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_ Well, I betook myself away, and wandered up and down, like an
exorcised spirit that had been driven from its old haunts after a
mighty struggle. It takes down the solitary pride of man, beyond
most other things, to find the impracticability of flinging aside
affections that have grown irksome. The bands that were silken once
are apt to become iron fetters when we desire to shake them off. Our
souls, after all, are not our own. We convey a property in them to
those with whom we associate; but to what extent can never be known,
until we feel the tug, the agony, of our abortive effort to resume an
exclusive sway over ourselves. Thus, in all the weeks of my absence,
my thoughts continually reverted back, brooding over the bygone
months, and bringing up incidents that seemed hardly to have left a
trace of themselves in their passage. I spent painful hours in
recalling these trifles, and rendering them more misty and
unsubstantial than at first by the quantity of speculative musing
thus kneaded in with them. Hollingsworth, Zenobia, Priscilla! These
three had absorbed my life into themselves. Together with an
inexpressible longing to know their fortunes, there was likewise a
morbid resentment of my own pain, and a stubborn reluctance to come
again within their sphere.
All that I learned of them, therefore, was comprised in a few brief
and pungent squibs, such as the newspapers were then in the habit of
bestowing on our socialist enterprise. There was one paragraph,
which if I rightly guessed its purport bore reference to Zenobia, but
was too darkly hinted to convey even thus much of certainty.
Hollingsworth, too, with his philanthropic project, afforded the
penny-a-liners a theme for some savage and bloody minded jokes; and,
considerably to my surprise, they affected me with as much
indignation as if we had still been friends.
Thus passed several weeks; time long enough for my brown and
toil-hardened hands to reaccustom themselves to gloves. Old habits,
such as were merely external, returned upon me with wonderful
promptitude. My superficial talk, too, assumed altogether a worldly
tone. Meeting former acquaintances, who showed themselves inclined
to ridicule my heroic devotion to the cause of human welfare, I spoke
of the recent phase of my life as indeed fair matter for a jest. But,
I also gave them to understand that it was, at most, only an
experiment, on which I had staked no valuable amount of hope or fear.
It had enabled me to pass the summer in a novel and agreeable way,
had afforded me some grotesque specimens of artificial simplicity,
and could not, therefore, so far as I was concerned, be reckoned a
failure. In no one instance, however, did I voluntarily speak of my
three friends. They dwelt in a profounder region. The more I
consider myself as I then was, the more do I recognize how deeply my
connection with those three had affected all my being.
As it was already the epoch of annihilated space, I might in the time
I was away from Blithedale have snatched a glimpse at England, and
been back again. But my wanderings were confined within a very
limited sphere. I hopped and fluttered, like a bird with a string
about its leg, gyrating round a small circumference, and keeping up a
restless activity to no purpose. Thus it was still in our familiar
Massachusetts--in one of its white country villages--that I must next
particularize an incident.
The scene was one of those lyceum halls, of which almost every
village has now its own, dedicated to that sober and pallid, or
rather drab-colored, mode of winter-evening entertainment, the
lecture. Of late years this has come strangely into vogue, when the
natural tendency of things would seem to be to substitute lettered
for oral methods of addressing the public. But, in halls like this,
besides the winter course of lectures, there is a rich and varied
series of other exhibitions. Hither comes the ventriloquist, with
all his mysterious tongues; the thaumaturgist, too, with his
miraculous transformations of plates, doves, and rings, his pancakes
smoking in your hat, and his cellar of choice liquors represented in
one small bottle. Here, also, the itinerant professor instructs
separate classes of ladies and gentlemen in physiology, and
demonstrates his lessons by the aid of real skeletons, and manikins
in wax, from Paris. Here is to be heard the choir of Ethiopian
melodists, and to be seen the diorama of Moscow or Bunker Hill, or
the moving panorama of the Chinese wall. Here is displayed the
museum of wax figures, illustrating the wide catholicism of earthly
renown, by mixing up heroes and statesmen, the pope and the Mormon
prophet, kings, queens, murderers, and beautiful ladies; every sort
of person, in short, except authors, of whom I never beheld even the
most famous done in wax. And here, in this many-purposed hall
(unless the selectmen of the village chance to have more than their
share of the Puritanism, which, however diversified with later
patchwork, still gives its prevailing tint to New England character),--
here the company of strolling players sets up its little stage, and
claims patronage for the legitimate drama.
