The Blithedale Romance - Page 114/170

"Your allusion to that class of circumscribed characters who can live

only in one mode of life," remarked I coolly, "reminds me of our poor

friend Hollingsworth. Possibly he was in your thoughts when you spoke

thus. Poor fellow! It is a pity that, by the fault of a narrow

education, he should have so completely immolated himself to that one

idea of his, especially as the slightest modicum of common-sense would

teach him its utter impracticability. Now that I have returned into

the world, and can look at his project from a distance, it requires

quite all my real regard for this respectable and well-intentioned man

to prevent me laughing at him,--as I find society at large does."

Zenobia's eyes darted lightning, her cheeks flushed, the vividness of

her expression was like the effect of a powerful light flaming up

suddenly within her. My experiment had fully succeeded. She had shown

me the true flesh and blood of her heart, by thus involuntarily

resenting my slight, pitying, half-kind, half-scornful mention of the

man who was all in all with her. She herself probably felt this; for

it was hardly a moment before she tranquillized her uneven breath, and

seemed as proud and self-possessed as ever.

"I rather imagine," said she quietly, "that your appreciation falls

short of Mr. Hollingsworth's just claims. Blind enthusiasm, absorption

in one idea, I grant, is generally ridiculous, and must be fatal to the

respectability of an ordinary man; it requires a very high and powerful

character to make it otherwise. But a great man--as, perhaps, you do

not know--attains his normal condition only through the inspiration of

one great idea. As a friend of Mr. Hollingsworth, and, at the same

time, a calm observer, I must tell you that he seems to me such a man.

But you are very pardonable for fancying him ridiculous. Doubtless, he

is so--to you! There can be no truer test of the noble and heroic, in

any individual, than the degree in which he possesses the faculty of

distinguishing heroism from absurdity."

I dared make no retort to Zenobia's concluding apothegm. In truth, I

admired her fidelity. It gave me a new sense of Hollingsworth's native

power, to discover that his influence was no less potent with this

beautiful woman here, in the midst of artificial life, than it had been

at the foot of the gray rock, and among the wild birch-trees of the

wood-path, when she so passionately pressed his hand against her heart.

The great, rude, shaggy, swarthy man! And Zenobia loved him!

"Did you bring Priscilla with you?" I resumed. "Do you know I have

sometimes fancied it not quite safe, considering the susceptibility of

her temperament, that she should be so constantly within the sphere of

a man like Hollingsworth. Such tender and delicate natures, among your

sex, have often, I believe, a very adequate appreciation of the heroic

element in men. But then, again, I should suppose them as likely as

any other women to make a reciprocal impression. Hollingsworth could

hardly give his affections to a person capable of taking an independent

stand, but only to one whom he might absorb into himself. He has

certainly shown great tenderness for Priscilla."