"Hawthorne, Nathaniel - Ethan Brand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawthorne Nathaniel)

crevices of this door, which seemed to give admittance into the
hill-side, it resembled nothing so much as the private entrance to the
infernal regions, which the shepherds of the Delectable Mountains were
accustomed to show to pilgrims.

There are many such lime-kilns in that tract of country, for the
purpose of burning the white marble which composes a large part of the
substance of the hills. Some of them, built years ago, and long
deserted, with weeds growing in the vacant round of the interior,
which is open to the sky, and grass and wild-flowers rooting
themselves into the chinks of the stones, look already like relics
of antiquity, and may yet be overspread with the lichens of
centuries to come. Others, where the lime-burner still feeds his daily
and nightlong fire, afford points of interest to the wanderer among
the hills, who seats himself on a log of wood or a fragment of marble,
to hold a chat with the solitary man. It is a lonesome, and, when
the character is inclined to thought, may be an intensely thoughtful
occupation; as it proved in the case of Ethan Brand, who had mused
to such strange purpose, in days gone by, while the fire in this
very kiln was burning.

The man who now watched the fire was of a different order, and
troubled himself with no thoughts save the very few that were
requisite to his business. At frequent intervals, he flung back the
clashing weight of the iron door, and, turning his face from the
insufferable glare, thrust in huge logs of oak, or stirred the immense
brands with a long pole. Within the furnace were seen the curling
and riotous flames, and the burning marble, almost molten with the
intensity of heat; while without, the reflection of the fire
quivered on the dark intricacy of the surrounding forest, and showed
in the foreground a bright and ruddy little picture of the hut, the
spring beside its door, the athletic and coal-begrimed figure of the
lime-burner, and the half-frightened child, shrinking into the
protection of his father's shadow. And when again the iron door was
closed, then reappeared the tender light of the half-full moon,
which vainly strove to trace out the indistinct shapes of the
neighboring mountains; and, in the upper sky, there was a flitting
congregation of clouds, still faintly tinged with the rosy sunset,
though thus far down into the valley the sunshine had vanished long
and long ago.

The little boy now crept still closer to his father, as footsteps
were heard ascending the hill-side, and a human form thrust aside
the bushes that clustered beneath the trees.

"Halloo! who is it?" cried the lime-burner, vexed at his son's
timidity, yet half infected by it. "Come forward, and show yourself,
like a man, or I'll fling this chunk of marble at your head!"

"You offer me a rough welcome," said a gloomy voice, as the unknown