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

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


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Книга содержит адаптированный текст романа английской писательницы Мэри Шелли «Франкенштейн, или Современный Прометей». Ученый Виктор Франкенштейн, пытаясь постичь тайну бытия, создает жуткое существо и наделяет его жизнью. Монстр начинает преследовать своего создателя, разрушая его судьбу и лишая самого дорогого…

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Мэри Шелли

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





© Матвеев С.А.

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2021





Mary Shelley

Frankenstein, or The Modern Prometheus






Letter 1

To Mrs. Saville, England.

St. Petersburg, Dec. 11th, 17-.


You will rejoice to hear the news. No disaster has accompanied the commencement of my enterprise. I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare.

I am already far north of London. As I walk in the streets of Petersburg, I feel a cold northern breeze. It plays upon my cheeks, and fills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? This breeze gives me a foretaste of icy climes. My daydreams become more fervent and vivid. I try in vain to think that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation. It presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is for ever visible. There snow and frost are banished.

It is a country of eternal light. I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world never before visited. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to conquer all fear of danger or death. I commence this laborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little boat. I want to discover a passage near the pole to those countries, to reach which at present so many months are requisite.

My heart glows with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven. Nothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as a steady purpose. This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years[1 - early years – юность]. I have read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages through the seas which surround the pole. A history of all the voyages composed the library of our good Uncle Thomas. My education was neglected[2 - my education was neglected – моим образованием не занимались], but I liked to read. These volumes were my study day and night. But my father forbid my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life[3 - to embark in a seafaring life – отправиться в море].

Famous poets entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also became a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation. I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple of Homer and Shakespeare. Then I bore the disappointment. But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin.

Six years have passed since I made a decision. I can, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this great enterprise. I accompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea. I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep. I often worked harder than the common sailors during the day. I devoted my nights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and branches of physical science. Twice I actually hired myself as an under-mate[4 - under-mate – подшкипер]. I felt a little proud when my captain liked my services.

And now, dear Margaret, I deserve to accomplish some great purpose. My life can pass in ease and luxury, but I prefer glory to wealth. My courage and my resolution are firm. I shall proceed on a long and difficult voyage.

This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia. I fly quickly over the snow in my sledges; the motion is pleasant. The cold is not excessive. I have no ambition to lose my life between St. Petersburg and Archangelsk.

I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks. My intention is to hire a ship there. I do not intend to sail until the month of June; and when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, will pass before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon, or never.

Farewell, my dear Margaret. Thank you for all your love and kindness.

Your affectionate brother,



    R. Walton




Letter 2

To Mrs. Saville, England.

Archangelsk, 28th March, 17-.


How slowly the time passes here! Yet I have hired a vessel. I am collecting my sailors. But I have no friend, Margaret. No one will sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true. But that is not enough. I desire the company of a man who can sympathise with me, whose eyes can reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I really need a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet courageous, whose tastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. Such a friend can repair the faults of your poor brother! I am too impatient. But it is a still greater evil to me that I am self-educated. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than many schoolboys of fifteen.

Well, these are useless complaints. I shall certainly find no friend on the wide ocean, nor even here in Archangelsk, among merchants and seamen. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage. He is madly desirous of glory. He is an Englishman, and retains some of the noblest endowments of humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel. I found that he was unemployed in this city. I easily engaged him to assist in my enterprise.

The captain is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in the ship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. His dauntless courage made me very desirous to engage him. My youth, my best years, passed in solitude, under your gentle and feminine fosterage. I distaste the usual brutality. I shall do nothing rashly: you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness.

I cannot describe to you my sensations. It is impossible to tell you about the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful. I am going to unexplored regions, to “the land of mist and snow”. But I shall kill no albatross. There is something in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically industrious – but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous.

Shall I meet you again, when I return from Africa or America? Write to me by every opportunity[5 - by every opportunity – при каждой возможности]: I may receive your letters when I need them most. I love you very tenderly.

Your affectionate brother,



    Robert Walton




Letter 3

To Mrs. Saville, England.

July 7th, 17-.


