-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Натаниэль Хоторн
-
- Алая буква
-
- Стр. 37/92
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Dimmesdale
,
conscious
that
the
poison
of
one
morbid
spot
was
infecting
his
heart
's
entire
substance
,
attributed
all
his
presentiments
to
no
other
cause
.
He
took
himself
to
task
for
his
bad
sympathies
in
reference
to
Roger
Chillingworth
,
disregarded
the
lesson
that
he
should
have
drawn
from
them
,
and
did
his
best
to
root
them
out
.
Unable
to
accomplish
this
,
he
nevertheless
,
as
a
matter
of
principle
,
continued
his
habits
of
social
familiarity
with
the
old
man
,
and
thus
gave
him
constant
opportunities
for
perfecting
the
purpose
to
which
--
poor
forlorn
creature
that
he
was
,
and
more
wretched
than
his
victim
--
the
avenger
had
devoted
himself
.
While
thus
suffering
under
bodily
disease
,
and
gnawed
and
tortured
by
some
black
trouble
of
the
soul
,
and
given
over
to
the
machinations
of
his
deadliest
enemy
,
the
Reverend
Mr.
Dimmesdale
had
achieved
a
brilliant
popularity
in
his
sacred
office
.
He
won
it
indeed
,
in
great
part
,
by
his
sorrows
.
His
intellectual
gifts
,
his
moral
perceptions
,
his
power
of
experiencing
and
communicating
emotion
,
were
kept
in
a
state
of
preternatural
activity
by
the
prick
and
anguish
of
his
daily
life
.
His
fame
,
though
still
on
its
upward
slope
,
already
overshadowed
the
soberer
reputations
of
his
fellow-clergymen
,
eminent
as
several
of
them
were
.
There
are
scholars
among
them
,
who
had
spent
more
years
in
acquiring
abstruse
lore
,
connected
with
the
divine
profession
,
than
Mr.
Dimmesdale
had
lived
;
and
who
might
well
,
therefore
,
be
more
profoundly
versed
in
such
solid
and
valuable
attainments
than
their
youthful
brother
.
There
were
men
,
too
,
of
a
sturdier
texture
of
mind
than
his
,
and
endowed
with
a
far
greater
share
of
shrewd
,
hard
iron
,
or
granite
understanding
;
which
,
duly
mingled
with
a
fair
proportion
of
doctrinal
ingredient
,
constitutes
a
highly
respectable
,
efficacious
,
and
unamiable
variety
of
the
clerical
species
.
There
were
others
again
,
true
saintly
fathers
,
whose
faculties
had
been
elaborated
by
weary
toil
among
their
books
,
and
by
patient
thought
,
and
etherealised
,
moreover
,
by
spiritual
communications
with
the
better
world
,
into
which
their
purity
of
life
had
almost
introduced
these
holy
personages
,
with
their
garments
of
mortality
still
clinging
to
them
.
All
that
they
lacked
was
,
the
gift
that
descended
upon
the
chosen
disciples
at
Pentecost
,
in
tongues
of
flame
;
symbolising
,
it
would
seem
,
not
the
power
of
speech
in
foreign
and
unknown
languages
,
but
that
of
addressing
the
whole
human
brotherhood
in
the
heart
's
native
language
.
These
fathers
,
otherwise
so
apostolic
,
lacked
Heaven
's
last
and
rarest
attestation
of
their
office
,
the
Tongue
of
Flame
.
They
would
have
vainly
sought
--
had
they
ever
dreamed
of
seeking
--
to
express
the
highest
truths
through
the
humblest
medium
of
familiar
words
and
images
.
Their
voices
came
down
,
afar
and
indistinctly
,
from
the
upper
heights
where
they
habitually
dwelt
.
Not
improbably
,
it
was
to
this
latter
class
of
men
that
Mr.
Dimmesdale
,
by
many
of
his
traits
of
character
,
naturally
belonged
.
To
the
high
mountain
peaks
of
faith
and
sanctity
he
would
have
climbed
,
had
not
the
tendency
been
thwarted
by
the
burden
,
whatever
it
might
be
,
of
crime
or
anguish
,
beneath
which
it
was
his
doom
to
totter
.
It
kept
him
down
on
a
level
with
the
lowest
;
him
,
the
man
of
ethereal
attributes
,
whose
voice
the
angels
might
else
have
listened
to
and
answered
!
But
this
very
burden
it
was
that
gave
him
sympathies
so
intimate
with
the
sinful
brotherhood
of
mankind
;
so
that
his
heart
vibrated
in
unison
with
theirs
,
and
received
their
pain
into
itself
and
sent
its
own
throb
of
pain
through
a
thousand
other
hearts
,
in
gushes
of
sad
,
persuasive
eloquence
.
Oftenest
persuasive
,
but
sometimes
terrible
!
The
people
knew
not
the
power
that
moved
them
thus
.
They
deemed
the
young
clergyman
a
miracle
of
holiness
.
They
fancied
him
the
mouth-piece
of
Heaven
's
messages
of
wisdom
,
and
rebuke
,
and
love
.
