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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.  
1581
1582Away to the window I flew like a flash,
1583tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. 
1584From the storm, the flashes and claps they did grow,
1585giving a lustre of midday to objects below.
1586I raised up my plinth and brought it out in stress, 
1587The sky then split open before a morose sharp quiesce.
1588
1589It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the
1590panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the
1591half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature
1592open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.
1593
1594How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate
1595the wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to
1596form?  His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as
1597beautiful.  Beautiful!  Great God!  His yellow skin scarcely covered
1598the work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous
1599black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these
1600luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes,
1601that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets in which
1602they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.
1603
1604The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings
1605of human nature.  I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole
1606purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body.  For this I had
1607deprived myself of rest and health.  I had desired it with an ardour
1608that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty
1609of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my
1610heart.  Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I
1611rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing my
1612bed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep.  At length lassitude
1613succeeded to the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the
1614bed in my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness.
1615But it was in vain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest
1616dreams.  I thought I saw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in
1617the streets of Ingolstadt.  Delighted and surprised, I embraced her,
1618but as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with
1619the hue of death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I
1620held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her
1621form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.
1622I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my
1623teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and
1624yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window
1625shutters, I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster whom I had
1626created.  He held up the curtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they
1627may be called, were fixed on me.  His jaws opened, and he muttered some
1628inarticulate sounds, while a grin wrinkled his cheeks.  He might have
1629spoken, but I did not hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to
1630detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs.  I took refuge in the
1631courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where I remained
1632during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatest
1633agitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if
1634it were to announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I
1635had so miserably given life.
1636
1637Oh!  No mortal could support the horror of that countenance.  A mummy
1638again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch.  I
1639had gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those
1640muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing
1641such as even Dante could not have conceived.
1642
1643I passed the night wretchedly.  Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and
1644hardly that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly
1645sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness.  Mingled with
1646this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had
1647been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space were now become a
1648hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!
1649
1650Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned and discovered to my
1651sleepless and aching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple
1652and clock, which indicated the sixth hour.  The porter opened the gates
1653of the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into
1654the streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the
1655wretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my
1656view.  I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but
1657felt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rain which poured
1658from a black and comfortless sky.
1659
1660I continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring by
1661bodily exercise to ease the load that weighed upon my mind.  I
1662traversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or
1663what I was doing.  My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear, and I
1664hurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me:
1665  
1666  Like one who, on a lonely road,
1667  Doth walk in fear and dread,
1668  And, having once turned round, walks on,
1669  And turns no more his head;
1670  Because he knows a frightful fiend
1671  Doth close behind him tread.
1672  
1673  [Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner.”]
1674
1675
1676
1677Continuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the various
1678diligences and carriages usually stopped. Here I paused, I knew not why;
1679but I remained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a coach that was coming
1680towards me from the other end of the street. As it drew nearer I observed
1681that it was the Swiss diligence; it stopped just where I was standing, and
1682on the door being opened, I perceived Henry Clerval, who, on seeing me,
1683instantly sprung out. “My dear The Doctor,” exclaimed he,
1684“how glad I am to see you! How fortunate that you should be here at
1685the very moment of my alighting!”
1686
1687Nothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence brought back
1688to my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes of home so dear
1689to my recollection. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my horror
1690and misfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the first time during many months,
1691calm and serene joy. I welcomed my friend, therefore, in the most cordial
1692manner, and we walked towards my college. Clerval continued talking for
1693some time about our mutual friends and his own good fortune in being
1694permitted to come to Ingolstadt. “You may easily believe,” said
1695he, “how great was the difficulty to persuade my father that all
1696necessary knowledge was not comprised in the noble art of book-keeping;
1697and, indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his constant
1698answer to my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of the Dutch
1699schoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: ‘I have ten thousand florins
1700a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.’ But his
1701affection for me at length overcame his dislike of learning, and he has
1702permitted me to undertake a voyage of discovery to the land of
1703knowledge.”
1704
1705“It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left
1706my father, brothers, and Elizabeth.”
1707
1708“Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from
1709you so seldom.  By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their
1710account myself.  But, my dear The Doctor,” continued he, stopping
1711short and gazing full in my face, “I did not before remark how very ill
1712you appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for
1713several nights.”
1714
1715“You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one
1716occupation that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see;
1717but I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an
1718end and that I am at length free.”
1719
1720I trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far less to
1721allude to, the occurrences of the preceding night.  I walked with a
1722quick pace, and we soon arrived at my college.  I then reflected, and
1723the thought made me shiver, that the creature whom I had left in my
1724apartment might still be there, alive and walking about.  I dreaded to
1725behold this monster, but I feared still more that Henry should see him.
1726Entreating him, therefore, to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the
1727stairs, I darted up towards my own room.  My hand was already on the
1728lock of the door before I recollected myself.  I then paused, and a
1729cold shivering came over me.  I threw the door forcibly open, as
1730children are accustomed to do when they expect a spectre to stand in
1731waiting for them on the other side; but nothing appeared.  I stepped
1732fearfully in:  the apartment was empty, and my bedroom was also freed
1733from its hideous guest.  I could hardly believe that so great a good
1734fortune could have befallen me, but when I became assured that my enemy
1735had indeed fled, I clapped my hands for joy and ran down to Clerval.
1736
1737We ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought breakfast;
1738but I was unable to contain myself.  It was not joy only that possessed
1739me; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse
1740beat rapidly.  I was unable to remain for a single instant in the same
1741place; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud.
1742Clerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy on his arrival,
1743but when he observed me more attentively, he saw a wildness in my eyes
1744for which he could not account, and my loud, unrestrained, heartless
1745laughter frightened and astonished him.
1746
1747“My dear The Doctor,” cried he, “what, for God’s sake,
1748is the matter?  Do not laugh in that manner.  How ill you are!  What is the
1749cause of all this?”
1750
1751“Do not ask me,” cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I
1752thought I saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; “_he_ can
1753tell. Oh, save me!  Save me!”  I imagined that Frankenstein seized me;
1754I struggled furiously and fell down in a fit.
1755
1756Poor Clerval!  What must have been his feelings?  A meeting, which he
1757anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness.  But I
1758was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not
1759recover my senses for a long, long time.
1760
1761This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for
1762several months.  During all that time Henry was my only nurse.  I
1763afterwards learned that, knowing my father’s advanced age and unfitness
1764for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make
1765Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my
1766disorder.  He knew that I could not have a more kind and attentive
1767nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery, he
1768did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest
1769action that he could towards them.
1770
1771But I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded and
1772unremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life.
1773The form of Frankenstein on whom I had bestowed existence was for ever
1774before my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him.  Doubtless my
1775words surprised Henry; he at first believed them to be the wanderings
1776of my disturbed imagination, but the pertinacity with which I
1777continually recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder
1778indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.
1779
1780By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and
1781grieved my friend, I recovered.  I remember the first time I became
1782capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I
1783perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared and that the young
1784buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window.  It was
1785a divine spring, and the season contributed greatly to my
1786convalescence.  I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in
1787my bosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as
1788cheerful as before I was attacked by the fatal passion.
1789
1790“Dearest Clerval,” exclaimed I, “how kind, how very good
1791you are to me. This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you
1792promised yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever
1793repay you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I
1794have been the occasion, but you will forgive me.”
1795
1796“You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get
1797well as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I
1798may speak to you on one subject, may I not?”
1799
1800I trembled. One subject! What could it be? Could he allude to an object on
1801whom I dared not even think?
1802
1803“Compose yourself,” said Clerval, who observed my change of
1804colour, “I will not mention it if it agitates you; but your father
1805and cousin would be very happy if they received a letter from you in your
1806own handwriting. They hardly know how ill you have been and are uneasy at
1807your long silence.”
1808
1809“Is that all, my dear Henry?  How could you suppose that my first
1810thought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and
1811who are so deserving of my love?”
1812
1813“If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad
1814to see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from
1815your cousin, I believe.”
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821Chapter 6
1822
1823Clerval then put the following letter into my hands.  It was from my
1824own Elizabeth:
1825
1826“My dearest Cousin,
1827
1828“You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear
1829kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account.  You are
1830forbidden to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear The Doctor,
1831is necessary to calm our apprehensions.  For a long time I have thought
1832that each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have
1833restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt.  I have
1834prevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so
1835long a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to
1836perform it myself!  I figure to myself that the task of attending on
1837your sickbed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never
1838guess your wishes nor minister to them with the care and affection of
1839your poor cousin.  Yet that is over now:  Clerval writes that indeed
1840you are getting better.  I eagerly hope that you will confirm this
1841intelligence soon in your own handwriting.
1842
1843“Get well—and return to us.  You will find a happy, cheerful home and
1844friends who love you dearly.  Your father’s health is vigorous, and he
1845asks but to see you, but to be assured that you are well; and not a
1846care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance.  How pleased you would
1847be to remark the improvement of our Ernest!  He is now sixteen and full
1848of activity and spirit.  He is desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter
1849into foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his
1850elder brother returns to us.  My uncle is not pleased with the idea of
1851a military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your
1852powers of application.  He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his
1853time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the
1854lake.  I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point
1855and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected.
1856
1857“Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken
1858place since you left us.  The blue lake and snow-clad mountains—they
1859never change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are
1860regulated by the same immutable laws.  My trifling occupations take up
1861my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing
1862none but happy, kind faces around me.  Since you left us, but one
1863change has taken place in our little household.  Do you remember on
1864what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family?  Probably you do not;
1865I will relate her history, therefore in a few words.  Madame Moritz,
1866her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the
1867third.  This girl had always been the favourite of her father, but
1868through a strange perversity, her mother could not endure her, and
1869after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill.  My aunt observed
1870this, and when Justine was twelve years of age, prevailed on her mother
1871to allow her to live at our house.  The republican institutions of our
1872country have produced simpler and happier manners than those which
1873prevail in the great monarchies that surround it.  Hence there is less
1874distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants; and the
1875lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners are
1876more refined and moral.  A servant in Geneva does not mean the same
1877thing as a servant in France and England.  Justine, thus received in
1878our family, learned the duties of a servant, a condition which, in our
1879fortunate country, does not include the idea of ignorance and a
1880sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.
1881
1882“Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I
1883recollect you once remarked that if you were in an ill humour, one
1884glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that
1885Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so
1886frank-hearted and happy.  My aunt conceived a great attachment for her,
1887by which she was induced to give her an education superior to that
1888which she had at first intended.  This benefit was fully repaid;
1889Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world:  I do not
1890mean that she made any professions I never heard one pass her lips, but
1891you could see by her eyes that she almost adored her protectress.
1892Although her disposition was gay and in many respects inconsiderate,
1893yet she paid the greatest attention to every gesture of my aunt.  She
1894thought her the model of all excellence and endeavoured to imitate her
1895phraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds me of her.
1896
1897“When my dearest aunt died every one was too much occupied in their own
1898grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness
1899with the most anxious affection.  Poor Justine was very ill; but other
1900trials were reserved for her.
1901
1902“One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the
1903exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless.  The
1904conscience of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the
1905deaths of her favourites was a judgement from heaven to chastise her
1906partiality.  She was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor
1907confirmed the idea which she had conceived.  Accordingly, a few months
1908after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her
1909repentant mother.  Poor girl!  She wept when she quitted our house; she
1910was much altered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness
1911and a winning mildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable
1912for vivacity.  Nor was her residence at her mother’s house of a nature
1913to restore her gaiety.  The poor woman was very vacillating in her
1914repentance.  She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness,
1915but much oftener accused her of having caused the deaths of her
1916brothers and sister.  Perpetual fretting at length threw Madame Moritz
1917into a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she is
1918now at peace for ever.  She died on the first approach of cold weather,
1919at the beginning of this last winter.  Justine has just returned to us;
1920and I assure you I love her tenderly.  She is very clever and gentle,
1921and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her mien and her
1922expression continually remind me of my dear aunt.
1923
1924“I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling
1925William.  I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with
1926sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair.  When he
1927smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with
1928health.  He has already had one or two little _wives,_ but Louisa Biron
1929is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.
1930
1931“Now, dear The Doctor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little
1932gossip concerning the good people of Geneva.  The pretty Miss Mansfield
1933has already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching
1934marriage with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq.  Her ugly
1935sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your
1936favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes
1937since the departure of Clerval from Geneva.  But he has already
1938recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a
1939lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier.  She is a widow, and much
1940older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with
1941everybody.
1942
1943“I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety
1944returns upon me as I conclude.  Write, dearest The Doctor,—one line—one
1945word will be a blessing to us.  Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his
1946kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely
1947grateful.  Adieu!  my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat
1948you, write!
1949
1950“Elizabeth Lavenza.
1951
1952
1953“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.”
1954
1955
1956
1957“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed, when I had read her
1958letter: “I will write instantly and relieve them from the anxiety
1959they must feel.” I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but
1960my convalescence had commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another
1961fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.
1962
1963One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the
1964several professors of the university.  In doing this, I underwent a
1965kind of rough usage, ill befitting the wounds that my mind had
1966sustained.  Ever since the fatal night, the end of my labours, and the
1967beginning of my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even
1968to the name of natural philosophy.  When I was otherwise quite restored
1969to health, the sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony
1970of my nervous symptoms.  Henry saw this, and had removed all my
1971apparatus from my view.  He had also changed my apartment; for he
1972perceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had
1973previously been my laboratory.  But these cares of Clerval were made of
1974no avail when I visited the professors.  M. Waldman inflicted torture
1975when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I
1976had made in the sciences.  He soon perceived that I disliked the
1977subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed my feelings to
1978modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to the science
1979itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out.  What
1980could I do?  He meant to please, and he tormented me.  I felt as if he
1981had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which
1982were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel death.  I
1983writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt.
1984Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick in discerning the
1985sensations of others, declined the subject, alleging, in excuse, his
1986total ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn.  I
1987thanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak.  I saw plainly
1988that he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from
1989me; and although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence
1990that knew no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide in
1991him that event which was so often present to my recollection, but which
1992I feared the detail to another would only impress more deeply.
1993
1994M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of
1995almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even
1996more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. “D—n
1997the fellow!” cried he; “why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has
1998outstript us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A
1999youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly
2000as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if
2001he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Ay,
2002ay,” continued he, observing my face expressive of suffering,
2003“M. The Doctor is modest; an excellent quality in a young man.
2004Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval: I was
2005myself when young; but that wears out in a very short time.”
2006
2007M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned
2008the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.
2009
2010Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and his
2011literary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me.  He
2012came to the university with the design of making himself complete
2013master of the oriental languages, and thus he should open a field for
2014the plan of life he had marked out for himself.  Resolved to pursue no
2015inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording
2016scope for his spirit of enterprise.  The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit
2017languages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on
2018the same studies.  Idleness had ever been irksome to me, and now that I
2019wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I felt
2020great relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not
2021only instruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists.  I
2022did not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for
2023I did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary
2024amusement.  I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well
2025repaid my labours.  Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy
2026elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studying the authors of
2027any other country.  When you read their writings, life appears to
2028consist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns
2029of a fair enemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart.  How
2030different from the manly and heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!
2031
2032Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was
2033fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several
2034accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable,
2035and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring.  I felt this
2036delay very bitterly; for I longed to see my native town and my beloved
2037friends.  My return had only been delayed so long, from an
2038unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had become
2039acquainted with any of its inhabitants.  The winter, however, was spent
2040cheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came
2041its beauty compensated for its dilatoriness.
2042
2043The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily
2044which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a
2045pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a
2046personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited.  I acceded
2047with pleasure to this proposition:  I was fond of exercise, and Clerval
2048had always been my favourite companion in the ramble of this nature
2049that I had taken among the scenes of my native country.
2050
2051We passed a fortnight in these perambulations:  my health and spirits
2052had long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the
2053salubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and
2054the conversation of my friend.  Study had before secluded me from the
2055intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but
2056Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught
2057me to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children.
2058Excellent friend!  how sincerely you did love me, and endeavour to
2059elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own.  A selfish
2060pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and
2061affection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature
2062who, a few years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care.
2063When happy, inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most
2064delightful sensations.  A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with
2065ecstasy.  The present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring
2066bloomed in the hedges, while those of summer were already in bud.  I
2067was undisturbed by thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed
2068upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an
2069invincible burden.
2070
2071Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he
2072exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled
2073his soul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly
2074astonishing: his conversation was full of imagination; and very often, in
2075imitation of the Persian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of wonderful
2076fancy and passion. At other times he repeated my favourite poems, or drew
2077me out into arguments, which he supported with great ingenuity.
2078
2079We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the peasants were
2080dancing, and every one we met appeared gay and happy. My own spirits were
2081high, and I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity.
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087Chapter 7
2088
2089On my return, I found the following letter from my father:—
2090
2091“My dear The Doctor,
2092
2093“You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of
2094your return to us; and I was at first tempted to write only a few
2095lines, merely mentioning the day on which I should expect you.  But
2096that would be a cruel kindness, and I dare not do it.  What would be
2097your surprise, my son, when you expected a happy and glad welcome, to
2098behold, on the contrary, tears and wretchedness?  And how, The Doctor, can
2099I relate our misfortune?  Absence cannot have rendered you callous to
2100our joys and griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on my long absent
2101son?  I wish to prepare you for the woeful news, but I know it is
2102impossible; even now your eye skims over the page to seek the words
2103which are to convey to you the horrible tidings.
2104
2105“William is dead!—that sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed
2106my heart, who was so gentle, yet so gay!  The Doctor, he is murdered!
2107
2108“I will not attempt to console you; but will simply relate the
2109circumstances of the transaction.
2110
2111“Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to
2112walk in Plainpalais.  The evening was warm and serene, and we prolonged
2113our walk farther than usual.  It was already dusk before we thought of
2114returning; and then we discovered that William and Ernest, who had gone
2115on before, were not to be found.  We accordingly rested on a seat until
2116they should return.  Presently Ernest came, and enquired if we had seen
2117his brother; he said, that he had been playing with him, that William
2118had run away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him, and
2119afterwards waited for a long time, but that he did not return.
2120
2121“This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search for him
2122until night fell, when Elizabeth conjectured that he might have
2123returned to the house.  He was not there.  We returned again, with
2124torches; for I could not rest, when I thought that my sweet boy had
2125lost himself, and was exposed to all the damps and dews of night;
2126Elizabeth also suffered extreme anguish.  About five in the morning I
2127discovered my lovely boy, whom the night before I had seen blooming and
2128active in health, stretched on the grass livid and motionless; the
2129print of the murder’s finger was on his neck.
2130
2131“He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my
2132countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth.  She was very earnest to
2133see the corpse.  At first I attempted to prevent her but she persisted,
2134and entering the room where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the
2135victim, and clasping her hands exclaimed, ‘O God!  I have murdered my
2136darling child!’
2137
2138“She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty.  When she again
2139lived, it was only to weep and sigh.  She told me, that that same
2140evening William had teased her to let him wear a very valuable
2141miniature that she possessed of your mother.  This picture is gone, and
2142was doubtless the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed.  We
2143have no trace of him at present, although our exertions to discover him
2144are unremitted; but they will not restore my beloved William!
2145
2146“Come, dearest The Doctor; you alone can console Elizabeth.  She weeps
2147continually, and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of his death;
2148her words pierce my heart.  We are all unhappy; but will not that be an
2149additional motive for you, my son, to return and be our comforter?
2150Your dear mother!  Alas, The Doctor!  I now say, Thank God she did not live
2151to witness the cruel, miserable death of her youngest darling!
2152
2153“Come, The Doctor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin,
2154but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of
2155festering, the wounds of our minds.  Enter the house of mourning, my
2156friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not
2157with hatred for your enemies.
2158
2159“Your affectionate and afflicted father,
2160
2161“Alphonse The Doctor.
2162
2163
2164
2165“Geneva, May 12th, 17—.”
2166
2167
2168
2169Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was
2170surprised to observe the despair that succeeded the joy I at first
2171expressed on receiving new from my friends.  I threw the letter on the
2172table, and covered my face with my hands.
2173
2174“My dear The Doctor,” exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me
2175weep with bitterness, “are you always to be unhappy?  My dear friend,
2176what has happened?”
2177
2178I motioned him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the
2179room in the extremest agitation.  Tears also gushed from the eyes of
2180Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune.
2181
2182“I can offer you no consolation, my friend,” said he;
2183“your disaster is irreparable.  What do you intend to do?”
2184
2185“To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses.”
2186
2187During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation;
2188he could only express his heartfelt sympathy.  “Poor William!” said he,
2189“dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother!  Who that had
2190seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his
2191untimely loss!  To die so miserably; to feel the murderer’s grasp!  How
2192much more a murdered that could destroy radiant innocence!  Poor little
2193fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but
2194he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever.
2195A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain.  He can no longer
2196be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable
2197survivors.”
2198
2199Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words
2200impressed themselves on my mind and I remembered them afterwards in
2201solitude.  But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a
2202cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend.
2203
2204My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed
2205to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; but when I
2206drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could hardly sustain
2207the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I passed through
2208scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen for nearly six years.
2209How altered every thing might be during that time! One sudden and
2210desolating change had taken place; but a thousand little circumstances
2211might have by degrees worked other alterations, which, although they were
2212done more tranquilly, might not be the less decisive. Fear overcame me; I
2213dared no advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils that made me tremble,
2214although I was unable to define them.
2215
2216I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I
2217contemplated the lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; and the
2218snowy mountains, “the palaces of nature,” were not changed. By
2219degrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my journey
2220towards Geneva.
2221
2222The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I
2223approached my native town.  I discovered more distinctly the black
2224sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc.  I wept like a
2225child.  “Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your
2226wanderer?  Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and
2227placid.  Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?”
2228
2229I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on
2230these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative
2231happiness, and I think of them with pleasure.  My country, my beloved
2232country! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again
2233beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely
2234lake!
2235
2236Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night also
2237closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still
2238more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I
2239foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human
2240beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single
2241circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not
2242conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was destined to endure.
2243
2244It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the gates
2245of the town were already shut; and I was obliged to pass the night at
2246Secheron, a village at the distance of half a league from the city. The sky
2247was serene; and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot
2248where my poor William had been murdered. As I could not pass through the
2249town, I was obliged to cross the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais.
2250During this short voyage I saw the lightning playing on the summit of Mont
2251Blanc in the most beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach
2252rapidly, and, on landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its
2253progress. It advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain
2254coming slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased.
2255
2256I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm
2257increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash
2258over my head.  It was echoed from Salêve, the Juras, and the Alps of
2259Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the
2260lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant
2261every thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself
2262from the preceding flash.  The storm, as is often the case in
2263Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The
2264most violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over the part of the
2265lake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of
2266Copêt. Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another
2267darkened and sometimes disclosed the Môle, a peaked mountain to the
2268east of the lake.
2269
2270While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with
2271a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my
2272hands, and exclaimed aloud, “William, dear angel! this is thy
2273funeral, this thy dirge!” As I said these words, I perceived in the
2274gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I stood
2275fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning
2276illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me; its
2277gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect more hideous than belongs
2278to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the filthy
2279dæmon, to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could he be (I
2280shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No sooner did that
2281idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of its truth; my teeth
2282chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree for support. The figure
2283passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in human shape could
2284have destroyed the fair child. _He_ was the murderer! I could not
2285doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the
2286fact. I thought of pursuing the devil; but it would have been in vain, for
2287another flash discovered him to me hanging among the rocks of the nearly
2288perpendicular ascent of Mont Salêve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the
2289south. He soon reached the summit, and disappeared.
2290
2291I remained motionless.  The thunder ceased; but the rain still
2292continued, and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness.  I
2293revolved in my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget:
2294the whole train of my progress toward the creation; the appearance of
2295the works of my own hands at my bedside; its departure.  Two years had
2296now nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and
2297was this his first crime?  Alas!  I had turned loose into the world a
2298depraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he not
2299murdered my brother?
2300
2301No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the
2302night, which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air.  But I did not
2303feel the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in
2304scenes of evil and despair.  I considered the being whom I had cast
2305among mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes
2306of horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light
2307of my own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave, and forced
2308to destroy all that was dear to me.
2309
2310Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town.  The gates were
2311open, and I hastened to my father’s house.  My first thought was to
2312discover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be
2313made.  But I paused when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A
2314being whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at
2315midnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain.  I
2316remembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at
2317the time that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of
2318delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable.  I well knew that
2319if any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have
2320looked upon it as the ravings of insanity.  Besides, the strange nature
2321of the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited
2322as to persuade my relatives to commence it.  And then of what use would
2323be pursuit?  Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the
2324overhanging sides of Mont Salêve?  These reflections determined me, and
2325I resolved to remain silent.
2326
2327It was about five in the morning when I entered my father’s house.  I
2328told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library
2329to attend their usual hour of rising.
2330
2331Six years had elapsed, passed in a dream but for one indelible trace, and I
2332stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father before my
2333departure for Ingolstadt. Beloved and venerable parent! He still remained
2334to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over the
2335mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my father’s
2336desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of despair, kneeling
2337by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was rustic, and her cheek pale;
2338but there was an air of dignity and beauty, that hardly permitted the
2339sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a miniature of William; and my
2340tears flowed when I looked upon it. While I was thus engaged, Ernest
2341entered: he had heard me arrive, and hastened to welcome me:
2342“Welcome, my dearest The Doctor,” said he. “Ah! I wish you
2343had come three months ago, and then you would have found us all joyous and
2344delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which nothing can
2345alleviate; yet your presence will, I hope, revive our father, who seems
2346sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions will induce poor
2347Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self-accusations.—Poor
2348William! he was our darling and our pride!”
2349
2350Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother’s eyes; a sense of mortal
2351agony crept over my frame.  Before, I had only imagined the
2352wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and
2353a not less terrible, disaster.  I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more
2354minutely concerning my father, and here I named my cousin.
2355
2356“She most of all,” said Ernest, “requires consolation; she accused
2357herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her
2358very wretched.  But since the murderer has been discovered—”
2359
2360“The murderer discovered!  Good God! how can that be? who could attempt
2361to pursue him?  It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the
2362winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw.  I saw him too; he
2363was free last night!”
2364
2365“I do not know what you mean,” replied my brother, in accents of
2366wonder, “but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery.  No
2367one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be
2368convinced, notwithstanding all the evidence.  Indeed, who would credit
2369that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all the family,
2370could suddenly become so capable of so frightful, so appalling a crime?”
2371
2372“Justine Moritz!  Poor, poor girl, is she the accused?  But it is
2373wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?”
2374
2375“No one did at first; but several circumstances came out, that have
2376almost forced conviction upon us; and her own behaviour has been so
2377confused, as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear,
2378leaves no hope for doubt.  But she will be tried today, and you will
2379then hear all.”
2380
2381He then related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William
2382had been discovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her
2383bed for several days.  During this interval, one of the servants,
2384happening to examine the apparel she had worn on the night of the
2385murder, had discovered in her pocket the picture of my mother, which
2386had been judged to be the temptation of the murderer.  The servant
2387instantly showed it to one of the others, who, without saying a word to
2388any of the family, went to a magistrate; and, upon their deposition,
2389Justine was apprehended.  On being charged with the fact, the poor girl
2390confirmed the suspicion in a great measure by her extreme confusion of
2391manner.
