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

“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.