"Hawthorne, Nathaniel - Egotism or The Bosom Serpent" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawthorne Nathaniel)

"God will teach me," was the reply. "May he support me too!"

Roderick was reclining on the margin of a fountain, which gushed
into the fleckered sunshine with the same clear sparkle, and the
same voice of airy quietude, as when trees of primeval growth flung
their shadows across its bosom. How strange is the life of a fountain,
born at every moment, yet of an age coeval with the rocks, and far
surpassing the venerable antiquity of a forest!

"You are come! I have expected you," said Elliston, when he
became aware of the sculptor's presence.

His manner was very different from that of the preceding day-
quiet, courteous, and, as Herkimer thought, watchful both over his
guest and himself. This unnatural restraint was almost the only
trait that betokened anything amiss. He had just thrown a book upon
the grass, where it lay half opened, thus disclosing itself to be a
natural history of the serpent-tribe, illustrated by life-like plates.
Near it lay that bulky volume, the Ductor Dubitantium of Jeremy
Taylor, full of cases of conscience, and in which most men,
possessed of a conscience, may find something applicable to their
purpose.

"You see," observed Elliston, pointing to the book of serpents,
while a smile gleamed upon his lips, "I am making an effort to
become better acquainted with my bosom-friend. But I find nothing
satisfactory in this volume. If I mistake not, he will prove to be sui
generis, and akin to no other reptile in creation."

"Whence came this strange calamity?" inquired the sculptor.

"My sable friend, Scipio, has a story," replied Roderick, "of a
snake that had lurked in this fountain- pure and innocent as it
looks - ever since it was known to the first settlers. This
insinuating personage once crept into the vitals of my
great-grandfather, and dwelt there many years, tormenting the old
gentleman beyond mortal endurance. In short, it is a family
peculiarity. But, to tell you the truth, I have no faith in this
idea of the snake's being an heir-loom. He is my own snake, and no
man's else."

"But what was his origin?" demanded Herkimer.

"Oh! there is poisonous stuff in any man's heart, sufficient to
generate a brood of serpents," said Elliston, with a hollow laugh.
"You should have heard my homilies to the good townspeople.
Positively, I deem myself fortunate in having bred but a single
serpent. You, however, have none in your bosom, and therefore cannot
sympathize with the rest of the world. It gnaws me! It gnaws me!"