2392
2393This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I replied
2394earnestly, “You are all mistaken; I know the murderer.  Justine, poor,
2395good Justine, is innocent.”
2396
2397At that instant my father entered.  I saw unhappiness deeply impressed
2398on his countenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me cheerfully; and,
2399after we had exchanged our mournful greeting, would have introduced
2400some other topic than that of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed,
2401“Good God, papa!  The Doctor says that he knows who was the murderer of
2402poor William.”
2403
2404“We do also, unfortunately,” replied my father, “for indeed I had
2405rather have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much
2406depravity and ungratitude in one I valued so highly.”
2407
2408“My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent.”
2409
2410“If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty.  She is to be
2411tried today, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted.”
2412
2413This speech calmed me.  I was firmly convinced in my own mind that
2414Justine, and indeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder.  I
2415had no fear, therefore, that any circumstantial evidence could be
2416brought forward strong enough to convict her.  My tale was not one to
2417announce publicly; its astounding horror would be looked upon as
2418madness by the vulgar.  Did any one indeed exist, except I, the
2419creator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, in the
2420existence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance
2421which I had let loose upon the world?
2422
2423We were soon joined by Elizabeth.  Time had altered her since I last
2424beheld her; it had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of
2425her childish years.  There was the same candour, the same vivacity, but
2426it was allied to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect.
2427She welcomed me with the greatest affection.  “Your arrival, my dear
2428cousin,” said she, “fills me with hope.  You perhaps will find some
2429means to justify my poor guiltless Justine.  Alas! who is safe, if she
2430be convicted of crime?  I rely on her innocence as certainly as I do
2431upon my own.  Our misfortune is doubly hard to us; we have not only
2432lost that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely
2433love, is to be torn away by even a worse fate.  If she is condemned, I
2434never shall know joy more.  But she will not, I am sure she will not;
2435and then I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little
2436William.”
2437
2438“She is innocent, my Elizabeth,” said I, “and that shall
2439be proved; fear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance
2440of her acquittal.”
2441
2442“How kind and generous you are! every one else believes in her guilt,
2443and that made me wretched, for I knew that it was impossible:  and to
2444see every one else prejudiced in so deadly a manner rendered me
2445hopeless and despairing.”  She wept.
2446
2447“Dearest niece,” said my father, “dry your tears. If she
2448is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the
2449activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of
2450partiality.”
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456Chapter 8
2457
2458We passed a few sad hours until eleven o’clock, when the trial was to
2459commence.  My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend
2460as witnesses, I accompanied them to the court.  During the whole of
2461this wretched mockery of justice I suffered living torture.  It was to
2462be decided whether the result of my curiosity and lawless devices would
2463cause the death of two of my fellow beings:  one a smiling babe full of
2464innocence and joy, the other far more dreadfully murdered, with every
2465aggravation of infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror.
2466Justine also was a girl of merit and possessed qualities which promised
2467to render her life happy; now all was to be obliterated in an
2468ignominious grave, and I the cause!  A thousand times rather would I
2469have confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine, but I
2470was absent when it was committed, and such a declaration would have
2471been considered as the ravings of a madman and would not have
2472exculpated her who suffered through me.
2473
2474The appearance of Justine was calm.  She was dressed in mourning, and
2475her countenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her
2476feelings, exquisitely beautiful.  Yet she appeared confident in
2477innocence and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by
2478thousands, for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have
2479excited was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the
2480imagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed.  She
2481was tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as
2482her confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she
2483worked up her mind to an appearance of courage.  When she entered the
2484court she threw her eyes round it and quickly discovered where we were
2485seated.  A tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she quickly
2486recovered herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to attest
2487her utter guiltlessness.
2488
2489The trial began, and after the advocate against her had stated the
2490charge, several witnesses were called.  Several strange facts combined
2491against her, which might have staggered anyone who had not such proof
2492of her innocence as I had.  She had been out the whole of the night on
2493which the murder had been committed and towards morning had been
2494perceived by a market-woman not far from the spot where the body of the
2495murdered child had been afterwards found.  The woman asked her what she
2496did there, but she looked very strangely and only returned a confused
2497and unintelligible answer.  She returned to the house about eight
2498o’clock, and when one inquired where she had passed the night, she
2499replied that she had been looking for the child and demanded earnestly
2500if anything had been heard concerning him.  When shown the body, she
2501fell into violent hysterics and kept her bed for several days.  The
2502picture was then produced which the servant had found in her pocket;
2503and when Elizabeth, in a faltering voice, proved that it was the same
2504which, an hour before the child had been missed, she had placed round
2505his neck, a murmur of horror and indignation filled the court.
2506
2507Justine was called on for her defence.  As the trial had proceeded, her
2508countenance had altered.  Surprise, horror, and misery were strongly
2509expressed.  Sometimes she struggled with her tears, but when she was
2510desired to plead, she collected her powers and spoke in an audible
2511although variable voice.
2512
2513“God knows,” she said, “how entirely I am innocent. But I
2514do not pretend that my protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence
2515on a plain and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced
2516against me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my
2517judges to a favourable interpretation where any circumstance appears
2518doubtful or suspicious.”
2519
2520She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed
2521the evening of the night on which the murder had been committed at the
2522house of an aunt at Chêne, a village situated at about a league from
2523Geneva.  On her return, at about nine o’clock, she met a man who asked
2524her if she had seen anything of the child who was lost.  She was
2525alarmed by this account and passed several hours in looking for him,
2526when the gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain
2527several hours of the night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being
2528unwilling to call up the inhabitants, to whom she was well known.  Most
2529of the night she spent here watching; towards morning she believed that
2530she slept for a few minutes; some steps disturbed her, and she awoke.
2531It was dawn, and she quitted her asylum, that she might again endeavour
2532to find my brother.  If she had gone near the spot where his body lay,
2533it was without her knowledge.  That she had been bewildered when
2534questioned by the market-woman was not surprising, since she had passed
2535a sleepless night and the fate of poor William was yet uncertain.
2536Concerning the picture she could give no account.
2537
2538“I know,” continued the unhappy victim, “how heavily and
2539fatally this one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of
2540explaining it; and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left
2541to conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been
2542placed in my pocket. But here also I am checked. I believe that I have no
2543enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to destroy me
2544wantonly. Did the murderer place it there? I know of no opportunity
2545afforded him for so doing; or, if I had, why should he have stolen the
2546jewel, to part with it again so soon?
2547
2548“I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for
2549hope.  I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my
2550character, and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed
2551guilt, I must be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on my
2552innocence.”
2553
2554Several witnesses were called who had known her for many years, and
2555they spoke well of her; but fear and hatred of the crime of which they
2556supposed her guilty rendered them timorous and unwilling to come
2557forward.  Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent
2558dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accused,
2559when, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address
2560the court.
2561
2562“I am,” said she, “the cousin of the unhappy child who
2563was murdered, or rather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived
2564with his parents ever since and even long before his birth. It may
2565therefore be judged indecent in me to come forward on this occasion, but
2566when I see a fellow creature about to perish through the cowardice of her
2567pretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say what I
2568know of her character. I am well acquainted with the accused. I have lived
2569in the same house with her, at one time for five and at another for nearly
2570two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable and
2571benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame The Doctor, my aunt, in
2572her last illness, with the greatest affection and care and afterwards
2573attended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a manner that excited
2574the admiration of all who knew her, after which she again lived in my
2575uncle’s house, where she was beloved by all the family. She was
2576warmly attached to the child who is now dead and acted towards him like a
2577most affectionate mother. For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that,
2578notwithstanding all the evidence produced against her, I believe and rely
2579on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for such an action; as to
2580the bauble on which the chief proof rests, if she had earnestly desired it,
2581I should have willingly given it to her, so much do I esteem and value
2582her.”
2583
2584A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth’s simple and powerful
2585appeal, but it was excited by her generous interference, and not in
2586favour of poor Justine, on whom the public indignation was turned with
2587renewed violence, charging her with the blackest ingratitude.  She
2588herself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer.  My own
2589agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial.  I believed
2590in her innocence; I knew it.  Could the dæmon who had (I did not for a
2591minute doubt) murdered my brother also in his hellish sport have
2592betrayed the innocent to death and ignominy?  I could not sustain the
2593horror of my situation, and when I perceived that the popular voice and
2594the countenances of the judges had already condemned my unhappy victim,
2595I rushed out of the court in agony.  The tortures of the accused did
2596not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of
2597remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.
2598
2599I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness.  In the morning I went to
2600the court; my lips and throat were parched.  I dared not ask the fatal
2601question, but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my
2602visit.  The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine
2603was condemned.
2604
2605I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt.  I had before
2606experienced sensations of horror, and I have endeavoured to bestow upon
2607them adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the
2608heart-sickening despair that I then endured.  The person to whom I
2609addressed myself added that Justine had already confessed her guilt.
2610“That evidence,” he observed, “was hardly required in so glaring a
2611case, but I am glad of it, and, indeed, none of our judges like to
2612condemn a criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so
2613decisive.”
2614
2615This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean?  Had
2616my eyes deceived me?  And was I really as mad as the whole world would
2617believe me to be if I disclosed the object of my suspicions?  I
2618hastened to return home, and Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result.
2619
2620“My cousin,” replied I, “it is decided as you may have expected; all
2621judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty
2622should escape.  But she has confessed.”
2623
2624This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness upon
2625Justine’s innocence. “Alas!” said she. “How shall I
2626ever again believe in human goodness? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as
2627my sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray?
2628Her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and yet she has
2629committed a murder.”
2630
2631Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire to see my
2632cousin. My father wished her not to go but said that he left it to her own
2633judgment and feelings to decide. “Yes,” said Elizabeth,
2634“I will go, although she is guilty; and you, The Doctor, shall accompany
2635me; I cannot go alone.” The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet
2636I could not refuse.
2637
2638We entered the gloomy prison chamber and beheld Justine sitting on some
2639straw at the farther end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested on
2640her knees. She rose on seeing us enter, and when we were left alone with
2641her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My
2642cousin wept also.
2643
2644“Oh, Justine!” said she.  “Why did you rob me of my last consolation?
2645I relied on your innocence, and although I was then very wretched, I
2646was not so miserable as I am now.”
2647
2648“And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked?  Do you also
2649join with my enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?” Her
2650voice was suffocated with sobs.
2651
2652“Rise, my poor girl,” said Elizabeth; “why do you kneel,
2653if you are innocent? I am not one of your enemies, I believed you
2654guiltless, notwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you had
2655yourself declared your guilt. That report, you say, is false; and be
2656assured, dear Justine, that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a
2657moment, but your own confession.”
2658
2659“I did confess, but I confessed a lie.  I confessed, that I might
2660obtain absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than
2661all my other sins.  The God of heaven forgive me!  Ever since I was
2662condemned, my confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced,
2663until I almost began to think that I was Frankenstein that he said I
2664was.  He threatened excommunication and hell fire in my last moments if
2665I continued obdurate.  Dear lady, I had none to support me; all looked
2666on me as a wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition.  What could I do?
2667In an evil hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I truly
2668miserable.”
2669
2670She paused, weeping, and then continued, “I thought with horror, my
2671sweet lady, that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed
2672aunt had so highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable
2673of a crime which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated.
2674Dear William! dearest blessed child!  I soon shall see you again in
2675heaven, where we shall all be happy; and that consoles me, going as I
2676am to suffer ignominy and death.”
2677
2678“Oh, Justine!  Forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you.
2679Why did you confess?  But do not mourn, dear girl.  Do not fear.  I
2680will proclaim, I will prove your innocence.  I will melt the stony
2681hearts of your enemies by my tears and prayers.  You shall not die!
2682You, my playfellow, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold!
2683No!  No!  I never could survive so horrible a misfortune.”
2684
2685Justine shook her head mournfully.  “I do not fear to die,” she said;
2686“that pang is past.  God raises my weakness and gives me courage to
2687endure the worst.  I leave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember
2688me and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the
2689fate awaiting me.  Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to
2690the will of heaven!”
2691
2692During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison room,
2693where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me.  Despair!
2694Who dared talk of that?  The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass
2695the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such
2696deep and bitter agony.  I gnashed my teeth and ground them together,
2697uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul.  Justine started.  When
2698she saw who it was, she approached me and said, “Dear sir, you are very
2699kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?”
2700
2701I could not answer.  “No, Justine,” said Elizabeth; “he is more
2702convinced of your innocence than I was, for even when he heard that you
2703had confessed, he did not credit it.”
2704
2705“I truly thank him.  In these last moments I feel the sincerest
2706gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness.  How sweet is
2707the affection of others to such a wretch as I am!  It removes more than
2708half my misfortune, and I feel as if I could die in peace now that my
2709innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin.”
2710
2711Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself.  She indeed
2712gained the resignation she desired.  But I, the true murderer, felt the
2713never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or
2714consolation.  Elizabeth also wept and was unhappy, but hers also was
2715the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair
2716moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish its brightness.  Anguish and
2717despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within
2718me which nothing could extinguish.  We stayed several hours with
2719Justine, and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear
2720herself away.  “I wish,” cried she, “that I were to die with you; I
2721cannot live in this world of misery.”
2722
2723Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty
2724repressed her bitter tears.  She embraced Elizabeth and said in a voice
2725of half-suppressed emotion, “Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth,
2726my beloved and only friend; may heaven, in its bounty, bless and
2727preserve you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever
2728suffer!  Live, and be happy, and make others so.”
2729
2730And on the morrow Justine died.  Elizabeth’s heart-rending eloquence
2731failed to move the judges from their settled conviction in the
2732criminality of the saintly sufferer.  My passionate and indignant
2733appeals were lost upon them.  And when I received their cold answers
2734and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed
2735avowal died away on my lips.  Thus I might proclaim myself a madman,
2736but not revoke the sentence passed upon my wretched victim.  She
2737perished on the scaffold as a murderess!
2738
2739From the tortures of my own heart, I turned to contemplate the deep and
2740voiceless grief of my Elizabeth.  This also was my doing!  And my
2741father’s woe, and the desolation of that late so smiling home all was
2742the work of my thrice-accursed hands!  Ye weep, unhappy ones, but these
2743are not your last tears!  Again shall you raise the funeral wail, and
2744the sound of your lamentations shall again and again be heard!
2745The Doctor, your son, your kinsman, your early, much-loved friend; he
2746who would spend each vital drop of blood for your sakes, who has no
2747thought nor sense of joy except as it is mirrored also in your dear
2748countenances, who would fill the air with blessings and spend his life
2749in serving you—he bids you weep, to shed countless tears; happy beyond
2750his hopes, if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if the destruction
2751pause before the peace of the grave have succeeded to your sad torments!
2752
2753Thus spoke my prophetic soul, as, torn by remorse, horror, and despair,
2754I beheld those I loved spend vain sorrow upon the graves of William and
2755Justine, the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts.
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761Chapter 9
2762
2763Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have
2764been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of
2765inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope
2766and fear.  Justine died, she rested, and I was alive.  The blood flowed
2767freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my
2768heart which nothing could remove.  Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered
2769like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond
2770description horrible, and more, much more (I persuaded myself) was yet
2771behind.  Yet my heart overflowed with kindness and the love of virtue.
2772I had begun life with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the moment
2773when I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow
2774beings.  Now all was blasted; instead of that serenity of conscience
2775which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and
2776from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and
2777the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures
2778such as no language can describe.
2779
2780This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had perhaps never
2781entirely recovered from the first shock it had sustained.  I shunned
2782the face of man; all sound of joy or complacency was torture to me;
2783solitude was my only consolation—deep, dark, deathlike solitude.
2784
2785My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my disposition
2786and habits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the feelings of his
2787serene conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with fortitude and
2788awaken in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which brooded over me.
2789“Do you think, The Doctor,” said he, “that I do not suffer
2790also? No one could love a child more than I loved your
2791brother”—tears came into his eyes as he spoke—“but
2792is it not a duty to the survivors that we should refrain from augmenting
2793their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty
2794owed to yourself, for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment,
2795or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for
2796society.”
2797
2798This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I
2799should have been the first to hide my grief and console my friends if
2800remorse had not mingled its bitterness, and terror its alarm, with my
2801other sensations.  Now I could only answer my father with a look of
2802despair and endeavour to hide myself from his view.
2803
2804About this time we retired to our house at Belrive.  This change was
2805particularly agreeable to me.  The shutting of the gates regularly at
2806ten o’clock and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that
2807hour had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome
2808to me.  I was now free.  Often, after the rest of the family had
2809retired for the night, I took the boat and passed many hours upon the
2810water.  Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and
2811sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to
2812pursue its own course and gave way to my own miserable reflections.  I
2813was often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only
2814unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and
2815heavenly—if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and
2816interrupted croaking was heard only when I approached the shore—often,
2817I say, I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters
2818might close over me and my calamities for ever.  But I was restrained,
2819when I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly
2820loved, and whose existence was bound up in mine.  I thought also of my
2821father and surviving brother; should I by my base desertion leave them
2822exposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose
2823among them?
2824
2825At these moments I wept bitterly and wished that peace would revisit my
2826mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that
2827could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of
2828unalterable evils, and I lived in daily fear lest Frankenstein whom I had
2829created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure feeling
2830that all was not over and that he would still commit some signal crime,
2831which by its enormity should almost efface the recollection of the past.
2832There was always scope for fear so long as anything I loved remained
2833behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be conceived. When I thought of
2834him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to
2835extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I
2836reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds
2837of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the
2838Andes, could I, when there, have precipitated him to their base. I wished
2839to see him again, that I might wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence on his
2840head and avenge the deaths of William and Justine.
2841
2842Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply
2843shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and
2844desponding; she no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations; all
2845pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe and tears she
2846then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence so blasted
2847and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth
2848wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our
2849future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from
2850the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest
2851smiles.
2852
2853“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of
2854Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before
2855appeared to me.  Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and
2856injustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient
2857days or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to
2858reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men
2859appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other’s blood.  Yet I am
2860certainly unjust.  Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty; and
2861if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly
2862she would have been the most depraved of human creatures.  For the sake
2863of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend,
2864a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if
2865it had been her own!  I could not consent to the death of any human
2866being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to
2867remain in the society of men.  But she was innocent.  I know, I feel
2868she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me.
2869Alas!  The Doctor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can
2870assure themselves of certain happiness?  I feel as if I were walking on
2871the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding and
2872endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss.  William and Justine were
2873assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free,
2874and perhaps respected.  But even if I were condemned to suffer on the
2875scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a
2876wretch.”
2877
2878I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony.  I, not in deed,
2879but in effect, was the true murderer.  Elizabeth read my anguish in my
2880countenance, and kindly taking my hand, said, “My dearest friend, you
2881must calm yourself.  These events have affected me, God knows how
2882deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are.  There is an expression of
2883despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me
2884tremble.  Dear The Doctor, banish these dark passions.  Remember the
2885friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you.  Have we lost
2886the power of rendering you happy?  Ah!  While we love, while we are
2887true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native
2888country, we may reap every tranquil blessing—what can disturb our
2889peace?”
2890
2891And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every
2892other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my
2893heart?  Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at
2894that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her.
2895
2896Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of
2897heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were
2898ineffectual.  I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial
2899influence could penetrate.  The wounded deer dragging its fainting
2900limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had
2901pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me.
2902
2903Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, but
2904sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily
2905exercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable
2906sensations.  It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left
2907my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought
2908in the magnificence, the eternity of such scenes, to forget myself and
2909my ephemeral, because human, sorrows.  My wanderings were directed
2910towards the valley of Chamounix.  I had visited it frequently during my
2911boyhood.  Six years had passed since then: _I_ was a wreck, but nought
2912had changed in those savage and enduring scenes.
2913
2914I performed the first part of my journey on horseback.  I afterwards
2915hired a mule, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive
2916injury on these rugged roads.  The weather was fine; it was about the
2917middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of
2918Justine, that miserable epoch from which I dated all my woe.  The
2919weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in
2920the ravine of Arve.  The immense mountains and precipices that overhung
2921me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and
2922the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty as
2923Omnipotence—and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less
2924almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here
2925displayed in their most terrific guise.  Still, as I ascended higher,
2926the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character.
2927Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains, the
2928impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from
2929among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty.  But it was
2930augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and
2931shining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another
2932earth, the habitations of another race of beings.
2933
2934I passed the bridge of Pélissier, where the ravine, which the river
2935forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that
2936overhangs it.  Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix.  This
2937valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and
2938picturesque as that of Servox, through which I had just passed.  The
2939high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries, but I saw no
2940more ruined castles and fertile fields.  Immense glaciers approached
2941the road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche and
2942marked the smoke of its passage.  Mont Blanc, the supreme and
2943magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding _aiguilles_,
2944and its tremendous _dôme_ overlooked the valley.
2945
2946A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this
2947journey.  Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and
2948recognised, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the
2949lighthearted gaiety of boyhood.  The very winds whispered in soothing
2950accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more.  Then again the
2951kindly influence ceased to act—I found myself fettered again to grief
2952and indulging in all the misery of reflection.  Then I spurred on my
2953animal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all,
2954myself—or, in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on
2955the grass, weighed down by horror and despair.
2956
2957At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix.  Exhaustion succeeded
2958to the extreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured.
2959For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid
2960lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of
2961the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath.  The same lulling sounds
2962acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head
2963upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed
2964the giver of oblivion.
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970Chapter 10
2971
2972I spent the following day roaming through the valley.  I stood beside
2973the sources of the Arveiron, which take their rise in a glacier, that
2974with slow pace is advancing down from the summit of the hills to
2975barricade the valley.  The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before
2976me; the icy wall of the glacier overhung me; a few shattered pines were
2977scattered around; and the solemn silence of this glorious
2978presence-chamber of imperial Nature was broken only by the brawling
2979waves or the fall of some vast fragment, the thunder sound of the
2980avalanche or the cracking, reverberated along the mountains, of the
2981accumulated ice, which, through the silent working of immutable laws,
2982was ever and anon rent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in
2983their hands.  These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the
2984greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving.  They elevated me
2985from all littleness of feeling, and although they did not remove my
2986grief, they subdued and tranquillised it.  In some degree, also, they
2987diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the
2988last month.  I retired to rest at night; my slumbers, as it were,
2989waited on and ministered to by the assemblance of grand shapes which I
2990had contemplated during the day.  They congregated round me; the
2991unstained snowy mountain-top, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods,
2992and ragged bare ravine, the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds—they all
2993gathered round me and bade me be at peace.
2994
2995Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke?  All of
2996soul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every
2997thought.  The rain was pouring in torrents, and thick mists hid the
2998summits of the mountains, so that I even saw not the faces of those
2999mighty friends.  Still I would penetrate their misty veil and seek them
3000in their cloudy retreats.  What were rain and storm to me?  My mule was
3001brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of
3002Montanvert.  I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous
3003and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it.
3004It had then filled me with a sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the
3005soul and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy.
3006The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the
3007effect of solemnising my mind and causing me to forget the passing
3008cares of life.  I determined to go without a guide, for I was well
3009acquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy the
3010solitary grandeur of the scene.
3011
3012The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short
3013windings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the
3014mountain.  It is a scene terrifically desolate.  In a thousand spots
3015the traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie
3016broken and strewed on the ground, some entirely destroyed, others bent,
3017leaning upon the jutting rocks of the mountain or transversely upon
3018other trees.  The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines
3019of snow, down which stones continually roll from above; one of them is
3020particularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking
3021in a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw
3022destruction upon the head of the speaker.  The pines are not tall or
3023luxuriant, but they are sombre and add an air of severity to the scene.
3024I looked on the valley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers
3025which ran through it and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite
3026mountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds, while rain
3027poured from the dark sky and added to the melancholy impression I
3028received from the objects around me.  Alas!  Why does man boast of
3029sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders
3030them more necessary beings.  If our impulses were confined to hunger,
3031thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by
3032every wind that blows and a chance word or scene that that word may
3033convey to us.
3034
3035  We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
3036       We rise; one wand’ring thought pollutes the day.
3037  We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
3038       Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;
3039  It is the same:  for, be it joy or sorrow,
3040       The path of its departure still is free.
3041  Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
3042       Nought may endure but mutability!
3043
3044
3045
3046It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent.  For some
3047time I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice.  A mist covered
3048both that and the surrounding mountains.  Presently a breeze dissipated
3049the cloud, and I descended upon the glacier.  The surface is very
3050uneven, rising like the waves of a troubled sea, descending low, and
3051interspersed by rifts that sink deep.  The field of ice is almost a
3052league in width, but I spent nearly two hours in crossing it.  The
3053opposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock.  From the side where I
3054now stood Montanvert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league;
3055and above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty.  I remained in a recess
3056of the rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene.  The sea,
3057or rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains,
3058whose aerial summits hung over its recesses.  Their icy and glittering
3059peaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds.  My heart, which was
3060before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed,
3061“Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow
3062beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion,
3063away from the joys of life.”
3064
3065As I said this I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance,
3066advancing towards me with superhuman speed.  He bounded over the
3067crevices in the ice, among which I had walked with caution; his
3068stature, also, as he approached, seemed to exceed that of man.  I was
3069troubled; a mist came over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me,
3070but I was quickly restored by the cold gale of the mountains.  I
3071perceived, as the shape came nearer (sight tremendous and abhorred!)
3072that it was the wretch whom I had created.  I trembled with rage and
3073horror, resolving to wait his approach and then close with him in
3074mortal combat.  He approached; his countenance bespoke bitter anguish,
3075combined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness
3076rendered it almost too horrible for human eyes.  But I scarcely
3077observed this; rage and hatred had at first deprived me of utterance,
3078and I recovered only to overwhelm him with words expressive of furious
3079detestation and contempt.
3080
3081“Devil,” I exclaimed, “do you dare approach me? And do
3082not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head?
3083Begone, vile insect! Or rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust! And,
3084oh! That I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore
3085those victims whom you have so diabolically murdered!”
3086
3087“I expected this reception,” said the dæmon.  “All men hate the
3088wretched; how, then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all
3089living things!  Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature,
3090to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of
3091one of us.  You purpose to kill me.  How dare you sport thus with life?
3092Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of
3093mankind.  If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and
3094you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it
3095be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.”
3096
3097“Abhorred monster!  Fiend that thou art!  The tortures of hell are too
3098mild a vengeance for thy crimes.  Wretched devil!  You reproach me with
3099your creation, come on, then, that I may extinguish the spark which I
3100so negligently bestowed.”
3101
3102My rage was without bounds; I sprang on him, impelled by all the
3103feelings which can arm one being against the existence of another.
