III A KNOT OF DREAMERS

The Blithedale Romance

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

III A KNOT OF DREAMERS, THE BLITHEDALE ROMANCE by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Zenobia bade us welcome, in a fine, frank, mellow voice, and gave each of
us her hand, which was very soft and warm. She had something appropriate,
I recollect, to say to every individual; and what she said to myself was
this :--"I have long wished to know you, Mr. Coverdale, and to thank you
for your beautiful poetry, some of which I have learned by heart; or
rather it has stolen into my memory, without my exercising any choice or
volition about the matter. Of course--permit me to say you do not think
of relinquishing an occupation in which you have done yourself so much
credit. I would almost rather give you up as an associate, than that the
world should lose one of its true poets!"

"Ah, no; there will not be the slightest danger of that, especially after
this inestimable praise from Zenobia," said I, smiling, and blushing, no
doubt, with excess of pleasure. "I hope, on the contrary, now to produce
something that shall really deserve to be called poetry,--true, strong,
natural, and sweet, as is the life which we are going to lead,--something
that shall have the notes of wild birds twittering through it, or a
strain like the wind anthems in the woods, as the case may be."

"Is it irksome to you to hear your own verses sung?" asked Zenobia, with
a gracious smile. "If so, I am very sorry, for you will certainly hear
me singing them sometimes, in the summer evenings."

"Of all things," answered I, "that is what will delight me most."

While this passed, and while she spoke to my companions, I was taking
note of Zenobia's aspect; and it impressed itself on me so distinctly,
that I can now summon her up, like a ghost, a little wanner than the life
but otherwise identical with it. She was dressed as simply as possible,
in an American print (I think the dry-goods people call it so), but with
a silken kerchief, between which and her gown there was one glimpse of a
white shoulder. It struck me as a great piece of good fortune that there
should be just that glimpse. Her hair, which was dark, glossy, and of
singular abundance, was put up rather soberly and primly--without curls,
or other ornament, except a single flower. It was an exotic of rare
beauty, and as fresh as if the hothouse gardener had just clipt it from
the stem. That flower has struck deep root into my memory. I can both
see it and smell it, at this moment. So brilliant, so rare, so costly as
it must have been, and yet enduring only for a day, it was more
indicative of the pride and pomp which had a luxuriant growth in
Zenobia's character than if a great diamond had sparkled among her hair.

Her hand, though very soft, was larger than most women would like to have,
or than they could afford to have, though not a whit too large in
proportion with the spacious plan of Zenobia's entire development. It
did one good to see a fine intellect (as hers really was, although its
natural tendency lay in another direction than towards literature) so
fitly cased. She was, indeed, an admirable figure of a woman, just on the
hither verge of her richest maturity, with a combination of features
which it is safe to call remarkably beautiful, even if some fastidious
persons might pronounce them a little deficient in softness and delicacy.
But we find enough of those attributes everywhere. Preferable--by way of
variety, at least--was Zenobia's bloom, health, and vigor, which she
possessed in such overflow that a man might well have fallen in love with
her for their sake only. In her quiet moods, she seemed rather indolent;
but when really in earnest, particularly if there were a spice of bitter
feeling, she grew all alive to her finger-tips.

"I am the first comer," Zenobia went on to say, while her smile beamed
warmth upon us all; "so I take the part of hostess for to-day, and
welcome you as if to my own fireside. You shall be my guests, too, at
supper. Tomorrow, if you please, we will be brethren and sisters, and
begin our new life from daybreak."

"Have we our various parts assigned?" asked some one.

"Oh, we of the softer sex," responded Zenobia, with her mellow, almost
broad laugh,--most delectable to hear, but not in the least like an
ordinary woman's laugh,--"we women (there are four of us here already)
will take the domestic and indoor part of the business, as a matter of
course. To bake, to boil, to roast, to fry, to stew,--to wash, and iron,
and scrub, and sweep,--and, at our idler intervals, to repose ourselves
on knitting and sewing,--these, I suppose, must be feminine occupations,
for the present. By and by, perhaps, when our individual adaptations
begin to develop themselves, it may be that some of us who wear the
petticoat will go afield, and leave the weaker brethren to take our
places in the kitchen."

"What a pity," I remarked, "that the kitchen, and the housework generally,
cannot be left out of our system altogether! It is odd enough that the
kind of labor which falls to the lot of women is just that which chiefly
distinguishes artificial life--the life of degenerated mortals--from the
life of Paradise. Eve had no dinner-pot, and no clothes to mend, and no
washing-day."