In
their
eyes
,
the
very
ground
on
which
he
trod
was
sanctified
.
The
virgins
of
his
church
grew
pale
around
him
,
victims
of
a
passion
so
imbued
with
religious
sentiment
,
that
they
imagined
it
to
be
all
religion
,
and
brought
it
openly
,
in
their
white
bosoms
,
as
their
most
acceptable
sacrifice
before
the
altar
.
The
aged
members
of
his
flock
,
beholding
Mr.
Dimmesdale
's
frame
so
feeble
,
while
they
were
themselves
so
rugged
in
their
infirmity
,
believed
that
he
would
go
heavenward
before
them
,
and
enjoined
it
upon
their
children
that
their
old
bones
should
be
buried
close
to
their
young
pastor
's
holy
grave
.
And
all
this
time
,
perchance
,
when
poor
Mr.
Dimmesdale
was
thinking
of
his
grave
,
he
questioned
with
himself
whether
the
grass
would
ever
grow
on
it
,
because
an
accursed
thing
must
there
be
buried
!
It
is
inconceivable
,
the
agony
with
which
this
public
veneration
tortured
him
.
It
was
his
genuine
impulse
to
adore
the
truth
,
and
to
reckon
all
things
shadow-like
,
and
utterly
devoid
of
weight
or
value
,
that
had
not
its
divine
essence
as
the
life
within
their
life
.
Then
what
was
he
?
--
a
substance
?
--
or
the
dimmest
of
all
shadows
?
He
longed
to
speak
out
from
his
own
pulpit
at
the
full
height
of
his
voice
,
and
tell
the
people
what
he
was
.
"
I
,
whom
you
behold
in
these
black
garments
of
the
priesthood
--
I
,
who
ascend
the
sacred
desk
,
and
turn
my
pale
face
heavenward
,
taking
upon
myself
to
hold
communion
in
your
behalf
with
the
Most
High
Omniscience
--
I
,
in
whose
daily
life
you
discern
the
sanctity
of
Enoch
--
I
,
whose
footsteps
,
as
you
suppose
,
leave
a
gleam
along
my
earthly
track
,
whereby
the
Pilgrims
that
shall
come
after
me
may
be
guided
to
the
regions
of
the
blest
--
I
,
who
have
laid
the
hand
of
baptism
upon
your
children
--
I
,
who
have
breathed
the
parting
prayer
over
your
dying
friends
,
to
whom
the
Amen
sounded
faintly
from
a
world
which
they
had
quitted
--
I
,
your
pastor
,
whom
you
so
reverence
and
trust
,
am
utterly
a
pollution
and
a
lie
!
"
More
than
once
,
Mr.
Dimmesdale
had
gone
into
the
pulpit
,
with
a
purpose
never
to
come
down
its
steps
until
he
should
have
spoken
words
like
the
above
.
More
than
once
he
had
cleared
his
throat
,
and
drawn
in
the
long
,
deep
,
and
tremulous
breath
,
which
,
when
sent
forth
again
,
would
come
burdened
with
the
black
secret
of
his
soul
.
More
than
once
--
nay
,
more
than
a
hundred
times
--
he
had
actually
spoken
!
Spoken
!
But
how
?
He
had
told
his
hearers
that
he
was
altogether
vile
,
a
viler
companion
of
the
vilest
,
the
worst
of
sinners
,
an
abomination
,
a
thing
of
unimaginable
iniquity
,
and
that
the
only
wonder
was
that
they
did
not
see
his
wretched
body
shrivelled
up
before
their
eyes
by
the
burning
wrath
of
the
Almighty
!
Could
there
be
plainer
speech
than
this
?
Would
not
the
people
start
up
in
their
seats
,
by
a
simultaneous
impulse
,
and
tear
him
down
out
of
the
pulpit
which
he
defiled
?
Not
so
,
indeed
!
They
heard
it
all
,
and
did
but
reverence
him
the
more
.
They
little
guessed
what
deadly
purport
lurked
in
those
self-condemning
words
.
"
The
godly
youth
!
"
said
they
among
themselves
.
"
The
saint
on
earth
!
Alas
!
if
he
discern
such
sinfulness
in
his
own
white
soul
,
what
horrid
spectacle
would
he
behold
in
thine
or
mine
!
"
The
minister
well
knew
--
subtle
,
but
remorseful
hypocrite
that
he
was
!
--
the
light
in
which
his
vague
confession
would
be
viewed
.
He
had
striven
to
put
a
cheat
upon
himself
by
making
the
avowal
of
a
guilty
conscience
,
but
had
gained
only
one
other
sin
,
and
a
self-acknowledged
shame
,
without
the
momentary
relief
of
being
self-deceived
.
He
had
spoken
the
very
truth
,
and
transformed
it
into
the
veriest
falsehood
.
And
yet
,
by
the
constitution
of
his
nature
,
he
loved
the
truth
,
and
loathed
the
lie
,
as
few
men
ever
did
.
Therefore
,
above
all
things
else
,
he
loathed
his
miserable
self
!