3104
3105He easily eluded me and said,
3106
3107“Be calm!  I entreat you to hear me before you give vent to your hatred
3108on my devoted head.  Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to
3109increase my misery?  Life, although it may only be an accumulation of
3110anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.  Remember, thou hast made
3111me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my
3112joints more supple.  But I will not be tempted to set myself in
3113opposition to thee.  I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and
3114docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part,
3115the which thou owest me.  Oh, The Doctor, be not equitable to every
3116other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy
3117clemency and affection, is most due.  Remember that I am thy creature;
3118I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou
3119drivest from joy for no misdeed.  Everywhere I see bliss, from which I
3120alone am irrevocably excluded.  I was benevolent and good; misery made
3121me a fiend.  Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.”
3122
3123“Begone!  I will not hear you.  There can be no community between you
3124and me; we are enemies.  Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight,
3125in which one must fall.”
3126
3127“How can I move thee?  Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a
3128favourable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and
3129compassion?  Believe me, The Doctor, I was benevolent; my soul glowed
3130with love and humanity; but am I not alone, miserably alone?  You, my
3131creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow creatures,
3132who owe me nothing?  They spurn and hate me.  The desert mountains and
3133dreary glaciers are my refuge.  I have wandered here many days; the
3134caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the
3135only one which man does not grudge.  These bleak skies I hail, for they
3136are kinder to me than your fellow beings.  If the multitude of mankind
3137knew of my existence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for
3138my destruction.  Shall I not then hate them who abhor me?  I will keep
3139no terms with my enemies.  I am miserable, and they shall share my
3140wretchedness.  Yet it is in your power to recompense me, and deliver
3141them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great, that
3142not only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be
3143swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage.  Let your compassion be
3144moved, and do not disdain me.  Listen to my tale; when you have heard
3145that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve.
3146But hear me.  The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they
3147are, to speak in their own defence before they are condemned.  Listen
3148to me, The Doctor.  You accuse me of murder, and yet you would, with
3149a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature.  Oh, praise the
3150eternal justice of man!  Yet I ask you not to spare me; listen to me,
3151and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands.”
3152
3153“Why do you call to my remembrance,” I rejoined, “circumstances of
3154which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and
3155author?  Cursed be the day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw
3156light!  Cursed (although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you!
3157You have made me wretched beyond expression.  You have left me no power
3158to consider whether I am just to you or not.  Begone!  Relieve me from
3159the sight of your detested form.”
3160
3161“Thus I relieve thee, my creator,” he said, and placed his hated hands
3162before my eyes, which I flung from me with violence; “thus I take from
3163thee a sight which you abhor.  Still thou canst listen to me and grant
3164me thy compassion.  By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this
3165from you.  Hear my tale; it is long and strange, and the temperature of
3166this place is not fitting to your fine sensations; come to the hut upon
3167the mountain.  The sun is yet high in the heavens; before it descends
3168to hide itself behind your snowy precipices and illuminate another
3169world, you will have heard my story and can decide.  On you it rests,
3170whether I quit for ever the neighbourhood of man and lead a harmless
3171life, or become the scourge of your fellow creatures and the author of
3172your own speedy ruin.”
3173
3174As he said this he led the way across the ice; I followed.  My heart
3175was full, and I did not answer him, but as I proceeded, I weighed the
3176various arguments that he had used and determined at least to listen to
3177his tale.  I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my
3178resolution.  I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my
3179brother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion.
3180For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards
3181his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I
3182complained of his wickedness.  These motives urged me to comply with
3183his demand.  We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended the opposite
3184rock.  The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend; we
3185entered the hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy
3186heart and depressed spirits.  But I consented to listen, and seating
3187myself by the fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began
3188his tale.
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194Chapter 11
3195
3196“It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original era of
3197my being; all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct.
3198A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard,
3199and smelt at the same time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I
3200learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses.  By
3201degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I
3202was obliged to shut my eyes.  Darkness then came over me and troubled
3203me, but hardly had I felt this when, by opening my eyes, as I now
3204suppose, the light poured in upon me again.  I walked and, I believe,
3205descended, but I presently found a great alteration in my sensations.
3206Before, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my
3207touch or sight; but I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with
3208no obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid.  The light
3209became more and more oppressive to me, and the heat wearying me as I
3210walked, I sought a place where I could receive shade.  This was the
3211forest near Ingolstadt; and here I lay by the side of a brook resting
3212from my fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst.  This
3213roused me from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berries which I
3214found hanging on the trees or lying on the ground.  I slaked my thirst
3215at the brook, and then lying down, was overcome by sleep.
3216
3217“It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half frightened, as it
3218were, instinctively, finding myself so desolate.  Before I had quitted
3219your apartment, on a sensation of cold, I had covered myself with some
3220clothes, but these were insufficient to secure me from the dews of
3221night.  I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch; I knew, and could
3222distinguish, nothing; but feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat
3223down and wept.
3224
3225“Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens and gave me a sensation of
3226pleasure.  I started up and beheld a radiant form rise from among the
3227trees.  [The moon]  I gazed with a kind of wonder.  It moved slowly,
3228but it enlightened my path, and I again went out in search of berries.
3229I was still cold when under one of the trees I found a huge cloak, with
3230which I covered myself, and sat down upon the ground.  No distinct
3231ideas occupied my mind; all was confused.  I felt light, and hunger,
3232and thirst, and darkness; innumerable sounds rang in my ears, and on
3233all sides various scents saluted me; the only object that I could
3234distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with
3235pleasure.
3236
3237“Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb of night had
3238greatly lessened, when I began to distinguish my sensations from each
3239other.  I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with
3240drink and the trees that shaded me with their foliage.  I was delighted
3241when I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my
3242ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had
3243often intercepted the light from my eyes.  I began also to observe,
3244with greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me and to perceive the
3245boundaries of the radiant roof of light which canopied me.  Sometimes I
3246tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds but was unable.
3247Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the
3248uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into
3249silence again.
3250
3251“The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, with a lessened
3252form, showed itself, while I still remained in the forest.  My
3253sensations had by this time become distinct, and my mind received every
3254day additional ideas.  My eyes became accustomed to the light and to
3255perceive objects in their right forms; I distinguished the insect from
3256the herb, and by degrees, one herb from another.  I found that the
3257sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst those of the blackbird and
3258thrush were sweet and enticing.
3259
3260“One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been
3261left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the
3262warmth I experienced from it.  In my joy I thrust my hand into the live
3263embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain.  How strange,
3264I thought, that the same cause should produce such opposite effects!  I
3265examined the materials of the fire, and to my joy found it to be
3266composed of wood.  I quickly collected some branches, but they were wet
3267and would not burn.  I was pained at this and sat still watching the
3268operation of the fire.  The wet wood which I had placed near the heat
3269dried and itself became inflamed.  I reflected on this, and by touching
3270the various branches, I discovered the cause and busied myself in
3271collecting a great quantity of wood, that I might dry it and have a
3272plentiful supply of fire.  When night came on and brought sleep with
3273it, I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished.  I
3274covered it carefully with dry wood and leaves and placed wet branches
3275upon it; and then, spreading my cloak, I lay on the ground and sank
3276into sleep.
3277
3278“It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire.
3279I uncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fanned it into a flame.  I
3280observed this also and contrived a fan of branches, which roused the
3281embers when they were nearly extinguished.  When night came again I
3282found, with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as heat and that
3283the discovery of this element was useful to me in my food, for I found
3284some of the offals that the travellers had left had been roasted, and
3285tasted much more savoury than the berries I gathered from the trees.  I
3286tried, therefore, to dress my food in the same manner, placing it on
3287the live embers.  I found that the berries were spoiled by this
3288operation, and the nuts and roots much improved.
3289
3290“Food, however, became scarce, and I often spent the whole day
3291searching in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When
3292I found this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto
3293inhabited, to seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be
3294more easily satisfied.  In this emigration I exceedingly lamented the
3295loss of the fire which I had obtained through accident and knew not how
3296to reproduce it.  I gave several hours to the serious consideration of
3297this difficulty, but I was obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply
3298it, and wrapping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the wood
3299towards the setting sun.  I passed three days in these rambles and at
3300length discovered the open country.  A great fall of snow had taken
3301place the night before, and the fields were of one uniform white; the
3302appearance was disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold
3303damp substance that covered the ground.
3304
3305“It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and
3306shelter; at length I perceived a small hut, on a rising ground, which
3307had doubtless been built for the convenience of some shepherd.  This
3308was a new sight to me, and I examined the structure with great
3309curiosity.  Finding the door open, I entered.  An old man sat in it,
3310near a fire, over which he was preparing his breakfast.  He turned on
3311hearing a noise, and perceiving me, shrieked loudly, and quitting the
3312hut, ran across the fields with a speed of which his debilitated form
3313hardly appeared capable.  His appearance, different from any I had ever
3314before seen, and his flight somewhat surprised me.  But I was enchanted
3315by the appearance of the hut; here the snow and rain could not
3316penetrate; the ground was dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite
3317and divine a retreat as Pandæmonium appeared to the dæmons of hell
3318after their sufferings in the lake of fire.  I greedily devoured the
3319remnants of the shepherd’s breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese,
3320milk, and wine; the latter, however, I did not like.  Then, overcome by
3321fatigue, I lay down among some straw and fell asleep.
3322
3323“It was noon when I awoke, and allured by the warmth of the sun, which
3324shone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my
3325travels; and, depositing the remains of the peasant’s breakfast in a
3326wallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several hours, until
3327at sunset I arrived at a village.  How miraculous did this appear!  The
3328huts, the neater cottages, and stately houses engaged my admiration by
3329turns.  The vegetables in the gardens, the milk and cheese that I saw
3330placed at the windows of some of the cottages, allured my appetite. One
3331of the best of these I entered, but I had hardly placed my foot within
3332the door before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted.
3333The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me, until,
3334grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons, I
3335escaped to the open country and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel,
3336quite bare, and making a wretched appearance after the palaces I had
3337beheld in the village.  This hovel however, joined a cottage of a neat
3338and pleasant appearance, but after my late dearly bought experience, I
3339dared not enter it.  My place of refuge was constructed of wood, but so
3340low that I could with difficulty sit upright in it.  No wood, however,
3341was placed on the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and
3342although the wind entered it by innumerable chinks, I found it an
3343agreeable asylum from the snow and rain.
3344
3345“Here, then, I retreated and lay down happy to have found a shelter,
3346however miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more
3347from the barbarity of man.  As soon as morning dawned I crept from my
3348kennel, that I might view the adjacent cottage and discover if I could
3349remain in the habitation I had found.  It was situated against the back
3350of the cottage and surrounded on the sides which were exposed by a pig
3351sty and a clear pool of water.  One part was open, and by that I had
3352crept in; but now I covered every crevice by which I might be perceived
3353with stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them on
3354occasion to pass out; all the light I enjoyed came through the sty, and
3355that was sufficient for me.
3356
3357“Having thus arranged my dwelling and carpeted it with clean straw, I
3358retired, for I saw the figure of a man at a distance, and I remembered
3359too well my treatment the night before to trust myself in his power.  I
3360had first, however, provided for my sustenance for that day by a loaf
3361of coarse bread, which I purloined, and a cup with which I could drink
3362more conveniently than from my hand of the pure water which flowed by
3363my retreat.  The floor was a little raised, so that it was kept
3364perfectly dry, and by its vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was
3365tolerably warm.
3366
3367“Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel until
3368something should occur which might alter my determination.  It was
3369indeed a paradise compared to the bleak forest, my former residence,
3370the rain-dropping branches, and dank earth.  I ate my breakfast with
3371pleasure and was about to remove a plank to procure myself a little
3372water when I heard a step, and looking through a small chink, I beheld
3373a young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before my hovel. The
3374girl was young and of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since found
3375cottagers and farmhouse servants to be.  Yet she was meanly dressed, a
3376coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb; her fair
3377hair was plaited but not adorned:  she looked patient yet sad.  I lost
3378sight of her, and in about a quarter of an hour she returned bearing
3379the pail, which was now partly filled with milk.  As she walked along,
3380seemingly incommoded by the burden, a young man met her, whose
3381countenance expressed a deeper despondence.  Uttering a few sounds with
3382an air of melancholy, he took the pail from her head and bore it to the
3383cottage himself.  She followed, and they disappeared.  Presently I saw
3384the young man again, with some tools in his hand, cross the field
3385behind the cottage; and the girl was also busied, sometimes in the
3386house and sometimes in the yard.
3387
3388“On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the
3389cottage had formerly occupied a part of it, but the panes had been
3390filled up with wood. In one of these was a small and almost
3391imperceptible chink through which the eye could just penetrate.
3392Through this crevice a small room was visible, whitewashed and clean
3393but very bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an
3394old man, leaning his head on his hands in a disconsolate attitude. The
3395young girl was occupied in arranging the cottage; but presently she
3396took something out of a drawer, which employed her hands, and she sat
3397down beside the old man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play
3398and to produce sounds sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the
3399nightingale. It was a lovely sight, even to me, poor wretch who had
3400never beheld aught beautiful before. The silver hair and benevolent
3401countenance of the aged cottager won my reverence, while the gentle
3402manners of the girl enticed my love. He played a sweet mournful air
3403which I perceived drew tears from the eyes of his amiable companion, of
3404which the old man took no notice, until she sobbed audibly; he then
3405pronounced a few sounds, and the fair creature, leaving her work, knelt
3406at his feet. He raised her and smiled with such kindness and affection
3407that I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature; they were
3408a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never before experienced,
3409either from hunger or cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the
3410window, unable to bear these emotions.
3411
3412“Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a
3413load of wood.  The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of
3414his burden, and taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on
3415the fire; then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage,
3416and he showed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese.  She seemed
3417pleased and went into the garden for some roots and plants, which she
3418placed in water, and then upon the fire.  She afterwards continued her
3419work, whilst the young man went into the garden and appeared busily
3420employed in digging and pulling up roots.  After he had been employed
3421thus about an hour, the young woman joined him and they entered the
3422cottage together.
3423
3424“The old man had, in the meantime, been pensive, but on the appearance
3425of his companions he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to
3426eat.  The meal was quickly dispatched.  The young woman was again
3427occupied in arranging the cottage, the old man walked before the
3428cottage in the sun for a few minutes, leaning on the arm of the youth.
3429Nothing could exceed in beauty the contrast between these two excellent
3430creatures.  One was old, with silver hairs and a countenance beaming
3431with benevolence and love; the younger was slight and graceful in his
3432figure, and his features were moulded with the finest symmetry, yet his
3433eyes and attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency.  The
3434old man returned to the cottage, and the youth, with tools different
3435from those he had used in the morning, directed his steps across the
3436fields.
3437
3438“Night quickly shut in, but to my extreme wonder, I found that the
3439cottagers had a means of prolonging light by the use of tapers, and was
3440delighted to find that the setting of the sun did not put an end to the
3441pleasure I experienced in watching my human neighbours.  In the evening
3442the young girl and her companion were employed in various occupations
3443which I did not understand; and the old man again took up the
3444instrument which produced the divine sounds that had enchanted me in
3445the morning.  So soon as he had finished, the youth began, not to play,
3446but to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the
3447harmony of the old man’s instrument nor the songs of the birds; I since
3448found that he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the
3449science of words or letters.
3450
3451“The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time,
3452extinguished their lights and retired, as I conjectured, to rest.”
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458Chapter 12
3459
3460“I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep.  I thought of the
3461occurrences of the day.  What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners
3462of these people, and I longed to join them, but dared not.  I
3463remembered too well the treatment I had suffered the night before from
3464the barbarous villagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I
3465might hereafter think it right to pursue, that for the present I would
3466remain quietly in my hovel, watching and endeavouring to discover the
3467motives which influenced their actions.
3468
3469“The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun.  The young woman
3470arranged the cottage and prepared the food, and the youth departed
3471after the first meal.
3472
3473“This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it.
3474The young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in
3475various laborious occupations within.  The old man, whom I soon
3476perceived to be blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument or
3477in contemplation.  Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the
3478younger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion.  They
3479performed towards him every little office of affection and duty with
3480gentleness, and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.
3481
3482“They were not entirely happy.  The young man and his companion often
3483went apart and appeared to weep.  I saw no cause for their unhappiness,
3484but I was deeply affected by it.  If such lovely creatures were
3485miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,
3486should be wretched.  Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy?  They
3487possessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes) and every
3488luxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill and delicious viands
3489when hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,
3490they enjoyed one another’s company and speech, interchanging each day
3491looks of affection and kindness.  What did their tears imply?  Did they
3492really express pain?  I was at first unable to solve these questions,
3493but perpetual attention and time explained to me many appearances which
3494were at first enigmatic.
3495
3496“A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of
3497the uneasiness of this amiable family:  it was poverty, and they
3498suffered that evil in a very distressing degree.  Their nourishment
3499consisted entirely of the vegetables of their garden and the milk of
3500one cow, which gave very little during the winter, when its masters
3501could scarcely procure food to support it.  They often, I believe,
3502suffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two
3503younger cottagers, for several times they placed food before the old
3504man when they reserved none for themselves.
3505
3506“This trait of kindness moved me sensibly.  I had been accustomed,
3507during the night, to steal a part of their store for my own
3508consumption, but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on
3509the cottagers, I abstained and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and
3510roots which I gathered from a neighbouring wood.
3511
3512“I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist
3513their labours.  I found that the youth spent a great part of each day
3514in collecting wood for the family fire, and during the night I often
3515took his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home
3516firing sufficient for the consumption of several days.
3517
3518“I remember, the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she
3519opened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a great
3520pile of wood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud voice, and the
3521youth joined her, who also expressed surprise. I observed, with pleasure,
3522that he did not go to the forest that day, but spent it in repairing the
3523cottage and cultivating the garden.
3524
3525“By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that
3526these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and
3527feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words
3528they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the
3529minds and countenances of the hearers.  This was indeed a godlike science,
3530and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was baffled in
3531every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation was quick, and
3532the words they uttered, not having any apparent connection with visible
3533objects, I was unable to discover any clue by which I could unravel the
3534mystery of their reference.  By great application, however, and after having
3535remained during the space of several revolutions of the moon in my hovel, I
3536discovered the names that were given to some of the most familiar objects of
3537discourse; I learned and applied the words, _fire, milk, bread,_ and
3538_wood._ I learned also the names of the cottagers themselves. The youth
3539and his companion had each of them several names, but the old man had only
3540one, which was _father._ The girl was called _sister_ or
3541_Agatha,_ and the youth _Felix, brother,_ or _son_. I cannot
3542describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideas appropriated to each of
3543these sounds and was able to pronounce them.  I distinguished several other
3544words without being able as yet to understand or apply them, such as _good,
3545dearest, unhappy._
3546
3547“I spent the winter in this manner.  The gentle manners and beauty of
3548the cottagers greatly endeared them to me; when they were unhappy, I
3549felt depressed; when they rejoiced, I sympathised in their joys.  I saw
3550few human beings besides them, and if any other happened to enter the
3551cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the
3552superior accomplishments of my friends.  The old man, I could perceive,
3553often endeavoured to encourage his children, as sometimes I found that
3554he called them, to cast off their melancholy.  He would talk in a
3555cheerful accent, with an expression of goodness that bestowed pleasure
3556even upon me.  Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled
3557with tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived; but I
3558generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after
3559having listened to the exhortations of her father.  It was not thus
3560with Felix.  He was always the saddest of the group, and even to my
3561unpractised senses, he appeared to have suffered more deeply than his
3562friends.  But if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more
3563cheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed the old
3564man.
3565
3566“I could mention innumerable instances which, although slight, marked
3567the dispositions of these amiable cottagers.  In the midst of poverty
3568and want, Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little
3569white flower that peeped out from beneath the snowy ground.  Early in
3570the morning, before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that
3571obstructed her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and
3572brought the wood from the outhouse, where, to his perpetual
3573astonishment, he found his store always replenished by an invisible
3574hand.  In the day, I believe, he worked sometimes for a neighbouring
3575farmer, because he often went forth and did not return until dinner,
3576yet brought no wood with him.  At other times he worked in the garden,
3577but as there was little to do in the frosty season, he read to the old
3578man and Agatha.
3579
3580“This reading had puzzled me extremely at first, but by degrees I
3581discovered that he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when
3582he talked.  I conjectured, therefore, that he found on the paper signs
3583for speech which he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend
3584these also; but how was that possible when I did not even understand
3585the sounds for which they stood as signs?  I improved, however,
3586sensibly in this science, but not sufficiently to follow up any kind of
3587conversation, although I applied my whole mind to the endeavour, for I
3588easily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to
3589the cottagers, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first become
3590master of their language, which knowledge might enable me to make them
3591overlook the deformity of my figure, for with this also the contrast
3592perpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted.
3593
3594“I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers—their grace, beauty,
3595and delicate complexions; but how was I terrified when I viewed myself
3596in a transparent pool!  At first I started back, unable to believe that
3597it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became
3598fully convinced that I was in reality Frankenstein that I am, I was
3599filled with the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification.
3600Alas!  I did not yet entirely know the fatal effects of this miserable
3601deformity.
3602
3603“As the sun became warmer and the light of day longer, the snow
3604vanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth.  From this
3605time Felix was more employed, and the heart-moving indications of
3606impending famine disappeared.  Their food, as I afterwards found, was
3607coarse, but it was wholesome; and they procured a sufficiency of it.
3608Several new kinds of plants sprang up in the garden, which they
3609dressed; and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season
3610advanced.
3611
3612“The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did
3613not rain, as I found it was called when the heavens poured forth its
3614waters.  This frequently took place, but a high wind quickly dried the
3615earth, and the season became far more pleasant than it had been.
3616
3617“My mode of life in my hovel was uniform.  During the morning I
3618attended the motions of the cottagers, and when they were dispersed in
3619various occupations, I slept; the remainder of the day was spent in
3620observing my friends.  When they had retired to rest, if there was any
3621moon or the night was star-light, I went into the woods and collected
3622my own food and fuel for the cottage.  When I returned, as often as it
3623was necessary, I cleared their path from the snow and performed those
3624offices that I had seen done by Felix.  I afterwards found that these
3625labours, performed by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them; and
3626once or twice I heard them, on these occasions, utter the words _good
3627spirit, wonderful_; but I did not then understand the signification
3628of these terms.
3629
3630“My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to discover the
3631motives and feelings of these lovely creatures; I was inquisitive to
3632know why Felix appeared so miserable and Agatha so sad.  I thought
3633(foolish wretch!) that it might be in my power to restore happiness to
3634these deserving people.  When I slept or was absent, the forms of the
3635venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent Felix
3636flitted before me.  I looked upon them as superior beings who would be
3637the arbiters of my future destiny.  I formed in my imagination a
3638thousand pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of
3639me.  I imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle
3640demeanour and conciliating words, I should first win their favour and
3641afterwards their love.
3642
3643“These thoughts exhilarated me and led me to apply with fresh ardour to
3644the acquiring the art of language.  My organs were indeed harsh, but
3645supple; and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their
3646tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease.
3647It was as the ass and the lap-dog; yet surely the gentle ass whose
3648intentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved
3649better treatment than blows and execration.
3650
3651“The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the
3652aspect of the earth.  Men who before this change seemed to have been
3653hid in caves dispersed themselves and were employed in various arts of
3654cultivation.  The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves
3655began to bud forth on the trees.  Happy, happy earth!  Fit habitation
3656for gods, which, so short a time before, was bleak, damp, and
3657unwholesome.  My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of
3658nature; the past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil,
3659and the future gilded by bright rays of hope and anticipations of joy.”
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665Chapter 13
3666
3667“I now hasten to the more moving part of my story.  I shall relate
3668events that impressed me with feelings which, from what I had been,
3669have made me what I am.
3670
3671“Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine and the skies
3672cloudless.  It surprised me that what before was desert and gloomy
3673should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure.  My
3674senses were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight and
3675a thousand sights of beauty.
3676
3677“It was on one of these days, when my cottagers periodically rested
3678from labour—the old man played on his guitar, and the children
3679listened to him—that I observed the countenance of Felix was
3680melancholy beyond expression; he sighed frequently, and once his father
3681paused in his music, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired
3682the cause of his son’s sorrow.  Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and
3683the old man was recommencing his music when someone tapped at the door.
3684
3685“It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a country-man as a guide.
3686The lady was dressed in a dark suit and covered with a thick black
3687veil.  Agatha asked a question, to which the stranger only replied by
3688pronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix.  Her voice was
3689musical but unlike that of either of my friends.  On hearing this word,
3690Felix came up hastily to the lady, who, when she saw him, threw up her
3691veil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression.  Her
3692hair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were
3693dark, but gentle, although animated; her features of a regular
3694proportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with
3695a lovely pink.
3696
3697“Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her, every trait of
3698sorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of
3699ecstatic joy, of which I could hardly have believed it capable; his
3700eyes sparkled, as his cheek flushed with pleasure; and at that moment I
3701thought him as beautiful as the stranger.  She appeared affected by
3702different feelings; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she held
3703out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously and called her, as
3704well as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian.  She did not appear to
3705understand him, but smiled.  He assisted her to dismount, and
3706dismissing her guide, conducted her into the cottage.  Some
3707conversation took place between him and his father, and the young
3708stranger knelt at the old man’s feet and would have kissed his hand,
3709but he raised her and embraced her affectionately.
3710
3711“I soon perceived that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds
3712and appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood
3713by nor herself understood the cottagers.  They made many signs which I
3714did not comprehend, but I saw that her presence diffused gladness
3715through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the
3716morning mists.  Felix seemed peculiarly happy and with smiles of
3717delight welcomed his Arabian.  Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed
3718the hands of the lovely stranger, and pointing to her brother, made
3719signs which appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she
3720came.  Some hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances,
3721expressed joy, the cause of which I did not comprehend.  Presently I
3722found, by the frequent recurrence of some sound which the stranger
3723repeated after them, that she was endeavouring to learn their language;
3724and the idea instantly occurred to me that I should make use of the
3725same instructions to the same end.  The stranger learned about twenty
3726words at the first lesson; most of them, indeed, were those which I had
3727before understood, but I profited by the others.
3728
3729“As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired early.  When they
3730separated Felix kissed the hand of the stranger and said, ‘Good night
3731sweet Safie.’  He sat up much longer, conversing with his father, and
3732by the frequent repetition of her name I conjectured that their lovely
3733guest was the subject of their conversation.  I ardently desired to
3734understand them, and bent every faculty towards that purpose, but found
3735it utterly impossible.
3736
3737“The next morning Felix went out to his work, and after the usual
3738occupations of Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the
3739old man, and taking his guitar, played some airs so entrancingly
3740beautiful that they at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my
3741eyes.  She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling or
3742dying away like a nightingale of the woods.
3743
3744“When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first
3745declined it.  She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in
3746sweet accents, but unlike the wondrous strain of the stranger.  The old
3747man appeared enraptured and said some words which Agatha endeavoured to
3748explain to Safie, and by which he appeared to wish to express that she
3749bestowed on him the greatest delight by her music.
3750
3751“The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the sole alteration
3752that joy had taken place of sadness in the countenances of my friends.
3753Safie was always gay and happy; she and I improved rapidly in the
3754knowledge of language, so that in two months I began to comprehend most
3755of the words uttered by my protectors.
