Червона літера
The Interior of a Heart
Morethanoncehehadclearedhisthroat,anddrawninthelong,deep,andtremulousbreath,which,whensentforthagain,wouldcomeburdenedwiththeblacksecretofhissoul.Morethanonce—nay,morethanahundredtimes—hehadactuallyspoken!Spoken!Buthow?Hehadtoldhishearersthathewasaltogethervile,avilercompanionofthevilest,theworstofsinners,anabomination,athingofunimaginableiniquity,andthattheonlywonderwasthattheydidnotseehiswretchedbodyshrivelledupbeforetheireyesbytheburningwrathoftheAlmighty!Couldtherebeplainerspeechthanthis?Wouldnotthepeoplestartupintheirseats,byasimultaneousimpulse,andtearhimdownoutofthepulpitwhichhedefiled?Notso,indeed!Theyhearditall,anddidbutreverencehimthemore.Theylittleguessedwhatdeadlypurportlurkedinthoseself-condemningwords."Thegodlyyouth!"saidtheyamongthemselves."Thesaintonearth!Alas!ifhediscernsuchsinfulnessinhisownwhitesoul,whathorridspectaclewouldhebeholdinthineormine!"Theministerwellknew—subtle,butremorsefulhypocritethathewas!—thelightinwhichhisvagueconfessionwouldbeviewed.Hehadstriventoputacheatuponhimselfbymakingtheavowalofaguiltyconscience,buthadgainedonlyoneothersin,andaself-acknowledgedshame,withoutthemomentaryreliefofbeingself-deceived.Hehadspokentheverytruth,andtransformeditintotheveriestfalsehood.
