Франкенштейн, или Современный Прометей / Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus. Уровень 2

Chapter 5

On a dreary night of November I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety, I collected the instruments of life around me. I wanted to infuse a spark of life into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one o’clock in the morning. I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature. It breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe? What a wretch! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath. His hair was of black. His teeth were pearly white. But these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

I worked hard for nearly two years. I wanted to infuse life into an inanimate body. For this I deprived myself of rest and health. But now the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. I rushed out of the room. I threw myself on the bed in my clothes. But I was unable to sleep.

Then I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I saw Elizabeth. She walked in the streets of Ingolstadt. I embraced her. But as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death. Her features changed, and I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms. I saw the grave-worms in the folds of the flannel.

I woke up with horror. A cold dew covered my forehead. My teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed. By the dim and yellow light of the moon, I beheld the wretch – the miserable monster whom I created. He looked at me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds. A grin wrinkled his cheeks. He spoke, but I did not hear.

I rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the courtyard, where I remained during the rest of the night, in the greatest agitation. Oh! No man could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy was not so hideous as that wretch.

I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly that I felt the palpitation of every artery. Sometimes I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. I felt the bitterness of disappointment.

Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned. The porter opened the gates of the court, and I issued into the streets. I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited.

I walked for some time. I traversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or what I was doing. My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear.

I came at length^[11] to the inn. Here I paused. I saw a coach that was coming towards me from the other end of the street. It was the Swiss diligence. It stopped where I was, and on the door I perceived Henry Clerval. He saw me and exclaimed,

“My dear Frankenstein, how glad I am to see you! How fortunate that you are here!”

I was very happy to meet Clerval. His presence brought back to my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all scenes of sweet home. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my horror and misfortune. I welcomed my friend, and we walked towards my college. Clerval talked for some time about our mutual friends and his own luck to come to Ingolstadt.

“You may easily believe,” said he, “how great was the difficulty to persuade my father that all necessary knowledge was not in the book-keeping^[12]. He said: ‘I have ten thousand florins a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.’ But his affection for me overcame his dislike of university. So he permitted me to undertake this voyage to the land of knowledge.”

“It gives me the greatest delight to see you. But tell me: how are my father, brothers, and Elizabeth?”

“Very well, and very happy. But they hear from you so seldom. But, my dear Frankenstein,” continued he, “you look very ill; so thin and pale. You look as if you don’t sleep at all.”

“You are right. I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see. But I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an end and that I am at length free.”

I trembled excessively. We soon arrived at my college. I then reflected, that the creature was still in my apartment. I dreaded to behold this monster, but I feared still more that Henry could see him. I asked Henry, therefore, to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the stairs. I went up towards my room. I then paused. I opened the door; but nothing appeared. I stepped fearfully in: the apartment was empty, and my bedroom was also free from its hideous guest. My enemy went away. I clapped my hands for joy and ran down to Clerval.

We ascended into my room, and the servant brought breakfast. Great joy possessed me. My pulse beat rapidly. I was unable to remain in the same place. I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud. Clerval saw a wildness in my eyes, and my loud, unrestrained, heartless laughter frightened and astonished him.

“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what is the matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the cause of all this?”

“Do not ask me,” cried I. I put my hands before my eyes. I thought I saw the dreaded spectre. It glided into the room. “He can tell. Oh, save me! Save me!” I imagined that the monster seized me. I struggled furiously and fell down.

Poor Clerval! But I was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not recover my senses^[13] for a long, long time.

This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. He concealed the extent of my disorder from my father and Elizabeth.

But I was very ill. The form of the monster was before my eyes, and I talked about him. Doubtless my words surprised Henry. He understood that my disorder indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.

I recovered very slowly. In spring I felt sentiments of joy and affection. Then I became as cheerful as before.

“Dearest Clerval,” exclaimed I, “how kind, how very good you are to me! You spent all this winter in my sick room. How shall I ever repay you?”

“You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself. Get well as fast as you can. Then I want to speak to you on one subject.”