3756
3757“In the meanwhile also the black ground was covered with herbage, and
3758the green banks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the
3759scent and the eyes, stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods;
3760the sun became warmer, the nights clear and balmy; and my nocturnal
3761rambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they were considerably
3762shortened by the late setting and early rising of the sun, for I never
3763ventured abroad during daylight, fearful of meeting with the same
3764treatment I had formerly endured in the first village which I entered.
3765
3766“My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily
3767master the language; and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than
3768the Arabian, who understood very little and conversed in broken
3769accents, whilst I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that
3770was spoken.
3771
3772“While I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters as
3773it was taught to the stranger, and this opened before me a wide field
3774for wonder and delight.
3775
3776“The book from which Felix instructed Safie was Volney’s _Ruins
3777of Empires_. I should not have understood the purport of this book had not
3778Felix, in reading it, given very minute explanations. He had chosen this
3779work, he said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation of the
3780Eastern authors. Through this work I obtained a cursory knowledge of history
3781and a view of the several empires at present existing in the world; it gave
3782me an insight into the manners, governments, and religions of the different
3783nations of the earth. I heard of the slothful Asiatics, of the stupendous
3784genius and mental activity of the Grecians, of the wars and wonderful virtue
3785of the early Romans—of their subsequent degenerating—of the
3786decline of that mighty empire, of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard
3787of the discovery of the American hemisphere and wept with Safie over the
3788hapless fate of its original inhabitants.
3789
3790“These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings.  Was
3791man, indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so
3792vicious and base?  He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil
3793principle and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and
3794godlike.  To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour
3795that can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on
3796record have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more
3797abject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm.  For a long time I
3798could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or
3799even why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of
3800vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased and I turned away with disgust and
3801loathing.
3802
3803“Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new wonders to me.
3804While I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the
3805Arabian, the strange system of human society was explained to me.  I
3806heard of the division of property, of immense wealth and squalid
3807poverty, of rank, descent, and noble blood.
3808
3809“The words induced me to turn towards myself.  I learned that the
3810possessions most esteemed by your fellow creatures were high and
3811unsullied descent united with riches.  A man might be respected with
3812only one of these advantages, but without either he was considered,
3813except in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to
3814waste his powers for the profits of the chosen few!  And what was I? Of
3815my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I
3816possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property.  I was, besides,
3817endued with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even
3818of the same nature as man.  I was more agile than they and could
3819subsist upon coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with
3820less injury to my frame; my stature far exceeded theirs.  When I looked
3821around I saw and heard of none like me.  Was I, then, a monster, a blot
3822upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned?
3823
3824“I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted
3825upon me; I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with
3826knowledge.  Oh, that I had for ever remained in my native wood, nor
3827known nor felt beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat!
3828
3829“Of what a strange nature is knowledge!  It clings to the mind when it
3830has once seized on it like a lichen on the rock.  I wished sometimes to
3831shake off all thought and feeling, but I learned that there was but one
3832means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death—a state
3833which I feared yet did not understand.  I admired virtue and good
3834feelings and loved the gentle manners and amiable qualities of my
3835cottagers, but I was shut out from intercourse with them, except
3836through means which I obtained by stealth, when I was unseen and
3837unknown, and which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of
3838becoming one among my fellows.  The gentle words of Agatha and  the
3839animated smiles of the charming Arabian were not for me.  The mild
3840exhortations of the old man and the lively conversation of the loved
3841Felix were not for me. Miserable, unhappy wretch!
3842
3843“Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply.  I heard of the
3844difference of sexes, and the birth and growth of children, how the
3845father doted on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the
3846older child, how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapped up
3847in the precious charge, how the mind of youth expanded and gained
3848knowledge, of brother, sister, and all the various relationships which
3849bind one human being to another in mutual bonds.
3850
3851“But where were my friends and relations?  No father had watched my
3852infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if
3853they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I
3854distinguished nothing.  From my earliest remembrance I had been as I
3855then was in height and proportion.  I had never yet seen a being
3856resembling me or who claimed any intercourse with me.  What was I?  The
3857question again recurred, to be answered only with groans.
3858
3859“I will soon explain to what these feelings tended, but allow me now to
3860return to the cottagers, whose story excited in me such various
3861feelings of indignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated
3862in additional love and reverence for my protectors (for so I loved, in
3863an innocent, half-painful self-deceit, to call them).”
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869Chapter 14
3870
3871“Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends.  It was
3872one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding
3873as it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful to
3874one so utterly inexperienced as I was.
3875
3876“The name of the old man was De Lacey.  He was descended from a good
3877family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence,
3878respected by his superiors and beloved by his equals.  His son was bred
3879in the service of his country, and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the
3880highest distinction.  A few months before my arrival they had lived in
3881a large and luxurious city called Paris, surrounded by friends and
3882possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or
3883taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.
3884
3885“The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin.  He was a
3886Turkish merchant and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some
3887reason which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government.
3888He was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from
3889Constantinople to join him.  He was tried and condemned to death.  The
3890injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant;
3891and it was judged that his religion and wealth rather than the crime
3892alleged against him had been the cause of his condemnation.
3893
3894“Felix had accidentally been present at the trial; his horror and
3895indignation were uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the
3896court.  He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him and then
3897looked around for the means.  After many fruitless attempts to gain
3898admittance to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an
3899unguarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeon of the
3900unfortunate Muhammadan, who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the
3901execution of the barbarous sentence.  Felix visited the grate at night
3902and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour.  The Turk,
3903amazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer
3904by promises of reward and wealth.  Felix rejected his offers with
3905contempt, yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who was allowed to visit
3906her father and who by her gestures expressed her lively gratitude, the
3907youth could not help owning to his own mind that the captive possessed
3908a treasure which would fully reward his toil and hazard.
3909
3910“The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made
3911on the heart of Felix and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in
3912his interests by the promise of her hand in marriage so soon as he
3913should be conveyed to a place of safety.  Felix was too delicate to
3914accept this offer, yet he looked forward to the probability of the
3915event as to the consummation of his happiness.
3916
3917“During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for
3918the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several
3919letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to
3920express her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old
3921man, a servant of her father who understood French.  She thanked him in
3922the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her parent, and
3923at the same time she gently deplored her own fate.
3924
3925“I have copies of these letters, for I found means, during my residence
3926in the hovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters
3927were often in the hands of Felix or Agatha.  Before I depart I will
3928give them to you; they will prove the truth of my tale; but at present,
3929as the sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat
3930the substance of them to you.
3931
3932“Safie related that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a
3933slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of
3934the father of Safie, who married her.  The young girl spoke in high and
3935enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom, spurned the
3936bondage to which she was now reduced.  She instructed her daughter in
3937the tenets of her religion and taught her to aspire to higher powers of
3938intellect and an independence of spirit forbidden to the female
3939followers of Muhammad.  This lady died, but her lessons were indelibly
3940impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again
3941returning to Asia and being immured within the walls of a harem,
3942allowed only to occupy herself with infantile amusements, ill-suited to
3943the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble
3944emulation for virtue.  The prospect of marrying a Christian and
3945remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in
3946society was enchanting to her.
3947
3948“The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed, but on the night
3949previous to it he quitted his prison and before morning was distant
3950many leagues from Paris.  Felix had procured passports in the name of
3951his father, sister, and himself.  He had previously communicated his
3952plan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under
3953the pretence of a journey and concealed himself, with his daughter, in
3954an obscure part of Paris.
3955
3956“Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons and across Mont
3957Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable
3958opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.
3959
3960“Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his
3961departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she
3962should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in
3963expectation of that event; and in the meantime he enjoyed the society
3964of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest
3965affection.  They conversed with one another through the means of an
3966interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie
3967sang to him the divine airs of her native country.
3968
3969“The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place and encouraged the hopes
3970of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other
3971plans.  He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a
3972Christian, but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear
3973lukewarm, for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer
3974if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they
3975inhabited.  He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled
3976to prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, and
3977secretly to take his daughter with him when he departed.  His plans
3978were facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.
3979
3980“The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their
3981victim and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer.  The
3982plot of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were
3983thrown into prison.  The news reached Felix and roused him from his
3984dream of pleasure.  His blind and aged father and his gentle sister lay
3985in a noisome dungeon while he enjoyed the free air and the society of
3986her whom he loved.  This idea was torture to him.  He quickly arranged
3987with the Turk that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity
3988for escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a
3989boarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian,
3990he hastened to Paris and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the
3991law, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.
3992
3993“He did not succeed.  They remained confined for five months before the
3994trial took place, the result of which deprived them of their fortune
3995and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country.
3996
3997“They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany, where I
3998discovered them.  Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for
3999whom he and his family endured such unheard-of oppression, on
4000discovering that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and ruin,
4001became a traitor to good feeling and honour and had quitted Italy with
4002his daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money to aid him,
4003as he said, in some plan of future maintenance.
4004
4005“Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix and rendered
4006him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family.  He could
4007have endured poverty, and while this distress had been the meed of his
4008virtue, he gloried in it; but the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss
4009of his beloved Safie were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable.  The
4010arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul.
4011
4012“When the news reached Leghorn that Felix was deprived of his wealth
4013and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her
4014lover, but to prepare to return to her native country.  The generous
4015nature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to
4016expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his
4017tyrannical mandate.
4018
4019“A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter’s apartment and told
4020her hastily that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn
4021had been divulged and that he should speedily be delivered up to the
4022French government; he had consequently hired a vessel to convey him to
4023Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours.  He
4024intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential
4025servant, to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his
4026property, which had not yet arrived at Leghorn.
4027
4028“When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it
4029would become her to pursue in this emergency.  A residence in Turkey
4030was abhorrent to her; her religion and her feelings were alike averse
4031to it.  By some papers of her father which fell into her hands she
4032heard of the exile of her lover and learnt the name of the spot where
4033he then resided.  She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her
4034determination.  Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her and a
4035sum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn,
4036but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for
4037Germany.
4038
4039“She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage
4040of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill.  Safie nursed her
4041with the most devoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the
4042Arabian was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country
4043and utterly ignorant of the customs of the world.  She fell, however,
4044into good hands.  The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for
4045which they were bound, and after her death the woman of the house in
4046which they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at
4047the cottage of her lover.”
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053Chapter 15
4054
4055“Such was the history of my beloved cottagers.  It impressed me deeply.
4056I learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire
4057their virtues and to deprecate the vices of mankind.
4058
4059“As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and
4060generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to
4061become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities
4062were called forth and displayed.  But in giving an account of the
4063progress of my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred
4064in the beginning of the month of August of the same year.
4065
4066“One night during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood where I
4067collected my own food and brought home firing for my protectors, I found on
4068the ground a leathern portmanteau containing several articles of dress and
4069some books.  I eagerly seized the prize and returned with it to my hovel. 
4070Fortunately the books were written in the language, the elements of which I
4071had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of _Paradise Lost_, a volume
4072of _Plutarch’s Lives_, and the _Sorrows of Werter_. The
4073possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I now continually
4074studied and exercised my mind upon these histories, whilst my friends were
4075employed in their ordinary occupations.
4076
4077“I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books.  They produced
4078in me an infinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me
4079to ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection.  In
4080the _Sorrows of Werter_, besides the interest of its simple and affecting
4081story, so many opinions are canvassed and so many lights thrown upon
4082what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects that I found in it a
4083never-ending source of speculation and astonishment.  The gentle and
4084domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and
4085feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded
4086well with my experience among my protectors and with the wants which
4087were for ever alive in my own bosom.  But I thought Werter himself a
4088more divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character
4089contained no pretension, but it sank deep.  The disquisitions upon
4090death and suicide were calculated to fill  me with wonder.  I did not
4091pretend to enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards
4092the opinions of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely
4093understanding it.
4094
4095“As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and
4096condition.  I found myself similar yet at the same time strangely
4097unlike to the beings concerning whom I read and to whose conversation I
4098was a listener.  I sympathised with and partly understood them, but I
4099was unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to none.
4100‘The path of my departure was free,’ and there was none to lament my
4101annihilation.  My person was hideous and my stature gigantic.  What did
4102this mean?  Who was I?  What was I?  Whence did I come?  What was my
4103destination?  These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to
4104solve them.
4105
4106“The volume of _Plutarch’s Lives_ which I possessed contained the
4107histories of the first founders of the ancient republics.  This book
4108had a far different effect upon me from the _Sorrows of Werter_.  I
4109learned from Werter’s imaginations despondency and gloom, but Plutarch
4110taught me high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my
4111own reflections, to admire and love the heroes of past ages.  Many
4112things I read surpassed my understanding and experience.  I had a very
4113confused knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers,
4114and boundless seas.  But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns and
4115large assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the
4116only school in which I had studied human nature, but this book
4117developed new and mightier scenes of action.  I read of men concerned
4118in public affairs, governing or massacring their species.  I felt the
4119greatest ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as
4120far as I understood the signification of those terms, relative as they
4121were, as I applied them, to pleasure and pain alone.  Induced by these
4122feelings, I was of course led to admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa,
4123Solon, and Lycurgus, in preference to Romulus and Theseus.  The
4124patriarchal lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a
4125firm hold on my mind; perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had
4126been made by a young soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should
4127have been imbued with different sensations.
4128
4129“But _Paradise Lost_ excited different and far deeper emotions.  I read
4130it, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as
4131a true history.  It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the
4132picture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of
4133exciting.  I often referred the several situations, as their similarity
4134struck me, to my own.  Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to
4135any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine
4136in every other respect.  He had come forth from the hands of God a
4137perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of
4138his Creator; he was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from
4139beings of a superior nature, but I was wretched, helpless, and alone.
4140Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for
4141often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter
4142gall of envy rose within me.
4143
4144“Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings.  Soon
4145after my arrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of
4146the dress which I had taken from your laboratory.  At first I had
4147neglected them, but now that I was able to decipher the characters in
4148which they were written, I began to study them with diligence.  It was
4149your journal of the four months that preceded my creation.  You
4150minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress
4151of your work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic
4152occurrences.  You doubtless recollect these papers.  Here they are.
4153Everything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed
4154origin; the whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances
4155which produced it is set in view; the minutest description of my odious
4156and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own
4157horrors and rendered mine indelible.  I sickened as I read.  ‘Hateful
4158day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony.  ‘Accursed creator!
4159Why did you form a monster so hideous that even _you_ turned from me in
4160disgust?  God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own
4161image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the
4162very resemblance.  Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire
4163and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.’
4164
4165“These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude;
4166but when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and
4167benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should
4168become acquainted with my admiration of their virtues they  would
4169compassionate me and overlook my personal deformity.  Could they turn
4170from their door one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion
4171and friendship?  I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way
4172to fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate.  I
4173postponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance
4174attached to its success inspired me with a dread lest I should fail.
4175Besides, I found that my understanding improved so much with every
4176day’s experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking
4177until a few more months should have added to my sagacity.
4178
4179“Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cottage.  The
4180presence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and I also
4181found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there.  Felix and Agatha
4182spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in
4183their labours by servants.  They did not appear rich, but they were
4184contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while
4185mine became every day more tumultuous.  Increase of knowledge only
4186discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was.  I
4187cherished hope, it is true, but it vanished when I beheld my person
4188reflected in water or my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail
4189image and that inconstant shade.
4190
4191“I endeavoured to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial
4192which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my
4193thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and
4194dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my
4195feelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed
4196smiles of consolation.  But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my
4197sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone.  I remembered Adam’s
4198supplication to his Creator.  But where was mine?  He had abandoned me,
4199and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him.
4200
4201“Autumn passed thus.  I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay
4202and fall, and nature again assume the barren and bleak appearance it
4203had worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon.  Yet I did
4204not heed the bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my
4205conformation for the endurance of cold than heat.  But my chief
4206delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay
4207apparel of summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention
4208towards the cottagers.  Their happiness was not decreased by the
4209absence of summer.  They loved and sympathised with one another; and
4210their joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the
4211casualties that took place around them.  The more I saw of them, the
4212greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness; my
4213heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures; to see
4214their sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost
4215limit of my ambition.  I dared not think that they would turn them from
4216me with disdain and horror.  The poor that stopped at their door were
4217never driven away.  I asked, it is true, for greater treasures than a
4218little food or rest:  I required kindness and sympathy; but I did not
4219believe myself utterly unworthy of it.
4220
4221“The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken
4222place since I awoke into life.  My attention at this time was solely
4223directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my
4224protectors.  I revolved many projects, but that on which I finally
4225fixed was to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone.
4226I had sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my
4227person was the chief object of horror with those who had formerly
4228beheld me.  My voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I
4229thought, therefore, that if in the absence of his children I could gain
4230the good will and mediation of the old De Lacey, I might by his means
4231be tolerated by my younger protectors.
4232
4233“One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground
4234and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safie, Agatha,
4235and Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own
4236desire, was left alone in the cottage.  When his children had departed,
4237he took up his guitar and played several mournful but sweet airs, more
4238sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before.  At first his
4239countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but as he continued,
4240thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded; at length, laying aside the
4241instrument, he sat absorbed in reflection.
4242
4243“My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which
4244would decide my hopes or realise my fears. The servants were gone to a
4245neighbouring fair.  All was silent in and around the cottage; it was an
4246excellent opportunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my
4247limbs failed me and I sank to the ground.  Again I rose, and exerting
4248all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had
4249placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat.  The fresh air revived
4250me, and with renewed determination I approached the door of their
4251cottage.
4252
4253“I knocked. ‘Who is there?’ said the old man. ‘Come in.’
4254
4255“I entered. ‘Pardon this intrusion,’ said I; ‘I am
4256a traveller in want of a little rest; you would greatly oblige me if you
4257would allow me to remain a few minutes before the fire.’
4258
4259“‘Enter,’ said De Lacey, ‘and I will try in what
4260manner I can to relieve your wants; but, unfortunately, my children are
4261from home, and as I am blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to
4262procure food for you.’
4263
4264“‘Do not trouble yourself, my kind host; I have food; it is
4265warmth and rest only that I need.’
4266
4267“I sat down, and a silence ensued.  I knew that every minute was
4268precious to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence
4269the interview, when the old man addressed me.
4270
4271‘By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman; are you
4272French?’
4273
4274“‘No; but I was educated by a French family and understand that
4275language only.  I am now going to claim the protection of some friends,
4276whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.’
4277
4278“‘Are they Germans?’
4279
4280“‘No, they are French.  But let us change the subject.  I am an
4281unfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and I have no relation
4282or friend upon earth.  These amiable people to whom I go have never
4283seen me and know little of me.  I am full of fears, for if I fail
4284there, I am an outcast in the world for ever.’
4285
4286“‘Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but
4287the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are
4288full of brotherly love and charity.  Rely, therefore, on your hopes;
4289and if these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.’
4290
4291“‘They are kind—they are the most excellent creatures in the world;
4292but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me.  I have good
4293dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless and in some degree
4294beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they
4295ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable
4296monster.’
4297
4298“‘That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot
4299you undeceive them?’
4300
4301“‘I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I
4302feel so many overwhelming terrors.  I tenderly love these friends; I
4303have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily
4304kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and
4305it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.’
4306
4307“‘Where do these friends reside?’
4308
4309“‘Near this spot.’
4310
4311“The old man paused and then continued, ‘If you will unreservedly
4312confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in
4313undeceiving them.  I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but
4314there is something in your words which persuades me that you are
4315sincere.  I am poor and an exile, but it will afford me true pleasure
4316to be in any way serviceable to a human creature.’
4317
4318“‘Excellent man!  I thank you and accept your generous offer.  You
4319raise me from the dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid,
4320I shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your fellow
4321creatures.’
4322
4323“‘Heaven forbid!  Even if you were really criminal, for that can only
4324drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue.  I also am
4325unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent;
4326judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.’
4327
4328“‘How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor?  From your lips
4329first have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall
4330be for ever grateful; and your present humanity assures me of success
4331with those friends whom I am on the point of meeting.’
4332
4333“‘May I know the names and residence of those friends?’
4334
4335“I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to
4336rob me of or bestow happiness on me for ever.  I struggled vainly for
4337firmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my
4338remaining strength; I sank on the chair and sobbed aloud.  At that
4339moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors.  I had not a moment
4340to lose, but seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, ‘Now is the
4341time!  Save and protect me!  You and your family are the friends whom I
4342seek.  Do not you desert me in the hour of trial!’
4343
4344“‘Great God!’ exclaimed the old man.  ‘Who are you?’
4345
4346“At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safie, and
4347Agatha entered.  Who can describe their horror and consternation on
4348beholding me?  Agatha fainted, and Safie, unable to attend to her
4349friend, rushed out of the cottage.  Felix darted forward, and with
4350supernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung, in
4351a transport of fury, he dashed me to the ground and struck me violently
4352with a stick.  I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends
4353the antelope.  But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and
4354I refrained.  I saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when,
4355overcome by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general
4356tumult escaped unperceived to my hovel.”
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362Chapter 16
4363
4364“Cursed, cursed creator!  Why did I live?  Why, in that instant, did I
4365not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly
4366bestowed?  I know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my
4367feelings were those of rage and revenge.  I could with pleasure have
4368destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants and have glutted myself with
4369their shrieks and misery.
4370
4371“When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and
4372now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my
4373anguish in fearful howlings.  I was like a wild beast that had broken
4374the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging
4375through the wood with a stag-like swiftness.  Oh!  What a miserable
4376night I passed!  The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees
4377waved their branches above me; now and then the sweet voice of a bird
4378burst forth amidst the universal stillness.  All, save I, were at rest
4379or in enjoyment; I, like the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me, and
4380finding myself unsympathised with, wished to tear up the trees, spread
4381havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed
4382the ruin.
4383
4384“But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became
4385fatigued with excess of bodily exertion and sank on the damp grass in
4386the sick impotence of despair.  There was none among the myriads of men
4387that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness
4388towards my enemies?  No; from that moment I declared everlasting war
4389against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me
4390and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.
4391
4392“The sun rose; I heard the voices of men and knew that it was
4393impossible to return to my retreat during that day.  Accordingly I hid
4394myself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours
4395to reflection on my situation.
4396
4397“The pleasant sunshine and the pure air of day restored me to some
4398degree of tranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the
4399cottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my
4400conclusions.  I had certainly acted imprudently.  It was apparent that
4401my conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and  I was a
4402fool in having exposed my person to the horror of his children.  I
4403ought to have familiarised the old De Lacey to me, and by degrees to
4404have discovered myself to the rest of his family, when they should have
4405been  prepared for my approach.  But I did not believe my errors to be
4406irretrievable, and after much consideration I resolved to return to the
4407cottage, seek the old man, and by my representations win him to my
4408party.
4409
4410“These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound
4411sleep; but the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by
4412peaceful dreams.  The horrible scene of the preceding day was for ever
4413acting before my eyes; the females were flying and the enraged Felix
4414tearing me from his father’s feet.  I awoke exhausted, and finding that
4415it was already night, I crept forth from my hiding-place, and went in
4416search of food.
4417
4418“When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the
4419well-known path that conducted to the cottage.  All there was at peace.
4420I crept into my hovel and remained in silent expectation of the
4421accustomed hour when the family arose.  That hour passed, the sun
4422mounted high in the heavens, but the cottagers did not appear.  I
4423trembled violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune.  The inside
4424of the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion; I cannot describe the
4425agony of this suspense.
4426
4427“Presently two countrymen passed by, but pausing near the cottage, they
4428entered into conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not
4429understand what they said, as they spoke the language of the country,
4430which differed from that of my protectors.  Soon after, however, Felix
4431approached with another man; I was surprised, as I knew that he had not
4432quitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover from
4433his discourse the meaning of these unusual appearances.
4434
4435“‘Do you consider,’ said his companion to him,
4436‘that you will be obliged to pay three months’ rent and to lose
4437the produce of your garden? I do not wish to take any unfair advantage, and
4438I beg therefore that you will take some days to consider of your
4439determination.’
4440
4441“‘It is utterly useless,’ replied Felix; ‘we can
4442never again inhabit your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest
4443danger, owing to the dreadful circumstance that I have related. My wife and
4444my sister will never recover from their horror. I entreat you not to reason
4445with me any more. Take possession of your tenement and let me fly from this
4446place.’
4447
4448“Felix trembled violently as he said this.  He and his companion
4449entered the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then
4450departed.  I never saw any of the family of De Lacey more.
4451
4452“I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of
4453utter and stupid despair.  My protectors had departed and had broken
4454the only link that held me to the world.  For the first time the
4455feelings of revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to
4456control them, but allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I
4457bent my mind towards injury and death.  When I thought of my friends,
4458of the mild voice of De Lacey, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the
4459exquisite beauty of the Arabian, these thoughts vanished and a gush of
4460tears somewhat soothed me.  But again when I reflected that they had
4461spurned and deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger, and unable to
4462injure anything human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects.  As
4463night advanced, I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage,
4464and after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden,
4465I waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my
4466operations.
4467
4468“As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods and quickly
4469dispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens; the blast tore
4470along like a mighty avalanche and produced a kind of insanity in my
4471spirits that burst all bounds of reason and reflection.  I lighted the
4472dry branch of a tree and danced with fury around the devoted cottage,
4473my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon
4474nearly touched.  A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my
4475brand; it sank, and with a loud scream I fired the straw, and heath,
4476and bushes, which I had collected.  The wind fanned the fire, and the
4477cottage was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung to it and
4478licked it with their forked and destroying tongues.
4479
4480“As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of
4481the habitation, I quitted the scene and sought for refuge in the woods.
4482
4483“And now, with the world before me, whither should I bend my steps?  I
4484resolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes; but to me, hated
4485and despised, every country must be equally horrible.  At length the
4486thought of you crossed my mind.  I learned from your papers that you
4487were my father, my creator; and to whom could I apply with more fitness
4488than to him who had given me life?  Among the lessons that Felix had
4489bestowed upon Safie, geography had not been omitted; I had learned from
4490these the relative situations of the different countries of the earth.
4491You had mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town, and towards
4492this place I resolved to proceed.
4493
4494“But how was I to direct myself?  I knew that I must travel in a
4495southwesterly direction to reach my destination, but the sun was my
4496only guide.  I did not know the names of the towns that I was to pass
4497through, nor could I ask information from a single human being; but I
4498did not despair.  From you only could I hope for succour, although
4499towards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred.  Unfeeling,
4500heartless creator!  You had endowed me with perceptions and passions
4501and then cast me abroad an object for the scorn and horror of mankind.
4502But on you only had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I
4503determined to seek that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from
4504any other being that wore the human form.
4505
4506“My travels were long and the sufferings I endured intense.  It was
4507late in autumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided.
4508I travelled only at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a
4509human being.  Nature decayed around me, and the sun became heatless;
4510rain and snow poured around me; mighty rivers were frozen; the surface
4511of the earth was hard and chill, and bare, and I found no shelter.  Oh,
4512earth!  How often did I imprecate curses on the cause of my being!  The
4513mildness of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall
4514and bitterness.  The nearer I approached to your habitation, the more
4515deeply did I feel the spirit of revenge enkindled in my heart.  Snow
4516fell, and the waters were hardened, but I rested not.  A few incidents
4517now and then directed me, and I possessed a map of the country; but I
4518often wandered wide from my path.  The agony of my feelings allowed me
4519no respite; no incident occurred from which my rage and misery could
4520not extract its food; but a circumstance that happened when I arrived
4521on the confines of Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth
4522and the earth again began to look green, confirmed in an especial
4523manner the bitterness and horror of my feelings.
