"Nathaniel Hawthorne - The Birthmark" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawthorne Nathaniel)

1843

TWICE-TOLD TALES

THE BIRTHMARK

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

IN THE LATTER PART of the last century, there lived a man of
science- an eminent proficient in every branch of natural
philosophy- who, not long before our story opens, had made
experience of a spiritual affinity, more attractive than any
chemical one. He had left his laboratory to the care of an
assistant, cleared his fine countenance from the furnace-smoke, washed
the stain of acids from his fingers, and persuaded a beautiful woman
to become his wife. In those days, when the comparatively recent
discovery of electricity, and other kindred mysteries of nature,
seemed to open paths into the region of miracle, it was not unusual
for the love of science to rival the love of woman, in its depth and
absorbing energy. The higher intellect, the imagination, the spirit,
and even the heart, might all find their congenial aliment in pursuits
which, as some of their ardent votaries believed, would ascend from
one step of powerful intelligence to another, until the philosopher
should lay his hand on the secret of creative force, and perhaps
make new worlds for himself. We know not whether Aylmer possessed this
degree of faith in man's ultimate control over nature. He had
devoted himself, however, too unreservedly to scientific studies, ever
to be weaned from them by any second passion. His love for his young
wife might prove the stronger of the two; but it could only be by
intertwining itself with his love of science, and uniting the strength
of the latter to its own.

Such an union accordingly took place, and was attended with truly
remarkable consequences, and a deeply impressive moral. One day,
very soon after their marriage, Aylmer sat gazing at his wife, with
a trouble in his countenance that grew stronger, until he spoke.

"Georgiana," said he, "has it never occurred to you that the mark
upon your cheek might be removed?"

"No, indeed, said she, smiling; but perceiving the seriousness of
his manner, she blushed deeply. "To tell you the truth, it has been so
often called a charm, that I was simple enough to imagine it might
be so."

"Ah, upon another face, perhaps it might," replied her husband.
"But never on yours! No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfect
from the hand of Nature, that this slightest possible defect- which we
hesitate whether to term a defect or a beauty- shocks me, as being the
visible mark of earthly imperfection."