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

perhaps be ejected from the stomach. They succeeded in rendering
Roderick insensible; but, placing their hands upon his breast, they
were inexpressibly horror-stricken to feel the monster wriggling,
twining, and darting to and fro, within his narrow limits, evidently
enlivened by the opium or alcohol, and incited to unusual feats of
activity. Thenceforth, they gave up all attempts at cure or
palliation. The doomed sufferer submitted to his fate, resumed his
former loathsome affection for the bosom-fiend, and spent whole
miserable days before a looking-glass, with his mouth wide open,
watching, in hope and horror, to catch a glimpse of the snake's
head, far down within his throat. It is supposed that he succeeded;
for the attendants once heard a frenzied shout, and rushing into the
room, found Roderick lifeless upon the floor.

He was kept but little longer under restraint. After minute
investigation, the medical directors of the asylum decided that his
mental disease did not amount to insanity, nor would warrant his
confinement; especially as its influence upon his spirits was
unfavorable, and might produce the evil which it was meant to
remedy. His eccentricities were doubtless great- he had habitually
violated many of the customs and prejudices of society; but the
world was not, without surer ground, entitled to treat him as a
madman. On this decision of such competent authority, Roderick was
released, and had returned to his native city, the very day before his
encounter with George Herkimer.

As soon as possible after learning these particulars, the sculptor,
together with a sad and tremulous companion, sought Elliston at his
own house. It was a large, sombre edifice of wood, with pilasters
and a balcony, and was divided from one of the principal streets by
a terrace of three elevations, which was ascended by successive
flights of stone steps. Some immense old elms almost concealed the
front of the mansion. This spacious and once magnificent
family-residence was built by a grandee of the race, early in the past
century; at which epoch, land being of small comparative value, the
garden and other grounds had formed quite an extensive domain.
Although a portion of the ancestral heritage had been alienated, there
was still a shadowy enclosure in the rear of the mansion, where a
student, or a dreamer, or a man of stricken heart, might lie all day
upon the grass, amid the solitude of murmuring boughs, and forget that
a city had grown up around him.

Into this retirement, the sculptor and his companion were ushered
by Scipio, the old black servant, whose wrinkled visage grew almost
sunny with intelligence and joy, as he paid his humble greetings to
one of the two visitors.

"Remain in the arbor, whispered the sculptor to the figure that
leaned upon his arm, "you will know whether, and when, to make your
appearance."