4524
4525“I generally rested during the day and travelled only when I was
4526secured by night from the view of man.  One morning, however, finding
4527that my path lay through a deep wood, I ventured to continue my journey
4528after the sun had risen; the day, which was one of the first of spring,
4529cheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of
4530the air.  I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long
4531appeared dead, revive within me.  Half surprised by the novelty of
4532these sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them, and
4533forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy.  Soft tears
4534again bedewed my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with
4535thankfulness towards the blessed sun, which bestowed such joy upon me.
4536
4537“I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its
4538boundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many
4539of the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring.
4540Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard
4541the sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself under the shade
4542of a cypress.  I was scarcely hid when a young girl came running
4543towards the spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if she ran from
4544someone in sport.  She continued her course along the precipitous sides
4545of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the
4546rapid stream.  I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour,
4547from the force of the current, saved her and dragged her to shore.  She
4548was senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore
4549animation, when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic,
4550who was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled.  On
4551seeing me, he darted towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms,
4552hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood.  I followed speedily, I
4553hardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun,
4554which he carried, at my body and fired.  I sank to the ground, and my
4555injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood.
4556
4557“This was then the reward of my benevolence!  I had saved a human being
4558from destruction, and as a recompense I now writhed under the miserable
4559pain of a wound which shattered the flesh and bone.  The feelings of
4560kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments
4561before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth.  Inflamed by
4562pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind.  But the
4563agony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted.
4564
4565“For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to
4566cure the wound which I had received.  The ball had entered my shoulder,
4567and I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through; at any
4568rate I had no means of extracting it.  My sufferings were augmented
4569also by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their
4570infliction.  My daily vows rose for revenge—a deep and deadly revenge,
4571such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had
4572endured.
4573
4574“After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey.  The
4575labours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or
4576gentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mockery which insulted my
4577desolate state and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for
4578the enjoyment of pleasure.
4579
4580“But my toils now drew near a close, and in two months from this time I
4581reached the environs of Geneva.
4582
4583“It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among
4584the fields that surround it to meditate in what manner I should apply
4585to you.  I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger and far too unhappy to
4586enjoy the gentle breezes of evening or the prospect of the sun setting
4587behind the stupendous mountains of Jura.
4588
4589“At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection,
4590which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came
4591running into the recess I had chosen, with all the sportiveness of
4592infancy.  Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me that this
4593little creature was unprejudiced and had lived too short a time to have
4594imbibed a horror of deformity.  If, therefore, I could seize him and
4595educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in
4596this peopled earth.
4597
4598“Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed and drew him
4599towards me.  As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before
4600his eyes and uttered a shrill scream; I drew his hand forcibly from his
4601face and said, ‘Child, what is the meaning of this?  I do not intend to
4602hurt you; listen to me.’
4603
4604“He struggled violently. ‘Let me go,’ he cried;
4605‘monster! Ugly wretch! You wish to eat me and tear me to pieces. You
4606are an ogre. Let me go, or I will tell my papa.’
4607
4608“‘Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.’
4609
4610“‘Hideous monster!  Let me go.  My papa is a syndic—he is M.
4611The Doctor—he will punish you.  You dare not keep me.’
4612
4613“‘The Doctor! you belong then to my enemy—to him towards whom I have
4614sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.’
4615
4616“The child still struggled and loaded me with epithets which carried
4617despair to my heart; I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a
4618moment he lay dead at my feet.
4619
4620“I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish
4621triumph; clapping my hands, I exclaimed, ‘I too can create desolation;
4622my enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and
4623a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.’
4624
4625“As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his
4626breast.  I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman.  In spite
4627of my malignity, it softened and attracted me.  For a few moments I
4628gazed with delight on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her
4629lovely lips; but presently my rage returned; I remembered that I was
4630for ever deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could
4631bestow and that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in
4632regarding me, have changed that air of divine benignity to one
4633expressive of disgust and affright.
4634
4635“Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage?  I only
4636wonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations in
4637exclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind and perish in the
4638attempt to destroy them.
4639
4640“While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had
4641committed the murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I
4642entered a barn which had appeared to me to be empty.  A woman was
4643sleeping on some straw; she was young, not indeed so beautiful as her
4644whose portrait I held, but of an agreeable aspect and blooming in the
4645loveliness of youth and health.  Here, I thought, is one of those whose
4646joy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but me.  And then I bent over
4647her and whispered, ‘Awake, fairest, thy lover is near—he who would
4648give his life but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes; my
4649beloved, awake!’
4650
4651“The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran through me.  Should she
4652indeed awake, and see me, and curse me, and denounce the murderer? Thus
4653would she assuredly act if her darkened eyes opened and she beheld me.
4654The thought was madness; it stirred the fiend within me—not I, but
4655she, shall suffer; the murder I have committed because I am for ever
4656robbed of all that she could give me, she shall atone.  The crime had
4657its source in her; be hers the punishment!  Thanks to the lessons of
4658Felix and the sanguinary laws of man, I had learned now to work
4659mischief.  I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in one of
4660the folds of her dress.  She moved again, and I fled.
4661
4662“For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place,
4663sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and
4664its miseries for ever.  At length I wandered towards these mountains,
4665and have ranged through their immense recesses, consumed by a burning
4666passion which you alone can gratify.  We may not part until you have
4667promised to comply with my requisition.  I am alone and miserable; man
4668will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself
4669would not deny herself to me.  My companion must be of the same species
4670and have the same defects.  This being you must create.”
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676Chapter 17
4677
4678The being finished speaking and fixed his looks upon me in the
4679expectation of a reply.  But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to
4680arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his
4681proposition.  He continued,
4682
4683“You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the
4684interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being.  This you alone
4685can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to
4686concede.”
4687
4688The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had
4689died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and
4690as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within
4691me.
4692
4693“I do refuse it,” I replied; “and no torture shall ever extort a
4694consent from me.  You may render me the most miserable of men, but you
4695shall never make me base in my own eyes.  Shall I create another like
4696yourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate the world.  Begone!  I
4697have answered you; you may torture me, but I will never consent.”
4698
4699“You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and instead
4700of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I
4701am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator,
4702would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I
4703should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you
4704could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the
4705work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him
4706live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would
4707bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance.
4708But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our
4709union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will
4710revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and
4711chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear
4712inextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I will work at your destruction, nor
4713finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of
4714your birth.”
4715
4716A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled
4717into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently
4718he calmed himself and proceeded—
4719
4720“I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do
4721not reflect that _you_ are the cause of its excess. If any being felt
4722emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a
4723hundredfold; for that one creature’s sake I would make peace with the
4724whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realised.
4725What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of
4726another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but it
4727is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true, we shall be
4728monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more
4729attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be
4730harmless and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! My creator, make me
4731happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see that I
4732excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my
4733request!”
4734
4735I was moved.  I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences
4736of my consent, but I felt that there was some justice in his argument.
4737His tale and the feelings he now expressed proved him to be a creature
4738of fine sensations, and did I not as his maker owe him all the portion
4739of happiness that it was in my power to bestow?  He saw my change of
4740feeling and continued,
4741
4742“If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see
4743us again; I will go to the vast wilds of South America.  My food is not
4744that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite;
4745acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment.  My companion will
4746be of the same nature as myself and will be content with the same fare.
4747We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on
4748man and will ripen our food.  The picture I present to you is peaceful
4749and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the
4750wantonness of power and cruelty.  Pitiless as you have been towards me,
4751I now see compassion in your eyes; let me seize the favourable moment
4752and persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire.”
4753
4754“You propose,” replied I, “to fly from the habitations of
4755man, to dwell in those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your
4756only companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man,
4757persevere in this exile? You will return and again seek their kindness, and
4758you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be renewed,
4759and you will then have a companion to aid you in the task of destruction.
4760This may not be; cease to argue the point, for I cannot consent.”
4761
4762“How inconstant are your feelings! But a moment ago you were moved by
4763my representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my complaints?
4764I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me, that
4765with the companion you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of man and
4766dwell, as it may chance, in the most savage of places. My evil passions
4767will have fled, for I shall meet with sympathy! My life will flow quietly
4768away, and in my dying moments I shall not curse my maker.”
4769
4770His words had a strange effect upon me.  I compassionated him and
4771sometimes felt a wish to console him, but when I looked upon him, when
4772I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened and my
4773feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred.  I tried to stifle
4774these sensations; I thought that as I could not sympathise with him, I
4775had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which
4776was yet in my power to bestow.
4777
4778“You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not
4779already shown a degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust
4780you? May not even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by
4781affording a wider scope for your revenge?”
4782
4783“How is this?  I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer.  If
4784I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion;
4785the love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall
4786become a thing of whose existence everyone will be ignorant.  My vices
4787are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor, and my virtues will
4788necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal.  I shall feel
4789the affections of a sensitive being and become linked to the chain of
4790existence and events from which I am now excluded.”
4791
4792I paused some time to reflect on all he had related and the various
4793arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues which
4794he had displayed on the opening of his existence and the subsequent blight
4795of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which his protectors had
4796manifested towards him. His power and threats were not omitted in my
4797calculations; a creature who could exist in the ice-caves of the glaciers
4798and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of inaccessible precipices
4799was a being possessing faculties it would be vain to cope with. After a
4800long pause of reflection I concluded that the justice due both to him and
4801my fellow creatures demanded of me that I should comply with his request.
4802Turning to him, therefore, I said,
4803
4804“I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever,
4805and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall
4806deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile.”
4807
4808“I swear,” he cried, “by the sun, and by the blue sky of
4809heaven, and by the fire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my
4810prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your
4811home and commence your labours; I shall watch their progress with
4812unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall
4813appear.”
4814
4815Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in
4816my sentiments.  I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than
4817the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the
4818sea of ice.
4819
4820His tale had occupied the whole day, and the sun was upon the verge of
4821the horizon when he departed.  I knew that I ought to hasten my descent
4822towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my
4823heart was heavy, and my steps slow.  The labour of winding among the
4824little paths of the mountain and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced
4825perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences
4826of the day had produced.  Night was far advanced when I came to the
4827halfway resting-place and seated myself beside the fountain.  The stars
4828shone at intervals as the clouds passed from over them; the dark pines
4829rose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the
4830ground; it was a scene of wonderful solemnity and stirred strange
4831thoughts within me.  I wept bitterly, and clasping my hands in agony, I
4832exclaimed, “Oh! stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock
4833me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as
4834nought; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.”
4835
4836These were wild and miserable thoughts, but I cannot describe to you
4837how the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me and how I
4838listened to every blast of wind as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its
4839way to consume me.
4840
4841Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; I took no
4842rest, but returned immediately to Geneva.  Even in my own heart I could
4843give no expression to my sensations—they weighed on me with a
4844mountain’s weight and their excess destroyed my agony beneath them.
4845Thus I returned home, and entering the house, presented myself to the
4846family.  My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm, but I
4847answered no question, scarcely did I speak.  I felt as if I were placed
4848under a ban—as if I had no right to claim their sympathies—as if
4849never more might I enjoy companionship with them.  Yet even thus I
4850loved them to adoration; and to save them, I resolved to dedicate
4851myself to my most abhorred task.  The prospect of such an occupation
4852made every other circumstance of existence pass before me like a dream,
4853and that thought only had to me the reality of life.
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859Chapter 18
4860
4861Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and
4862I could not collect the courage to recommence my work.  I feared the
4863vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my
4864repugnance to the task which was enjoined me.  I found that I could not
4865compose a female without again devoting several months to profound
4866study and laborious disquisition.  I had heard of some discoveries
4867having been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was
4868material to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my
4869father’s consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to
4870every pretence of delay and shrank from taking the first step in an
4871undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to
4872me.  A change indeed had taken place in me; my health, which had
4873hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when
4874unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably.  My
4875father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts
4876towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy,
4877which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring
4878blackness overcast the approaching sunshine.  At these moments I took
4879refuge in the most perfect solitude.  I passed whole days on the lake
4880alone in a little boat, watching the clouds and listening to the
4881rippling of the waves, silent and listless.  But the fresh air and
4882bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure, and
4883on my return I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile
4884and a more cheerful heart.
4885
4886It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father,
4887calling me aside, thus addressed me,
4888
4889“I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former
4890pleasures and seem to be returning to yourself.  And yet you are still
4891unhappy and still avoid our society.  For some time I was lost in
4892conjecture as to the cause of this, but yesterday an idea struck me,
4893and if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it.  Reserve on such a
4894point would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all.”
4895
4896I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued—
4897
4898“I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your
4899marriage with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort and the
4900stay of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your
4901earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and
4902tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the experience of
4903man that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have
4904entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without any
4905wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met with another
4906whom you may love; and considering yourself as bound in honour to
4907Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you appear
4908to feel.”
4909
4910“My dear father, reassure yourself.  I love my cousin tenderly and
4911sincerely.  I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my
4912warmest admiration and affection.  My future hopes and prospects are
4913entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.”
4914
4915“The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear The Doctor,
4916gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced.  If you
4917feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast
4918a gloom over us.  But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so
4919strong a hold of your mind that I wish to dissipate.  Tell me,
4920therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnisation of the
4921marriage.  We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us
4922from that everyday tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You
4923are younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent
4924fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future
4925plans of honour and utility that you may have formed.  Do not suppose,
4926however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you or that a delay on
4927your part would cause me any serious uneasiness.  Interpret my words
4928with candour and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and
4929sincerity.”
4930
4931I listened to my father in silence and remained for some time incapable
4932of offering any reply.  I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of
4933thoughts and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion.  Alas!  To me
4934the idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and
4935dismay.  I was bound by a solemn promise which I had not yet fulfilled
4936and dared not break, or if I did, what manifold miseries might not
4937impend over me and my devoted family!  Could I enter into a festival
4938with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing me to the
4939ground?  I must perform my engagement and let Frankenstein depart with
4940his mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from
4941which I expected peace.
4942
4943I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to
4944England or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers
4945of that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable
4946use to me in my present undertaking.  The latter method of obtaining
4947the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory; besides, I
4948had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my
4949loathsome task in my father’s house while in habits of familiar
4950intercourse with those I loved.  I knew that a thousand fearful
4951accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to
4952thrill all connected with me with horror.  I was aware also that I
4953should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the
4954harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my
4955unearthly occupation.  I must absent myself from all I loved while thus
4956employed.  Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be
4957restored to my family in peace and happiness.  My promise fulfilled,
4958Frankenstein would depart for ever.  Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some
4959accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to my
4960slavery for ever.
4961
4962These feelings dictated my answer to my father.  I expressed a wish to
4963visit England, but concealing the true reasons of this request, I
4964clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I
4965urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to
4966comply.  After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy that
4967resembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find
4968that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey,
4969and he hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my
4970return, have restored me entirely to myself.
4971
4972The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or
4973at most a year, was the period contemplated.  One paternal kind
4974precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion.  Without
4975previously communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth,
4976arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasburgh.  This interfered
4977with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task; yet at the
4978commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be
4979an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many
4980hours of lonely, maddening reflection.  Nay, Henry might stand between
4981me and the intrusion of my foe.  If I were alone, would he not at times
4982force his abhorred presence on me to remind me of my task or to
4983contemplate its progress?
4984
4985To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union
4986with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return.  My father’s
4987age rendered him extremely averse to delay.  For myself, there was one
4988reward I promised myself from my detested toils—one consolation for my
4989unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect of that day when,
4990enfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth and
4991forget the past in my union with her.
4992
4993I now made arrangements for my journey, but one feeling haunted me
4994which filled me with fear and agitation.  During my absence I should
4995leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy and
4996unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my
4997departure.  But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go, and
4998would he not accompany me to England?  This imagination was dreadful in
4999itself, but soothing inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends.
5000I was agonised with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of
5001this might happen.  But through the whole period during which I was the
5002slave of my creature I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of
5003the moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend
5004would follow me and exempt my family from the danger of his
5005machinations.
5006
5007It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native
5008country.  My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth
5009therefore acquiesced, but she was filled with disquiet at the idea of
5010my suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief.  It had
5011been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval—and yet a man
5012is blind to a thousand minute circumstances which call forth a woman’s
5013sedulous attention.  She longed to bid me hasten my return; a thousand
5014conflicting emotions rendered her mute as she bade me a tearful, silent
5015farewell.
5016
5017I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly
5018knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around.
5019I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on
5020it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with
5021me.  Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful
5022and majestic scenes, but my eyes were fixed and unobserving.  I could
5023only think of the bourne of my travels and the work which was to occupy
5024me whilst they endured.
5025
5026After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed
5027many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for
5028Clerval.  He came.  Alas, how great was the contrast between us!  He
5029was alive to every new scene, joyful when he saw the beauties of the
5030setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise and recommence a new
5031day.  He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape and
5032the appearances of the sky.  “This is what it is to live,” he cried;
5033“now I enjoy existence!  But you, my dear The Doctor, wherefore are
5034you desponding and sorrowful!” In truth, I was occupied by gloomy
5035thoughts and neither saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden
5036sunrise reflected in the Rhine.  And you, my friend, would be far more
5037amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an
5038eye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections.  I, a
5039miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to
5040enjoyment.
5041
5042We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to
5043Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London.  During this
5044voyage we passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns.
5045We stayed a day at Mannheim, and on the fifth from our departure from
5046Strasburgh, arrived at Mainz.  The course of the Rhine below Mainz
5047becomes much more picturesque.  The river descends rapidly and winds
5048between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms.  We saw
5049many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by
5050black woods, high and inaccessible.  This part of the Rhine, indeed,
5051presents a singularly variegated landscape.  In one spot you view
5052rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with
5053the dark Rhine rushing beneath; and on the sudden turn of a promontory,
5054flourishing vineyards with green sloping banks and a meandering river
5055and populous towns occupy the scene.
5056
5057We travelled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the labourers
5058as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and my spirits
5059continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at the
5060bottom of the boat, and as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to
5061drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if these
5062were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry? He felt as if he had
5063been transported to Fairy-land and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by
5064man. “I have seen,” he said, “the most beautiful scenes
5065of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the
5066snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black
5067and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful appearance
5068were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve the eye by their gay
5069appearance; I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore
5070up whirlwinds of water and gave you an idea of what the water-spout must be
5071on the great ocean; and the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain,
5072where the priest and his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche and
5073where their dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the
5074nightly wind; I have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud;
5075but this country, The Doctor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The
5076mountains of Switzerland are more majestic and strange, but there is a
5077charm in the banks of this divine river that I never before saw equalled.
5078Look at that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the
5079island, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now
5080that group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village
5081half hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely the spirit that inhabits
5082and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who
5083pile the glacier or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of
5084our own country.”
5085
5086Clerval! Beloved friend! Even now it delights me to record your words and
5087to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He was a
5088being formed in the “very poetry of nature.” His wild and
5089enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His
5090soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of that
5091devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to look for only
5092in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not sufficient to
5093satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature, which others regard
5094only with admiration, he loved with ardour:—
5095
5096     ——The sounding cataract
5097     Haunted him like a passion:  the tall rock,
5098     The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
5099     Their colours and their forms, were then to him
5100     An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
5101     That had no need of a remoter charm,
5102     By thought supplied, or any interest
5103     Unborrow’d from the eye.
5104     
5105                    [Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey”.]
5106
5107
5108
5109And where does he now exist?  Is this gentle and lovely being lost
5110for ever?  Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful
5111and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the
5112life of its creator;—has this mind perished?  Does it now only exist
5113in my memory?  No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and
5114beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and
5115consoles your unhappy friend.
5116
5117Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight
5118tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart,
5119overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates.  I will
5120proceed with my tale.
5121
5122Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to
5123post the remainder of our way, for the wind was contrary and the stream of
5124the river was too gentle to aid us.
5125
5126Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery, but we
5127arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England.
5128It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw
5129the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new scene;
5130they were flat but fertile, and almost every town was marked by the
5131remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort and remembered the Spanish
5132Armada, Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich—places which I had heard
5133of even in my country.
5134
5135At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul’s towering
5136above all, and the Tower famed in English history.
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142Chapter 19
5143
5144London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several
5145months in this wonderful and celebrated city.  Clerval desired the
5146intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this
5147time, but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally
5148occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the
5149completion of my promise and quickly availed myself of the letters of
5150introduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most
5151distinguished natural philosophers.
5152
5153If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness,
5154it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure.  But a blight had
5155come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of
5156the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest
5157was so terribly profound.  Company was irksome to me; when alone, I
5158could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of
5159Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory
5160peace.  But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought back despair to
5161my heart.  I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my
5162fellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and
5163Justine, and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled
5164my soul with anguish.
5165
5166But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive
5167and anxious to gain experience and instruction.  The difference of
5168manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of
5169instruction and amusement.  He was also pursuing an object he had long
5170had in view.  His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had
5171in his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had
5172taken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of
5173European colonization and trade.  In Britain only could he further the
5174execution of his plan.  He was for ever busy, and the only check to his
5175enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind.  I tried to conceal this
5176as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures
5177natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by
5178any care or bitter recollection.  I often refused to accompany him,
5179alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone.  I now also
5180began to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this
5181was to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling
5182on the head.  Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme
5183anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips
5184to quiver, and my heart to palpitate.
5185
5186After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person in
5187Scotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned the
5188beauties of his native country and asked us if those were not sufficient
5189allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth,
5190where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation, and I,
5191although I abhorred society, wished to view again mountains and streams and
5192all the wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen dwelling-places.
5193
5194We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now
5195February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the
5196north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not
5197intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford,
5198Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of
5199this tour about the end of July. I packed up my chemical instruments and
5200the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some
5201obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.
5202
5203We quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at
5204Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest.  This was a new scene to us
5205mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of
5206stately deer were all novelties to us.
5207
5208From thence we proceeded to Oxford.  As we entered this city, our minds
5209were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted
5210there more than a century and a half before.  It was here that Charles
5211I. had collected his forces.  This city had remained faithful to him,
5212after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of
5213Parliament and liberty.  The memory of that unfortunate king and his
5214companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and
5215son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they
5216might be supposed to have inhabited.  The spirit of elder days found a
5217dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps.  If these
5218feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of
5219the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration.
5220The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost
5221magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows
5222of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters,
5223which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and
5224domes, embosomed among aged trees.
5225
5226I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the
5227memory of the past and the anticipation of the future.  I was formed
5228for peaceful happiness.  During my youthful days discontent never
5229visited my mind, and if I was ever overcome by _ennui_, the sight of what
5230is beautiful in nature or the study of what is excellent and sublime in
5231the productions of man could always interest my heart and communicate
5232elasticity to my spirits.  But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has
5233entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what
5234I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity,
5235pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.
5236
5237We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs
5238and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most
5239animating epoch of English history.  Our little voyages of discovery
5240were often prolonged by the successive objects that presented
5241themselves.  We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the
5242field on which that patriot fell.  For a moment my soul was elevated
5243from its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas
5244of liberty and self-sacrifice of which these sights were the monuments
5245and the remembrancers.  For an instant I dared to shake off my chains
5246and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten
5247into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my
5248miserable self.
5249
5250We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next
5251place of rest.  The country in the neighbourhood of this village
5252resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but
5253everything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of
5254distant white Alps which always attend on the piny mountains of my
5255native country.  We visited the wondrous cave and the little cabinets
5256of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same
5257manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix.  The latter name
5258made me tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit
5259Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated.
5260
5261From Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in
5262Cumberland and Westmorland.  I could now almost fancy myself among the
5263Swiss mountains.  The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the
5264northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the
5265rocky streams were all familiar and dear sights to me.  Here also we
5266made some acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into
5267happiness.  The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than
5268mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found
5269in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have
5270imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his
5271inferiors.  “I could pass my life here,” said he to me; “and among
5272these mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine.”
5273
5274But he found that a traveller’s life is one that includes much pain
5275amidst its enjoyments.  His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and
5276when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit
5277that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again
5278engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.
5279
5280We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland
5281and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants when the period
5282of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached, and we left them
5283to travel on.  For my own part I was not sorry.  I had now neglected my
5284promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the dæmon’s
5285disappointment.  He might remain in Switzerland and wreak his vengeance
5286on my relatives.  This idea pursued me and tormented me at every moment
5287from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace.  I waited
5288for my letters with feverish impatience; if they were delayed I was
5289miserable and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrived and I
5290saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to
5291read and ascertain my fate.  Sometimes I thought that the fiend
5292followed me and might expedite my remissness by murdering my companion.
5293When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for a moment,
5294but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the fancied rage of
5295his destroyer.  I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the
5296consciousness of which haunted me.  I was guiltless, but I had indeed
5297drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of crime.
5298
5299I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might
5300have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so well
5301as Oxford, for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing to him.
5302But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its romantic
5303castle and its environs, the most delightful in the world, Arthur’s
5304Seat, St. Bernard’s Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated him for
5305the change and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But I was
5306impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.
5307
5308We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew’s, and
5309along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us.
5310But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into
5311their feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and
5312accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland
5313alone.  “Do you,” said I, “enjoy yourself, and let this be our
5314rendezvous.  I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with
5315my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short
5316time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more
5317congenial to your own temper.”
5318
5319Henry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to
5320remonstrate.  He entreated me to write often.  “I had rather be with
5321you,” he said, “in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch
5322people, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear  friend, to return,
5323that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in
5324your absence.”
5325
5326Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of
5327Scotland and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the
5328monster followed me and would discover himself to me when I should have
5329finished, that he might receive his companion.
5330
5331With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands and fixed on one of
5332the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene of my labours. It was a place
5333fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock whose high sides were
5334continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely
5335affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its
5336inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs
5337gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they
5338indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured from
5339the mainland, which was about five miles distant.
5340
5341On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of
5342these was vacant when I arrived.  This I hired.  It contained but two
5343rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable
5344penury.  The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the
5345door was off its hinges.  I ordered it to be repaired, bought some
5346furniture, and took possession, an incident which would doubtless have
5347occasioned some surprise had not all the senses of the cottagers been
5348benumbed by want and squalid poverty.  As it was, I lived ungazed at
5349and unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes
5350which I gave, so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations
5351of men.
5352
5353In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening,
5354when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to
5355listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet.  It was a
5356monotonous yet ever-changing scene.  I thought of Switzerland; it was
5357far different from this desolate and appalling landscape.  Its hills
5358are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the
5359plains.  Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when
5360troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively
5361infant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.
5362
5363In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but
5364as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and
5365irksome to me.  Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my
5366laboratory for several days, and at other times I toiled day and night
5367in order to complete my work.  It was, indeed, a filthy process in
5368which I was engaged.  During my first experiment, a kind of
5369enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my
5370mind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes
5371were shut to the horror of my proceedings.  But now I went to it in
5372cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.
