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

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.

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.