APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/books/frankstein/FSTEIN_2

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                    CHAPTER XIV


"SOME time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was
one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding
as it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful to
one so utterly inexperienced as I was.

"The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good
family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence,
respected by his superiors and beloved by his equals. His son was bred
in the service of his country; and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the
highest distinction. A few months before my arrival they had lived in a
large and luxurious city called Paris, surrounded by friends, and
possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or
taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.

"The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin. He was a Turkish
merchant, and had inhabited Paris for many years,when, for some reason
which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was
seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from
Constantinople to join him. He was tried and condemned to death. The
injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant;
and it was judged that his religion and wealth, rather than the crime
alleged against him, had been the cause of his condemnation.

"Felix had accidentally been present at the trial; his horror and
indignation were uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the court.
He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him, and then looked
around for the means. After many fruitless attempts to gain admittance
to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an unguarded part of
the building which lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Mahometan;
who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the execution of the
barbarous sentence. Felix visited the grate at night, and made known to
the prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed and
delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer by promises
of reward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with contempt; yet when
he saw the lovely Safie, who was allowed to visit her father, and who,
by her gestures, expressed her lively gratitude, the youth could not
help owning to his own mind that the captive possessed a treasure which
would fully reward his toil and hazard.

"The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on
the heart of Felix, and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in his
interests by the promise of her hand in marriage, so soon as he should
be conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to accept this
offer; yet he looked forward to the probability of the event as to the
consummation of his happiness.

"During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for
the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several
letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to
express her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old
man, a servant of her father, who understood French. She thanked him in
the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her parent; and
at the same time deeply deplored her own fate.

"I have copies of these letters; for I found means, during my residence
in the hovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters were
often in the hands of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart, I will give them
to you, they will prove the truth of my tale; but at present, as the sun
is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat the substance
of them to you.

"Safie related that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a
slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of
the father of Safie, who married her. The young girl spoke in high and
enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom, spumed the
bondage to which she was now reduced. She instructed her daughter in the
tenets of her religion, and taught her to aspire to higher powers of
intellect, and an independence of spirit, forbidden to the female
followers of Mahomet. This lady died; but her lessons were indelibly
impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again
returning to Asia and being immured within the walls of a harem, allowed
only to occupy herself with infantile amusements, ill suited to the
temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble emulation
for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian, and remaining in a
country where women were allowed to take a rank in society, was
enchanting to her.

"The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed; but, on the night
previous to it, he quitted his prison, and before morning was distant
many leagues from Paris. Felix had procured passports in the name of his
father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his plan to
the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under the
pretence of a journey, and concealed himself, with his daughter, in an
obscure part of Paris.

"Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons, and across Mont
Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable
opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.

"Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his
departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she
should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in
expectation of that event; and in the meantime he enjoyed the society of
the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest
affection. They conversed with one another through the means of an
interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie
sang to him the divine airs of her native country.

"The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place, and encouraged the hopes
of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other
plans. He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a
Christian; but he feared the resentment of Felix, if he should appear
luke-warm; for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer,
if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they
inhabited. He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled to
prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, and secretly
to take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans were
facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.

"The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their
victim, and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer. The plot
of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were thrown
into prison. The news reached Felix, and roused him from his dream of
pleasure. His blind and aged father, and his gentle sister, lay in a
noisome dungeon, while he enjoyed the free air and the society of her
whom he loved. This idea was torture to him. He quickly arranged with
the Turks that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity for
escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a
boarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian,
he hastened to Paris, and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the
law, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.

"He did not succeed. They remained confined for five months before the
trial took place; the result of which deprived them of their fortune,
and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country.

"They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany where I
discovered them. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for whom
he and his family endured such unheard-of oppression, on discovering
that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and ruin, became a
traitor to good feeling and honour, and had quitted Italy with his
daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money, to aid him, as
he said, in some plan of future maintenance.

"Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix, and rendered
him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could
have endured poverty; and while this distress had been the meed of his
virtue, he gloried in it: but the ingratitude of the Turk, and the loss
of his beloved Safie, were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable. The
arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul.

"When the news reached Leghorn that Felix was deprived of his wealth and
rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her lover,
but to prepare to return to her native country. The generous nature of
Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to expostulate with
her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his tyrannical mandate.

"A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter's apartment, and told
her hastily that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn
had been divulged, and that he should speedily be delivered up to the
French government; he had, consequently, hired a vessel to convey him to
Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours. He
intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential servant,
to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his property, which
had not yet arrived at Leghorn.

"When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it
would become her to pursue in this emergency. A residence in Turkey was
abhorrent to her; her religion and her feelings were alike adverse to
it. By some papers of her father, which fell into her hands, she heard
of the exile of her lover, and learnt the name of the spot where he then
resided. She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her
determination. Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her, and a
sum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn,
but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for
Germany.

"She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage
of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safie nursed her
with the most devoted affection; but the poor girl died, and the Arabian
was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country, and
utterly ignorant of the customs of the world. She fell, however, into
good hands. The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for which
they were bound and, after her death, the woman of the house in which
they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at the
cottage of her lover."

                     CHAPTER XV


"SUCH was the history of my beloved cottagers. It impressed me deeply. I
learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire
their virtues, and to deprecate the vices of mankind.

"As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil; benevolence and
generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to
become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities were
called forth and displayed. But, in giving an account of the progress of
my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred in the
beginning of the month of August of the same year.

"One night, during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood, where I
collected my own food, and brought home firing for my protectors, I
found on the ground a leathern portmanteau, containing several articles
of dress and some books. I eagerly seized the prize, and returned with
it to my hovel. Fortunately the books were written in the language the
elements of which I had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of
Paradise Lost, a volume of Plutarch's Lives, and the Sorrows of Werter.
The possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I now
continually studied and exercised my mind upon these histories, whilst
my friends were employed in their ordinary occupations.

"I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They produced
in me an infinity of new images and feelings that sometimes raised me to
ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In the
Sorrows of Werter, besides the interest of its simple and affecting
story, so many opinions are canvassed, and so many lights thrown upon
what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects, that I found in it a
never-ending source of speculation and astonishment. The gentle and
domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and
feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded
well with my experience among my protectors, and with the wants which
were for ever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Werter himself a more
divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character contained
no pretension, but it sunk deep. The disquisitions upon death and
suicide were calculated to fill me with wonder. I did not pretend to
enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards the opinions
of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely understanding
it.

"As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and
condition. I found myself similar, yet at the same time strangely unlike
to the beings concerning whom I read, and to whose conversation I was a
listener. I sympathised with, and partly understood them, but I was
unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to none. 'The path
of my departure was free'; and there was none to lament my annihilation.
My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who
was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These
questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them.

"The volume of Plutarch's Lives, which I possessed, contained the
histories of the first founders of the ancient republics. This book had
a far different effect upon me from the Sorrows of Werter. I learned
from Werter's imaginations despondency and gloom: but Plutarch taught me
high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my own
reflections to admire and love the heroes of past ages. Many things I
read surpassed my understanding and experience. I had a very confused
knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers, and
boundless seas. But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns, and large
assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the only
school in which I had studied human nature; but this book developed new
and mightier scenes of action. I read of men concerned in public
affairs, governing or massacring their species. I felt the greatest
ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as far as I
understood the signification of those terms, relative as they were, as I
applied them, to pleasure and pain alone. Induced by these feelings, I
was of course led to admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa, Solon, and
Lycurgus, in preference to Romulus and Theseus. The patriarchal lives of
my protectors caused these impressions to take a firm hold on my mind;
perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had been made by a young
soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should have been imbued with
different sensations.

"But Paradise Lost excited different and far deeper emotions. I read it,
as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as a
true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the picture
of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of exciting.
I often referred the several situations, as their similarity struck me,
to my own. Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to any other
being in existence; but his state was far different from mine in every
other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect
creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of his
Creator; he was allowed to converse with, and acquire knowledge from,
beings of a superior nature: but I was wretched, helpless, and alone.
Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition; for
often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter
gall of envy rose within me.

"Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon
after my arrival in the hovel, I discovered some papers in the pocket of
the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. At first I had
neglected them; but now that I was able to decipher the characters in
which they were written, I began to study them with diligence. It was
your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely
described in these papers every step you took in the progress of your
work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic occurrences.
You, doubtless, recollect these papers. Here they are. Everything is
related in them which bears reference to my accursed origin; the whole
detail of that series of disgusting circumstances which produced it is
set in view; the minutest description of my odious and loathsome person
is given, in language which painted your own horrors and rendered mine
indelible. I sickened as I read. 'Hateful day when I received life!' I
exclaimed in agony. 'Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so
hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man
beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy
type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance. Satan had his
companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am
solitary and abhorred.'

"These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude; but
when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and
benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should become
acquainted with my admiration of their virtues, they would compassionate
me, and overlook my personal deformity. Could they turn from their door
one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion and friendship? I
resolved, at least not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for an
interview with them which would decide my fate. I postponed this attempt
for some months longer; for the importance attached to its success
inspired me with a dread lest I should fail. Besides, I found that my
understanding improved so much with every day's experience that I was
unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few more months should
have added to my sagacity.

"Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cottage. The
presence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants; and I also
found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha
spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in
their labours by servants. They did not appear rich, but they were
contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine
became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledge only discovered
to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I cherished hope, it
is true; but it vanished when I beheld my person reflected in water, or
my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail image and that inconstant
shade.

