toshow the youthful pair what life is made of and how airily they shouldgo through it!--All ye that love the Maypole, lend your voices to thenuptial song of the Lord and Lady of the May!"

  This wedlock was more serious than most affairs of Merry Mount, wherejest and delusion, trick and fantasy, kept up a continual carnival.The Lord and Lady of the May, though their titles must be laid down atsunset, were really and truly to be partners for the dance of life,beginning the measure that same bright eve. The wreath of roses thathung from the lowest green bough of the Maypole had been twined forthem, and would be thrown over both their heads in symbol of theirflowery union. When the priest had spoken, therefore, a riotous uproarburst from the rout of monstrous figures.

  "Begin you the stave, reverend sir," cried they all, "and never didthe woods ring to such a merry peal as we of the Maypole shall sendup."

  Immediately a prelude of pipe, cittern and viol, touched withpractised minstrelsy, began to play from a neighboring thicket in sucha mirthful cadence that the boughs of the Maypole quivered to thesound. But the May-lord--he of the gilded staff--chancing to look intohis lady's eyes, was wonder-struck at the almost pensive glance thatmet his own.

  "Edith, sweet Lady of the May," whispered he, reproachfully, "is yonwreath of roses a garland to hang above our graves that you look sosad? Oh, Edith, this is our golden time. Tarnish it not by any pensiveshadow of the mind, for it may be that nothing of futurity will bebrighter than the mere remembrance of what is now passing."

  "That was the very thought that saddened me. How came it in your mindtoo?" said Edith, in a still lower tone than he; for it was hightreason to be sad at Merry Mount. "Therefore do I sigh amid thisfestive music. And besides, dear Edgar, I struggle as with a dream,and fancy that these shapes of our jovial friends are visionary andtheir mirth unreal, and that we are no true lord and lady of the May.What is the mystery in my heart?"

  Just then, as if a spell had loosened them, down came a little showerof withering rose-leaves from the Maypole. Alas for the young lovers!No sooner had their hearts glowed with real passion than they weresensible of something vague and unsubstantial in their formerpleasures, and felt a dreary presentiment of inevitable change. Fromthe moment that they truly loved they had subjected themselves toearth's doom of care and sorrow and troubled joy, and had no more ahome at Merry Mount. That was Edith's mystery. Now lea
ve we the priestto marry them, and the masquers to sport round the Maypole till thelast sunbeam be withdrawn from its summit and the shadows of theforest mingle gloomily in the dance. Meanwhile, we may discover whothese gay people were.

  Two hundred years ago, and more, the Old World and its inhabitantsbecame mutually weary of each other. Men voyaged by thousands to theWest--some to barter glass and such like jewels for the furs of theIndian hunter, some to conquer virgin empires, and one stern band topray. But none of these motives had much weight with the colonists ofMerry Mount. Their leaders were men who had sported so long with life,that when Thought and Wisdom came, even these unwelcome guests were ledastray by the crowd of vanities which they should have put to flight.Erring Thought and perverted Wisdom were made to put on masques, andplay the fool. The men of whom we speak, after losing the heart's freshgayety, imagined a wild philosophy of pleasure, and came hither to actout their latest day-dream. They gathered followers from all that giddytribe whose whole life is like the festal days of soberer men. In theirtrain were minstrels, not unknown in London streets; wandering players,whose theatres had been the halls of noblemen; mummers, rope-dancers,and mountebanks, who would long be missed at wakes, church ales, andfairs; in a word, mirth makers of every sort, such as abounded in thatage, but now began to be discountenanced by the rapid growth ofPuritanism. Light had their footsteps been on land, and as lightly theycame across the sea. Many had been maddened by their previous troublesinto a gay despair; others were as madly gay in the flush of youth, likethe May Lord and his Lady; but whatever might be the quality of theirmirth, old and young were gay at Merry Mount. The young deemedthemselves happy. The elder spirits, if they knew that mirth was but thecounterfeit of happiness, yet followed the false shadow wilfully,because at least her garments glittered brightest. Sworn triflers of alifetime, they would not venture among the sober truths of life not evento be truly blest.