I trembled. One subject! What is it?

“Compose yourself,” said Clerval, who observed my change of colour, “I will not mention it if it agitates you. Your father and cousin will be very happy if they receive a letter from you. They hardly know how ill you have been and are uneasy at your long silence.”

“Is that all, my dear Henry?”

“And you will perhaps be glad to see a letter from your cousin, I believe.”

Chapter 6

Clerval then put the letter into my hands. It was from my Elizabeth:

“My dearest Cousin,

You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to calm me. You can’t write, you can’t hold a pen. I have restrained my uncle from a journey to Ingolstadt. This long journey can be dangerous for him. Clerval writes that indeed you are getting better^[14]. I eagerly hope that you will confirm these words.

Get well and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home and friends who love you dearly. Your father’s health is vigorous, and he wants to see you. Our Ernest is now sixteen and full of activity. He wants to be a true Swiss and to enter into foreign service. My uncle does not like the idea of a military career in a distant country.

Since you left us, one change has taken place in our little household. Do you remember how Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not. I will relate her history, in a few words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third. Her mother did not like her, and after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill^[15]. My aunt observed this, and when Justine was twelve, asked her mother to allow her to live at our house. In our family, Justine learned the duties of a servant. My aunt liked her very much and gave her an excellent education. Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world.

 

One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother became childless. So she began to think that the deaths of her children was a judgement from heaven. A few months after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine’s repentant mother called her home. Poor girl! She wept when she quitted our house.

But her mother was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of the deaths of her brothers and sister. Madame Moritz died on the first approach of cold weather. Justine returned to us.

I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling William. He is very tall, with sweet blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy.

Write, dearest Victor! One line, one word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely grateful.

Elizabeth Lavenza.

Geneva, March 18th, 17-.”

“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed. “I will write instantly!”

I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me. In another fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.

One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the several professors of the university. But I conceived a violent antipathy to the natural philosophy. The sight of a chemical instrument renewed the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and removed all my apparatus from my view. He also changed my apartment; for he perceived that I acquired a dislike for my laboratory. I thanked my friend, but I did not speak. I saw plainly that he was surprised. But he never attempted to draw my secret from me.

M. Krempe’s harsh blunt encomiums gave me even more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman.

Clerval came to the university to study the oriental languages. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit languages engaged his attention, and I liked them too. I felt great relief with my friend, and found consolation in the works of the orientalists.

Summer passed away in these occupations, and I planned to return to Geneva in autumn. But winter and snow arrived, the roads were impassable, and I decided to travel in spring.

In May we made a pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt. My health was restored. I breathed salubrious air. The season was divine; the flowers of spring bloomed in the hedges.

Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he tried to amuse me.

We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon.

Chapter 7

On my return, I found a letter from my father:

“My dear Victor,

You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of your return to us. At first, I wanted to write only a few lines and mention the day. But that will be cruel it. My son, how can I relate our misfortune? I wish to prepare you for the woeful news.

William is dead! That sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed my heart, who was so gentle! Victor, he is murdered!

Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to walk in Plainpalais. The evening was warm and serene. It was already dusk when we discovered that William and Ernest were absent. We sat on a bench. Soon Ernest came. ‘Where is William?’ he asked. They played hide-and-seek, and Ernest could not find William.

We began to search for him until night fell. He was not anywhere. We came home and returned with torches. About five in the morning I discovered my lovely boy. He was on the grass, livid and motionless. The print of the murder’s finger was on his neck.

We brought him home. Elizabeth hastily examined the neck of the victim and exclaimed, ‘O God! I have murdered my darling child!’

She fainted. Then she told me, that that same evening William teased her to let him wear a very valuable miniature of your mother. This picture is gone, and was doubtless the temptation for the murderer.

Come, dearest Victor; you alone can console Elizabeth! We are all unhappy. Your dear mother! Alas, Victor! Thank God she did not live to witness the cruel, miserable death of her youngest son!

Come, Victor. Enter the house of mourning, my friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not with hatred for your enemies.

Your affectionate father,

Alphonse Frankenstein.

