The May-Pole
of Merry Mount
BRIGHT WERE the
days at Merry Mount, when the Maypole was the
banner staff
of that gay colony! They who reared it, should their banner
be triumphant,
were to pour sunshine over New England's rugged hills,
and scatter
flower seeds throughout the soil. Jollity and gloom were
contending for
an empire. Midsummer eve had come, bringing deep
verdure to the
forest, and roses in her lap, of a more vivid hue than the
tender buds
of Spring. But May, or her mirthful spirit, dwelt all the year
round at Merry
Mount, sporting with the Summer months, and revelling
with Autumn,
and basking in the glow of Winter's fireside. Through a
world of toil
and care she flitted with a dreamlike smile, and came hither
to find a home
among the lightsome hearts of Merry Mount.
Never had the
Maypole been so gayly decked as at sunset on midsummer
eve. This venerated
emblem was a pine-tree, which had preserved the
slender grace
of youth, while it equalled the loftiest height of the old wood
monarchs. From
its top streamed a silken banner, colored like the
rainbow. Down
nearly to the ground the pole was dressed with birchen
boughs, and
others of the liveliest green, and some with silvery leaves,
fastened by
ribbons that fluttered in fantastic knots of twenty different
colors, but
no sad ones. Garden flowers, and blossoms of the wilderness,
laughed gladly
forth amid the verdure, so fresh and dewy that they must
have grown by
magic on that happy pine-tree. Where this green and
flowery splendor
terminated, the shaft of the Maypole was stained with
the seven brilliant
hues of the banner at its top. On the lowest green bough
hung an abundant
wreath of roses, some that had been gathered in the
sunniest spots
of the forest, and others, of still richer blush, which the
colonists had
reared from English seed. O, people of the Golden Age, the
chief of your
husbandry was to raise flowers!
But what was
the wild throng that stood hand in hand about the Maypole?
It could not
be that the fauns and nymphs, when driven from their classic
groves and homes
of ancient fable, had sought refuge, as all the
persecuted did,
in the fresh woods of the West. These were Gothic
monsters, though
perhaps of Grecian ancestry. On the shoulders of a
comely youth
uprose the head and branching antlers of a stag; a second,
human in all
other points, had the grim visage of a wolf; a third, still with
the trunk and
limbs of a mortal man, showed the beard and horns of a
venerable he-goat.
There was the likeness of a bear erect, brute in all but
his hind legs,
which were adorned with pink silk stockings. And here
again, almost
as wondrous, stood a real bear of the dark forest, lending
each of his
fore paws to the grasp of a human hand, and as ready for the
dance as any
in that circle. His inferior nature rose half way, to meet his
companions as
they stooped. Other faces wore the similitude of man or
woman, but distorted
or extravagant, with red noses pendulous before
their mouths,
which seemed of awful depth, and stretched from ear to ear
in an eternal
fit of laughter. Here might be seen the Salvage Man, well
known in heraldry,
hairy as a baboon, and girdled with green leaves. By
his side, a
noble figure, but still a counterfeit, appeared an Indian hunter,
with feathery
crest and wampum belt. Many of this strange company
wore foolscaps,
and had little bells appended to their garments, tinkling
with a silvery
sound, responsive to the inaudible music of their gleesome
spirits. Some
youths and maidens were of soberer garb, yet well
maintained their
places in the irregular throng by the expression of wild
revelry upon
their features. Such were the colonists of Merry Mount, as
they stood in
the broad smile of sunset round their venerated Maypole.
Had a wanderer,
bewildered in the melancholy forest, heard their mirth,
and stolen a
half-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 the
change. But
a band of Puritans, who watched the scene, invisible
themselves,
compared the masques to those devils and ruined souls with
whom their superstition
peopled the black wilderness.
Within the ring
of monsters appeared the two airiest forms that had ever
trodden on any
more solid footing than a purple and golden cloud. One
was a youth
in glistening apparel, with a scarf of the rainbow pattern
crosswise on
his breast. His right hand held a gilded staff, the ensign of
high dignity
among the revellers, and his left grasped the slender fingers of
a fair maiden,
not less gayly decorated than himself. Bright roses glowed
in contrast
with the dark and glossy curls of each, and were scattered
round their
feet, or had sprung up spontaneously there. Behind this
lightsome couple,
so close to the Maypole that its boughs shaded his
jovial face,
stood the figure of an English priest, canonically dressed, yet
decked with
flowers, in heathen fashion, and wearing a chaplet of the
native vine
leaves. By the riot of his rolling eye, and the pagan decorations
of his holy
garb, he seemed the wildest monster there, and the very
Comus of the
crew.