  All the hereditary pastimes of Old England were transplantedhither. The King of Christmas was duly crowned, and the Lord ofMisrule bore potent sway. On the Eve of St. John, they felledwhole acres of the forest to make bonfires, and danced by theblaze all night, crowned with garlands, and throwing flowers intothe flame. At harvest time, though their crop was of thesmallest, they made an image with the sheaves of Indian corn, andwreathed it with autumnal garlands, and bore it hometriumphantly. But what chiefly characterized the colonists ofMerry Mount was their veneration for the Maypole. It has madetheir true history a poet's tale. Spring decked the hallowedemblem with young blossoms and fresh green boughs; Summer broughtroses of the deepest blush, and the perfected foliage of theforest; Autumn enriched it with that red and yellow gorgeousnesswhich converts each wildwood leaf into a painted flower; andWinter silvered it with sleet, and hung it round with icicles,till it flashed in the cold sunshine, itself a frozen sunbeam.Thus each alternate season did homage to the Maypole, and paid ita tribute of its own richest splendor. Its votaries danced roundit, once, at least, in every month; sometimes they called ittheir religion, or their altar; but always, it was the bannerstaff of Merry Mount.

  Unfortunately, there were men in the new world of a sterner faiththan those Maypole worshippers. Not far from Merry Mount was asettlement of Puritans, most dismal wretches, who said theirprayers before daylight, and then wrought in the forest or thecornfield till evening made it prayer time again. Their weaponswere always at hand to shoot down the straggling savage. Whenthey met in conclave, it was never to keep up the old Englishmirth, but to hear sermons three hours long, or to proclaimbounties on the heads of wolves and the scalps of Indians. Theirfestivals were fast days, and their chief pastime the singing ofpsalms. Woe to the youth or maiden who did but dream of a dance!The selectman nodded to the constable; and there sat thelight-heeled reprobate in the stocks; or if he danced, it wasround the whipping-post, which might be termed the PuritanMaypole.

  A party of these grim Puritans, toiling through the difficultwoods, each with a horseload of iron armor to burden hisfootsteps, would sometimes draw near the sunny precincts of MerryMount. There were the silken colonists, sporting round theirMaypole; perhaps teaching a bear to dance, or striving tocommunicate their mirth to the grave Indian, or masquerading in theskins of deer and wolves which they had hunted for that especialpurpose. Often the whole colony were playing at Blindman's Buff,magistrates and all with their eyes bandaged, except a singlescapegoat, whom the blinded sinners pursued by the tinkling of thebells at his garments. Once, it is said, they were seen following aflower-decked corpse with merriment and festive music to his grave.But did the dead man laugh? In their quietest times they sang balladsand told tales for the edification of their pious visitors, orperplexed them with juggling tricks, or grinned at them throughhorse-collars; and when sport itself grew wearisome, they made game oftheir own stupidity and began a yawning-match. At the very least ofthese enormities the men of iron shook their heads and frowned sodarkly that the revellers looked up, imagining that a momentary cloudhad overcast the sunshine which was to be perpetual there. On theother hand, the Puritans affirmed that when a psalm was pealing fromtheir place of worship the echo which the forest sent them back seemedoften like the chorus of a jolly catch, closing with a roar oflaughter. Who but the fiend and his bond-slaves the crew of MerryMount had thus disturbed them? In due time a feud arose, stern andbitter on one side, and as serious on the other as anything could beamong such light spirits as had sworn allegiance to the Maypole. Thefuture complexion of New England was involved in this importantquarrel. Should the grisly saints establish their jurisdiction overthe gay sinners, then would their spirits darken all the clime andmake it a land of clouded visages, of hard toil, of sermon and psalmfor ever; but should the banner-staff of Merry Mount be fortunate,sunshine would break upon the hills, and flowers would beautify theforest and late posterity do homage to the Maypole.