Geneva, May 12th, 17-.”

I threw the letter on the table, and covered my face with my hands.

“My dear Frankenstein,” exclaimed Henry, “my dear friend, what has happened?”

I showed him the letter. Tears also gushed from the eyes of Clerval, as he read it.

“My friend,” said he; “your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to do?”

“To go instantly to Geneva. Come with me, Henry, to order the horses.”

During our walk, Clerval said a few words of consolation.

“Poor William!” said he, “dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! To die so miserably! Poor little fellow!”

My journey was very melancholy. Fear overcame me; I trembled. I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I contemplated the lake. The waters were placid; all around was calm. The snowy mountains were not changed. Then I continued my journey towards Geneva.

Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. When I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil.

It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva. The gates of the town were already shut. I passed the night at Secheron, a village near the city. The sky was serene. As I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poor William was murdered. I crossed the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais.

During this short voyage I saw the lightning on the summit of Mont Blanc. The storm approached rapidly. Then I ascended a hill to observe everything. The heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain. Its violence quickly increased.

I walked on, although the darkness and storm increased every minute. The thunder burst with a terrific crash over my head.

I watched the tempest. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits. I clasped my hands, and exclaimed aloud, “William, dear angel! This is your funeral, this is your dirge!”

As I said these words, I perceived a figure which stood behind trees near me. I gazed intently. A flash of lightning illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me. It was the wretch, the filthy demon, to whom I gave life. What did he do there? Was he the murderer of my brother? That idea came to me, and I became convinced of its truth. My teeth chattered, and I was leaned against a tree. The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom.

He was the murderer! No doubt. I was ready to pursue the devil; but it was useless. Another flash showed him on the of summit Mont Saleve, that bounds Plainpalais on the south. Soon he disappeared.

I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still continued. Last time I saw him two years ago. That night he first received life. Was this his first crime? Alas! I gave life to a depraved wretch, who murdered my brother!

I spent the night in the open air. It was cold and wet. But I did not feel the inconvenience of the weather. My imagination was busy in scenes of evil and despair. The monster destroys all that is dear to me.

Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town. The gates were open, and I hastened to my father’s house. My first thought was to discover what I knew of the murderer. But I paused when I reflected on my story. I well knew that if any other communicates such a relation to me, I will say that he is crazy. My relatives will say that I am ill again. Besides, the strange animal will elude all pursuit. Who will arrest a creature that can climb the mountains so fast? So I resolved to remain silent.

It was about five in the morning when I entered my father’s house. I told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library.

Six years passed. My father! Beloved and venerable parent! I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over the mantel-piece. Below this picture was a miniature of William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it.

Ernest entered: he heard me and hastened to welcome me:

“Welcome, my dearest Victor,” said he. “Why didn’t you arrive three months ago? That time we were joyous and delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which nothing can alleviate. Poor William! He was our darling and our pride!”

Tears fell from my brother’s eyes. I tried to calm Ernest.

“Our cousin Elizabeth,” said Ernest, “requires consolation; she accused herself of the death of my brother. But since the murderer has been discovered-”

“The murderer discovered! Good God! How can that be? It is impossible. I saw him; he was free last night!”

“I do not know what you mean,” replied my brother, “but listen to me. No one believed it at first; and even now Elizabeth is not convinced. Indeed, who will think that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, could be a murderer?”

“Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the murderer? But it is wrong! Every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?”

“No one did at first; but several circumstances forced conviction upon us. And her own behaviour was very confused. That, I fear, leaves no hope for doubt. But she will be tried today^[16], and you will then hear all.”

In the morning of the murder of poor William, Justine was ill. One of the servants examined her apparel that she wore on the night of the murder. The servant discovered in her pocket the picture of my mother, which was the temptation of the murderer. The servant instantly showed it to another servant, who went to a magistrate. So they arrested Justine. The poor girl confirmed the suspicion by her extreme confusion.

This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith. I replied earnestly,

“You are all mistaken; I know the murderer. Justine, poor, good Justine, is innocent.”