"I endeavoured to crush these fears, and to fortify myself for the trial
which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my
thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and
dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my
feelings, and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed
smiles of consolation. But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my
sorrows, nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam's
supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me:
and, in the bitterness of my heart, I cursed him.

"Autumn passed thus. I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay
and fall, and nature again assume the barren and bleak appearance it had
worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did not
heed the bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my
conformation for the endurance of cold than heat. But my chief delights
were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay apparel of
summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention towards the
cottagers. Their happiness was not decreased by the absence of summer.
They loved, and sympathised with one another; and their joys, depending
on each other, were not interrupted by the casualties that took place
around them. The more I saw of them, the greater became my desire to
claim their protection and kindness; my heart yearned to be known and
loved by these amiable creatures: to see their sweet looks directed
towards me with affection was the utmost limit of my ambition. I dared
not think that they would turn them from me with disdain and horror. The
poor that stopped at their door were never driven away. I asked, it is
true, for greater treasures than a little food or rest: I required
kindness and sympathy; but I did not believe myself utterly unworthy of
it.

"The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken
place since I awoke into life. My attention, at this time, was solely
directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my
protectors. I revolved many projects; but that on which I finally fixed
was, to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone. I had
sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my person
was the chief object of horror with those who had formerly beheld me. My
voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I thought, therefore,
that if, in the absence of his children, I could gain the good-will and
mediation of the old De Lacey, I might, by his means, be tolerated by my
younger protectors.

"One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground,
and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safie, Agatha, and
Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own
desire, was left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed,
he took up his guitar, and played several mournful but sweet airs, more
sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before. At first his
countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but, as he continued,
thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded; at length, laying aside the
instrument, he sat absorbed in reflection.

"My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial which would
decide my hopes or realise my fears. The servants were gone to a
neighbouring fair. All was silent in and around the cottage: it was an
excellent opportunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my
limbs failed me, and I sank to the ground. Again I rose; and, exerting
all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had
placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat. The fresh air revived me,
and, with renewed determination, I approached the door of their cottage.

"I knocked. 'Who is there?' said the old man- 'Come in.'

"I entered; 'Pardon this intrusion,' said I: 'I am a traveller in want
of a little rest; you would greatly oblige me if you would allow me to
remain a few minutes before the fire.'

"'Enter,' said De Lacey; 'and I will try to relieve your wants; but,
unfortunately, my children are from home, and, as I am blind, I am
afraid I shall find it difficult to procure food for you.'

"'Do not trouble yourself, my kind host, I have food; it is warmth and
rest only that I need.'

"I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew that every minute was precious
to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence the
interview; when the old man addressed me-

"'By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman- are you
French?'

"'No; but I was educated by a French family, and understand that
language only. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends,
whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.'

"'Are they Germans?'

"'No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an
unfortunate and deserted creature; I look around, and I have no relation
or friend upon earth. These amiable people to whom I go have never seen
me, and know little of me. I am full of fears; for if I fail there, I am
an outcast in the world for ever.'

"'Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate; but the
hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are full
of brotherly love and charity. Rely, therefore, on your hopes; and if
these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.'

"'They are kind- they are the most excellent creatures in the world;
but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me. I have good
dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless, and in some degree
beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they
ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable
monster.'

"'That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot
you undeceive them?'

"'I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I
feel so many overwhelming terrors. I tenderly love these friends; I
have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily
kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and
it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.'

"'Where do these friends reside?'

"'Near this spot.'

"The old man paused, and then continued, 'If you will unreservedly
confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in
undeceiving them. I am blind, and cannot judge of your countenance, but
there is something in your words which persuades me that you are
sincere. I am poor, and an exile; but it will afford me true pleasure to
be in any way serviceable to a human creature.'

"'Excellent man! I thank you, and accept your generous offer. You raise
me from the dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid, I
shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your
fellow-creatures.'

"'Heaven forbid! even if you were really criminal; for that can only
drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I also am
unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent:
judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.'

"'How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? From your lips first
have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall be for
ever grateful; and your present humanity assures me of success with
those friends whom I am on the point of meeting.'

"'May I know the names and residence of those friends?'

"I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to rob
me of, or bestow happiness on me forever. I struggled vainly for
firmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my
remaining strength; I sank on the chair, and sobbed aloud. At that
moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment to
lose; but, seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, 'Now is the time!-
save and protect me! You and your family are the friends whom I seek. Do
not you desert me in the hour of trial!'

"'Great God!' exclaimed the old man, 'who are you?'

"At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safie, and
Agatha entered. Who can describe their horror and consternation on
beholding me? Agatha fainted; and Safie, unable to attend to her friend,
rushed out of the cottage. Felix darted forward, and with supernatural
force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung: in a transport of
fury, he dashed me to the ground and struck me violently with a stick. I
could have torn him limb from limb, as a lion rends the antelope. But my
heart sunk within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained. I saw him
on the point of repeating his blow, when, overcome by pain and anguish,
I quitted the cottage and in the general tumult escaped unperceived to
my hovel.

                    CHAPTER XVI


"CURSED, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not
extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I
know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were
those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the
cottage and its inhabitants, and have glutted myself with their shrieks
and misery.

"When night came, I quitted my retreat, and wandered in the wood; and
now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my
anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the
toils; destroying the objects that obstructed me, and ranging through
the wood with a stag-like swiftness. O! what a miserable night I passed!
the cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches
above me: now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the
universal stillness. All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment: I, like
the arch-fiend, bore a hell within me; and, finding myself unsympathised
with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around
me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin.

"But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became
fatigued with excess of bodily exertion, and sank on the damp grass in
the sick impotence of despair. There was none among the myriads of men
that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness
towards my enemies? No: from that moment I declared everlasting war
against the species, and, more than all, against him who had formed me,
and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.

"The sun rose; I heard the voices of men, and knew that it was
impossible to return to my retreat during that day. Accordingly I hid
myself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours
to reflection on my situation.

"The pleasant sunshine, and the pure air of day, restored me to some
degree of tranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the
cottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my
conclusions. I had certainly acted imprudently. It was apparent that my
conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and I was a fool in
having exposed my person to the horror of his children. I ought to have
familiarised the old De Lacey to me, and by degrees to have discovered
myself to the rest of his family, when they should have been prepared
for my approach. But I did not believe my errors to be irretrievable;
and, after much consideration, I resolved to return to the cottage, seek
the old man, and by my representations win him to my party.

"These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound
sleep; but the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by
peaceful dreams. The horrible scene of the preceding day was forever
acting before my eyes; the females were flying, and the enraged Felix
tearing me from his father's feet. I awoke exhausted; and, finding that
it was already night, I crept forth from my hiding place, and went in
search of food.

"When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the well-known
path that conducted to the cottage. All there was at peace. I crept into
my hovel, and remained in silent expectation of the accustomed hour when
the family arose. That hour passed, the sun mounted high in the heavens,
but the cottagers did not appear. I trembled violently, apprehending
some dreadful misfortune. The inside of the cottage was dark, and I
heard no motion; I cannot describe the agony of this suspense.

"Presently two countrymen passed by; but, pausing near the cottage, they
entered into conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not
understand what they said, as they spoke the language of the country,
which differed from that of my protectors. Soon after, however, Felix
approached with another man: I was surprised, as I knew that he had not
quitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover, from
his discourse, the meaning of these unusual appearances.

"'Do you consider,' said his companion to him, 'that you will be obliged
to pay three months' rent, and to lose the produce of your garden? I do
not wish to take any unfair advantage, and I beg therefore that you will
take some days to consider of your determination.'

"'It is utterly useless,' replied Felix; 'we can never again inhabit
your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest danger, owing to
the dreadful circumstance that I have related. My wife and my sister
will never recover their horror. I entreat you not to reason with me any
more. Take possession of your tenement, and let me fly from this place.'

"Felix trembled violently as he said this. He and his companion entered
the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then
departed. I never saw any of the family of De Lacey more.

"I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of
utter and stupid despair. My protectors had departed, and had broken the
only link that held me to the world. For the first time the feelings of
revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to control
them; but, allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I bent my
mind towards injury and death. When I thought of my friends, of the mild
voice of De Lacey, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the exquisite beauty
of the Arabian, these thoughts vanished, and a gush of tears somewhat
soothed me. But again, when I reflected that they had spurned and
deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger; and, unable to injure
anything human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects. As night
advanced, I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage; and,
after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden, I
waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my
operations.

"As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods, and quickly
dispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens: the blast tore
along like a mighty avalanche, and produced a kind of insanity in my
spirits that burst all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted the
dry branch of a tree, and danced with fury around the devoted cottage,
my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon
nearly touched. A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my
brand; it sunk, and with a loud scream, I fired the straw, and heath,
and bushes, which I had collected. The wind fanned the fire, and the
cottage was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung to it, and
licked it with their forked and destroying tongues.

"As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of
the habitation, I quitted the scene and sought for refuge in the woods.

"And now, with the world before me, whither should I bend my steps? I
resolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes; but to me, hated
and despised, every country must be equally horrible. At length the
thought of you crossed my mind. I learned from your papers that you were
my father, my creator; and to whom could I apply with more fitness than
to him who had given me life? Among the lessons that Felix had bestowed
upon Safie, geography had not been omitted. I had learned from these the
relative situations of the different countries of the earth. You had
mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town; and towards this place
I resolved to proceed.