But, on the autumnal evening which I speak of, a number of printed
handbills--stuck up in the bar-room, and on the sign-post of the
hotel, and on the meeting-house porch, and distributed largely
through the village--had promised the inhabitants an interview with
that celebrated and hitherto inexplicable phenomenon, the Veiled Lady!
The hall was fitted up with an amphitheatrical descent of seats
towards a platform, on which stood a desk, two lights, a stool, and a
capacious antique chair. The audience was of a generally decent and
respectable character: old farmers, in their Sunday black coats, with
shrewd, hard, sun-dried faces, and a cynical humor, oftener than any
other expression, in their eyes; pretty girls, in many-colored attire;
pretty young men,--the schoolmaster, the lawyer, or student at law,
the shop-keeper,--all looking rather suburban than rural. In these
days, there is absolutely no rusticity, except when the actual labor
of the soil leaves its earth-mould on the person. There was likewise
a considerable proportion of young and middle-aged women, many of
them stern in feature, with marked foreheads, and a very definite
line of eyebrow; a type of womanhood in which a bold intellectual
development seems to be keeping pace with the progressive delicacy of
the physical constitution. Of all these people I took note, at first,
according to my custom. But I ceased to do so the moment that my
eyes fell on an individual who sat two or three seats below me,
immovable, apparently deep in thought, with his back, of course,
towards me, and his face turned steadfastly upon the platform.
After sitting awhile in contemplation of this person's familiar
contour, I was irresistibly moved to step over the intervening
benches, lay my hand on his shoulder, put my mouth close to his ear,
and address him in a sepulchral, melodramatic whisper: "Hollingsworth!
where have you left Zenobia?"
His nerves, however, were proof against my attack. He turned half
around, and looked me in the face with great sad eyes, in which there
was neither kindness nor resentment, nor any perceptible surprise.
"Zenobia, when I last saw her," he answered, "was at Blithedale."
He said no more. But there was a great deal of talk going on near me,
among a knot of people who might be considered as representing the
mysticism, or rather the mystic sensuality, of this singular age.
The nature of the exhibition that was about to take place had
probably given the turn to their conversation.
I heard, from a pale man in blue spectacles, some stranger stories
than ever were written in a romance; told, too, with a simple,
unimaginative steadfastness, which was terribly efficacious in
compelling the auditor to receive them into the category of
established facts. He cited instances of the miraculous power of one
human being over the will and passions of another; insomuch that
settled grief was but a shadow beneath the influence of a man
possessing this potency, and the strong love of years melted away
like a vapor. At the bidding of one of these wizards, the maiden,
with her lover's kiss still burning on her lips, would turn from him
with icy indifference; the newly made widow would dig up her buried
heart out of her young husband's grave before the sods had taken root
upon it; a mother with her babe's milk in her bosom would thrust away
her child. Human character was but soft wax in his hands; and guilt,
or virtue, only the forms into which he should see fit to mould it.
The religious sentiment was a flame which he could blow up with his
breath, or a spark that he could utterly extinguish. It is
unutterable, the horror and disgust with which I listened, and saw
that, if these things were to be believed, the individual soul was
virtually annihilated, and all that is sweet and pure in our present
life debased, and that the idea of man's eternal responsibility was
made ridiculous, and immortality rendered at once impossible, and not
worth acceptance. But I would have perished on the spot sooner than
believe it.