At that instant my father entered. Ernest exclaimed,

“Good God, papa! Victor says that he knows who was the murderer of poor William.”

“We do also, unfortunately,” replied my father, “and I prefer to be ignorant than to see so much depravity and ungratitude in that girl.”

“My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent.”

“If she is, God will help her. She will be tried today.”

This speech calmed me. I was firmly convinced that Justine was guiltless of this murder.

Soon Elizabeth joined us. She welcomed me with the greatest affection.

“Your arrival, my dear cousin,” said she, “fills me with hope. You perhaps will find some means to justify poor guiltless Justine. Alas! I believe in her innocence. If she is condemned^[17], I never shall know joy more. But she will not, I am sure. She will not; and then I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little William.”

“She is innocent, my Elizabeth,” said I, “fear nothing!”

“How kind and generous you are! Every one believes in her guilt, and that makes me sad. I know that it is impossible.” She wept.

“Dearest niece,” said my father, “dry your tears. If she is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws.”

Chapter 8

We passed a few sad hours until eleven o’clock, when the trial began. My father and the rest of the family were witnesses. I accompanied them to the court. Justine was a girl of merit; now she will be tried, and I am the cause!

Justine was calm. She was dressed in mourning^[18], her face was solemn and beautiful. She did not tremble, although people looked at her with hatred. She was tranquil, and her tranquillity was a proof of her guilt. When she entered the court she looked around and quickly discovered where we were. A tear dimmed her eye when she saw us, but she quickly recovered herself.

The trial began, several witnesses spoke. Several strange facts combined against her. She was out that night. In the morning a market-woman perceived her not far from the spot where the body of the murdered child was. The woman asked her what she did there, but she looked very strangely and only returned a confused and unintelligible answer. She returned to the house about eight o’clock. When she saw the body, she fell into violent hysterics and was ill for several days. Then the servant found the picture in her pocket. Elizabeth proved that it was the same which was round the child’s neck. Elizabeth herself gave it to the boy! A murmur of horror and indignation filled the court.

Justine’s countenance altered. It expressed surprise, horror, and misery. Sometimes Justine struggled with her tears, but she collected her powers and spoke.

“God knows,” she said, “how entirely I am innocent. I want to give a simple explanation of the facts which are against me.”

She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she passed the evening at the house of an aunt at Chene, a village near Geneva. On her return, at about nine o’clock, she meets a man. That man asks her if she saw the child who was lost. She was alarmed and began to looking for the boy. The gates of Geneva were shut, and she remained several hours of the night in a barn. Most

of the night she did not sleep. In the morning some steps disturbed her, and she awoke. It was dawn, and she quitted her asylum. She wanted to find my brother. If she went near the spot where his body lay, it was without her knowledge. What about the picture? She could give no answer.

“I know,” continued the unhappy victim, “how heavily and fatally this picture weighs against me. But I can’t explain it. Somebody placed it in my pocket. But who? I have no enemies. Did the murderer place it there? But when? And if he stole the jewel, why part with it again so soon?

I see no hope. I can say only this: I am totally innocent.”

Several witnesses spoke well of her; but fear and hatred of the crime rendered them timorous. Elizabeth desired permission to address the court.

“I am,” said she, “the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or rather his sister. And I see a poor girl who is about to perish through the cowardice of her pretended friends. I may say what I know of her character. I am well acquainted with the accused. I have lived in the same house with her, at one time for five and at another for nearly two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable and benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame Frankenstein, my aunt, in her last illness, with the greatest affection and care. Afterwards she attended her own mother during a tedious illness. After that she again lived in my uncle’s house, where all the family loved her. She was warmly attached to the child who is now dead and acted like a mother. I do not hesitate to say that, notwithstanding all the evidence against her, I believe and rely on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for such an action. I esteem and value her much.”

A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth’s simple and powerful appeal. Anyway, the audience charged poor Justine with the blackest ingratitude. Justine herself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer. My own agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial. I believed in her innocence; I knew it. Could the demon who murdered (I did not doubt) my brother betray the innocent to death and ignominy? I could not sustain the horror of my situation, and I rushed out of the court in agony. The fangs of remorse tore my bosom.

