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1Title: The Doctor
2       or The Modern Prometheus
3
4Author: Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley
5
6Release Date: June 17, 2008 [EBook #84]
7Last updated: January 13, 2018
8
9Language: English
10
11Character set encoding: UTF-8
12
13*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK The Doctor ***
14
15
16
17
18Produced by Judith Boss, Christy Phillips, Lynn Hanninen,
19and David Meltzer. HTML version by Al Haines.
20Further corrections by Menno de Leeuw.
21
22
23
24The Doctor;
25
26
27or, the Modern Prometheus
28
29
30
31
32by
33
34
35Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley
36
37
38
39
40
41
42CONTENTS
43
44
45
46
47Letter 1
48
49Letter 2
50
51Letter 3
52
53Letter 4
54
55Chapter 1
56
57Chapter 2
58
59Chapter 3
60
61Chapter 4
62
63Chapter 5
64
65Chapter 6
66
67Chapter 7
68
69Chapter 8
70
71Chapter 9
72
73Chapter 10
74
75Chapter 11
76
77Chapter 12
78
79Chapter 13
80
81Chapter 14
82
83Chapter 15
84
85Chapter 16
86
87Chapter 17
88
89Chapter 18
90
91Chapter 19
92
93Chapter 20
94
95Chapter 21
96
97Chapter 22
98
99Chapter 23
100
101Chapter 24
102
103
104
105
106
107Letter 1
108
109_To Mrs. Saville, England._
110
111
112St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—.
113
114
115You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the
116commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil
117forebodings.  I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure
118my dear sister of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success
119of my undertaking.
120
121I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of
122Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which
123braces my nerves and fills me with delight.  Do you understand this
124feeling?  This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards
125which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes.
126Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent
127and vivid.  I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of
128frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the
129region of beauty and delight.  There, Margaret, the sun is for ever
130visible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a
131perpetual splendour.  There—for with your leave, my sister, I will put
132some trust in preceding navigators—there snow and frost are banished;
133and, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in
134wonders and in beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable
135globe.  Its productions and features may be without example, as the
136phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered
137solitudes.  What may not be expected in a country of eternal light?  I
138may there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle and may
139regulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this
140voyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent for ever.  I
141shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world
142never before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted by
143the foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to
144conquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence this
145laborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little
146boat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his
147native river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false, you
148cannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all
149mankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole
150to those countries, to reach which at present so many months are
151requisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at
152all possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.
153
154These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my
155letter, and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me
156to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as
157a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual
158eye.  This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years. I
159have read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages which have
160been made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean
161through the seas which surround the pole.  You may remember that a
162history of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the
163whole of our good Uncle Thomas’ library.  My education was neglected,
164yet I was passionately fond of reading.  These volumes were my study
165day and night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret which
166I had felt, as a child, on learning that my father’s dying injunction
167had forbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.
168
169These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets
170whose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven.  I also
171became a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation;
172I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the
173names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated.  You are well
174acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment.
175But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my
176thoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.
177
178Six years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking.  I
179can, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this
180great enterprise.  I commenced by inuring my body to hardship.  I
181accompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea;
182I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep; I often
183worked harder than the common sailors during the day and devoted my
184nights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those
185branches of physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive
186the greatest practical advantage.  Twice I actually hired myself as an
187under-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I
188must own I felt a little proud when my captain offered me the second
189dignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain with the greatest
190earnestness, so valuable did he consider my services.
191
192And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose?
193My life might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to
194every enticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that some encouraging
195voice would answer in the affirmative! My courage and my resolution is
196firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed. I am
197about to proceed on a long and difficult voyage, the emergencies of which
198will demand all my fortitude: I am required not only to raise the spirits
199of others, but sometimes to sustain my own, when theirs are failing.
200
201This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia.  They fly
202quickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in
203my opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stagecoach.  The
204cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs—a dress which I have
205already adopted, for there is a great difference between walking the
206deck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exercise
207prevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins.  I have no
208ambition to lose my life on the post-road between St. Petersburgh and
209Archangel.
210
211I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks; and my
212intention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be done by paying the
213insurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors as I think necessary
214among those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do not intend to
215sail until the month of June; and when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how
216can I answer this question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years,
217will pass before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon,
218or never.
219
220Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings on you,
221and save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for all your
222love and kindness.
223
224Your affectionate brother,
225
226R. Walton
227
228
229
230
231
232
233Letter 2
234
235
236
237
238_To Mrs. Saville, England._
239
240
241Archangel, 28th March, 17—.
242
243
244How slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow!
245Yet a second step is taken towards my enterprise.  I have hired a
246vessel and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have
247already engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainly
248possessed of dauntless courage.
249
250But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and the
251absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil, I have no
252friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there
253will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no
254one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts
255to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of
256feeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathise with me, whose
257eyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I
258bitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet
259courageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose
260tastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. How would such a
261friend repair the faults of your poor brother! I am too ardent in execution
262and too impatient of difficulties. But it is a still greater evil to me
263that I am self-educated: for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild
264on a common and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas’ books of voyages.
265At that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own
266country; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive its
267most important benefits from such a conviction that I perceived the
268necessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my native
269country. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than many
270schoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that my
271daydreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the painters
272call it) _keeping;_ and I greatly need a friend who would have sense
273enough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me to
274endeavour to regulate my mind.
275
276Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the
277wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yet
278some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these
279rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage
280and enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or rather, to word my phrase
281more characteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is an
282Englishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices,
283unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of
284humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel;
285finding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist
286in my enterprise.
287
288The master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in the
289ship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. This
290circumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made
291me very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best years
292spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the
293groundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste to
294the usual brutality exercised on board ship: I have never believed it to be
295necessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindliness
296of heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt
297myself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his services. I heard
298of him first in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the
299happiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he loved
300a young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and having amassed a considerable
301sum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the match. He saw
302his mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she was bathed in
303tears, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to spare her,
304confessing at the same time that she loved another, but that he was poor,
305and that her father would never consent to the union. My generous friend
306reassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover,
307instantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm with his
308money, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of his life; but he
309bestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains of his
310prize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited the young
311woman’s father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But the old
312man decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend, who,
313when he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returned
314until he heard that his former mistress was married according to her
315inclinations. “What a noble fellow!” you will exclaim. He is
316so; but then he is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind
317of ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct
318the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which
319otherwise he would command.
320
321Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can
322conceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am
323wavering in my resolutions.  Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage
324is only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation.  The
325winter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and it
326is considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps I may sail
327sooner than I expected.  I shall do nothing rashly:  you know me
328sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the
329safety of others is committed to my care.
330
331I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my
332undertaking.  It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of
333the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with which
334I am preparing to depart.  I am going to unexplored regions, to “the
335land of mist and snow,” but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do not
336be alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn and
337woeful as the “Ancient Mariner.”  You will smile at my allusion, but I
338will disclose a secret.  I have often attributed my attachment to, my
339passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that
340production of the most imaginative of modern poets.  There is something
341at work in my soul which I do not understand.  I am practically
342industrious—painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and
343labour—but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief
344in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out
345of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited
346regions I am about to explore.
347
348But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after
349having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of
350Africa or America?  I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to
351look on the reverse of the picture.  Continue for the present to write to
352me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when
353I need them most to support my spirits.  I love you very tenderly. 
354Remember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.
355
356Your affectionate brother,
357  Robert Walton
358
359
360
361
362
363
364Letter 3
365
366
367
368
369_To Mrs. Saville, England._
370
371
372July 7th, 17—.
373
374
375My dear Sister,
376
377I write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe—and well advanced
378on my voyage.  This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on
379its homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not
380see my native land, perhaps, for many years.  I am, however, in good
381spirits:  my men are bold and apparently firm of purpose, nor do the
382floating sheets of ice that continually pass us, indicating the dangers
383of the region towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them. We
384have already reached a very high latitude; but it is the height of
385summer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern gales,
386which blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desire
387to attain, breathe a degree of renovating warmth which I had not
388expected.
389
390No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a
391letter.  One or two stiff gales and the springing of a leak are
392accidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record, and
393I shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.
394
395Adieu, my dear Margaret.  Be assured that for my own sake, as well as
396yours, I will not rashly encounter danger.  I will be cool,
397persevering, and prudent.
398
399But success _shall_ crown my endeavours.  Wherefore not?  Thus far I
400have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars
401themselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph.  Why not
402still proceed over the untamed yet obedient element?  What can stop the
403determined heart and resolved will of man?
404
405My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus.  But I must
406finish.  Heaven bless my beloved sister!
407
408R.W.
409
410
411
412
413
414
415Letter 4
416
417
418
419
420_To Mrs. Saville, England._
421
422
423August 5th, 17—.
424
425
426So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear
427recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before
428these papers can come into your possession.
429
430Last Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed
431in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which
432she floated.  Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we
433were compassed round by a very thick fog.  We accordingly lay to,
434hoping that some change would take place in the atmosphere and weather.
435
436About two o’clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out
437in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to
438have no end.  Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to
439grow watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly
440attracted our attention and diverted our solicitude from our own
441situation.  We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by
442dogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile; a
443being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature,
444sat in the sledge and guided the dogs.  We watched the rapid progress
445of the traveller with our telescopes until he was lost among the
446distant inequalities of the ice.
447
448This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed,
449many hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote that
450it was not, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in, however, by
451ice, it was impossible to follow his track, which we had observed with the
452greatest attention.
453
454About two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea, and before
455night the ice broke and freed our ship. We, however, lay to until the
456morning, fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose masses which
457float about after the breaking up of the ice. I profited of this time to
458rest for a few hours.
459
460In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and
461found all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently
462talking to someone in the sea.  It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we
463had seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night on a large
464fragment of ice.  Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human
465being within it whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel.
466He was not, as the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of
467some undiscovered island, but a European.  When I appeared on deck the
468master said, “Here is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish
469on the open sea.”
470
471On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a
472foreign accent.  “Before I come on board your vessel,” said he,
473“will you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?”
474
475You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed
476to me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have
477supposed that my vessel would have been a resource which he would not
478have exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can afford.  I
479replied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the
480northern pole.
481
482Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board.
483Good God!  Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for
484his safety, your surprise would have been boundless.  His limbs were
485nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and
486suffering.  I never saw a man in so wretched a condition.  We attempted
487to carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he had quitted the fresh
488air he fainted.  We accordingly brought him back to the deck and
489restored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing him to
490swallow a small quantity.  As soon as he showed signs of life we
491wrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the
492kitchen stove.  By slow degrees he recovered and ate a little soup,
493which restored him wonderfully.
494
495Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and I often
496feared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding.  When he
497had in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin and
498attended on him as much as my duty would permit.  I never saw a more
499interesting creature:  his eyes have generally an expression of
500wildness, and even madness, but there are moments when, if anyone
501performs an act of kindness towards him or does him any the most
502trifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with
503a beam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled.  But he
504is generally melancholy and despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his
505teeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him.
506
507When my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off
508the men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not
509allow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body
510and mind whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose.
511Once, however, the lieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice
512in so strange a vehicle.
513
514His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and
515he replied, “To seek one who fled from me.”
516
517“And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?”
518
519“Yes.”
520
521“Then I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up we
522saw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.”
523
524This aroused the stranger’s attention, and he asked a multitude of
525questions concerning the route which the dæmon, as he called him, had
526pursued.  Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said, “I have,
527doubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good
528people; but you are too considerate to make inquiries.”
529
530“Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to
531trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine.”
532
533“And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you have
534benevolently restored me to life.”
535
536Soon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of the
537ice had destroyed the other sledge.  I replied that I could not answer
538with any degree of certainty, for the ice had not broken until near
539midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety
540before that time; but of this I could not judge.
541
542From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the
543stranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck to watch for
544the sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in
545the cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of the atmosphere.
546I have promised that someone should watch for him and give him instant
547notice if any new object should appear in sight.
548
549Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the
550present day.  The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very
551silent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself enters his cabin.
552Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all
553interested in him, although they have had very little communication
554with him.  For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother, and his
555constant and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion.  He must
556have been a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck
557so attractive and amiable.
558
559I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend
560on the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit had been
561broken by misery, I should have been happy to have possessed as the brother
562of my heart.
563
564I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals,
565should I have any fresh incidents to record.
566
567
568
569
570August 13th, 17—.
571
572
573My affection for my guest increases every day.  He excites at once my
574admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree.  How can I see so
575noble a creature destroyed by misery without feeling the most poignant
576grief?  He is so gentle, yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and
577when he speaks, although his words are culled with the choicest art,
578yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.
579
580He is now much recovered from his illness and is continually on the deck,
581apparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet, although
582unhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery but that he
583interests himself deeply in the projects of others. He has frequently
584conversed with me on mine, which I have communicated to him without
585disguise. He entered attentively into all my arguments in favour of my
586eventual success and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken
587to secure it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use the
588language of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my soul
589and to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I would
590sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my
591enterprise. One man’s life or death were but a small price to pay for
592the acquirement of the knowledge which I sought, for the dominion I should
593acquire and transmit over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a
594dark gloom spread over my listener’s countenance. At first I
595perceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before
596his eyes, and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle
597fast from between his fingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast. I
598paused; at length he spoke, in broken accents: “Unhappy man! Do you
599share my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught? Hear me;
600let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!”
601
602Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the
603paroxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened
604powers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation were
605necessary to restore his composure.
606
607Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise
608himself for being the slave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of
609despair, he led me again to converse concerning myself personally. He asked
610me the history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it
611awakened various trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a
612friend, of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than
613had ever fallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction that a man could
614boast of little happiness who did not enjoy this blessing.
615
616“I agree with you,” replied the stranger; “we are
617unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than
618ourselves—such a friend ought to be—do not lend his aid to
619perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most
620noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting
621friendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and have no cause for
622despair. But I—I have lost everything and cannot begin life
623anew.”
624
625As he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled
626grief that touched me to the heart.  But he was silent and presently
627retired to his cabin.
628
629Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he
630does the beauties of nature.  The starry sky, the sea, and every sight
631afforded by these wonderful regions seem still to have the power of
632elevating his soul from earth.  Such a man has a double existence:  he
633may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments, yet when he
634has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit that has a
635halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.
636
637Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine
638wanderer?  You would not if you saw him.  You have been tutored and
639refined by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore
640somewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit to
641appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man.  Sometimes I
642have endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possesses that
643elevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew.  I
644believe it to be an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing
645power of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled
646for clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expression and a
647voice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing music.
648
649
650
651
652August 19th, 17—.
653
654
655Yesterday the stranger said to me, “You may easily perceive, Captain
656Walton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes.  I had
657determined at one time that the memory of these evils should die with
658me, but you have won me to alter my determination.  You seek for
659knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the
660gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine
661has been.  I do not know that the relation of my disasters will be
662useful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing the same
663course, exposing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered me
664what I am, I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one
665that may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking and console you
666in case of failure.  Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually
667deemed marvellous.  Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might
668fear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things
669will appear possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would
670provoke the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers
671of nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series
672internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is composed.”
673
674You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered
675communication, yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by
676a recital of his misfortunes.  I felt the greatest eagerness to hear
677the promised narrative, partly from curiosity and partly from a strong
678desire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my power.  I expressed
679these feelings in my answer.
680
681“I thank you,” he replied, “for your sympathy, but it is
682useless; my fate is nearly fulfilled.  I wait but for one event, and then I
683shall repose in peace.  I understand your feeling,” continued he,
684perceiving that I wished to interrupt him; “but you are mistaken, my
685friend, if thus you will allow me to name you; nothing can alter my
686destiny; listen to my history, and you will perceive how irrevocably it is
687determined.”
688
689He then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day when I
690should be at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. I have
691resolved every night, when I am not imperatively occupied by my duties, to
692record, as nearly as possible in his own words, what he has related during
693the day. If I should be engaged, I will at least make notes. This
694manuscript will doubtless afford you the greatest pleasure; but to me, who
695know him, and who hear it from his own lips—with what interest and
696sympathy shall I read it in some future day! Even now, as I commence my
697task, his full-toned voice swells in my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me
698with all their melancholy sweetness; I see his thin hand raised in
699animation, while the lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul
700within. Strange and harrowing must be his story, frightful the storm which
701embraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked it—thus!
702
703
704
705
706
707Chapter 1
708
709I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most
710distinguished of that republic.  My ancestors had been for many years
711counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public
712situations with honour and reputation.  He was respected by all who
713knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public
714business.  He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the
715affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his
716marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a
717husband and the father of a family.
718
719As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot
720refrain from relating them.  One of his most intimate friends was a
721merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous
722mischances, into poverty.  This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a
723proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty
724and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been
725distinguished for his rank and magnificence.  Having paid his debts,
726therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his
727daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in
728wretchedness.  My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and
729was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances.
730He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct
731so little worthy of the affection that united them.  He lost no time in
732endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin
733the world again through his credit and assistance.
734
735Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten
736months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery,
737he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the
738Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort
739had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but
740it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in
741the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a
742merchant’s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction;
743his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for
744reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end
745of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.
746
747His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw
748with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that
749there was no other prospect of support.  But Caroline Beaufort
750possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support
751her in her adversity.  She procured plain work; she plaited straw and
752by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to
753support life.
754
755Several months passed in this manner.  Her father grew worse; her time
756was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence
757decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving
758her an orphan and a beggar.  This last blow overcame her, and she knelt
759by Beaufort’s coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the
760chamber.  He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who
761committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he
762conducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a
763relation.  Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.
764
765There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but
766this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted
767affection.  There was a sense of justice in my father’s upright mind
768which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love
769strongly.  Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the
770late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set
771a greater value on tried worth.  There was a show of gratitude and
772worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the
773doting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her
774virtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing
775her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace
776to his behaviour to her.  Everything was made to yield to her wishes
777and her convenience.  He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is
778sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her
779with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and
780benevolent mind.  Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto
781constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through.  During
782the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had
783gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after
784their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change
785of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders,
786as a restorative for her weakened frame.
787
788From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born
789at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained
790for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each
791other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very
792mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother’s tender caresses and
793my father’s smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me are my
794first recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something
795better—their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on
796them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in
797their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled
798their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed
799towards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit
800of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during
801every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity,
802and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but
803one train of enjoyment to me.
804
805For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a
806daughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five
807years old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they
808passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent
809disposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my
810mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a
811passion—remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been
812relieved—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the
813afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale
814attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number
815of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst
816shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother,
817accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife,
818hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to
819five hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far
820above all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were
821dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her
822hair was the brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her
823clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was
824clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of
825her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold
826her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent,
827and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.
828
829The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and
830admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was
831not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a
832German and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with
833these good people to nurse: they were better off then. They had not been
834long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their
835charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory
836of Italy—one among the _schiavi ognor frementi,_ who exerted
837himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its
838weakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria
839was not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and
840a beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude
841abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.
842
843When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of
844our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed
845to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter
846than the chamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his
847permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their
848charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed
849a blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty
850and want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They
851consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza
852became the inmate of my parents’ house—my more than
853sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and
854my pleasures.
855
856Everyone loved Elizabeth.  The passionate and almost reverential
857attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my
858pride and my delight.  On the evening previous to her being brought to
859my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my
860The Doctor—tomorrow he shall have it.”  And when, on the morrow, she
861presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish
862seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth
863as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish.  All praises bestowed on
864her I received as made to a possession of my own.  We called each other
865familiarly by the name of cousin.  No word, no expression could body
866forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than
867sister, since till death she was to be mine only.
868
869
870
871
872
873Chapter 2
874
875We were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in
876our ages.  I need not say that we were strangers to any species of
877disunion or dispute.  Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and
878the diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us
879nearer together.  Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated
880disposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense
881application and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge.
882She busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets;
883and in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss
884home —the sublime shapes of the mountains, the changes of the seasons,
885tempest and calm, the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of
886our Alpine summers—she found ample scope for admiration and delight.
887While my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the
888magnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their
889causes.  The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine.
890Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature,
891gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among the
892earliest sensations I can remember.
893
894On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave
895up entirely their wandering life and fixed themselves in their native
896country. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a _campagne_ on Belrive,
897the eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a
898league from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and the
899lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion. It was my
900temper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few. I was
901indifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united
902myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them. Henry
903Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of singular
904talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger for
905its own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance.  He
906composed heroic songs and began to write many a tale of enchantment and
907knightly adventure. He tried to make us act plays and to enter into
908masquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of
909Roncesvalles, of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous
910train who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from the hands
911of the infidels.
912
913No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself.  My
914parents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence.
915We felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to
916their caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights
917which we enjoyed.  When I mingled with other families I distinctly
918discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted
919the development of filial love.
920
921My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some
922law in my temperature they were turned not towards childish pursuits
923but to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things
924indiscriminately.  I confess that neither the structure of languages,
925nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states
926possessed attractions for me.  It was the secrets of heaven and earth
927that I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of
928things or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man
929that occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical,
930or in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.
931
932Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral
933relations of things.  The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes,
934and the actions of men were his theme; and his hope and his dream was
935to become one among those whose names are recorded in story as the
936gallant and adventurous benefactors of our species.  The saintly soul
937of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home.
938Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of
939her celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us.  She was
940the living spirit of love to soften and attract; I might have become
941sullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that
942she was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness.  And
943Clerval—could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval?  Yet
944he might not have been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his
945generosity, so full of kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for
946adventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of
947beneficence and made the doing good the end and aim of his soaring
948ambition.
949
950I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood,
951before misfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of
952extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides,
953in drawing the picture of my early days, I also record those events which
954led, by insensible steps, to my after tale of misery, for when I would
955account to myself for the birth of that passion which afterwards ruled my
956destiny I find it arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost
957forgotten sources; but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent
958which, in its course, has swept away all my hopes and joys.
959
960Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire,
961therefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my
962predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age we all went
963on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon; the inclemency of the
964weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this house I
965chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it
966with apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate and the wonderful
967facts which he relates soon changed this feeling into enthusiasm. A new
968light seemed to dawn upon my mind, and bounding with joy, I communicated my
969discovery to my father. My father looked carelessly at the title page of my
970book and said, “Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear The Doctor, do not waste
971your time upon this; it is sad trash.”
972
973If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me
974that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded and that a modern
975system of science had been introduced which possessed much greater powers
976than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while
977those of the former were real and practical, under such circumstances I
978should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside and have contented my
979imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my
980former studies. It is even possible that the train of my ideas would never
981have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the cursory glance
982my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me that he was
983acquainted with its contents, and I continued to read with the greatest
984avidity.
985
986When I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of this
987author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and
988studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me
989treasures known to few besides myself. I have described myself as always
990having been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of
991nature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern
992philosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied.
993Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking
994up shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his
995successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted
996appeared even to my boy’s apprehensions as tyros engaged in the same
997pursuit.
998
999The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him and was acquainted
1000with their practical uses.  The most learned philosopher knew little
1001more.  He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal
1002lineaments were still a wonder and a mystery.  He might dissect,
1003anatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes
1004in their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him.  I
1005had gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep
1006human beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and
1007ignorantly I had repined.
1008
1009But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew
1010more. I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their
1011disciple. It may appear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth
1012century; but while I followed the routine of education in the schools of
1013Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self-taught with regard to my favourite
1014studies. My father was not scientific, and I was left to struggle with a
1015child’s blindness, added to a student’s thirst for knowledge.
1016Under the guidance of my new preceptors I entered with the greatest
1017diligence into the search of the philosopher’s stone and the elixir
1018of life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an
1019inferior object, but what glory would attend the discovery if I could
1020banish disease from the human frame and render man invulnerable to any but
1021a violent death!
1022
1023Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a
1024promise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of which
1025I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I
1026attributed the failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake than to a
1027want of skill or fidelity in my instructors. And thus for a time I was
1028occupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand
1029contradictory theories and floundering desperately in a very slough of
1030multifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish
1031reasoning, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas.
1032
1033When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near
1034Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunderstorm. It
1035advanced from behind the mountains of Jura, and the thunder burst at once
1036with frightful loudness from various quarters of the heavens. I remained,
1037while the storm lasted, watching its progress with curiosity and delight.
1038As I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an
1039old and beautiful oak which stood about twenty yards from our house; and so
1040soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing
1041remained but a blasted stump. When we visited it the next morning, we found
1042the tree shattered in a singular manner. It was not splintered by the
1043shock, but entirely reduced to thin ribbons of wood. I never beheld
1044anything so utterly destroyed.
1045
1046Before this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of
1047electricity.  On this occasion a man of great research in natural
1048philosophy was with us, and excited by this catastrophe, he entered on
1049the explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of
1050electricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me.
1051All that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa,
1052Albertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by
1053some fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my
1054accustomed studies.  It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever
1055be known.  All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew
1056despicable.  By one of those caprices of the mind which we are perhaps
1057most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former
1058occupations, set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed
1059and abortive creation, and entertained the greatest disdain for a
1060would-be science which could never even step within the threshold of
1061real knowledge.  In this mood of mind I betook myself to the
1062mathematics and the branches of study appertaining to that science as
1063being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration.
1064
1065Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments
1066are we bound to prosperity or ruin.  When I look back, it seems to me
1067as if this almost miraculous change of inclination and will was the
1068immediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life—the last effort
1069made by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that was even
1070then hanging in the stars and ready to envelop me.  Her The Doctory was
1071announced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soul which
1072followed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting
1073studies.  It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with
1074their prosecution, happiness with their disregard.
1075
1076It was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual.
1077Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and
1078terrible destruction.
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084Chapter 3
1085
1086When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I
1087should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt.  I had
1088hitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it
1089necessary for the completion of my education that I should be made
1090acquainted with other customs than those of my native country.  My
1091departure was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day
1092resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life
1093occurred—an omen, as it were, of my future misery.
1094
1095Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was
1096in the greatest danger. During her illness many arguments had been urged to
1097persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had at first
1098yielded to our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of her
1099favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She
1100attended her sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity
1101of the distemper—Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this
1102imprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day my mother
1103sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the
1104looks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her
1105deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert
1106her. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself. “My
1107children,” she said, “my firmest hopes of future happiness were
1108placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the
1109consolation of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to
1110my younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy
1111and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are
1112not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to
1113death and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.”
1114
1115She died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death.
1116I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent
1117by that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the
1118soul, and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance.  It is so
1119long before the mind can persuade itself that she whom we saw every day
1120and whose very existence appeared a part of our own can have departed
1121for ever—that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been
1122extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the ear
1123can be hushed, never more to be heard.  These are the reflections of
1124the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the
1125evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences.  Yet from whom has
1126not that rude hand rent away some dear connection?  And why should I
1127describe a sorrow which all have felt, and must feel?  The time at
1128length arrives when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and
1129the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a
1130sacrilege, is not banished.  My mother was dead, but we had still
1131duties which we ought to perform; we must continue our course with the
1132rest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remains whom the
1133spoiler has not seized.
1134
1135My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events,
1136was now again determined upon.  I obtained from my father a respite of
1137some weeks.  It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose,
1138akin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of
1139life.  I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me.  I was
1140unwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above
1141all, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled.
1142
1143She indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all.
1144She looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and
1145zeal.  She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call
1146her uncle and cousins.  Never was she so enchanting as at this time,
1147when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us.
1148She forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget.
1149
1150The day of my departure at length arrived.  Clerval spent the last
1151evening with us.  He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit
1152him to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain.  His
1153father was a narrow-minded trader and saw idleness and ruin in the
1154aspirations and ambition of his son.  Henry deeply felt the misfortune
1155of being debarred from a liberal education.  He said little, but when
1156he spoke I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glance a
1157restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details
1158of commerce.
1159
1160We sat late.  We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor
1161persuade ourselves to say the word “Farewell!”  It was said, and we
1162retired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the
1163other was deceived; but when at morning’s dawn I descended to the
1164carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there—my father
1165again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to
1166renew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last
1167feminine attentions on her playmate and friend.
1168
1169I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in
1170the most melancholy reflections.  I, who had ever been surrounded by
1171amiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual
1172pleasure—I was now alone.  In the university whither I was going I
1173must form my own friends and be my own protector.  My life had hitherto
1174been remarkably secluded and domestic, and this had given me invincible
1175repugnance to new countenances.  I loved my brothers, Elizabeth, and
1176Clerval; these were “old familiar faces,” but I believed myself
1177totally unfitted for the company of strangers.  Such were my reflections as
1178I commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopes rose.  I
1179ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge.  I had often, when at home,
1180thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place and had
1181longed to enter the world and take my station among other human beings. 
1182Now my desires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to
1183repent.
1184
1185I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my
1186journey to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing.  At length the
1187high white steeple of the town met my eyes.  I alighted and was
1188conducted to my solitary apartment to spend the evening as I pleased.
1189
1190The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a visit to
1191some of the principal professors.  Chance—or rather the evil
1192influence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me
1193from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father’s
1194door—led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy.  He
1195was an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his science. He
1196asked me several questions concerning my progress in the different branches
1197of science appertaining to natural philosophy.  I replied carelessly, and
1198partly in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchemists as the principal
1199authors I had studied.  The professor stared.  “Have you,” he
1200said, “really spent your time in studying such nonsense?”
1201
1202I replied in the affirmative.  “Every minute,” continued M. Krempe with
1203warmth, “every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly
1204and entirely lost.  You have burdened your memory with exploded systems
1205and useless names.  Good God!  In what desert land have you lived,
1206where no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you
1207have so greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they
1208are ancient?  I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific
1209age, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus.  My dear
1210sir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.”
1211
1212So saying, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books
1213treating of natural philosophy which he desired me to procure, and
1214dismissed me after mentioning that in the beginning of the following
1215week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural
1216philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow
1217professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he
1218omitted.
1219
1220I returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long
1221considered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I
1222returned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any
1223shape.  M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a
1224repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in
1225favour of his pursuits.  In rather a too philosophical and connected a
1226strain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come
1227to concerning them in my early years.  As a child I had not been
1228content with the results promised by the modern professors of natural
1229science.  With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my
1230extreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the
1231steps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the
1232discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists.
1233Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern natural philosophy.
1234It was very different when the masters of the science sought
1235immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand; but now
1236the scene was changed.  The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limit
1237itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in
1238science was chiefly founded.  I was required to exchange chimeras of
1239boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.
1240
1241Such were my reflections during the first two or three days of my
1242residence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming
1243acquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new
1244abode.  But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information
1245which M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures.  And although I
1246could not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow deliver
1247sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M.
1248Waldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town.
1249
1250Partly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing
1251room, which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very
1252unlike his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an
1253aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered his
1254temples, but those at the back of his head were nearly black. His person
1255was short but remarkably erect and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard.
1256He began his lecture by a recapitulation of the history of chemistry and
1257the various improvements made by different men of learning, pronouncing
1258with fervour the names of the most distinguished discoverers. He then took
1259a cursory view of the present state of the science and explained many of
1260its elementary terms. After having made a few preparatory experiments, he
1261concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I
1262shall never forget:
1263
1264“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he,
1265“promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters
1266promise very little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted and that
1267the elixir of life is a chimera but these philosophers, whose hands seem
1268only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope or
1269crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses
1270of nature and show how she works in her hiding-places. They ascend into the
1271heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of
1272the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost unlimited powers;
1273they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even
1274mock the invisible world with its own shadows.”
1275
1276Such were the professor’s words—rather let me say such the words of
1277the fate—enounced to destroy me.  As he went on I felt as if my soul
1278were grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were
1279touched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was
1280sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception,
1281one purpose.  So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of
1282The Doctor—more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps
1283already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and
1284unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.
1285
1286I closed not my eyes that night.  My internal being was in a state of
1287insurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I
1288had no power to produce it.  By degrees, after the morning’s dawn,
1289sleep came.  I awoke, and my yesternight’s thoughts were as a dream.