The epoch of rapping spirits, and all the wonders that have followed
in their train,--such as tables upset by invisible agencies, bells
self-tolled at funerals, and ghostly music performed on jew's-harps,--
had not yet arrived. Alas, my countrymen, methinks we have fallen
on an evil age! If these phenomena have not humbug at the bottom, so
much the worse for us. What can they indicate, in a spiritual way,
except that the soul of man is descending to a lower point than it
has ever before reached while incarnate? We are pursuing a downward
course in the eternal march, and thus bring ourselves into the same
range with beings whom death, in requital of their gross and evil
lives, has degraded below humanity! To hold intercourse with spirits
of this order, we must stoop and grovel in some element more vile
than earthly dust. These goblins, if they exist at all, are but the
shadows of past mortality, outcasts, mere refuse stuff, adjudged
unworthy of the eternal world, and, on the most favorable supposition,
dwindling gradually into nothingness. The less we have to say to
them the better, lest we share their fate!
The audience now began to be impatient; they signified their desire
for the entertainment to commence by thump of sticks and stamp of
boot-heels. Nor was it a great while longer before, in response to
their call, there appeared a bearded personage in Oriental robes,
looking like one of the enchanters of the Arabian Nights. He came
upon the platform from a side door, saluted the spectators, not with
a salaam, but a bow, took his station at the desk, and first blowing
his nose with a white handkerchief, prepared to speak. The
environment of the homely village hall, and the absence of many
ingenious contrivances of stage effect with which the exhibition had
heretofore been set off, seemed to bring the artifice of this
character more openly upon the surface. No sooner did I behold the
bearded enchanter, than, laying my hand again on Hollingsworth's
shoulder, I whispered in his ear, "Do you know him?"
"I never saw the man before," he muttered, without turning his head.
But I had seen him three times already.
Once, on occasion of my first visit to the Veiled Lady; a second time,
in the wood-path at Blithedale; and lastly, in Zenobia's
drawing-room. It was Westervelt. A quick association of ideas made
me shudder from head to foot; and again, like an evil spirit,
bringing up reminiscences of a man's sins, I whispered a question in
Hollingsworth's ear,--"What have you done with Priscilla?"
He gave a convulsive start, as if I had thrust a knife into him,
writhed himself round on his seat, glared fiercely into my eyes, but
answered not a word.
The Professor began his discourse, explanatory of the psychological
phenomena, as he termed them, which it was his purpose to exhibit to
the spectators. There remains no very distinct impression of it on
my memory. It was eloquent, ingenious, plausible, with a delusive
show of spirituality, yet really imbued throughout with a cold and
dead materialism. I shivered, as at a current of chill air issuing
out of a sepulchral vault, and bringing the smell of corruption along
with it. He spoke of a new era that was dawning upon the world; an
era that would link soul to soul, and the present life to what we
call futurity, with a closeness that should finally convert both
worlds into one great, mutually conscious brotherhood. He described
(in a strange, philosophical guise, with terms of art, as if it were
a matter of chemical discovery) the agency by which this mighty
result was to be effected; nor would it have surprised me, had he
pretended to hold up a portion of his universally pervasive fluid, as
he affirmed it to be, in a glass phial.
At the close of his exordium, the Professor beckoned with his hand,--
once, twice, thrice,--and a figure came gliding upon the platform,
enveloped in a long veil of silvery whiteness. It fell about her
like the texture of a summer cloud, with a kind of vagueness, so that
the outline of the form beneath it could not be accurately discerned.
But the movement of the Veiled Lady was graceful, free, and
unembarrassed, like that of a person accustomed to be the spectacle
of thousands; or, possibly, a blindfold prisoner within the sphere
with which this dark earthly magician had surrounded her, she was
wholly unconscious of being the central object to all those straining
eyes.
Pliant to his gesture (which had even an obsequious courtesy, but at
the same time a remarkable decisiveness), the figure placed itself in
the great chair. Sitting there, in such visible obscurity, it was,
perhaps, as much like the actual presence of a disembodied spirit as
anything that stage trickery could devise. The hushed breathing of
the spectators proved how high-wrought were their anticipations of
the wonders to be performed through the medium of this
incomprehensible creature. I, too, was in breathless suspense, but
with a far different presentiment of some strange event at hand.