My dear Sister,

I write a few lines to say that I am safe. This letter will reach England by a merchantman[6 - merchantman – торговое судно] now on its homeward voyage from Archangelsk. It is more fortunate than I, who may not see my native land, perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in good spirits: my men are bold and firm. We have already reached a very high latitude. It is summer, although not so warm as in England.

No incidents have hitherto befallen us.

Adieu, my dear Margaret. I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool, persevering, and prudent. Heaven bless my beloved sister!



    R.W.




Letter 4

To Mrs. Saville, England.

August 5th, 17-.


A very strange accident has happened to us. Last Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed in the ship on all sides. Our situation was dangerous, especially as we met a very thick fog. Will some change take place in the atmosphere and weather?

About two o’clock the mist cleared away. We beheld vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to have no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind was watchful with anxious thoughts. Suddenly a strange sight attracted our attention. We perceived a low carriage, at the distance of half a mile. We noticed the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature. The man sat in the sledge and guided the dogs. Soon the traveller went away.

This appearance excited our wonder. We were many hundred miles from any land. It was impossible to follow the traveller’s track.

About two hours after this occurrence we heard the sea. Before night the ice broke and freed our ship. In the morning, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck. All the sailors were talking to someone in the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge, which drifted towards us in the night on a large fragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human being within it. The sailors were persuading him to enter the vessel.

When I appeared on deck the sailors said, “Our captain will not allow you to perish on the open sea.”

The stranger addressed me in English, although with a foreign accent.

“Before I come on board your vessel,” said he, “will you have the kindness to inform me where you are going?”

You may conceive my astonishment. Such a question from a man on the brink of destruction! I replied, however, that we were going towards the northern pole.

The man was satisfied and consented to come on board. Good God, Margaret! His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We carried him into the cabin, but he fainted. We brought him back to the deck and restored him to animation. As soon as he showed signs of life we wrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the kitchen stove. Then he recovered and ate a little soup, which restored him wonderfully.

Two days passed before he was able to speak. When he recovered, I removed him to my own cabin and attended on him[7 - attended on him – ухаживал за ним]. I never saw a more interesting creature. But he is generally melancholy and despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his teeth. The weight of woes oppresses him.

When my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off the men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions. Once, however, the lieutenant asked why he came so far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle.

The stranger replied, “To seek one who fled from me.”

“And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think we saw him. The day before we picked you up we saw some dogs and a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.”

The stranger asked many questions about the route and the demon, as he called him. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said,

“I have, doubtless, excited your curiosity. But you are too considerate to make inquiries. You rescued me from a strange and perilous situation. You have benevolently restored me to life.”

From this time a new spirit of life animated the stranger. He wanted to be upon deck to watch for the sledge. But I persuaded him to remain in the cabin. I promised to give him instant notice if any new object appeared in sight.

The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very silent and appears uneasy when someone enters his cabin. Yet his manners are conciliating and gentle. I begin to love him as a brother. His constant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion.



August 13th, 17-.


My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites my admiration and my pity. He is so gentle, yet so wise. When he speaks, his words flow with rapidity and eloquence.

He is now continually on the deck, watching for the sledge that preceded his own. He knows my feelings. How gladly I shall sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my enterprise! One man’s life or death are a small price to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which I seek.

And I told him about it. As I spoke, a dark gloom spread over my listener’s countenance. At first I perceived that he tried to suppress his emotion. He placed his hands before his eyes; a groan burst from his breast. I paused. At length he spoke:

“Unhappy man! Do you share my madness? Hear me; let me reveal my tale!”

Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity.

“We are helpless creatures,” said the stranger; “we need someone wiser, better, dearer than ourselves. I once had a friend, the most noble of human creatures. But I have lost everything and cannot begin life anew.”

His grief touched me to the heart. But he was silent and retired to his cabin.



August 19th, 17-.


Yesterday the stranger said to me,

“You may easily perceive, Captain Walton, that I have suffered great misfortunes. Will the memory of these evils die with me? No. You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did. I ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to you. I do not know if the relation of my disasters is useful to you. Yet I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one that may direct you and console you in case of failure. Prepare to listen to my story.

I wanted to hear the promised narrative, partly from curiosity and partly from a desire to ameliorate his fate. I expressed these feelings in my answer.