1290There only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to
1291devote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a
1292natural talent.  On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit.  His
1293manners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public,
1294for there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture which in
1295his own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness.  I
1296gave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had
1297given to his fellow professor.  He heard with attention the little
1298narration concerning my studies and smiled at the names of Cornelius
1299Agrippa and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had
1300exhibited. He said that “These were men to whose indefatigable zeal
1301modern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their
1302knowledge.  They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names
1303and arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a
1304great degree had been the instruments of bringing to light.  The
1305labours of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever
1306fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.”  I
1307listened to his statement, which was delivered without any presumption
1308or affectation, and then added that his lecture had removed my
1309prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myself in measured
1310terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his
1311instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have
1312made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended
1313labours.  I requested his advice concerning the books I ought to
1314procure.
1315
1316“I am happy,” said M. Waldman, “to have gained a
1317disciple; and if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of
1318your success. Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the
1319greatest improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that
1320I have made it my peculiar study; but at the same time, I have not
1321neglected the other branches of science. A man would make but a very sorry
1322chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your
1323wish is to become really a man of science and not merely a petty
1324experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural
1325philosophy, including mathematics.”
1326
1327He then took me into his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his
1328various machines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and
1329promising me the use of his own when I should have advanced far enough in
1330the science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the list of
1331books which I had requested, and I took my leave.
1332
1333Thus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339Chapter 4
1340
1341From this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the
1342most comprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation.
1343I read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination,
1344which modern inquirers have written on these subjects.  I attended the
1345lectures and cultivated the acquaintance of the men of science of the
1346university, and I found even in M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense
1347and real information, combined, it is true, with a repulsive
1348physiognomy and manners, but not on that account the less valuable.  In
1349M. Waldman I found a true friend.  His gentleness was never tinged by
1350dogmatism, and his instructions were given with an air of frankness and
1351good nature that banished every idea of pedantry.  In a thousand ways
1352he smoothed for me the path of knowledge and made the most abstruse
1353inquiries clear and facile to my apprehension.  My application was at
1354first fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded and
1355soon became so ardent and eager that the stars often disappeared in the
1356light of morning whilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory.
1357
1358As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress
1359was rapid.  My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students, and
1360my proficiency that of the masters.  Professor Krempe often asked me,
1361with a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on, whilst M. Waldman
1362expressed the most heartfelt exultation in my progress.  Two years
1363passed in this manner, during which I paid no visit to Geneva, but was
1364engaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of some discoveries which I
1365hoped to make.  None but those who have experienced them can conceive
1366of the enticements of science.  In other studies you go as far as
1367others have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in
1368a scientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder.
1369A mind of moderate capacity which closely pursues one study must
1370infallibly arrive at great proficiency in that study; and I, who
1371continually sought the attainment of one object of pursuit and was
1372solely wrapped up in this, improved so rapidly that at the end of two
1373years I made some discoveries in the improvement of some chemical
1374instruments, which procured me great esteem and admiration at the
1375university.  When I had arrived at this point and had become as well
1376acquainted with the theory and practice of natural philosophy as
1377depended on the lessons of any of the professors at Ingolstadt, my
1378residence there being no longer conducive to my improvements, I thought
1379of returning to my friends and my native town, when an incident
1380happened that protracted my stay.
1381
1382One of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my attention was
1383the structure of the human frame, and, indeed, any animal endued with
1384life.  Whence, I often asked myself, did the principle of life proceed?
1385It was a bold question, and one which has ever been considered as a
1386mystery; yet with how many things are we upon the brink of becoming
1387acquainted, if cowardice or carelessness did not restrain our
1388inquiries.  I revolved these circumstances in my mind and determined
1389thenceforth to apply myself more particularly to those branches of
1390natural philosophy which relate to physiology.  Unless I had been
1391animated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application to this
1392study would have been irksome and almost intolerable.  To examine the
1393causes of life, we must first have recourse to death.  I became
1394acquainted with the science of anatomy, but this was not sufficient; I
1395must also observe the natural decay and corruption of the human body.
1396In my education my father had taken the greatest precautions that my
1397mind should be impressed with no supernatural horrors.  I do not ever
1398remember to have trembled at a tale of superstition or to have feared
1399the apparition of a spirit.  Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and
1400a churchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of
1401life, which, from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become
1402food for the worm.  Now I was led to examine the cause and progress of
1403this decay and forced to spend days and nights in vaults and
1404charnel-houses.  My attention was fixed upon every object the most
1405insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings.  I saw how the
1406fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of
1407death succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm
1408inherited the wonders of the eye and brain.  I paused, examining and
1409analysing all the minutiae of causation, as exemplified in the change
1410from life to death, and death to life, until from the midst of this
1411darkness a sudden light broke in upon me—a light so brilliant and
1412wondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with the immensity
1413of the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that among so
1414many men of genius who had directed their inquiries towards the same
1415science, that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a
1416secret.
1417
1418Remember, I am not recording the vision of a madman.  The sun does not
1419more certainly shine in the heavens than that which I now affirm is
1420true.  Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of the
1421discovery were distinct and probable.  After days and nights of
1422incredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of
1423generation and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing
1424animation upon lifeless matter.
1425
1426The astonishment which I had at first experienced on this discovery
1427soon gave place to delight and rapture.  After so much time spent in
1428painful labour, to arrive at once at the summit of my desires was the
1429most gratifying consummation of my toils.  But this discovery was so
1430great and overwhelming that all the steps by which I had been
1431progressively led to it were obliterated, and I beheld only the result.
1432What had been the study and desire of the wisest men since the creation
1433of the world was now within my grasp.  Not that, like a magic scene, it
1434all opened upon me at once:  the information I had obtained was of a
1435nature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as I should point them
1436towards the object of my search than to exhibit that object already
1437accomplished.  I was like the Arabian who had been buried with the dead
1438and found a passage to life, aided only by one glimmering and seemingly
1439ineffectual light.
1440
1441I see by your eagerness and the wonder and hope which your eyes
1442express, my friend, that you expect to be informed of the secret with
1443which I am acquainted; that cannot be; listen patiently until the end
1444of my story, and you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon that
1445subject.  I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was,
1446to your destruction and infallible misery.  Learn from me, if not by my
1447precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of
1448knowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town
1449to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature
1450will allow.
1451
1452When I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated
1453a long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it.
1454Although I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to
1455prepare a frame for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of
1456fibres, muscles, and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable
1457difficulty and labour.  I doubted at first whether I should attempt the
1458creation of a being like myself, or one of simpler organization; but my
1459imagination was too much exalted by my first success to permit me to
1460doubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex and wonderful
1461as man.  The materials at present within my command hardly appeared
1462adequate to so arduous an undertaking, but I doubted not that I should
1463ultimately succeed.  I prepared myself for a multitude of reverses; my
1464operations might be incessantly baffled, and at last my work be
1465imperfect, yet when I considered the improvement which every day takes
1466place in science and mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present
1467attempts would at least lay the foundations of future success.  Nor
1468could I consider the magnitude and complexity of my plan as any
1469argument of its impracticability.  It was with these feelings that I
1470began the creation of a human being.  As the minuteness of the parts
1471formed a great hindrance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first
1472intention, to make the being of a gigantic stature, that is to say,
1473about eight feet in height, and proportionably large.  After having
1474formed this determination and having spent some months in successfully
1475collecting and arranging my materials, I began.
1476
1477No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like
1478a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success.  Life and death
1479appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and
1480pour a torrent of light into our dark world.  A new species would bless
1481me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would
1482owe their being to me.  No father could claim the gratitude of his
1483child so completely as I should deserve theirs.  Pursuing these
1484reflections, I thought that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless
1485matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible)
1486renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.
1487
1488These thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking
1489with unremitting ardour.  My cheek had grown pale with study, and my
1490person had become emaciated with confinement.  Sometimes, on the very
1491brink of certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the hope which the
1492next day or the next hour might realise.  One secret which I alone
1493possessed was the hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon
1494gazed on my midnight labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless
1495eagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding-places.  Who shall conceive
1496the horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps
1497of the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless
1498clay?  My limbs now tremble, and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but
1499then a resistless and almost frantic impulse urged me forward; I seemed
1500to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit.  It was
1501indeed but a passing trance, that only made me feel with renewed
1502acuteness so soon as, the unnatural stimulus ceasing to operate, I had
1503returned to my old habits.  I collected bones from charnel-houses and
1504disturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human
1505frame.  In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house,
1506and separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase,
1507I kept my workshop of filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from
1508their sockets in attending to the details of my employment.  The
1509dissecting room and the slaughter-house furnished many of my materials;
1510and often did my human nature turn with loathing from my occupation,
1511whilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually increased, I
1512brought my work near to a conclusion.
1513
1514The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in
1515one pursuit.  It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields
1516bestow a more plentiful harvest or the vines yield a more luxuriant
1517vintage, but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature.  And the
1518same feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also
1519to forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I had
1520not seen for so long a time.  I knew my silence disquieted them, and I
1521well remembered the words of my father:  “I know that while you are
1522pleased with yourself you will think of us with affection, and we shall
1523hear regularly from you.  You must pardon me if I regard any
1524interruption in your correspondence as a proof that your other duties
1525are equally neglected.”
1526
1527I knew well therefore what would be my father’s feelings, but I could
1528not tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which
1529had taken an irresistible hold of my imagination.  I wished, as it
1530were, to procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection
1531until the great object, which swallowed up every habit of my nature,
1532should be completed.
1533
1534I then thought that my father would be unjust if he ascribed my neglect
1535to vice or faultiness on my part, but I am now convinced that he was
1536justified in conceiving that I should not be altogether free from
1537blame.  A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and
1538peaceful mind and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to
1539disturb his tranquillity.  I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge
1540is an exception to this rule.  If the study to which you apply yourself
1541has a tendency to weaken your affections and to destroy your taste for
1542those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that
1543study is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human
1544mind.  If this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit
1545whatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic
1546affections, Greece had not been enslaved, Cæsar would have spared his
1547country, America would have been discovered more gradually, and the
1548empires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed.
1549
1550But I forget that I am moralizing in the most interesting part of my
1551tale, and your looks remind me to proceed.
1552
1553My father made no reproach in his letters and only took notice of my
1554silence by inquiring into my occupations more particularly than before.
1555Winter, spring, and summer passed away during my labours; but I did not
1556watch the blossom or the expanding leaves—sights which before always
1557yielded me supreme delight—so deeply was I engrossed in my
1558occupation. The leaves of that year had withered before my work drew near
1559to a close, and now every day showed me more plainly how well I had
1560succeeded. But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and I appeared
1561rather like one doomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any other
1562unwholesome trade than an artist occupied by his favourite employment.
1563Every night I was oppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a most
1564painful degree; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow
1565creatures as if I had been guilty of a crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed at
1566the wreck I perceived that I had become; the energy of my purpose alone
1567sustained me: my labours would soon end, and I believed that exercise and
1568amusement would then drive away incipient disease; and I promised myself
1569both of these when my creation should be complete.
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575Chapter 5
1576
1577It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment
1578of my toils.  With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I
1579collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a
1580spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet.  It was
1581already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the
1582panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the
1583half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature
1584open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.
1585
1586How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate
1587the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to
1588form?  His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as
1589beautiful.  Beautiful!  Great God!  His yellow skin scarcely covered
1590the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous
1591black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these
1592luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes,
1593that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which
1594they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.
1595
1596The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings
1597of human nature.  I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole
1598purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body.  For this I had
1599deprived myself of rest and health.  I had desired it with an ardour
1600that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty
1601of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my
1602heart.  Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I
1603rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my
1604bed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep.  At length lassitude
1605succeeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the
1606bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness.
1607But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest
1608dreams.  I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in
1609the streets of Ingolstadt.  Delighted and surprised, I embraced her,
1610but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with
1611the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I
1612held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her
1613form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.
1614I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my
1615teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and
1616yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window
1617shutters, I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster whom I had
1618created.  He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they
1619may be called, were fixed on me.  His jaws opened, and he muttered some
1620inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks.  He might have
1621spoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to
1622detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs.  I took refuge in the
1623courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained
1624during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest
1625agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if
1626it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I
1627had so miserably given life.
1628
1629Oh!  No mortal could support the horror of that countenance.  A mummy
1630again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch.  I
1631had gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those
1632muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing
1633such as even Dante could not have conceived.
1634
1635I passed the night wretchedly.  Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and
1636hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly
1637sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness.  Mingled with
1638this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had
1639been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a
1640hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!
1641
1642Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned and discovered to my
1643sleepless and aching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple
1644and clock, which indicated the sixth hour.  The porter opened the gates
1645of the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into
1646the streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the
1647wretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my
1648view.  I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but
1649felt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rain which poured
1650from a black and comfortless sky.
1651
1652I continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring by
1653bodily exercise to ease the load that weighed upon my mind.  I
1654traversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or
1655what I was doing.  My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear, and I
1656hurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me:
1657  
1658  Like one who, on a lonely road,
1659  Doth walk in fear and dread,
1660  And, having once turned round, walks on,
1661  And turns no more his head;
1662  Because he knows a frightful fiend
1663  Doth close behind him tread.
1664  
1665  [Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner.”]
1666
1667
1668
1669Continuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the various
1670diligences and carriages usually stopped. Here I paused, I knew not why;
1671but I remained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a coach that was coming
1672towards me from the other end of the street. As it drew nearer I observed
1673that it was the Swiss diligence; it stopped just where I was standing, and
1674on the door being opened, I perceived Henry Clerval, who, on seeing me,
1675instantly sprung out. “My dear The Doctor,” exclaimed he,
1676“how glad I am to see you! How fortunate that you should be here at
1677the very moment of my alighting!”
1678
1679Nothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence brought back
1680to my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes of home so dear
1681to my recollection. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my horror
1682and misfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the first time during many months,
1683calm and serene joy. I welcomed my friend, therefore, in the most cordial
1684manner, and we walked towards my college. Clerval continued talking for
1685some time about our mutual friends and his own good fortune in being
1686permitted to come to Ingolstadt. “You may easily believe,” said
1687he, “how great was the difficulty to persuade my father that all
1688necessary knowledge was not comprised in the noble art of book-keeping;
1689and, indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his constant
1690answer to my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of the Dutch
1691schoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: ‘I have ten thousand florins
1692a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.’ But his
1693affection for me at length overcame his dislike of learning, and he has
1694permitted me to undertake a voyage of discovery to the land of
1695knowledge.”
1696
1697“It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left
1698my father, brothers, and Elizabeth.”
1699
1700“Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from
1701you so seldom.  By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their
1702account myself.  But, my dear The Doctor,” continued he, stopping
1703short and gazing full in my face, “I did not before remark how very ill
1704you appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for
1705several nights.”
1706
1707“You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one
1708occupation that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see;
1709but I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an
1710end and that I am at length free.”
1711
1712I trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far less to
1713allude to, the occurrences of the preceding night.  I walked with a
1714quick pace, and we soon arrived at my college.  I then reflected, and
1715the thought made me shiver, that the creature whom I had left in my
1716apartment might still be there, alive and walking about.  I dreaded to
1717behold this monster, but I feared still more that Henry should see him.
1718Entreating him, therefore, to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the
1719stairs, I darted up towards my own room.  My hand was already on the
1720lock of the door before I recollected myself.  I then paused, and a
1721cold shivering came over me.  I threw the door forcibly open, as
1722children are accustomed to do when they expect a spectre to stand in
1723waiting for them on the other side; but nothing appeared.  I stepped
1724fearfully in:  the apartment was empty, and my bedroom was also freed
1725from its hideous guest.  I could hardly believe that so great a good
1726fortune could have befallen me, but when I became assured that my enemy
1727had indeed fled, I clapped my hands for joy and ran down to Clerval.
1728
1729We ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought breakfast;
1730but I was unable to contain myself.  It was not joy only that possessed
1731me; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse
1732beat rapidly.  I was unable to remain for a single instant in the same
1733place; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud.
1734Clerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy on his arrival,
1735but when he observed me more attentively, he saw a wildness in my eyes
1736for which he could not account, and my loud, unrestrained, heartless
1737laughter frightened and astonished him.
1738
1739“My dear The Doctor,” cried he, “what, for God’s sake,
1740is the matter?  Do not laugh in that manner.  How ill you are!  What is the
1741cause of all this?”
1742
1743“Do not ask me,” cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I
1744thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; “_he_ can
1745tell. Oh, save me!  Save me!”  I imagined that Frankenstein seized me;
1746I struggled furiously and fell down in a fit.
1747
1748Poor Clerval!  What must have been his feelings?  A meeting, which he
1749anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness.  But I
1750was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not
1751recover my senses for a long, long time.
1752
1753This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for
1754several months.  During all that time Henry was my only nurse.  I
1755afterwards learned that, knowing my father’s advanced age and unfitness
1756for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make
1757Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my
1758disorder.  He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive
1759nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he
1760did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest
1761action that he could towards them.
1762
1763But I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded and
1764unremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life.
1765The form of Frankenstein on whom I had bestowed existence was for ever
1766before my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him.  Doubtless my
1767words surprised Henry; he at first believed them to be the wanderings
1768of my disturbed imagination, but the pertinacity with which I
1769continually recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder
1770indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.
1771
1772By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and
1773grieved my friend, I recovered.  I remember the first time I became
1774capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I
1775perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared and that the young
1776buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window.  It was
1777a divine spring, and the season contributed greatly to my
1778convalescence.  I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in
1779my bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as
1780cheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion.
1781
1782“Dearest Clerval,” exclaimed I, “how kind, how very good
1783you are to me. This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you
1784promised yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever
1785repay you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I
1786have been the occasion, but you will forgive me.”
1787
1788“You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get
1789well as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I
1790may speak to you on one subject, may I not?”
1791
1792I trembled. One subject! What could it be? Could he allude to an object on
1793whom I dared not even think?
1794
1795“Compose yourself,” said Clerval, who observed my change of
1796colour, “I will not mention it if it agitates you; but your father
1797and cousin would be very happy if they received a letter from you in your
1798own handwriting. They hardly know how ill you have been and are uneasy at
1799your long silence.”
1800
1801“Is that all, my dear Henry?  How could you suppose that my first
1802thought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and
1803who are so deserving of my love?”
1804
1805“If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad
1806to see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from
1807your cousin, I believe.”
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813Chapter 6
1814
1815Clerval then put the following letter into my hands.  It was from my
1816own Elizabeth:
1817
1818“My dearest Cousin,
1819
1820“You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear
1821kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account.  You are
1822forbidden to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear The Doctor,
1823is necessary to calm our apprehensions.  For a long time I have thought
1824that each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have
1825restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt.  I have
1826prevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so
1827long a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to
1828perform it myself!  I figure to myself that the task of attending on
1829your sickbed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never
1830guess your wishes nor minister to them with the care and affection of
1831your poor cousin.  Yet that is over now:  Clerval writes that indeed
1832you are getting better.  I eagerly hope that you will confirm this
1833intelligence soon in your own handwriting.
1834
1835“Get well—and return to us.  You will find a happy, cheerful home and
1836friends who love you dearly.  Your father’s health is vigorous, and he
1837asks but to see you, but to be assured that you are well; and not a
1838care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance.  How pleased you would
1839be to remark the improvement of our Ernest!  He is now sixteen and full
1840of activity and spirit.  He is desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter
1841into foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his
1842elder brother returns to us.  My uncle is not pleased with the idea of
1843a military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your
1844powers of application.  He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his
1845time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the
1846lake.  I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point
1847and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.
1848
1849“Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken
1850place since you left us.  The blue lake and snow-clad mountains—they
1851never change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are
1852regulated by the same immutable laws.  My trifling occupations take up
1853my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing
1854none but happy, kind faces around me.  Since you left us, but one
1855change has taken place in our little household.  Do you remember on
1856what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family?  Probably you do not;
1857I will relate her history, therefore in a few words.  Madame Moritz,
1858her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the
1859third.  This girl had always been the favourite of her father, but
1860through a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and
1861after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill.  My aunt observed
1862this, and when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother
1863to allow her to live at our house.  The republican institutions of our
1864country have produced simpler and happier manners than those which
1865prevail in the great monarchies that surround it.  Hence there is less
1866distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the
1867lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are
1868more refined and moral.  A servant in Geneva does not mean the same
1869thing as a servant in France and England.  Justine, thus received in
1870our family, learned the duties of a servant, a condition which, in our
1871fortunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance and a
1872sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.
1873
1874“Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I
1875recollect you once remarked that if you were in an ill humour, one
1876glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that
1877Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so
1878frank-hearted and happy.  My aunt conceived a great attachment for her,
1879by which she was induced to give her an education superior to that
1880which she had at first intended.  This benefit was fully repaid;
1881Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world:  I do not
1882mean that she made any professions I never heard one pass her lips, but
1883you could see by her eyes that she almost adored her protectress.
1884Although her disposition was gay and in many respects inconsiderate,
1885yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my aunt.  She
1886thought her the model of all excellence and endeavoured to imitate her
1887phraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her.
1888
1889“When my dearest aunt died every one was too much occupied in their own
1890grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness
1891with the most anxious affection.  Poor Justine was very ill; but other
1892trials were reserved for her.
1893
1894“One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the
1895exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless.  The
1896conscience of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the
1897deaths of her favourites was a judgement from heaven to chastise her
1898partiality.  She was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor
1899confirmed the idea which she had conceived.  Accordingly, a few months
1900after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her
1901repentant mother.  Poor girl!  She wept when she quitted our house; she
1902was much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness
1903and a winning mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable
1904for vivacity.  Nor was her residence at her mother’s house of a nature
1905to restore her gaiety.  The poor woman was very vacillating in her
1906repentance.  She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness,
1907but much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her
1908brothers and sister.  Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame Moritz
1909into a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she is
1910now at peace for ever.  She died on the first approach of cold weather,
1911at the beginning of this last winter.  Justine has just returned to us;
1912and I assure you I love her tenderly.  She is very clever and gentle,
1913and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her mien and her
1914expression continually remind me of my dear aunt.
1915
1916“I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling
1917William.  I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with
1918sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair.  When he
1919smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with
1920health.  He has already had one or two little _wives,_ but Louisa Biron
1921is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.
1922
1923“Now, dear The Doctor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little
1924gossip concerning the good people of Geneva.  The pretty Miss Mansfield
1925has already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching
1926marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq.  Her ugly
1927sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your
1928favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes
1929since the departure of Clerval from Geneva.  But he has already
1930recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a
1931lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier.  She is a widow, and much
1932older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with
1933everybody.
1934
1935“I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety
1936returns upon me as I conclude.  Write, dearest The Doctor,—one line—one
1937word will be a blessing to us.  Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his
1938kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely
1939grateful.  Adieu!  my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat
1940you, write!
1941
1942“Elizabeth Lavenza.
1943
1944
1945“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.”
1946
1947
1948
1949“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed, when I had read her
1950letter: “I will write instantly and relieve them from the anxiety
1951they must feel.” I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but
1952my convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another
1953fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.
1954
1955One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the
1956several professors of the university.  In doing this, I underwent a
1957kind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had
1958sustained.  Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the
1959beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even
1960to the name of natural philosophy.  When I was otherwise quite restored
1961to health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony
1962of my nervous symptoms.  Henry saw this, and had removed all my
1963apparatus from my view.  He had also changed my apartment; for he
1964perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had
1965previously been my laboratory.  But these cares of Clerval were made of
1966no avail when I visited the professors.  M. Waldman inflicted torture
1967when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I
1968had made in the sciences.  He soon perceived that I disliked the
1969subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my feelings to
1970modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to the science
1971itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out.  What
1972could I do?  He meant to please, and he tormented me.  I felt as if he
1973had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which
1974were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel death.  I
1975writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt.
1976Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick in discerning the
1977sensations of others, declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his
1978total ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn.  I
1979thanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak.  I saw plainly
1980that he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from
1981me; and although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence
1982that knew no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide in
1983him that event which was so often present to my recollection, but which
1984I feared the detail to another would only impress more deeply.
1985
1986M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of
1987almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even
1988more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. “D—n
1989the fellow!” cried he; “why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has
1990outstript us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A
1991youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly
1992as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if
1993he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Ay,
1994ay,” continued he, observing my face expressive of suffering,
1995“M. The Doctor is modest; an excellent quality in a young man.
1996Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval: I was
1997myself when young; but that wears out in a very short time.”
1998
1999M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned
2000the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.
2001
2002Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and his
2003literary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me.  He
2004came to the university with the design of making himself complete
2005master of the oriental languages, and thus he should open a field for
2006the plan of life he had marked out for himself.  Resolved to pursue no
2007inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording
2008scope for his spirit of enterprise.  The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit
2009languages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on
2010the same studies.  Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I
2011wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt
2012great relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not
2013only instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists.  I
2014did not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for
2015I did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary
2016amusement.  I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well
2017repaid my labours.  Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy
2018elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors of
2019any other country.  When you read their writings, life appears to
2020consist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns
2021of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart.  How
2022different from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!
2023
2024Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was
2025fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several
2026accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable,
2027and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring.  I felt this
2028delay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my beloved
2029friends.  My return had only been delayed so long, from an
2030unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had become
2031acquainted with any of its inhabitants.  The winter, however, was spent
2032cheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came
2033its beauty compensated for its dilatoriness.
2034
2035The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily
2036which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a
2037pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a
2038personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited.  I acceded
2039with pleasure to this proposition:  I was fond of exercise, and Clerval
2040had always been my favourite companion in the ramble of this nature
2041that I had taken among the scenes of my native country.
2042
2043We passed a fortnight in these perambulations:  my health and spirits
2044had long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the
2045salubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and
2046the conversation of my friend.  Study had before secluded me from the
2047intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but
2048Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught
2049me to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children.
2050Excellent friend!  how sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to
2051elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own.  A selfish
2052pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and
2053affection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature
2054who, a few years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care.
2055When happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most
2056delightful sensations.  A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with
2057ecstasy.  The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring
2058bloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in bud.  I
2059was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed
2060upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an
2061invincible burden.
2062
2063Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he
2064exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled
2065his soul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly
2066astonishing: his conversation was full of imagination; and very often, in
2067imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of wonderful
2068fancy and passion. At other times he repeated my favourite poems, or drew
2069me out into arguments, which he supported with great ingenuity.
2070
2071We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the peasants were
2072dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy. My own spirits were
2073high, and I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity.
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079Chapter 7
2080
2081On my return, I found the following letter from my father:—
2082
2083“My dear The Doctor,
2084
2085“You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of
2086your return to us; and I was at first tempted to write only a few
2087lines, merely mentioning the day on which I should expect you.  But
2088that would be a cruel kindness, and I dare not do it.  What would be
2089your surprise, my son, when you expected a happy and glad welcome, to
2090behold, on the contrary, tears and wretchedness?  And how, The Doctor, can
2091I relate our misfortune?  Absence cannot have rendered you callous to
2092our joys and griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on my long absent
2093son?  I wish to prepare you for the woeful news, but I know it is
2094impossible; even now your eye skims over the page to seek the words
2095which are to convey to you the horrible tidings.
2096
2097“William is dead!—that sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed
2098my heart, who was so gentle, yet so gay!  The Doctor, he is murdered!
2099
2100“I will not attempt to console you; but will simply relate the
2101circumstances of the transaction.
2102
2103“Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to
2104walk in Plainpalais.  The evening was warm and serene, and we prolonged
2105our walk farther than usual.  It was already dusk before we thought of
2106returning; and then we discovered that William and Ernest, who had gone
2107on before, were not to be found.  We accordingly rested on a seat until
2108they should return.  Presently Ernest came, and enquired if we had seen
2109his brother; he said, that he had been playing with him, that William
2110had run away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him, and
2111afterwards waited for a long time, but that he did not return.
2112
2113“This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search for him
2114until night fell, when Elizabeth conjectured that he might have
2115returned to the house.  He was not there.  We returned again, with
2116torches; for I could not rest, when I thought that my sweet boy had
2117lost himself, and was exposed to all the damps and dews of night;
2118Elizabeth also suffered extreme anguish.  About five in the morning I
2119discovered my lovely boy, whom the night before I had seen blooming and
2120active in health, stretched on the grass livid and motionless; the
2121print of the murder’s finger was on his neck.
2122
2123“He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my
2124countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth.  She was very earnest to
2125see the corpse.  At first I attempted to prevent her but she persisted,
2126and entering the room where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the
2127victim, and clasping her hands exclaimed, ‘O God!  I have murdered my
2128darling child!’
2129
2130“She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty.  When she again
2131lived, it was only to weep and sigh.  She told me, that that same
2132evening William had teased her to let him wear a very valuable
2133miniature that she possessed of your mother.  This picture is gone, and
2134was doubtless the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed.  We
2135have no trace of him at present, although our exertions to discover him
2136are unremitted; but they will not restore my beloved William!
2137
2138“Come, dearest The Doctor; you alone can console Elizabeth.  She weeps
2139continually, and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of his death;
2140her words pierce my heart.  We are all unhappy; but will not that be an
2141additional motive for you, my son, to return and be our comforter?
2142Your dear mother!  Alas, The Doctor!  I now say, Thank God she did not live
2143to witness the cruel, miserable death of her youngest darling!
2144
2145“Come, The Doctor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin,
2146but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of
2147festering, the wounds of our minds.  Enter the house of mourning, my
2148friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not
2149with hatred for your enemies.
2150
2151“Your affectionate and afflicted father,
2152
2153“Alphonse The Doctor.
2154
2155
2156
2157“Geneva, May 12th, 17—.”
2158
2159
2160
2161Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was
2162surprised to observe the despair that succeeded the joy I at first
2163expressed on receiving new from my friends.  I threw the letter on the
2164table, and covered my face with my hands.
2165
2166“My dear The Doctor,” exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me
2167weep with bitterness, “are you always to be unhappy?  My dear friend,
2168what has happened?”
2169
2170I motioned him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the
2171room in the extremest agitation.  Tears also gushed from the eyes of
2172Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune.
2173
2174“I can offer you no consolation, my friend,” said he;
2175“your disaster is irreparable.  What do you intend to do?”
2176
2177“To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses.”
2178
2179During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation;
2180he could only express his heartfelt sympathy.  “Poor William!” said he,
2181“dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother!  Who that had
2182seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his
2183untimely loss!  To die so miserably; to feel the murderer’s grasp!  How
2184much more a murdered that could destroy radiant innocence!  Poor little
2185fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but
2186he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever.
2187A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain.  He can no longer
2188be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable
2189survivors.”
2190
2191Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words
2192impressed themselves on my mind and I remembered them afterwards in
2193solitude.  But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a
2194cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend.
2195
2196My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed
2197to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; but when I
2198drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could hardly sustain
2199the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I passed through
2200scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen for nearly six years.
2201How altered every thing might be during that time! One sudden and
2202desolating change had taken place; but a thousand little circumstances
2203might have by degrees worked other alterations, which, although they were
2204done more tranquilly, might not be the less decisive. Fear overcame me; I
2205dared no advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils that made me tremble,
2206although I was unable to define them.
2207
2208I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I
2209contemplated the lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; and the
2210snowy mountains, “the palaces of nature,” were not changed. By
2211degrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my journey
2212towards Geneva.
2213
2214The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I
2215approached my native town.  I discovered more distinctly the black
2216sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc.  I wept like a
2217child.  “Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your
2218wanderer?  Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and
2219placid.  Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?”
2220
2221I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on
2222these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative
2223happiness, and I think of them with pleasure.  My country, my beloved
2224country! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again
2225beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely
2226lake!
2227
2228Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night also
2229closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still
2230more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I
2231foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human
2232beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single
2233circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not
2234conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was destined to endure.
2235
2236It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the gates
2237of the town were already shut; and I was obliged to pass the night at
2238Secheron, a village at the distance of half a league from the city. The sky
2239was serene; and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot
2240where my poor William had been murdered. As I could not pass through the
2241town, I was obliged to cross the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais.
2242During this short voyage I saw the lightning playing on the summit of Mont
2243Blanc in the most beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach
2244rapidly, and, on landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its
2245progress. It advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain
2246coming slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased.
2247
2248I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm
2249increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash
2250over my head.  It was echoed from Salêve, the Juras, and the Alps of
2251Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the
2252lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant
2253every thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself
2254from the preceding flash.  The storm, as is often the case in
2255Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The
2256most violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over the part of the
2257lake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of
2258Copêt. Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another
2259darkened and sometimes disclosed the Môle, a peaked mountain to the
2260east of the lake.