"But how was I to direct myself? I knew that I must travel in a
south-westerly direction to reach my destination; but the sun was my
only guide. I did not know the names of the towns that I was to pass
through, nor could I ask information from a single human being; but I
did not despair. From you only could I hope for succour, although
towards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred. Unfeeling, heartless
creator! you had endowed me with perceptions and passions, and then cast
me abroad an object for the scorn and horror of mankind. But on you only
had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I determined to seek
that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from any other being that
wore the human form.

"My travels were long, and the sufferings I endured intense. It was late
in autumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided. I
travelled only at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a human
being. Nature decayed around me, and the sun became heatless; rain and
snow poured around me; mighty rivers were frozen; the surface of the
earth was hard, and chill, and bare, and I found no shelter. Oh, earth!
how often did I imprecate curses on the cause of my being! the mildness
of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall and
bitterness. The nearer I approached to your habitation, the more deeply
did I feel the spirit of revenge enkindled in my heart. Snow fell, and
the waters were hardened; but I rested not. A few incidents now and then
directed me, and I possessed a map of the country; but I often wandered
wide from my path. The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite: no
incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its
food; but a circumstance that happened when I arrived on the confines of
Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth, and the earth again
began to look green, confirmed in an especial manner the bitterness and
horror of my feelings.

"I generally rested during the day, and travelled only when I was
secured by night from the view of man. One morning, however, finding
that my path lay through a deep wood, I ventured to continue my journey
after the sun had risen; the day, which was one of the first of spring,
cheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of
the air. I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long
appeared dead, revive within me. Half surprised by the novelty of these
sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them; and, forgetting
my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy. Soft tears again bedewed
my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with thankfulness towards the
blessed sun which bestowed such joy upon me.

"I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its
boundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many
of the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring.
Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard the
sound of voices that induced me to conceal myself under the shade of a
cypress. I was scarcely hid, when a young girl came running towards the
spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if she ran from some one in
sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the
river, when suddenly her foot slipt, and she fell into the rapid stream.
I rushed from my hiding-place; and, with extreme labour from the force
of the current, saved her, and dragged her to shore. She was senseless;
and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore animation, when
I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of rustic, who was probably
the person from whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me, he darted
towards me, and tearing the girl from my arms, hastened towards the
deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, hardly knew why; but when
the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, which he carried, at my body,
and fired. I sunk to the ground, and my injurer, with increased
swiftness, escaped into the wood.

"This was then the reward of my benevolence! I had saved a human being
from destruction, and as a recompense, I now writhed under the miserable
pain of a wound, which shattered the flesh and bone. The feelings of
kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments before
gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by pain, I
vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind. But the agony of my
wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted.

"For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to
cure the wound which I had received. The ball had entered my shoulder,
and I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through; at any
rate I had no means of extracting it. My sufferings were augmented also
by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their
infliction. My daily vows rose for revenge- a deep and deadly revenge,
such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had
endured.

"After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey. The
labours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or
gentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mockery, which insulted my
desolate state, and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for
the enjoyment of pleasure.

"But my toils now drew near a close; and in two months from this time I
reached the environs of Geneva.

"It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among
the fields that surround it, to meditate in what manner I should apply
to you. I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger, and far too unhappy to
enjoy the gentle breezes of evening, or the prospect of the sun setting
behind the stupendous mountains of Jura.

"At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection,
which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came
running into the recess I had chosen, with all the sportiveness of
infancy. Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me, that this
little creature was unprejudiced, and had lived too short a time to have
imbibed a horror of deformity. If, therefore, I could seize him, and
educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in
this peopled earth.

"Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed and drew him
towards me. As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before his
eyes and uttered a shrill scream: I drew his hand forcibly from his
face, and said, 'Child, what is the meaning of this? I do not intend to
hurt you; listen to me.'

"He struggled violently. 'Let me go,' he cried; 'monster! ugly wretch!
you wish to eat me, and tear me to pieces- You are an ogre- Let me go,
or I will tell my papa.'

"'Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.'

"'Hideous monster! let me go. My papa is a Syndic- he is M.
Frankenstein- he will punish you. You dare not keep me.'

"'Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy- to him towards whom I have
sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.'

"The child still struggled, and loaded me with epithets which carried
despair to my heart; I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a
moment he lay dead at my feet.

"I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish
triumph: clapping my hands, I exclaimed, 'I, too, can create desolation;
my enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and
a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.'

"As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his
breast. I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman. In spite of
malignity, it softened and attracted me. For a few moments I gazed with
delight on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her lovely lips;
but presently my rage returned: I remembered that I was for ever
deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could bestow; and
that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in regarding me, have
changed that air of divine benignity to one expressive of disgust and
affright.

"Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage? I only
wonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations in
exclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind and perish in the
attempt to destroy them.

"While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had
committed the murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I
entered a barn which had appeared to me to be empty. A woman was
sleeping on some straw; she was young: not indeed so beautiful as her
whose portrait I held; but of an agreeable aspect, and blooming in the
loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one of those whose
joy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but me. And then I bent over
her, and whispered, 'Awake, fairest, thy lover is near- he who would
give his life but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes: my
beloved, awake!'

"The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran through me. Should she
indeed awake, and see me, and curse me, and denounce the murderer? Thus
would she assuredly act, if her darkened eyes opened and she beheld me.
The thought was madness; it stirred the fiend within me- not I, but she
shall suffer: the murder I have committed because I am forever robbed of
all that she could give me, she shall atone. The crime had its source in
her: be hers the punishment! Thanks to the lessons of Felix and the
sanguinary laws of man, I had learned now to work mischief I bent over
her, and placed the portrait securely in one of the folds of her dress.
She moved again, and I fled.

"For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place;
sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and
its miseries forever. At length I wandered towards these mountains, and
have ranged through their immense recesses, consumed by a burning
passion which you alone can gratify. We may not part until you have
promised to comply with my requisition. I am alone, and miserable; man
will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself
would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species,
and have the same defects. This being you must create."

                     CHAPTER XVII


THE BEING finished speaking, and fixed his looks upon me in expectation
of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my
ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He
continued:

"You must create a female for me, with whom I can live in the
interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone
can do; and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to
concede."

The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had
died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and,
as he said this, I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within
me.

"I do refuse it," I replied; "and no torture shall ever extort a consent
from me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you shall
never make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like yourself,
whose joint wickedness might desolate the world! Begone! I have answered
you; you may torture me, but I will never consent."

"You are in the wrong," replied the fiend; "and, instead of threatening,
I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable.
Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear
me to pieces, and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity
man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you could
precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the
work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he contemns me? Let him
live with me in the interchange of kindness; and, instead of injury, I
would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his
acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable
barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject
slavery. I will revenge my injuries: if I cannot inspire love, I will
cause fear; and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator,
do I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care: I will work at your
destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall
curse the hour of your birth."

A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled into
contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently he
calmed himself and proceeded-

"I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me; for you do not
reflect that you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotions
of benevolence towards me, should return them an hundred and an hundred
fold; for that one creature's sake, I would make peace with the whole
kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realised. What
I ask of is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of another sex,
but as hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but it is all that
I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true we shall be monsters,
cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more
attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be
harmless, and free from the misery I now feel. Oh! my creator, make me
happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see
that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my
request!"

I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences of
my consent; but I felt that there was some justice in his argument. His
tale, and the feelings he now expressed, proved him to be a creature of
fine sensations; and did I not as his maker owe him all the portion of
happiness that it was in my power to bestow? He saw my change of feeling
and continued-

"If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see us
again: I will go to the vast wilds of South America. My food is not that
of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite;
acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. My companion will
be of the same nature as myself, and will be content with the same fare.
We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on
man, and will ripen our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful
and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the
wantonness of power and cruelty. Pitiless as you have been towards me, I
now see compassion in your eyes; me seize the favourable moment, and
persuade you to promise what. I so ardently desire."

"You propose," replied I, "to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell
in those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your only
companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man,
persevere in this exile? You will return, and again seek their kindness,
and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be
renewed, and you will then have a companion to aid you in the task of
destruction. This may not be: cease to argue the point, for I cannot
consent."

"How inconstant are your feelings! but a moment ago you were moved by my
representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my complaints?
I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me,
that, with the companion you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of
man, and dwell as it may chance in the most savage of places. My evil
passions will have fled, for I shall meet with sympathy! my life will
flow quietly away, and, in my dying moments, I shall not curse my
maker."

His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him, and
sometimes felt a wish to console him; but when I looked upon him, when I
saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened, and my
feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to stifle
these sensations; I thought that, as I could not sympathise with him, I
had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which
was yet in my power to bestow.

"You swear", I said, "to be harmless; but have you not already shown a
degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust you? May not
even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by affording a
wider scope for your revenge."

"How is this? I must not be trifled with: and I demand an answer. If I
have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion; the
love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall become
a thing of whose existence every one will be ignorant. My vices are the
children of a forced solitude that I abhor; and my virtues will
necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal. I shall feel
the affections of a sensitive being, and become linked to the chain of
existence and events, from which I am now excluded."