“I thank you,” he replied, “for your sympathy, but it is useless; my fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and then I shall repose in peace. I understand your feeling, but you are wrong, my friend. Nothing can alter my destiny. Listen to my history.”

He wanted to commence his narrative the next day. I resolved every night to record what he related. This manuscript will doubtless give you the greatest pleasure. His story is strange and harrowing and frightful.




Chapter 1


I was born in Naples, Italy, and my family is one of the most distinguished Swiss families. There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but this circumstance united them only closer.

When I was about five years old, my parents passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. They often entered the cottages of the poor. This, to my mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a passion. One day my mother found a peasant and his wife and five hungry babes. Among these there was a girl which attracted my mother. This child was thin and very fair. Her hair was the brightest living gold. Her brow was clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and her face expressive of sensibility and sweetness.

The peasant woman eagerly communicated her history. She was not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother died. The infant was with these good people to nurse. The father of that girl wanted to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its regime. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and a beggar.

When my father returned from Milan, my parents adopted that girl. They loved the sweet orphan very much. Elizabeth Lavenza became my sister.




Chapter 2


We lived together. Harmony was the soul of our companionship. Elizabeth was calm and concentrated. While my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit of things, I wanted to investigate their causes. The world was to me a secret which I desired to understand.

On the birth of a second son, my parents came to their native country. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a villa on the eastern shore of the lake. I was indifferent to my school-fellows in general; but I had a friend among them. Henry Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger. He composed heroic songs and began to write knightly tales.

My temper was violent, and my passions vehement. I wanted to learn. It was the secrets of heaven and earth, the physical secrets of the world that I desired to learn.

Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself with the moral relations of things[8 - moral relations of things – нравственные проблемы]. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes, and the actions of men were his theme. The saintly soul of Elizabeth shone in our peaceful home. Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of her celestial eyes, were there to bless and animate us.

Natural philosophy has regulated my fate. I liked to read the works of Agrippa, Paracelsus and Magnus. I read and studied the works of these writers with delight; they appeared to me treasures. I believed them, and I became their disciple. Under the guidance of my new preceptors I began to look for the philosopher’s stone and the elixir of life. I wanted to banish disease from the humankind and save the people from death!

My favourite authors promised to call the ghosts or devils. If my incantations were always unsuccessful, I attributed the failure to my own inexperience and mistake.

When I was about fifteen years old we moved to our house near Belrive. My tormenting studies led to the evil. Destiny was potent, and its immutable laws decreed my terrible destruction.




Chapter 3


When I was seventeen I became a student at the university of Ingolstadt. My departure was fixed, but then the first misfortune of my life occurred – an omen of my future misery.

Elizabeth caught the scarlet fever[9 - caught the scarlet fever – заболела скарлатиной]. Her illness was severe, and she was in danger. My mother could not control her anxiety. She attended her sickbed. Elizabeth was saved, but the sickness was fatal to her saviour. On the third day my mother sickened. On her deathbed this best of women joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself.

“My children,” she said, “Alas! I regret that I go away from you. Love each other, I hope to meet you in another world.”

She died calmly. The day of my departure for Ingolstadt at length arrived. Clerval spent the last evening with us. He persuaded his father to permit him to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain. His father was a trader.

My journey to Ingolstadt was long and fatiguing. At length I saw the high white steeple of the town. The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction[10 - letters of introduction – рекомендательные письма] and paid a visit to some professors. Chance – or rather the Angel of Destruction – led me to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He was an uncouth man, but an excellent scientist. He wrote down a list of several books on natural philosophy for me to read.

M. Krempe gave me information about the lectures of M.Waldman. So I went into the lecturing room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very unlike his colleague. He was about fifty. A few grey hairs covered his temples. His person was short but remarkably erect and his voice was sweet.

“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he, “promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very little. They know that metals cannot be transmuted and that the elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses of nature and show how it works. They ascend into the heavens. They have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe.”

Such were the professor’s words. Soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, one purpose. The soul of Frankenstein exclaimed: I will achieve more, far more. I will explore unknown powers and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.

