الفصل الفصل 10 · THE WOOD-PATH

Not long after the preceding incident, in order to get the ache of too

constant labor out of my bones, and to relieve my spirit of the

irksomeness of a settled routine, I took a holiday. It was my purpose

to spend it all alone, from breakfast-time till twilight, in the

deepest wood-seclusion that lay anywhere around us. Though fond of

society, I was so constituted as to need these occasional retirements,

even in a life like that of Blithedale, which was itself characterized

by a remoteness from the world. Unless renewed by a yet further

withdrawal towards the inner circle of self-communion, I lost the

better part of my individuality. My thoughts became of little worth,

and my sensibilities grew as arid as a tuft of moss (a thing whose life

is in the shade, the rain, or the noontide dew), crumbling in the

sunshine after long expectance of a shower. So, with my heart full of

a drowsy pleasure, and cautious not to dissipate my mood by previous

intercourse with any one, I hurried away, and was soon pacing a

wood-path, arched overhead with boughs, and dusky-brown beneath my feet.

At first I walked very swiftly, as if the heavy flood tide of social

life were roaring at my heels, and would outstrip and overwhelm me,

without all the better diligence in my escape. But, threading the more

distant windings of the track, I abated my pace, and looked about me

for some side-aisle, that should admit me into the innermost sanctuary

of this green cathedral, just as, in human acquaintanceship, a casual

opening sometimes lets us, all of a sudden, into the long-sought

intimacy of a mysterious heart. So much was I absorbed in my

reflections,--or, rather, in my mood, the substance of which was as yet

too shapeless to be called thought,--that footsteps rustled on the

leaves, and a figure passed me by, almost without impressing either the

sound or sight upon my consciousness.

A moment afterwards, I heard a voice at a little distance behind me,

speaking so sharply and impertinently that it made a complete discord

with my spiritual state, and caused the latter to vanish as abruptly as

when you thrust a finger into a soap-bubble.

"Halloo, friend!" cried this most unseasonable voice. "Stop a moment,

I say! I must have a word with you!"

I turned about, in a humor ludicrously irate. In the first place, the

interruption, at any rate, was a grievous injury; then, the tone

displeased me. And finally, unless there be real affection in his

heart, a man cannot,--such is the bad state to which the world has

brought itself,--cannot more effectually show his contempt for a

brother mortal, nor more gallingly assume a position of superiority,

than by addressing him as "friend." Especially does the misapplication

of this phrase bring out that latent hostility which is sure to animate

peculiar sects, and those who, with however generous a purpose, have

sequestered themselves from the crowd; a feeling, it is true, which may

be hidden in some dog-kennel of the heart, grumbling there in the

darkness, but is never quite extinct, until the dissenting party have

gained power and scope enough to treat the world generously. For my

part, I should have taken it as far less an insult to be styled

"fellow," "clown," or "bumpkin." To either of these appellations my

rustic garb (it was a linen blouse, with checked shirt and striped

pantaloons, a chip hat on my head, and a rough hickory stick in my

hand) very fairly entitled me. As the case stood, my temper darted at

once to the opposite pole; not friend, but enemy!

"What do you want with me?" said I, facing about.

"Come a little nearer, friend," said the stranger, beckoning.

"No," answered I. "If I can do anything for you without too much

trouble to myself, say so. But recollect, if you please, that you are

not speaking to an acquaintance, much less a friend!"

"Upon my word, I believe not!" retorted he, looking at me with some

curiosity; and, lifting his hat, he made me a salute which had enough

of sarcasm to be offensive, and just enough of doubtful courtesy to

render any resentment of it absurd. "But I ask your pardon! I

recognize a little mistake. If I may take the liberty to suppose it,

you, sir, are probably one of the aesthetic--or shall I rather say

ecstatic?--laborers, who have planted themselves hereabouts. This is

your forest of Arden; and you are either the banished Duke in person,

or one of the chief nobles in his train. The melancholy Jacques,

perhaps? Be it so. In that case, you can probably do me a favor."

I never, in my life, felt less inclined to confer a favor on any man.

"I am busy," said I.

So unexpectedly had the stranger made me sensible of his presence, that

he had almost the effect of an apparition; and certainly a less

appropriate one (taking into view the dim woodland solitude about us)

than if the salvage man of antiquity, hirsute and cinctured with a

leafy girdle, had started out of a thicket. He was still young,

seemingly a little under thirty, of a tall and well-developed figure,

and as handsome a man as ever I beheld. The style of his beauty,

however, though a masculine style, did not at all commend itself to my

taste. His countenance--I hardly know how to describe the

peculiarity--had an indecorum in it, a kind of rudeness, a hard,

coarse, forth-putting freedom of expression, which no degree of

external polish could have abated one single jot. Not that it was

vulgar. But he had no fineness of nature; there was in his eyes

(although they might have artifice enough of another sort) the naked

exposure of something that ought not to be left prominent. With these

vague allusions to what I have seen in other faces as well as his, I

leave the quality to be comprehended best--because with an intuitive

repugnance--by those who possess least of it.