I paused some time to reflect on all he had related, and the various
arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues
which he had displayed on the opening of his existence, and the
subsequent blight of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which
his protectors had manifested towards him. His power and threats were
not omitted in my calculations: a creature who could exist in the
ice-caves of the glaciers, and hide himself from pursuit among the
ridges of inaccessible precipices, was a being possessing faculties it
would be vain to cope with. After a long pause of reflection, I
concluded that the justice due both to him and my fellow-creatures
demanded of me that I should comply with his request. Turning to him,
therefore, I said-

"I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever,
and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall
deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile."

"I swear," he cried, "by the sun, and by the blue sky of Heaven, and by
the fire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my prayer, while
they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your home, and
commence your labours: I shall watch their progress with unutterable
anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall appear."

Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in
my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than
the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the
sea of ice.

His tale had occupied the whole day; and the sun was upon the verge of
the horizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to hasten my descent
towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my
heart was heavy, and my steps slow. The labour of winding among the
little paths of the mountains, and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced,
perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences of
the day had produced. Night was far advanced when I came to the half-way
resting-place, and seated myself beside the fountain. The stars shone at
intervals, as the clouds passed from over them the dark pines rose
before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the ground: it
was a scene of wonderful solemnity, and stirred strange thoughts within
me. I wept bitterly; and clasping my hands in agony, I exclaimed, "Oh!
stars, and clouds, and winds, ye are all about to mock me: if ye really
pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as nought; but if
not, depart, leave me in darkness."

These were wild and miserable thoughts; but I cannot describe to you how
the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me, and how I listened
to every blast of wind as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its way to
consume me.

Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; I took no
rest, but returned immediately to Geneva. Even in my own heart I could
give no expression to my sensations- they weighed on me with a
mountain's weight, and their excess destroyed my agony beneath them.
Thus I returned home, and entering the house, presented myself to the
family. My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm; but I
answered no question, scarcely did I speak. I felt as if I were placed
under a ban- as if I had no right to claim their sympathies- as if never
more might I enjoy companionship with them. Yet even thus I loved them
to adoration; and to save them, I resolved to dedicate myself to my most
abhorred task. The prospect of such an occupation made every other
circumstance of existence pass before me like a dream; and that thought
only had to me the reality of life.

                     CHAPTER XVIII


DAY after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and
I could not collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the
vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my
repugnance to the task which was enjoined me. I found that I could not
compose a female without again devoting several months to profound study
and laborious disquisition. I had heard of some discoveries having been
made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was material to
my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father's consent to
visit England for this purpose; but I clung to every pretence of delay,
and shrunk from taking the first step in an undertaking whose immediate
necessity began to appear less absolute to me. A change indeed had taken
place in me: my health, which had hitherto declined, was now much
restored; and my spirits, when unchecked by the memory of my unhappy
promise, rose proportionably. My father saw this change with pleasure,
and he turned his thoughts towards the best method of eradicating the
remains of my melancholy, which every now and then would return by fits,
and with a devouring blackness overcast the approaching sunshine. At
these moments I took refuge in the most perfect solitude. I passed whole
days on the lake alone in a little boat, watching the clouds, and
listening to the rippling of the waves, silent and listless. But the
fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of
composure; and, on my return, I met the salutations of my friends with a
readier smile and a more cheerful heart.

It was after my return from one of these rambles, that my father,
calling me aside, thus addressed me:-

"I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former
pleasures, and seem to be returning to yourself. And yet you are still
unhappy, and still avoid our society. For some time I was lost in
conjecture as to the cause of this; but yesterday an idea struck me, and
if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it. Reserve on such a point
would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all."

I trembled violently at this exordium, and my father continued:

"I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage
with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort, and the stay
of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your
earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions
and tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the
experience of man that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my
plan may have entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your
sister, without any wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may
have met with another whom you may love; and, considering yourself as
bound in honour to Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant
misery which you appear to feel."

"My dear father, reassure yourself I love my cousin tenderly and
sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my
warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and prospects are
entirely bound up in the expectation of our union."

"The expression of your sentiments on this subject, my dear Victor,
gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you
feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast
a gloom over us. But it is this gloom, which appears to have taken so
strong a hold of your mind, that I wish to dissipate. Tell me,
therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnisation of the
marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us from
that every-day tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You are
younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent
fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future
plans of honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose,
however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you, or that a delay on
your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words with
candour, and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and sincerity."

I listened to my father in silence, and remained for some time incapable
of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of
thoughts, and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. Alas! to me the
idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and
dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise, which I had not yet fulfilled,
and dared not break; or, if I did, what manifold miseries might not
impend over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival with
this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck, and bowing me to the
ground? I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with his
mate, before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of an union from
which I expected peace.

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to
England, or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers
of that country, whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable
use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining the
desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory: besides, I had an
insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my loathsome
task in my father's house, while in habits of familiar intercourse with
those I loved. I knew that a thousand fearful accidents might occur, the
slightest of which would disclose a tale to thrill all connected with me
with horror. I was aware also that I should often lose all self-command,
all capacity of hiding the harrowing sensations that would possess me
during the progress of my unearthly occupation. I must absent myself
from all I loved while thus employed. Once commenced, it would quickly
be achieved, and I might be restored to my family in peace and
happiness. My promise fulfilled, the monster would depart forever. Or
(so my fond fancy imaged) some accident might meanwhile occur to destroy
him, and put an end to my slavery for ever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to
visit England; but, concealing the true reasons of this request, I
clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I
urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to
comply. After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy, that
resembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find that
I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey, and he
hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my return,
have restored me entirely to myself.

The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or
at most a year, was the period contemplated. One paternal kind
precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion. Without
previously communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth,
arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasburgh. This interfered with
the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task; yet at the
commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be
an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many
hours of lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might stand between me
and the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone, would he not at times
force his abhorred presence on me, to remind me of my task, or to
contemplate its progress?

To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union
with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return. My father's
age rendered him extremely averse to delay. For myself, there was one
reward I promised myself from my detested toils- one consolation for my
unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect of that day when,
enfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth, and
forget the past in my union with her.

I now made arrangements for my journey; but one feeling haunted me,
which filled me with fear and agitation. During my absence I should
leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy, and
unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my
departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go; and
would he not accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in
itself, but soothing, inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends.
I was agonised with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of this
might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the slave
of my creature, I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of the
moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend
would follow me, and exempt my family from the danger of his
machinations.

It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native
country. My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth,
therefore, acquiesced: but she was filled with disquiet at the idea of
my suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief. It had
been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval- and yet a man is
blind to a thousand minute circumstances, which call forth a woman's
sedulous attention. She longed to bid me hasten my return,- a thousand
conflicting emotions rendered her mute as she bade me a tearful silent
farewell.

I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly
knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. I
remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on
it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with
me. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful and
majestic scenes; but my eyes were fixed and unobserving. I could only
think of the bourne of my travels, and the work which was to occupy me
whilst they endured.

After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed
many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for
Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He was
alive to every new scene; joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting
sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise, and recommence a new day. He
pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape, and the
appearances of the sky. "This is what it is to live," he cried, "now I
enjoy existence! But you, Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding and
sorrowful!" In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts, and neither saw
the descent of the evening star, nor the golden sunrise reflected in the
Rhine.- And you, my friend, would be far more amused with the journal of
Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of feeling and delight,
than in listening to my reflections. I, a miserable wretch, haunted by a
curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment.

We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to
Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During this voyage,
we passed many willowy islands, and saw several beautiful towns. We
stayed a day at Manheim, and, on the fifth from our departure from
Strasburgh, arrived at Mayence. The course of the Rhine below Mayence
becomes much more picturesque. The river descends rapidly, and winds
between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw many
ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by black
woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Rhine, indeed, presents a
singularly variegated landscape. In one spot you view rugged hills,
ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhine
rushing beneath; and, on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing
vineyards, with green sloping banks, and a meandering river, and
populous towns occupy the scene.

We travelled at the time of the vintage, and heard the song of the
labourers, as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and
my spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased.
I lay at the bottom of the boat, and, as I gazed on the cloudless blue
sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a
stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of
Henry? He felt as if he had been transported to Fairyland, and enjoyed a
happiness seldom tasted by man. "I have seen," he said, "the most
beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne
and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the
water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy
and mournful appearance, were it not for the most verdant islands that
relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake agitated
by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water, and gave you an
idea of what the waterspout must be on the great ocean; and the waves
dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest and his
mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and where their dying voices
are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I have
seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud: but this country,
Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The mountains of
Switzerland are more majestic and strange; but there is a charm in the
banks of this divine river, that I never before saw equalled. Look at
that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the island,
almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now that
group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village half
hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely, the spirit that inhabits
and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who
pile the glacier, or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains
of our own country."

Clerval! beloved friend! even now it delights me to record your words;
and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He
was a being formed in the "very poetry of nature." His wild and
enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart.
His soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of
that devoted and wondrous nature that the worldy-minded teach us to look
for only in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not
sufficient to satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature,
which others regard only with admiration, he loved with ardour:-

                      "The sounding cataract
      Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,
      The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
      Their colours and their forms, were then to him
      An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
      That had no need of a remoter charm,
      By thought supplied, or any interest
      Unborrow'd from the eye."*

* Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey.

And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost
forever? Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful and
magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the life
of its creator;- has the mind perished? Does it now only exist in my
memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and beaming
with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and consoles your
unhappy friend.

Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight
tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart,
overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will
proceed with my tale.

Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to
post the remainder of our way; for the wind was contrary, and the stream
of the river was too gentle to aid us.

Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery; but
we arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to
England. It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of October, that
I first saw the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames
presented a new scene; they were flat, but fertile, and almost every
town was marked by the remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort,
and remembered the Spanish armada; Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich,
places which I had heard of even in my country.

At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul's towering
above all, and the Tower famed in English history.

                    CHAPTER XIX


LONDON was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several
months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the
intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this time;
but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally occupied with
the means of obtaining the information necessary for the completion of
my promise, and quickly availed myself of the letters of introduction
that I had brought with me, addressed to the most distinguished natural
philosophers.

If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness,
it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had come
over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of the
information they might give me on the subject in which my interest was
so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I could
fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of Henry
soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory peace. But
busy uninteresting joyous faces brought back despair to my heart. I saw
an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my fellow-men this
barrier was sealed with the blood of William and Justine; and to reflect
on the events connected with those names filled my soul with anguish.

But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive,
and anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of
manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of
instruction and amusement. He was also pursuing an object he had long
had in view. His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had in
his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had taken of
its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of European
colonisation and trade. In Britain only could he further the execution
of his plan. He was for ever busy; and the only check to his enjoyments
was my sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this as much as
possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures natural to one
who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by any care or
bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him, alleging another
engagement, that I might remain alone. I now also began to collect the
materials necessary for my new creation, and this was to me like the
torture of single drops of water continually falling on the head. Every
thought that was devoted to it was an extreme anguish, and every word
that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips to quiver, and my heart to
palpitate.

After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person
in Scotland, who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned
the beauties of his native country, and asked us if those were not
sufficient allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north
as Perth, where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this
invitation; and I, although I abhorred society, wished to view again
mountains and streams, and all the wondrous works with which Nature
adorns her chosen dwelling-places.

We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now
February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the
north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not
intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor,
Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the
completion of this tour about the end of July. I packed up my chemical
instruments, and the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my
labours in some obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.

We quitted London on the 27th of March, and remained a few days at
Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us
mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of
stately deer, were all novelties to us.

From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds
were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted
there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles I.
had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him, after
the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of
parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king, and his
companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and
son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they might
be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a dwelling
here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these feelings had not
found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of the city had yet in
itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. The colleges are
ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost magnificent; and the
lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows of exquisite verdure,
is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters, which reflects its
majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and domes, embosomed among
aged trees.

I enjoyed this scene; and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the
memory of the past, and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for
peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never visited my
mind; and if I was ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what is
beautiful in nature, or the study of what is excellent and sublime in
the productions of man, could always interest my heart, and communicate
elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered
my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit, what I shall
soon cease to be- a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to
others, and intolerable to myself.

We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs,
and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most
animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery were
often prolonged by the successive objects that presented themselves. We
visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden, and the field on which that
patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated from its debasing and
miserable fears, to contemplate the divine ideas of liberty and
self-sacrifice, of which these sights were the monuments and the
remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains, and look
around me with a free and lofty spirit; but the iron had eaten into my
flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my miserable self.

We left Oxford with regret, and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next
place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village
resembles, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but
everything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of
distant white Alps, which always attend on the piny mountains of my
native country. We visited the wondrous cave, and the little cabinets of
natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same manner
as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name made me
tremble when pronounced by Henry; and I hastened to quit Matlock, with
which that terrible scene was thus associated.

From Derby, still journeying northward, we passed two months in
Cumberland and Westmoreland. I could now almost fancy mr self among the
Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the
northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the rocky
streams, were all familiar and dear sights to me. Here also we made some
acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into happiness. The
delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than mine; his mind
expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found in his own nature
greater capacities and resources than he could have imagined himself to
have possessed while he associated with his inferiors. "I could pass my
life here," said he to me; "and among these mountains I should scarcely
regret Switzerland and the Rhine."

But he found that a traveller's life is one that includes much pain
amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are forever on the stretch; and when
he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit that on
which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again engages his
attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.

We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and
Westmoreland, and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants,
when the period of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached,
and we left them to travel on. For my own part I was not sorry. I had
now neglected my promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the
daemon's disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland, and wreak his
vengeance on my relatives. This idea pursued me, and tormented me at
every moment from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and
peace. I waited for my letters with feverish impatience: if they were
delayed, I was miserable, and overcome by a thousand fears; and when
they arrived, and I saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I
hardly dared to read and ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the
fiend followed me, and might expedite my remissness by murdering my
companion. When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for
a moment, but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the
fancied rage of his destroyer. I felt as if I had committed some great
crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had
indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of
crime.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might
have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so
well as Oxford: for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing
to him. But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its
romantic castle, and its environs, the most delightful in the world,
Arthur's Seat, St. Bernard's Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated
him for the change, and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But
I was impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.

We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew's, and
along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. But
I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers, or enter into their
feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and
accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland
alone. "Do you," said I, "enjoy yourself, and let this be our
rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with my
motions, I entreat you: leave me to peace and solitude for a short time;
and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more
congenial to your own temper."

Henry wished to dissuade me; but, seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to
remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. "I had rather be with you,"
he said, "in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch people, whom
I do not know: hasten then, my dear friend, to return, that I may again
feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in your absence."

Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of
Scotland, and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the
monster followed me, and would discover himself me when I should have
finished, that he might receive his companion.

With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands, and fixed on
one of the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene of my labours. It was a
place fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock, whose high
sides were continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren,
scarcely affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its
inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy
limbs gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when
they indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured
from the mainland, which was about five miles distant.

On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of
these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two
rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable
penury. The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the
door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some
furniture, and took possession; an incident which would, doubtless, have
occasioned some surprise, had not all the senses of the cottagers been
benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at and
unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes which I
gave; so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations of men.

In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening,
when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea, to
listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet. It was a
monotonous yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was far
different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills are
covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the
plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky; and, when troubled
by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively infant, when
compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.

In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived; but,
as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and
irksome to me. Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my
laboratory for several days; and at other times I toiled day and night
in order to complete my work. It was, indeed, a filthy process in which
I was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of enthusiastic frenzy
had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my mind was intently
fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes were shut to the
horror of my proceedings. But now I went to it in cold blood, and my
heart often sickened at the work of my hands.

Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in a
solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from the
actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I grew
restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my persecutor.
Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing to raise them,
lest they should encounter the object which I so much dreaded to behold.
I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow-creatures, lest when
alone he should come to claim his companion.

In the meantime I worked on, and my labour was already considerably
advanced. I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager
hope, which I dared not trust myself to question, but which was
intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil, that made my heart sicken
in my bosom.

                      CHAPTER XX


I SAT one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was
just rising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment,
and I remained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should
leave my labour for the night, or hasten its conclusion by an
unremitting attention to it. As I sat, a train of reflection occurred to
me, which led me to consider the effects of what I was now doing. Three
years before I was engaged in the same manner, and had created a fiend
whose unparalleled barbarity had desolated my heart, and filled it for
ever with the bitterest remorse. I was now about to form another being,
of whose dispositions I was alike ignorant; she might become ten
thousand times more malignant than her mate, and delight, for its own
sake, in murder and wretchedness. He had sworn to quit the neighbourhood
of man, and hide himself in deserts; but she had not; and she, who in
all probability was to become a thinking and reasoning animal, might
refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation. They might
even hate each other; the creature who already lived loathed his own
deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence for it when it
came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn with
disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him, and
he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being
deserted by one of his own species.

Even if they were to leave Europe, and inhabit the deserts of the new
world, yet one of the first results of those sympathies for which the
daemon thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be
propagated upon the earth who might make the very existence of the
species of man a condition precarious and full of terror. Had I right,
for my own benefit, to inflict this curse upon everlasting generations?
I had before been moved by the sophisms of the being I had created; I
had been struck senseless by his fiendish threats: but now, for the
first time, the wickedness of my promise burst upon me; I shuddered to
think that future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness
had not hesitated to buy its own peace, at the price, perhaps, of the
existence of the whole human race.

I trembled, and my heart failed within me; when, on looking up, I saw,
by the light of the moon, the daemon at the casement. A ghastly grin
wrinkled his lips as he gazed on me, where I sat fulfilling the task
which he had allotted to me. Yes, he had followed me in my travels; he
had loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in wide
and desert heaths; and he now came to mark my progress, and claim the
fulfillment of my promise.

As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of
malice and treachery. I thought with a sensation of madness on my
promise to create another like him, and trembling with passion, tore to
pieces the thing on which I was engaged. The wretch saw me destroy the
creature on whose future existence he depended for happiness, and, with
a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew.

I left the room, and, locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own
heart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, sought
my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate the gloom,
and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most terrible
reveries.

Several hours passed, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea;
it was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature
reposed under the eye of the quiet moon. A few fishing vessels alone
specked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound
of voices, as the fishermen called to one another. I felt the silence,
although I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity, until my ear
was suddenly arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a
person landed close to my house.

In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one
endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt a
presentiment of who it was, and wished to rouse one of the peasants who
dwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the
sensation of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you
in vain endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to the
spot.

Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage; the door
opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared. Shutting the door, he
approached me, and said, in a smothered voice-

"You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you
intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and
misery: I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the
Rhine, among its willow islands, and over the summits of its hills. I
have dwelt many months in the heaths of England, and among the deserts
of Scotland. I have endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger;
do you dare destroy my hopes?"

"Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like
yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness."

"Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself
unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe
yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of day
will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master;-
obey!"

"The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is
arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but
they confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in
vice. Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a daemon, whose
delight is in death and wretchedness? Begone! I am firm, and your words
will only exasperate my rage."

The monster saw my determination in my face, and gnashed his teeth in
the impotence of anger. "Shall each man," cried he, "find a wife for his
bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of
affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man! you may
hate; but beware! your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the
bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness for ever. Are
you to be happy while I grovel in the intensity of my wretchedness? You
can blast my other passions; but revenge remains- revenge, henceforth
dearer than light or food! I may die; but first you, my tyrant and
tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your misery. Beware; for I
am fearless, and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a
snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the
injuries you inflict."

"Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. I
have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend beneath
words. Leave me; I am inexorable."

"It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your
wedding-night."

I started forward, and exclaimed, "Villain! before you sign my
death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe."

I would have seized him; but he eluded me, and quitted the house with
precipitation. In a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot across
the waters with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the waves.

All was again silent; but his words rung in my ears. I burned with rage
to pursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the ocean. I
walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination
conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not
followed him, and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had suffered
him to depart, and he had directed his course towards the main land. I
shuddered to think who might be the next victim sacrificed to his
insatiate revenge. And then I thought again of his words- "I will be
with you on your wedding-night." That then was the period fixed for the
fulfillment of my destiny. In that hour I should die, and at once
satisfy and extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me to fear;
yet when I thought of my beloved Elizabeth,- of her tears and endless
sorrow, when she should find her lover so barbarously snatched from
her,- tears, the first I had shed for many months, streamed from my
eyes, and I resolved not to fall before my enemy without a bitter
struggle.

The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings
became calmer, if it may be called calmness, when the violence of rage
sinks into the depths of despair. I left the house, the horrid scene of
the last night's contention, and walked on the beach of the sea, which I
almost regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my
fellow-creatures; nay, a wish that such should prove the fact stole
across me. I desired that I might pass my life on that barren rock,
wearily, it is true, but uninterrupted by any sudden shock of misery. If
I returned, it was to be sacrificed, or to see those whom I most loved
die under the grasp of a daemon whom I had myself created.

I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it
loved, and miserable in the separation. When it became noon, and the sun
rose higher, I lay down on the grass, and was overpowered by a deep
sleep. I had been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves were
agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and misery. The sleep into
which I now sunk refreshed me; and when I awoke, I again felt as if I
belonged to a race of human beings like myself, and I began to reflect
upon what had passed with greater composure; yet still the words of the
fiend rung in my ears like a death-knell, they appeared like a dream,
yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.

The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my
appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a
fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet;
it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval, entreating me to
join him. He said that he was wearing away his time fruitlessly where he
was; that letters from the friends he had formed in London desired his
return to complete the negotiation they had entered into for his Indian
enterprise. He could not any longer delay his departure; but as his
journey to London might be followed, even sooner than he now
conjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated me to bestow as much of
my society on him as I could spare. He besought me, therefore, to leave
my solitary isle, and to meet him at Perth, that we might proceed
southwards together. This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and I
determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days.

Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I
shuddered to reflect: I must pack up my chemical instruments; and for
that purpose I must enter the room which had been the scene of my odious
work, and I must handle those utensils, the sight of which was sickening
to me. The next morning, at daybreak, I summoned sufficient courage, and
unlocked the door of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished
creature, whom I had destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost
felt as if I had mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused to
collect myself, and then entered the chamber. With trembling hand I
conveyed the instruments out of the room; but I reflected that I ought
not to leave the relics of my work to excite the horror and suspicion of
the peasants; and I accordingly put them into a basket, with a great
quantity of stones, and, laying them up, determined to throw them into
the sea that very night; and in the meantime I sat upon the beach,
employed in cleaning and arranging my chemical apparatus.

Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place
in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the daemon. I had
before regarded my promise with a gloomy despair, as a thing that, with
whatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but I now felt as if a film
had been taken from before my eyes, and that I, for the first time, saw
clearly. The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur
to me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not
reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it. I had resolved in
my own mind, that to create another like the fiend I had first made
would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness; and I
banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different
conclusion.

Between two and three in the morning the moon rose; and I then, putting
my basket aboard a little skill, sailed out about four miles from the
shore. The scene was perfectly solitary: a few boats were returning
towards land, but I sailed away from them. I felt as if I was about the
commission of a dreadful crime, and avoided with shuddering anxiety any
encounter with my fellow-creatures. At one time the moon, which had
before been clear, was suddenly overspread by a thick cloud, and I took
advantage of the moment of darkness, and cast my basket into the sea: I
listened to the gurgling sound as it sunk, and then sailed away from the
spot. The sky became clouded; but the air was pure, although chilled by
the north-east breeze that was then rising. But it refreshed me, and
filled me with such agreeable sensations, that I resolved to prolong my
stay on the water; and, fixing the rudder in a direct position,
stretched myself at the bottom of the boat. Clouds hid the moon,
everything was obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat, as its
keel cut through the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short time I
slept soundly.

I do not know how long I remained in this situation, but when I awoke I
found that the sun had already mounted considerably. The wind was high,
and the waves continually threatened the safety of my little skill. I
found that the wind was north-east, and must have driven me far from the
coast from which I had embarked. I endeavoured to change my course, but
quickly found that, if I again made the attempt, the boat would be
instantly filled with water. Thus situated, my only resource was to
drive before the wind. I confess that I felt a few sensations of terror.
I had no compass with me, and was so slenderly acquainted with the
geography of this part of the world, that the sun was of little benefit
to me. I might be driven into the wide Atlantic, and feel all the
tortures of starvation, or be swallowed up in the immeasurable waters
that roared and buffeted around me. I had already been out many hours,
and felt the torment of a burning thirst, a prelude to my other
sufferings. I looked on the heavens, which were covered by clouds that
flew before the wind, only to be replaced by others: I looked upon the
sea, it was to be my grave. "Fiend," I exclaimed, "your task is already
fulfilled!" I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and of Clerval; all
left behind, on whom the monster might satisfy his sanguinary and
merciless passions. This idea plunged me into a revery, so despairing
and frightful, that even now, when the scene is on the point of closing
before me forever, I shudder to reflect on it.

Some hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards the
horizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze, and the sea became
free from breakers. But these gave place to a heavy swell: I felt sick,
and hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high
land towards the south.

Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue, and the dreadful suspense I endured
for several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of
warm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we
have of life even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail
with a part of my dress, and eagerly steered my course towards the land.
It had a wild and rocky appearance; but, as I approached nearer, I
easily perceived the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near the
shore, and found myself suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood
of civilised man. I carefully traced the windings of the land, and
hailed a steeple which I at length saw issuing from behind a small
promontory. As I was in a state of extreme debility, I resolved to sail
directly towards the town, as a place where I could most easily procure
nourishment. Fortunately I had money with me. As I turned the
promontory, I perceived a small neat town and a good harbour, which I
entered, my heart bounding with joy at my unexpected escape.

As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails several
people crowded towards the spot. They seemed much surprised at my
appearance; but, instead of offering me any assistance, whispered
together with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me
a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they
spoke English; and I therefore addressed them in that language: "My good
friends," said I, "will you be so kind as to tell me the name of this
town, and inform me where I am?"

"You will know that soon enough," replied a man with a hoarse voice.
"May be you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste;
but you will not be consulted as to your quarters, promise you."

I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a
stranger; and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and
angry countenances of his companions. "Why do you answer me so roughly?"
I replied; "surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to receive
strangers so inhospitably."

"I do not know," said the man, "what the custom of the English may be;
but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains."

While this strange dialogue continued, I perceived the crowd rapidly
increase. Their faces expressed a mixture of curiosity and anger, which
annoyed, and in some degree alarmed me. I inquired the way to the inn;
but no one replied. I then moved forward, and a murmuring sound arose
from the crowd as they followed and surrounded me; when an ill-looking
man approaching, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "Come sir, you
must follow me to Mr. Kirwins, to give an account of yourself."

"Who is Mr. Kirwin? Why am I to give an account of myself? Is not this a
free country?"

"Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate; and
you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was found
murdered here last night."

This answer startled me; but I presently recovered myself. I was
innocent; that could easily be proved: accordingly I followed my
conductor in silence, and was led to one of the best houses in the town.
I was ready to sink from fatigue and hunger; but, being surrounded by a
crowd, I thought it politic to rouse all my strength, that no physical
debility might be construed into apprehension or conscious guilt. Little
did I then expect the calamity that was in a few moments to overwhelm
me, and extinguish in horror and despair all fear of ignominy or death.

I must pause here; for it requires all my fortitude to recall the memory
of the frightful events which I am about to relate, in proper detail, to
my recollection.

                     CHAPTER XXI


I WAS soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old
benevolent man, with calm and mild manners. He looked upon me, however,
with some degree of severity: and then, turning towards my conductors,
he asked who appeared as witnesses on this occasion.

