The Blithedale Romance - Page 39/170

"What I find most singular in Priscilla, as her health improves,"

observed Zenobia, "is her wildness. Such a quiet little body as she

seemed, one would not have expected that. Why, as we strolled the

woods together, I could hardly keep her from scrambling up the trees,

like a squirrel. She has never before known what it is to live in the

free air, and so it intoxicates her as if she were sipping wine. And

she thinks it such a paradise here, and all of us, particularly Mr.

Hollingsworth and myself, such angels! It is quite ridiculous, and

provokes one's malice almost, to see a creature so happy, especially a

feminine creature."

"They are always happier than male creatures," said I.

"You must correct that opinion, Mr. Coverdale," replied Zenobia

contemptuously, "or I shall think you lack the poetic insight. Did you

ever see a happy woman in your life? Of course, I do not mean a girl,

like Priscilla and a thousand others,--for they are all alike, while on

the sunny side of experience,--but a grown woman. How can she be

happy, after discovering that fate has assigned her but one single

event, which she must contrive to make the substance of her whole life?

A man has his choice of innumerable events."

"A woman, I suppose," answered I, "by constant repetition of her one

event, may compensate for the lack of variety."

"Indeed!" said Zenobia.

While we were talking, Priscilla caught sight of Hollingsworth at a

distance, in a blue frock, and with a hoe over his shoulder, returning

from the field. She immediately set out to meet him, running and

skipping, with spirits as light as the breeze of the May morning, but

with limbs too little exercised to be quite responsive; she clapped her

hands, too, with great exuberance of gesture, as is the custom of young

girls when their electricity overcharges them. But, all at once, midway

to Hollingsworth, she paused, looked round about her, towards the

river, the road, the woods, and back towards us, appearing to listen,

as if she heard some one calling her name, and knew not precisely in

what direction.

"Have you bewitched her?" I exclaimed.

"It is no sorcery of mine," said Zenobia; "but I have seen the girl do

that identical thing once or twice before. Can you imagine what is the

matter with her?"

"No; unless," said I, "she has the gift of hearing those 'airy tongues

that syllable men's names,' which Milton tells about."