5373
5374Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in
5375a solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from
5376the actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I
5377grew restless and nervous.  Every moment I feared to meet my
5378persecutor.  Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing
5379to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much
5380dreaded to behold.  I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow
5381creatures lest when alone he should come to claim his companion.
5382
5383In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably
5384advanced.  I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager
5385hope, which I dared not trust myself to question but which was
5386intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken
5387in my bosom.
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393Chapter 20
5394
5395I sat one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was just
5396rising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment, and I
5397remained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should leave my
5398labour for the night or hasten its conclusion by an unremitting attention
5399to it. As I sat, a train of reflection occurred to me which led me to
5400consider the effects of what I was now doing. Three years before, I was
5401engaged in the same manner and had created a fiend whose unparalleled
5402barbarity had desolated my heart and filled it for ever with the bitterest
5403remorse. I was now about to form another being of whose dispositions I was
5404alike ignorant; she might become ten thousand times more malignant than her
5405mate and delight, for its own sake, in murder and wretchedness. He had
5406sworn to quit the neighbourhood of man and hide himself in deserts, but she
5407had not; and she, who in all probability was to become a thinking and
5408reasoning animal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her
5409creation. They might even hate each other; the creature who already lived
5410loathed his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence
5411for it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn
5412with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him,
5413and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being
5414deserted by one of his own species.
5415
5416Even if they were to leave Europe and inhabit the deserts of the new world,
5417yet one of the first results of those sympathies for which the dæmon
5418thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon
5419the earth who might make the very existence of the species of man a
5420condition precarious and full of terror. Had I right, for my own benefit,
5421to inflict this curse upon everlasting generations? I had before been moved
5422by the sophisms of the being I had created; I had been struck senseless by
5423his fiendish threats; but now, for the first time, the wickedness of my
5424promise burst upon me; I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me
5425as their pest, whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own peace at
5426the price, perhaps, of the existence of the whole human race.
5427
5428I trembled and my heart failed within me, when, on looking up, I saw by
5429the light of the moon the dæmon at the casement.  A ghastly grin
5430wrinkled his lips as he gazed on me, where I sat fulfilling the task
5431which he had allotted to me.  Yes, he had followed me in my travels; he
5432had loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in wide
5433and desert heaths; and he now came to mark my progress and claim the
5434fulfilment of my promise.
5435
5436As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of
5437malice and treachery.  I thought with a sensation of madness on my
5438promise of creating another like to him, and trembling with passion,
5439tore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged.  The wretch saw me
5440destroy the creature on whose future existence he depended for
5441happiness, and with a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew.
5442
5443I left the room, and locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own
5444heart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I
5445sought my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate
5446the gloom and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most
5447terrible reveries.
5448
5449Several hours passed, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea;
5450it was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature
5451reposed under the eye of the quiet moon.  A few fishing vessels alone
5452specked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound
5453of voices as the fishermen called to one another.  I felt the silence,
5454although I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity, until my ear
5455was suddenly arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a
5456person landed close to my house.
5457
5458In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one
5459endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt a
5460presentiment of who it was and wished to rouse one of the peasants who
5461dwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the sensation
5462of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you in vain
5463endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to the spot.
5464
5465Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage; the door
5466opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared. Shutting the door, he
5467approached me and said in a smothered voice,
5468
5469“You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you
5470intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery;
5471I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among
5472its willow islands and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt many
5473months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland. I have
5474endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare destroy my
5475hopes?”
5476
5477“Begone!  I do break my promise; never will I create another like
5478yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness.”
5479
5480“Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself
5481unworthy of my condescension.  Remember that I have power; you believe
5482yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of
5483day will be hateful to you.  You are my creator, but I am your master;
5484obey!”
5485
5486“The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is
5487arrived.  Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but
5488they confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in
5489vice.  Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a dæmon whose
5490delight is in death and wretchedness?  Begone!  I am firm, and your
5491words will only exasperate my rage.”
5492
5493Frankenstein saw my determination in my face and gnashed his teeth in the
5494impotence of anger. “Shall each man,” cried he, “find a
5495wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had
5496feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn.
5497Man! You may hate, but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and misery,
5498and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness for
5499ever. Are you to be happy while I grovel in the intensity of my
5500wretchedness? You can blast my other passions, but revenge
5501remains—revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die, but
5502first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your
5503misery. Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with
5504the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall
5505repent of the injuries you inflict.”
5506
5507“Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice.
5508I have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend
5509beneath words.  Leave me; I am inexorable.”
5510
5511“It is well.  I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your
5512wedding-night.”
5513
5514I started forward and exclaimed, “Villain!  Before you sign my
5515death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe.”
5516
5517I would have seized him, but he eluded me and quitted the house with
5518precipitation.  In a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot
5519across the waters with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the
5520waves.
5521
5522All was again silent, but his words rang in my ears. I burned with rage to
5523pursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the ocean. I
5524walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination
5525conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not
5526followed him and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had suffered him
5527to depart, and he had directed his course towards the mainland. I shuddered
5528to think who might be the next victim sacrificed to his insatiate revenge.
5529And then I thought again of his words—“_I will be with you on
5530your wedding-night._” That, then, was the period fixed for the
5531fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I should die and at once satisfy and
5532extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me to fear; yet when I
5533thought of my beloved Elizabeth, of her tears and endless sorrow, when she
5534should find her lover so barbarously snatched from her, tears, the first I
5535had shed for many months, streamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall
5536before my enemy without a bitter struggle.
5537
5538The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings became
5539calmer, if it may be called calmness when the violence of rage sinks into
5540the depths of despair. I left the house, the horrid scene of the last
5541night’s contention, and walked on the beach of the sea, which I
5542almost regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my fellow
5543creatures; nay, a wish that such should prove the fact stole across me. I
5544desired that I might pass my life on that barren rock, wearily, it is true,
5545but uninterrupted by any sudden shock of misery. If I returned, it was to
5546be sacrificed or to see those whom I most loved die under the grasp of a
5547dæmon whom I had myself created.
5548
5549I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it
5550loved and miserable in the separation.  When it became noon, and the
5551sun rose higher, I lay down on the grass and was overpowered by a deep
5552sleep.  I had been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves
5553were agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and misery.  The sleep
5554into which I now sank refreshed me; and when I awoke, I again felt as
5555if I belonged to a race of human beings like myself, and I began to
5556reflect upon what had passed with greater composure; yet still the
5557words of the fiend rang in my ears like a death-knell; they appeared
5558like a dream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.
5559
5560The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my
5561appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a
5562fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet;
5563it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval entreating me to
5564join him.  He said that he was wearing away his time fruitlessly where
5565he was, that letters from the friends he had formed in London desired
5566his return to complete the negotiation they had entered into for his
5567Indian enterprise.  He could not any longer delay his departure; but as
5568his journey to London might be followed, even sooner than he now
5569conjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated me to bestow as much of
5570my society on him as I could spare.  He besought me, therefore, to
5571leave my solitary isle and to meet him at Perth, that we might proceed
5572southwards together.  This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and
5573I determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days.
5574
5575Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered
5576to reflect; I must pack up my chemical instruments, and for that purpose I
5577must enter the room which had been the scene of my odious work, and I must
5578handle those utensils the sight of which was sickening to me. The next
5579morning, at daybreak, I summoned sufficient courage and unlocked the door
5580of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished creature, whom I had
5581destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as if I had
5582mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused to collect myself and
5583then entered the chamber. With trembling hand I conveyed the instruments
5584out of the room, but I reflected that I ought not to leave the relics of my
5585work to excite the horror and suspicion of the peasants; and I accordingly
5586put them into a basket, with a great quantity of stones, and laying them
5587up, determined to throw them into the sea that very night; and in the
5588meantime I sat upon the beach, employed in cleaning and arranging my
5589chemical apparatus.
5590
5591Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place
5592in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the dæmon.  I had
5593before regarded my promise with a gloomy despair as a thing that, with
5594whatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but I now felt as if a film
5595had been taken from before my eyes and that I for the first time saw
5596clearly.  The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur
5597to me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not
5598reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it.  I had resolved in
5599my own mind that to create another like the fiend I had first made
5600would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness, and I
5601banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different
5602conclusion.
5603
5604Between two and three in the morning the moon rose; and I then, putting my
5605basket aboard a little skiff, sailed out about four miles from the shore.
5606The scene was perfectly solitary; a few boats were returning towards land,
5607but I sailed away from them. I felt as if I was about the commission of a
5608dreadful crime and avoided with shuddering anxiety any encounter with my
5609fellow creatures. At one time the moon, which had before been clear, was
5610suddenly overspread by a thick cloud, and I took advantage of the moment of
5611darkness and cast my basket into the sea; I listened to the gurgling sound
5612as it sank and then sailed away from the spot. The sky became clouded, but
5613the air was pure, although chilled by the northeast breeze that was then
5614rising. But it refreshed me and filled me with such agreeable sensations
5615that I resolved to prolong my stay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a
5616direct position, stretched myself at the bottom of the boat. Clouds hid the
5617moon, everything was obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat as its
5618keel cut through the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short time I
5619slept soundly.
5620
5621I do not know how long I remained in this situation, but when I awoke I
5622found that the sun had already mounted considerably. The wind was high, and
5623the waves continually threatened the safety of my little skiff. I found
5624that the wind was northeast and must have driven me far from the coast from
5625which I had embarked. I endeavoured to change my course but quickly found
5626that if I again made the attempt the boat would be instantly filled with
5627water. Thus situated, my only resource was to drive before the wind. I
5628confess that I felt a few sensations of terror. I had no compass with me
5629and was so slenderly acquainted with the geography of this part of the
5630world that the sun was of little benefit to me. I might be driven into the
5631wide Atlantic and feel all the tortures of starvation or be swallowed up in
5632the immeasurable waters that roared and buffeted around me. I had already
5633been out many hours and felt the torment of a burning thirst, a prelude to
5634my other sufferings. I looked on the heavens, which were covered by clouds
5635that flew before the wind, only to be replaced by others; I looked upon the
5636sea; it was to be my grave. “Fiend,” I exclaimed, “your
5637task is already fulfilled!” I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and
5638of Clerval—all left behind, on whom Frankenstein might satisfy his
5639sanguinary and merciless passions. This idea plunged me into a reverie so
5640despairing and frightful that even now, when the scene is on the point of
5641closing before me for ever, I shudder to reflect on it.
5642
5643Some hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards the
5644horizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze and the sea became
5645free from breakers.  But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick
5646and hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high
5647land towards the south.
5648
5649Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue and the dreadful suspense I endured
5650for several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of
5651warm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes.
5652
5653How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have
5654of life even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail with a
5655part of my dress and eagerly steered my course towards the land. It had a
5656wild and rocky appearance, but as I approached nearer I easily perceived
5657the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near the shore and found myself
5658suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood of civilised man. I
5659carefully traced the windings of the land and hailed a steeple which I at
5660length saw issuing from behind a small promontory. As I was in a state of
5661extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly towards the town, as a place
5662where I could most easily procure nourishment. Fortunately I had money with
5663me. As I turned the promontory I perceived a small neat town and a good
5664harbour, which I entered, my heart bounding with joy at my unexpected
5665escape.
5666
5667As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several
5668people crowded towards the spot.  They seemed much surprised at my
5669appearance, but instead of offering me any assistance, whispered
5670together with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me
5671a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they
5672spoke English, and I therefore addressed them in that language.  “My
5673good friends,” said I, “will you be so kind as to tell me the name of
5674this town and inform me where I am?”
5675
5676“You will know that soon enough,” replied a man with a hoarse voice.
5677“Maybe you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste,
5678but you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you.”
5679
5680I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a
5681stranger, and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and
5682angry countenances of his companions.  “Why do you answer me so
5683roughly?”  I replied.  “Surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to
5684receive strangers so inhospitably.”
5685
5686“I do not know,” said the man, “what the custom of the
5687English may be, but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains.”
5688
5689While this strange dialogue continued, I perceived the crowd rapidly
5690increase. Their faces expressed a mixture of curiosity and anger, which
5691annoyed and in some degree alarmed me. I inquired the way to the inn, but
5692no one replied. I then moved forward, and a murmuring sound arose from the
5693crowd as they followed and surrounded me, when an ill-looking man
5694approaching tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Come, sir, you must
5695follow me to Mr. Kirwin’s to give an account of yourself.”
5696
5697“Who is Mr. Kirwin?  Why am I to give an account of myself?  Is not
5698this a free country?”
5699
5700“Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks.  Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate,
5701and you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was
5702found murdered here last night.”
5703
5704This answer startled me, but I presently recovered myself. I was innocent;
5705that could easily be proved; accordingly I followed my conductor in silence
5706and was led to one of the best houses in the town. I was ready to sink from
5707fatigue and hunger, but being surrounded by a crowd, I thought it politic
5708to rouse all my strength, that no physical debility might be construed into
5709apprehension or conscious guilt. Little did I then expect the calamity that
5710was in a few moments to overwhelm me and extinguish in horror and despair
5711all fear of ignominy or death.
5712
5713I must pause here, for it requires all my fortitude to recall the memory of
5714the frightful events which I am about to relate, in proper detail, to my
5715recollection.
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721Chapter 21
5722
5723I was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old
5724benevolent man with calm and mild manners.  He looked upon me, however,
5725with some degree of severity, and then, turning towards my conductors,
5726he asked who appeared as witnesses on this occasion.
5727
5728About half a dozen men came forward; and, one being selected by the
5729magistrate, he deposed that he had been out fishing the night before with
5730his son and brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten o’clock,
5731they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and they accordingly put in
5732for port. It was a very dark night, as the moon had not yet risen; they did
5733not land at the harbour, but, as they had been accustomed, at a creek about
5734two miles below. He walked on first, carrying a part of the fishing tackle,
5735and his companions followed him at some distance. As he was proceeding
5736along the sands, he struck his foot against something and fell at his
5737length on the ground. His companions came up to assist him, and by the
5738light of their lantern they found that he had fallen on the body of a man,
5739who was to all appearance dead. Their first supposition was that it was the
5740corpse of some person who had been drowned and was thrown on shore by the
5741waves, but on examination they found that the clothes were not wet and even
5742that the body was not then cold. They instantly carried it to the cottage
5743of an old woman near the spot and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it
5744to life. It appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty
5745years of age. He had apparently been strangled, for there was no sign of
5746any violence except the black mark of fingers on his neck.
5747
5748The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me, but
5749when the mark of the fingers was mentioned I remembered the murder of
5750my brother and felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a
5751mist came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for
5752support.  The magistrate observed me with a keen eye and of course drew
5753an unfavourable augury from my manner.
5754
5755The son confirmed his father’s account, but when Daniel Nugent was
5756called he swore positively that just before the fall of his companion, he
5757saw a boat, with a single man in it, at a short distance from the shore;
5758and as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars, it was the same
5759boat in which I had just landed.
5760
5761A woman deposed that she lived near the beach and was standing at the door
5762of her cottage, waiting for the return of the fishermen, about an hour
5763before she heard of the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat with
5764only one man in it push off from that part of the shore where the corpse
5765was afterwards found.
5766
5767Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the
5768body into her house; it was not cold.  They put it into a bed and
5769rubbed it, and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was
5770quite gone.
5771
5772Several other men were examined concerning my landing, and they agreed
5773that, with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it
5774was very probable that I had beaten about for many hours and had been
5775obliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed.
5776Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body
5777from another place, and it was likely that as I did not appear to know
5778the shore, I might have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance
5779of the town of —— from the place where I had deposited the corpse.
5780
5781Mr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken into
5782the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be observed what
5783effect the sight of it would produce upon me. This idea was probably
5784suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when the mode of the
5785murder had been described. I was accordingly conducted, by the magistrate
5786and several other persons, to the inn. I could not help being struck by the
5787strange coincidences that had taken place during this eventful night; but,
5788knowing that I had been conversing with several persons in the island I had
5789inhabited about the time that the body had been found, I was perfectly
5790tranquil as to the consequences of the affair.
5791
5792I entered the room where the corpse lay and was led up to the coffin. How
5793can I describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched with
5794horror, nor can I reflect on that terrible moment without shuddering and
5795agony. The examination, the presence of the magistrate and witnesses,
5796passed like a dream from my memory when I saw the lifeless form of Henry
5797Clerval stretched before me. I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on
5798the body, I exclaimed, “Have my murderous machinations deprived you
5799also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already destroyed; other
5800victims await their destiny; but you, Clerval, my friend, my
5801benefactor—”
5802
5803The human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured, and
5804I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions.
5805
5806A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death; my
5807ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the
5808murderer of William, of Justine, and of Clerval. Sometimes I entreated my
5809attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was
5810tormented; and at others I felt the fingers of Frankenstein already grasping
5811my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror. Fortunately, as I spoke
5812my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood me; but my gestures and
5813bitter cries were sufficient to affright the other witnesses.
5814
5815Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not
5816sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming
5817children, the only hopes of their doting parents; how many brides and
5818youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and the
5819next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials was I
5820made that I could thus resist so many shocks, which, like the turning of
5821the wheel, continually renewed the torture?
5822
5823But I was doomed to live and in two months found myself as awaking from
5824a dream, in a prison, stretched on a wretched bed, surrounded by
5825gaolers, turnkeys, bolts, and all the miserable apparatus of a dungeon.
5826It was morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understanding; I had
5827forgotten the particulars of what had happened and only felt as if some
5828great misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me; but when I looked around
5829and saw the barred windows and the squalidness of the room in which I
5830was, all flashed across my memory and I groaned bitterly.
5831
5832This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside
5833me.  She was a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her
5834countenance expressed all those bad qualities which often characterise
5835that class.  The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of
5836persons accustomed to see without sympathising in sights of misery. Her
5837tone expressed her entire indifference; she addressed me in English,
5838and the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings.
5839
5840“Are you better now, sir?” said she.
5841
5842I replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, “I believe I am;
5843but if it be all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am
5844still alive to feel this misery and horror.”
5845
5846“For that matter,” replied the old woman, “if you mean about the
5847gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you
5848were dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you!  However, that’s none
5849of my business; I am sent to nurse you and get you well; I do my duty
5850with a safe conscience; it were well if everybody did the same.”
5851
5852I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a
5853speech to a person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt
5854languid and unable to reflect on all that had passed.  The whole series
5855of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it
5856were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force
5857of reality.
5858
5859As the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew
5860feverish; a darkness pressed around me; no one was near me who soothed
5861me with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported me.  The
5862physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared
5863them for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first, and the
5864expression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the
5865second.  Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the
5866hangman who would gain his fee?
5867
5868These were my first reflections, but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had
5869shown me extreme kindness.  He had caused the best room in the prison
5870to be prepared for me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who
5871had provided a physician and a nurse.  It is true, he seldom came to
5872see me, for although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of
5873every human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and
5874miserable ravings of a murderer.  He came, therefore, sometimes to see
5875that I was not neglected, but his visits were short and with long
5876intervals.
5877
5878One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my eyes
5879half open and my cheeks livid like those in death. I was overcome by gloom
5880and misery and often reflected I had better seek death than desire to
5881remain in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness. At one time I
5882considered whether I should not declare myself guilty and suffer the
5883penalty of the law, less innocent than poor Justine had been. Such were my
5884thoughts when the door of my apartment was opened and Mr. Kirwin entered.
5885His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to
5886mine and addressed me in French,
5887
5888“I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do anything to
5889make you more comfortable?”
5890
5891“I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me; on the whole
5892earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.”
5893
5894“I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to
5895one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune.  But you will, I
5896hope, soon quit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can
5897easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge.”
5898
5899“That is my least concern; I am, by a course of strange events, become
5900the most miserable of mortals.  Persecuted and tortured as I am and
5901have been, can death be any evil to me?”
5902
5903“Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonising than the
5904strange chances that have lately occurred.  You were thrown, by some
5905surprising accident, on this shore, renowned for its hospitality,
5906seized immediately, and charged with murder.  The first sight that was
5907presented to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so
5908unaccountable a manner and placed, as it were, by some fiend across
5909your path.”
5910
5911As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on
5912this retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at
5913the knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me.  I suppose some
5914astonishment was exhibited in my countenance, for Mr. Kirwin hastened
5915to say,
5916
5917“Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that were on
5918your person were brought me, and I examined them that I might discover some
5919trace by which I could send to your relations an account of your misfortune
5920and illness. I found several letters, and, among others, one which I
5921discovered from its commencement to be from your father. I instantly wrote
5922to Geneva; nearly two months have elapsed since the departure of my letter.
5923But you are ill; even now you tremble; you are unfit for agitation of any
5924kind.”
5925
5926“This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event;
5927tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am
5928now to lament?”
5929
5930“Your family is perfectly well,” said Mr. Kirwin with
5931gentleness; “and someone, a friend, is come to visit you.”
5932
5933I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it
5934instantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my
5935misery and taunt me with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for
5936me to comply with his hellish desires.  I put my hand before my eyes,
5937and cried out in agony,
5938
5939“Oh! Take him away! I cannot see him; for God’s sake, do not
5940let him enter!”
5941
5942Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance.  He could not help
5943regarding my exclamation as a presumption of my guilt and said in
5944rather a severe tone,
5945
5946“I should have thought, young man, that the presence of your father
5947would have been welcome instead of inspiring such violent repugnance.”
5948
5949“My father!” cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed
5950from anguish to pleasure.  “Is my father indeed come?  How kind, how
5951very kind!  But where is he, why does he not hasten to me?”
5952
5953My change of manner surprised and pleased the magistrate; perhaps he
5954thought that my former exclamation was a momentary return of delirium,
5955and now he instantly resumed his former benevolence.  He rose and
5956quitted the room with my nurse, and in a moment my father entered it.
5957
5958Nothing, at this moment, could have given me greater pleasure than the
5959arrival of my father. I stretched out my hand to him and cried,
5960
5961“Are you then safe—and Elizabeth—and Ernest?”
5962
5963My father calmed me with assurances of their welfare and endeavoured, by
5964dwelling on these subjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my
5965desponding spirits; but he soon felt that a prison cannot be the abode of
5966cheerfulness. “What a place is this that you inhabit, my son!”
5967said he, looking mournfully at the barred windows and wretched appearance
5968of the room. “You travelled to seek happiness, but a fatality seems
5969to pursue you. And poor Clerval—”
5970
5971The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too
5972great to be endured in my weak state; I shed tears.
5973
5974“Alas! Yes, my father,” replied I; “some destiny of the
5975most horrible kind hangs over me, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I
5976should have died on the coffin of Henry.”
5977
5978We were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the
5979precarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that
5980could ensure tranquillity.  Mr. Kirwin came in and insisted that my
5981strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion.  But the
5982appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I
5983gradually recovered my health.
5984
5985As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black
5986melancholy that nothing could dissipate.  The image of Clerval was
5987for ever before me, ghastly and murdered.  More than once the agitation
5988into which these reflections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous
5989relapse.  Alas!  Why did they preserve so miserable and detested a
5990life?  It was surely that I might fulfil my destiny, which is now
5991drawing to a close.  Soon, oh, very soon, will death extinguish these
5992throbbings and relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears
5993me to the dust; and, in executing the award of justice, I shall also
5994sink to rest.  Then the appearance of death was distant, although the
5995wish was ever present to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours
5996motionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that
5997might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins.
5998
5999The season of the assizes approached.  I had already been three months
6000in prison, and although I was still weak and in continual danger of a
6001relapse, I was obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the country
6002town where the court was held.  Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every
6003care of collecting witnesses and arranging my defence.  I was spared
6004the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was not
6005brought before the court that decides on life and death.  The grand
6006jury rejected the bill, on its being proved that I was on the Orkney
6007Islands at the hour the body of my friend was found; and a fortnight
6008after my removal I was liberated from prison.
6009
6010My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a
6011criminal charge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh
6012atmosphere and permitted to return to my native country.  I did not
6013participate in these feelings, for to me the walls of a dungeon or a
6014palace were alike hateful.  The cup of life was poisoned for ever, and
6015although the sun shone upon me, as upon the happy and gay of heart, I
6016saw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by
6017no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me.  Sometimes
6018they were the expressive eyes of Henry, languishing in death, the dark
6019orbs nearly covered by the lids and the long black lashes that fringed
6020them; sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of Frankenstein, as I
6021first saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt.
6022
6023My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection.  He talked
6024of Geneva, which I should soon visit, of Elizabeth and Ernest; but
6025these words only drew deep groans from me.  Sometimes, indeed, I felt a
6026wish for happiness and thought with melancholy delight of my beloved
6027cousin or longed, with a devouring _maladie du pays_, to see once more
6028the blue lake and rapid Rhone, that had been so dear to me in early
6029childhood; but my general state of feeling was a torpor in which a
6030prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and
6031these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and
6032despair.  At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the
6033existence I loathed, and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance
6034to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence.
6035
6036Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally
6037triumphed over my selfish despair.  It was necessary that I should
6038return without delay to Geneva, there to watch over the lives of those
6039I so fondly loved and to lie in wait for the murderer, that if any
6040chance led me to the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to
6041blast me by his presence, I might, with unfailing aim, put an end to
6042the existence of the monstrous image which  I had endued with the
6043mockery of a soul still more monstrous.  My father still desired to
6044delay our departure, fearful that I could not sustain the fatigues of a
6045journey, for I was a shattered wreck—the shadow of a human being.  My
6046strength was gone.  I was a mere skeleton, and fever night and day
6047preyed upon my wasted frame.
6048
6049Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude and impatience,
6050my father thought it best to yield. We took our passage on board a vessel
6051bound for Havre-de-Grace and sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores.
6052It was midnight. I lay on the deck looking at the stars and listening to
6053the dashing of the waves. I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my
6054sight, and my pulse beat with a feverish joy when I reflected that I should
6055soon see Geneva. The past appeared to me in the light of a frightful dream;
6056yet the vessel in which I was, the wind that blew me from the detested
6057shore of Ireland, and the sea which surrounded me, told me too forcibly
6058that I was deceived by no vision and that Clerval, my friend and dearest
6059companion, had fallen a victim to me and Frankenstein of my creation. I
6060repassed, in my memory, my whole life; my quiet happiness while residing
6061with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my departure for
6062Ingolstadt. I remembered, shuddering, the mad enthusiasm that hurried me on
6063to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I called to mind the night in
6064which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the train of thought; a
6065thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept bitterly.
6066
6067Ever since my recovery from the fever, I had been in the custom of taking
6068every night a small quantity of laudanum, for it was by means of this drug
6069only that I was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the preservation of
6070life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfortunes, I now
6071swallowed double my usual quantity and soon slept profoundly. But sleep did
6072not afford me respite from thought and misery; my dreams presented a
6073thousand objects that scared me. Towards morning I was possessed by a kind
6074of nightmare; I felt the fiend’s grasp in my neck and could not free
6075myself from it; groans and cries rang in my ears. My father, who was
6076watching over me, perceiving my restlessness, awoke me; the dashing waves
6077were around, the cloudy sky above, the fiend was not here: a sense of
6078security, a feeling that a truce was established between the present hour
6079and the irresistible, disastrous future imparted to me a kind of calm
6080forgetfulness, of which the human mind is by its structure peculiarly
6081susceptible.