"Votaries of
the Maypole," cried the flower-decked priest, "merrily, all
day long, have
the woods echoed to your mirth. But be this your merriest
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 presently to join in
holy matrimony.
Up with your nimble spirits, ye morris-dancers, green
men, and glee
maidens, bears and wolves, and horned gentlemen! Come;
a chorus now,
rich with the old mirth of Merry England, and the wilder
glee of this
fresh forest; and then a dance, to show the youthful pair what
life is made
of, and how airily they should go through it! All ye that love
the Maypole,
lend your voices to the nuptial song of the Lord and Lady of
the May!"
This wedlock
was more serious than most affairs of Merry Mount, where
jest and delusion,
trick and fantasy, kept up a continual carnival. The Lord
and Lady of
the May, though their titles must be laid down at sunset, were
really and truly
to be partners for the dance of life, beginning the measure
that same bright
eve. The wreath of roses, that hung from the lowest green
bough of the
Maypole, had been twined for them, and would be thrown
over both their
heads, in symbol of their flowery union. When the priest
had spoken,
therefore, a riotous uproar burst from the rout of monstrous
figures.
"Begin you the
stave, reverend Sir," cried they all; "and never did the
woods ring to
such a merry peal as we of the Maypole shall send up!"
Immediately a
prelude of pipe, cithern, and viol, touched with practised
minstrelsy,
began to play from a neighboring thicket, in such a mirthful
cadence that
the boughs of the Maypole quivered to the sound. But the
May Lord, he
of the gilded staff, chancing to look into his Lady's eyes,
was wonder struck
at the almost pensive glance that met his own.
"Edith, sweet
Lady of the May," whispered he reproachfully, "is yon
wreath of roses
a garland to hang above our graves, that you look so
sad? O, Edith,
this is our golden time! Tarnish it not by any pensive
shadow of the
mind; for it may be that nothing of futurity will be brighter
than the mere
remembrance of what is now passing."
"That was the
very thought that saddened me! How came it in your mind
too?" said Edith,
in a still lower tone than he, for it was high treason to be
sad at Merry
Mount. "Therefore do I sigh amid this festive music. And
besides, dear
Edgar, I struggle as with a dream, and fancy that these
shapes of our
jovial friends are visionary, and their 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 shower of
withering rose
leaves from the Maypole. Alas, for the young lovers! No
sooner had their
hearts glowed with real passion than they were sensible
of something
vague and unsubstantial in their former pleasures, and felt a
dreary presentiment
of inevitable change. From the moment that they truly
loved, they
had subjected themselves to earth's doom of care and sorrow,
and troubled
joy, and had no more a home at Merry Mount. That was
Edith's mystery.
Now leave we the priest to marry them, and the
masquers to
sport round the Maypole, till the last sunbeam be withdrawn
from its summit,
and the shadows of the forest mingle gloomily in the
dance. Meanwhile,
we may discover who these gay people were.
Two hundred years
ago, and more, the old world and its inhabitants
became mutually
weary of each other. Men voyaged by thousands to the
West: some to
barter glass beads, and such like jewels, for the furs of the
Indian hunter;
some to conquer virgin empires; and one stern band to
pray. But none
of these motives had much weight with the colonists of
Merry Mount.
Their leaders were men who had sported so long with life,
that when Thought
and Wisdom came, even these unwelcome guests
were led astray
by the crowd of vanities which they should have put to
flight. Erring
Thought and perverted Wisdom were made to put on
masques, and
play the fool. The men of whom we speak, after losing the
heart's fresh
gayety, imagined a wild philosophy of pleasure, and came
hither to act
out their latest day-dream. They gathered followers from all
that giddy tribe
whose whole life is like the festal days of soberer men. In
their train
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,
and fairs; in a word, mirth makers of every sort, such as
abounded in
that age, but now began to be discountenanced by the rapid
growth of Puritanism.
Light had their footsteps been on land, and as lightly
they came across
the sea. Many had been maddened by their previous
troubles into
a gay despair; others were as madly gay in the flush of youth,
like the May
Lord and his Lady; but whatever might be the quality of their
mirth, old and
young were gay at Merry Mount. The young deemed
themselves happy.
The elder spirits, if they knew that mirth was but the
counterfeit
of happiness, yet followed the false shadow wilfully, because
at least her
garments glittered brightest. Sworn triflers of a lifetime, they
would not venture
among the sober truths of life not even to be truly blest.
All the hereditary
pastimes of Old England were transplanted hither. The
King of Christmas
was duly crowned, and the Lord of Misrule bore
potent sway.