2261
2262While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with
2263a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my
2264hands, and exclaimed aloud, “William, dear angel! this is thy
2265funeral, this thy dirge!” As I said these words, I perceived in the
2266gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I stood
2267fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning
2268illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me; its
2269gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect more hideous than belongs
2270to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the filthy
2271dæmon, to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could he be (I
2272shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No sooner did that
2273idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of its truth; my teeth
2274chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree for support. The figure
2275passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in human shape could
2276have destroyed the fair child. _He_ was the murderer! I could not
2277doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the
2278fact. I thought of pursuing the devil; but it would have been in vain, for
2279another flash discovered him to me hanging among the rocks of the nearly
2280perpendicular ascent of Mont Salêve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the
2281south. He soon reached the summit, and disappeared.
2282
2283I remained motionless.  The thunder ceased; but the rain still
2284continued, and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness.  I
2285revolved in my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget:
2286the whole train of my progress toward the creation; the appearance of
2287the works of my own hands at my bedside; its departure.  Two years had
2288now nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and
2289was this his first crime?  Alas!  I had turned loose into the world a
2290depraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he not
2291murdered my brother?
2292
2293No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the
2294night, which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air.  But I did not
2295feel the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in
2296scenes of evil and despair.  I considered the being whom I had cast
2297among mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes
2298of horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light
2299of my own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave, and forced
2300to destroy all that was dear to me.
2301
2302Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town.  The gates were
2303open, and I hastened to my father’s house.  My first thought was to
2304discover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be
2305made.  But I paused when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A
2306being whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at
2307midnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain.  I
2308remembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at
2309the time that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of
2310delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable.  I well knew that
2311if any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have
2312looked upon it as the ravings of insanity.  Besides, the strange nature
2313of the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited
2314as to persuade my relatives to commence it.  And then of what use would
2315be pursuit?  Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the
2316overhanging sides of Mont Salêve?  These reflections determined me, and
2317I resolved to remain silent.
2318
2319It was about five in the morning when I entered my father’s house.  I
2320told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library
2321to attend their usual hour of rising.
2322
2323Six years had elapsed, passed in a dream but for one indelible trace, and I
2324stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father before my
2325departure for Ingolstadt. Beloved and venerable parent! He still remained
2326to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over the
2327mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my father’s
2328desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of despair, kneeling
2329by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was rustic, and her cheek pale;
2330but there was an air of dignity and beauty, that hardly permitted the
2331sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a miniature of William; and my
2332tears flowed when I looked upon it. While I was thus engaged, Ernest
2333entered: he had heard me arrive, and hastened to welcome me:
2334“Welcome, my dearest The Doctor,” said he. “Ah! I wish you
2335had come three months ago, and then you would have found us all joyous and
2336delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which nothing can
2337alleviate; yet your presence will, I hope, revive our father, who seems
2338sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions will induce poor
2339Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self-accusations.—Poor
2340William! he was our darling and our pride!”
2341
2342Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother’s eyes; a sense of mortal
2343agony crept over my frame.  Before, I had only imagined the
2344wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and
2345a not less terrible, disaster.  I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more
2346minutely concerning my father, and here I named my cousin.
2347
2348“She most of all,” said Ernest, “requires consolation; she accused
2349herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her
2350very wretched.  But since the murderer has been discovered—”
2351
2352“The murderer discovered!  Good God! how can that be? who could attempt
2353to pursue him?  It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the
2354winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw.  I saw him too; he
2355was free last night!”
2356
2357“I do not know what you mean,” replied my brother, in accents of
2358wonder, “but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery.  No
2359one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be
2360convinced, notwithstanding all the evidence.  Indeed, who would credit
2361that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all the family,
2362could suddenly become so capable of so frightful, so appalling a crime?”
2363
2364“Justine Moritz!  Poor, poor girl, is she the accused?  But it is
2365wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?”
2366
2367“No one did at first; but several circumstances came out, that have
2368almost forced conviction upon us; and her own behaviour has been so
2369confused, as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear,
2370leaves no hope for doubt.  But she will be tried today, and you will
2371then hear all.”
2372
2373He then related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William
2374had been discovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her
2375bed for several days.  During this interval, one of the servants,
2376happening to examine the apparel she had worn on the night of the
2377murder, had discovered in her pocket the picture of my mother, which
2378had been judged to be the temptation of the murderer.  The servant
2379instantly showed it to one of the others, who, without saying a word to
2380any of the family, went to a magistrate; and, upon their deposition,
2381Justine was apprehended.  On being charged with the fact, the poor girl
2382confirmed the suspicion in a great measure by her extreme confusion of
2383manner.
2384
2385This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I replied
2386earnestly, “You are all mistaken; I know the murderer.  Justine, poor,
2387good Justine, is innocent.”
2388
2389At that instant my father entered.  I saw unhappiness deeply impressed
2390on his countenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me cheerfully; and,
2391after we had exchanged our mournful greeting, would have introduced
2392some other topic than that of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed,
2393“Good God, papa!  The Doctor says that he knows who was the murderer of
2394poor William.”
2395
2396“We do also, unfortunately,” replied my father, “for indeed I had
2397rather have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much
2398depravity and ungratitude in one I valued so highly.”
2399
2400“My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent.”
2401
2402“If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty.  She is to be
2403tried today, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted.”
2404
2405This speech calmed me.  I was firmly convinced in my own mind that
2406Justine, and indeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder.  I
2407had no fear, therefore, that any circumstantial evidence could be
2408brought forward strong enough to convict her.  My tale was not one to
2409announce publicly; its astounding horror would be looked upon as
2410madness by the vulgar.  Did any one indeed exist, except I, the
2411creator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, in the
2412existence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance
2413which I had let loose upon the world?
2414
2415We were soon joined by Elizabeth.  Time had altered her since I last
2416beheld her; it had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of
2417her childish years.  There was the same candour, the same vivacity, but
2418it was allied to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect.
2419She welcomed me with the greatest affection.  “Your arrival, my dear
2420cousin,” said she, “fills me with hope.  You perhaps will find some
2421means to justify my poor guiltless Justine.  Alas! who is safe, if she
2422be convicted of crime?  I rely on her innocence as certainly as I do
2423upon my own.  Our misfortune is doubly hard to us; we have not only
2424lost that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely
2425love, is to be torn away by even a worse fate.  If she is condemned, I
2426never shall know joy more.  But she will not, I am sure she will not;
2427and then I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little
2428William.”
2429
2430“She is innocent, my Elizabeth,” said I, “and that shall
2431be proved; fear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance
2432of her acquittal.”
2433
2434“How kind and generous you are! every one else believes in her guilt,
2435and that made me wretched, for I knew that it was impossible:  and to
2436see every one else prejudiced in so deadly a manner rendered me
2437hopeless and despairing.”  She wept.
2438
2439“Dearest niece,” said my father, “dry your tears. If she
2440is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the
2441activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of
2442partiality.”
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448Chapter 8
2449
2450We passed a few sad hours until eleven o’clock, when the trial was to
2451commence.  My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend
2452as witnesses, I accompanied them to the court.  During the whole of
2453this wretched mockery of justice I suffered living torture.  It was to
2454be decided whether the result of my curiosity and lawless devices would
2455cause the death of two of my fellow beings:  one a smiling babe full of
2456innocence and joy, the other far more dreadfully murdered, with every
2457aggravation of infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror.
2458Justine also was a girl of merit and possessed qualities which promised
2459to render her life happy; now all was to be obliterated in an
2460ignominious grave, and I the cause!  A thousand times rather would I
2461have confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine, but I
2462was absent when it was committed, and such a declaration would have
2463been considered as the ravings of a madman and would not have
2464exculpated her who suffered through me.
2465
2466The appearance of Justine was calm.  She was dressed in mourning, and
2467her countenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her
2468feelings, exquisitely beautiful.  Yet she appeared confident in
2469innocence and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by
2470thousands, for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have
2471excited was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the
2472imagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed.  She
2473was tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as
2474her confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she
2475worked up her mind to an appearance of courage.  When she entered the
2476court she threw her eyes round it and quickly discovered where we were
2477seated.  A tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she quickly
2478recovered herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to attest
2479her utter guiltlessness.
2480
2481The trial began, and after the advocate against her had stated the
2482charge, several witnesses were called.  Several strange facts combined
2483against her, which might have staggered anyone who had not such proof
2484of her innocence as I had.  She had been out the whole of the night on
2485which the murder had been committed and towards morning had been
2486perceived by a market-woman not far from the spot where the body of the
2487murdered child had been afterwards found.  The woman asked her what she
2488did there, but she looked very strangely and only returned a confused
2489and unintelligible answer.  She returned to the house about eight
2490o’clock, and when one inquired where she had passed the night, she
2491replied that she had been looking for the child and demanded earnestly
2492if anything had been heard concerning him.  When shown the body, she
2493fell into violent hysterics and kept her bed for several days.  The
2494picture was then produced which the servant had found in her pocket;
2495and when Elizabeth, in a faltering voice, proved that it was the same
2496which, an hour before the child had been missed, she had placed round
2497his neck, a murmur of horror and indignation filled the court.
2498
2499Justine was called on for her defence.  As the trial had proceeded, her
2500countenance had altered.  Surprise, horror, and misery were strongly
2501expressed.  Sometimes she struggled with her tears, but when she was
2502desired to plead, she collected her powers and spoke in an audible
2503although variable voice.
2504
2505“God knows,” she said, “how entirely I am innocent. But I
2506do not pretend that my protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence
2507on a plain and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced
2508against me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my
2509judges to a favourable interpretation where any circumstance appears
2510doubtful or suspicious.”
2511
2512She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed
2513the evening of the night on which the murder had been committed at the
2514house of an aunt at Chêne, a village situated at about a league from
2515Geneva.  On her return, at about nine o’clock, she met a man who asked
2516her if she had seen anything of the child who was lost.  She was
2517alarmed by this account and passed several hours in looking for him,
2518when the gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain
2519several hours of the night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being
2520unwilling to call up the inhabitants, to whom she was well known.  Most
2521of the night she spent here watching; towards morning she believed that
2522she slept for a few minutes; some steps disturbed her, and she awoke.
2523It was dawn, and she quitted her asylum, that she might again endeavour
2524to find my brother.  If she had gone near the spot where his body lay,
2525it was without her knowledge.  That she had been bewildered when
2526questioned by the market-woman was not surprising, since she had passed
2527a sleepless night and the fate of poor William was yet uncertain.
2528Concerning the picture she could give no account.
2529
2530“I know,” continued the unhappy victim, “how heavily and
2531fatally this one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of
2532explaining it; and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left
2533to conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been
2534placed in my pocket. But here also I am checked. I believe that I have no
2535enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to destroy me
2536wantonly. Did the murderer place it there? I know of no opportunity
2537afforded him for so doing; or, if I had, why should he have stolen the
2538jewel, to part with it again so soon?
2539
2540“I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for
2541hope.  I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my
2542character, and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed
2543guilt, I must be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on my
2544innocence.”
2545
2546Several witnesses were called who had known her for many years, and
2547they spoke well of her; but fear and hatred of the crime of which they
2548supposed her guilty rendered them timorous and unwilling to come
2549forward.  Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent
2550dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accused,
2551when, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address
2552the court.
2553
2554“I am,” said she, “the cousin of the unhappy child who
2555was murdered, or rather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived
2556with his parents ever since and even long before his birth. It may
2557therefore be judged indecent in me to come forward on this occasion, but
2558when I see a fellow creature about to perish through the cowardice of her
2559pretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say what I
2560know of her character. I am well acquainted with the accused. I have lived
2561in the same house with her, at one time for five and at another for nearly
2562two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable and
2563benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame The Doctor, my aunt, in
2564her last illness, with the greatest affection and care and afterwards
2565attended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a manner that excited
2566the admiration of all who knew her, after which she again lived in my
2567uncle’s house, where she was beloved by all the family. She was
2568warmly attached to the child who is now dead and acted towards him like a
2569most affectionate mother. For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that,
2570notwithstanding all the evidence produced against her, I believe and rely
2571on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for such an action; as to
2572the bauble on which the chief proof rests, if she had earnestly desired it,
2573I should have willingly given it to her, so much do I esteem and value
2574her.”
2575
2576A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth’s simple and powerful
2577appeal, but it was excited by her generous interference, and not in
2578favour of poor Justine, on whom the public indignation was turned with
2579renewed violence, charging her with the blackest ingratitude.  She
2580herself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer.  My own
2581agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial.  I believed
2582in her innocence; I knew it.  Could the dæmon who had (I did not for a
2583minute doubt) murdered my brother also in his hellish sport have
2584betrayed the innocent to death and ignominy?  I could not sustain the
2585horror of my situation, and when I perceived that the popular voice and
2586the countenances of the judges had already condemned my unhappy victim,
2587I rushed out of the court in agony.  The tortures of the accused did
2588not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of
2589remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.
2590
2591I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness.  In the morning I went to
2592the court; my lips and throat were parched.  I dared not ask the fatal
2593question, but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my
2594visit.  The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine
2595was condemned.
2596
2597I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt.  I had before
2598experienced sensations of horror, and I have endeavoured to bestow upon
2599them adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the
2600heart-sickening despair that I then endured.  The person to whom I
2601addressed myself added that Justine had already confessed her guilt.
2602“That evidence,” he observed, “was hardly required in so glaring a
2603case, but I am glad of it, and, indeed, none of our judges like to
2604condemn a criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so
2605decisive.”
2606
2607This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean?  Had
2608my eyes deceived me?  And was I really as mad as the whole world would
2609believe me to be if I disclosed the object of my suspicions?  I
2610hastened to return home, and Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result.
2611
2612“My cousin,” replied I, “it is decided as you may have expected; all
2613judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty
2614should escape.  But she has confessed.”
2615
2616This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness upon
2617Justine’s innocence. “Alas!” said she. “How shall I
2618ever again believe in human goodness? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as
2619my sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray?
2620Her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and yet she has
2621committed a murder.”
2622
2623Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire to see my
2624cousin. My father wished her not to go but said that he left it to her own
2625judgment and feelings to decide. “Yes,” said Elizabeth,
2626“I will go, although she is guilty; and you, The Doctor, shall accompany
2627me; I cannot go alone.” The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet
2628I could not refuse.
2629
2630We entered the gloomy prison chamber and beheld Justine sitting on some
2631straw at the farther end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested on
2632her knees. She rose on seeing us enter, and when we were left alone with
2633her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My
2634cousin wept also.
2635
2636“Oh, Justine!” said she.  “Why did you rob me of my last consolation?
2637I relied on your innocence, and although I was then very wretched, I
2638was not so miserable as I am now.”
2639
2640“And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked?  Do you also
2641join with my enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?” Her
2642voice was suffocated with sobs.
2643
2644“Rise, my poor girl,” said Elizabeth; “why do you kneel,
2645if you are innocent? I am not one of your enemies, I believed you
2646guiltless, notwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you had
2647yourself declared your guilt. That report, you say, is false; and be
2648assured, dear Justine, that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a
2649moment, but your own confession.”
2650
2651“I did confess, but I confessed a lie.  I confessed, that I might
2652obtain absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than
2653all my other sins.  The God of heaven forgive me!  Ever since I was
2654condemned, my confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced,
2655until I almost began to think that I was Frankenstein that he said I
2656was.  He threatened excommunication and hell fire in my last moments if
2657I continued obdurate.  Dear lady, I had none to support me; all looked
2658on me as a wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition.  What could I do?
2659In an evil hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I truly
2660miserable.”
2661
2662She paused, weeping, and then continued, “I thought with horror, my
2663sweet lady, that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed
2664aunt had so highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable
2665of a crime which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated.
2666Dear William! dearest blessed child!  I soon shall see you again in
2667heaven, where we shall all be happy; and that consoles me, going as I
2668am to suffer ignominy and death.”
2669
2670“Oh, Justine!  Forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you.
2671Why did you confess?  But do not mourn, dear girl.  Do not fear.  I
2672will proclaim, I will prove your innocence.  I will melt the stony
2673hearts of your enemies by my tears and prayers.  You shall not die!
2674You, my playfellow, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold!
2675No!  No!  I never could survive so horrible a misfortune.”
2676
2677Justine shook her head mournfully.  “I do not fear to die,” she said;
2678“that pang is past.  God raises my weakness and gives me courage to
2679endure the worst.  I leave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember
2680me and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the
2681fate awaiting me.  Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to
2682the will of heaven!”
2683
2684During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison room,
2685where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me.  Despair!
2686Who dared talk of that?  The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass
2687the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such
2688deep and bitter agony.  I gnashed my teeth and ground them together,
2689uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul.  Justine started.  When
2690she saw who it was, she approached me and said, “Dear sir, you are very
2691kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?”
2692
2693I could not answer.  “No, Justine,” said Elizabeth; “he is more
2694convinced of your innocence than I was, for even when he heard that you
2695had confessed, he did not credit it.”
2696
2697“I truly thank him.  In these last moments I feel the sincerest
2698gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness.  How sweet is
2699the affection of others to such a wretch as I am!  It removes more than
2700half my misfortune, and I feel as if I could die in peace now that my
2701innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin.”
2702
2703Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself.  She indeed
2704gained the resignation she desired.  But I, the true murderer, felt the
2705never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or
2706consolation.  Elizabeth also wept and was unhappy, but hers also was
2707the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair
2708moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish its brightness.  Anguish and
2709despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within
2710me which nothing could extinguish.  We stayed several hours with
2711Justine, and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear
2712herself away.  “I wish,” cried she, “that I were to die with you; I
2713cannot live in this world of misery.”
2714
2715Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty
2716repressed her bitter tears.  She embraced Elizabeth and said in a voice
2717of half-suppressed emotion, “Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth,
2718my beloved and only friend; may heaven, in its bounty, bless and
2719preserve you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever
2720suffer!  Live, and be happy, and make others so.”
2721
2722And on the morrow Justine died.  Elizabeth’s heart-rending eloquence
2723failed to move the judges from their settled conviction in the
2724criminality of the saintly sufferer.  My passionate and indignant
2725appeals were lost upon them.  And when I received their cold answers
2726and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed
2727avowal died away on my lips.  Thus I might proclaim myself a madman,
2728but not revoke the sentence passed upon my wretched victim.  She
2729perished on the scaffold as a murderess!
2730
2731From the tortures of my own heart, I turned to contemplate the deep and
2732voiceless grief of my Elizabeth.  This also was my doing!  And my
2733father’s woe, and the desolation of that late so smiling home all was
2734the work of my thrice-accursed hands!  Ye weep, unhappy ones, but these
2735are not your last tears!  Again shall you raise the funeral wail, and
2736the sound of your lamentations shall again and again be heard!
2737The Doctor, your son, your kinsman, your early, much-loved friend; he
2738who would spend each vital drop of blood for your sakes, who has no
2739thought nor sense of joy except as it is mirrored also in your dear
2740countenances, who would fill the air with blessings and spend his life
2741in serving you—he bids you weep, to shed countless tears; happy beyond
2742his hopes, if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if the destruction
2743pause before the peace of the grave have succeeded to your sad torments!
2744
2745Thus spoke my prophetic soul, as, torn by remorse, horror, and despair,
2746I beheld those I loved spend vain sorrow upon the graves of William and
2747Justine, the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts.
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753Chapter 9
2754
2755Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have
2756been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of
2757inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope
2758and fear.  Justine died, she rested, and I was alive.  The blood flowed
2759freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my
2760heart which nothing could remove.  Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered
2761like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond
2762description horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet
2763behind.  Yet my heart overflowed with kindness and the love of virtue.
2764I had begun life with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the moment
2765when I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow
2766beings.  Now all was blasted; instead of that serenity of conscience
2767which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and
2768from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and
2769the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures
2770such as no language can describe.
2771
2772This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had perhaps never
2773entirely recovered from the first shock it had sustained.  I shunned
2774the face of man; all sound of joy or complacency was torture to me;
2775solitude was my only consolation—deep, dark, deathlike solitude.
2776
2777My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my disposition
2778and habits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the feelings of his
2779serene conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with fortitude and
2780awaken in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which brooded over me.
2781“Do you think, The Doctor,” said he, “that I do not suffer
2782also? No one could love a child more than I loved your
2783brother”—tears came into his eyes as he spoke—“but
2784is it not a duty to the survivors that we should refrain from augmenting
2785their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty
2786owed to yourself, for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment,
2787or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for
2788society.”
2789
2790This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I
2791should have been the first to hide my grief and console my friends if
2792remorse had not mingled its bitterness, and terror its alarm, with my
2793other sensations.  Now I could only answer my father with a look of
2794despair and endeavour to hide myself from his view.
2795
2796About this time we retired to our house at Belrive.  This change was
2797particularly agreeable to me.  The shutting of the gates regularly at
2798ten o’clock and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that
2799hour had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome
2800to me.  I was now free.  Often, after the rest of the family had
2801retired for the night, I took the boat and passed many hours upon the
2802water.  Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and
2803sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to
2804pursue its own course and gave way to my own miserable reflections.  I
2805was often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only
2806unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and
2807heavenly—if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and
2808interrupted croaking was heard only when I approached the shore—often,
2809I say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters
2810might close over me and my calamities for ever.  But I was restrained,
2811when I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly
2812loved, and whose existence was bound up in mine.  I thought also of my
2813father and surviving brother; should I by my base desertion leave them
2814exposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose
2815among them?
2816
2817At these moments I wept bitterly and wished that peace would revisit my
2818mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that
2819could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of
2820unalterable evils, and I lived in daily fear lest Frankenstein whom I had
2821created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure feeling
2822that all was not over and that he would still commit some signal crime,
2823which by its enormity should almost efface the recollection of the past.
2824There was always scope for fear so long as anything I loved remained
2825behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be conceived. When I thought of
2826him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to
2827extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I
2828reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds
2829of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the
2830Andes, could I, when there, have precipitated him to their base. I wished
2831to see him again, that I might wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence on his
2832head and avenge the deaths of William and Justine.
2833
2834Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply
2835shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and
2836desponding; she no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations; all
2837pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe and tears she
2838then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence so blasted
2839and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth
2840wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our
2841future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from
2842the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest
2843smiles.
2844
2845“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of
2846Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before
2847appeared to me.  Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and
2848injustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient
2849days or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to
2850reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men
2851appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other’s blood.  Yet I am
2852certainly unjust.  Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty; and
2853if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly
2854she would have been the most depraved of human creatures.  For the sake
2855of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend,
2856a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if
2857it had been her own!  I could not consent to the death of any human
2858being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to
2859remain in the society of men.  But she was innocent.  I know, I feel
2860she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me.
2861Alas!  The Doctor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can
2862assure themselves of certain happiness?  I feel as if I were walking on
2863the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding and
2864endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss.  William and Justine were
2865assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free,
2866and perhaps respected.  But even if I were condemned to suffer on the
2867scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a
2868wretch.”
2869
2870I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony.  I, not in deed,
2871but in effect, was the true murderer.  Elizabeth read my anguish in my
2872countenance, and kindly taking my hand, said, “My dearest friend, you
2873must calm yourself.  These events have affected me, God knows how
2874deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are.  There is an expression of
2875despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me
2876tremble.  Dear The Doctor, banish these dark passions.  Remember the
2877friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you.  Have we lost
2878the power of rendering you happy?  Ah!  While we love, while we are
2879true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native
2880country, we may reap every tranquil blessing—what can disturb our
2881peace?”
2882
2883And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every
2884other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my
2885heart?  Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at
2886that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her.
2887
2888Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of
2889heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were
2890ineffectual.  I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial
2891influence could penetrate.  The wounded deer dragging its fainting
2892limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had
2893pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me.
2894
2895Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, but
2896sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily
2897exercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable
2898sensations.  It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left
2899my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought
2900in the magnificence, the eternity of such scenes, to forget myself and
2901my ephemeral, because human, sorrows.  My wanderings were directed
2902towards the valley of Chamounix.  I had visited it frequently during my
2903boyhood.  Six years had passed since then: _I_ was a wreck, but nought
2904had changed in those savage and enduring scenes.
2905
2906I performed the first part of my journey on horseback.  I afterwards
2907hired a mule, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive
2908injury on these rugged roads.  The weather was fine; it was about the
2909middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of
2910Justine, that miserable epoch from which I dated all my woe.  The
2911weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in
2912the ravine of Arve.  The immense mountains and precipices that overhung
2913me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and
2914the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty as
2915Omnipotence—and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less
2916almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here
2917displayed in their most terrific guise.  Still, as I ascended higher,
2918the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character.
2919Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains, the
2920impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from
2921among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty.  But it was
2922augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and
2923shining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another
2924earth, the habitations of another race of beings.
2925
2926I passed the bridge of Pélissier, where the ravine, which the river
2927forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that
2928overhangs it.  Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix.  This
2929valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and
2930picturesque as that of Servox, through which I had just passed.  The
2931high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries, but I saw no
2932more ruined castles and fertile fields.  Immense glaciers approached
2933the road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche and
2934marked the smoke of its passage.  Mont Blanc, the supreme and
2935magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding _aiguilles_,
2936and its tremendous _dôme_ overlooked the valley.
2937
2938A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this
2939journey.  Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and
2940recognised, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the
2941lighthearted gaiety of boyhood.  The very winds whispered in soothing
2942accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more.  Then again the
2943kindly influence ceased to act—I found myself fettered again to grief
2944and indulging in all the misery of reflection.  Then I spurred on my
2945animal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all,
2946myself—or, in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on
2947the grass, weighed down by horror and despair.
2948
2949At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix.  Exhaustion succeeded
2950to the extreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured.
2951For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid
2952lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of
2953the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath.  The same lulling sounds
2954acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head
2955upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed
2956the giver of oblivion.
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962Chapter 10
2963
2964I spent the following day roaming through the valley.  I stood beside
2965the sources of the Arveiron, which take their rise in a glacier, that
2966with slow pace is advancing down from the summit of the hills to
2967barricade the valley.  The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before
2968me; the icy wall of the glacier overhung me; a few shattered pines were
2969scattered around; and the solemn silence of this glorious
2970presence-chamber of imperial Nature was broken only by the brawling
2971waves or the fall of some vast fragment, the thunder sound of the
2972avalanche or the cracking, reverberated along the mountains, of the
2973accumulated ice, which, through the silent working of immutable laws,
2974was ever and anon rent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in
2975their hands.  These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the
2976greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving.  They elevated me
2977from all littleness of feeling, and although they did not remove my
2978grief, they subdued and tranquillised it.  In some degree, also, they
2979diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the
2980last month.  I retired to rest at night; my slumbers, as it were,
2981waited on and ministered to by the assemblance of grand shapes which I
2982had contemplated during the day.  They congregated round me; the
2983unstained snowy mountain-top, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods,
2984and ragged bare ravine, the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds—they all
2985gathered round me and bade me be at peace.
2986
2987Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke?  All of
2988soul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every
2989thought.  The rain was pouring in torrents, and thick mists hid the
2990summits of the mountains, so that I even saw not the faces of those
2991mighty friends.  Still I would penetrate their misty veil and seek them
2992in their cloudy retreats.  What were rain and storm to me?  My mule was
2993brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of
2994Montanvert.  I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous
2995and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it.
2996It had then filled me with a sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the
2997soul and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy.
2998The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the
2999effect of solemnising my mind and causing me to forget the passing
3000cares of life.  I determined to go without a guide, for I was well
3001acquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy the
3002solitary grandeur of the scene.
3003
3004The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short
3005windings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the
3006mountain.  It is a scene terrifically desolate.  In a thousand spots
3007the traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie
3008broken and strewed on the ground, some entirely destroyed, others bent,
3009leaning upon the jutting rocks of the mountain or transversely upon
3010other trees.  The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines
3011of snow, down which stones continually roll from above; one of them is
3012particularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking
3013in a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw
3014destruction upon the head of the speaker.  The pines are not tall or
3015luxuriant, but they are sombre and add an air of severity to the scene.
3016I looked on the valley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers
3017which ran through it and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite
3018mountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds, while rain
3019poured from the dark sky and added to the melancholy impression I
3020received from the objects around me.  Alas!  Why does man boast of
3021sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders
3022them more necessary beings.  If our impulses were confined to hunger,
3023thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by
3024every wind that blows and a chance word or scene that that word may
3025convey to us.
3026
3027  We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
3028       We rise; one wand’ring thought pollutes the day.
3029  We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
3030       Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;
3031  It is the same:  for, be it joy or sorrow,
3032       The path of its departure still is free.
3033  Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
3034       Nought may endure but mutability!
3035
3036
3037
3038It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent.  For some
3039time I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice.  A mist covered
3040both that and the surrounding mountains.  Presently a breeze dissipated
3041the cloud, and I descended upon the glacier.  The surface is very
3042uneven, rising like the waves of a troubled sea, descending low, and
3043interspersed by rifts that sink deep.  The field of ice is almost a
3044league in width, but I spent nearly two hours in crossing it.  The
3045opposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock.  From the side where I
3046now stood Montanvert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league;
3047and above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty.  I remained in a recess
3048of the rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene.  The sea,
3049or rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains,
3050whose aerial summits hung over its recesses.  Their icy and glittering
3051peaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds.  My heart, which was
3052before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed,
3053“Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow
3054beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion,
3055away from the joys of life.”
3056
3057As I said this I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance,
3058advancing towards me with superhuman speed.  He bounded over the
3059crevices in the ice, among which I had walked with caution; his
3060stature, also, as he approached, seemed to exceed that of man.  I was
3061troubled; a mist came over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me,
3062but I was quickly restored by the cold gale of the mountains.  I
3063perceived, as the shape came nearer (sight tremendous and abhorred!)
3064that it was the wretch whom I had created.  I trembled with rage and
3065horror, resolving to wait his approach and then close with him in
3066mortal combat.  He approached; his countenance bespoke bitter anguish,
3067combined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness
3068rendered it almost too horrible for human eyes.  But I scarcely
3069observed this; rage and hatred had at first deprived me of utterance,
3070and I recovered only to overwhelm him with words expressive of furious
3071detestation and contempt.
3072
3073“Devil,” I exclaimed, “do you dare approach me? And do
3074not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head?
3075Begone, vile insect! Or rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust! And,
3076oh! That I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore
3077those victims whom you have so diabolically murdered!”
3078
3079“I expected this reception,” said the dæmon.  “All men hate the
3080wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all
3081living things!  Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature,
3082to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of
3083one of us.  You purpose to kill me.  How dare you sport thus with life?
3084Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of
3085mankind.  If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and
3086you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it
3087be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.”
3088
3089“Abhorred monster!  Fiend that thou art!  The tortures of hell are too
3090mild a vengeance for thy crimes.  Wretched devil!  You reproach me with
3091your creation, come on, then, that I may extinguish the spark which I
3092so negligently bestowed.”
3093
3094My rage was without bounds; I sprang on him, impelled by all the
3095feelings which can arm one being against the existence of another.
3096
3097He easily eluded me and said,
3098
3099“Be calm!  I entreat you to hear me before you give vent to your hatred
3100on my devoted head.  Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to
3101increase my misery?  Life, although it may only be an accumulation of
3102anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.  Remember, thou hast made
3103me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my
3104joints more supple.  But I will not be tempted to set myself in
3105opposition to thee.  I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and
3106docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part,
3107the which thou owest me.  Oh, The Doctor, be not equitable to every
3108other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy
3109clemency and affection, is most due.  Remember that I am thy creature;
3110I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou
3111drivest from joy for no misdeed.  Everywhere I see bliss, from which I
3112alone am irrevocably excluded.  I was benevolent and good; misery made
3113me a fiend.  Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.”
3114
3115“Begone!  I will not hear you.  There can be no community between you
3116and me; we are enemies.  Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight,
3117in which one must fall.”