  After these authentic passages from history we return to the nuptialsof the Lord and Lady of the May. Alas! we have delayed too long, andmust darken our tale too suddenly. As we glance again at the Maypole asolitary sunbeam is fading from the summit, and leaves only a faintgolden tinge blended with the hues of the rainbow banner. Even thatdim light is now withdrawn, relinquishing the whole domain of MerryMount to the evening gloom which has rushed so instantaneously fromthe black surrounding woods. But some of these black shadows haverushed forth in human shape.

  Yes, with the setting sun the last day of mirth had passed from MerryMount. The ring of gay masquers was disordered and broken; the staglowered his antlers in dismay; the wolf grew weaker than a lamb; thebells of the morrice-dancers tinkled with tremulous affright. ThePuritans had played a characteristic part in the Maypole mummeries.Their darksome figures were intermixed with the wild shapes of theirfoes, and made the scene a picture of the moment when waking thoughtsstart up amid the scattered fantasies of a dream. The leader of thehostile party stood in the centre of the circle, while the rout ofmonsters cowered around him like evil spirits in the presence of adread magician. No fantastic foolery could look him in the face. Sostern was the energy of his aspect that the whole man, visage, frameand soul, seemed wrought of iron gifted with life and thought, yet allof one substance with his headpiece and breastplate. It was thePuritan of Puritans: it was Endicott himself.

  "Stand off, priest of Baal!" said he, with a grim frown and laying noreverent hand upon the surplice. "I know thee, Blackstone![1] Thou artthe man who couldst not abide the rule even of thine own corruptedChurch, and hast come hither to preach iniquity and to give example ofit in thy life. But now shall it be seen that the Lord hath sanctifiedthis wilderness for his peculiar people. Woe unto them that woulddefile it! And first for this flower-decked abomination, the altar ofthy worship!"

  [Footnote 1: Did Governor Endicott speak less positively, we shouldsuspect a mistake here. The Rev. Mr. Blackstone, though an eccentric,is not known to have been an immoral man. We rather doubt his identitywith the priest of Merry Mount.]

  And with his keen sword Endicott assaulted
the hallowed Maypole. Norlong did it resist his arm. It groaned with a dismal sound, itshowered leaves and rosebuds upon the remorseless enthusiast, andfinally, with all its green boughs and ribbons and flowers, symbolicof departed pleasures, down fell the banner-staff of Merry Mount. Asit sank, tradition says, the evening sky grew darker and the woodsthrew forth a more sombre shadow.

  "There!" cried Endicott, looking triumphantly on his work; "there liesthe only Maypole in New England. The thought is strong within me thatby its fall is shadowed forth the fate of light and idle mirthmakersamongst us and our posterity. Amen, saith John Endicott!"

  "Amen!" echoed his followers.

  But the votaries of the Maypole gave one groan for their idol. At thesound the Puritan leader glanced at the crew of Comus, each a figureof broad mirth, yet at this moment strangely expressive of sorrow anddismay.

  "Valiant captain," quoth Peter Palfrey, the ancient of the band, "whatorder shall be taken with the prisoners?"

  "I thought not to repent me of cutting down a Maypole," repliedEndicott, "yet now I could find in my heart to plant it again and giveeach of these bestial pagans one other dance round their idol. Itwould have served rarely for a whipping-post."

  "But there are pine trees enow," suggested the lieutenant.

  "True, good ancient," said the leader. "Wherefore bind the heathencrew and bestow on them a small matter of stripes apiece as earnest ofour future justice. Set some of the rogues in the stocks to restthemselves so soon as Providence shall bring us to one of our ownwell-ordered settlements where such accommodations may be found.Further penalties, such as branding and cropping of ears, shall bethought of hereafter."

  "How many stripes for the priest?" inquired Ancient Palfrey.