"I am afraid," said Zenobia, with mirth gleaming out of her eyes, "we
shall find some difficulty in adopting the paradisiacal system for at
least a month to come. Look at that snowdrift sweeping past the window!
Are there any figs ripe, do you think? Have the pineapples been gathered
to-day? Would you like a bread-fruit, or a cocoanut? Shall I run out
and pluck you some roses? No, no, Mr. Coverdale; the only flower
hereabouts is the one in my hair, which I got out of a greenhouse this
morning. As for the garb of Eden," added she, shivering playfully, "I
shall not assume it till after May-day!"

Assuredly Zenobia could not have intended it,--the fault must have been
entirely in my imagination. But these last words, together with
something in her manner, irresistibly brought up a picture of that fine,
perfectly developed figure, in Eve's earliest garment. Her free, careless,
generous modes of expression often had this effect of creating images
which, though pure, are hardly felt to be quite decorous when born of a
thought that passes between man and woman. I imputed it, at that time,
to Zenobia's noble courage, conscious of no harm, and scorning the petty
restraints which take the life and color out of other women's
conversation. There was another peculiarity about her. We seldom meet
with women nowadays, and in this country, who impress us as being women
at all,--their sex fades away and goes for nothing, in ordinary
intercourse. Not so with Zenobia. One felt an influence breathing out
of her such as we might suppose to come from Eve, when she was just made,
and her Creator brought her to Adam, saying, "Behold! here is a woman!"
Not that I would convey the idea of especial gentleness, grace, modesty,
and shyness, but of a certain warm and rich characteristic, which seems,
for the most part, to have been refined away out of the feminine system.

"And now," continued Zenobia, "I must go and help get supper. Do you
think you can be content, instead of figs, pineapples, and all the other
delicacies of Adam's supper-table, with tea and toast, and a certain
modest supply of ham and tongue, which, with the instinct of a housewife,
I brought hither in a basket? And there shall be bread and milk, too, if
the innocence of your taste demands it."

The whole sisterhood now went about their domestic avocations, utterly
declining our offers to assist, further than by bringing wood for the
kitchen fire from a huge pile in the back yard. After heaping up more
than a sufficient quantity, we returned to the sitting-room, drew our
chairs close to the hearth, and began to talk over our prospects. Soon,
with a tremendous stamping in the entry, appeared Silas Foster, lank,
stalwart, uncouth, and grizzly-bearded. He came from foddering the cattle
in the barn, and from the field, where he had been ploughing, until the
depth of the snow rendered it impossible to draw a furrow. He greeted us
in pretty much the same tone as if he were speaking to his oxen, took a
quid from his iron tobacco-box, pulled off his wet cowhide boots, and sat
down before the fire in his stocking-feet. The steam arose from his
soaked garments, so that the stout yeoman looked vaporous and
spectre-like.

"Well, folks," remarked Silas, "you'll be wishing yourselves back to
town again, if this weather holds."

And, true enough, there was a look of gloom, as the twilight fell
silently and sadly out of the sky, its gray or sable flakes intermingling
themselves with the fast-descending snow. The storm, in its evening
aspect, was decidedly dreary. It seemed to have arisen for our especial
behoof,--a symbol of the cold, desolate, distrustful phantoms that
invariably haunt the mind, on the eve of adventurous enterprises, to warn
us back within the boundaries of ordinary life.

But our courage did not quail. We would not allow ourselves to be
depressed by the snowdrift trailing past the window, any more than if it
had been the sigh of a summer wind among rustling boughs. There have
been few brighter seasons for us than that. If ever men might lawfully
dream awake, and give utterance to their wildest visions without dread of
laughter or scorn on the part of the audience,--yes, and speak of
earthly happiness, for themselves and mankind, as an object to be
hopefully striven for, and probably attained, we who made that little
semicircle round the blazing fire were those very men. We had left the
rusty iron framework of society behind us; we had broken through many
hindrances that are powerful enough to keep most people on the weary
treadmill of the established system, even while they feel its irksomeness
almost as intolerable as we did. We had stepped down from the pulpit; we
had flung aside the pen; we had shut up the ledger; we had thrown off
that sweet, bewitching, enervating indolence, which is better, after all,
than most of the enjoyments within mortal grasp. It was our purpose--a
generous one, certainly, and absurd, no doubt, in full proportion with
its generosity--to give up whatever we had heretofore attained, for the
sake of showing mankind the example of a life governed by other than the
false and cruel principles on which human society has all along been
based.