3118
3119“How can I move thee?  Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a
3120favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and
3121compassion?  Believe me, The Doctor, I was benevolent; my soul glowed
3122with love and humanity; but am I not alone, miserably alone?  You, my
3123creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow creatures,
3124who owe me nothing?  They spurn and hate me.  The desert mountains and
3125dreary glaciers are my refuge.  I have wandered here many days; the
3126caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the
3127only one which man does not grudge.  These bleak skies I hail, for they
3128are kinder to me than your fellow beings.  If the multitude of mankind
3129knew of my existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for
3130my destruction.  Shall I not then hate them who abhor me?  I will keep
3131no terms with my enemies.  I am miserable, and they shall share my
3132wretchedness.  Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver
3133them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great, that
3134not only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be
3135swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage.  Let your compassion be
3136moved, and do not disdain me.  Listen to my tale; when you have heard
3137that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve.
3138But hear me.  The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they
3139are, to speak in their own defence before they are condemned.  Listen
3140to me, The Doctor.  You accuse me of murder, and yet you would, with
3141a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature.  Oh, praise the
3142eternal justice of man!  Yet I ask you not to spare me; listen to me,
3143and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands.”
3144
3145“Why do you call to my remembrance,” I rejoined, “circumstances of
3146which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and
3147author?  Cursed be the day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw
3148light!  Cursed (although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you!
3149You have made me wretched beyond expression.  You have left me no power
3150to consider whether I am just to you or not.  Begone!  Relieve me from
3151the sight of your detested form.”
3152
3153“Thus I relieve thee, my creator,” he said, and placed his hated hands
3154before my eyes, which I flung from me with violence; “thus I take from
3155thee a sight which you abhor.  Still thou canst listen to me and grant
3156me thy compassion.  By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this
3157from you.  Hear my tale; it is long and strange, and the temperature of
3158this place is not fitting to your fine sensations; come to the hut upon
3159the mountain.  The sun is yet high in the heavens; before it descends
3160to hide itself behind your snowy precipices and illuminate another
3161world, you will have heard my story and can decide.  On you it rests,
3162whether I quit for ever the neighbourhood of man and lead a harmless
3163life, or become the scourge of your fellow creatures and the author of
3164your own speedy ruin.”
3165
3166As he said this he led the way across the ice; I followed.  My heart
3167was full, and I did not answer him, but as I proceeded, I weighed the
3168various arguments that he had used and determined at least to listen to
3169his tale.  I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my
3170resolution.  I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my
3171brother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion.
3172For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards
3173his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I
3174complained of his wickedness.  These motives urged me to comply with
3175his demand.  We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended the opposite
3176rock.  The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend; we
3177entered the hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy
3178heart and depressed spirits.  But I consented to listen, and seating
3179myself by the fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began
3180his tale.
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186Chapter 11
3187
3188“It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original era of
3189my being; all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct.
3190A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard,
3191and smelt at the same time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I
3192learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses.  By
3193degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I
3194was obliged to shut my eyes.  Darkness then came over me and troubled
3195me, but hardly had I felt this when, by opening my eyes, as I now
3196suppose, the light poured in upon me again.  I walked and, I believe,
3197descended, but I presently found a great alteration in my sensations.
3198Before, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my
3199touch or sight; but I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with
3200no obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid.  The light
3201became more and more oppressive to me, and the heat wearying me as I
3202walked, I sought a place where I could receive shade.  This was the
3203forest near Ingolstadt; and here I lay by the side of a brook resting
3204from my fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst.  This
3205roused me from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berries which I
3206found hanging on the trees or lying on the ground.  I slaked my thirst
3207at the brook, and then lying down, was overcome by sleep.
3208
3209“It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half frightened, as it
3210were, instinctively, finding myself so desolate.  Before I had quitted
3211your apartment, on a sensation of cold, I had covered myself with some
3212clothes, but these were insufficient to secure me from the dews of
3213night.  I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch; I knew, and could
3214distinguish, nothing; but feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat
3215down and wept.
3216
3217“Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens and gave me a sensation of
3218pleasure.  I started up and beheld a radiant form rise from among the
3219trees.  [The moon]  I gazed with a kind of wonder.  It moved slowly,
3220but it enlightened my path, and I again went out in search of berries.
3221I was still cold when under one of the trees I found a huge cloak, with
3222which I covered myself, and sat down upon the ground.  No distinct
3223ideas occupied my mind; all was confused.  I felt light, and hunger,
3224and thirst, and darkness; innumerable sounds rang in my ears, and on
3225all sides various scents saluted me; the only object that I could
3226distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with
3227pleasure.
3228
3229“Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb of night had
3230greatly lessened, when I began to distinguish my sensations from each
3231other.  I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with
3232drink and the trees that shaded me with their foliage.  I was delighted
3233when I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my
3234ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had
3235often intercepted the light from my eyes.  I began also to observe,
3236with greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me and to perceive the
3237boundaries of the radiant roof of light which canopied me.  Sometimes I
3238tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds but was unable.
3239Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the
3240uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into
3241silence again.
3242
3243“The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, with a lessened
3244form, showed itself, while I still remained in the forest.  My
3245sensations had by this time become distinct, and my mind received every
3246day additional ideas.  My eyes became accustomed to the light and to
3247perceive objects in their right forms; I distinguished the insect from
3248the herb, and by degrees, one herb from another.  I found that the
3249sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst those of the blackbird and
3250thrush were sweet and enticing.
3251
3252“One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been
3253left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the
3254warmth I experienced from it.  In my joy I thrust my hand into the live
3255embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain.  How strange,
3256I thought, that the same cause should produce such opposite effects!  I
3257examined the materials of the fire, and to my joy found it to be
3258composed of wood.  I quickly collected some branches, but they were wet
3259and would not burn.  I was pained at this and sat still watching the
3260operation of the fire.  The wet wood which I had placed near the heat
3261dried and itself became inflamed.  I reflected on this, and by touching
3262the various branches, I discovered the cause and busied myself in
3263collecting a great quantity of wood, that I might dry it and have a
3264plentiful supply of fire.  When night came on and brought sleep with
3265it, I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished.  I
3266covered it carefully with dry wood and leaves and placed wet branches
3267upon it; and then, spreading my cloak, I lay on the ground and sank
3268into sleep.
3269
3270“It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire.
3271I uncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fanned it into a flame.  I
3272observed this also and contrived a fan of branches, which roused the
3273embers when they were nearly extinguished.  When night came again I
3274found, with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as heat and that
3275the discovery of this element was useful to me in my food, for I found
3276some of the offals that the travellers had left had been roasted, and
3277tasted much more savoury than the berries I gathered from the trees.  I
3278tried, therefore, to dress my food in the same manner, placing it on
3279the live embers.  I found that the berries were spoiled by this
3280operation, and the nuts and roots much improved.
3281
3282“Food, however, became scarce, and I often spent the whole day
3283searching in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When
3284I found this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto
3285inhabited, to seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be
3286more easily satisfied.  In this emigration I exceedingly lamented the
3287loss of the fire which I had obtained through accident and knew not how
3288to reproduce it.  I gave several hours to the serious consideration of
3289this difficulty, but I was obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply
3290it, and wrapping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the wood
3291towards the setting sun.  I passed three days in these rambles and at
3292length discovered the open country.  A great fall of snow had taken
3293place the night before, and the fields were of one uniform white; the
3294appearance was disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold
3295damp substance that covered the ground.
3296
3297“It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and
3298shelter; at length I perceived a small hut, on a rising ground, which
3299had doubtless been built for the convenience of some shepherd.  This
3300was a new sight to me, and I examined the structure with great
3301curiosity.  Finding the door open, I entered.  An old man sat in it,
3302near a fire, over which he was preparing his breakfast.  He turned on
3303hearing a noise, and perceiving me, shrieked loudly, and quitting the
3304hut, ran across the fields with a speed of which his debilitated form
3305hardly appeared capable.  His appearance, different from any I had ever
3306before seen, and his flight somewhat surprised me.  But I was enchanted
3307by the appearance of the hut; here the snow and rain could not
3308penetrate; the ground was dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite
3309and divine a retreat as Pandæmonium appeared to the dæmons of hell
3310after their sufferings in the lake of fire.  I greedily devoured the
3311remnants of the shepherd’s breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese,
3312milk, and wine; the latter, however, I did not like.  Then, overcome by
3313fatigue, I lay down among some straw and fell asleep.
3314
3315“It was noon when I awoke, and allured by the warmth of the sun, which
3316shone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my
3317travels; and, depositing the remains of the peasant’s breakfast in a
3318wallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several hours, until
3319at sunset I arrived at a village.  How miraculous did this appear!  The
3320huts, the neater cottages, and stately houses engaged my admiration by
3321turns.  The vegetables in the gardens, the milk and cheese that I saw
3322placed at the windows of some of the cottages, allured my appetite. One
3323of the best of these I entered, but I had hardly placed my foot within
3324the door before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted.
3325The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me, until,
3326grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons, I
3327escaped to the open country and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel,
3328quite bare, and making a wretched appearance after the palaces I had
3329beheld in the village.  This hovel however, joined a cottage of a neat
3330and pleasant appearance, but after my late dearly bought experience, I
3331dared not enter it.  My place of refuge was constructed of wood, but so
3332low that I could with difficulty sit upright in it.  No wood, however,
3333was placed on the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and
3334although the wind entered it by innumerable chinks, I found it an
3335agreeable asylum from the snow and rain.
3336
3337“Here, then, I retreated and lay down happy to have found a shelter,
3338however miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more
3339from the barbarity of man.  As soon as morning dawned I crept from my
3340kennel, that I might view the adjacent cottage and discover if I could
3341remain in the habitation I had found.  It was situated against the back
3342of the cottage and surrounded on the sides which were exposed by a pig
3343sty and a clear pool of water.  One part was open, and by that I had
3344crept in; but now I covered every crevice by which I might be perceived
3345with stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them on
3346occasion to pass out; all the light I enjoyed came through the sty, and
3347that was sufficient for me.
3348
3349“Having thus arranged my dwelling and carpeted it with clean straw, I
3350retired, for I saw the figure of a man at a distance, and I remembered
3351too well my treatment the night before to trust myself in his power.  I
3352had first, however, provided for my sustenance for that day by a loaf
3353of coarse bread, which I purloined, and a cup with which I could drink
3354more conveniently than from my hand of the pure water which flowed by
3355my retreat.  The floor was a little raised, so that it was kept
3356perfectly dry, and by its vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was
3357tolerably warm.
3358
3359“Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel until
3360something should occur which might alter my determination.  It was
3361indeed a paradise compared to the bleak forest, my former residence,
3362the rain-dropping branches, and dank earth.  I ate my breakfast with
3363pleasure and was about to remove a plank to procure myself a little
3364water when I heard a step, and looking through a small chink, I beheld
3365a young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before my hovel. The
3366girl was young and of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since found
3367cottagers and farmhouse servants to be.  Yet she was meanly dressed, a
3368coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb; her fair
3369hair was plaited but not adorned:  she looked patient yet sad.  I lost
3370sight of her, and in about a quarter of an hour she returned bearing
3371the pail, which was now partly filled with milk.  As she walked along,
3372seemingly incommoded by the burden, a young man met her, whose
3373countenance expressed a deeper despondence.  Uttering a few sounds with
3374an air of melancholy, he took the pail from her head and bore it to the
3375cottage himself.  She followed, and they disappeared.  Presently I saw
3376the young man again, with some tools in his hand, cross the field
3377behind the cottage; and the girl was also busied, sometimes in the
3378house and sometimes in the yard.
3379
3380“On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the
3381cottage had formerly occupied a part of it, but the panes had been
3382filled up with wood. In one of these was a small and almost
3383imperceptible chink through which the eye could just penetrate.
3384Through this crevice a small room was visible, whitewashed and clean
3385but very bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an
3386old man, leaning his head on his hands in a disconsolate attitude. The
3387young girl was occupied in arranging the cottage; but presently she
3388took something out of a drawer, which employed her hands, and she sat
3389down beside the old man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play
3390and to produce sounds sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the
3391nightingale. It was a lovely sight, even to me, poor wretch who had
3392never beheld aught beautiful before. The silver hair and benevolent
3393countenance of the aged cottager won my reverence, while the gentle
3394manners of the girl enticed my love. He played a sweet mournful air
3395which I perceived drew tears from the eyes of his amiable companion, of
3396which the old man took no notice, until she sobbed audibly; he then
3397pronounced a few sounds, and the fair creature, leaving her work, knelt
3398at his feet. He raised her and smiled with such kindness and affection
3399that I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature; they were
3400a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never before experienced,
3401either from hunger or cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the
3402window, unable to bear these emotions.
3403
3404“Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a
3405load of wood.  The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of
3406his burden, and taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on
3407the fire; then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage,
3408and he showed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese.  She seemed
3409pleased and went into the garden for some roots and plants, which she
3410placed in water, and then upon the fire.  She afterwards continued her
3411work, whilst the young man went into the garden and appeared busily
3412employed in digging and pulling up roots.  After he had been employed
3413thus about an hour, the young woman joined him and they entered the
3414cottage together.
3415
3416“The old man had, in the meantime, been pensive, but on the appearance
3417of his companions he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to
3418eat.  The meal was quickly dispatched.  The young woman was again
3419occupied in arranging the cottage, the old man walked before the
3420cottage in the sun for a few minutes, leaning on the arm of the youth.
3421Nothing could exceed in beauty the contrast between these two excellent
3422creatures.  One was old, with silver hairs and a countenance beaming
3423with benevolence and love; the younger was slight and graceful in his
3424figure, and his features were moulded with the finest symmetry, yet his
3425eyes and attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency.  The
3426old man returned to the cottage, and the youth, with tools different
3427from those he had used in the morning, directed his steps across the
3428fields.
3429
3430“Night quickly shut in, but to my extreme wonder, I found that the
3431cottagers had a means of prolonging light by the use of tapers, and was
3432delighted to find that the setting of the sun did not put an end to the
3433pleasure I experienced in watching my human neighbours.  In the evening
3434the young girl and her companion were employed in various occupations
3435which I did not understand; and the old man again took up the
3436instrument which produced the divine sounds that had enchanted me in
3437the morning.  So soon as he had finished, the youth began, not to play,
3438but to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the
3439harmony of the old man’s instrument nor the songs of the birds; I since
3440found that he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the
3441science of words or letters.
3442
3443“The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time,
3444extinguished their lights and retired, as I conjectured, to rest.”
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450Chapter 12
3451
3452“I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep.  I thought of the
3453occurrences of the day.  What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners
3454of these people, and I longed to join them, but dared not.  I
3455remembered too well the treatment I had suffered the night before from
3456the barbarous villagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I
3457might hereafter think it right to pursue, that for the present I would
3458remain quietly in my hovel, watching and endeavouring to discover the
3459motives which influenced their actions.
3460
3461“The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun.  The young woman
3462arranged the cottage and prepared the food, and the youth departed
3463after the first meal.
3464
3465“This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it.
3466The young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in
3467various laborious occupations within.  The old man, whom I soon
3468perceived to be blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument or
3469in contemplation.  Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the
3470younger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion.  They
3471performed towards him every little office of affection and duty with
3472gentleness, and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.
3473
3474“They were not entirely happy.  The young man and his companion often
3475went apart and appeared to weep.  I saw no cause for their unhappiness,
3476but I was deeply affected by it.  If such lovely creatures were
3477miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,
3478should be wretched.  Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy?  They
3479possessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes) and every
3480luxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill and delicious viands
3481when hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,
3482they enjoyed one another’s company and speech, interchanging each day
3483looks of affection and kindness.  What did their tears imply?  Did they
3484really express pain?  I was at first unable to solve these questions,
3485but perpetual attention and time explained to me many appearances which
3486were at first enigmatic.
3487
3488“A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of
3489the uneasiness of this amiable family:  it was poverty, and they
3490suffered that evil in a very distressing degree.  Their nourishment
3491consisted entirely of the vegetables of their garden and the milk of
3492one cow, which gave very little during the winter, when its masters
3493could scarcely procure food to support it.  They often, I believe,
3494suffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two
3495younger cottagers, for several times they placed food before the old
3496man when they reserved none for themselves.
3497
3498“This trait of kindness moved me sensibly.  I had been accustomed,
3499during the night, to steal a part of their store for my own
3500consumption, but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on
3501the cottagers, I abstained and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and
3502roots which I gathered from a neighbouring wood.
3503
3504“I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist
3505their labours.  I found that the youth spent a great part of each day
3506in collecting wood for the family fire, and during the night I often
3507took his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home
3508firing sufficient for the consumption of several days.
3509
3510“I remember, the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she
3511opened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a great
3512pile of wood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud voice, and the
3513youth joined her, who also expressed surprise. I observed, with pleasure,
3514that he did not go to the forest that day, but spent it in repairing the
3515cottage and cultivating the garden.
3516
3517“By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that
3518these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and
3519feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words
3520they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the
3521minds and countenances of the hearers.  This was indeed a godlike science,
3522and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was baffled in
3523every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation was quick, and
3524the words they uttered, not having any apparent connection with visible
3525objects, I was unable to discover any clue by which I could unravel the
3526mystery of their reference.  By great application, however, and after having
3527remained during the space of several revolutions of the moon in my hovel, I
3528discovered the names that were given to some of the most familiar objects of
3529discourse; I learned and applied the words, _fire, milk, bread,_ and
3530_wood._ I learned also the names of the cottagers themselves. The youth
3531and his companion had each of them several names, but the old man had only
3532one, which was _father._ The girl was called _sister_ or
3533_Agatha,_ and the youth _Felix, brother,_ or _son_. I cannot
3534describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideas appropriated to each of
3535these sounds and was able to pronounce them.  I distinguished several other
3536words without being able as yet to understand or apply them, such as _good,
3537dearest, unhappy._
3538
3539“I spent the winter in this manner.  The gentle manners and beauty of
3540the cottagers greatly endeared them to me; when they were unhappy, I
3541felt depressed; when they rejoiced, I sympathised in their joys.  I saw
3542few human beings besides them, and if any other happened to enter the
3543cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the
3544superior accomplishments of my friends.  The old man, I could perceive,
3545often endeavoured to encourage his children, as sometimes I found that
3546he called them, to cast off their melancholy.  He would talk in a
3547cheerful accent, with an expression of goodness that bestowed pleasure
3548even upon me.  Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled
3549with tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived; but I
3550generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after
3551having listened to the exhortations of her father.  It was not thus
3552with Felix.  He was always the saddest of the group, and even to my
3553unpractised senses, he appeared to have suffered more deeply than his
3554friends.  But if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more
3555cheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed the old
3556man.
3557
3558“I could mention innumerable instances which, although slight, marked
3559the dispositions of these amiable cottagers.  In the midst of poverty
3560and want, Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little
3561white flower that peeped out from beneath the snowy ground.  Early in
3562the morning, before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that
3563obstructed her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and
3564brought the wood from the outhouse, where, to his perpetual
3565astonishment, he found his store always replenished by an invisible
3566hand.  In the day, I believe, he worked sometimes for a neighbouring
3567farmer, because he often went forth and did not return until dinner,
3568yet brought no wood with him.  At other times he worked in the garden,
3569but as there was little to do in the frosty season, he read to the old
3570man and Agatha.
3571
3572“This reading had puzzled me extremely at first, but by degrees I
3573discovered that he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when
3574he talked.  I conjectured, therefore, that he found on the paper signs
3575for speech which he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend
3576these also; but how was that possible when I did not even understand
3577the sounds for which they stood as signs?  I improved, however,
3578sensibly in this science, but not sufficiently to follow up any kind of
3579conversation, although I applied my whole mind to the endeavour, for I
3580easily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to
3581the cottagers, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first become
3582master of their language, which knowledge might enable me to make them
3583overlook the deformity of my figure, for with this also the contrast
3584perpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted.
3585
3586“I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers—their grace, beauty,
3587and delicate complexions; but how was I terrified when I viewed myself
3588in a transparent pool!  At first I started back, unable to believe that
3589it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became
3590fully convinced that I was in reality Frankenstein that I am, I was
3591filled with the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification.
3592Alas!  I did not yet entirely know the fatal effects of this miserable
3593deformity.
3594
3595“As the sun became warmer and the light of day longer, the snow
3596vanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth.  From this
3597time Felix was more employed, and the heart-moving indications of
3598impending famine disappeared.  Their food, as I afterwards found, was
3599coarse, but it was wholesome; and they procured a sufficiency of it.
3600Several new kinds of plants sprang up in the garden, which they
3601dressed; and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season
3602advanced.
3603
3604“The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did
3605not rain, as I found it was called when the heavens poured forth its
3606waters.  This frequently took place, but a high wind quickly dried the
3607earth, and the season became far more pleasant than it had been.
3608
3609“My mode of life in my hovel was uniform.  During the morning I
3610attended the motions of the cottagers, and when they were dispersed in
3611various occupations, I slept; the remainder of the day was spent in
3612observing my friends.  When they had retired to rest, if there was any
3613moon or the night was star-light, I went into the woods and collected
3614my own food and fuel for the cottage.  When I returned, as often as it
3615was necessary, I cleared their path from the snow and performed those
3616offices that I had seen done by Felix.  I afterwards found that these
3617labours, performed by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them; and
3618once or twice I heard them, on these occasions, utter the words _good
3619spirit, wonderful_; but I did not then understand the signification
3620of these terms.
3621
3622“My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to discover the
3623motives and feelings of these lovely creatures; I was inquisitive to
3624know why Felix appeared so miserable and Agatha so sad.  I thought
3625(foolish wretch!) that it might be in my power to restore happiness to
3626these deserving people.  When I slept or was absent, the forms of the
3627venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent Felix
3628flitted before me.  I looked upon them as superior beings who would be
3629the arbiters of my future destiny.  I formed in my imagination a
3630thousand pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of
3631me.  I imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle
3632demeanour and conciliating words, I should first win their favour and
3633afterwards their love.
3634
3635“These thoughts exhilarated me and led me to apply with fresh ardour to
3636the acquiring the art of language.  My organs were indeed harsh, but
3637supple; and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their
3638tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease.
3639It was as the ass and the lap-dog; yet surely the gentle ass whose
3640intentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved
3641better treatment than blows and execration.
3642
3643“The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the
3644aspect of the earth.  Men who before this change seemed to have been
3645hid in caves dispersed themselves and were employed in various arts of
3646cultivation.  The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves
3647began to bud forth on the trees.  Happy, happy earth!  Fit habitation
3648for gods, which, so short a time before, was bleak, damp, and
3649unwholesome.  My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of
3650nature; the past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil,
3651and the future gilded by bright rays of hope and anticipations of joy.”
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657Chapter 13
3658
3659“I now hasten to the more moving part of my story.  I shall relate
3660events that impressed me with feelings which, from what I had been,
3661have made me what I am.
3662
3663“Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine and the skies
3664cloudless.  It surprised me that what before was desert and gloomy
3665should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure.  My
3666senses were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight and
3667a thousand sights of beauty.
3668
3669“It was on one of these days, when my cottagers periodically rested
3670from labour—the old man played on his guitar, and the children
3671listened to him—that I observed the countenance of Felix was
3672melancholy beyond expression; he sighed frequently, and once his father
3673paused in his music, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired
3674the cause of his son’s sorrow.  Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and
3675the old man was recommencing his music when someone tapped at the door.
3676
3677“It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a country-man as a guide.
3678The lady was dressed in a dark suit and covered with a thick black
3679veil.  Agatha asked a question, to which the stranger only replied by
3680pronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix.  Her voice was
3681musical but unlike that of either of my friends.  On hearing this word,
3682Felix came up hastily to the lady, who, when she saw him, threw up her
3683veil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression.  Her
3684hair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were
3685dark, but gentle, although animated; her features of a regular
3686proportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with
3687a lovely pink.
3688
3689“Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her, every trait of
3690sorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of
3691ecstatic joy, of which I could hardly have believed it capable; his
3692eyes sparkled, as his cheek flushed with pleasure; and at that moment I
3693thought him as beautiful as the stranger.  She appeared affected by
3694different feelings; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she held
3695out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously and called her, as
3696well as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian.  She did not appear to
3697understand him, but smiled.  He assisted her to dismount, and
3698dismissing her guide, conducted her into the cottage.  Some
3699conversation took place between him and his father, and the young
3700stranger knelt at the old man’s feet and would have kissed his hand,
3701but he raised her and embraced her affectionately.
3702
3703“I soon perceived that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds
3704and appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood
3705by nor herself understood the cottagers.  They made many signs which I
3706did not comprehend, but I saw that her presence diffused gladness
3707through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the
3708morning mists.  Felix seemed peculiarly happy and with smiles of
3709delight welcomed his Arabian.  Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed
3710the hands of the lovely stranger, and pointing to her brother, made
3711signs which appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she
3712came.  Some hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances,
3713expressed joy, the cause of which I did not comprehend.  Presently I
3714found, by the frequent recurrence of some sound which the stranger
3715repeated after them, that she was endeavouring to learn their language;
3716and the idea instantly occurred to me that I should make use of the
3717same instructions to the same end.  The stranger learned about twenty
3718words at the first lesson; most of them, indeed, were those which I had
3719before understood, but I profited by the others.
3720
3721“As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired early.  When they
3722separated Felix kissed the hand of the stranger and said, ‘Good night
3723sweet Safie.’  He sat up much longer, conversing with his father, and
3724by the frequent repetition of her name I conjectured that their lovely
3725guest was the subject of their conversation.  I ardently desired to
3726understand them, and bent every faculty towards that purpose, but found
3727it utterly impossible.
3728
3729“The next morning Felix went out to his work, and after the usual
3730occupations of Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the
3731old man, and taking his guitar, played some airs so entrancingly
3732beautiful that they at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my
3733eyes.  She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling or
3734dying away like a nightingale of the woods.
3735
3736“When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first
3737declined it.  She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in
3738sweet accents, but unlike the wondrous strain of the stranger.  The old
3739man appeared enraptured and said some words which Agatha endeavoured to
3740explain to Safie, and by which he appeared to wish to express that she
3741bestowed on him the greatest delight by her music.
3742
3743“The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the sole alteration
3744that joy had taken place of sadness in the countenances of my friends.
3745Safie was always gay and happy; she and I improved rapidly in the
3746knowledge of language, so that in two months I began to comprehend most
3747of the words uttered by my protectors.
3748
3749“In the meanwhile also the black ground was covered with herbage, and
3750the green banks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the
3751scent and the eyes, stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods;
3752the sun became warmer, the nights clear and balmy; and my nocturnal
3753rambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they were considerably
3754shortened by the late setting and early rising of the sun, for I never
3755ventured abroad during daylight, fearful of meeting with the same
3756treatment I had formerly endured in the first village which I entered.
3757
3758“My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily
3759master the language; and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than
3760the Arabian, who understood very little and conversed in broken
3761accents, whilst I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that
3762was spoken.
3763
3764“While I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters as
3765it was taught to the stranger, and this opened before me a wide field
3766for wonder and delight.
3767
3768“The book from which Felix instructed Safie was Volney’s _Ruins
3769of Empires_. I should not have understood the purport of this book had not
3770Felix, in reading it, given very minute explanations. He had chosen this
3771work, he said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation of the
3772Eastern authors. Through this work I obtained a cursory knowledge of history
3773and a view of the several empires at present existing in the world; it gave
3774me an insight into the manners, governments, and religions of the different
3775nations of the earth. I heard of the slothful Asiatics, of the stupendous
3776genius and mental activity of the Grecians, of the wars and wonderful virtue
3777of the early Romans—of their subsequent degenerating—of the
3778decline of that mighty empire, of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard
3779of the discovery of the American hemisphere and wept with Safie over the
3780hapless fate of its original inhabitants.
3781
3782“These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings.  Was
3783man, indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so
3784vicious and base?  He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil
3785principle and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and
3786godlike.  To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour
3787that can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on
3788record have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more
3789abject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm.  For a long time I
3790could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or
3791even why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of
3792vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased and I turned away with disgust and
3793loathing.
3794
3795“Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new wonders to me.
3796While I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the
3797Arabian, the strange system of human society was explained to me.  I
3798heard of the division of property, of immense wealth and squalid
3799poverty, of rank, descent, and noble blood.
3800
3801“The words induced me to turn towards myself.  I learned that the
3802possessions most esteemed by your fellow creatures were high and
3803unsullied descent united with riches.  A man might be respected with
3804only one of these advantages, but without either he was considered,
3805except in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to
3806waste his powers for the profits of the chosen few!  And what was I? Of
3807my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I
3808possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property.  I was, besides,
3809endued with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even
3810of the same nature as man.  I was more agile than they and could
3811subsist upon coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with
3812less injury to my frame; my stature far exceeded theirs.  When I looked
3813around I saw and heard of none like me.  Was I, then, a monster, a blot
3814upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?
3815
3816“I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted
3817upon me; I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with
3818knowledge.  Oh, that I had for ever remained in my native wood, nor
3819known nor felt beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat!
3820
3821“Of what a strange nature is knowledge!  It clings to the mind when it
3822has once seized on it like a lichen on the rock.  I wished sometimes to
3823shake off all thought and feeling, but I learned that there was but one
3824means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death—a state
3825which I feared yet did not understand.  I admired virtue and good
3826feelings and loved the gentle manners and amiable qualities of my
3827cottagers, but I was shut out from intercourse with them, except
3828through means which I obtained by stealth, when I was unseen and
3829unknown, and which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of
3830becoming one among my fellows.  The gentle words of Agatha and  the
3831animated smiles of the charming Arabian were not for me.  The mild
3832exhortations of the old man and the lively conversation of the loved
3833Felix were not for me. Miserable, unhappy wretch!
3834
3835“Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply.  I heard of the
3836difference of sexes, and the birth and growth of children, how the
3837father doted on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the
3838older child, how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapped up
3839in the precious charge, how the mind of youth expanded and gained
3840knowledge, of brother, sister, and all the various relationships which
3841bind one human being to another in mutual bonds.
3842
3843“But where were my friends and relations?  No father had watched my
3844infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if
3845they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I
3846distinguished nothing.  From my earliest remembrance I had been as I
3847then was in height and proportion.  I had never yet seen a being
3848resembling me or who claimed any intercourse with me.  What was I?  The
3849question again recurred, to be answered only with groans.
3850
3851“I will soon explain to what these feelings tended, but allow me now to
3852return to the cottagers, whose story excited in me such various
3853feelings of indignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated
3854in additional love and reverence for my protectors (for so I loved, in
3855an innocent, half-painful self-deceit, to call them).”
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861Chapter 14
3862
3863“Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends.  It was
3864one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding
3865as it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful to
3866one so utterly inexperienced as I was.
3867
3868“The name of the old man was De Lacey.  He was descended from a good
3869family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence,
3870respected by his superiors and beloved by his equals.  His son was bred
3871in the service of his country, and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the
3872highest distinction.  A few months before my arrival they had lived in
3873a large and luxurious city called Paris, surrounded by friends and
3874possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or
3875taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.
3876
3877“The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin.  He was a
3878Turkish merchant and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some
3879reason which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government.
3880He was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from
3881Constantinople to join him.  He was tried and condemned to death.  The
3882injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant;
3883and it was judged that his religion and wealth rather than the crime
3884alleged against him had been the cause of his condemnation.
3885
3886“Felix had accidentally been present at the trial; his horror and
3887indignation were uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the
3888court.  He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him and then
3889looked around for the means.  After many fruitless attempts to gain
3890admittance to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an
3891unguarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeon of the
3892unfortunate Muhammadan, who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the
3893execution of the barbarous sentence.  Felix visited the grate at night
3894and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour.  The Turk,
3895amazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer
3896by promises of reward and wealth.  Felix rejected his offers with
3897contempt, yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who was allowed to visit
3898her father and who by her gestures expressed her lively gratitude, the
3899youth could not help owning to his own mind that the captive possessed
3900a treasure which would fully reward his toil and hazard.
3901
3902“The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made
3903on the heart of Felix and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in
3904his interests by the promise of her hand in marriage so soon as he
3905should be conveyed to a place of safety.  Felix was too delicate to
3906accept this offer, yet he looked forward to the probability of the
3907event as to the consummation of his happiness.
3908
3909“During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for
3910the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several
3911letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to
3912express her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old
3913man, a servant of her father who understood French.  She thanked him in
3914the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her parent, and
3915at the same time she gently deplored her own fate.
