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

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 and there among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty.

I passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that overhangs it. Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix. This valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and picturesque as that of Servox. I saw no more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached the road. Mont Blanc, the supreme and magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the aiguilles, and its tremendous dome overlooked the valley.

At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. For a short time I remained at the window. The sounds of a river acted as a lullaby to me. When I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me.

I spent the following day in the valley. I stood beside the sources of the Arveiron. The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before me. The icy wall of the glacier overhung me. The solemn silence of the glorious Nature! The sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the great consolation. They elevated me from all littleness of feeling. Although they did not remove my grief, they subdued and tranquillised it.

Where did they flee when the next morning I awoke? Dark melancholy clouded every thought. The rain was hard, and thick mists hid the summits of the mountains. But what were rain and storm to me? I took my mule and I resolved to ascend to the summit of Montanvert. I remember the effect that the view of the tremendous glacier produced upon my mind when I first saw it.

It filled me with a sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the soul.

I determined to go without a guide, for I knew the path. The presence of another will destroy the solitary grandeur of the scene.

The ascent is precipitous. It is a scene terrifically desolate. Trees lie broken and strewed on the ground. The path is intersected by ravines of snow. The pines are not tall or luxuriant, but they are sombre and add an air of severity to the scene. I looked on the valley beneath. Vast mists were rising from the rivers which ran through it.

It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent. For some time I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. A mist covered the surrounding mountains. The surface is very uneven. The field of ice is almost a league in width. The opposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock. From the side where I now stood Montanvert was exactly opposite. Above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty. Oh, what a wonderful and stupendous scene! The sea, or rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains. Their icy peaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds. My heart swelled with joy. I exclaimed,

“Wandering spirits, if you do not rest in your narrow beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion, away from the joys of life!”

As I said this I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance. He was advancing towards me with superhuman speed. He bounded over the crevices in the ice. A mist came over my eyes, and I felt some faintness. I perceived, as the shape came nearer, that it was my wretch, me demon. I trembled with rage and horror. He approached. His unearthly ugliness was too horrible for human eyes. But I scarcely observed this.

“Devil,” I exclaimed, “do you dare approach me? And do not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm on your miserable head? Begone, vile insect! Or rather, stay, I shall trample you to dust! I want to restore those victims whom you have so diabolically murdered!”

“I expected this reception,” said the demon. “All men hate the wretched. Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, your creature. You want to kill me. How dare you play with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. I will leave them and you at peace. But if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death with the blood of your friends.”

“Abhorred monster! Fiend! The tortures of hell are too mild a vengeance for your crimes. Wretched devil! You reproach me with your creation. Come here. I will extinguish the spark which I so negligently bestowed.”

My rage was without bounds. I sprang on him. He easily eluded me and said,

“Be calm! Hear me. Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to increase my misery? Life is dear to me, and I will defend it. Remember, you made me more powerful than yourself. But I will not fight you. I am your creature, and I will be even mild and docile to my lord and king if you also perform your duty, oh, Frankenstein. Remember that I am your creature. But I’m not your Adam, I am the fallen angel [19] fallen angel – падший ангел . Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good. Misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.”