The illustrious Society of Blithedale, though it toiled in downright earnest for the good of mankind, yet not unfrequently illuminated its laborious life with an afternoon or evening of pastime.Picnics under the trees were considerably in vogue; and, within doors, fragmentary bits of theatrical performance, such as single acts of tragedy or comedy, or dramatic proverbs and charades.Zenobia, besides, was fond of giving us readings from Shakespeare, and often with a depth of tragic power, or breadth of comic effect, that made one feel it an intolerable wrong to the world that she did not at once go upon the stage.Tableaux vivants were another of our occasional modes of amusement, in which scarlet shawls, old silken robes, ruffs, velvets, furs, and all kinds of miscellaneous trumpery converted our familiar companions into the people of a pictorial world.We had been thus engaged on the evening after the incident narrated in the last chapter.Several splendid works of art---either arranged after engravings from the old masters, or original illustrations of scenes in history or romance--had been presented, and we were earnestly entreating Zenobia for more.
She stood with a meditative air, holding a large piece of gauze, or some such ethereal stuff, as if considering what picture should next occupy the frame; while at her feet lay a heap of many-colored garments, which her quick fancy and magic skill could so easily convert into gorgeous draperies for heroes and princesses.
"I am getting weary of this," said she, after a moment's thought."Our own features, and our own figures and airs, show a little too intrusively through all the characters we assume.We have so much familiarity with one another's realities, that we cannot remove ourselves, at pleasure, into an imaginary sphere.Let us have no more pictures to-night; but, to make you what poor amends I can, how would you like to have me trump up a wild, spectral legend, on the spur of the moment?"Zenobia had the gift of telling a fanciful little story, off-hand, in a way that made it greatly more effective than it was usually found to be when she afterwards elaborated the same production with her pen.Her proposal, therefore, was greeted with acclamation.
"Oh, a story, a story, by all means!" cried the young girls."No matter how marvellous; we will believe it, every word.And let it be a ghost story, if you please.""No, not exactly a ghost story," answered Zenobia; "but something so nearly like it that you shall hardly tell the difference.And, Priscilla, stand you before me, where I may look at you, and get my inspiration out of your eyes.They are very deep and dreamy to-night."I know not whether the following version of her story will retain any portion of its pristine character; but, as Zenobia told it wildly and rapidly, hesitating at no extravagance, and dashing at absurdities which I am too timorous to repeat,--giving it the varied emphasis of her inimitable voice, and the pictorial illustration of her mobile face, while through it all we caught the freshest aroma of the thoughts, as they came bubbling out of her mind,--thus narrated, and thus heard, the legend seemed quite a remarkable affair.I scarcely knew, at the time, whether she intended us to laugh or be more seriously impressed.From beginning to end, it was undeniable nonsense, but not necessarily the worse for that.
THE SILVERY VEIL
You have heard, my dear friends, of the Veiled Lady, who grew suddenly so very famous, a few months ago.And have you never thought how remarkable it was that this marvellous creature should vanish, all at once, while her renown was on the increase, before the public had grown weary of her, and when the enigma of her character, instead of being solved, presented itself more mystically at every exhibition? Her last appearance, as you know, was before a crowded audience.The next evening,--although the bills had announced her, at the corner of every street, in red letters of a gigantic size,--there was no Veiled Lady to be seen! Now, listen to my simple little tale, and you shall hear the very latest incident in the known life--(if life it may be called, which seemed to have no more reality than the candle-light image of one's self which peeps at us outside of a dark windowpane)--the life of this shadowy phenomenon.
A party of young gentlemen, you are to understand, were enjoying themselves, one afternoon,--as young gentlemen are sometimes fond of doing,--over a bottle or two of champagne; and, among other ladies less mysterious, the subject of the Veiled Lady, as was very natural, happened to come up before them for discussion.She rose, as it were, with the sparkling effervescence of their wine, and appeared in a more airy and fantastic light on account of the medium through which they saw her.
They repeated to one another, between jest and earnest, all the wild stories that were in vogue; nor, I presume, did they hesitate to add any small circumstance that the inventive whim of the moment might suggest, to heighten the marvellousness of their theme.