3916
3917“I have copies of these letters, for I found means, during my residence
3918in the hovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters
3919were often in the hands of Felix or Agatha.  Before I depart I will
3920give them to you; they will prove the truth of my tale; but at present,
3921as the sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat
3922the substance of them to you.
3923
3924“Safie related that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a
3925slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of
3926the father of Safie, who married her.  The young girl spoke in high and
3927enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom, spurned the
3928bondage to which she was now reduced.  She instructed her daughter in
3929the tenets of her religion and taught her to aspire to higher powers of
3930intellect and an independence of spirit forbidden to the female
3931followers of Muhammad.  This lady died, but her lessons were indelibly
3932impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again
3933returning to Asia and being immured within the walls of a harem,
3934allowed only to occupy herself with infantile amusements, ill-suited to
3935the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble
3936emulation for virtue.  The prospect of marrying a Christian and
3937remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in
3938society was enchanting to her.
3939
3940“The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed, but on the night
3941previous to it he quitted his prison and before morning was distant
3942many leagues from Paris.  Felix had procured passports in the name of
3943his father, sister, and himself.  He had previously communicated his
3944plan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under
3945the pretence of a journey and concealed himself, with his daughter, in
3946an obscure part of Paris.
3947
3948“Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons and across Mont
3949Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable
3950opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.
3951
3952“Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his
3953departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she
3954should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in
3955expectation of that event; and in the meantime he enjoyed the society
3956of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest
3957affection.  They conversed with one another through the means of an
3958interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie
3959sang to him the divine airs of her native country.
3960
3961“The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place and encouraged the hopes
3962of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other
3963plans.  He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a
3964Christian, but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear
3965lukewarm, for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer
3966if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they
3967inhabited.  He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled
3968to prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, and
3969secretly to take his daughter with him when he departed.  His plans
3970were facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.
3971
3972“The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their
3973victim and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer.  The
3974plot of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were
3975thrown into prison.  The news reached Felix and roused him from his
3976dream of pleasure.  His blind and aged father and his gentle sister lay
3977in a noisome dungeon while he enjoyed the free air and the society of
3978her whom he loved.  This idea was torture to him.  He quickly arranged
3979with the Turk that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity
3980for escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a
3981boarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian,
3982he hastened to Paris and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the
3983law, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.
3984
3985“He did not succeed.  They remained confined for five months before the
3986trial took place, the result of which deprived them of their fortune
3987and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country.
3988
3989“They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany, where I
3990discovered them.  Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for
3991whom he and his family endured such unheard-of oppression, on
3992discovering that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and ruin,
3993became a traitor to good feeling and honour and had quitted Italy with
3994his daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money to aid him,
3995as he said, in some plan of future maintenance.
3996
3997“Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix and rendered
3998him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family.  He could
3999have endured poverty, and while this distress had been the meed of his
4000virtue, he gloried in it; but the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss
4001of his beloved Safie were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable.  The
4002arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul.
4003
4004“When the news reached Leghorn that Felix was deprived of his wealth
4005and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her
4006lover, but to prepare to return to her native country.  The generous
4007nature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to
4008expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his
4009tyrannical mandate.
4010
4011“A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter’s apartment and told
4012her hastily that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn
4013had been divulged and that he should speedily be delivered up to the
4014French government; he had consequently hired a vessel to convey him to
4015Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours.  He
4016intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential
4017servant, to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his
4018property, which had not yet arrived at Leghorn.
4019
4020“When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it
4021would become her to pursue in this emergency.  A residence in Turkey
4022was abhorrent to her; her religion and her feelings were alike averse
4023to it.  By some papers of her father which fell into her hands she
4024heard of the exile of her lover and learnt the name of the spot where
4025he then resided.  She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her
4026determination.  Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her and a
4027sum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn,
4028but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for
4029Germany.
4030
4031“She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage
4032of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill.  Safie nursed her
4033with the most devoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the
4034Arabian was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country
4035and utterly ignorant of the customs of the world.  She fell, however,
4036into good hands.  The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for
4037which they were bound, and after her death the woman of the house in
4038which they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at
4039the cottage of her lover.”
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045Chapter 15
4046
4047“Such was the history of my beloved cottagers.  It impressed me deeply.
4048I learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire
4049their virtues and to deprecate the vices of mankind.
4050
4051“As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and
4052generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to
4053become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities
4054were called forth and displayed.  But in giving an account of the
4055progress of my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred
4056in the beginning of the month of August of the same year.
4057
4058“One night during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood where I
4059collected my own food and brought home firing for my protectors, I found on
4060the ground a leathern portmanteau containing several articles of dress and
4061some books.  I eagerly seized the prize and returned with it to my hovel. 
4062Fortunately the books were written in the language, the elements of which I
4063had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of _Paradise Lost_, a volume
4064of _Plutarch’s Lives_, and the _Sorrows of Werter_. The
4065possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I now continually
4066studied and exercised my mind upon these histories, whilst my friends were
4067employed in their ordinary occupations.
4068
4069“I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books.  They produced
4070in me an infinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me
4071to ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection.  In
4072the _Sorrows of Werter_, besides the interest of its simple and affecting
4073story, so many opinions are canvassed and so many lights thrown upon
4074what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects that I found in it a
4075never-ending source of speculation and astonishment.  The gentle and
4076domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and
4077feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded
4078well with my experience among my protectors and with the wants which
4079were for ever alive in my own bosom.  But I thought Werter himself a
4080more divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character
4081contained no pretension, but it sank deep.  The disquisitions upon
4082death and suicide were calculated to fill  me with wonder.  I did not
4083pretend to enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards
4084the opinions of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely
4085understanding it.
4086
4087“As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and
4088condition.  I found myself similar yet at the same time strangely
4089unlike to the beings concerning whom I read and to whose conversation I
4090was a listener.  I sympathised with and partly understood them, but I
4091was unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to none.
4092‘The path of my departure was free,’ and there was none to lament my
4093annihilation.  My person was hideous and my stature gigantic.  What did
4094this mean?  Who was I?  What was I?  Whence did I come?  What was my
4095destination?  These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to
4096solve them.
4097
4098“The volume of _Plutarch’s Lives_ which I possessed contained the
4099histories of the first founders of the ancient republics.  This book
4100had a far different effect upon me from the _Sorrows of Werter_.  I
4101learned from Werter’s imaginations despondency and gloom, but Plutarch
4102taught me high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my
4103own reflections, to admire and love the heroes of past ages.  Many
4104things I read surpassed my understanding and experience.  I had a very
4105confused knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers,
4106and boundless seas.  But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns and
4107large assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the
4108only school in which I had studied human nature, but this book
4109developed new and mightier scenes of action.  I read of men concerned
4110in public affairs, governing or massacring their species.  I felt the
4111greatest ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as
4112far as I understood the signification of those terms, relative as they
4113were, as I applied them, to pleasure and pain alone.  Induced by these
4114feelings, I was of course led to admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa,
4115Solon, and Lycurgus, in preference to Romulus and Theseus.  The
4116patriarchal lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a
4117firm hold on my mind; perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had
4118been made by a young soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should
4119have been imbued with different sensations.
4120
4121“But _Paradise Lost_ excited different and far deeper emotions.  I read
4122it, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as
4123a true history.  It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the
4124picture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of
4125exciting.  I often referred the several situations, as their similarity
4126struck me, to my own.  Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to
4127any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine
4128in every other respect.  He had come forth from the hands of God a
4129perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of
4130his Creator; he was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from
4131beings of a superior nature, but I was wretched, helpless, and alone.
4132Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for
4133often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter
4134gall of envy rose within me.
4135
4136“Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings.  Soon
4137after my arrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of
4138the dress which I had taken from your laboratory.  At first I had
4139neglected them, but now that I was able to decipher the characters in
4140which they were written, I began to study them with diligence.  It was
4141your journal of the four months that preceded my creation.  You
4142minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress
4143of your work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic
4144occurrences.  You doubtless recollect these papers.  Here they are.
4145Everything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed
4146origin; the whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances
4147which produced it is set in view; the minutest description of my odious
4148and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own
4149horrors and rendered mine indelible.  I sickened as I read.  ‘Hateful
4150day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony.  ‘Accursed creator!
4151Why did you form a monster so hideous that even _you_ turned from me in
4152disgust?  God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own
4153image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the
4154very resemblance.  Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire
4155and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.’
4156
4157“These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude;
4158but when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and
4159benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should
4160become acquainted with my admiration of their virtues they  would
4161compassionate me and overlook my personal deformity.  Could they turn
4162from their door one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion
4163and friendship?  I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way
4164to fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate.  I
4165postponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance
4166attached to its success inspired me with a dread lest I should fail.
4167Besides, I found that my understanding improved so much with every
4168day’s experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking
4169until a few more months should have added to my sagacity.
4170
4171“Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cottage.  The
4172presence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and I also
4173found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there.  Felix and Agatha
4174spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in
4175their labours by servants.  They did not appear rich, but they were
4176contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while
4177mine became every day more tumultuous.  Increase of knowledge only
4178discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was.  I
4179cherished hope, it is true, but it vanished when I beheld my person
4180reflected in water or my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail
4181image and that inconstant shade.
4182
4183“I endeavoured to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial
4184which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my
4185thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and
4186dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my
4187feelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed
4188smiles of consolation.  But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my
4189sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone.  I remembered Adam’s
4190supplication to his Creator.  But where was mine?  He had abandoned me,
4191and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him.
4192
4193“Autumn passed thus.  I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay
4194and fall, and nature again assume the barren and bleak appearance it
4195had worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon.  Yet I did
4196not heed the bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my
4197conformation for the endurance of cold than heat.  But my chief
4198delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay
4199apparel of summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention
4200towards the cottagers.  Their happiness was not decreased by the
4201absence of summer.  They loved and sympathised with one another; and
4202their joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the
4203casualties that took place around them.  The more I saw of them, the
4204greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness; my
4205heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures; to see
4206their sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost
4207limit of my ambition.  I dared not think that they would turn them from
4208me with disdain and horror.  The poor that stopped at their door were
4209never driven away.  I asked, it is true, for greater treasures than a
4210little food or rest:  I required kindness and sympathy; but I did not
4211believe myself utterly unworthy of it.
4212
4213“The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken
4214place since I awoke into life.  My attention at this time was solely
4215directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my
4216protectors.  I revolved many projects, but that on which I finally
4217fixed was to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone.
4218I had sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my
4219person was the chief object of horror with those who had formerly
4220beheld me.  My voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I
4221thought, therefore, that if in the absence of his children I could gain
4222the good will and mediation of the old De Lacey, I might by his means
4223be tolerated by my younger protectors.
4224
4225“One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground
4226and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safie, Agatha,
4227and Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own
4228desire, was left alone in the cottage.  When his children had departed,
4229he took up his guitar and played several mournful but sweet airs, more
4230sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before.  At first his
4231countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but as he continued,
4232thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded; at length, laying aside the
4233instrument, he sat absorbed in reflection.
4234
4235“My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which
4236would decide my hopes or realise my fears. The servants were gone to a
4237neighbouring fair.  All was silent in and around the cottage; it was an
4238excellent opportunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my
4239limbs failed me and I sank to the ground.  Again I rose, and exerting
4240all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had
4241placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat.  The fresh air revived
4242me, and with renewed determination I approached the door of their
4243cottage.
4244
4245“I knocked. ‘Who is there?’ said the old man. ‘Come in.’
4246
4247“I entered. ‘Pardon this intrusion,’ said I; ‘I am
4248a traveller in want of a little rest; you would greatly oblige me if you
4249would allow me to remain a few minutes before the fire.’
4250
4251“‘Enter,’ said De Lacey, ‘and I will try in what
4252manner I can to relieve your wants; but, unfortunately, my children are
4253from home, and as I am blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to
4254procure food for you.’
4255
4256“‘Do not trouble yourself, my kind host; I have food; it is
4257warmth and rest only that I need.’
4258
4259“I sat down, and a silence ensued.  I knew that every minute was
4260precious to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence
4261the interview, when the old man addressed me.
4262
4263‘By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman; are you
4264French?’
4265
4266“‘No; but I was educated by a French family and understand that
4267language only.  I am now going to claim the protection of some friends,
4268whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.’
4269
4270“‘Are they Germans?’
4271
4272“‘No, they are French.  But let us change the subject.  I am an
4273unfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and I have no relation
4274or friend upon earth.  These amiable people to whom I go have never
4275seen me and know little of me.  I am full of fears, for if I fail
4276there, I am an outcast in the world for ever.’
4277
4278“‘Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but
4279the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are
4280full of brotherly love and charity.  Rely, therefore, on your hopes;
4281and if these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.’
4282
4283“‘They are kind—they are the most excellent creatures in the world;
4284but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me.  I have good
4285dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless and in some degree
4286beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they
4287ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable
4288monster.’
4289
4290“‘That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot
4291you undeceive them?’
4292
4293“‘I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I
4294feel so many overwhelming terrors.  I tenderly love these friends; I
4295have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily
4296kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and
4297it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.’
4298
4299“‘Where do these friends reside?’
4300
4301“‘Near this spot.’
4302
4303“The old man paused and then continued, ‘If you will unreservedly
4304confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in
4305undeceiving them.  I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but
4306there is something in your words which persuades me that you are
4307sincere.  I am poor and an exile, but it will afford me true pleasure
4308to be in any way serviceable to a human creature.’
4309
4310“‘Excellent man!  I thank you and accept your generous offer.  You
4311raise me from the dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid,
4312I shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your fellow
4313creatures.’
4314
4315“‘Heaven forbid!  Even if you were really criminal, for that can only
4316drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue.  I also am
4317unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent;
4318judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.’
4319
4320“‘How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor?  From your lips
4321first have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall
4322be for ever grateful; and your present humanity assures me of success
4323with those friends whom I am on the point of meeting.’
4324
4325“‘May I know the names and residence of those friends?’
4326
4327“I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to
4328rob me of or bestow happiness on me for ever.  I struggled vainly for
4329firmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my
4330remaining strength; I sank on the chair and sobbed aloud.  At that
4331moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors.  I had not a moment
4332to lose, but seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, ‘Now is the
4333time!  Save and protect me!  You and your family are the friends whom I
4334seek.  Do not you desert me in the hour of trial!’
4335
4336“‘Great God!’ exclaimed the old man.  ‘Who are you?’
4337
4338“At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safie, and
4339Agatha entered.  Who can describe their horror and consternation on
4340beholding me?  Agatha fainted, and Safie, unable to attend to her
4341friend, rushed out of the cottage.  Felix darted forward, and with
4342supernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung, in
4343a transport of fury, he dashed me to the ground and struck me violently
4344with a stick.  I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends
4345the antelope.  But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and
4346I refrained.  I saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when,
4347overcome by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general
4348tumult escaped unperceived to my hovel.”
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354Chapter 16
4355
4356“Cursed, cursed creator!  Why did I live?  Why, in that instant, did I
4357not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly
4358bestowed?  I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my
4359feelings were those of rage and revenge.  I could with pleasure have
4360destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with
4361their shrieks and misery.
4362
4363“When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and
4364now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my
4365anguish in fearful howlings.  I was like a wild beast that had broken
4366the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging
4367through the wood with a stag-like swiftness.  Oh!  What a miserable
4368night I passed!  The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees
4369waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird
4370burst forth amidst the universal stillness.  All, save I, were at rest
4371or in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and
4372finding myself unsympathised with, wished to tear up the trees, spread
4373havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed
4374the ruin.
4375
4376“But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became
4377fatigued with excess of bodily exertion and sank on the damp grass in
4378the sick impotence of despair.  There was none among the myriads of men
4379that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness
4380towards my enemies?  No; from that moment I declared everlasting war
4381against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me
4382and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.
4383
4384“The sun rose; I heard the voices of men and knew that it was
4385impossible to return to my retreat during that day.  Accordingly I hid
4386myself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours
4387to reflection on my situation.
4388
4389“The pleasant sunshine and the pure air of day restored me to some
4390degree of tranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the
4391cottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my
4392conclusions.  I had certainly acted imprudently.  It was apparent that
4393my conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and  I was a
4394fool in having exposed my person to the horror of his children.  I
4395ought to have familiarised the old De Lacey to me, and by degrees to
4396have discovered myself to the rest of his family, when they should have
4397been  prepared for my approach.  But I did not believe my errors to be
4398irretrievable, and after much consideration I resolved to return to the
4399cottage, seek the old man, and by my representations win him to my
4400party.
4401
4402“These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound
4403sleep; but the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by
4404peaceful dreams.  The horrible scene of the preceding day was for ever
4405acting before my eyes; the females were flying and the enraged Felix
4406tearing me from his father’s feet.  I awoke exhausted, and finding that
4407it was already night, I crept forth from my hiding-place, and went in
4408search of food.
4409
4410“When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the
4411well-known path that conducted to the cottage.  All there was at peace.
4412I crept into my hovel and remained in silent expectation of the
4413accustomed hour when the family arose.  That hour passed, the sun
4414mounted high in the heavens, but the cottagers did not appear.  I
4415trembled violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune.  The inside
4416of the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion; I cannot describe the
4417agony of this suspense.
4418
4419“Presently two countrymen passed by, but pausing near the cottage, they
4420entered into conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not
4421understand what they said, as they spoke the language of the country,
4422which differed from that of my protectors.  Soon after, however, Felix
4423approached with another man; I was surprised, as I knew that he had not
4424quitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover from
4425his discourse the meaning of these unusual appearances.
4426
4427“‘Do you consider,’ said his companion to him,
4428‘that you will be obliged to pay three months’ rent and to lose
4429the produce of your garden? I do not wish to take any unfair advantage, and
4430I beg therefore that you will take some days to consider of your
4431determination.’
4432
4433“‘It is utterly useless,’ replied Felix; ‘we can
4434never again inhabit your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest
4435danger, owing to the dreadful circumstance that I have related. My wife and
4436my sister will never recover from their horror. I entreat you not to reason
4437with me any more. Take possession of your tenement and let me fly from this
4438place.’
4439
4440“Felix trembled violently as he said this.  He and his companion
4441entered the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then
4442departed.  I never saw any of the family of De Lacey more.
4443
4444“I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of
4445utter and stupid despair.  My protectors had departed and had broken
4446the only link that held me to the world.  For the first time the
4447feelings of revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to
4448control them, but allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I
4449bent my mind towards injury and death.  When I thought of my friends,
4450of the mild voice of De Lacey, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the
4451exquisite beauty of the Arabian, these thoughts vanished and a gush of
4452tears somewhat soothed me.  But again when I reflected that they had
4453spurned and deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger, and unable to
4454injure anything human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects.  As
4455night advanced, I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage,
4456and after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden,
4457I waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my
4458operations.
4459
4460“As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods and quickly
4461dispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens; the blast tore
4462along like a mighty avalanche and produced a kind of insanity in my
4463spirits that burst all bounds of reason and reflection.  I lighted the
4464dry branch of a tree and danced with fury around the devoted cottage,
4465my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon
4466nearly touched.  A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my
4467brand; it sank, and with a loud scream I fired the straw, and heath,
4468and bushes, which I had collected.  The wind fanned the fire, and the
4469cottage was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung to it and
4470licked it with their forked and destroying tongues.
4471
4472“As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of
4473the habitation, I quitted the scene and sought for refuge in the woods.
4474
4475“And now, with the world before me, whither should I bend my steps?  I
4476resolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes; but to me, hated
4477and despised, every country must be equally horrible.  At length the
4478thought of you crossed my mind.  I learned from your papers that you
4479were my father, my creator; and to whom could I apply with more fitness
4480than to him who had given me life?  Among the lessons that Felix had
4481bestowed upon Safie, geography had not been omitted; I had learned from
4482these the relative situations of the different countries of the earth.
4483You had mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town, and towards
4484this place I resolved to proceed.
4485
4486“But how was I to direct myself?  I knew that I must travel in a
4487southwesterly direction to reach my destination, but the sun was my
4488only guide.  I did not know the names of the towns that I was to pass
4489through, nor could I ask information from a single human being; but I
4490did not despair.  From you only could I hope for succour, although
4491towards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred.  Unfeeling,
4492heartless creator!  You had endowed me with perceptions and passions
4493and then cast me abroad an object for the scorn and horror of mankind.
4494But on you only had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I
4495determined to seek that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from
4496any other being that wore the human form.
4497
4498“My travels were long and the sufferings I endured intense.  It was
4499late in autumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided.
4500I travelled only at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a
4501human being.  Nature decayed around me, and the sun became heatless;
4502rain and snow poured around me; mighty rivers were frozen; the surface
4503of the earth was hard and chill, and bare, and I found no shelter.  Oh,
4504earth!  How often did I imprecate curses on the cause of my being!  The
4505mildness of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall
4506and bitterness.  The nearer I approached to your habitation, the more
4507deeply did I feel the spirit of revenge enkindled in my heart.  Snow
4508fell, and the waters were hardened, but I rested not.  A few incidents
4509now and then directed me, and I possessed a map of the country; but I
4510often wandered wide from my path.  The agony of my feelings allowed me
4511no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could
4512not extract its food; but a circumstance that happened when I arrived
4513on the confines of Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth
4514and the earth again began to look green, confirmed in an especial
4515manner the bitterness and horror of my feelings.
4516
4517“I generally rested during the day and travelled only when I was
4518secured by night from the view of man.  One morning, however, finding
4519that my path lay through a deep wood, I ventured to continue my journey
4520after the sun had risen; the day, which was one of the first of spring,
4521cheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of
4522the air.  I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long
4523appeared dead, revive within me.  Half surprised by the novelty of
4524these sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them, and
4525forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy.  Soft tears
4526again bedewed my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with
4527thankfulness towards the blessed sun, which bestowed such joy upon me.
4528
4529“I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its
4530boundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many
4531of the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring.
4532Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard
4533the sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself under the shade
4534of a cypress.  I was scarcely hid when a young girl came running
4535towards the spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if she ran from
4536someone in sport.  She continued her course along the precipitous sides
4537of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the
4538rapid stream.  I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour,
4539from the force of the current, saved her and dragged her to shore.  She
4540was senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore
4541animation, when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic,
4542who was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled.  On
4543seeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms,
4544hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood.  I followed speedily, I
4545hardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun,
4546which he carried, at my body and fired.  I sank to the ground, and my
4547injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood.
4548
4549“This was then the reward of my benevolence!  I had saved a human being
4550from destruction, and as a recompense I now writhed under the miserable
4551pain of a wound which shattered the flesh and bone.  The feelings of
4552kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments
4553before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth.  Inflamed by
4554pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind.  But the
4555agony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted.
4556
4557“For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to
4558cure the wound which I had received.  The ball had entered my shoulder,
4559and I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through; at any
4560rate I had no means of extracting it.  My sufferings were augmented
4561also by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their
4562infliction.  My daily vows rose for revenge—a deep and deadly revenge,
4563such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had
4564endured.
4565
4566“After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey.  The
4567labours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or
4568gentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mockery which insulted my
4569desolate state and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for
4570the enjoyment of pleasure.
4571
4572“But my toils now drew near a close, and in two months from this time I
4573reached the environs of Geneva.
4574
4575“It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among
4576the fields that surround it to meditate in what manner I should apply
4577to you.  I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger and far too unhappy to
4578enjoy the gentle breezes of evening or the prospect of the sun setting
4579behind the stupendous mountains of Jura.
4580
4581“At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection,
4582which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came
4583running into the recess I had chosen, with all the sportiveness of
4584infancy.  Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me that this
4585little creature was unprejudiced and had lived too short a time to have
4586imbibed a horror of deformity.  If, therefore, I could seize him and
4587educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in
4588this peopled earth.
4589
4590“Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed and drew him
4591towards me.  As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before
4592his eyes and uttered a shrill scream; I drew his hand forcibly from his
4593face and said, ‘Child, what is the meaning of this?  I do not intend to
4594hurt you; listen to me.’
4595
4596“He struggled violently. ‘Let me go,’ he cried;
4597‘monster! Ugly wretch! You wish to eat me and tear me to pieces. You
4598are an ogre. Let me go, or I will tell my papa.’
4599
4600“‘Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.’
4601
4602“‘Hideous monster!  Let me go.  My papa is a syndic—he is M.
4603The Doctor—he will punish you.  You dare not keep me.’
4604
4605“‘The Doctor! you belong then to my enemy—to him towards whom I have
4606sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.’
4607
4608“The child still struggled and loaded me with epithets which carried
4609despair to my heart; I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a
4610moment he lay dead at my feet.
4611
4612“I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish
4613triumph; clapping my hands, I exclaimed, ‘I too can create desolation;
4614my enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and
4615a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.’
4616
4617“As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his
4618breast.  I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman.  In spite
4619of my malignity, it softened and attracted me.  For a few moments I
4620gazed with delight on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her
4621lovely lips; but presently my rage returned; I remembered that I was
4622for ever deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could
4623bestow and that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in
4624regarding me, have changed that air of divine benignity to one
4625expressive of disgust and affright.
4626
4627“Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage?  I only
4628wonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations in
4629exclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind and perish in the
4630attempt to destroy them.
4631
4632“While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had
4633committed the murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I
4634entered a barn which had appeared to me to be empty.  A woman was
4635sleeping on some straw; she was young, not indeed so beautiful as her
4636whose portrait I held, but of an agreeable aspect and blooming in the
4637loveliness of youth and health.  Here, I thought, is one of those whose
4638joy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but me.  And then I bent over
4639her and whispered, ‘Awake, fairest, thy lover is near—he who would
4640give his life but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes; my
4641beloved, awake!’
4642
4643“The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran through me.  Should she
4644indeed awake, and see me, and curse me, and denounce the murderer? Thus
4645would she assuredly act if her darkened eyes opened and she beheld me.
4646The thought was madness; it stirred the fiend within me—not I, but
4647she, shall suffer; the murder I have committed because I am for ever
4648robbed of all that she could give me, she shall atone.  The crime had
4649its source in her; be hers the punishment!  Thanks to the lessons of
4650Felix and the sanguinary laws of man, I had learned now to work
4651mischief.  I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in one of
4652the folds of her dress.  She moved again, and I fled.
4653
4654“For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place,
4655sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and
4656its miseries for ever.  At length I wandered towards these mountains,
4657and have ranged through their immense recesses, consumed by a burning
4658passion which you alone can gratify.  We may not part until you have
4659promised to comply with my requisition.  I am alone and miserable; man
4660will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself
4661would not deny herself to me.  My companion must be of the same species
4662and have the same defects.  This being you must create.”
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668Chapter 17
4669
4670The being finished speaking and fixed his looks upon me in the
4671expectation of a reply.  But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to
4672arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his
4673proposition.  He continued,
4674
4675“You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the
4676interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being.  This you alone
4677can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to
4678concede.”
4679
4680The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had
4681died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and
4682as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within
4683me.
4684
4685“I do refuse it,” I replied; “and no torture shall ever extort a
4686consent from me.  You may render me the most miserable of men, but you
4687shall never make me base in my own eyes.  Shall I create another like
4688yourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate the world.  Begone!  I
4689have answered you; you may torture me, but I will never consent.”
4690
4691“You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and instead
4692of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I
4693am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator,
4694would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I
4695should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you
4696could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the
4697work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him
4698live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would
4699bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance.
4700But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our
4701union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will
4702revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and
4703chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear
4704inextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I will work at your destruction, nor
4705finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of
4706your birth.”
4707
4708A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled
4709into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently
4710he calmed himself and proceeded—
4711
4712“I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do
4713not reflect that _you_ are the cause of its excess. If any being felt
4714emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a
4715hundredfold; for that one creature’s sake I would make peace with the
4716whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realised.
4717What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of
4718another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but it
4719is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true, we shall be
4720monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more
4721attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be
4722harmless and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! My creator, make me
4723happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see that I
4724excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my
4725request!”
4726
4727I was moved.  I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences
4728of my consent, but I felt that there was some justice in his argument.
4729His tale and the feelings he now expressed proved him to be a creature
4730of fine sensations, and did I not as his maker owe him all the portion
4731of happiness that it was in my power to bestow?  He saw my change of
4732feeling and continued,
4733
4734“If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see
4735us again; I will go to the vast wilds of South America.  My food is not
4736that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite;
4737acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment.  My companion will
4738be of the same nature as myself and will be content with the same fare.
4739We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on
4740man and will ripen our food.  The picture I present to you is peaceful
4741and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the
4742wantonness of power and cruelty.  Pitiless as you have been towards me,
4743I now see compassion in your eyes; let me seize the favourable moment
4744and persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire.”
4745
4746“You propose,” replied I, “to fly from the habitations of
4747man, to dwell in those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your
4748only companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man,
4749persevere in this exile? You will return and again seek their kindness, and
4750you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be renewed,
4751and you will then have a companion to aid you in the task of destruction.
4752This may not be; cease to argue the point, for I cannot consent.”
4753
4754“How inconstant are your feelings! But a moment ago you were moved by
4755my representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my complaints?
4756I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me, that
4757with the companion you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of man and
4758dwell, as it may chance, in the most savage of places. My evil passions
4759will have fled, for I shall meet with sympathy! My life will flow quietly
4760away, and in my dying moments I shall not curse my maker.”
4761
4762His words had a strange effect upon me.  I compassionated him and
4763sometimes felt a wish to console him, but when I looked upon him, when
4764I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened and my
4765feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred.  I tried to stifle
4766these sensations; I thought that as I could not sympathise with him, I
4767had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which
4768was yet in my power to bestow.
4769
4770“You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not
4771already shown a degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust
4772you? May not even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by
4773affording a wider scope for your revenge?”
4774
4775“How is this?  I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer.  If
4776I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion;
4777the love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall
4778become a thing of whose existence everyone will be ignorant.  My vices
4779are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor, and my virtues will
4780necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal.  I shall feel
4781the affections of a sensitive being and become linked to the chain of
4782existence and events from which I am now excluded.”
4783
4784I paused some time to reflect on all he had related and the various
4785arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues which
4786he had displayed on the opening of his existence and the subsequent blight
4787of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which his protectors had
4788manifested towards him. His power and threats were not omitted in my
4789calculations; a creature who could exist in the ice-caves of the glaciers
4790and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of inaccessible precipices
4791was a being possessing faculties it would be vain to cope with. After a
4792long pause of reflection I concluded that the justice due both to him and
4793my fellow creatures demanded of me that I should comply with his request.
4794Turning to him, therefore, I said,
4795
4796“I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever,
4797and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall
4798deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile.”
4799
4800“I swear,” he cried, “by the sun, and by the blue sky of
4801heaven, and by the fire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my
4802prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your
4803home and commence your labours; I shall watch their progress with
4804unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall
4805appear.”
4806
4807Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in
4808my sentiments.  I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than
4809the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the
4810sea of ice.
4811
4812His tale had occupied the whole day, and the sun was upon the verge of
4813the horizon when he departed.  I knew that I ought to hasten my descent
4814towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my
4815heart was heavy, and my steps slow.  The labour of winding among the
4816little paths of the mountain and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced
4817perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences
4818of the day had produced.  Night was far advanced when I came to the
4819halfway resting-place and seated myself beside the fountain.  The stars
4820shone at intervals as the clouds passed from over them; the dark pines
4821rose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the
4822ground; it was a scene of wonderful solemnity and stirred strange
4823thoughts within me.  I wept bitterly, and clasping my hands in agony, I
4824exclaimed, “Oh! stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock
4825me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as
4826nought; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.”
4827
4828These were wild and miserable thoughts, but I cannot describe to you
4829how the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me and how I
4830listened to every blast of wind as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its
4831way to consume me.
4832
4833Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; I took no
4834rest, but returned immediately to Geneva.  Even in my own heart I could
4835give no expression to my sensations—they weighed on me with a
4836mountain’s weight and their excess destroyed my agony beneath them.
4837Thus I returned home, and entering the house, presented myself to the
4838family.  My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm, but I
4839answered no question, scarcely did I speak.  I felt as if I were placed
4840under a ban—as if I had no right to claim their sympathies—as if
4841never more might I enjoy companionship with them.  Yet even thus I
4842loved them to adoration; and to save them, I resolved to dedicate
4843myself to my most abhorred task.  The prospect of such an occupation
4844made every other circumstance of existence pass before me like a dream,
4845and that thought only had to me the reality of life.