  "None as yet," answered Endicott, bending his iron frown upon theculprit. "It must be for the Great and General Court to determinewhether stripes and long imprisonment, and other grievous penalty, mayatone for his transgressions. Let him look to himself. For such asviolate our civil order it may be permitted us to show mercy, but woeto the wretch that troubleth our religion!"

  "And this dancing bear?" resumed the officer. "Must he share thestripes of his fellows?"

  "Shoot him through the head!" said the energetic Puritan. "I suspectwitchcraft in the beast."

  "Here be a couple of shining ones," continued Peter Palfrey, pointinghis weapon at the Lord and Lady of the May. "They seem to be of highstation among these misdoers. Methinks their dignity will not befitted with less than a double share of stripes."

  Endicott rested on his sword and closely surveyed the dress and aspectof the hapless pair. There they stood, pale, downcast andapprehensive, yet there was an air of mutual support and of pureaffection seeking aid and giving it that showed them to be man andwife with the sanction of a priest upon their love. The youth in theperil of the moment, had dropped his gilded staff and thrown his armabout the Lady of the May, who leaned against his breast too lightlyto burden him, but with weight enough to express that their destinieswere linked together for good or evil. They looked first at each otherand then into the grim captain's face. There they stood in the firsthour of wedlock, while the idle pleasures of which their companionswere the emblems had given place to the sternest cares of life,personified by the dark Puritans. But never had their youthful beautyseemed so pure and high as when its glow was chastened by adversity.

  "Youth," said Endicott, "ye stand in an evil case--thou and thymaiden-wife. Make ready presently, for I am minded that ye shall bothhave a token to remember your wedding-day."

  "Stern man," cried the May-lord, "how can I move thee? Were the meansat hand, I would resist to the death; being powerless, I entreat. Dowith me as thou wilt, but let Edith go untouched."

  "Not so," replied the immitigable zealot. "We are not wont to show anidle courtesy to that sex which requireth the stricter discipline.--Whatsayest thou, maid? Shall thy silken bridegroom suffer thy share of thepenalty besides his own?"

  "Be it death," said Edith, "and lay it all on me."

  Truly, as Endicott had said, the poor lovers stood in a woeful case.Their foes were triumphant, their friends captive and abased, theirhome desolate, the benighted wilderness around them, and a rigorousdestiny in the shape of the Puritan leader their only guide. Yet thedeepening twilight could not altogether conceal that the iron man wassoftened. He smiled at the fair spectacle of early love; he almostsighed for the inevitable blight of early hopes.

  "The troubles of life have come hastily on this young couple,"observed Endicott. "We will see how they comport themselves undertheir present trials ere we burden them with greater. If among thespoil there be any garments of a more decent fashion, let them be putupon this May-lord and his Lady instead of their glistening vanities.Look to it, some of you."

  "And shall not the youth's hair be cut?" asked Peter Palfrey, lookingwith abhorrence at the lovelock and long glossy curls of the youngman.

  "Crop it forthwith, and that in the true pumpkin-shell fashion,"answered the captain. "Then bring them along with us, but more gentlythan their fellows. There be qualities in the youth which may make himvaliant to fight and sober to toil and pious to pray, and in themaiden that may fit her to become a mother in our Israel, bringing upbabes in better nurture than her own hath been.--Nor think ye, youngones, that they are the happiest, even in our lifetime of a moment,who misspend it in dancing round a Maypole."

  And Endicott, the severest Puritan of all who laid the rock-foundationof New England, lifted the wreath of roses from the ruin of theMaypole and threw it with his own gauntleted hand over the heads ofthe Lord and Lady of the May. It was a deed of prophecy. As the moralgloom of the world overpowers all systematic gayety, even so was theirhome of wild mirth made desolate amid the sad forest. They returned toit no more. But as their flowery garland was wreathed of the brightestroses that had grown there, so in the tie that united them wereintertwined all the purest and best of their early joys. They wentheavenward supporting each other along the difficult path which it wastheir lot to tread, and never wasted one regretful thought on thevanities of Merry Mount.