Франкенштейн, или Современный Прометей / Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus. Уровень 2. Мэри ШеллиЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Chapter 9
Nothing is more painful to the human mind than the dead calmness of inaction. Justine died, she rested, and I was alive. The blood flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my heart. Sleep fled from my eyes. I wandered like an evil spirit. I committed deeds of mischief, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet behind. Yet my heart flowed with kindness and the love of virtue.
I began life with benevolent intentions. Now all was blasted. I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures. No language can describe it.
This state of mind preyed upon my health. All sound of joy or complacency was torture to me. Solitude was my only consolation-deep, dark, deathlike solitude.
My father observed with pain my alteration.
“Do you think, Victor,” said he, “that I do not suffer also? No one could love a child more than I loved your brother”-tears came into his eyes as he spoke-“but is it not a duty to the survivors to refrain from unhappiness and grief? We live here, and we must be fit for society.”
This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case. I could only answer my father with a look of despair.
About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This change was particularly agreeable to me. I was now free. Often I took the boat and passed many hours upon the water. Sometimes the wind carried me away; and sometimes I left the boat to pursue its own course. I wanted to plunge into the silent lake. The waters will close over me and my calamities for ever. But I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved. I thought also of my father and my brother. I must not leave them.
At these moments I wept bitterly. Remorse extinguished every hope. I am the author of unalterable evils, and I live in daily fear lest the monster whom I created perpetrates some new wickedness. I had an obscure feeling that all was not the end. He will still commit some crime, which will almost efface the recollection of the past.
My abhorrence of this fiend is great. When I think of him I gnash my teeth, my eyes become inflamed. I ardently wish to extinguish that life which I so thoughtlessly bestowed! When I
reflect on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge rise. I wanted to avenge the deaths of William and Justine.
Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and desponding. She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The sorrows quenched her dearest smiles.
“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of Justine Moritz, I can’t live in this world. Before, vice and injustice that I read in books or heard from others were tales of ancient days for me. At least they were remote. But now men appear to me as monsters. They thirst for each other’s blood. Yet I am certainly unjust. Everybody thought that poor girl was guilty. To murder the son of her benefactor and friend for the sake of a few jewels! But she was innocent. I know, I feel she was innocent. You are of the same opinion, and that confirms me. Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look like the truth, who can feel happiness? I walk on the edge of a precipice, and the men endeavour to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine were assassinated, and the murderer escapes. He walks freely.”
I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I was the true murderer. Elizabeth saw my anguish in my countenance, and kindly said,
“My dearest friend, you must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how deeply. But I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance. That makes me tremble. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions. Remember the friends around you. Ah! While we love, while we are true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native country, what can disturb our peace?”
But even such words from her could not chase away the fiend that lurked in my heart. As she spoke I drew near to her. I am afraid that the devil can take her away from me.
Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of heaven, could redeem my soul from woe. Sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek some relief from my intolerable sensations, by bodily exercise and by change of place. One day I suddenly left my home, and went towards the near Alpine valleys. The magnificence, the eternity of such scenes will help me to forget myself and my sorrows. I went towards the valley of Chamounix. I visited it frequently during my boyhood. Six years passed since then.
I performed the first part of my journey on horseback. I afterwards hired a mule. The weather was fine. It was about the middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of
Justine. I plunged in the ravine of Arve. Ruined castles on the precipices of piny mountains, the impetuous Arve, and cottages every here