" A weary and lonesome time yonder old couple have of it," remarkedthe old woman, smiling in the lady's face.
"And did you also hear them?" exclaimed she, a sense of intolerablehumiliation triumphing over her agony and fear.
"Yea; and we have yet more to hear," replied the old woman.
"Wherefore, cover thy face quickly."
Again the withered hag poured forth the monotonous words of aprayer that was not meant to be acceptable in heaven; and soon, in thepauses of her breath, strange murmurings began to thicken, graduallyincreasing so as to drown and overpower the charm by which theygrew. Shrieks pierced through the obscurity of sound, and weresucceeded by the singing of sweet female voices, which, in their turn,gave way to a wild roar of laughter, broken suddenly by groaningsand sobs, forming altogether a ghastly confusion of terror andmourning and mirth. Chains were rattling, fierce and stern voicesuttered threats, and the scourge resounded at their command. All thesenoises deepened and became substantial to the listener's ear, till shecould distinguish every soft and dreamy accent of the love songsthat died causelessly into funeral hymns. She shuddered at theunprovoked wrath which blazed up like the spontaneous kindling offlame, and she grew faint at the fearful merriment raging miserablyaround her. In the midst of this wild scene, where unbound passionsjostled each other in a drunken career, there was one solemn voiceof a man, and a manly and melodious voice it might once have been.
He went to and fro continually, and his feet sounded upon the floor.
In each member of that frenzied company, whose own burning thoughtshad become their exclusive world, he sought an auditor for the storyof his individual wrong, and interpreted their laughter and tears ashis reward of scorn or pity. He spoke of woman's perfidy, of a wifewho had broken her holiest vows, of a home and heart made desolate.
Even as he went on, the shout, the laugh, the shriek, the sob, rose upin unison, till they changed into the hollow, fitful, and uneven soundof the wind, as it fought among the pine-trees on those three lonelyhills. The lady looked up, and there was the withered woman smiling inher face.
"Couldst thou have thought there were such merry times in amad-house?" inquired the latter.
"True, true," said the lady to herself; "there is mirth withinits walls, but misery, misery without.""Wouldst thou hear more?" demanded the old woman.
"There is one other voice I would fain listen to again," repliedthe lady faintly.
"Then, lay down thy head speedily upon my knees, that thou maystget thee hence before the hour be past."The golden skirts of day were yet lingering upon the hills, butdeep shades obscured the hollow and the pool, as if sombre nightwere rising thence to overspread the world. Again that evil womanbegan to weave her spell. Long did it proceed unanswered, till theknolling of a bell stole in among the intervals of her words, like aclang that had travelled far over valley and rising ground, and wasjust ready to die in the air. The lady shook upon her companion'sknees as she heard that boding sound. Stronger it grew and sadder, anddeepened into the tone of a death bell, knolling dolefully from someivy-mantled tower, and bearing tidings of mortality and wo to thecottage, to the hall, and to the solitary wayfarer, that all mightweep for the doom appointed in turn to them. Then came a measuredtread, passing slowly, slowly on, as of mourners with a coffin,their garments trailing on the ground, so that the ear could measurethe length of their melancholy array. Before them went the priest,reading the burial service, while the leaves of his book were rustlingin the breeze. And though no voice but his was heard to speak aloud,still there were revilings and anathemas, whispered but distinct, fromwomen and from men, breathed against the daughter who had wrung theaged hearts of her parents- the wife who had betrayed the trustingfondness of her husband- the mother who had sinned against naturalaffection, and left her child to die. The sweeping sound of thefuneral train faded away like a thin vapor, and the wind, that justbefore had seemed to shake the coffin pall, moaned sadly round theverge of the Hollow between three Hills. But when the old womanstirred the kneeling lady, she lifted not her head.
"Here has been a sweet hour's sport!" said the withered crone,chuckling to herself.
THE END
.
1836
TWICE-TOLD TALES
THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT
by Nathaniel Hawthorne
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'srugged hills, and scatter flower seeds throughout the soil. Jollityand gloom were contending for an empire. Midsummer eve had come,bringing deep verdure to the forest, and roses in her lap, of a morevivid hue than the tender buds of Spring. But May, or her mirthfulspirit, dwelt all the year round at Merry Mount, sporting with theSummer months, and revelling with Autumn, and basking in the glow ofWinter's fireside. Through a world of toil and care she flitted with adreamlike smile, and came hither to find a home among the lightsomehearts of Merry Mount.