"You see before you the Veiled Lady, said the bearded Professor,
advancing to the verge of the platform. "By the agency of which I
have just spoken, she is at this moment in communion with the
spiritual world. That silvery veil is, in one sense, an enchantment,
having been dipped, as it were, and essentially imbued, through the
potency of my art, with the fluid medium of spirits. Slight and
ethereal as it seems, the limitations of time and space have no
existence within its folds. This hall--these hundreds of faces,
encompassing her within so narrow an amphitheatre--are of thinner
substance, in her view, than the airiest vapor that the clouds are
made of. She beholds the Absolute!"
As preliminary to other and far more wonderful psychological
experiments, the exhibitor suggested that some of his auditors should
endeavor to make the Veiled Lady sensible of their presence by such
methods--provided only no touch were laid upon her person--as they
might deem best adapted to that end. Accordingly, several
deep-lunged country fellows, who looked as if they might have blown
the apparition away with a breath, ascended the platform. Mutually
encouraging one another, they shouted so close to her ear that the
veil stirred like a wreath of vanishing mist; they smote upon the
floor with bludgeons; they perpetrated so hideous a clamor, that
methought it might have reached, at least, a little way into the
eternal sphere. Finally, with the assent of the Professor, they laid
hold of the great chair, and were startled, apparently, to find it
soar upward, as if lighter than the air through which it rose. But
the Veiled Lady remained
seated and motionless, with a composure that was hardly less than
awful, because implying so immeasurable a distance betwixt her and
these rude persecutors.
"These efforts are wholly without avail," observed the Professor, who
had been looking on with an aspect of serene indifference. "The roar
of a battery of cannon would be inaudible to the Veiled Lady. And
yet, were I to will it, sitting in this very hall, she could hear the
desert wind sweeping over the sands as far off as Arabia; the
icebergs grinding one against the other in the polar seas; the rustle
of a leaf in an East Indian forest; the lowest whispered breath of
the bashfullest maiden in the world, uttering the first confession of
her love. Nor does there exist the moral inducement, apart from my
own behest, that could persuade her to lift the silvery veil, or
arise out of that chair."
Greatly to the Professor's discomposure, however, just as he spoke
these words, the Veiled Lady arose. There was a mysterious tremor
that shook the magic veil. The spectators, it may be, imagined that
she was about to take flight into that invisible sphere, and to the
society of those purely spiritual beings with whom they reckoned her
so near akin. Hollingsworth, a moment ago, had mounted the platform,
and now stood gazing at the figure, with a sad intentness that
brought the whole power of his great, stern, yet tender soul into his
glance.
"Come," said he, waving his hand towards her. "You are safe!"
She threw off the veil, and stood before that multitude of people
pale, tremulous, shrinking, as if only then had she discovered that a
thousand eyes were gazing at her. Poor maiden! How strangely had
she been betrayed! Blazoned abroad as a wonder of the world, and
performing what were adjudged as miracles,--in the faith of many, a
seeress and a prophetess; in the harsher judgment of others, a
mountebank,--she had kept, as I religiously believe, her virgin
reserve and sanctity of soul throughout it all. Within that
encircling veil, though an evil hand had flung it over her, there was
as deep a seclusion as if this forsaken girl had, all the while, been
sitting under the shadow of Eliot's pulpit, in the Blithedale woods,
at the feet of him who now summoned her to the shelter of his arms.
And the true heart-throb of a woman's affection was too powerful for
the jugglery that had hitherto environed her. She uttered a shriek,
and fled to Hollingsworth, like one escaping from her deadliest enemy,
and was safe forever. _
Read next: CHAPTER XXIV - THE MASQUERADERS
Read previous: CHAPTER XXII - FAUNTLEROY
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