His hair, as well as his beard and mustache, was coal-black; his eyes,

too, were black and sparkling, and his teeth remarkably brilliant. He

was rather carelessly but well and fashionably dressed, in a

summer-morning costume. There was a gold chain, exquisitely wrought,

across his vest. I never saw a smoother or whiter gloss than that upon

his shirt-bosom, which had a pin in it, set with a gem that glimmered,

in the leafy shadow where he stood, like a living tip of fire. He

carried a stick with a wooden head, carved in vivid imitation of that

of a serpent. I hated him, partly, I do believe, from a comparison of

my own homely garb with his well-ordered foppishness.

"Well, sir," said I, a little ashamed of my first irritation, but still

with no waste of civility, "be pleased to speak at once, as I have my

own business in hand."

"I regret that my mode of addressing you was a little unfortunate,"

said the stranger, smiling; for he seemed a very acute sort of person,

and saw, in some degree, how I stood affected towards him. "I intended

no offence, and shall certainly comport myself with due ceremony

hereafter. I merely wish to make a few inquiries respecting a lady,

formerly of my acquaintance, who is now resident in your Community,

and, I believe, largely concerned in your social enterprise. You call

her, I think, Zenobia."

"That is her name in literature," observed I; "a name, too, which

possibly she may permit her private friends to know and address her

by,--but not one which they feel at liberty to recognize when used of

her personally by a stranger or casual acquaintance."

"Indeed!" answered this disagreeable person; and he turned aside his

face for an instant with a brief laugh, which struck me as a noteworthy

expression of his character. "Perhaps I might put forward a claim, on

your own grounds, to call the lady by a name so appropriate to her

splendid qualities. But I am willing to know her by any cognomen that

you may suggest."

Heartily wishing that he would be either a little more offensive, or a

good deal less so, or break off our intercourse altogether, I mentioned

Zenobia's real name.

"True," said he; "and in general society I have never heard her called

otherwise. And, after all, our discussion of the point has been

gratuitous. My object is only to inquire when, where, and how this

lady may most conveniently be seen."

"At her present residence, of course," I replied. "You have but to go

thither and ask for her. This very path will lead you within sight of

the house; so I wish you good-morning."

"One moment, if you please," said the stranger. "The course you

indicate would certainly be the proper one, in an ordinary morning

call. But my business is private, personal, and somewhat peculiar.

Now, in a community like this, I should judge that any little

occurrence is likely to be discussed rather more minutely than would

quite suit my views. I refer solely to myself, you understand, and

without intimating that it would be other than a matter of entire

indifference to the lady. In short, I especially desire to see her in

private. If her habits are such as I have known them, she is probably

often to be met with in the woods, or by the river-side; and I think

you could do me the favor to point out some favorite walk, where, about

this hour, I might be fortunate enough to gain an interview."

I reflected that it would be quite a supererogatory piece of Quixotism

in me to undertake the guardianship of Zenobia, who, for my pains,

would only make me the butt of endless ridicule, should the fact ever

come to her knowledge. I therefore described a spot which, as often as

any other, was Zenobia's resort at this period of the day; nor was it

so remote from the farmhouse as to leave her in much peril, whatever

might be the stranger's character.

"A single word more," said he; and his black eyes sparkled at me,

whether with fun or malice I knew not, but certainly as if the Devil

were peeping out of them. "Among your fraternity, I understand, there

is a certain holy and benevolent blacksmith; a man of iron, in more

senses than one; a rough, cross-grained, well-meaning individual,

rather boorish in his manners, as might be expected, and by no means of

the highest intellectual cultivation. He is a philanthropical

lecturer, with two or three disciples, and a scheme of his own, the

preliminary step in which involves a large purchase of land, and the

erection of a spacious edifice, at an expense considerably beyond his

means; inasmuch as these are to be reckoned in copper or old iron much

more conveniently than in gold or silver. He hammers away upon his one

topic as lustily as ever he did upon a horseshoe! Do you know such a

person?" I shook my head, and was turning away. "Our friend," he

continued, "is described to me as a brawny, shaggy, grim, and

ill-favored personage, not particularly well calculated, one would say,

to insinuate himself with the softer sex. Yet, so far has this honest

fellow succeeded with one lady whom we wot of, that he anticipates,

from her abundant resources, the necessary funds for realizing his plan

in brick and mortar!"