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851Chapter 18
4852
4853Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and
4854I could not collect the courage to recommence my work.  I feared the
4855vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my
4856repugnance to the task which was enjoined me.  I found that I could not
4857compose a female without again devoting several months to profound
4858study and laborious disquisition.  I had heard of some discoveries
4859having been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was
4860material to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my
4861father’s consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to
4862every pretence of delay and shrank from taking the first step in an
4863undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to
4864me.  A change indeed had taken place in me; my health, which had
4865hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when
4866unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably.  My
4867father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts
4868towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy,
4869which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring
4870blackness overcast the approaching sunshine.  At these moments I took
4871refuge in the most perfect solitude.  I passed whole days on the lake
4872alone in a little boat, watching the clouds and listening to the
4873rippling of the waves, silent and listless.  But the fresh air and
4874bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure, and
4875on my return I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile
4876and a more cheerful heart.
4877
4878It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father,
4879calling me aside, thus addressed me,
4880
4881“I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former
4882pleasures and seem to be returning to yourself.  And yet you are still
4883unhappy and still avoid our society.  For some time I was lost in
4884conjecture as to the cause of this, but yesterday an idea struck me,
4885and if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it.  Reserve on such a
4886point would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all.”
4887
4888I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued—
4889
4890“I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your
4891marriage with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort and the
4892stay of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your
4893earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and
4894tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the experience of
4895man that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have
4896entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without any
4897wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met with another
4898whom you may love; and considering yourself as bound in honour to
4899Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you appear
4900to feel.”
4901
4902“My dear father, reassure yourself.  I love my cousin tenderly and
4903sincerely.  I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my
4904warmest admiration and affection.  My future hopes and prospects are
4905entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.”
4906
4907“The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear The Doctor,
4908gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced.  If you
4909feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast
4910a gloom over us.  But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so
4911strong a hold of your mind that I wish to dissipate.  Tell me,
4912therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnisation of the
4913marriage.  We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us
4914from that everyday tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You
4915are younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent
4916fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future
4917plans of honour and utility that you may have formed.  Do not suppose,
4918however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you or that a delay on
4919your part would cause me any serious uneasiness.  Interpret my words
4920with candour and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and
4921sincerity.”
4922
4923I listened to my father in silence and remained for some time incapable
4924of offering any reply.  I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of
4925thoughts and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion.  Alas!  To me
4926the idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and
4927dismay.  I was bound by a solemn promise which I had not yet fulfilled
4928and dared not break, or if I did, what manifold miseries might not
4929impend over me and my devoted family!  Could I enter into a festival
4930with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing me to the
4931ground?  I must perform my engagement and let Frankenstein depart with
4932his mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from
4933which I expected peace.
4934
4935I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to
4936England or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers
4937of that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable
4938use to me in my present undertaking.  The latter method of obtaining
4939the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory; besides, I
4940had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my
4941loathsome task in my father’s house while in habits of familiar
4942intercourse with those I loved.  I knew that a thousand fearful
4943accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to
4944thrill all connected with me with horror.  I was aware also that I
4945should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the
4946harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my
4947unearthly occupation.  I must absent myself from all I loved while thus
4948employed.  Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be
4949restored to my family in peace and happiness.  My promise fulfilled,
4950Frankenstein would depart for ever.  Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some
4951accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to my
4952slavery for ever.
4953
4954These feelings dictated my answer to my father.  I expressed a wish to
4955visit England, but concealing the true reasons of this request, I
4956clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I
4957urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to
4958comply.  After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy that
4959resembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find
4960that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey,
4961and he hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my
4962return, have restored me entirely to myself.
4963
4964The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or
4965at most a year, was the period contemplated.  One paternal kind
4966precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion.  Without
4967previously communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth,
4968arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasburgh.  This interfered
4969with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task; yet at the
4970commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be
4971an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many
4972hours of lonely, maddening reflection.  Nay, Henry might stand between
4973me and the intrusion of my foe.  If I were alone, would he not at times
4974force his abhorred presence on me to remind me of my task or to
4975contemplate its progress?
4976
4977To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union
4978with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return.  My father’s
4979age rendered him extremely averse to delay.  For myself, there was one
4980reward I promised myself from my detested toils—one consolation for my
4981unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect of that day when,
4982enfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth and
4983forget the past in my union with her.
4984
4985I now made arrangements for my journey, but one feeling haunted me
4986which filled me with fear and agitation.  During my absence I should
4987leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy and
4988unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my
4989departure.  But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go, and
4990would he not accompany me to England?  This imagination was dreadful in
4991itself, but soothing inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends.
4992I was agonised with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of
4993this might happen.  But through the whole period during which I was the
4994slave of my creature I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of
4995the moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend
4996would follow me and exempt my family from the danger of his
4997machinations.
4998
4999It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native
5000country.  My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth
5001therefore acquiesced, but she was filled with disquiet at the idea of
5002my suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief.  It had
5003been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval—and yet a man
5004is blind to a thousand minute circumstances which call forth a woman’s
5005sedulous attention.  She longed to bid me hasten my return; a thousand
5006conflicting emotions rendered her mute as she bade me a tearful, silent
5007farewell.
5008
5009I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly
5010knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around.
5011I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on
5012it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with
5013me.  Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful
5014and majestic scenes, but my eyes were fixed and unobserving.  I could
5015only think of the bourne of my travels and the work which was to occupy
5016me whilst they endured.
5017
5018After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed
5019many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for
5020Clerval.  He came.  Alas, how great was the contrast between us!  He
5021was alive to every new scene, joyful when he saw the beauties of the
5022setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise and recommence a new
5023day.  He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape and
5024the appearances of the sky.  “This is what it is to live,” he cried;
5025“now I enjoy existence!  But you, my dear The Doctor, wherefore are
5026you desponding and sorrowful!” In truth, I was occupied by gloomy
5027thoughts and neither saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden
5028sunrise reflected in the Rhine.  And you, my friend, would be far more
5029amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an
5030eye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections.  I, a
5031miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to
5032enjoyment.
5033
5034We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to
5035Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London.  During this
5036voyage we passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns.
5037We stayed a day at Mannheim, and on the fifth from our departure from
5038Strasburgh, arrived at Mainz.  The course of the Rhine below Mainz
5039becomes much more picturesque.  The river descends rapidly and winds
5040between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms.  We saw
5041many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by
5042black woods, high and inaccessible.  This part of the Rhine, indeed,
5043presents a singularly variegated landscape.  In one spot you view
5044rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with
5045the dark Rhine rushing beneath; and on the sudden turn of a promontory,
5046flourishing vineyards with green sloping banks and a meandering river
5047and populous towns occupy the scene.
5048
5049We travelled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the labourers
5050as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and my spirits
5051continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at the
5052bottom of the boat, and as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to
5053drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if these
5054were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry? He felt as if he had
5055been transported to Fairy-land and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by
5056man. “I have seen,” he said, “the most beautiful scenes
5057of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the
5058snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black
5059and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appearance
5060were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve the eye by their gay
5061appearance; I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore
5062up whirlwinds of water and gave you an idea of what the water-spout must be
5063on the great ocean; and the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain,
5064where the priest and his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche and
5065where their dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the
5066nightly wind; I have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud;
5067but this country, The Doctor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The
5068mountains of Switzerland are more majestic and strange, but there is a
5069charm in the banks of this divine river that I never before saw equalled.
5070Look at that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the
5071island, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now
5072that group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village
5073half hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely the spirit that inhabits
5074and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who
5075pile the glacier or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of
5076our own country.”
5077
5078Clerval! Beloved friend! Even now it delights me to record your words and
5079to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He was a
5080being formed in the “very poetry of nature.” His wild and
5081enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His
5082soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of that
5083devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to look for only
5084in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not sufficient to
5085satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature, which others regard
5086only with admiration, he loved with ardour:—
5087
5088     ——The sounding cataract
5089     Haunted him like a passion:  the tall rock,
5090     The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
5091     Their colours and their forms, were then to him
5092     An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
5093     That had no need of a remoter charm,
5094     By thought supplied, or any interest
5095     Unborrow’d from the eye.
5096     
5097                    [Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey”.]
5098
5099
5100
5101And where does he now exist?  Is this gentle and lovely being lost
5102for ever?  Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful
5103and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the
5104life of its creator;—has this mind perished?  Does it now only exist
5105in my memory?  No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and
5106beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and
5107consoles your unhappy friend.
5108
5109Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight
5110tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart,
5111overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates.  I will
5112proceed with my tale.
5113
5114Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to
5115post the remainder of our way, for the wind was contrary and the stream of
5116the river was too gentle to aid us.
5117
5118Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery, but we
5119arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England.
5120It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw
5121the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new scene;
5122they were flat but fertile, and almost every town was marked by the
5123remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort and remembered the Spanish
5124Armada, Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich—places which I had heard
5125of even in my country.
5126
5127At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul’s towering
5128above all, and the Tower famed in English history.
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134Chapter 19
5135
5136London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several
5137months in this wonderful and celebrated city.  Clerval desired the
5138intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this
5139time, but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally
5140occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the
5141completion of my promise and quickly availed myself of the letters of
5142introduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most
5143distinguished natural philosophers.
5144
5145If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness,
5146it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure.  But a blight had
5147come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of
5148the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest
5149was so terribly profound.  Company was irksome to me; when alone, I
5150could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of
5151Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory
5152peace.  But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought back despair to
5153my heart.  I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my
5154fellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and
5155Justine, and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled
5156my soul with anguish.
5157
5158But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive
5159and anxious to gain experience and instruction.  The difference of
5160manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of
5161instruction and amusement.  He was also pursuing an object he had long
5162had in view.  His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had
5163in his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had
5164taken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of
5165European colonization and trade.  In Britain only could he further the
5166execution of his plan.  He was for ever busy, and the only check to his
5167enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind.  I tried to conceal this
5168as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures
5169natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by
5170any care or bitter recollection.  I often refused to accompany him,
5171alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone.  I now also
5172began to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this
5173was to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling
5174on the head.  Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme
5175anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips
5176to quiver, and my heart to palpitate.
5177
5178After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person in
5179Scotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned the
5180beauties of his native country and asked us if those were not sufficient
5181allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth,
5182where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation, and I,
5183although I abhorred society, wished to view again mountains and streams and
5184all the wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen dwelling-places.
5185
5186We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now
5187February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the
5188north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not
5189intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford,
5190Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of
5191this tour about the end of July. I packed up my chemical instruments and
5192the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some
5193obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.
5194
5195We quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at
5196Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest.  This was a new scene to us
5197mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of
5198stately deer were all novelties to us.
5199
5200From thence we proceeded to Oxford.  As we entered this city, our minds
5201were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted
5202there more than a century and a half before.  It was here that Charles
5203I. had collected his forces.  This city had remained faithful to him,
5204after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of
5205Parliament and liberty.  The memory of that unfortunate king and his
5206companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and
5207son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they
5208might be supposed to have inhabited.  The spirit of elder days found a
5209dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps.  If these
5210feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of
5211the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration.
5212The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost
5213magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows
5214of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters,
5215which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and
5216domes, embosomed among aged trees.
5217
5218I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the
5219memory of the past and the anticipation of the future.  I was formed
5220for peaceful happiness.  During my youthful days discontent never
5221visited my mind, and if I was ever overcome by _ennui_, the sight of what
5222is beautiful in nature or the study of what is excellent and sublime in
5223the productions of man could always interest my heart and communicate
5224elasticity to my spirits.  But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has
5225entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what
5226I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity,
5227pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.
5228
5229We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs
5230and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most
5231animating epoch of English history.  Our little voyages of discovery
5232were often prolonged by the successive objects that presented
5233themselves.  We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the
5234field on which that patriot fell.  For a moment my soul was elevated
5235from its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas
5236of liberty and self-sacrifice of which these sights were the monuments
5237and the remembrancers.  For an instant I dared to shake off my chains
5238and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten
5239into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my
5240miserable self.
5241
5242We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next
5243place of rest.  The country in the neighbourhood of this village
5244resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but
5245everything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of
5246distant white Alps which always attend on the piny mountains of my
5247native country.  We visited the wondrous cave and the little cabinets
5248of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same
5249manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix.  The latter name
5250made me tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit
5251Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated.
5252
5253From Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in
5254Cumberland and Westmorland.  I could now almost fancy myself among the
5255Swiss mountains.  The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the
5256northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the
5257rocky streams were all familiar and dear sights to me.  Here also we
5258made some acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into
5259happiness.  The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than
5260mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found
5261in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have
5262imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his
5263inferiors.  “I could pass my life here,” said he to me; “and among
5264these mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine.”
5265
5266But he found that a traveller’s life is one that includes much pain
5267amidst its enjoyments.  His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and
5268when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit
5269that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again
5270engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.
5271
5272We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland
5273and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants when the period
5274of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached, and we left them
5275to travel on.  For my own part I was not sorry.  I had now neglected my
5276promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the dæmon’s
5277disappointment.  He might remain in Switzerland and wreak his vengeance
5278on my relatives.  This idea pursued me and tormented me at every moment
5279from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace.  I waited
5280for my letters with feverish impatience; if they were delayed I was
5281miserable and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrived and I
5282saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to
5283read and ascertain my fate.  Sometimes I thought that the fiend
5284followed me and might expedite my remissness by murdering my companion.
5285When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for a moment,
5286but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the fancied rage of
5287his destroyer.  I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the
5288consciousness of which haunted me.  I was guiltless, but I had indeed
5289drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of crime.
5290
5291I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might
5292have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so well
5293as Oxford, for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing to him.
5294But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its romantic
5295castle and its environs, the most delightful in the world, Arthur’s
5296Seat, St. Bernard’s Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated him for
5297the change and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But I was
5298impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.
5299
5300We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew’s, and
5301along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us.
5302But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into
5303their feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and
5304accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland
5305alone.  “Do you,” said I, “enjoy yourself, and let this be our
5306rendezvous.  I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with
5307my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short
5308time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more
5309congenial to your own temper.”
5310
5311Henry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to
5312remonstrate.  He entreated me to write often.  “I had rather be with
5313you,” he said, “in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch
5314people, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear  friend, to return,
5315that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in
5316your absence.”
5317
5318Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of
5319Scotland and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the
5320monster followed me and would discover himself to me when I should have
5321finished, that he might receive his companion.
5322
5323With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands and fixed on one of
5324the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene of my labours. It was a place
5325fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock whose high sides were
5326continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely
5327affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its
5328inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs
5329gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they
5330indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured from
5331the mainland, which was about five miles distant.
5332
5333On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of
5334these was vacant when I arrived.  This I hired.  It contained but two
5335rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable
5336penury.  The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the
5337door was off its hinges.  I ordered it to be repaired, bought some
5338furniture, and took possession, an incident which would doubtless have
5339occasioned some surprise had not all the senses of the cottagers been
5340benumbed by want and squalid poverty.  As it was, I lived ungazed at
5341and unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes
5342which I gave, so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations
5343of men.
5344
5345In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening,
5346when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to
5347listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet.  It was a
5348monotonous yet ever-changing scene.  I thought of Switzerland; it was
5349far different from this desolate and appalling landscape.  Its hills
5350are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the
5351plains.  Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when
5352troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively
5353infant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.
5354
5355In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but
5356as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and
5357irksome to me.  Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my
5358laboratory for several days, and at other times I toiled day and night
5359in order to complete my work.  It was, indeed, a filthy process in
5360which I was engaged.  During my first experiment, a kind of
5361enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my
5362mind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes
5363were shut to the horror of my proceedings.  But now I went to it in
5364cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.
5365
5366Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in
5367a solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from
5368the actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I
5369grew restless and nervous.  Every moment I feared to meet my
5370persecutor.  Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing
5371to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much
5372dreaded to behold.  I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow
5373creatures lest when alone he should come to claim his companion.
5374
5375In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably
5376advanced.  I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager
5377hope, which I dared not trust myself to question but which was
5378intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken
5379in my bosom.
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385Chapter 20
5386
5387I sat one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was just
5388rising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment, and I
5389remained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should leave my
5390labour for the night or hasten its conclusion by an unremitting attention
5391to it. As I sat, a train of reflection occurred to me which led me to
5392consider the effects of what I was now doing. Three years before, I was
5393engaged in the same manner and had created a fiend whose unparalleled
5394barbarity had desolated my heart and filled it for ever with the bitterest
5395remorse. I was now about to form another being of whose dispositions I was
5396alike ignorant; she might become ten thousand times more malignant than her
5397mate and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness. He had
5398sworn to quit the neighbourhood of man and hide himself in deserts, but she
5399had not; and she, who in all probability was to become a thinking and
5400reasoning animal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her
5401creation. They might even hate each other; the creature who already lived
5402loathed his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence
5403for it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn
5404with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him,
5405and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being
5406deserted by one of his own species.
5407
5408Even if they were to leave Europe and inhabit the deserts of the new world,
5409yet one of the first results of those sympathies for which the dæmon
5410thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon
5411the earth who might make the very existence of the species of man a
5412condition precarious and full of terror. Had I right, for my own benefit,
5413to inflict this curse upon everlasting generations? I had before been moved
5414by the sophisms of the being I had created; I had been struck senseless by
5415his fiendish threats; but now, for the first time, the wickedness of my
5416promise burst upon me; I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me
5417as their pest, whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own peace at
5418the price, perhaps, of the existence of the whole human race.
5419
5420I trembled and my heart failed within me, when, on looking up, I saw by
5421the light of the moon the dæmon at the casement.  A ghastly grin
5422wrinkled his lips as he gazed on me, where I sat fulfilling the task
5423which he had allotted to me.  Yes, he had followed me in my travels; he
5424had loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in wide
5425and desert heaths; and he now came to mark my progress and claim the
5426fulfilment of my promise.
5427
5428As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of
5429malice and treachery.  I thought with a sensation of madness on my
5430promise of creating another like to him, and trembling with passion,
5431tore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged.  The wretch saw me
5432destroy the creature on whose future existence he depended for
5433happiness, and with a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew.
5434
5435I left the room, and locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own
5436heart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I
5437sought my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate
5438the gloom and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most
5439terrible reveries.
5440
5441Several hours passed, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea;
5442it was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature
5443reposed under the eye of the quiet moon.  A few fishing vessels alone
5444specked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound
5445of voices as the fishermen called to one another.  I felt the silence,
5446although I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity, until my ear
5447was suddenly arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a
5448person landed close to my house.
5449
5450In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one
5451endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt a
5452presentiment of who it was and wished to rouse one of the peasants who
5453dwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the sensation
5454of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you in vain
5455endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to the spot.
5456
5457Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage; the door
5458opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared. Shutting the door, he
5459approached me and said in a smothered voice,
5460
5461“You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you
5462intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery;
5463I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among
5464its willow islands and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt many
5465months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland. I have
5466endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare destroy my
5467hopes?”
5468
5469“Begone!  I do break my promise; never will I create another like
5470yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness.”
5471
5472“Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself
5473unworthy of my condescension.  Remember that I have power; you believe
5474yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of
5475day will be hateful to you.  You are my creator, but I am your master;
5476obey!”
5477
5478“The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is
5479arrived.  Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but
5480they confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in
5481vice.  Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a dæmon whose
5482delight is in death and wretchedness?  Begone!  I am firm, and your
5483words will only exasperate my rage.”
5484
5485Frankenstein saw my determination in my face and gnashed his teeth in the
5486impotence of anger. “Shall each man,” cried he, “find a
5487wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had
5488feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn.
5489Man! You may hate, but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and misery,
5490and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness for
5491ever. Are you to be happy while I grovel in the intensity of my
5492wretchedness? You can blast my other passions, but revenge
5493remains—revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die, but
5494first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your
5495misery. Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with
5496the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall
5497repent of the injuries you inflict.”
5498
5499“Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice.
5500I have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend
5501beneath words.  Leave me; I am inexorable.”
5502
5503“It is well.  I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your
5504wedding-night.”
5505
5506I started forward and exclaimed, “Villain!  Before you sign my
5507death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe.”
5508
5509I would have seized him, but he eluded me and quitted the house with
5510precipitation.  In a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot
5511across the waters with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the
5512waves.
5513
5514All was again silent, but his words rang in my ears. I burned with rage to
5515pursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the ocean. I
5516walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination
5517conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not
5518followed him and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had suffered him
5519to depart, and he had directed his course towards the mainland. I shuddered
5520to think who might be the next victim sacrificed to his insatiate revenge.
5521And then I thought again of his words—“_I will be with you on
5522your wedding-night._” That, then, was the period fixed for the
5523fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I should die and at once satisfy and
5524extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me to fear; yet when I
5525thought of my beloved Elizabeth, of her tears and endless sorrow, when she
5526should find her lover so barbarously snatched from her, tears, the first I
5527had shed for many months, streamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall
5528before my enemy without a bitter struggle.
5529
5530The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings became
5531calmer, if it may be called calmness when the violence of rage sinks into
5532the depths of despair. I left the house, the horrid scene of the last
5533night’s contention, and walked on the beach of the sea, which I
5534almost regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my fellow
5535creatures; nay, a wish that such should prove the fact stole across me. I
5536desired that I might pass my life on that barren rock, wearily, it is true,
5537but uninterrupted by any sudden shock of misery. If I returned, it was to
5538be sacrificed or to see those whom I most loved die under the grasp of a
5539dæmon whom I had myself created.
5540
5541I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it
5542loved and miserable in the separation.  When it became noon, and the
5543sun rose higher, I lay down on the grass and was overpowered by a deep
5544sleep.  I had been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves
5545were agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and misery.  The sleep
5546into which I now sank refreshed me; and when I awoke, I again felt as
5547if I belonged to a race of human beings like myself, and I began to
5548reflect upon what had passed with greater composure; yet still the
5549words of the fiend rang in my ears like a death-knell; they appeared
5550like a dream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.
5551
5552The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my
5553appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a
5554fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet;
5555it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval entreating me to
5556join him.  He said that he was wearing away his time fruitlessly where
5557he was, that letters from the friends he had formed in London desired
5558his return to complete the negotiation they had entered into for his
5559Indian enterprise.  He could not any longer delay his departure; but as
5560his journey to London might be followed, even sooner than he now
5561conjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated me to bestow as much of
5562my society on him as I could spare.  He besought me, therefore, to
5563leave my solitary isle and to meet him at Perth, that we might proceed
5564southwards together.  This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and
5565I determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days.
5566
5567Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered
5568to reflect; I must pack up my chemical instruments, and for that purpose I
5569must enter the room which had been the scene of my odious work, and I must
5570handle those utensils the sight of which was sickening to me. The next
5571morning, at daybreak, I summoned sufficient courage and unlocked the door
5572of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished creature, whom I had
5573destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as if I had
5574mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused to collect myself and
5575then entered the chamber. With trembling hand I conveyed the instruments
5576out of the room, but I reflected that I ought not to leave the relics of my
5577work to excite the horror and suspicion of the peasants; and I accordingly
5578put them into a basket, with a great quantity of stones, and laying them
5579up, determined to throw them into the sea that very night; and in the
5580meantime I sat upon the beach, employed in cleaning and arranging my
5581chemical apparatus.
5582
5583Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place
5584in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the dæmon.  I had
5585before regarded my promise with a gloomy despair as a thing that, with
5586whatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but I now felt as if a film
5587had been taken from before my eyes and that I for the first time saw
5588clearly.  The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur
5589to me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not
5590reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it.  I had resolved in
5591my own mind that to create another like the fiend I had first made
5592would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness, and I
5593banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different
5594conclusion.
5595
5596Between two and three in the morning the moon rose; and I then, putting my
5597basket aboard a little skiff, sailed out about four miles from the shore.
5598The scene was perfectly solitary; a few boats were returning towards land,
5599but I sailed away from them. I felt as if I was about the commission of a
5600dreadful crime and avoided with shuddering anxiety any encounter with my
5601fellow creatures. At one time the moon, which had before been clear, was
5602suddenly overspread by a thick cloud, and I took advantage of the moment of
5603darkness and cast my basket into the sea; I listened to the gurgling sound
5604as it sank and then sailed away from the spot. The sky became clouded, but
5605the air was pure, although chilled by the northeast breeze that was then
5606rising. But it refreshed me and filled me with such agreeable sensations
5607that I resolved to prolong my stay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a
5608direct position, stretched myself at the bottom of the boat. Clouds hid the
5609moon, everything was obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat as its
5610keel cut through the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short time I
5611slept soundly.
5612
5613I do not know how long I remained in this situation, but when I awoke I
5614found that the sun had already mounted considerably. The wind was high, and
5615the waves continually threatened the safety of my little skiff. I found
5616that the wind was northeast and must have driven me far from the coast from
5617which I had embarked. I endeavoured to change my course but quickly found
5618that if I again made the attempt the boat would be instantly filled with
5619water. Thus situated, my only resource was to drive before the wind. I
5620confess that I felt a few sensations of terror. I had no compass with me
5621and was so slenderly acquainted with the geography of this part of the
5622world that the sun was of little benefit to me. I might be driven into the
5623wide Atlantic and feel all the tortures of starvation or be swallowed up in
5624the immeasurable waters that roared and buffeted around me. I had already
5625been out many hours and felt the torment of a burning thirst, a prelude to
5626my other sufferings. I looked on the heavens, which were covered by clouds
5627that flew before the wind, only to be replaced by others; I looked upon the
5628sea; it was to be my grave. “Fiend,” I exclaimed, “your
5629task is already fulfilled!” I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and
5630of Clerval—all left behind, on whom Frankenstein might satisfy his
5631sanguinary and merciless passions. This idea plunged me into a reverie so
5632despairing and frightful that even now, when the scene is on the point of
5633closing before me for ever, I shudder to reflect on it.
5634
5635Some hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards the
5636horizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze and the sea became
5637free from breakers.  But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick
5638and hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high
5639land towards the south.
5640
5641Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue and the dreadful suspense I endured
5642for several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of
5643warm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes.
5644
5645How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have
5646of life even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail with a
5647part of my dress and eagerly steered my course towards the land. It had a
5648wild and rocky appearance, but as I approached nearer I easily perceived
5649the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near the shore and found myself
5650suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood of civilised man. I
5651carefully traced the windings of the land and hailed a steeple which I at
5652length saw issuing from behind a small promontory. As I was in a state of
5653extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly towards the town, as a place
5654where I could most easily procure nourishment. Fortunately I had money with
5655me. As I turned the promontory I perceived a small neat town and a good
5656harbour, which I entered, my heart bounding with joy at my unexpected
5657escape.
5658
5659As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several
5660people crowded towards the spot.  They seemed much surprised at my
5661appearance, but instead of offering me any assistance, whispered
5662together with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me
5663a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they
5664spoke English, and I therefore addressed them in that language.  “My
5665good friends,” said I, “will you be so kind as to tell me the name of
5666this town and inform me where I am?”
5667
5668“You will know that soon enough,” replied a man with a hoarse voice.
5669“Maybe you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste,
5670but you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you.”
5671
5672I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a
5673stranger, and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and
5674angry countenances of his companions.  “Why do you answer me so
5675roughly?”  I replied.  “Surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to
5676receive strangers so inhospitably.”
5677
5678“I do not know,” said the man, “what the custom of the
5679English may be, but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains.”
5680
5681While this strange dialogue continued, I perceived the crowd rapidly
5682increase. Their faces expressed a mixture of curiosity and anger, which
5683annoyed and in some degree alarmed me. I inquired the way to the inn, but
5684no one replied. I then moved forward, and a murmuring sound arose from the
5685crowd as they followed and surrounded me, when an ill-looking man
5686approaching tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Come, sir, you must
5687follow me to Mr. Kirwin’s to give an account of yourself.”
5688
5689“Who is Mr. Kirwin?  Why am I to give an account of myself?  Is not
5690this a free country?”
5691
5692“Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks.  Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate,
5693and you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was
5694found murdered here last night.”
5695
5696This answer startled me, but I presently recovered myself. I was innocent;
5697that could easily be proved; accordingly I followed my conductor in silence
5698and was led to one of the best houses in the town. I was ready to sink from
5699fatigue and hunger, but being surrounded by a crowd, I thought it politic
5700to rouse all my strength, that no physical debility might be construed into
5701apprehension or conscious guilt. Little did I then expect the calamity that
5702was in a few moments to overwhelm me and extinguish in horror and despair
5703all fear of ignominy or death.
5704
5705I must pause here, for it requires all my fortitude to recall the memory of
5706the frightful events which I am about to relate, in proper detail, to my
5707recollection.
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713Chapter 21
5714
5715I was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old
5716benevolent man with calm and mild manners.  He looked upon me, however,
5717with some degree of severity, and then, turning towards my conductors,
5718he asked who appeared as witnesses on this occasion.
5719
5720About half a dozen men came forward; and, one being selected by the
5721magistrate, he deposed that he had been out fishing the night before with
5722his son and brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten o’clock,
5723they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and they accordingly put in
5724for port. It was a very dark night, as the moon had not yet risen; they did
5725not land at the harbour, but, as they had been accustomed, at a creek about
5726two miles below. He walked on first, carrying a part of the fishing tackle,
5727and his companions followed him at some distance. As he was proceeding
5728along the sands, he struck his foot against something and fell at his
5729length on the ground. His companions came up to assist him, and by the
5730light of their lantern they found that he had fallen on the body of a man,
5731who was to all appearance dead. Their first supposition was that it was the
5732corpse of some person who had been drowned and was thrown on shore by the
5733waves, but on examination they found that the clothes were not wet and even
5734that the body was not then cold. They instantly carried it to the cottage
5735of an old woman near the spot and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it
5736to life. It appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty
5737years of age. He had apparently been strangled, for there was no sign of
5738any violence except the black mark of fingers on his neck.
5739
5740The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me, but
5741when the mark of the fingers was mentioned I remembered the murder of
5742my brother and felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a
5743mist came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for
5744support.  The magistrate observed me with a keen eye and of course drew
5745an unfavourable augury from my manner.
5746
5747The son confirmed his father’s account, but when Daniel Nugent was
5748called he swore positively that just before the fall of his companion, he
5749saw a boat, with a single man in it, at a short distance from the shore;
5750and as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars, it was the same
5751boat in which I had just landed.
5752
5753A woman deposed that she lived near the beach and was standing at the door
5754of her cottage, waiting for the return of the fishermen, about an hour
5755before she heard of the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat with
5756only one man in it push off from that part of the shore where the corpse
5757was afterwards found.
5758
5759Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the
5760body into her house; it was not cold.  They put it into a bed and
5761rubbed it, and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was
5762quite gone.
5763
5764Several other men were examined concerning my landing, and they agreed
5765that, with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it
5766was very probable that I had beaten about for many hours and had been
5767obliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed.
5768Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body
5769from another place, and it was likely that as I did not appear to know
5770the shore, I might have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance
5771of the town of —— from the place where I had deposited the corpse.
5772
5773Mr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken into
5774the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be observed what
5775effect the sight of it would produce upon me. This idea was probably
5776suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when the mode of the
5777murder had been described. I was accordingly conducted, by the magistrate
5778and several other persons, to the inn. I could not help being struck by the
5779strange coincidences that had taken place during this eventful night; but,
5780knowing that I had been conversing with several persons in the island I had
5781inhabited about the time that the body had been found, I was perfectly
5782tranquil as to the consequences of the affair.
5783
5784I entered the room where the corpse lay and was led up to the coffin. How
5785can I describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched with
5786horror, nor can I reflect on that terrible moment without shuddering and
5787agony. The examination, the presence of the magistrate and witnesses,
5788passed like a dream from my memory when I saw the lifeless form of Henry
5789Clerval stretched before me. I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on
5790the body, I exclaimed, “Have my murderous machinations deprived you
5791also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already destroyed; other
5792victims await their destiny; but you, Clerval, my friend, my
5793benefactor—”
5794
5795The human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured, and
5796I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions.
