Monk. Anaconda. Venetian killer

The Foreign Publishing House is represented by a collection of works by the English writer Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775–1818) “Monk. Anaconda. The Venetian killer ”(translation of Alexandra Glebov, Maria Kurenna and Irina Gurova).

“Casting”, “provocative”, “sensational” - such epithets for two centuries have been accompanied by critics about the novel by the English writer Matthew Gregori Lewis “Monk”, who, upon the publication in the spring of 1796, became a bestseller and the reason for the loud public scandal. The story of the Spanish monk-kapucin Ambrosio, the new Faust, the victims of the devilish intrigues and the destroyer of other people's lives-brought the twenty-year-old author the contradictory glory of the immoralist, the atheist and at the same time the creator of the Gothic novel-tragedy, who anticipated the plot collisions of romantic literature. The present publication also included a variety of novels, which are both the original creations of M. G. Lewis and his translations or shifts of the books of German authors. These fascinating works, in which the hand of the master accurately guesses, is translated into Russian for the first time. Also for the first time in Russia, texts are accompanied by numerous illustrations of English, American and French artists of the 19th and early XX centuries.

We offer to read an excerpt from the novel "Monk".

“But how is it, Rev. Father?” Are you going to leave? She cried out. “Didn't you promise me to spend the night in that room?” Lord Jesus! So I can stay with the ghost of one-single? I will be good in the morning. What I just did, whatever I said, the old stubborn donkey Simon Gonzalez did not agree to get married with me today. And until the morning, of course, spirits, demons, devils and who else are there! I conjure God, your holiness, do not leave me in my woeful position! I ask and beg on your knees, keep your promise, advise this night in a ghost room! Send the Spirit to the Chermn Sea, and Hasint will remember you in your prayers until the last breath!

Ambrosio waited, and with all his heart he wished this request. However, he began to impressively discourage and seemed to prefer to take his promise back. He assured Hasint that the ghost exists only in her imagination and her demand to stay in her house all night, and funny and useless. But Hasint did not want to listen to anything. All his arguments disappeared into the basement, and she so stubbornly begged not to leave her as a sacrifice to the devil that he eventually gave up. But his long refusals did not deceive the flora, by nature suspicious. It seemed to her that the monk was pretending, hiding his genuine desires, and most of all she wanted to stay in the house for the night. She even decided that Hasinta was comparing him, and immediately gathered the role of a vile pivot to the poor old woman. Very pleased that she managed to solve this attempt to honor her young lady, she firmly intended to prevent him.

“So,” she said to the abbot, looking at him with indignation and mockery, “so you have decided to spend the night here?” We ask for mercy! No one will hinder you. Do not close your eyes at least all night in anticipation of the spirit. I’m also not closing my eye, and God forbid, so that I would not have a chance to see something worse than the ghost! I will not take a step away from the bed of Donya Anthony, and let someone dare to enter her, whether it is mortal or immortal, whether it be a ghost, a devil or a person, he will bitterly regret that he crossed the threshold!

The hint was quite transparent, and Ambrosio understood everything perfectly. However, he did not show that he noticed her suspicions, but, on the contrary, gently approved such precautions and advised Duenier to do just that. In response, she assured him that he could rely on her, after which Hasinta led him to the room where the spirit appeared, and Flora returned to Anthony.

Hasinta opened the door of the fatal bedroom with a trembling hand and looked timidly there. However, all the wealth of India would not seduce her to cross the threshold. She gave the candle to the monk, wished him all the best and hastened to leave. Ambrosio entered. He pushed the bolt, put the candle on the table and sank into a chair in which Anthony was sitting the day before at night. Contrary to Matilda’s assurances that the ghost was only the fruit of the imagination, he experienced some mystical horror and tried in vain to get rid of him. Night silence, a story about the appearance of the spirit, dark oak panels on the walls, awakened memories of the murdered Elvir and the fear that he added poison into the medicine of Anthony - all this woke up a painful alarm in him. But he thought not so much about the ghost as about poison. What if he destroyed the only thing that makes him a dear life? What if the prediction of the ghost is happening? What if after three days Anthony is not alive and the cause of her death is on his grief? .. The last assumption was too terrible to think about him. He drove these terrible images from himself, and they again and again crowded before his mental gaze. Matilda assured him that a sleepy drink should act quickly. He listened with fear, but also impatiently, expecting to hear an alarming noise in the next room. Silence reigned everywhere. He tried to reassure himself with the thought that the drops had not yet worked. There was a great bet on which he now played. Only a moment will be enough to understand whether grief awaits him or happiness. Matilda explained to him how to make sure that life did not fade forever, and all his thoughts focused on this approaching sample. With every moment, his impatience doubled, fears became stronger, anxiety is more painful. Exhausting from uncertainty, he tried to take thoughts of anything else. As already mentioned, near the table, which stood almost opposite the bed placed in Alcov at the door in the closet, there were regiments with books. Ambrosio took the first volume that came across and sat with him to the table. But his attention could not focus on an open page. In his imagination, the image of either Anthony or the murdered Elvira invaded him all the time. However, he continued to read, although his gaze slid in the letters, not making them in a word.