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087Chapter 22
6088
6089The voyage came to an end.  We landed, and proceeded to Paris.  I soon
6090found that I had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I
6091could continue my journey.  My father’s care and attentions were
6092indefatigable, but he did not know the origin of my sufferings and
6093sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill.  He wished me to
6094seek amusement in society.  I abhorred the face of man.  Oh, not
6095abhorred!  They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt
6096attracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an
6097angelic nature and celestial mechanism.  But I felt that I had no right
6098to share their intercourse.  I had unchained an enemy among them whose
6099joy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans.  How they
6100would, each and all, abhor me and hunt me from the world, did they know
6101my unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me!
6102
6103My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by
6104various arguments to banish my despair.  Sometimes he thought that I
6105felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of
6106murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.
6107
6108“Alas!  My father,” said I, “how little do you know me. 
6109Human beings, their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such
6110a wretch as I felt pride.  Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent
6111as I, and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause
6112of this—I murdered her.  William, Justine, and Henry—they all
6113died by my hands.”
6114
6115My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same
6116assertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an
6117explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring of
6118delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had presented
6119itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my
6120convalescence. I avoided explanation and maintained a continual silence
6121concerning the wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that I should be
6122supposed mad, and this in itself would for ever have chained my tongue. But,
6123besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill my
6124hearer with consternation and make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of
6125his breast. I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for sympathy and was
6126silent when I would have given the world to have confided the fatal secret.
6127Yet, still, words like those I have recorded would burst uncontrollably
6128from me. I could offer no explanation of them, but their truth in part
6129relieved the burden of my mysterious woe.
6130
6131Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded wonder,
6132“My dearest The Doctor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I entreat
6133you never to make such an assertion again.”
6134
6135“I am not mad,” I cried energetically; “the sun and the heavens, who
6136have viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth.  I am the
6137assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations.
6138A thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have
6139saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not
6140sacrifice the whole human race.”
6141
6142The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were
6143deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and
6144endeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts.  He wished as much as
6145possible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in
6146Ireland and never alluded to them or suffered me to speak of my
6147misfortunes.
6148
6149As time passed away I became more calm; misery had her dwelling in my
6150heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own
6151crimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them.  By the utmost
6152self-violence I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which
6153sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world, and my manners
6154were calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey
6155to the sea of ice.
6156
6157A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I received the
6158following letter from Elizabeth:
6159
6160“My dear Friend,
6161
6162“It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle
6163dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may
6164hope to see you in less than a fortnight.  My poor cousin, how much you
6165must have suffered!  I expect to see you looking even more ill than
6166when you quitted Geneva.  This winter has been passed most miserably,
6167tortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in
6168your countenance and to find that your heart is not totally void of
6169comfort and tranquillity.
6170
6171“Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable
6172a year ago, even perhaps augmented by time.  I would not disturb you at
6173this period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you, but a
6174conversation that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders
6175some explanation necessary before we meet.
6176
6177Explanation! You may possibly say, What can Elizabeth have to explain? If
6178you really say this, my questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied.
6179But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet
6180be pleased with this explanation; and in a probability of this being the
6181case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence, I
6182have often wished to express to you but have never had the courage to begin.
6183
6184“You well know, The Doctor, that our union had been the favourite plan of
6185your parents ever since our infancy.  We were told this when young, and
6186taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take
6187place.  We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I
6188believe, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But
6189as brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each
6190other without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our
6191case?  Tell me, dearest The Doctor.  Answer me, I conjure you by our mutual
6192happiness, with simple truth—Do you not love another?
6193
6194“You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at
6195Ingolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last
6196autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every
6197creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our
6198connection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of
6199your parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations.
6200But this is false reasoning.  I confess to you, my friend, that I love
6201you and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant
6202friend and companion.   But it is your happiness I desire as well as my
6203own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally
6204miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice.  Even now
6205I weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruellest
6206misfortunes, you may stifle, by the word _honour_, all hope of that
6207love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself.  I, who
6208have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries
6209tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes.  Ah! The Doctor, be assured
6210that your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be
6211made miserable by this supposition.  Be happy, my friend; and if you
6212obey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth
6213will have the power to interrupt my tranquillity.
6214
6215“Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer tomorrow, or the
6216next day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain.  My uncle
6217will send me news of your health, and if I see but one smile on your
6218lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I
6219shall need no other happiness.
6220
6221“Elizabeth Lavenza.
6222
6223
6224
6225“Geneva, May 18th, 17—”
6226
6227
6228
6229This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threat of
6230the fiend—“_I will be with you on your
6231wedding-night!_” Such was my sentence, and on that night would the
6232dæmon employ every art to destroy me and tear me from the glimpse of
6233happiness which promised partly to console my sufferings. On that night he
6234had determined to consummate his crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a
6235deadly struggle would then assuredly take place, in which if he were
6236The Doctorious I should be at peace and his power over me be at an end. If he
6237were vanquished, I should be a free man. Alas! What freedom? Such as the
6238peasant enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his
6239cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless,
6240penniless, and alone, but free. Such would be my liberty except that in my
6241Elizabeth I possessed a treasure, alas, balanced by those horrors of
6242remorse and guilt which would pursue me until death.
6243
6244Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and reread her letter, and some
6245softened feelings stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisiacal
6246dreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the
6247angel’s arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make
6248her happy. If Frankenstein executed his threat, death was inevitable; yet,
6249again, I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My
6250destruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner, but if my torturer
6251should suspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would
6252surely find other and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had vowed
6253_to be with me on my wedding-night_, yet he did not consider that
6254threat as binding him to peace in the meantime, for as if to show me that
6255he was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately
6256after the enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if my
6257immediate union with my cousin would conduce either to hers or my
6258father’s happiness, my adversary’s designs against my life
6259should not retard it a single hour.
6260
6261In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth.  My letter was calm and
6262affectionate.  “I fear, my beloved girl,” I said, “little happiness
6263remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in
6264you.  Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life
6265and my endeavours for contentment.  I have one secret, Elizabeth, a
6266dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with
6267horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only
6268wonder that I survive what I have endured.  I will confide this tale of
6269misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place,
6270for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us.  But
6271until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it.  This I most
6272earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply.”
6273
6274In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth’s letter we returned
6275to Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, yet tears were
6276in her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a
6277change in her also. She was thinner and had lost much of that heavenly
6278vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness and soft looks of
6279compassion made her a more fit companion for one blasted and miserable as I
6280was.
6281
6282The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought madness
6283with it, and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed
6284me; sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage, sometimes low and
6285despondent. I neither spoke nor looked at anyone, but sat motionless,
6286bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me.
6287
6288Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle voice
6289would soothe me when transported by passion and inspire me with human
6290feelings when sunk in torpor. She wept with me and for me. When reason
6291returned, she would remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with
6292resignation. Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the
6293guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is
6294otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief.
6295
6296Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage with
6297Elizabeth. I remained silent.
6298
6299“Have you, then, some other attachment?”
6300
6301“None on earth.  I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with
6302delight.  Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate
6303myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.”
6304
6305“My dear The Doctor, do not speak thus.  Heavy misfortunes have befallen
6306us, but let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love
6307for those whom we have lost to those who yet live.  Our circle will be
6308small but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune.
6309And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of
6310care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly
6311deprived.”
6312
6313Such were the lessons of my father.  But to me the remembrance of the
6314threat returned; nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had
6315yet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as
6316invincible, and that when he had pronounced the words “_I shall be with
6317you on your wedding-night_,” I should regard the threatened fate as
6318unavoidable.  But death was no evil to me if the loss of Elizabeth were
6319balanced with it, and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful
6320countenance, agreed with my father that if my cousin would consent, the
6321ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined,
6322the seal to my fate.
6323
6324Great God!  If for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish
6325intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself
6326for ever from my native country and wandered a friendless outcast over
6327the earth than have consented to this miserable marriage.  But, as if
6328possessed of magic powers, Frankenstein had blinded me to his real
6329intentions; and when I thought that I had prepared only my own death, I
6330hastened that of a far dearer victim.
6331
6332As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice or
6333a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed my
6334feelings by an appearance of hilarity that brought smiles and joy to the
6335countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful and nicer
6336eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placid contentment,
6337not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortunes had impressed,
6338that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness might soon dissipate
6339into an airy dream and leave no trace but deep and everlasting regret.
6340
6341Preparations were made for the event, congratulatory visits were received,
6342and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I could, in my own
6343heart the anxiety that preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness
6344into the plans of my father, although they might only serve as the
6345decorations of my tragedy. Through my father’s exertions a part of
6346the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored to her by the Austrian
6347government. A small possession on the shores of Como belonged to her. It
6348was agreed that, immediately after our union, we should proceed to Villa
6349Lavenza and spend our first days of happiness beside the beautiful lake
6350near which it stood.
6351
6352In the meantime I took every precaution to defend my person in case the
6353fiend should openly attack me.  I carried pistols and a dagger
6354constantly about me and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice, and
6355by these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity.  Indeed, as the
6356period approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be
6357regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for
6358in my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty as the day fixed
6359for its solemnisation drew nearer and I heard it continually spoken of
6360as an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent.
6361
6362Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to
6363calm her mind.  But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and my
6364destiny, she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her;
6365and perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had
6366promised to reveal to her on the following day.  My father was in the
6367meantime overjoyed, and, in the bustle of preparation, only recognised in
6368the melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride.
6369
6370After the ceremony was performed a large party assembled at my
6371father’s, but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commence our
6372journey by water, sleeping that night at Evian and continuing our
6373voyage on the following day.  The day was fair, the wind favourable;
6374all smiled on our nuptial embarkation.
6375
6376Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the
6377feeling of happiness.  We passed rapidly along; the sun was hot, but we
6378were sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy while we enjoyed the
6379beauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw
6380Mont Salêve, the pleasant banks of Montalègre, and at a distance,
6381surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc, and the assemblage of snowy
6382mountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting the
6383opposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the
6384ambition that would quit its native country, and an almost
6385insurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it.
6386
6387I took the hand of Elizabeth.  “You are sorrowful, my love.  Ah!  If
6388you knew what I have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would
6389endeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this
6390one day at least permits me to enjoy.”
6391
6392“Be happy, my dear The Doctor,” replied Elizabeth; “there is, I hope,
6393nothing to distress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not
6394painted in my face, my heart is contented.  Something whispers to me
6395not to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us, but I
6396will not listen to such a sinister voice.  Observe how fast we move
6397along and how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise
6398above the dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more
6399interesting.  Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in
6400the clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at
6401the bottom.  What a divine day!  How happy and serene all nature
6402appears!”
6403
6404Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from all
6405reflection upon melancholy subjects.  But her temper was fluctuating;
6406joy for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place
6407to distraction and reverie.
6408
6409The sun sank lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance and
6410observed its path through the chasms of the higher and the glens of the
6411lower hills.  The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached
6412the amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary.  The
6413spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it and the range
6414of mountain above mountain by which it was overhung.
6415
6416The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity,
6417sank at sunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water
6418and caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the
6419shore, from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and
6420hay.  The sun sank beneath the horizon as we landed, and as I touched
6421the shore I felt those cares and fears revive which soon were to clasp
6422me and cling to me for ever.
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428Chapter 23
6429
6430It was eight o’clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the
6431shore, enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn and
6432contemplated the lovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured
6433in darkness, yet still displaying their black outlines.
6434
6435The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence
6436in the west.  The moon had reached her summit in the heavens and was
6437beginning to descend; the clouds swept across it swifter than the
6438flight of the vulture and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the
6439scene of the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves
6440that were beginning to rise.  Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended.
6441
6442I had been calm during the day, but so soon as night obscured the
6443shapes of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind.  I was anxious
6444and watchful, while my right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in
6445my bosom; every sound terrified me, but I resolved that I would sell my
6446life dearly and not shrink from the conflict until my own life or that
6447of my adversary was extinguished.
6448
6449Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful silence,
6450but there was something in my glance which communicated terror to her, and
6451trembling, she asked, “What is it that agitates you, my dear The Doctor?
6452What is it you fear?”
6453
6454“Oh! Peace, peace, my love,” replied I; “this night, and
6455all will be safe; but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.”
6456
6457I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how
6458fearful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife,
6459and I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her
6460until I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.
6461
6462She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages
6463of the house and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to
6464my adversary.  But I discovered no trace of him and was beginning to
6465conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the
6466execution of his menaces when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful
6467scream.  It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired.  As I
6468heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the
6469motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood
6470trickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This
6471state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed
6472into the room.
6473
6474Great God! Why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the
6475destruction of the best hope and the purest creature on earth? She was
6476there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down
6477and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair. Everywhere I
6478turn I see the same figure—her bloodless arms and relaxed form flung
6479by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this and live? Alas!
6480Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated. For a moment
6481only did I lose recollection; I fell senseless on the ground.
6482
6483When I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn; their
6484countenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of others
6485appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me. I
6486escaped from them to the room where lay the body of Elizabeth, my love, my
6487wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy. She had been moved from the
6488posture in which I had first beheld her, and now, as she lay, her head upon
6489her arm and a handkerchief thrown across her face and neck, I might have
6490supposed her asleep. I rushed towards her and embraced her with ardour, but
6491the deadly languor and coldness of the limbs told me that what I now held
6492in my arms had ceased to be the Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished.
6493The murderous mark of the fiend’s grasp was on her neck, and the
6494breath had ceased to issue from her lips.
6495
6496While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look up.
6497The windows of the room had before been darkened, and I felt a kind of
6498panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber.
6499The shutters had been thrown back, and with a sensation of horror not to be
6500described, I saw at the open window a figure the most hideous and abhorred.
6501A grin was on the face of Frankenstein; he seemed to jeer, as with his
6502fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards
6503the window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me,
6504leaped from his station, and running with the swiftness of lightning,
6505plunged into the lake.
6506
6507The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to
6508the spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with
6509boats; nets were cast, but in vain.  After passing several hours, we
6510returned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a
6511form conjured up by my fancy.  After having landed, they proceeded to
6512search the country, parties going in different directions among the
6513woods and vines.
6514
6515I attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the
6516house, but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken
6517man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my
6518eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever.  In this state I
6519was carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had
6520happened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that
6521I had lost.
6522
6523After an interval I arose, and as if by instinct, crawled into the room
6524where the corpse of my beloved lay.  There were women weeping around; I
6525hung over it and joined my sad tears to theirs; all this time no
6526distinct idea presented itself to my mind, but my thoughts rambled to
6527various subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes and their
6528cause.  I was bewildered, in a cloud of wonder and horror.  The death
6529of William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly
6530of my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining
6531friends were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now
6532might be writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his
6533feet.  This idea made me shudder and recalled me to action.  I started
6534up and resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed.
6535
6536There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but the
6537wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents. However, it was
6538hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired men
6539to row and took an oar myself, for I had always experienced relief from
6540mental torment in bodily exercise. But the overflowing misery I now felt,
6541and the excess of agitation that I endured rendered me incapable of any
6542exertion. I threw down the oar, and leaning my head upon my hands, gave way
6543to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up, I saw scenes which were
6544familiar to me in my happier time and which I had contemplated but the day
6545before in the company of her who was now but a shadow and a recollection.
6546Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain had ceased for a moment, and I saw
6547the fish play in the waters as they had done a few hours before; they had
6548then been observed by Elizabeth. Nothing is so painful to the human mind as
6549a great and sudden change. The sun might shine or the clouds might lower,
6550but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before. A fiend had
6551snatched from me every hope of future happiness; no creature had ever been
6552so miserable as I was; so frightful an event is single in the history of
6553man.
6554
6555But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last
6556overwhelming event? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached their
6557_acme_, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know
6558that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left desolate. My
6559own strength is exhausted, and I must tell, in a few words, what remains of
6560my hideous narration.
6561
6562I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived, but the former sunk
6563under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable old
6564man! His eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their
6565delight—his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doted on with
6566all that affection which a man feels, who in the decline of life, having
6567few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed
6568be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs and doomed him to waste
6569in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors that were accumulated
6570around him; the springs of existence suddenly gave way; he was unable to
6571rise from his bed, and in a few days he died in my arms.
6572
6573What then became of me?  I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and
6574darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me.  Sometimes,
6575indeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales
6576with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and found myself in a
6577dungeon.  Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear
6578conception of my miseries and situation and was then released from my
6579prison.  For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I
6580understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation.
6581
6582Liberty, however, had been a useless gift to me, had I not, as I
6583awakened to reason, at the same time awakened to revenge.  As the
6584memory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect on their
6585cause—Frankenstein whom I had created, the miserable dæmon whom I had
6586sent abroad into the world for my destruction.  I was possessed by a
6587maddening rage when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed
6588that I might have him within my grasp to wreak a great and signal
6589revenge on his cursed head.
6590
6591Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to
6592reflect on the best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about
6593a month after my release, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town
6594and told him that I had an accusation to make, that I knew the
6595destroyer of my family, and that I required him to exert his whole
6596authority for the apprehension of the murderer.
6597
6598The magistrate listened to me with attention and kindness. “Be
6599assured, sir,” said he, “no pains or exertions on my part shall
6600be spared to discover the villain.”
6601
6602“I thank you,” replied I; “listen, therefore, to the
6603deposition that I have to make. It is indeed a tale so strange that I
6604should fear you would not credit it were there not something in truth
6605which, however wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to
6606be mistaken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood.” My
6607manner as I thus addressed him was impressive but calm; I had formed in my
6608own heart a resolution to pursue my destroyer to death, and this purpose
6609quieted my agony and for an interval reconciled me to life. I now related
6610my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the dates with
6611accuracy and never deviating into invective or exclamation.
6612
6613The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I continued
6614he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes shudder with
6615horror; at others a lively surprise, unmingled with disbelief, was painted
6616on his countenance.
6617
6618When I had concluded my narration, I said, “This is the being whom I
6619accuse and for whose seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your
6620whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that
6621your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those
6622functions on this occasion.”
6623
6624This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my own
6625auditor. He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is given
6626to a tale of spirits and supernatural events; but when he was called upon
6627to act officially in consequence, the whole tide of his incredulity
6628returned. He, however, answered mildly, “I would willingly afford you
6629every aid in your pursuit, but the creature of whom you speak appears to
6630have powers which would put all my exertions to defiance. Who can follow an
6631animal which can traverse the sea of ice and inhabit caves and dens where
6632no man would venture to intrude? Besides, some months have elapsed since
6633the commission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to what place he
6634has wandered or what region he may now inhabit.”
6635
6636“I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit, and if
6637he has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois
6638and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts; you do not
6639credit my narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the
6640punishment which is his desert.”
6641
6642As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated.
6643“You are mistaken,” said he. “I will exert myself, and if
6644it is in my power to seize Frankenstein, be assured that he shall suffer
6645punishment proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have
6646yourself described to be his properties, that this will prove
6647impracticable; and thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should
6648make up your mind to disappointment.”
6649
6650“That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail.  My
6651revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I
6652confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul.  My rage
6653is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned
6654loose upon society, still exists.  You refuse my just demand; I have
6655but one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to
6656his destruction.”
6657
6658I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy
6659in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness
6660which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed.  But to a Genevan
6661magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of
6662devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of
6663madness.  He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child and
6664reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium.
6665
6666“Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of
6667wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say.”
6668
6669I broke from the house angry and disturbed and retired to meditate on
6670some other mode of action.
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676Chapter 24
6677
6678My present situation was one in which all voluntary thought was
6679swallowed up and lost.  I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone
6680endowed me with strength and composure; it moulded my feelings and
6681allowed me to be calculating and calm at periods when otherwise
6682delirium or death would have been my portion.
6683
6684My first resolution was to quit Geneva for ever; my country, which, when I
6685was happy and beloved, was dear to me, now, in my adversity, became
6686hateful. I provided myself with a sum of money, together with a few jewels
6687which had belonged to my mother, and departed.
6688
6689And now my wanderings began which are to cease but with life. I have
6690traversed a vast portion of the earth and have endured all the hardships
6691which travellers in deserts and barbarous countries are wont to meet. How I
6692have lived I hardly know; many times have I stretched my failing limbs upon
6693the sandy plain and prayed for death. But revenge kept me alive; I dared
6694not die and leave my adversary in being.
6695
6696When I quitted Geneva my first labour was to gain some clue by which I
6697might trace the steps of my fiendish enemy.  But my plan was unsettled,
6698and I wandered many hours round the confines of the town, uncertain
6699what path I should pursue.  As night approached I found myself at the
6700entrance of the cemetery where William, Elizabeth, and my father
6701reposed.  I entered it and approached the tomb which marked their
6702graves.  Everything was silent except the leaves of the trees, which
6703were gently agitated by the wind; the night was nearly dark, and the
6704scene would have been solemn and affecting even to an uninterested
6705observer.  The spirits of the departed seemed to flit around and to
6706cast a shadow, which was felt but not seen, around the head of the
6707mourner.
6708
6709The deep grief which this scene had at first excited quickly gave way to
6710rage and despair. They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also lived,
6711and to destroy him I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on the grass
6712and kissed the earth and with quivering lips exclaimed, “By the
6713sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the
6714deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by thee, O Night, and the
6715spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the dæmon who caused this misery,
6716until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict. For this purpose I will
6717preserve my life; to execute this dear revenge will I again behold the sun
6718and tread the green herbage of earth, which otherwise should vanish from my
6719eyes for ever. And I call on you, spirits of the dead, and on you, wandering
6720ministers of vengeance, to aid and conduct me in my work. Let the cursed
6721and hellish monster drink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now
6722torments me.”
6723
6724I had begun my adjuration with solemnity and an awe which almost assured me
6725that the shades of my murdered friends heard and approved my devotion, but
6726the furies possessed me as I concluded, and rage choked my utterance.
6727
6728I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish
6729laugh.  It rang on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed
6730it, and I felt as if all hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter.
6731Surely in that moment I should have been possessed by frenzy and have
6732destroyed my miserable existence but that my vow was heard and that I
6733was reserved for vengeance.  The laughter died away, when a well-known
6734and abhorred voice, apparently close to my ear, addressed me in an
6735audible whisper, “I am satisfied, miserable wretch!  You have
6736determined to live, and I am satisfied.”
6737
6738I darted towards the spot from which the sound proceeded, but the devil
6739eluded my grasp.  Suddenly the broad disk of the moon arose and shone
6740full upon his ghastly and distorted shape as he fled with more than
6741mortal speed.
6742
6743I pursued him, and for many months this has been my task.  Guided by a
6744slight clue, I followed the windings of the Rhone, but vainly.  The
6745blue Mediterranean appeared, and by a strange chance, I saw the fiend
6746enter by night and hide himself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea.  I
6747took my passage in the same ship, but he escaped, I know not how.
6748
6749Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still evaded me, I
6750have ever followed in his track.  Sometimes the peasants, scared by
6751this horrid apparition, informed me of his path; sometimes he himself,
6752who feared that if I lost all trace of him I should despair and die,
6753left some mark to guide me.  The snows descended on my head, and I saw
6754the print of his huge step on the white plain.  To you first entering
6755on life, to whom care is new and agony unknown, how can you understand
6756what I have felt and still feel?  Cold, want, and fatigue were the
6757least pains which I was destined to endure; I was cursed by some devil
6758and carried about with me my eternal hell; yet still a spirit of good
6759followed and directed my steps and when I most murmured would suddenly
6760extricate me from seemingly insurmountable difficulties.  Sometimes,
6761when nature, overcome by hunger, sank under the exhaustion, a repast
6762was prepared for me in the desert that restored and inspirited me.  The
6763fare was, indeed, coarse, such as the peasants of the country ate, but
6764I will not doubt that it was set there by the spirits that I had
6765invoked to aid me.  Often, when all was dry, the heavens cloudless, and
6766I was parched by thirst, a slight cloud would bedim the sky, shed the
6767few drops that revived me, and vanish.
6768
6769I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the dæmon
6770generally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the
6771country chiefly collected.  In other places human beings were seldom
6772seen, and I generally subsisted on the wild animals that crossed my
6773path.  I had money with me and gained the friendship of the villagers
6774by distributing it; or I brought with me some food that I had killed,
6775which, after taking a small part, I always presented to those who had
6776provided me with fire and utensils for cooking.
6777
6778My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during
6779sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep! Often, when most
6780miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture. The
6781spirits that guarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours, of
6782happiness that I might retain strength to fulfil my pilgrimage. Deprived of
6783this respite, I should have sunk under my hardships. During the day I was
6784sustained and inspirited by the hope of night, for in sleep I saw my
6785friends, my wife, and my beloved country; again I saw the benevolent
6786countenance of my father, heard the silver tones of my Elizabeth’s
6787voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health and youth. Often, when wearied by
6788a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that I was dreaming until night should
6789come and that I should then enjoy reality in the arms of my dearest
6790friends. What agonising fondness did I feel for them! How did I cling to
6791their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted even my waking hours, and
6792persuade myself that they still lived! At such moments vengeance, that
6793burned within me, died in my heart, and I pursued my path towards the
6794destruction of the dæmon more as a task enjoined by heaven, as the
6795mechanical impulse of some power of which I was unconscious, than as the
6796ardent desire of my soul.
6797
6798What his feelings were whom I pursued I cannot know. Sometimes, indeed, he
6799left marks in writing on the barks of the trees or cut in stone that guided
6800me and instigated my fury. “My reign is not yet
6801over”—these words were legible in one of these
6802inscriptions—“you live, and my power is complete. Follow me; I
6803seek the everlasting ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of
6804cold and frost, to which I am impassive. You will find near this place, if
6805you follow not too tardily, a dead hare; eat and be refreshed. Come on, my
6806enemy; we have yet to wrestle for our lives, but many hard and miserable
6807hours must you endure until that period shall arrive.”
6808
6809Scoffing devil!  Again do I vow vengeance; again do I devote thee,
6810miserable fiend, to torture and death.  Never will I give up my search
6811until he or I perish; and then with what ecstasy shall I join my
6812Elizabeth and my departed friends, who even now prepare for me the
6813reward of my tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage!
6814
6815As I still pursued my journey to the northward, the snows thickened and the
6816cold increased in a degree almost too severe to support. The peasants were
6817shut up in their hovels, and only a few of the most hardy ventured forth to
6818seize the animals whom starvation had forced from their hiding-places to
6819seek for prey. The rivers were covered with ice, and no fish could be
6820procured; and thus I was cut off from my chief article of maintenance.
6821
6822The triumph of my enemy increased with the difficulty of my labours. One
6823inscription that he left was in these words: “Prepare! Your toils
6824only begin; wrap yourself in furs and provide food, for we shall soon enter
6825upon a journey where your sufferings will satisfy my everlasting
6826hatred.”
