"Hawthorne, Nathaniel - The Celestial Railroad" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawthorne Nathaniel)

steam into their faces, at the commencement of our journey. There they
stood amid the densest bustle of Vanity- the dealers offering them
their purple, and fine linen, and jewels; the men of wit and humor
gibing at them; a pair of buxom ladies ogling them askance; while
the benevolent Mr. Smooth-it-away whispered some of his wisdom at
their elbows, and pointed to a newly-erected temple- but there were
these worthy simpletons, making the scene look wild and monstrous,
merely by their sturdy repudiation of all part in its business or
pleasures.

One of them- his name was Stick-to-the-right- perceived in my face,
I suppose, a species of sympathy and almost admiration, which, to my
own great surprise, I could not help feeling for this pragmatic
couple. It prompted him to address me.

"Sir," inquired he, with a sad, yet mild and kindly voice, "do
you call yourself a pilgrim?"

"Yes," I replied, "my right to that appellation is indubitable. I
am merely a sojourner here in Vanity Fair, being bound to the
Celestial City by the new railroad."

"Alas, friend," rejoined Mr. Stick-to-the-right, "I do assure
you, and beseech you to receive the truth of my words, that that whole
concern is a bubble. You may travel on it all your lifetime, were
you to live thousands of years, and yet never get beyond the limits of
Vanity Fair! Yea; though you should deem yourself entering the gates
of the Blessed City, it will be nothing but a miserable delusion."

"The Lord of the Celestial City," began the other pilgrim, whose
name was Mr. Foot-it-to-Heaven, "has refused, and will ever refuse, to
grant an act of incorporation for this railroad; and unless that be
obtained, no passenger can ever hope to enter his dominions.
Wherefore, every man, who buys a ticket, must lay his account with
losing the purchase-money- which is the value of his own soul."

"Poh, nonsense!" said Mr. Smooth-it-away, taking my arm and leading
me off, "these fellows ought to be indicted for a libel. If the law
stood as it once did in Vanity Fair, we should see them grinning
through the iron bars of the prison window."

This incident made a considerable impression on my mind, and
contributed with other circumstances to indispose me to a permanent
residence in the city of Vanity; although, of course, I was not simple
enough to give up my original plan of gliding along easily and
commodiously by railroad. Still, I grew anxious to be gone. There
was one strange thing that troubled me; amid the occupations or
amusements of the Fair, nothing was more common than for a person-
whether at a feast, theatre, or church, or trafficking for wealth
and honors, or whatever he might be doing, and however unseasonable