I did not close my eyes that night. After the morning’s dawn, sleep came. I awoke. I wanted to return to my ancient studies. On the same day I visited M. Waldman. His manners were even more mild and attractive. He smiled at the names of Cornelius, Agrippa and Paracelsus. He said,

“These men helped modern philosophers a lot. They left to us an easy task. The labours of men of genius lead to the advantage of mankind.”

I asked him about the books to read.

“I am happy,” said M. Waldman, “to have a disciple. If your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success. If you wish to become a real scientist and not merely an experimentalist, I advise you to study every branch of natural philosophy, including mathematics.”

He then took me into his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his various machines. He also gave me the list of books. That day decided my future destiny.




Chapter 4


From this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, became my sole occupation. I read with ardour those works, I attended the lectures. In M. Waldman I found a true friend. In a thousand ways he smoothed for me the path of knowledge and made the most abstruse inquiries clear and facile.

My progress was rapid. Two years passed in this manner, during which I did not come to Geneva. I hoped to make great discoveries.

One of the phenomena which peculiarly attracted my attention was the structure of the human body. Whence, I often asked myself, did the principle of life come? It was a bold question. I began to study physiology. My application to this study was irksome and almost intolerable. To examine the causes of life, we must first examine death. I studied the science of anatomy, but this was not sufficient. I must also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human body!

I was not afraid of darkness, and a churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies, which became food for the worm. Now I wanted to examine the cause and progress of this decay and spent days and nights in vaults. I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted. I beheld the corruption of death; I saw how the worm inherited the eye and brain.

Remember, I am not a madman. After days and nights of incredible labour and fatigue, I discovered the cause of life. Moreover, I knew how to animate the lifeless matter.

The astonishment soon gave place to delight and rapture. This discovery was great and overwhelming.

I see, my friend, that you expect to hear that secret. That cannot be. Listen patiently until the end of my story, and you will easily perceive why not.

I found a power within my hands. But where to employ it? I could animate a lifeless body. How to prepare a frame for it? With all its intricacies of fibres, muscles, and veins. I wanted to give life to an animal as complex and wonderful as man. So I began the creation of a human being. I resolved to make the gigantic being, about eight feet in height. I collected and arranged my materials, and then I began.

I was the first man to know the secret of life and death! A new species will bless me as its creator. If I can bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I can renew life.

These thoughts supported my spirits. My cheek were pale with study, and my person was emaciated with confinement. Sometimes I failed; yet still I believed in success. One secret which I alone possessed was my hope to which I dedicated myself. I will be able to animate the lifeless clay! It was indeed a trance. I collected bones from charnel-houses and studies, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human frame. In a solitary chamber, at the top of the house,

I had my workshop of filthy creation.

The summer months passed. It was a most beautiful season, but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature. The great object swallowed up every piece of my nature.

My father inquired into my occupations more particularly than before. Winter, spring, and summer passed away during my labours. But I did not watch the blossom or the leaves – so deeply was I engrossed in my occupation. I appeared rather like a slave than an artist. Sometimes I was alarmed at the wreck I became. The energy of my purpose alone sustained me. My labours will soon end. Exercise and amusement will then drive away incipient disease. Soon my creation will be complete!




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 - at length – наконец] 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 - book-keeping – бухгалтерское дело]. 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 - did not recover my senses – не приходил в себя] 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 - that indeed you are getting better – что тебе становится лучше]. 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 - treated her very ill – обращалась с ней очень плохо]. 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 - she will be tried today – сегодня её будут судить], 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 - if she is condemned – если её осудят], 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 - in mourning – в трауре], 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.




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 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.




Chapter 10


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.”

“Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you and me. We are enemies. Begone, or let us fight.”

“Will anything cause you to turn a favourable eye upon your creature? I implore your goodness and compassion! Believe me, Frankenstein, I was benevolent. My soul glowed with love and humanity. But I am alone, miserably alone. You, my creator, abhor me. Other people spurn and hate me. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days. The caves of ice are a dwelling to me. These bleak skies are kinder to me than your friends. If the people know of my existence, they will kill me. Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will not be a friend to my enemies. I am miserable, and they will share my wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense me. Please do not disdain me. Listen to my tale; and then abandon or commiserate me. But hear me. Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder, and yet you want to destroy your own creature. Is that justice? Listen to me, and then, if you can, and if you want, destroy the work of your hands.”