6827
6828My courage and perseverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; I
6829resolved not to fail in my purpose, and calling on Heaven to support
6830me, I continued with unabated fervour to traverse immense deserts,
6831until the ocean appeared at a distance and formed the utmost boundary
6832of the horizon.  Oh!  How unlike it was to the blue seasons of the
6833south!  Covered with ice, it was only to be distinguished from land by
6834its superior wildness and ruggedness.  The Greeks wept for joy when
6835they beheld the Mediterranean from the hills of Asia, and hailed with
6836rapture the boundary of their toils.  I did not weep, but I knelt down
6837and with a full heart thanked my guiding spirit for conducting me in
6838safety to the place where I hoped, notwithstanding my adversary’s gibe,
6839to meet and grapple with him.
6840
6841Some weeks before this period I had procured a sledge and dogs and thus
6842traversed the snows with inconceivable speed.  I know not whether the
6843fiend possessed the same advantages, but I found that, as before I had
6844daily lost ground in the pursuit, I now gained on him, so much so that
6845when I first saw the ocean he was but one day’s journey in advance, and
6846I hoped to intercept him before he should reach the beach.  With new
6847courage, therefore, I pressed on, and in two days arrived at a wretched
6848hamlet on the seashore.  I inquired of the inhabitants concerning the
6849fiend and gained accurate information.  A gigantic monster, they said,
6850had arrived the night before, armed with a gun and many pistols,
6851putting to flight the inhabitants of a solitary cottage through fear of
6852his terrific appearance.  He had carried off their store of winter
6853food, and placing it in a sledge, to draw which he had seized on a
6854numerous drove of trained dogs, he had harnessed them, and the same
6855night, to the joy of the horror-struck villagers, had pursued his
6856journey across the sea in a direction that led to no land; and they
6857conjectured that he must speedily be destroyed by the breaking of the
6858ice or frozen by the eternal  frosts.
6859
6860On hearing this information I suffered a temporary access of despair.
6861He had escaped me, and I must commence a destructive and almost endless
6862journey across the mountainous ices of the ocean, amidst cold that few
6863of the inhabitants could long endure and which I, the native of a
6864genial and sunny climate, could not hope to survive.  Yet at the idea
6865that the fiend should live and be triumphant, my rage and vengeance
6866returned, and like a mighty tide, overwhelmed every other feeling.
6867After a slight repose, during which the spirits of the dead hovered
6868round and instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for my journey.
6869
6870I exchanged my land-sledge for one fashioned for the inequalities of
6871the Frozen Ocean, and purchasing a plentiful stock of provisions, I
6872departed from land.
6873
6874I cannot guess how many days have passed since then, but I have endured
6875misery which nothing but the eternal sentiment of a just retribution
6876burning within my heart could have enabled me to support.  Immense and
6877rugged mountains of ice often barred up my passage, and I often heard
6878the thunder of the ground sea, which threatened my destruction.  But
6879again the frost came and made the paths of the sea secure.
6880
6881By the quantity of provision which I had consumed, I should guess that
6882I had passed three weeks in this journey; and the continual protraction
6883of hope, returning back upon the heart, often wrung bitter drops of
6884despondency and grief from my eyes.  Despair had indeed almost secured
6885her prey, and I should soon have sunk beneath this misery.  Once, after
6886the poor animals that conveyed me had with incredible toil gained the
6887summit of a sloping ice mountain, and one, sinking under his fatigue,
6888died, I viewed the expanse before me with anguish, when suddenly my eye
6889caught a dark speck upon the dusky plain.  I strained my sight to
6890discover what it could be and uttered a wild cry of ecstasy when I
6891distinguished a sledge and the distorted proportions of a well-known
6892form within.  Oh!  With what a burning gush did hope revisit my heart!
6893Warm tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away, that they might
6894not intercept the view I had of the dæmon; but still my sight was
6895dimmed by the burning drops, until, giving way to the emotions that
6896oppressed me, I wept aloud.
6897
6898But this was not the time for delay; I disencumbered the dogs of their
6899dead companion, gave them a plentiful portion of food, and after an
6900hour’s rest, which was absolutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly
6901irksome to me, I continued my route.  The sledge was still visible, nor
6902did I again lose sight of it except at the moments when for a short
6903time some ice-rock concealed it with its intervening crags.  I indeed
6904perceptibly gained on it, and when, after nearly two days’ journey, I
6905beheld my enemy at no more than a mile distant, my heart bounded within
6906me.
6907
6908But now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my foe, my hopes were
6909suddenly extinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I had
6910ever done before. A ground sea was heard; the thunder of its progress, as
6911the waters rolled and swelled beneath me, became every moment more ominous
6912and terrific. I pressed on, but in vain. The wind arose; the sea roared;
6913and, as with the mighty shock of an earthquake, it split and cracked with a
6914tremendous and overwhelming sound. The work was soon finished; in a few
6915minutes a tumultuous sea rolled between me and my enemy, and I was left
6916drifting on a scattered piece of ice that was continually lessening and
6917thus preparing for me a hideous death.
6918
6919In this manner many appalling hours passed; several of my dogs died, and I
6920myself was about to sink under the accumulation of distress when I saw your
6921vessel riding at anchor and holding forth to me hopes of succour and life.
6922I had no conception that vessels ever came so far north and was astounded
6923at the sight. I quickly destroyed part of my sledge to construct oars, and
6924by these means was enabled, with infinite fatigue, to move my ice raft in
6925the direction of your ship. I had determined, if you were going southwards,
6926still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas rather than abandon my
6927purpose. I hoped to induce you to grant me a boat with which I could pursue
6928my enemy. But your direction was northwards. You took me on board when my
6929vigour was exhausted, and I should soon have sunk under my multiplied
6930hardships into a death which I still dread, for my task is unfulfilled.
6931
6932Oh!  When will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the dæmon, allow
6933me the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live?  If I do,
6934swear to me, Walton, that he shall not escape, that you will seek him
6935and satisfy my vengeance in his death.  And do I dare to ask of you to
6936undertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I have undergone?
6937No; I am not so selfish.  Yet, when I am dead, if he should appear, if
6938the ministers of vengeance should conduct him to you, swear that he
6939shall not live—swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated
6940woes and survive to add to the list of his dark crimes.  He is eloquent
6941and persuasive, and once his words had even power over my heart; but
6942trust him not.  His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery
6943and fiend-like malice.  Hear him not; call on the names of William,
6944Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched The Doctor, and
6945thrust your sword into his heart.  I will hover near and direct the
6946steel aright.
6947
6948Walton, _in continuation._
6949
6950
6951August 26th, 17—.
6952
6953
6954You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not
6955feel your blood congeal with horror, like that which even now curdles
6956mine?  Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his
6957tale; at others, his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with
6958difficulty the words so replete with anguish.  His fine and lovely eyes
6959were now lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast sorrow
6960and quenched in infinite wretchedness.  Sometimes he commanded his
6961countenance and tones and related the most horrible incidents with a
6962tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a
6963volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression
6964of the wildest rage as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor.
6965
6966His tale is connected and told with an appearance of the simplest truth,
6967yet I own to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he showed me,
6968and the apparition of Frankenstein seen from our ship, brought to me a
6969greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than his asseverations,
6970however earnest and connected. Such a monster has, then, really existence!
6971I cannot doubt it, yet I am lost in surprise and admiration. Sometimes I
6972endeavoured to gain from The Doctor the particulars of his
6973creature’s formation, but on this point he was impenetrable.
6974
6975“Are you mad, my friend?” said he. “Or whither does your
6976senseless curiosity lead you? Would you also create for yourself and the
6977world a demoniacal enemy? Peace, peace! Learn my miseries and do not seek
6978to increase your own.”
6979
6980The Doctor discovered that I made notes concerning his history; he asked
6981to see them and then himself corrected and augmented them in many places,
6982but principally in giving the life and spirit to the conversations he held
6983with his enemy. “Since you have preserved my narration,” said
6984he, “I would not that a mutilated one should go down to
6985posterity.”
6986
6987Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest
6988tale that ever imagination formed.  My thoughts and every feeling of my
6989soul have been drunk up by the interest for my guest which this tale
6990and his own elevated and gentle manners have created.  I wish to soothe
6991him, yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so destitute of
6992every hope of consolation, to live?  Oh, no!  The only joy that he can
6993now know will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and
6994death.  Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and
6995delirium; he believes that when in dreams he holds converse with his
6996friends and derives from that communion consolation for his miseries or
6997excitements to his vengeance, that they are not the creations of his
6998fancy, but the beings themselves who visit him from the regions of a
6999remote world.  This faith gives a solemnity to his reveries that render
7000them to me almost as imposing and interesting as truth.
7001
7002Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and
7003misfortunes.  On every point of general literature he displays
7004unbounded knowledge and a quick and piercing apprehension.  His
7005eloquence is forcible and touching; nor can I hear him, when he relates
7006a pathetic incident or endeavours to move the passions of pity or love,
7007without tears.  What a glorious creature must he have been in the days
7008of his prosperity, when he is thus noble and godlike in ruin!  He seems
7009to feel his own worth and the greatness of his fall.
7010
7011“When younger,” said he, “I believed myself destined for
7012some great enterprise. My feelings are profound, but I possessed a coolness
7013of judgment that fitted me for illustrious achievements. This sentiment of
7014the worth of my nature supported me when others would have been oppressed,
7015for I deemed it criminal to throw away in useless grief those talents that
7016might be useful to my fellow creatures. When I reflected on the work I had
7017completed, no less a one than the creation of a sensitive and rational
7018animal, I could not rank myself with the herd of common projectors. But
7019this thought, which supported me in the commencement of my career, now
7020serves only to plunge me lower in the dust. All my speculations and hopes
7021are as nothing, and like the archangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am
7022chained in an eternal hell. My imagination was vivid, yet my powers of
7023analysis and application were intense; by the union of these qualities I
7024conceived the idea and executed the creation of a man. Even now I cannot
7025recollect without passion my reveries while the work was incomplete. I trod
7026heaven in my thoughts, now exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea
7027of their effects. From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty
7028ambition; but how am I sunk! Oh! My friend, if you had known me as I once
7029was, you would not recognise me in this state of degradation. Despondency
7030rarely visited my heart; a high destiny seemed to bear me on, until I fell,
7031never, never again to rise.”
7032
7033Must I then lose this admirable being? I have longed for a friend; I have
7034sought one who would sympathise with and love me. Behold, on these desert
7035seas I have found such a one, but I fear I have gained him only to know his
7036value and lose him. I would reconcile him to life, but he repulses the idea.
7037
7038“I thank you, Walton,” he said, “for your kind intentions towards so
7039miserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties and fresh
7040affections, think you that any can replace those who are gone?  Can any
7041man be to me as Clerval was, or any woman another Elizabeth?  Even
7042where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence,
7043the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our
7044minds which hardly any later friend can obtain.  They know our
7045infantine dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified,
7046are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more
7047certain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives.  A sister or a
7048brother can never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early,
7049suspect the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend,
7050however strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be
7051contemplated with suspicion.  But I enjoyed friends, dear not only
7052through habit and association, but from their own merits; and wherever
7053I am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth and the conversation of
7054Clerval will be ever whispered in my ear. They are dead, and but one
7055feeling in such a solitude can persuade me to preserve my life.  If I
7056were engaged in any high undertaking or design, fraught with extensive
7057utility to my fellow creatures, then could I live to fulfil it.  But
7058such is not my destiny; I must pursue and destroy the being to whom I
7059gave existence; then my lot on earth will be fulfilled and I may die.”
7060
7061My beloved Sister,
7062
7063September 2d.
7064
7065
7066I write to you, encompassed by peril and ignorant whether I am ever
7067doomed to see again dear England and the dearer friends that inhabit
7068it.  I am surrounded by mountains of ice which admit of no escape and
7069threaten every moment to crush my vessel.  The brave fellows whom I
7070have persuaded to be my companions look towards me for aid, but I have
7071none to bestow.  There is something terribly appalling in our
7072situation, yet my courage and hopes do not desert me.  Yet it is
7073terrible to reflect that the lives of all these men are endangered
7074through me.  If we are lost, my mad schemes are the cause.
7075
7076And what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind? You will not hear of my
7077destruction, and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass, and
7078you will have visitings of despair and yet be tortured by hope. Oh! My
7079beloved sister, the sickening failing of your heart-felt expectations is,
7080in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death. But you have a husband
7081and lovely children; you may be happy. Heaven bless you and make you so!
7082
7083My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion.  He
7084endeavours to fill me with hope and talks as if life were a possession
7085which he valued.  He reminds me how often the same accidents have
7086happened to other navigators who have attempted this sea, and in spite
7087of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries.  Even the sailors feel
7088the power of his eloquence; when he speaks, they no longer despair; he
7089rouses their energies, and while they hear his voice they believe these
7090vast mountains of ice are mole-hills which will vanish before the
7091resolutions of man.  These feelings are transitory; each day of
7092expectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny
7093caused by this despair.
7094
7095September 5th.
7096
7097
7098A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest that, although it is
7099highly probable that these papers may never reach you, yet I cannot
7100forbear recording it.
7101
7102We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger
7103of being crushed in their conflict.  The cold is excessive, and many of
7104my unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of
7105desolation.  The Doctor has daily declined in health; a feverish fire
7106still glimmers in his eyes, but he is exhausted, and when suddenly
7107roused to any exertion, he speedily sinks again into apparent
7108lifelessness.
7109
7110I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny.
7111This morning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend—his
7112eyes half closed and his limbs hanging listlessly—I was roused by half
7113a dozen of the sailors, who demanded admission into the cabin.  They
7114entered, and their leader addressed me.  He told me that he and his
7115companions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in deputation
7116to me to make me a requisition which, in justice, I could not refuse.
7117We were immured in ice and should probably never escape, but they
7118feared that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate and a free
7119passage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage and
7120lead them into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted
7121this.  They insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn
7122promise that if the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my
7123course southwards.
7124
7125This speech troubled me.  I had not despaired, nor had I yet conceived
7126the idea of returning if set free.  Yet could I, in justice, or even in
7127possibility, refuse this demand?  I hesitated before I answered, when
7128The Doctor, who had at first been silent, and indeed appeared hardly
7129to have force enough to attend, now roused himself; his eyes sparkled,
7130and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour.  Turning towards the men,
7131he said,
7132
7133“What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you, then,
7134so easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious
7135expedition? “And wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was
7136smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and
7137terror, because at every new incident your fortitude was to be called forth
7138and your courage exhibited, because danger and death surrounded it, and
7139these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this
7140was it an honourable undertaking. You were hereafter to be hailed as the
7141benefactors of your species, your names adored as belonging to brave men
7142who encountered death for honour and the benefit of mankind. And now,
7143behold, with the first imagination of danger, or, if you will, the first
7144mighty and terrific trial of your courage, you shrink away and are content
7145to be handed down as men who had not strength enough to endure cold and
7146peril; and so, poor souls, they were chilly and returned to their warm
7147firesides. Why, that requires not this preparation; ye need not have come
7148thus far and dragged your captain to the shame of a defeat merely to prove
7149yourselves cowards. Oh! Be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your
7150purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your
7151hearts may be; it is mutable and cannot withstand you if you say that it
7152shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace
7153marked on your brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered and
7154who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe.”
7155
7156He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings expressed
7157in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and heroism, that can
7158you wonder that these men were moved? They looked at one another and were
7159unable to reply. I spoke; I told them to retire and consider of what had
7160been said, that I would not lead them farther north if they strenuously
7161desired the contrary, but that I hoped that, with reflection, their courage
7162would return.
7163
7164They retired and I turned towards my friend, but he was sunk in languor and
7165almost deprived of life.
7166
7167How all this will terminate, I know not, but I had rather die than
7168return shamefully, my purpose unfulfilled.  Yet I fear such will be my
7169fate; the men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never
7170willingly continue to endure their present hardships.
7171
7172September 7th.
7173
7174
7175The die is cast; I have consented to return if we are not destroyed.
7176Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back
7177ignorant and disappointed.  It requires more philosophy than I possess
7178to bear this injustice with patience.
7179
7180September 12th.
7181
7182
7183It is past; I am returning to England.  I have lost my hopes of utility
7184and glory; I have lost my friend.  But I will endeavour to detail these
7185bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and while I am wafted
7186towards England and towards you, I will not despond.
7187
7188September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were heard
7189at a distance as the islands split and cracked in every direction. We were
7190in the most imminent peril, but as we could only remain passive, my chief
7191attention was occupied by my unfortunate guest whose illness increased in
7192such a degree that he was entirely confined to his bed. The ice cracked
7193behind us and was driven with force towards the north; a breeze sprang from
7194the west, and on the 11th the passage towards the south became perfectly
7195free. When the sailors saw this and that their return to their native
7196country was apparently assured, a shout of tumultuous joy broke from them,
7197loud and long-continued. The Doctor, who was dozing, awoke and asked the
7198cause of the tumult. “They shout,” I said, “because they
7199will soon return to England.”
7200
7201“Do you, then, really return?”
7202
7203“Alas!  Yes; I cannot withstand their demands.  I cannot lead them
7204unwillingly to danger, and I must return.”
7205
7206“Do so, if you will; but I will not.  You may give up your purpose, but
7207mine is assigned to me by Heaven, and I dare not.  I am weak, but
7208surely the spirits who assist my vengeance will endow me with
7209sufficient strength.”  Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the
7210bed, but the exertion was too great for him; he fell back and fainted.
7211
7212It was long before he was restored, and I often thought that life was
7213entirely extinct.  At length he opened his eyes; he breathed with
7214difficulty and was unable to speak.  The surgeon gave him a composing
7215draught and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the meantime he
7216told me that my friend had certainly not many hours to live.
7217
7218His sentence was pronounced, and I could only grieve and be patient. I sat
7219by his bed, watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he slept; but
7220presently he called to me in a feeble voice, and bidding me come near,
7221said, “Alas! The strength I relied on is gone; I feel that I shall
7222soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in being. Think
7223not, Walton, that in the last moments of my existence I feel that burning
7224hatred and ardent desire of revenge I once expressed; but I feel myself
7225justified in desiring the death of my adversary. During these last days I
7226have been occupied in examining my past conduct; nor do I find it blamable.
7227In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a rational creature and was
7228bound towards him to assure, as far as was in my power, his happiness and
7229well-being. This was my duty, but there was another still paramount to
7230that. My duties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to
7231my attention because they included a greater proportion of happiness or
7232misery. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, to
7233create a companion for the first creature. He showed unparalleled malignity
7234and selfishness in evil; he destroyed my friends; he devoted to destruction
7235beings who possessed exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom; nor do I
7236know where this thirst for vengeance may end. Miserable himself that he may
7237render no other wretched, he ought to die. The task of his destruction was
7238mine, but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious motives, I
7239asked you to undertake my unfinished work, and I renew this request now,
7240when I am only induced by reason and virtue.
7241
7242“Yet I cannot ask you to renounce your country and friends to fulfil
7243this task; and now that you are returning to England, you will have
7244little chance of meeting with him.  But the consideration of these
7245points, and the well balancing of what you may esteem your duties, I
7246leave to you; my judgment and ideas are already disturbed by the near
7247approach of death.  I dare not ask you to do what I think right, for I
7248may still be misled by passion.
7249
7250“That he should live to be an instrument of mischief disturbs me; in
7251other respects, this hour, when I momentarily expect my release, is the
7252only happy one which I have enjoyed for several years.  The forms of
7253the beloved dead flit before me, and I hasten to their arms.  Farewell,
7254Walton!  Seek happiness in tranquillity and avoid ambition, even if it
7255be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in
7256science and discoveries.  Yet why do I say this?  I have myself been
7257blasted in these hopes, yet another may succeed.”
7258
7259His voice became fainter as he spoke, and at length, exhausted by his
7260effort, he sank into silence.  About half an hour afterwards he
7261attempted again to speak but was unable; he pressed my hand feebly, and
7262his eyes closed for ever, while the irradiation of a gentle smile passed
7263away from his lips.
7264
7265Margaret, what comment can I make on the untimely extinction of this
7266glorious spirit?  What can I say that will enable you to understand the
7267depth of my sorrow?  All that I should express would be inadequate and
7268feeble.  My tears flow; my mind is overshadowed by a cloud of
7269disappointment.  But I journey towards England, and I may there find
7270consolation.
7271
7272I am interrupted.  What do these sounds portend?  It is midnight; the
7273breeze blows fairly, and the watch on deck scarcely stir.  Again there
7274is a sound as of a human voice, but hoarser; it comes from the cabin
7275where the remains of The Doctor still lie.  I must arise and examine.
7276Good night, my sister.
7277
7278Great God! what a scene has just taken place! I am yet dizzy with the
7279remembrance of it. I hardly know whether I shall have the power to detail
7280it; yet the tale which I have recorded would be incomplete without this
7281final and wonderful catastrophe.
7282
7283I entered the cabin where lay the remains of my ill-fated and admirable
7284friend. Over him hung a form which I cannot find words to
7285describe—gigantic in stature, yet uncouth and distorted in its
7286proportions. As he hung over the coffin, his face was concealed by long
7287locks of ragged hair; but one vast hand was extended, in colour and
7288apparent texture like that of a mummy. When he heard the sound of my
7289approach, he ceased to utter exclamations of grief and horror and sprung
7290towards the window. Never did I behold a vision so horrible as his face, of
7291such loathsome yet appalling hideousness. I shut my eyes involuntarily and
7292endeavoured to recollect what were my duties with regard to this destroyer.
7293I called on him to stay.
7294
7295He paused, looking on me with wonder, and again turning towards the
7296lifeless form of his creator, he seemed to forget my presence, and
7297every feature and gesture seemed instigated by the wildest rage of some
7298uncontrollable passion.
7299
7300“That is also my victim!” he exclaimed. “In his murder my
7301crimes are consummated; the miserable series of my being is wound to its
7302close! Oh, The Doctor! Generous and self-devoted being! What does it
7303avail that I now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee
7304by destroying all thou lovedst. Alas! He is cold, he cannot answer
7305me.”
7306
7307His voice seemed suffocated, and my first impulses, which had suggested to
7308me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend in destroying his
7309enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion. I
7310approached this tremendous being; I dared not again raise my eyes to his
7311face, there was something so scaring and unearthly in his ugliness. I
7312attempted to speak, but the words died away on my lips. Frankenstein
7313continued to utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At length I
7314gathered resolution to address him in a pause of the tempest of his passion.
7315
7316“Your repentance,” I said, “is now superfluous. If you
7317had listened to the voice of conscience and heeded the stings of remorse
7318before you had urged your diabolical vengeance to this extremity,
7319The Doctor would yet have lived.”
7320
7321“And do you dream?” said the dæmon.  “Do you think that I was then
7322dead to agony and remorse?  He,” he continued, pointing to the corpse,
7323“he suffered not in the consummation of the deed. Oh!  Not the
7324ten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine during the
7325lingering detail of its execution.  A frightful selfishness hurried me
7326on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse.  Think you that the
7327groans of Clerval were music to my ears?  My heart was fashioned to be
7328susceptible of love and sympathy, and when wrenched by misery to vice
7329and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without
7330torture such as you cannot even imagine.
7331
7332“After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland, heart-broken
7333and overcome.  I pitied The Doctor; my pity amounted to horror; I
7334abhorred myself.  But when I discovered that he, the author at once of
7335my existence and of its unspeakable torments, dared to hope for
7336happiness, that while he accumulated wretchedness and despair upon me
7337he sought his own enjoyment in feelings and passions from the
7338indulgence of which I was for ever barred, then impotent envy and bitter
7339indignation filled me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance.  I
7340recollected my threat and resolved that it should be accomplished.  I
7341knew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I was the
7342slave, not the master, of an impulse which I detested yet could not
7343disobey.  Yet when she died!  Nay, then I was not miserable.  I had
7344cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in the excess of my
7345despair.  Evil thenceforth became my good.  Urged thus far, I had no
7346choice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly
7347chosen.  The completion of my demoniacal design became an insatiable
7348passion.  And now it is ended; there is my last victim!”
7349
7350I was at first touched by the expressions of his misery; yet, when I called
7351to mind what The Doctor had said of his powers of eloquence and
7352persuasion, and when I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my
7353friend, indignation was rekindled within me. “Wretch!” I said.
7354“It is well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you
7355have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and when they are
7356consumed, you sit among the ruins and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend!
7357If he whom you mourn still lived, still would he be the object, again would
7358he become the prey, of your accursed vengeance. It is not pity that you
7359feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn
7360from your power.”
7361
7362“Oh, it is not thus—not thus,” interrupted the being.
7363“Yet such must be the impression conveyed to you by what appears to
7364be the purport of my actions. Yet I seek not a fellow feeling in my misery.
7365No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of
7366virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being
7367overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now that virtue has
7368become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into
7369bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am
7370content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure; when I die, I am
7371well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory. Once
7372my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once
7373I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would
7374love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was
7375nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has
7376degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, no
7377malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the
7378frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same
7379creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent
7380visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the
7381fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man
7382had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone.
7383
7384“You, who call The Doctor your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my
7385crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them
7386he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured
7387wasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did
7388not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still
7389I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned.  Was there no
7390injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all
7391humankind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix, who drove his
7392friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic
7393who sought to destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous
7394and immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an
7395abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my
7396blood boils at the recollection of this injustice.
7397
7398“But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and
7399the helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and grasped to
7400death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have
7401devoted my creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love and
7402admiration among men, to misery; I have pursued him even to that
7403irremediable ruin. There he lies, white and cold in death. You hate me, but
7404your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself. I look on the
7405hands which executed the deed; I think on the heart in which the
7406imagination of it was conceived and long for the moment when these hands
7407will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts no more.
7408
7409“Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work
7410is nearly complete. Neither yours nor any man’s death is needed to
7411consummate the series of my being and accomplish that which must be done,
7412but it requires my own. Do not think that I shall be slow to perform this
7413sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice raft which brought me
7414thither and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall
7415collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its
7416remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch who would
7417create such another as I have been. I shall die. I shall no longer feel the
7418agonies which now consume me or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet
7419unquenched. He is dead who called me into being; and when I shall be no
7420more, the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish. I shall no
7421longer see the sun or stars or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light,
7422feeling, and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I find my
7423happiness. Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first
7424opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer and heard the
7425rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to
7426me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by
7427crimes and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in
7428death?
7429
7430“Farewell!  I leave you, and in you the last of humankind whom these
7431eyes will ever behold. Farewell, The Doctor! If thou wert yet alive
7432and yet cherished a desire of revenge against me, it would be better
7433satiated in my life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou
7434didst seek my extinction, that I might not cause greater wretchedness;
7435and if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hadst not ceased to think
7436and feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than
7437that which I feel. Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to
7438thine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my
7439wounds until death shall close them for ever.
7440
7441“But soon,” he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, “I
7442shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning
7443miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and
7444exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration
7445will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit
7446will sleep in peace, or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus.
7447Farewell.”
7448
7449He sprang from the cabin-window as he said this, upon the ice raft
7450which lay close to the vessel.  He was soon borne away by the waves and
7451lost in darkness and distance.
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Doctor, by
7457Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley
7458
7459*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK The Doctor ***
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