On the Eve of St. John, they felled whole acres of the forest
to make bonfires,
and danced by the blaze all night, crowned with
garlands, and
throwing flowers into the flame. At harvest time, though
their crop was
of the smallest, they made an image with the sheaves of
Indian corn,
and wreathed it with autumnal garlands, and bore it home
triumphantly.
But what chiefly characterized the colonists of Merry Mount
was their veneration
for the Maypole. It has made their true history a
poet's tale.
Spring decked the hallowed emblem with young blossoms and
fresh green
boughs; Summer brought roses of the deepest blush, and the
perfected foliage
of the forest; Autumn enriched it with that red and
yellow gorgeousness
which converts each wildwood leaf into a painted
flower; and
Winter 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 it a tribute of its own richest
splendor. Its
votaries danced round it, once, at least, in every month;
sometimes they
called it their religion, or their altar; but always, it was the
banner staff
of Merry Mount.
Unfortunately,
there were men in the new world of a sterner faith than
these Maypole
worshippers. Not far from Merry Mount was a settlement
of Puritans,
most dismal wretches, who said their prayers before daylight,
and then wrought
in the forest or the corn-field till evening made it prayer
time again.
Their weapons were always at hand to shoot down the
straggling savage.
When they met in conclave, it was never to keep up the
old English
mirth, but to hear sermons three hours long, or to proclaim
bounties on
the heads of wolves and the scalps of Indians. Their festivals
were fast days,
and their chief pastime the singing of psalms. Wo to the
youth or maiden
who did but dream of a dance! The selectman nodded to
the constable;
and there sat the light-heeled reprobate in the stocks; or if
he danced, it
was round the whipping-post, which might be termed the
Puritan Maypole.
A party of these
grim Puritans, toiling through the difficult woods, each
with a horseload
of iron armor to burden his footsteps, would sometimes
draw near the
sunny precincts of Merry Mount. There were the silken
colonists, sporting
round their Maypole; perhaps teaching a bear to
dance, or striving
to communicate their mirth to the grave Indian; or
masquerading
in the skins of deer and wolves, which they had hunted for
that especial
purpose. Often, the whole colony were playing at blindman's
buff, magistrates
and all, with their eyes bandaged, except a single
scapegoat, whom
the blinded sinners pursued by the tinkling of the bells at
his garments.
Once, it is said, they were seen following a flower-decked
corpse, with
merriment and festive music, to his grave. But did the dead
man laugh? In
their quietest times, they sang ballads and told tales, for the
edification
of their pious visitors; or perplexed them with juggling tricks; or
grinned at them
through horse collars; and when sport itself grew
wearisome, they
made game of their own stupidity, and began a yawning
match. At the
very least of these enormities, the men of iron shook their
heads and frowned
so darkly that the revellers looked up, imagining that a
momentary cloud
had overcast the sunshine, which was to be perpetual
there. On the
other hand, the Puritans affirmed that, when a psalm was
pealing from
their place of worship, the echo which the forest sent them
back seemed
often like the chorus of a jolly catch, closing with a roar of
laughter. Who
but the fiend, and his bond slaves, the crew of Merry
Mount, had thus
disturbed them? In due time, a feud arose, stern and
bitter on one
side, and as serious on the other as anything could be among
such light spirits
as had sworn allegiance to the Maypole. The future
complexion of
New England was involved in this important quarrel.
Should the grizzly
saints establish their jurisdiction over the gay sinners,
then would their
spirits darken all the clime, and make it a land of clouded
visages, of
hard toil, of sermon and psalm forever. But should the banner
staff of Merry
Mount be fortunate, sunshine would break upon the hills,
and flowers
would beautify the forest, and late posterity do homage to the
Maypole.
After these authentic
passages from history, we return to the nuptials of
the Lord and
Lady of the May. Alas! we have delayed too long, and must
darken our tale
too suddenly. As we glance again at the Maypole, a
solitary sunbeam
is fading from the summit, and leaves only a faint, golden
tinge blended
with the hues of the rainbow banner. Even that dim light is
now withdrawn,
relinquishing the whole domain of Merry Mount to the
evening gloom,
which has rushed so instantaneously from the black
surrounding
woods. But some of these black shadows have rushed forth
in human shape.