About half a dozen men came forward; and one being selected by the
magistrate, he deposed that he had been out fishing the night before
with his son and brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten o'clock,
they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and they accordingly put
in for port. It was a very dark night, as the moon had not yet risen;
they did not land at the harbour, but, as they had been accustomed, at a
creek about two miles below. He walked on first, carrying a part of the
fishing tackle, and his companions followed him at some distance. As he
was proceeding along the sands, he struck his foot against something,
and fell at his length on the ground. His companions came up to assist
him; and, by the light of their lantern, they found that he had fallen
on the body of a man who was to all appearance dead. Their first
supposition was that it was the corpse of some person who had been
drowned, and was thrown on shore by the waves; but, on examination, they
found that the clothes were not wet, and even that the body was not then
cold. They instantly carried it to the cottage of an old woman near the
spot, and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it to life. It appeared
to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty years of age. He had
apparently been strangled; for there was no sign of any violence, except
the black mark of fingers on his neck.

The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me; but
when the mark of the fingers was mentioned, I remembered the murder of
my brother, and felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a
mist came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for support.
The magistrate observed me with a keen eye, and of course drew an
unfavourable augury from my manner.

The son confirmed his father's account: but when Daniel Nugent was
called, he swore positively that, just before the fall of his companion,
he saw a boat, with a single man in it, at a short distance from the
shore; and, as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars, it was
the same boat in which I had just landed.

A woman deposed that she lived near the beach, and was standing at the
door of her cottage, waiting for the return of the fishermen, about an
hour before she heard of the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat,
with only one man in it, push off from that part of the shore where the
corpse was afterwards found.

Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the
body into her house; it was not cold. They put it into a bed, and rubbed
it; and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was quite
gone.

Several other men were examined concerning my landing; and they agreed
that, with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it
was very probable that I had beaten about for many hours, and had been
obliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed.
Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body from
another place, and it was likely that, as I did not appear to know the
shore, I might have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance of the
town of- from the place where I had deposited the corpse.

Mr. Kirwin on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken into
the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be observed
what effect the sight of it would produce upon me. This idea was
probably suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when the
mode of the murder had been described. I was accordingly conducted, by
the magistrate and several other persons, to the inn. I could not help
being struck by the strange coincidences that had taken place during
this eventful night; but knowing that I had been conversing with several
persons in the island I had inhabited about the time that the body had
been found, I was perfectly tranquil as to the consequences of the
affair.

I entered the room where the corpse lay, and was led up to the coffin.
How can I describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched
with horror, nor can I reflect on that terrible moment without
shuddering and agony. The examination, the presence of the magistrate
and witnesses, passed like a dream from my memory, when I saw the
lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched before me. I gasped for breath;
and, throwing myself on the body, I exclaimed, "Have my murderous
machinations deprived you also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have
already destroyed; other victims await their destiny: but you, Clerval,
my friend, my benefactor-"

The human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured, and
I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions.

A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death:
my ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the
murderer of William, of Justine, and of Clerval. Sometimes I entreated
my attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was
tormented; and at others I felt the fingers of the monster already
grasping my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror. Fortunately,
as I spoke my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood me; but my
gestures and bitter cries were sufficient to affright the other
witnesses.

Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I
not sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming
children, the only hopes of their doating parents: how many brides and
youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and
the next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials
was I made, that I could thus resist so many shocks, which, like the
turning of the wheel, continually renewed the torture?

But I was doomed to live; and, in two months, found myself as awaking
from a dream, in a stretched on a wretched bed, surrounded by gaolers,
turnkeys, bolts, and all the miserable apparatus of a dungeon. It was
morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understanding: I had forgotten
the particulars of what had happened, and only felt as if some great
misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me; but when I looked around, and
saw the barred windows, and the squalidness of the room in which I was,
all flashed across my memory, and I groaned bitterly.

This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside me.
She was a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her
countenance expressed all those bad qualities which often characterise
that class. The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of
persons accustomed to see without sympathising in sights of misery. Her
tone expressed her entire indifference; she addressed me in English, and
the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings:-

"Are you better now, sir?" said she.

I replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, "I believe I am;
but if it be all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am
still alive to feel this misery and horror."

"For that matter," replied the old woman, "if you mean about the
gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you
were dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you! However, that's none of
my business; I am sent to nurse you, and get you well; I do my duty with
a safe conscience; it were well if everybody did the same."

I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a
speech to a person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt
languid, and unable to reflect on all that had passed. The whole series
of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it
were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force
of reality.

As the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew
feverish; a darkness pressed around me: no one was near me who soothed
me with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported me. The
physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared them
for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first, and the
expression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the second.
Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer, but the hangman who
would gain his fee?

These were my first reflections; but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had
shown me extreme kindness. He had caused the best room in the prison to
be prepared for me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who had
provided a physician and a nurse. It is true, he seldom came to see me;
for, although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of every
human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and
miserable ravings of a murderer. He came, therefore, sometimes, to see
that I was not neglected but his visits were short, and with long
intervals.

One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my
eyes half open, and my cheeks livid like those in death. I was overcome
by gloom and misery, and often reflected I had better seek death than
desire to remain in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness.
At one time I considered whether I should not declare myself guilty, and
suffer the penalty of the law, less innocent than poor Justine had been.
Such were my thoughts when the door of my apartment was opened and Mr.
Kirwin entered. His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion; he
drew a chair close to mine, and addressed me in French-

"I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do anything to
make you more comfortable?"

"I thank you; but all that you mention is nothing to me: on the whole
earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving."

"I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to
one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I
hope, soon quit this melancholy abode; for, doubtless, evidence can
easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge."

"That is my least concern: I am, by a course of strange events, become
the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and have
been, can death be any evil to me?"

"Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonising than the strange
chances that have lately occurred. You were thrown, by some surprising
accident, on this shore renowned its hospitality, seized immediately,
and charged with murder. The first sight that was presented to your eyes
was the body of your friend, murdered in so unaccountable a manner, and
placed, as it were, by some fiend across your path."

As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on this
retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at the
knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me. suppose some astonishment
was exhibited in my countenance for Mr. Kirwin hastened to say-

"Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that were on your
person were brought me, and I examined them that I might discover some
trace by which I could send to your relations an account of your
misfortune and illness. I found several letters, and, among others, one
which I discovered from its commencement to be from your father. I
instantly wrote to Geneva: nearly two months have elapsed since the
departure of my letter.- But you are ill; even now you tremble: you are
unfit for agitation of any kind."

"This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event:
tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am
now to lament?"

"Your family is perfectly well," said Mr. Kirwin, with gentleness; "and
some one, a friend, is come to visit you."

I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it
instantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my
misery, and taunt me with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for
me to comply with his hellish desires. I put my hand before my eyes and
cried out in agony-

"Oh! take him away! I cannot see him; for God's sake do not let him
enter!"

Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance. He could not help
regarding my exclamation as a presumption of my guilt, and said, in
rather a severe tone-

"I should have thought, young man, that the presence of your father
would have been welcome instead of inspiring such violent repugnance."

"My father!" cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed
from anguish to pleasure: "is my father indeed come? How kind, how very
kind! But where is he, why does he not hasten to me?"

My change of manner surprised and pleased the magistrate; perhaps he
thought that my former exclamation was a momentary return of delirium,
and now he instantly resumed his former benevolence. He rose and quitted
the room with my nurse, and in a moment my father entered it.

Nothing, at this moment, could have given me greater pleasure than the
arrival of my father. I stretched out my hand to him and cried-

"Are you then safe- and Elizabeth- and Ernest?"

My father calmed me with assurances of their welfare, and endeavoured,
by dwelling on these subjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my
desponding spirits; but he soon felt that a prison cannot be the abode
of cheerfulness. "What a place is this that you inhabit, my son!" said
he, looking mournfully at the barred windows and wretched appearance of
the room. "You travelled to seek happiness, but a fatality seems to
pursue you. And poor Clerval-"

The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too
great to be endured in my weak state; I shed tears.

"Alas! yes, my father," replied I; "some destiny of the most horrible
kind hangs over me, and I must live to fulfill it, or surely I should
have died on the coffin of Henry."

We were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the
precarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that
could ensure tranquillity. Mr. Kirwin came in and insisted that my
strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion. But the
appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I
gradually recovered my health.

As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black
melancholy that nothing could dissipate. The image of Clerval was
forever before me, ghastly and murdered. More than once the agitation
into which these reflections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous
relapse. Alas! why did they preserve so miserable and detested a life?
It was surely that I might fulfill my destiny, which is now drawing to a
close. Soon, oh! very soon, will death extinguish these throbbings, and
relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears me to the dust;
and, in executing the award of justice, I shall also sink to rest. Then
the appearance of death was distant although the wish was ever present
to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours motionless and speechless,
wishing for some mighty revolution that might bury me and my destroyer
in its ruins.

The season of the assizes approached. I had already been three months in
prison; and although I was still weak, and in continual danger of a
relapse, I was obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the
county-town where the court was held. Mr. Kirwin charged himself with
every care of collecting witnesses and arranging my defence. I was
spared the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was
not brought before the court that decides on life and death. The grand
jury rejected the bill on its being proved that I was on the Orkney
Islands at the hour the body of my friend was found; and a fortnight
after my removal I was liberated from prison.

My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a
criminal charge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh
atmosphere, and permitted to return to my native country. I did not
participate in these feelings; for to me the walls of a dungeon or a
palace were alike hateful. The cup of life was poisoned forever; and
although the sun shone upon me as upon the happy and gay of heart, I saw
around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by no
light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me. Sometimes they
were the expressive eyes of Henry languishing in death, the dark orbs
nearly covered by the lids, and the long black lashes that fringed them;
sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of the monster as I first saw
them in my chamber at Ingolstadt.