And, first of all, we had divorced ourselves from pride, and were
striving to supply its place with familiar love. We meant to lessen the
laboring man's great burden of toil, by performing our due share of it at
the cost of our own thews and sinews. We sought our profit by mutual aid,
instead of wresting it by the strong hand from an enemy, or filching it
craftily from those less shrewd than ourselves (if, indeed, there were
any such in New England), or winning it by selfish competition with a
neighbor; in one or another of which fashions every son of woman both
perpetrates and suffers his share of the common evil, whether he chooses
it or no. And, as the basis of our institution, we purposed to offer up
the earnest toil of our bodies, as a prayer no less than an effort for
the advancement of our race.

Therefore, if we built splendid castles (phalansteries perhaps they might
be more fitly called), and pictured beautiful scenes, among the fervid
coals of the hearth around which we were clustering, and if all went to
rack with the crumbling embers and have never since arisen out of the
ashes, let us take to ourselves no shame. In my own behalf, I rejoice
that I could once think better of the world's improvability than it
deserved. It is a mistake into which men seldom fall twice in a lifetime;
or, if so, the rarer and higher is the nature that can thus
magnanimously persist in error.

Stout Silas Foster mingled little in our conversation; but when he did
speak, it was very much to some practical purpose. For instance:--"Which
man among you," quoth he, "is the best judge of swine? Some of us must
go to the next Brighton fair, and buy half a dozen pigs."

Pigs! Good heavens! had we come out from among the swinish multitude
for this? And again, in reference to some discussion about raising early
vegetables for the market:--"We shall never make any hand at market
gardening," said Silas Foster, "unless the women folks will undertake to
do all the weeding. We haven't team enough for that and the regular
farm-work, reckoning three of your city folks as worth one common
field-hand. No, no; I tell you, we should have to get up a little too
early in the morning, to compete with the market gardeners round Boston."

It struck me as rather odd, that one of the first questions raised, after
our separation from the greedy, struggling, self-seeking world, should
relate to the possibility of getting the advantage over the outside
barbarians in their own field of labor. But, to own the truth, I very
soon became sensible that, as regarded society at large, we stood in a
position of new hostility, rather than new brotherhood. Nor could this
fail to be the case, in some degree, until the bigger and better half of
society should range itself on our side. Constituting so pitiful a
minority as now, we were inevitably estranged from the rest of mankind in
pretty fair proportion with the strictness of our mutual bond among
ourselves.

This dawning idea, however, was driven back into my inner consciousness
by the entrance of Zenobia. She came with the welcome intelligence that
supper was on the table. Looking at herself in the glass, and perceiving
that her one magnificent flower had grown rather languid (probably by
being exposed to the fervency of the kitchen fire), she flung it on the
floor, as unconcernedly as a village girl would throw away a faded violet.
The action seemed proper to her character, although, methought, it
would still more have befitted the bounteous nature of this beautiful
woman to scatter fresh flowers from her hand, and to revive faded ones by
her touch. Nevertheless, it was a singular but irresistible effect; the
presence of Zenobia caused our heroic enterprise to show like an illusion,
a masquerade, a pastoral, a counterfeit Arcadia, in which we grown-up
men and women were making a play-day of the years that were given us to
live in. I tried to analyze this impression, but not with much success.

"It really vexes me," observed Zenobia, as we left the room, "that Mr.
Hollingsworth should be such a laggard. I should not have thought him at
all the sort of person to be turned back by a puff of contrary wind, or a
few snowflakes drifting into his face."

"Do you know Hollingsworth personally?" I inquired.

"No; only as an auditor--auditress, I mean--of some of his lectures,"
said she. "What a voice he has! and what a man he is! Yet not so much an
intellectual man, I should say, as a great heart; at least, he moved me
more deeply than I think myself capable of being moved, except by the
stroke of a true, strong heart against my own. It is a sad pity that he
should have devoted his glorious powers to such a grimy, unbeautiful, and
positively hopeless object as this reformation of criminals, about which
he makes himself and his wretchedly small audiences so very miserable.
To tell you a secret, I never could tolerate a philanthropist before.
Could you?"

"By no means," I answered; "neither can I now."

"They are, indeed, an odiously disagreeable set of mortals," continued
Zenobia. "I should like Mr. Hollingsworth a great deal better if the
philanthropy had been left out. At all events, as a mere matter of taste,
I wish he would let the bad people alone, and try to benefit those who
are not already past his help. Do you suppose he will be content to spend
his life, or even a few months of it, among tolerably virtuous and
comfortable individuals like ourselves?"

"Upon my word, I doubt it," said I. "If we wish to keep him with us, we
must systematically commit at least one crime apiece! Mere peccadillos
will not satisfy him."

Zenobia turned, sidelong, a strange kind of a glance upon me; but, before
I could make out what it meant, we had entered the kitchen, where, in
accordance with the rustic simplicity of our new life, the supper-table
was spread.