“Cursed be[20 - cursed be – да будет проклят] the day,” I rejoined, “abhorred devil, in which you first saw light! Cursed (although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you! Begone! Relieve me from the sight of your detested form.”

“Oh my creator,” he said; “still you can listen to me and grant me your compassion. By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this from you. Hear my tale; it is long and strange. It is very cold here; come to the hut upon the mountain. You will hear my story and decide. It depends on you:whether I quit for ever the mankind and lead a harmless life, or become the scourge of your friends and ruin you.”

As he said this he walked across the ice. I followed. I did not answer him, but I decided to listen to his tale. Curiosity and compassion confirmed my resolution. I looked at him as at the murderer of my brother, and I wanted a confirmation or denial of this opinion. Also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards his creature were. I must make him happy before I complain of his wickedness. These motives urged me to follow him.

We crossed the ice and ascended the opposite rock. The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend. We entered the hut. I was ready to listen. So he began his tale.




Chapter 11


“I hardly remember the first moments of my life. All the events of that period appear confused and indistinct. A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me. I saw, felt, heard, and smelt at the same time. I remember, a strong light pressed upon my nerves, so I shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me and troubled me. Then I opened my eyes again. I walked and descended.

Dark and opaque bodies surrounded me. The light became more and more oppressive to me, and I walked to look for a place where I could receive shade. This was the forest near Ingolstadt. Here I lay by the side of a brook, until I felt hunger and thirst. This roused me from my dormant state. I ate some berries which I found on the trees or on the ground. I drank from the brook and then slept.

It was dark when I awoke. I felt cold also, and half frightened. I was desolate. Before I quitted your apartment, I covered myself with some clothes. But these were insufficient to secure me from the dews of night. I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch. Pain invaded me on all sides. I sat down and wept.

Soon a gentle light gave me a sensation of pleasure. I beheld a radiant form rise from among the trees. It was the moon. It moved slowly, but it enlightened my path, and I again went out to look for berries.

I was still cold when under the tree I found a huge cloak. I sat down upon the ground. I felt hunger, and thirst, and darkness. Innumerable sounds rang in my ears. On all sides various scents saluted me. I could distinguish the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with pleasure.

Some days and nights passed, when I began to distinguish my sensations. I began to observe the forms that surrounded me. Sometimes I tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds. Sometimes I wished to express my sensations, but the inarticulate sounds frightened me.

I remained in the forest. My sensations became distinct, and my mind received every day additional ideas. My eyes began to perceive objects in their right forms. I distinguished the insect from the herb, and one herb from another.

One day, I found a fire. Some beggars left it. I experienced warmth from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the fire, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain. How strange, I thought! I examined the materials of the fire. It was wood. I quickly collected some branches. When night came, I covered the fire carefully with dry wood and leaves and placed wet branches. Then I lay on the ground and slept.

It was morning when I awoke, and I uncovered the fire. I found some roasted offals. They tasted much more savoury than the berries I gathered from the trees. I tried, therefore, to roast my food. The nuts and roots were tasty.

Food, however, became scarce, and I often spent the whole day to search for a few acorns. I resolved to quit the place. I lamented the loss of the fire, I did not know how to reproduce it. I passed three days in rambles and at length discovered the open country[21 - open country – открытое место]





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notes


Примечания





1


early years – юность




2


my education was neglected – моим образованием не занимались




3


to embark in a seafaring life – отправиться в море




4


under-mate – подшкипер




5


by every opportunity – при каждой возможности




6


merchantman – торговое судно




7


attended on him – ухаживал за ним




8


moral relations of things – нравственные проблемы




9


caught the scarlet fever – заболела скарлатиной




10


letters of introduction – рекомендательные письма




11


at length – наконец




12


book-keeping – бухгалтерское дело




13


did not recover my senses – не приходил в себя




14


that indeed you are getting better – что тебе становится лучше




15


treated her very ill – обращалась с ней очень плохо




16


she will be tried today – сегодня её будут судить




17


if she is condemned – если её осудят




18


in mourning – в трауре




19


fallen angel – падший ангел




20


cursed be – да будет проклят




21


open country – открытое место