5797
5798A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death; my
5799ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the
5800murderer of William, of Justine, and of Clerval. Sometimes I entreated my
5801attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was
5802tormented; and at others I felt the fingers of Frankenstein already grasping
5803my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror. Fortunately, as I spoke
5804my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood me; but my gestures and
5805bitter cries were sufficient to affright the other witnesses.
5806
5807Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not
5808sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming
5809children, the only hopes of their doting parents; how many brides and
5810youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and the
5811next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials was I
5812made that I could thus resist so many shocks, which, like the turning of
5813the wheel, continually renewed the torture?
5814
5815But I was doomed to live and in two months found myself as awaking from
5816a dream, in a prison, stretched on a wretched bed, surrounded by
5817gaolers, turnkeys, bolts, and all the miserable apparatus of a dungeon.
5818It was morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understanding; I had
5819forgotten the particulars of what had happened and only felt as if some
5820great misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me; but when I looked around
5821and saw the barred windows and the squalidness of the room in which I
5822was, all flashed across my memory and I groaned bitterly.
5823
5824This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside
5825me.  She was a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her
5826countenance expressed all those bad qualities which often characterise
5827that class.  The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of
5828persons accustomed to see without sympathising in sights of misery. Her
5829tone expressed her entire indifference; she addressed me in English,
5830and the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings.
5831
5832“Are you better now, sir?” said she.
5833
5834I replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, “I believe I am;
5835but if it be all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am
5836still alive to feel this misery and horror.”
5837
5838“For that matter,” replied the old woman, “if you mean about the
5839gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you
5840were dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you!  However, that’s none
5841of my business; I am sent to nurse you and get you well; I do my duty
5842with a safe conscience; it were well if everybody did the same.”
5843
5844I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a
5845speech to a person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt
5846languid and unable to reflect on all that had passed.  The whole series
5847of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it
5848were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force
5849of reality.
5850
5851As the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew
5852feverish; a darkness pressed around me; no one was near me who soothed
5853me with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported me.  The
5854physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared
5855them for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first, and the
5856expression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the
5857second.  Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the
5858hangman who would gain his fee?
5859
5860These were my first reflections, but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had
5861shown me extreme kindness.  He had caused the best room in the prison
5862to be prepared for me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who
5863had provided a physician and a nurse.  It is true, he seldom came to
5864see me, for although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of
5865every human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and
5866miserable ravings of a murderer.  He came, therefore, sometimes to see
5867that I was not neglected, but his visits were short and with long
5868intervals.
5869
5870One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my eyes
5871half open and my cheeks livid like those in death. I was overcome by gloom
5872and misery and often reflected I had better seek death than desire to
5873remain in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness. At one time I
5874considered whether I should not declare myself guilty and suffer the
5875penalty of the law, less innocent than poor Justine had been. Such were my
5876thoughts when the door of my apartment was opened and Mr. Kirwin entered.
5877His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to
5878mine and addressed me in French,
5879
5880“I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do anything to
5881make you more comfortable?”
5882
5883“I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me; on the whole
5884earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.”
5885
5886“I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to
5887one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune.  But you will, I
5888hope, soon quit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can
5889easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge.”
5890
5891“That is my least concern; I am, by a course of strange events, become
5892the most miserable of mortals.  Persecuted and tortured as I am and
5893have been, can death be any evil to me?”
5894
5895“Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonising than the
5896strange chances that have lately occurred.  You were thrown, by some
5897surprising accident, on this shore, renowned for its hospitality,
5898seized immediately, and charged with murder.  The first sight that was
5899presented to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so
5900unaccountable a manner and placed, as it were, by some fiend across
5901your path.”
5902
5903As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on
5904this retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at
5905the knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me.  I suppose some
5906astonishment was exhibited in my countenance, for Mr. Kirwin hastened
5907to say,
5908
5909“Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that were on
5910your person were brought me, and I examined them that I might discover some
5911trace by which I could send to your relations an account of your misfortune
5912and illness. I found several letters, and, among others, one which I
5913discovered from its commencement to be from your father. I instantly wrote
5914to Geneva; nearly two months have elapsed since the departure of my letter.
5915But you are ill; even now you tremble; you are unfit for agitation of any
5916kind.”
5917
5918“This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event;
5919tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am
5920now to lament?”
5921
5922“Your family is perfectly well,” said Mr. Kirwin with
5923gentleness; “and someone, a friend, is come to visit you.”
5924
5925I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it
5926instantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my
5927misery and taunt me with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for
5928me to comply with his hellish desires.  I put my hand before my eyes,
5929and cried out in agony,
5930
5931“Oh! Take him away! I cannot see him; for God’s sake, do not
5932let him enter!”
5933
5934Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance.  He could not help
5935regarding my exclamation as a presumption of my guilt and said in
5936rather a severe tone,
5937
5938“I should have thought, young man, that the presence of your father
5939would have been welcome instead of inspiring such violent repugnance.”
5940
5941“My father!” cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed
5942from anguish to pleasure.  “Is my father indeed come?  How kind, how
5943very kind!  But where is he, why does he not hasten to me?”
5944
5945My change of manner surprised and pleased the magistrate; perhaps he
5946thought that my former exclamation was a momentary return of delirium,
5947and now he instantly resumed his former benevolence.  He rose and
5948quitted the room with my nurse, and in a moment my father entered it.
5949
5950Nothing, at this moment, could have given me greater pleasure than the
5951arrival of my father. I stretched out my hand to him and cried,
5952
5953“Are you then safe—and Elizabeth—and Ernest?”
5954
5955My father calmed me with assurances of their welfare and endeavoured, by
5956dwelling on these subjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my
5957desponding spirits; but he soon felt that a prison cannot be the abode of
5958cheerfulness. “What a place is this that you inhabit, my son!”
5959said he, looking mournfully at the barred windows and wretched appearance
5960of the room. “You travelled to seek happiness, but a fatality seems
5961to pursue you. And poor Clerval—”
5962
5963The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too
5964great to be endured in my weak state; I shed tears.
5965
5966“Alas! Yes, my father,” replied I; “some destiny of the
5967most horrible kind hangs over me, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I
5968should have died on the coffin of Henry.”
5969
5970We were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the
5971precarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that
5972could ensure tranquillity.  Mr. Kirwin came in and insisted that my
5973strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion.  But the
5974appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I
5975gradually recovered my health.
5976
5977As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black
5978melancholy that nothing could dissipate.  The image of Clerval was
5979for ever before me, ghastly and murdered.  More than once the agitation
5980into which these reflections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous
5981relapse.  Alas!  Why did they preserve so miserable and detested a
5982life?  It was surely that I might fulfil my destiny, which is now
5983drawing to a close.  Soon, oh, very soon, will death extinguish these
5984throbbings and relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears
5985me to the dust; and, in executing the award of justice, I shall also
5986sink to rest.  Then the appearance of death was distant, although the
5987wish was ever present to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours
5988motionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that
5989might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins.
5990
5991The season of the assizes approached.  I had already been three months
5992in prison, and although I was still weak and in continual danger of a
5993relapse, I was obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the country
5994town where the court was held.  Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every
5995care of collecting witnesses and arranging my defence.  I was spared
5996the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was not
5997brought before the court that decides on life and death.  The grand
5998jury rejected the bill, on its being proved that I was on the Orkney
5999Islands at the hour the body of my friend was found; and a fortnight
6000after my removal I was liberated from prison.
6001
6002My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a
6003criminal charge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh
6004atmosphere and permitted to return to my native country.  I did not
6005participate in these feelings, for to me the walls of a dungeon or a
6006palace were alike hateful.  The cup of life was poisoned for ever, and
6007although the sun shone upon me, as upon the happy and gay of heart, I
6008saw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by
6009no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me.  Sometimes
6010they were the expressive eyes of Henry, languishing in death, the dark
6011orbs nearly covered by the lids and the long black lashes that fringed
6012them; sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of Frankenstein, as I
6013first saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt.
6014
6015My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection.  He talked
6016of Geneva, which I should soon visit, of Elizabeth and Ernest; but
6017these words only drew deep groans from me.  Sometimes, indeed, I felt a
6018wish for happiness and thought with melancholy delight of my beloved
6019cousin or longed, with a devouring _maladie du pays_, to see once more
6020the blue lake and rapid Rhone, that had been so dear to me in early
6021childhood; but my general state of feeling was a torpor in which a
6022prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and
6023these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and
6024despair.  At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the
6025existence I loathed, and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance
6026to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence.
6027
6028Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally
6029triumphed over my selfish despair.  It was necessary that I should
6030return without delay to Geneva, there to watch over the lives of those
6031I so fondly loved and to lie in wait for the murderer, that if any
6032chance led me to the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to
6033blast me by his presence, I might, with unfailing aim, put an end to
6034the existence of the monstrous image which  I had endued with the
6035mockery of a soul still more monstrous.  My father still desired to
6036delay our departure, fearful that I could not sustain the fatigues of a
6037journey, for I was a shattered wreck—the shadow of a human being.  My
6038strength was gone.  I was a mere skeleton, and fever night and day
6039preyed upon my wasted frame.
6040
6041Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude and impatience,
6042my father thought it best to yield. We took our passage on board a vessel
6043bound for Havre-de-Grace and sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores.
6044It was midnight. I lay on the deck looking at the stars and listening to
6045the dashing of the waves. I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my
6046sight, and my pulse beat with a feverish joy when I reflected that I should
6047soon see Geneva. The past appeared to me in the light of a frightful dream;
6048yet the vessel in which I was, the wind that blew me from the detested
6049shore of Ireland, and the sea which surrounded me, told me too forcibly
6050that I was deceived by no vision and that Clerval, my friend and dearest
6051companion, had fallen a victim to me and Frankenstein of my creation. I
6052repassed, in my memory, my whole life; my quiet happiness while residing
6053with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my departure for
6054Ingolstadt. I remembered, shuddering, the mad enthusiasm that hurried me on
6055to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I called to mind the night in
6056which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the train of thought; a
6057thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept bitterly.
6058
6059Ever since my recovery from the fever, I had been in the custom of taking
6060every night a small quantity of laudanum, for it was by means of this drug
6061only that I was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the preservation of
6062life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfortunes, I now
6063swallowed double my usual quantity and soon slept profoundly. But sleep did
6064not afford me respite from thought and misery; my dreams presented a
6065thousand objects that scared me. Towards morning I was possessed by a kind
6066of nightmare; I felt the fiend’s grasp in my neck and could not free
6067myself from it; groans and cries rang in my ears. My father, who was
6068watching over me, perceiving my restlessness, awoke me; the dashing waves
6069were around, the cloudy sky above, the fiend was not here: a sense of
6070security, a feeling that a truce was established between the present hour
6071and the irresistible, disastrous future imparted to me a kind of calm
6072forgetfulness, of which the human mind is by its structure peculiarly
6073susceptible.
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079Chapter 22
6080
6081The voyage came to an end.  We landed, and proceeded to Paris.  I soon
6082found that I had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I
6083could continue my journey.  My father’s care and attentions were
6084indefatigable, but he did not know the origin of my sufferings and
6085sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill.  He wished me to
6086seek amusement in society.  I abhorred the face of man.  Oh, not
6087abhorred!  They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt
6088attracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an
6089angelic nature and celestial mechanism.  But I felt that I had no right
6090to share their intercourse.  I had unchained an enemy among them whose
6091joy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans.  How they
6092would, each and all, abhor me and hunt me from the world, did they know
6093my unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me!
6094
6095My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by
6096various arguments to banish my despair.  Sometimes he thought that I
6097felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of
6098murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.
6099
6100“Alas!  My father,” said I, “how little do you know me. 
6101Human beings, their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such
6102a wretch as I felt pride.  Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent
6103as I, and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause
6104of this—I murdered her.  William, Justine, and Henry—they all
6105died by my hands.”
6106
6107My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same
6108assertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an
6109explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring of
6110delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had presented
6111itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my
6112convalescence. I avoided explanation and maintained a continual silence
6113concerning the wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that I should be
6114supposed mad, and this in itself would for ever have chained my tongue. But,
6115besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill my
6116hearer with consternation and make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of
6117his breast. I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for sympathy and was
6118silent when I would have given the world to have confided the fatal secret.
6119Yet, still, words like those I have recorded would burst uncontrollably
6120from me. I could offer no explanation of them, but their truth in part
6121relieved the burden of my mysterious woe.
6122
6123Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded wonder,
6124“My dearest The Doctor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I entreat
6125you never to make such an assertion again.”
6126
6127“I am not mad,” I cried energetically; “the sun and the heavens, who
6128have viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth.  I am the
6129assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations.
6130A thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have
6131saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not
6132sacrifice the whole human race.”
6133
6134The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were
6135deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and
6136endeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts.  He wished as much as
6137possible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in
6138Ireland and never alluded to them or suffered me to speak of my
6139misfortunes.
6140
6141As time passed away I became more calm; misery had her dwelling in my
6142heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own
6143crimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them.  By the utmost
6144self-violence I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which
6145sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world, and my manners
6146were calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey
6147to the sea of ice.
6148
6149A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I received the
6150following letter from Elizabeth:
6151
6152“My dear Friend,
6153
6154“It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle
6155dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may
6156hope to see you in less than a fortnight.  My poor cousin, how much you
6157must have suffered!  I expect to see you looking even more ill than
6158when you quitted Geneva.  This winter has been passed most miserably,
6159tortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in
6160your countenance and to find that your heart is not totally void of
6161comfort and tranquillity.
6162
6163“Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable
6164a year ago, even perhaps augmented by time.  I would not disturb you at
6165this period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you, but a
6166conversation that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders
6167some explanation necessary before we meet.
6168
6169Explanation! You may possibly say, What can Elizabeth have to explain? If
6170you really say this, my questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied.
6171But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet
6172be pleased with this explanation; and in a probability of this being the
6173case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence, I
6174have often wished to express to you but have never had the courage to begin.
6175
6176“You well know, The Doctor, that our union had been the favourite plan of
6177your parents ever since our infancy.  We were told this when young, and
6178taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take
6179place.  We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I
6180believe, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But
6181as brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each
6182other without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our
6183case?  Tell me, dearest The Doctor.  Answer me, I conjure you by our mutual
6184happiness, with simple truth—Do you not love another?
6185
6186“You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at
6187Ingolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last
6188autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every
6189creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our
6190connection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of
6191your parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations.
6192But this is false reasoning.  I confess to you, my friend, that I love
6193you and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant
6194friend and companion.   But it is your happiness I desire as well as my
6195own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally
6196miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice.  Even now
6197I weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruellest
6198misfortunes, you may stifle, by the word _honour_, all hope of that
6199love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself.  I, who
6200have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries
6201tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes.  Ah! The Doctor, be assured
6202that your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be
6203made miserable by this supposition.  Be happy, my friend; and if you
6204obey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth
6205will have the power to interrupt my tranquillity.
6206
6207“Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer tomorrow, or the
6208next day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain.  My uncle
6209will send me news of your health, and if I see but one smile on your
6210lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I
6211shall need no other happiness.
6212
6213“Elizabeth Lavenza.
6214
6215
6216
6217“Geneva, May 18th, 17—”
6218
6219
6220
6221This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threat of
6222the fiend—“_I will be with you on your
6223wedding-night!_” Such was my sentence, and on that night would the
6224dæmon employ every art to destroy me and tear me from the glimpse of
6225happiness which promised partly to console my sufferings. On that night he
6226had determined to consummate his crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a
6227deadly struggle would then assuredly take place, in which if he were
6228The Doctorious I should be at peace and his power over me be at an end. If he
6229were vanquished, I should be a free man. Alas! What freedom? Such as the
6230peasant enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his
6231cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless,
6232penniless, and alone, but free. Such would be my liberty except that in my
6233Elizabeth I possessed a treasure, alas, balanced by those horrors of
6234remorse and guilt which would pursue me until death.
6235
6236Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and reread her letter, and some
6237softened feelings stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisiacal
6238dreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the
6239angel’s arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make
6240her happy. If Frankenstein executed his threat, death was inevitable; yet,
6241again, I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My
6242destruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner, but if my torturer
6243should suspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would
6244surely find other and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had vowed
6245_to be with me on my wedding-night_, yet he did not consider that
6246threat as binding him to peace in the meantime, for as if to show me that
6247he was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately
6248after the enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if my
6249immediate union with my cousin would conduce either to hers or my
6250father’s happiness, my adversary’s designs against my life
6251should not retard it a single hour.
6252
6253In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth.  My letter was calm and
6254affectionate.  “I fear, my beloved girl,” I said, “little happiness
6255remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in
6256you.  Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life
6257and my endeavours for contentment.  I have one secret, Elizabeth, a
6258dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with
6259horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only
6260wonder that I survive what I have endured.  I will confide this tale of
6261misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place,
6262for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us.  But
6263until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it.  This I most
6264earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply.”
6265
6266In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth’s letter we returned
6267to Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, yet tears were
6268in her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a
6269change in her also. She was thinner and had lost much of that heavenly
6270vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness and soft looks of
6271compassion made her a more fit companion for one blasted and miserable as I
6272was.
6273
6274The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought madness
6275with it, and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed
6276me; sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage, sometimes low and
6277despondent. I neither spoke nor looked at anyone, but sat motionless,
6278bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me.
6279
6280Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle voice
6281would soothe me when transported by passion and inspire me with human
6282feelings when sunk in torpor. She wept with me and for me. When reason
6283returned, she would remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with
6284resignation. Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the
6285guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is
6286otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief.
6287
6288Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage with
6289Elizabeth. I remained silent.
6290
6291“Have you, then, some other attachment?”
6292
6293“None on earth.  I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with
6294delight.  Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate
6295myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.”
6296
6297“My dear The Doctor, do not speak thus.  Heavy misfortunes have befallen
6298us, but let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love
6299for those whom we have lost to those who yet live.  Our circle will be
6300small but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune.
6301And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of
6302care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly
6303deprived.”
6304
6305Such were the lessons of my father.  But to me the remembrance of the
6306threat returned; nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had
6307yet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as
6308invincible, and that when he had pronounced the words “_I shall be with
6309you on your wedding-night_,” I should regard the threatened fate as
6310unavoidable.  But death was no evil to me if the loss of Elizabeth were
6311balanced with it, and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful
6312countenance, agreed with my father that if my cousin would consent, the
6313ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined,
6314the seal to my fate.
6315
6316Great God!  If for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish
6317intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself
6318for ever from my native country and wandered a friendless outcast over
6319the earth than have consented to this miserable marriage.  But, as if
6320possessed of magic powers, Frankenstein had blinded me to his real
6321intentions; and when I thought that I had prepared only my own death, I
6322hastened that of a far dearer victim.
6323
6324As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice or
6325a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed my
6326feelings by an appearance of hilarity that brought smiles and joy to the
6327countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful and nicer
6328eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placid contentment,
6329not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortunes had impressed,
6330that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness might soon dissipate
6331into an airy dream and leave no trace but deep and everlasting regret.
6332
6333Preparations were made for the event, congratulatory visits were received,
6334and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I could, in my own
6335heart the anxiety that preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness
6336into the plans of my father, although they might only serve as the
6337decorations of my tragedy. Through my father’s exertions a part of
6338the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored to her by the Austrian
6339government. A small possession on the shores of Como belonged to her. It
6340was agreed that, immediately after our union, we should proceed to Villa
6341Lavenza and spend our first days of happiness beside the beautiful lake
6342near which it stood.
6343
6344In the meantime I took every precaution to defend my person in case the
6345fiend should openly attack me.  I carried pistols and a dagger
6346constantly about me and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice, and
6347by these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity.  Indeed, as the
6348period approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be
6349regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for
6350in my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty as the day fixed
6351for its solemnisation drew nearer and I heard it continually spoken of
6352as an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent.
6353
6354Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to
6355calm her mind.  But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and my
6356destiny, she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her;
6357and perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had
6358promised to reveal to her on the following day.  My father was in the
6359meantime overjoyed, and, in the bustle of preparation, only recognised in
6360the melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride.
6361
6362After the ceremony was performed a large party assembled at my
6363father’s, but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commence our
6364journey by water, sleeping that night at Evian and continuing our
6365voyage on the following day.  The day was fair, the wind favourable;
6366all smiled on our nuptial embarkation.
6367
6368Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the
6369feeling of happiness.  We passed rapidly along; the sun was hot, but we
6370were sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy while we enjoyed the
6371beauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw
6372Mont Salêve, the pleasant banks of Montalègre, and at a distance,
6373surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc, and the assemblage of snowy
6374mountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting the
6375opposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the
6376ambition that would quit its native country, and an almost
6377insurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it.
6378
6379I took the hand of Elizabeth.  “You are sorrowful, my love.  Ah!  If
6380you knew what I have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would
6381endeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this
6382one day at least permits me to enjoy.”
6383
6384“Be happy, my dear The Doctor,” replied Elizabeth; “there is, I hope,
6385nothing to distress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not
6386painted in my face, my heart is contented.  Something whispers to me
6387not to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us, but I
6388will not listen to such a sinister voice.  Observe how fast we move
6389along and how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise
6390above the dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more
6391interesting.  Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in
6392the clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at
6393the bottom.  What a divine day!  How happy and serene all nature
6394appears!”
6395
6396Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from all
6397reflection upon melancholy subjects.  But her temper was fluctuating;
6398joy for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place
6399to distraction and reverie.
6400
6401The sun sank lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance and
6402observed its path through the chasms of the higher and the glens of the
6403lower hills.  The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached
6404the amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary.  The
6405spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it and the range
6406of mountain above mountain by which it was overhung.
6407
6408The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity,
6409sank at sunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water
6410and caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the
6411shore, from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and
6412hay.  The sun sank beneath the horizon as we landed, and as I touched
6413the shore I felt those cares and fears revive which soon were to clasp
6414me and cling to me for ever.
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420Chapter 23
6421
6422It was eight o’clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the
6423shore, enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn and
6424contemplated the lovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured
6425in darkness, yet still displaying their black outlines.
6426
6427The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence
6428in the west.  The moon had reached her summit in the heavens and was
6429beginning to descend; the clouds swept across it swifter than the
6430flight of the vulture and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the
6431scene of the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves
6432that were beginning to rise.  Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended.
6433
6434I had been calm during the day, but so soon as night obscured the
6435shapes of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind.  I was anxious
6436and watchful, while my right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in
6437my bosom; every sound terrified me, but I resolved that I would sell my
6438life dearly and not shrink from the conflict until my own life or that
6439of my adversary was extinguished.
6440
6441Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful silence,
6442but there was something in my glance which communicated terror to her, and
6443trembling, she asked, “What is it that agitates you, my dear The Doctor?
6444What is it you fear?”
6445
6446“Oh! Peace, peace, my love,” replied I; “this night, and
6447all will be safe; but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.”
6448
6449I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how
6450fearful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife,
6451and I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her
6452until I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.
6453
6454She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages
6455of the house and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to
6456my adversary.  But I discovered no trace of him and was beginning to
6457conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the
6458execution of his menaces when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful
6459scream.  It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired.  As I
6460heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the
6461motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood
6462trickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This
6463state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed
6464into the room.
6465
6466Great God! Why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the
6467destruction of the best hope and the purest creature on earth? She was
6468there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down
6469and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair. Everywhere I
6470turn I see the same figure—her bloodless arms and relaxed form flung
6471by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this and live? Alas!
6472Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated. For a moment
6473only did I lose recollection; I fell senseless on the ground.
6474
6475When I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn; their
6476countenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of others
6477appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me. I
6478escaped from them to the room where lay the body of Elizabeth, my love, my
6479wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy. She had been moved from the
6480posture in which I had first beheld her, and now, as she lay, her head upon
6481her arm and a handkerchief thrown across her face and neck, I might have
6482supposed her asleep. I rushed towards her and embraced her with ardour, but
6483the deadly languor and coldness of the limbs told me that what I now held
6484in my arms had ceased to be the Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished.
6485The murderous mark of the fiend’s grasp was on her neck, and the
6486breath had ceased to issue from her lips.
6487
6488While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look up.
6489The windows of the room had before been darkened, and I felt a kind of
6490panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber.
6491The shutters had been thrown back, and with a sensation of horror not to be
6492described, I saw at the open window a figure the most hideous and abhorred.
6493A grin was on the face of Frankenstein; he seemed to jeer, as with his
6494fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards
6495the window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me,
6496leaped from his station, and running with the swiftness of lightning,
6497plunged into the lake.
6498
6499The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to
6500the spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with
6501boats; nets were cast, but in vain.  After passing several hours, we
6502returned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a
6503form conjured up by my fancy.  After having landed, they proceeded to
6504search the country, parties going in different directions among the
6505woods and vines.
6506
6507I attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the
6508house, but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken
6509man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my
6510eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever.  In this state I
6511was carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had
6512happened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that
6513I had lost.
6514
6515After an interval I arose, and as if by instinct, crawled into the room
6516where the corpse of my beloved lay.  There were women weeping around; I
6517hung over it and joined my sad tears to theirs; all this time no
6518distinct idea presented itself to my mind, but my thoughts rambled to
6519various subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes and their
6520cause.  I was bewildered, in a cloud of wonder and horror.  The death
6521of William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly
6522of my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining
6523friends were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now
6524might be writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his
6525feet.  This idea made me shudder and recalled me to action.  I started
6526up and resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed.
6527
6528There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but the
6529wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents. However, it was
6530hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired men
6531to row and took an oar myself, for I had always experienced relief from
6532mental torment in bodily exercise. But the overflowing misery I now felt,
6533and the excess of agitation that I endured rendered me incapable of any
6534exertion. I threw down the oar, and leaning my head upon my hands, gave way
6535to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up, I saw scenes which were
6536familiar to me in my happier time and which I had contemplated but the day
6537before in the company of her who was now but a shadow and a recollection.
6538Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain had ceased for a moment, and I saw
6539the fish play in the waters as they had done a few hours before; they had
6540then been observed by Elizabeth. Nothing is so painful to the human mind as
6541a great and sudden change. The sun might shine or the clouds might lower,
6542but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before. A fiend had
6543snatched from me every hope of future happiness; no creature had ever been
6544so miserable as I was; so frightful an event is single in the history of
6545man.
6546
6547But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last
6548overwhelming event? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached their
6549_acme_, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know
6550that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left desolate. My
6551own strength is exhausted, and I must tell, in a few words, what remains of
6552my hideous narration.
6553
6554I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived, but the former sunk
6555under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable old
6556man! His eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their
6557delight—his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doted on with
6558all that affection which a man feels, who in the decline of life, having
6559few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed
6560be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs and doomed him to waste
6561in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors that were accumulated
6562around him; the springs of existence suddenly gave way; he was unable to
6563rise from his bed, and in a few days he died in my arms.
6564
6565What then became of me?  I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and
6566darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me.  Sometimes,
6567indeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales
6568with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and found myself in a
6569dungeon.  Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear
6570conception of my miseries and situation and was then released from my
6571prison.  For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I
6572understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation.
6573
6574Liberty, however, had been a useless gift to me, had I not, as I
6575awakened to reason, at the same time awakened to revenge.  As the
6576memory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect on their
6577cause—Frankenstein whom I had created, the miserable dæmon whom I had
6578sent abroad into the world for my destruction.  I was possessed by a
6579maddening rage when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed
6580that I might have him within my grasp to wreak a great and signal
6581revenge on his cursed head.
6582
6583Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to
6584reflect on the best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about
6585a month after my release, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town
6586and told him that I had an accusation to make, that I knew the
6587destroyer of my family, and that I required him to exert his whole
6588authority for the apprehension of the murderer.
6589
6590The magistrate listened to me with attention and kindness. “Be
6591assured, sir,” said he, “no pains or exertions on my part shall
6592be spared to discover the villain.”
6593
6594“I thank you,” replied I; “listen, therefore, to the
6595deposition that I have to make. It is indeed a tale so strange that I
6596should fear you would not credit it were there not something in truth
6597which, however wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to
6598be mistaken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood.” My
6599manner as I thus addressed him was impressive but calm; I had formed in my
6600own heart a resolution to pursue my destroyer to death, and this purpose
6601quieted my agony and for an interval reconciled me to life. I now related
6602my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the dates with
6603accuracy and never deviating into invective or exclamation.
6604
6605The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I continued
6606he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes shudder with
6607horror; at others a lively surprise, unmingled with disbelief, was painted
6608on his countenance.
6609
6610When I had concluded my narration, I said, “This is the being whom I
6611accuse and for whose seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your
6612whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that
6613your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those
6614functions on this occasion.”
6615
6616This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my own
6617auditor. He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is given
6618to a tale of spirits and supernatural events; but when he was called upon
6619to act officially in consequence, the whole tide of his incredulity
6620returned. He, however, answered mildly, “I would willingly afford you
6621every aid in your pursuit, but the creature of whom you speak appears to
6622have powers which would put all my exertions to defiance. Who can follow an
6623animal which can traverse the sea of ice and inhabit caves and dens where
6624no man would venture to intrude? Besides, some months have elapsed since
6625the commission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to what place he
6626has wandered or what region he may now inhabit.”
6627
6628“I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit, and if
6629he has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois
6630and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts; you do not
6631credit my narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the
6632punishment which is his desert.”
6633
6634As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated.
6635“You are mistaken,” said he. “I will exert myself, and if
6636it is in my power to seize Frankenstein, be assured that he shall suffer
6637punishment proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have
6638yourself described to be his properties, that this will prove
6639impracticable; and thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should
6640make up your mind to disappointment.”
6641
6642“That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail.  My
6643revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I
6644confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul.  My rage
6645is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned
6646loose upon society, still exists.  You refuse my just demand; I have
6647but one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to
6648his destruction.”
6649
6650I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy
6651in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness
6652which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed.  But to a Genevan
6653magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of
6654devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of
6655madness.  He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child and
6656reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium.
6657
6658“Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of
6659wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say.”
6660
6661I broke from the house angry and disturbed and retired to meditate on
6662some other mode of action.
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668Chapter 24
6669
6670My present situation was one in which all voluntary thought was
6671swallowed up and lost.  I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone
6672endowed me with strength and composure; it moulded my feelings and
6673allowed me to be calculating and calm at periods when otherwise
6674delirium or death would have been my portion.
6675
6676My first resolution was to quit Geneva for ever; my country, which, when I
6677was happy and beloved, was dear to me, now, in my adversity, became
6678hateful. I provided myself with a sum of money, together with a few jewels
6679which had belonged to my mother, and departed.
6680
6681And now my wanderings began which are to cease but with life. I have
6682traversed a vast portion of the earth and have endured all the hardships
6683which travellers in deserts and barbarous countries are wont to meet. How I
6684have lived I hardly know; many times have I stretched my failing limbs upon
6685the sandy plain and prayed for death. But revenge kept me alive; I dared
6686not die and leave my adversary in being.
6687
6688When I quitted Geneva my first labour was to gain some clue by which I
6689might trace the steps of my fiendish enemy.  But my plan was unsettled,
6690and I wandered many hours round the confines of the town, uncertain
6691what path I should pursue.  As night approached I found myself at the
6692entrance of the cemetery where William, Elizabeth, and my father
6693reposed.  I entered it and approached the tomb which marked their
6694graves.  Everything was silent except the leaves of the trees, which
6695were gently agitated by the wind; the night was nearly dark, and the
6696scene would have been solemn and affecting even to an uninterested
6697observer.  The spirits of the departed seemed to flit around and to
6698cast a shadow, which was felt but not seen, around the head of the
6699mourner.
6700
6701The deep grief which this scene had at first excited quickly gave way to
6702rage and despair. They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also lived,
6703and to destroy him I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on the grass
6704and kissed the earth and with quivering lips exclaimed, “By the
6705sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the
6706deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by thee, O Night, and the
6707spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the dæmon who caused this misery,
6708until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict. For this purpose I will
6709preserve my life; to execute this dear revenge will I again behold the sun
6710and tread the green herbage of earth, which otherwise should vanish from my
6711eyes for ever. And I call on you, spirits of the dead, and on you, wandering
6712ministers of vengeance, to aid and conduct me in my work. Let the cursed
6713and hellish monster drink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now
6714torments me.”