Here the stranger seemed to be so much amused with his sketch of

Hollingsworth's character and purposes, that he burst into a fit of

merriment, of the same nature as the brief, metallic laugh already

alluded to, but immensely prolonged and enlarged. In the excess of his

delight, he opened his mouth wide, and disclosed a gold band around the

upper part of his teeth, thereby making it apparent that every one of

his brilliant grinders and incisors was a sham. This discovery

affected me very oddly.

I felt as if the whole man were a moral and physical humbug; his

wonderful beauty of face, for aught I knew, might be removable like a

mask; and, tall and comely as his figure looked, he was perhaps but a

wizened little elf, gray and decrepit, with nothing genuine about him

save the wicked expression of his grin. The fantasy of his spectral

character so wrought upon me, together with the contagion of his

strange mirth on my sympathies, that I soon began to laugh as loudly as

himself.

By and by, he paused all at once; so suddenly, indeed, that my own

cachinnation lasted a moment longer.

"Ah, excuse me!" said he. "Our interview seems to proceed more merrily

than it began."

"It ends here," answered I. "And I take shame to myself that my folly

has lost me the right of resenting your ridicule of a friend."

"Pray allow me," said the stranger, approaching a step nearer, and

laying his gloved hand on my sleeve. "One other favor I must ask of

you. You have a young person here at Blithedale, of whom I have

heard,--whom, perhaps, I have known,--and in whom, at all events, I

take a peculiar interest. She is one of those delicate, nervous young

creatures, not uncommon in New England, and whom I suppose to have

become what we find them by the gradual refining away of the physical

system among your women. Some philosophers choose to glorify this

habit of body by terming it spiritual; but, in my opinion, it is rather

the effect of unwholesome food, bad air, lack of outdoor exercise, and

neglect of bathing, on the part of these damsels and their female

progenitors, all resulting in a kind of hereditary dyspepsia. Zenobia,

even with her uncomfortable surplus of vitality, is far the better

model of womanhood. But--to revert again to this young person--she

goes among you by the name of Priscilla. Could you possibly afford me

the means of speaking with her?"

"You have made so many inquiries of me," I observed, "that I may at

least trouble you with one. What is your name?"

He offered me a card, with "Professor Westervelt" engraved on it. At

the same time, as if to vindicate his claim to the professorial

dignity, so often assumed on very questionable grounds, he put on a

pair of spectacles, which so altered the character of his face that I

hardly knew him again. But I liked the present aspect no better than

the former one.

"I must decline any further connection with your affairs," said I,

drawing back. "I have told you where to find Zenobia. As for

Priscilla, she has closer friends than myself, through whom, if they

see fit, you can gain access to her."

"In that case," returned the Professor, ceremoniously raising his hat,

"good-morning to you."

He took his departure, and was soon out of sight among the windings of

the wood-path. But after a little reflection, I could not help

regretting that I had so peremptorily broken off the interview, while

the stranger seemed inclined to continue it. His evident knowledge of

matters affecting my three friends might have led to disclosures or

inferences that would perhaps have been serviceable. I was

particularly struck with the fact that, ever since the appearance of

Priscilla, it had been the tendency of events to suggest and establish

a connection between Zenobia and her. She had come, in the first

instance, as if with the sole purpose of claiming Zenobia's protection.

Old Moodie's visit, it appeared, was chiefly to ascertain whether this

object had been accomplished. And here, to-day, was the questionable

Professor, linking one with the other in his inquiries, and seeking

communication with both.

Meanwhile, my inclination for a ramble having been balked, I lingered

in the vicinity of the farm, with perhaps a vague idea that some new

event would grow out of Westervelt's proposed interview with Zenobia.

My own part in these transactions was singularly subordinate. It

resembled that of the Chorus in a classic play, which seems to be set

aloof from the possibility of personal concernment, and bestows the

whole measure of its hope or fear, its exultation or sorrow, on the

fortunes of others, between whom and itself this sympathy is the only

bond. Destiny, it may be,--the most skilful of stage managers,--seldom

chooses to arrange its scenes, and carry forward its drama, without

securing the presence of at least one calm observer. It is his office

to give applause when due, and sometimes an inevitable tear, to detect

the final fitness of incident to character, and distil in his

long-brooding thought the whole morality of the performance.

Not to be out of the way in case there were need of me in my vocation,

and, at the same time, to avoid thrusting myself where neither destiny

nor mortals might desire my presence, I remained pretty near the verge

of the woodlands. My position was off the track of Zenobia's customary

walk, yet not so remote but that a recognized occasion might speedily

have brought me thither.

XII.