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

"Shocks you, my husband!" cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at first
reddening with momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. "Then
why did you take me from my mother's side? You cannot love what shocks
you!"

To explain this conversation, it must be mentioned, that, in the
centre of Georgiana's left cheek, there was a singular mark, deeply
interwoven, as it were, with the texture and substance of her face. In
the usual state of her complexion- a healthy, though delicate bloom-
the mark wore a tint of deeper crimson, which imperfectly defined
its shape amid the surrounding rosiness. When she blushed, it
gradually became more indistinct, and finally vanished amid the
triumphant rush of blood, that bathed the whole cheek with its
brilliant glow. But, if any shifting emotion caused her to turn
pale, there was the mark again, a crimson stain upon the snow, in what
Aylmer sometimes deemed an almost fearful distinctness. Its shape bore
not a little similarity to the human hand, though of the smallest
pigmy size. Georgiana's lovers were wont to say, that some fairy, at
her birth-hour, had laid her tiny hand upon the infant's cheek, and
left this impress there, in token of the magic endowments that were to
give her such sway over all hearts. Many a desperate swain would
have risked life for the privilege of pressing his lips to the
mysterious hand. It must not be concealed, however, that the
impression wrought by this fairy sign-manual varied exceedingly,
according to the difference of temperament in the beholders. Some
fastidious persons- but they were exclusively of her own sex- affirmed
that the Bloody Hand, as they chose to call it, quite destroyed the
effect of Georgiana's beauty, and rendered her countenance even
hideous. But it would be as reasonable to say, that one of those small
blue stains, which sometimes occur in the purest statuary marble,
would convert the Eve of Powers to a monster. Masculine observers,
if the birthmark did not heighten their admiration, contented
themselves with wishing it away, that the world might possess one
living specimen of ideal loveliness, without the semblance of a
flaw. After his marriage- for he thought little or nothing of the
matter before- Aylmer discovered that this was the case with himself.

Had she been less beautiful- if Envy's self could have found
aught else to sneer at- he might have felt his affection heightened by
the prettiness of this mimic hand, now vaguely portrayed, now lost,
now stealing forth again, and glimmering to and fro with every pulse
of emotion that throbbed within her heart. But, seeing her otherwise
so perfect, he found this one defect grow more and more intolerable,
with every moment of their united lives. It was the fatal flaw of
humanity, which Nature, in one shape or another, stamps ineffaceably
on all her productions, either to imply that they are temporary and
finite, or that their perfection must be wrought by toil and pain. The
Crimson Hand expressed the ineludible gripe, in which mortality
clutches the highest and purest of earthly mould, degrading them