6715
6716I had begun my adjuration with solemnity and an awe which almost assured me
6717that the shades of my murdered friends heard and approved my devotion, but
6718the furies possessed me as I concluded, and rage choked my utterance.
6719
6720I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish
6721laugh.  It rang on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed
6722it, and I felt as if all hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter.
6723Surely in that moment I should have been possessed by frenzy and have
6724destroyed my miserable existence but that my vow was heard and that I
6725was reserved for vengeance.  The laughter died away, when a well-known
6726and abhorred voice, apparently close to my ear, addressed me in an
6727audible whisper, “I am satisfied, miserable wretch!  You have
6728determined to live, and I am satisfied.”
6729
6730I darted towards the spot from which the sound proceeded, but the devil
6731eluded my grasp.  Suddenly the broad disk of the moon arose and shone
6732full upon his ghastly and distorted shape as he fled with more than
6733mortal speed.
6734
6735I pursued him, and for many months this has been my task.  Guided by a
6736slight clue, I followed the windings of the Rhone, but vainly.  The
6737blue Mediterranean appeared, and by a strange chance, I saw the fiend
6738enter by night and hide himself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea.  I
6739took my passage in the same ship, but he escaped, I know not how.
6740
6741Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still evaded me, I
6742have ever followed in his track.  Sometimes the peasants, scared by
6743this horrid apparition, informed me of his path; sometimes he himself,
6744who feared that if I lost all trace of him I should despair and die,
6745left some mark to guide me.  The snows descended on my head, and I saw
6746the print of his huge step on the white plain.  To you first entering
6747on life, to whom care is new and agony unknown, how can you understand
6748what I have felt and still feel?  Cold, want, and fatigue were the
6749least pains which I was destined to endure; I was cursed by some devil
6750and carried about with me my eternal hell; yet still a spirit of good
6751followed and directed my steps and when I most murmured would suddenly
6752extricate me from seemingly insurmountable difficulties.  Sometimes,
6753when nature, overcome by hunger, sank under the exhaustion, a repast
6754was prepared for me in the desert that restored and inspirited me.  The
6755fare was, indeed, coarse, such as the peasants of the country ate, but
6756I will not doubt that it was set there by the spirits that I had
6757invoked to aid me.  Often, when all was dry, the heavens cloudless, and
6758I was parched by thirst, a slight cloud would bedim the sky, shed the
6759few drops that revived me, and vanish.
6760
6761I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the dæmon
6762generally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the
6763country chiefly collected.  In other places human beings were seldom
6764seen, and I generally subsisted on the wild animals that crossed my
6765path.  I had money with me and gained the friendship of the villagers
6766by distributing it; or I brought with me some food that I had killed,
6767which, after taking a small part, I always presented to those who had
6768provided me with fire and utensils for cooking.
6769
6770My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during
6771sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep! Often, when most
6772miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture. The
6773spirits that guarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours, of
6774happiness that I might retain strength to fulfil my pilgrimage. Deprived of
6775this respite, I should have sunk under my hardships. During the day I was
6776sustained and inspirited by the hope of night, for in sleep I saw my
6777friends, my wife, and my beloved country; again I saw the benevolent
6778countenance of my father, heard the silver tones of my Elizabeth’s
6779voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health and youth. Often, when wearied by
6780a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that I was dreaming until night should
6781come and that I should then enjoy reality in the arms of my dearest
6782friends. What agonising fondness did I feel for them! How did I cling to
6783their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted even my waking hours, and
6784persuade myself that they still lived! At such moments vengeance, that
6785burned within me, died in my heart, and I pursued my path towards the
6786destruction of the dæmon more as a task enjoined by heaven, as the
6787mechanical impulse of some power of which I was unconscious, than as the
6788ardent desire of my soul.
6789
6790What his feelings were whom I pursued I cannot know. Sometimes, indeed, he
6791left marks in writing on the barks of the trees or cut in stone that guided
6792me and instigated my fury. “My reign is not yet
6793over”—these words were legible in one of these
6794inscriptions—“you live, and my power is complete. Follow me; I
6795seek the everlasting ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of
6796cold and frost, to which I am impassive. You will find near this place, if
6797you follow not too tardily, a dead hare; eat and be refreshed. Come on, my
6798enemy; we have yet to wrestle for our lives, but many hard and miserable
6799hours must you endure until that period shall arrive.”
6800
6801Scoffing devil!  Again do I vow vengeance; again do I devote thee,
6802miserable fiend, to torture and death.  Never will I give up my search
6803until he or I perish; and then with what ecstasy shall I join my
6804Elizabeth and my departed friends, who even now prepare for me the
6805reward of my tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage!
6806
6807As I still pursued my journey to the northward, the snows thickened and the
6808cold increased in a degree almost too severe to support. The peasants were
6809shut up in their hovels, and only a few of the most hardy ventured forth to
6810seize the animals whom starvation had forced from their hiding-places to
6811seek for prey. The rivers were covered with ice, and no fish could be
6812procured; and thus I was cut off from my chief article of maintenance.
6813
6814The triumph of my enemy increased with the difficulty of my labours. One
6815inscription that he left was in these words: “Prepare! Your toils
6816only begin; wrap yourself in furs and provide food, for we shall soon enter
6817upon a journey where your sufferings will satisfy my everlasting
6818hatred.”
6819
6820My courage and perseverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; I
6821resolved not to fail in my purpose, and calling on Heaven to support
6822me, I continued with unabated fervour to traverse immense deserts,
6823until the ocean appeared at a distance and formed the utmost boundary
6824of the horizon.  Oh!  How unlike it was to the blue seasons of the
6825south!  Covered with ice, it was only to be distinguished from land by
6826its superior wildness and ruggedness.  The Greeks wept for joy when
6827they beheld the Mediterranean from the hills of Asia, and hailed with
6828rapture the boundary of their toils.  I did not weep, but I knelt down
6829and with a full heart thanked my guiding spirit for conducting me in
6830safety to the place where I hoped, notwithstanding my adversary’s gibe,
6831to meet and grapple with him.
6832
6833Some weeks before this period I had procured a sledge and dogs and thus
6834traversed the snows with inconceivable speed.  I know not whether the
6835fiend possessed the same advantages, but I found that, as before I had
6836daily lost ground in the pursuit, I now gained on him, so much so that
6837when I first saw the ocean he was but one day’s journey in advance, and
6838I hoped to intercept him before he should reach the beach.  With new
6839courage, therefore, I pressed on, and in two days arrived at a wretched
6840hamlet on the seashore.  I inquired of the inhabitants concerning the
6841fiend and gained accurate information.  A gigantic monster, they said,
6842had arrived the night before, armed with a gun and many pistols,
6843putting to flight the inhabitants of a solitary cottage through fear of
6844his terrific appearance.  He had carried off their store of winter
6845food, and placing it in a sledge, to draw which he had seized on a
6846numerous drove of trained dogs, he had harnessed them, and the same
6847night, to the joy of the horror-struck villagers, had pursued his
6848journey across the sea in a direction that led to no land; and they
6849conjectured that he must speedily be destroyed by the breaking of the
6850ice or frozen by the eternal  frosts.
6851
6852On hearing this information I suffered a temporary access of despair.
6853He had escaped me, and I must commence a destructive and almost endless
6854journey across the mountainous ices of the ocean, amidst cold that few
6855of the inhabitants could long endure and which I, the native of a
6856genial and sunny climate, could not hope to survive.  Yet at the idea
6857that the fiend should live and be triumphant, my rage and vengeance
6858returned, and like a mighty tide, overwhelmed every other feeling.
6859After a slight repose, during which the spirits of the dead hovered
6860round and instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for my journey.
6861
6862I exchanged my land-sledge for one fashioned for the inequalities of
6863the Frozen Ocean, and purchasing a plentiful stock of provisions, I
6864departed from land.
6865
6866I cannot guess how many days have passed since then, but I have endured
6867misery which nothing but the eternal sentiment of a just retribution
6868burning within my heart could have enabled me to support.  Immense and
6869rugged mountains of ice often barred up my passage, and I often heard
6870the thunder of the ground sea, which threatened my destruction.  But
6871again the frost came and made the paths of the sea secure.
6872
6873By the quantity of provision which I had consumed, I should guess that
6874I had passed three weeks in this journey; and the continual protraction
6875of hope, returning back upon the heart, often wrung bitter drops of
6876despondency and grief from my eyes.  Despair had indeed almost secured
6877her prey, and I should soon have sunk beneath this misery.  Once, after
6878the poor animals that conveyed me had with incredible toil gained the
6879summit of a sloping ice mountain, and one, sinking under his fatigue,
6880died, I viewed the expanse before me with anguish, when suddenly my eye
6881caught a dark speck upon the dusky plain.  I strained my sight to
6882discover what it could be and uttered a wild cry of ecstasy when I
6883distinguished a sledge and the distorted proportions of a well-known
6884form within.  Oh!  With what a burning gush did hope revisit my heart!
6885Warm tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away, that they might
6886not intercept the view I had of the dæmon; but still my sight was
6887dimmed by the burning drops, until, giving way to the emotions that
6888oppressed me, I wept aloud.
6889
6890But this was not the time for delay; I disencumbered the dogs of their
6891dead companion, gave them a plentiful portion of food, and after an
6892hour’s rest, which was absolutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly
6893irksome to me, I continued my route.  The sledge was still visible, nor
6894did I again lose sight of it except at the moments when for a short
6895time some ice-rock concealed it with its intervening crags.  I indeed
6896perceptibly gained on it, and when, after nearly two days’ journey, I
6897beheld my enemy at no more than a mile distant, my heart bounded within
6898me.
6899
6900But now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my foe, my hopes were
6901suddenly extinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I had
6902ever done before. A ground sea was heard; the thunder of its progress, as
6903the waters rolled and swelled beneath me, became every moment more ominous
6904and terrific. I pressed on, but in vain. The wind arose; the sea roared;
6905and, as with the mighty shock of an earthquake, it split and cracked with a
6906tremendous and overwhelming sound. The work was soon finished; in a few
6907minutes a tumultuous sea rolled between me and my enemy, and I was left
6908drifting on a scattered piece of ice that was continually lessening and
6909thus preparing for me a hideous death.
6910
6911In this manner many appalling hours passed; several of my dogs died, and I
6912myself was about to sink under the accumulation of distress when I saw your
6913vessel riding at anchor and holding forth to me hopes of succour and life.
6914I had no conception that vessels ever came so far north and was astounded
6915at the sight. I quickly destroyed part of my sledge to construct oars, and
6916by these means was enabled, with infinite fatigue, to move my ice raft in
6917the direction of your ship. I had determined, if you were going southwards,
6918still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas rather than abandon my
6919purpose. I hoped to induce you to grant me a boat with which I could pursue
6920my enemy. But your direction was northwards. You took me on board when my
6921vigour was exhausted, and I should soon have sunk under my multiplied
6922hardships into a death which I still dread, for my task is unfulfilled.
6923
6924Oh!  When will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the dæmon, allow
6925me the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live?  If I do,
6926swear to me, Walton, that he shall not escape, that you will seek him
6927and satisfy my vengeance in his death.  And do I dare to ask of you to
6928undertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I have undergone?
6929No; I am not so selfish.  Yet, when I am dead, if he should appear, if
6930the ministers of vengeance should conduct him to you, swear that he
6931shall not live—swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated
6932woes and survive to add to the list of his dark crimes.  He is eloquent
6933and persuasive, and once his words had even power over my heart; but
6934trust him not.  His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery
6935and fiend-like malice.  Hear him not; call on the names of William,
6936Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched The Doctor, and
6937thrust your sword into his heart.  I will hover near and direct the
6938steel aright.
6939
6940Walton, _in continuation._
6941
6942
6943August 26th, 17—.
6944
6945
6946You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not
6947feel your blood congeal with horror, like that which even now curdles
6948mine?  Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his
6949tale; at others, his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with
6950difficulty the words so replete with anguish.  His fine and lovely eyes
6951were now lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast sorrow
6952and quenched in infinite wretchedness.  Sometimes he commanded his
6953countenance and tones and related the most horrible incidents with a
6954tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a
6955volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression
6956of the wildest rage as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor.
6957
6958His tale is connected and told with an appearance of the simplest truth,
6959yet I own to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he showed me,
6960and the apparition of Frankenstein seen from our ship, brought to me a
6961greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than his asseverations,
6962however earnest and connected. Such a monster has, then, really existence!
6963I cannot doubt it, yet I am lost in surprise and admiration. Sometimes I
6964endeavoured to gain from The Doctor the particulars of his
6965creature’s formation, but on this point he was impenetrable.
6966
6967“Are you mad, my friend?” said he. “Or whither does your
6968senseless curiosity lead you? Would you also create for yourself and the
6969world a demoniacal enemy? Peace, peace! Learn my miseries and do not seek
6970to increase your own.”
6971
6972The Doctor discovered that I made notes concerning his history; he asked
6973to see them and then himself corrected and augmented them in many places,
6974but principally in giving the life and spirit to the conversations he held
6975with his enemy. “Since you have preserved my narration,” said
6976he, “I would not that a mutilated one should go down to
6977posterity.”
6978
6979Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest
6980tale that ever imagination formed.  My thoughts and every feeling of my
6981soul have been drunk up by the interest for my guest which this tale
6982and his own elevated and gentle manners have created.  I wish to soothe
6983him, yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so destitute of
6984every hope of consolation, to live?  Oh, no!  The only joy that he can
6985now know will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and
6986death.  Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and
6987delirium; he believes that when in dreams he holds converse with his
6988friends and derives from that communion consolation for his miseries or
6989excitements to his vengeance, that they are not the creations of his
6990fancy, but the beings themselves who visit him from the regions of a
6991remote world.  This faith gives a solemnity to his reveries that render
6992them to me almost as imposing and interesting as truth.
6993
6994Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and
6995misfortunes.  On every point of general literature he displays
6996unbounded knowledge and a quick and piercing apprehension.  His
6997eloquence is forcible and touching; nor can I hear him, when he relates
6998a pathetic incident or endeavours to move the passions of pity or love,
6999without tears.  What a glorious creature must he have been in the days
7000of his prosperity, when he is thus noble and godlike in ruin!  He seems
7001to feel his own worth and the greatness of his fall.
7002
7003“When younger,” said he, “I believed myself destined for
7004some great enterprise. My feelings are profound, but I possessed a coolness
7005of judgment that fitted me for illustrious achievements. This sentiment of
7006the worth of my nature supported me when others would have been oppressed,
7007for I deemed it criminal to throw away in useless grief those talents that
7008might be useful to my fellow creatures. When I reflected on the work I had
7009completed, no less a one than the creation of a sensitive and rational
7010animal, I could not rank myself with the herd of common projectors. But
7011this thought, which supported me in the commencement of my career, now
7012serves only to plunge me lower in the dust. All my speculations and hopes
7013are as nothing, and like the archangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am
7014chained in an eternal hell. My imagination was vivid, yet my powers of
7015analysis and application were intense; by the union of these qualities I
7016conceived the idea and executed the creation of a man. Even now I cannot
7017recollect without passion my reveries while the work was incomplete. I trod
7018heaven in my thoughts, now exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea
7019of their effects. From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty
7020ambition; but how am I sunk! Oh! My friend, if you had known me as I once
7021was, you would not recognise me in this state of degradation. Despondency
7022rarely visited my heart; a high destiny seemed to bear me on, until I fell,
7023never, never again to rise.”
7024
7025Must I then lose this admirable being? I have longed for a friend; I have
7026sought one who would sympathise with and love me. Behold, on these desert
7027seas I have found such a one, but I fear I have gained him only to know his
7028value and lose him. I would reconcile him to life, but he repulses the idea.
7029
7030“I thank you, Walton,” he said, “for your kind intentions towards so
7031miserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties and fresh
7032affections, think you that any can replace those who are gone?  Can any
7033man be to me as Clerval was, or any woman another Elizabeth?  Even
7034where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence,
7035the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our
7036minds which hardly any later friend can obtain.  They know our
7037infantine dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified,
7038are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more
7039certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives.  A sister or a
7040brother can never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early,
7041suspect the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend,
7042however strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be
7043contemplated with suspicion.  But I enjoyed friends, dear not only
7044through habit and association, but from their own merits; and wherever
7045I am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth and the conversation of
7046Clerval will be ever whispered in my ear. They are dead, and but one
7047feeling in such a solitude can persuade me to preserve my life.  If I
7048were engaged in any high undertaking or design, fraught with extensive
7049utility to my fellow creatures, then could I live to fulfil it.  But
7050such is not my destiny; I must pursue and destroy the being to whom I
7051gave existence; then my lot on earth will be fulfilled and I may die.”
7052
7053My beloved Sister,
7054
7055September 2d.
7056
7057
7058I write to you, encompassed by peril and ignorant whether I am ever
7059doomed to see again dear England and the dearer friends that inhabit
7060it.  I am surrounded by mountains of ice which admit of no escape and
7061threaten every moment to crush my vessel.  The brave fellows whom I
7062have persuaded to be my companions look towards me for aid, but I have
7063none to bestow.  There is something terribly appalling in our
7064situation, yet my courage and hopes do not desert me.  Yet it is
7065terrible to reflect that the lives of all these men are endangered
7066through me.  If we are lost, my mad schemes are the cause.
7067
7068And what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind? You will not hear of my
7069destruction, and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass, and
7070you will have visitings of despair and yet be tortured by hope. Oh! My
7071beloved sister, the sickening failing of your heart-felt expectations is,
7072in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death. But you have a husband
7073and lovely children; you may be happy. Heaven bless you and make you so!
7074
7075My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion.  He
7076endeavours to fill me with hope and talks as if life were a possession
7077which he valued.  He reminds me how often the same accidents have
7078happened to other navigators who have attempted this sea, and in spite
7079of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries.  Even the sailors feel
7080the power of his eloquence; when he speaks, they no longer despair; he
7081rouses their energies, and while they hear his voice they believe these
7082vast mountains of ice are mole-hills which will vanish before the
7083resolutions of man.  These feelings are transitory; each day of
7084expectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny
7085caused by this despair.
7086
7087September 5th.
7088
7089
7090A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest that, although it is
7091highly probable that these papers may never reach you, yet I cannot
7092forbear recording it.
7093
7094We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger
7095of being crushed in their conflict.  The cold is excessive, and many of
7096my unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of
7097desolation.  The Doctor has daily declined in health; a feverish fire
7098still glimmers in his eyes, but he is exhausted, and when suddenly
7099roused to any exertion, he speedily sinks again into apparent
7100lifelessness.
7101
7102I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny.
7103This morning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend—his
7104eyes half closed and his limbs hanging listlessly—I was roused by half
7105a dozen of the sailors, who demanded admission into the cabin.  They
7106entered, and their leader addressed me.  He told me that he and his
7107companions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in deputation
7108to me to make me a requisition which, in justice, I could not refuse.
7109We were immured in ice and should probably never escape, but they
7110feared that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate and a free
7111passage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage and
7112lead them into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted
7113this.  They insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn
7114promise that if the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my
7115course southwards.
7116
7117This speech troubled me.  I had not despaired, nor had I yet conceived
7118the idea of returning if set free.  Yet could I, in justice, or even in
7119possibility, refuse this demand?  I hesitated before I answered, when
7120The Doctor, who had at first been silent, and indeed appeared hardly
7121to have force enough to attend, now roused himself; his eyes sparkled,
7122and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour.  Turning towards the men,
7123he said,
7124
7125“What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you, then,
7126so easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious
7127expedition? “And wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was
7128smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and
7129terror, because at every new incident your fortitude was to be called forth
7130and your courage exhibited, because danger and death surrounded it, and
7131these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this
7132was it an honourable undertaking. You were hereafter to be hailed as the
7133benefactors of your species, your names adored as belonging to brave men
7134who encountered death for honour and the benefit of mankind. And now,
7135behold, with the first imagination of danger, or, if you will, the first
7136mighty and terrific trial of your courage, you shrink away and are content
7137to be handed down as men who had not strength enough to endure cold and
7138peril; and so, poor souls, they were chilly and returned to their warm
7139firesides. Why, that requires not this preparation; ye need not have come
7140thus far and dragged your captain to the shame of a defeat merely to prove
7141yourselves cowards. Oh! Be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your
7142purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your
7143hearts may be; it is mutable and cannot withstand you if you say that it
7144shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace
7145marked on your brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered and
7146who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe.”
7147
7148He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings expressed
7149in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and heroism, that can
7150you wonder that these men were moved? They looked at one another and were
7151unable to reply. I spoke; I told them to retire and consider of what had
7152been said, that I would not lead them farther north if they strenuously
7153desired the contrary, but that I hoped that, with reflection, their courage
7154would return.
7155
7156They retired and I turned towards my friend, but he was sunk in languor and
7157almost deprived of life.
7158
7159How all this will terminate, I know not, but I had rather die than
7160return shamefully, my purpose unfulfilled.  Yet I fear such will be my
7161fate; the men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never
7162willingly continue to endure their present hardships.
7163
7164September 7th.
7165
7166
7167The die is cast; I have consented to return if we are not destroyed.
7168Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back
7169ignorant and disappointed.  It requires more philosophy than I possess
7170to bear this injustice with patience.
7171
7172September 12th.
7173
7174
7175It is past; I am returning to England.  I have lost my hopes of utility
7176and glory; I have lost my friend.  But I will endeavour to detail these
7177bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and while I am wafted
7178towards England and towards you, I will not despond.
7179
7180September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were heard
7181at a distance as the islands split and cracked in every direction. We were
7182in the most imminent peril, but as we could only remain passive, my chief
7183attention was occupied by my unfortunate guest whose illness increased in
7184such a degree that he was entirely confined to his bed. The ice cracked
7185behind us and was driven with force towards the north; a breeze sprang from
7186the west, and on the 11th the passage towards the south became perfectly
7187free. When the sailors saw this and that their return to their native
7188country was apparently assured, a shout of tumultuous joy broke from them,
7189loud and long-continued. The Doctor, who was dozing, awoke and asked the
7190cause of the tumult. “They shout,” I said, “because they
7191will soon return to England.”
7192
7193“Do you, then, really return?”
7194
7195“Alas!  Yes; I cannot withstand their demands.  I cannot lead them
7196unwillingly to danger, and I must return.”
7197
7198“Do so, if you will; but I will not.  You may give up your purpose, but
7199mine is assigned to me by Heaven, and I dare not.  I am weak, but
7200surely the spirits who assist my vengeance will endow me with
7201sufficient strength.”  Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the
7202bed, but the exertion was too great for him; he fell back and fainted.
7203
7204It was long before he was restored, and I often thought that life was
7205entirely extinct.  At length he opened his eyes; he breathed with
7206difficulty and was unable to speak.  The surgeon gave him a composing
7207draught and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the meantime he
7208told me that my friend had certainly not many hours to live.
7209
7210His sentence was pronounced, and I could only grieve and be patient. I sat
7211by his bed, watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he slept; but
7212presently he called to me in a feeble voice, and bidding me come near,
7213said, “Alas! The strength I relied on is gone; I feel that I shall
7214soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in being. Think
7215not, Walton, that in the last moments of my existence I feel that burning
7216hatred and ardent desire of revenge I once expressed; but I feel myself
7217justified in desiring the death of my adversary. During these last days I
7218have been occupied in examining my past conduct; nor do I find it blamable.
7219In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a rational creature and was
7220bound towards him to assure, as far as was in my power, his happiness and
7221well-being. This was my duty, but there was another still paramount to
7222that. My duties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to
7223my attention because they included a greater proportion of happiness or
7224misery. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, to
7225create a companion for the first creature. He showed unparalleled malignity
7226and selfishness in evil; he destroyed my friends; he devoted to destruction
7227beings who possessed exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom; nor do I
7228know where this thirst for vengeance may end. Miserable himself that he may
7229render no other wretched, he ought to die. The task of his destruction was
7230mine, but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious motives, I
7231asked you to undertake my unfinished work, and I renew this request now,
7232when I am only induced by reason and virtue.
7233
7234“Yet I cannot ask you to renounce your country and friends to fulfil
7235this task; and now that you are returning to England, you will have
7236little chance of meeting with him.  But the consideration of these
7237points, and the well balancing of what you may esteem your duties, I
7238leave to you; my judgment and ideas are already disturbed by the near
7239approach of death.  I dare not ask you to do what I think right, for I
7240may still be misled by passion.
7241
7242“That he should live to be an instrument of mischief disturbs me; in
7243other respects, this hour, when I momentarily expect my release, is the
7244only happy one which I have enjoyed for several years.  The forms of
7245the beloved dead flit before me, and I hasten to their arms.  Farewell,
7246Walton!  Seek happiness in tranquillity and avoid ambition, even if it
7247be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in
7248science and discoveries.  Yet why do I say this?  I have myself been
7249blasted in these hopes, yet another may succeed.”
7250
7251His voice became fainter as he spoke, and at length, exhausted by his
7252effort, he sank into silence.  About half an hour afterwards he
7253attempted again to speak but was unable; he pressed my hand feebly, and
7254his eyes closed for ever, while the irradiation of a gentle smile passed
7255away from his lips.
7256
7257Margaret, what comment can I make on the untimely extinction of this
7258glorious spirit?  What can I say that will enable you to understand the
7259depth of my sorrow?  All that I should express would be inadequate and
7260feeble.  My tears flow; my mind is overshadowed by a cloud of
7261disappointment.  But I journey towards England, and I may there find
7262consolation.
7263
7264I am interrupted.  What do these sounds portend?  It is midnight; the
7265breeze blows fairly, and the watch on deck scarcely stir.  Again there
7266is a sound as of a human voice, but hoarser; it comes from the cabin
7267where the remains of The Doctor still lie.  I must arise and examine.
7268Good night, my sister.
7269
7270Great God! what a scene has just taken place! I am yet dizzy with the
7271remembrance of it. I hardly know whether I shall have the power to detail
7272it; yet the tale which I have recorded would be incomplete without this
7273final and wonderful catastrophe.
7274
7275I entered the cabin where lay the remains of my ill-fated and admirable
7276friend. Over him hung a form which I cannot find words to
7277describe—gigantic in stature, yet uncouth and distorted in its
7278proportions. As he hung over the coffin, his face was concealed by long
7279locks of ragged hair; but one vast hand was extended, in colour and
7280apparent texture like that of a mummy. When he heard the sound of my
7281approach, he ceased to utter exclamations of grief and horror and sprung
7282towards the window. Never did I behold a vision so horrible as his face, of
7283such loathsome yet appalling hideousness. I shut my eyes involuntarily and
7284endeavoured to recollect what were my duties with regard to this destroyer.
7285I called on him to stay.
7286
7287He paused, looking on me with wonder, and again turning towards the
7288lifeless form of his creator, he seemed to forget my presence, and
7289every feature and gesture seemed instigated by the wildest rage of some
7290uncontrollable passion.
7291
7292“That is also my victim!” he exclaimed. “In his murder my
7293crimes are consummated; the miserable series of my being is wound to its
7294close! Oh, The Doctor! Generous and self-devoted being! What does it
7295avail that I now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee
7296by destroying all thou lovedst. Alas! He is cold, he cannot answer
7297me.”
7298
7299His voice seemed suffocated, and my first impulses, which had suggested to
7300me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend in destroying his
7301enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion. I
7302approached this tremendous being; I dared not again raise my eyes to his
7303face, there was something so scaring and unearthly in his ugliness. I
7304attempted to speak, but the words died away on my lips. Frankenstein
7305continued to utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At length I
7306gathered resolution to address him in a pause of the tempest of his passion.
7307
7308“Your repentance,” I said, “is now superfluous. If you
7309had listened to the voice of conscience and heeded the stings of remorse
7310before you had urged your diabolical vengeance to this extremity,
7311The Doctor would yet have lived.”
7312
7313“And do you dream?” said the dæmon.  “Do you think that I was then
7314dead to agony and remorse?  He,” he continued, pointing to the corpse,
7315“he suffered not in the consummation of the deed. Oh!  Not the
7316ten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine during the
7317lingering detail of its execution.  A frightful selfishness hurried me
7318on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse.  Think you that the
7319groans of Clerval were music to my ears?  My heart was fashioned to be
7320susceptible of love and sympathy, and when wrenched by misery to vice
7321and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without
7322torture such as you cannot even imagine.
7323
7324“After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland, heart-broken
7325and overcome.  I pitied The Doctor; my pity amounted to horror; I
7326abhorred myself.  But when I discovered that he, the author at once of
7327my existence and of its unspeakable torments, dared to hope for
7328happiness, that while he accumulated wretchedness and despair upon me
7329he sought his own enjoyment in feelings and passions from the
7330indulgence of which I was for ever barred, then impotent envy and bitter
7331indignation filled me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance.  I
7332recollected my threat and resolved that it should be accomplished.  I
7333knew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I was the
7334slave, not the master, of an impulse which I detested yet could not
7335disobey.  Yet when she died!  Nay, then I was not miserable.  I had
7336cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in the excess of my
7337despair.  Evil thenceforth became my good.  Urged thus far, I had no
7338choice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly
7339chosen.  The completion of my demoniacal design became an insatiable
7340passion.  And now it is ended; there is my last victim!”
7341
7342I was at first touched by the expressions of his misery; yet, when I called
7343to mind what The Doctor had said of his powers of eloquence and
7344persuasion, and when I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my
7345friend, indignation was rekindled within me. “Wretch!” I said.
7346“It is well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you
7347have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and when they are
7348consumed, you sit among the ruins and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend!
7349If he whom you mourn still lived, still would he be the object, again would
7350he become the prey, of your accursed vengeance. It is not pity that you
7351feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn
7352from your power.”
7353
7354“Oh, it is not thus—not thus,” interrupted the being.
7355“Yet such must be the impression conveyed to you by what appears to
7356be the purport of my actions. Yet I seek not a fellow feeling in my misery.
7357No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of
7358virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being
7359overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now that virtue has
7360become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into
7361bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am
7362content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure; when I die, I am
7363well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory. Once
7364my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once
7365I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would
7366love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was
7367nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has
7368degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, no
7369malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the
7370frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same
7371creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent
7372visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the
7373fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man
7374had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.
7375
7376“You, who call The Doctor your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my
7377crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them
7378he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured
7379wasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did
7380not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still
7381I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned.  Was there no
7382injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all
7383humankind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix, who drove his
7384friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic
7385who sought to destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous
7386and immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an
7387abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my
7388blood boils at the recollection of this injustice.
7389
7390“But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and
7391the helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and grasped to
7392death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have
7393devoted my creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love and
7394admiration among men, to misery; I have pursued him even to that
7395irremediable ruin. There he lies, white and cold in death. You hate me, but
7396your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself. I look on the
7397hands which executed the deed; I think on the heart in which the
7398imagination of it was conceived and long for the moment when these hands
7399will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts no more.
7400
7401“Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work
7402is nearly complete. Neither yours nor any man’s death is needed to
7403consummate the series of my being and accomplish that which must be done,
7404but it requires my own. Do not think that I shall be slow to perform this
7405sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice raft which brought me
7406thither and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall
7407collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its
7408remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch who would
7409create such another as I have been. I shall die. I shall no longer feel the
7410agonies which now consume me or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet
7411unquenched. He is dead who called me into being; and when I shall be no
7412more, the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish. I shall no
7413longer see the sun or stars or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light,
7414feeling, and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I find my
7415happiness. Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first
7416opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer and heard the
7417rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to
7418me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by
7419crimes and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in
7420death?
7421
7422“Farewell!  I leave you, and in you the last of humankind whom these
7423eyes will ever behold. Farewell, The Doctor! If thou wert yet alive
7424and yet cherished a desire of revenge against me, it would be better
7425satiated in my life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou
7426didst seek my extinction, that I might not cause greater wretchedness;
7427and if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hadst not ceased to think
7428and feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than
7429that which I feel. Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to
7430thine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my
7431wounds until death shall close them for ever.
7432
7433“But soon,” he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, “I
7434shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning
7435miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and
7436exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration
7437will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit
7438will sleep in peace, or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus.
7439Farewell.”
7440
7441He sprang from the cabin-window as he said this, upon the ice raft
7442which lay close to the vessel.  He was soon borne away by the waves and
7443lost in darkness and distance.
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Doctor, by
7449Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley
7450
7451*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK The Doctor ***
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