In the morning I went to the court; my lips and throat were parched. I dared not ask the fatal question. The officer guessed the cause of my visit. Justine was condemned.

I cannot describe what I then felt. The officer added that Justine already confessed her guilt.

This was strange and unexpected; what could it mean? Did my eyes deceive me? I hastened to return home.

“My cousin,” replied I, “she has confessed.”

This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who relied upon Justine’s innocence.

“Alas!” said she. “How shall I ever again believe in human goodness? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my sister! Her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and yet she has committed a murder.”

Soon after we heard that the poor victim expressed a desire to see my cousin.

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “I will go, although she is guilty. And you, Victor, will accompany me. I cannot go alone.”

The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet I could not refuse.

We entered the gloomy prison chamber and beheld Justine. She was sitting on some straw at the farther end. Her hands were manacled, and her head rested on her knees. She rose, and when we were left alone with her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth. She wept bitterly. My cousin wept also.

“Oh, Justine!” said she. “I relied on your innocence! I was not so miserable as I am now.”

“And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also join with my enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?” Her voice was suffocated with sobs.

“Rise, my poor girl,” said Elizabeth; “why do you kneel, if you are innocent? I am not one of your enemies. I believed you were guiltless, notwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you yourself declared your guilt. That report, you say, is false. Dear Justine, nothing can shake my confidence in you, but your own confession.”

“I confessed, but I confessed a lie. I confessed to obtain absolution. But now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than all my other sins. God will forgive me! My confessor besieged me; he threatened and menaced, until I almost began to think that I was the monster that he said I was. He threatened excommunication and hell fire if I continued obdurate. Dear lady, what could I do? In an evil hour I lied; and now I am truly miserable.”

She paused, and then continued,

“I think with horror, my sweet lady, that you will believe your Justine is a creature capable of a crime. Dear William! Dearest blessed child! I soon shall see you again in heaven, where we shall all be happy, That consoles me.”

“Oh, Justine! Please forgive me. Why did you confess? But do not mourn, dear girl. Do not fear. I will proclaim, I will prove your innocence. I will melt the stony hearts of your enemies by my tears and prayers. You will not die! You, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold! No! No! Never!”

Justine shook her head mournfully.

“I do not fear to die,” she said; “God gives me courage to endure the worst. I leave a sad and bitter world. Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to the will of heaven!”

During this conversation I retired to a corner of the prison room, where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who dared talk of that? The poor victim, who will pass the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such deep and bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth and ground them together. I was uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul. Justine approached me and said,

“Dear sir, you are very kind to visit me. I hope, you do not believe that I am guilty.”

I could not answer.

“No, Justine,” said Elizabeth; “he is more convinced of your innocence than I was.”

“I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am! I shall die in peace. You are convinced of my innocence, dear lady, and your cousin.”

Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the worm alive in my bosom. Elizabeth also wept and was unhappy. Anguish and despair penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within me which nothing could extinguish. We stayed several hours with Justine.

“I wish,” cried Elizabeth, “to die with you! I cannot live in this world of misery.”

Justine repressed her bitter tears. She embraced Elizabeth and said,

“Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, my beloved and only friend; may heaven bless and

preserve you! Live and be happy, and make others so.”

And on the morrow Justine died. Elizabeth’s eloquence failed to move the judges from their conviction in the criminality of the saintly sufferer. When I received their cold answers and heard the harsh words, my avowal died away on my lips. Thus I will proclaim myself a madman, but I won’t revoke the sentence. She perished on the scaffold as a murderess!

I contemplated the deep and voiceless grief of my Elizabeth. I did it also! And my father’s woe, and the desolation of that home all was the work of my hands! You weep, unhappy ones, but these are not your last tears! Frankenstein, your son, your kinsman, your friend; he makes you weep!

Thus spoke my prophetic soul. I felt remorse, horror, and despair upon the graves of William and Justine, my first hapless victims.