Yes, with the
setting sun, the last day of mirth had passed from Merry
Mount. The ring
of gay masquers was disordered and broken; the stag
lowered his
antlers in dismay; the wolf grew weaker than a lamb; the bells
of the morris-dancers
tinkled with tremulous affright. The Puritans had
played a characteristic
part in the Maypole mummeries. Their darksome
figures were
intermixed with the wild shapes of their foes, and made the
scene a picture
of the moment, when waking thoughts start up amid the
scattered fantasies
of a dream. The leader of the hostile party stood in the
centre of the
circle, while the rout of monsters cowered around him, like
evil spirits
in the presence of a dread magician. No fantastic foolery could
look him in
the face. So stern was the energy of his aspect, that the whole
man, visage,
frame, and soul, seemed wrought of iron, gifted with life and
thought, yet
all of one substance with his headpiece and breastplate. It
was the Puritan
of Puritans; it was Endicott himself!
"Stand off, priest
of Baal!" said he, with a grim frown, and laying no
reverent hand
upon the surplice. "I know thee, Blackstone! Thou art the
man who couldst
not abide the rule even of thine own corrupted church,
and hast come
hither to preach iniquity, and to give example of it in thy
life. But now
shall it be seen that the Lord hath sanctified this wilderness
for his peculiar
people. Wo unto them that would defile it! And first, for
this flower-decked
abomination, the altar of thy worship!"
And with his
keen sword Endicott assaulted the hallowed Maypole. Nor
long did it
resist his arm. It groaned with a dismal sound; it showered
leaves and rosebuds
upon the remorseless enthusiast; and finally, with all
its green boughs
and ribbons and flowers, symbolic of departed
pleasures, down
fell the banner staff of Merry Mount. As it sank, tradition
says, the evening
sky grew darker, and the woods threw forth a more
sombre shadow.
"There," cried
Endicott, looking triumphantly on his work, "there lies the
only Maypole
in New England! The thought is strong within me that, by its
fall, is shadowed
forth the fate of light and idle mirth makers, amongst us
and our posterity.
Amen, saith John Endicott."
*Did Governor
Endicott speak less positively, we should suspect a
mistake here.
The Rev. Mr. Blackstone, though an eccentric, is not
known to have
been an immoral man. We rather doubt his identity with
the priest of
Merry Mount.
"Amen!" echoed his followers.
But the votaries
of the Maypole gave one groan for their idol. At the
sound, the Puritan
leader glanced at the crew of Comus, each a figure of
broad mirth,
yet, at this moment, strangely expressive of sorrow and
dismay.
"Valiant captain,"
quoth Peter Palfrey, the Ancient of the band, "what
order shall
be taken with the prisoners?"
"I thought not
to repent me of cutting down a Maypole," replied Endicott,
"yet now I could
find in my heart to plant it again, and give each of these
bestial pagans
one other dance round their idol. It would 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 heathen crew,
and bestow on
them a small matter of stripes apiece, as earnest of our
future justice.
Set some of the rogues in the stocks to rest themselves, so
soon as Providence
shall bring us to one of our own well-ordered
settlements,
where such accommodations may be found. Further
penalties, such
as branding and cropping of ears, shall be thought of
hereafter."
"How many stripes for the priest?" inquired Ancient Palfrey.
"None as yet,"
answered Endicott, bending his iron frown upon the
culprit. "It
must be for the Great and General Court to determine, whether
stripes and
long imprisonment, and other grievous penalty, may atone for
his transgressions.
Let him look to himself! For such as violate our civil
order, it may
be permitted us to show mercy. But wo to the wretch that
troubleth our
religion!"
"And this dancing
bear," resumed the officer. "Must he share the stripes of
his fellows?"
"Shoot him through
the head!" said the energetic Puritan. "I suspect
witchcraft in
the beast."
"Here be a couple
of shining ones," continued Peter Palfrey, pointing his
weapon at the
Lord and Lady of the May. "They seem to be of high
station among
these misdoers. Methinks their dignity will not be fitted with
less than a
double share of stripes."
Endicott rested
on his sword, and closely surveyed the dress and aspect
of the hapless
pair. There they stood, pale, downcast, and apprehensive.
Yet there was
an air of mutual support, and of pure affection, seeking aid
and giving it,
that showed them to be man and wife, with the sanction of a
priest upon
their love. The youth, in the peril of the moment, had dropped
his gilded staff,
and thrown his arm about the Lady of the May, who
leaned against
his breast, too lightly to burden him, but with weight enough
to express that
their destinies were linked together, for good or evil. They
looked first
at each other, and then into the grim captain's face. There they
stood, in the
first hour of wedlock, while the idle pleasures, of which their
companions were
the emblems, had given place to the sternest cares of
life, personified
by the dark Puritans. But never had their youthful beauty
seemed so pure
and high as when its glow was chastened by adversity.