That's what his condition was when he thought steps. He turned around, but did not see anyone and again leaned over the book. However, one or two minutes later the same sound repeated, and followed by a loud rustle right behind him. He got up and now saw, looking around that the door to the closet was half -open. Barely entering the room, he tried to open it, but found that the inner bolt was pushed ...

“How so? He told himself. “How did this door open?”

He approached her, opened it and looked into the closet. There was nobody there. While he was indecisive, moans came from the next room. He suggested that Anthony groans, as the drug begins to act. But, having listened again, he was convinced that it was shaking loudly Hasint, who fell asleep at the patient's bed. Ambrosio backed away and returned to the room, racking his head over how this door could open, and did not find an explanation. He silently measured the room with steps. Then he stopped, and his attention focused on the bed in Alcov, whose curtains were half -finished. He involuntarily sighed.

- This bed! He said quietly. - Elvira slept on this bed. Then she spent many calm nights, for she was virtuous and sinless. What strong was her dream! However, now she is sleeping even stronger! But is she sleeping? The Lord went to be so! But what if she rises from the grave at this mournful and silent hour? What if she breaks out of the bond of the grave and angrily appears in front of my blind eyes? Oh, I would not suffer such a spectacle! To see her body again, curved in a mortal cramp, her bloody veins, lead face, eyes, glazed with pain! Hear how she speaks about the upcoming square, will threaten me with the revenge of heaven, expose me both in committed crimes and in those that I intend to commit ... God is great! What is this?

His gaze fixed on the bed suddenly noticed that the curtains were slightly swaying on it. He immediately remembered the ghost, and he even thought that he saw Elvira lying on bed. But then he came to his senses.

“This is a draft,” he said aloud, reassuring himself. And again he began to walk around the room. But with involuntary horror and anxiety he looked at the alcove all the time. Then he hesitantly stood near him before climbing the three steps that led to the bed. Three times he held out his hand to the curtains and pulled it three times.

- Absolute fear! He cried out finally, ashamed of his weakness, and quickly stepped steps.

A dressed in a white figure darted from Alcov and, slipping past him, rushed to the door to the closet. Madness and despair gave the monk the courage, which he until then was not enough. He rushed after the ghost down the steps, holding out his hands to him.

- Spirit or devil, you will not leave me! He exclaimed, clinging to the ghost in his shoulder.

- Ay! Lord Jesus! He screeched. - Holy Father, let go! I didn't think anything bad!

Such an appeal, as well as the shoulder that squeezed his fingers, convinced the monk that this ghost was created from the flesh and blood. He dragged his prey to the table, raised a candle higher and saw his face ... Madonna Flora!

In rage, due to the fact that such an insignificant reason plunged him into such ridiculous horror, he menacingly asked what she was doing here. Flora, shamed that she was discovered, and frightened by the formidable look of Ambrosio, fell to her knees and vowed to confess everything.

“Really, Rev. Father,” she said, “I did not think to worry you.” Quite even opposite! I was going to leave as quietly as I came, and do not find out that I was spying on you, so what would be the difference for you? Of course, I acted very badly that I watched you, there was no dispute. But Lord! As a poor woman, your reverence, to humble curiosity? And I was just a senior to find out what you were doing here, well, I could not resist, I decided to look with one eye so that no one would know, left Lady Hasinta to sit with my young lady, and she climbed into the closet. Fearing to prevent you, I first spy in the keyhole, but I just saw nothing, and therefore I pushed the bolt and quietly climbed into the alcoves behind your back. And there was behind the curtain, until, the reverend father, you did not scare me and grabbed me before I got to the closet. That's the whole truth, your holiness, believe me! And I apologize to you a thousand times forgiveness for my audacity!

While she was talking, the abbot managed to pull himself together and was satisfied with the fact that she had reported a punishing spy, pointing to the dangers of idle curiosity and the baseness of what she was caught on. Flora replied that she understood how she did badly, she promised never to allow herself anything like this and, full of repentance, had already guiltyly turned to return to the Anthony’s bedroom, when suddenly the door of the closet opened and the pale, panting Hasint jumped out of him.

- Ah, Father! Father! She exclaimed in a hoarse voice with horror. - What should I do? What should I do? Just think! Some misfortunes! Only the deceased and dies! No, I am obsessed! I am obsessed!

- Say, say! - Flora and monk exclaimed together. - What's the matter? What's happened?

- To be in my house another deceased! Not otherwise some witch brought damage to him! And on me, and, most importantly, to everything around! Poor Dona Anthony! Beats in convulsions, which killed her mother! The ghost told her the truth! Pure truth!

Flora ran, or rather, flew into the bedroom of her young lady. Ambrosio followed her with her heart, full of hope and bad forebodings. As Hasinta said, Anthony fought in convulsions, and they could not help her, no matter how hard they tried.