Part 7 (1/2)
”There is a lady here,” said the old man; and his voice lost some of its wearisome hesitation. ”You will account it a very strange matter for me to talk about; but I chanced to know this lady when she was but a little child. If I am rightly informed, she has grown to be a very fine woman, and makes a brilliant figure in the world, with her beauty, and her talents, and her n.o.ble way of spending her riches. I should recognize this lady, so people tell me, by a magnificent flower in her hair.”
”What a rich tinge it gives to his colorless ideas, when he speaks of Zen.o.bia!” I whispered to Hollingsworth. ”But how can there possibly be any interest or connecting link between him and her?”
”The old man, for years past,” whispered Hollingsworth, ”has been a little out of his right mind, as you probably see.”
”What I would inquire,” resumed Moodie, ”is whether this beautiful lady is kind to my poor Priscilla.”
”Very kind,” said Hollingsworth.
”Does she love her?” asked Moodie.
”It should seem so,” answered my friend. ”They are always together.”
”Like a gentlewoman and her maid-servant, I fancy?” suggested the old man.
There was something so singular in his way of saying this, that I could not resist the impulse to turn quite round, so as to catch a glimpse of his face, almost imagining that I should see another person than old Moodie. But there he sat, with the patched side of his face towards me.
”Like an elder and younger sister, rather,” replied Hollingsworth.
”Ah!” said Moodie more complacently, for his latter tones had harshness and acidity in them,--”it would gladden my old heart to witness that.
If one thing would make me happier than another, Mr. Hollingsworth, it would be to see that beautiful lady holding my little girl by the hand.”
”Come along,” said Hollingsworth, ”and perhaps you may.”
After a little more delay on the part of our freakish visitor, they set forth together, old Moodie keeping a step or two behind Hollingsworth, so that the latter could not very conveniently look him in the face. I remained under the tuft of maples, doing my utmost to draw an inference from the scene that had just pa.s.sed. In spite of Hollingsworth's off-hand explanation, it did not strike me that our strange guest was really beside himself, but only that his mind needed s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up, like an instrument long out of tune, the strings of which have ceased to vibrate smartly and sharply. Methought it would be profitable for us, projectors of a happy life, to welcome this old gray shadow, and cherish him as one of us, and let him creep about our domain, in order that he might be a little merrier for our sakes, and we, sometimes, a little sadder for his. Human destinies look ominous without some perceptible intermixture of the sable or the gray. And then, too, should any of our fraternity grow feverish with an over-exulting sense of prosperity, it would be a sort of cooling regimen to slink off into the woods, and spend an hour, or a day, or as many days as might be requisite to the cure, in uninterrupted communion with this deplorable old Moodie!
Going homeward to dinner, I had a glimpse of him, behind the trunk of a tree, gazing earnestly towards a particular window of the farmhouse; and by and by Priscilla appeared at this window, playfully drawing along Zen.o.bia, who looked as bright as the very day that was blazing down upon us, only not, by many degrees, so well advanced towards her noon. I was convinced that this pretty sight must have been purposely arranged by Priscilla for the old man to see. But either the girl held her too long, or her fondness was resented as too great a freedom; for Zen.o.bia suddenly put Priscilla decidedly away, and gave her a haughty look, as from a mistress to a dependant. Old Moodie shook his head; and again and again I saw him shake it, as he withdrew along the road; and at the last point whence the farmhouse was visible, he turned and shook his uplifted staff.
XI. 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 const.i.tuted 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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 acquaintances.h.i.+p, 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sume 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 ”b.u.mpkin.” To either of these appellations my rustic garb (it was a linen blouse, with checked s.h.i.+rt and striped pantaloons, a chip hat on my head, and a rough hickory stick in my hand) very fairly ent.i.tled 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 n.o.bles 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.