My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection. He talked of
Geneva, which I should soon visit- of Elizabeth and Ernest; but these
words only drew deep groans from me. Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish
for happiness; and thought, with melancholy delight, of my beloved
cousin; or longed, with a devouring maladie du pays, to see once more
the blue lake and rapid Rhone that had been so dear to me in early
childhood: but my general state of feeling was a torpor in which a
prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and
these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and
despair. At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the
existence I loathed; and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance
to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence.

Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally triumphed
over my selfish despair. It was necessary that I should return without
delay to Geneva, there to watch over the lives of those I so fondly
loved; and to lie in wait for the murderer, that if any chance led me to
the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to blast me by his
presence, I might, with unfailing aim, put an end to the existence of
the monstrous Image which I had endued with the mockery of a soul still
more monstrous. My father still desired to delay our departure, fearful
that I could not sustain the fatigues of a journey: for I was a
shattered wreck- the shadow of a human being. My strength was gone. I
was a mere skeleton; and fever night and day preyed upon my wasted
frame.

Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude and
impatience, my father thought it best to yield. We took our passage on
board a vessel bound for Havre-de-Grace, and sailed with a fair wind
from the Irish shores. It was midnight. I lay on the deck looking at the
stars and listening to the dashing of the waves. I hailed the darkness
that shut Ireland from my sight; and my pulse beat with a feverish joy
when I reflected that I should soon see Geneva. The past appeared to me
in the light of a frightful dream; yet the vessel in which I was, the
wind that blew me from the detested shore of Ireland, and the sea which
surrounded me, told me too forcibly that I was deceived by no vision,
and that Clerval, my friend and dearest companion, had fallen a victim
to me and the monster of my creation. I repassed, in my memory, my whole
life; my quiet happiness while residing with my family in Geneva, the
death of my mother, and my departure for Ingolstadt. I remembered,
shuddering, the mad enthusiasm that hurried me on to the creation of my
hideous enemy, and I called to mind the night in which he first lived. I
was unable to pursue the train of thought; a thousand feelings pressed
upon me, and I wept bitterly.

Ever since my recovery from the fever I had been in the custom of taking
every night a small quantity of laudanum; for it was by means of this
drug only that I was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the
preservation of life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various
misfortunes, I now swallowed double my usual quantity and soon slept
profoundly. But sleep did not afford me respite from thought and misery;
my dreams presented a thousand objects that scared me. Towards morning I
was possessed by a kind of nightmare; I felt the fiend's grasp in my
neck, and could not free myself from it; groans and cries rung in my
ears. My father, who was watching over me, perceiving my restlessness,
awoke me; the dashing waves were around: the cloudy sky above; the fiend
was not here: a sense of security, a feeling that a truce mas
established between the present hour and the irresistible, disastrous
future, imparted to me a kind of calm forgetfulness, of which the human
mind is by its structure peculiarly susceptible.

                    CHAPTER XXII


THE voyage came to an end. We landed and proceeded to Paris. I soon
found that I had overtaxed my strength, and that I must repose before I
could continue my journey. My father's care and attentions were
indefatigable; but he did not know the origin of my sufferings, and
sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill. He wished me to
seek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, not abhorred!
they were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt attracted even to
the most repulsive among them as to creatures of an angelic nature and
celestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right to share their
intercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them, whose it was to shed
their blood and to revel in their groans. How they would, each and all,
abhor me, and hunt me from the world, did they know my unhallowed acts
and the crimes which had their source in me!

My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society, and strove by
various arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I felt
deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder,
and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.

"Alas! my father," said I, "how little do you know me. Human beings,
their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such a wretch
as I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I,
and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause of
this- I murdered her. William, Justine, and Henry- they all died by my
hands."

My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same
assertion; when I thus accused myself he sometimes seemed to desire an
explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring
of delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had
presented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved
in my convalescence. I avoided explanation, and maintained a continual
silence concerning the wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that I
should be supposed mad; and this in itself would forever have chained my
tongue. But, besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret
which would fill my hearer with consternation, and make fear and
unnatural horror the inmates of his breast. I checked, therefore, my
impatient thirst for sympathy, and was silent when I would have given
the world to have confided the fatal secret. Yet still words like those
I have recorded would burst uncontrollably from me. I could offer no
explanation of them; but their truth in part relieved the burden of my
mysterious woe.

Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded
wonder, "My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I
entreat you never to make such an assertion again."

"I am not mad," I cried energetically; "the sun and the heavens, who
have viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth. I am the
assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations. A
thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have
saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not
sacrifice the whole human race."

The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were
deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and
endeavoured to alter the course of thoughts. He wished as much as
possible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in
Ireland, and never alluded to them, or suffered me to speak of my
misfortunes.

As time passed away I became more calm: misery had her dwelling in my
heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own
crimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them. By the utmost
self-violence, I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which
sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world; and my manners
were calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey
to the sea of ice.

A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I received
the following letter from Elizabeth:-


My dear friend,- It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter
from my uncle dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable
distance, and I may hope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor
cousin, how much you must have suffered! I expect to see you looking
even more ill than when you quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed
most miserably, tortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope
to see peace in your countenance, and to find that your heart is not
totally void of comfort and tranquillity.

Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable a
year ago, even perhaps augmented by time. I would not disturb you at
this period when so many misfortunes weigh upon you; but a conversation
that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders some
explanation necessary before we meet.

Explanation! you may possibly say; what can Elizabeth have to explain?
If you really say this, my questions are answered, and all my doubts
satisfied. But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you may
dread, and yet be pleased with this explanation; and, in a probability
of this being the case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what,
during your absence, I have often wished to express to you, but have
never had the courage to begin.

You well know, Victor, that our union has been the favourite plan of
your parents ever since our infancy. We were told this when young, and
taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take
place. We were affectionate play-fellows during childhood, and dear and
valued friends to one another as we grew older. But as brother and
sister often entertain a lively affection towards each other without
desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our case? Tell me,
dearest Victor. Answer me, I conjure you by our mutual happiness, with
simple truth- Do you not love another?

You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at
Ingolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last
autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude, from the society of every
creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our
connection, and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfill the wishes
of your parents although they opposed themselves to your inclinations.
But this is false reasoning. I confess to you, my friend, that I love
you, and that in my air dreams of futurity you have been my constant
friend and companion. But it is your happiness I desire as well as my
own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally
miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Even now I
weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruellest misfortunes,
you may stifle, by the word honour, all hope of that love and happiness
which would alone restore you to yourself. I who have so disinterested
an affection for you, may increase your miseries tenfold by being an
obstacle to your wishes. Ah! Victor, be assured that your cousin and
playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be made miserable by this
supposition. Be happy, my friend; and if you obey me in this one
request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth will have the power to
interrupt my tranquillity.

Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer tomorrow, or the next
day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain. My uncle will
send me. news of your health; and if I see but one smile on your lips
when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall
need no other happiness.

                                           Elizabeth Lavenza.


This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threat
of the fiend- "I be with you on your wedding-night!" Such was my
sentence, and on that night would the daemon employ every art to destroy
me, and tear me from the glimpse of happiness which promised partly to
console my sufferings. On that night he had determined to consummate his
crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a deadly struggle would then
assuredly take place, in which if he were victorious I should be at
peace, and his power over me be at an end. If he were vanquished I
should be a free man. Alas! what freedom? such as the peasant enjoys
when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his cottage burnt,
his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless, penniless and
alone, but free. Such would be my liberty except that in my Elizabeth I
possessed a treasure; alas! balanced by those horrors of remorse and
guilt which would pursue me until death.

Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and re-read her letter and some
softened feelings stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisaical
dreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the angel's
arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make her happy.
If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable; yet, again, I
considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My destruction
might indeed arrive a few months sooner; but if my torturer should
suspect that I postponed it influenced by his menaces he would surely
find other and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had vowed to
be with me on my wedding-night, yet he did not consider that threat as
binding him to peace in the meantime; for, as if to show me that he was
not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately after
the enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if my
immediate union with my cousin would conduce either to hers or my
father's happiness, my adversary's designs against my life should not
retard it a single hour.

In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and
affectionate. "I fear, my beloved girl," I said, "little happiness
remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in
you. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life
and my endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a
dreadful one; when revealed to you it will chill your frame with horror,
and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only wonder
that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of misery
and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place; for, my
sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But until
then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most
earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply."

In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth's letter we returned to
Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection; yet tears were
in her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw
a change in her also. She was thinner and had lost much of that heavenly
vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness and soft looks
of compassion made her a more fit companion for one blasted and
miserable as I was.

The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought
madness with it; and when I thought of what had passed a real insanity
possessed me; sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage; sometimes low
and despondent. I neither spoke nor looked at any one, but sat
motionless, bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me.

Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle
voice would soothe me when transported by passion, and inspire me with
human feelings when sunk in torpor. She wept with me and for me. When
reason returned she would remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with
resignation. Ah! it is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for
the guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury
there is otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief.

Soon after my arrival, my father spoke of my immediate marriage with
Elizabeth. I remained silent.

"Have you, then, some other attachment?"

"None on earth. I love Elizabeth, and look forward to our union with
delight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate
myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin."

"My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us;
but let us only cling closer to what remains, and transfer our love for
those whom we have lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be small,
but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And when
time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of care will
be born to replace those. of whom we have been so cruelly deprived."

Such were the lessons of my father. But to me the remembrance of the
threat returned: nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had
yet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as
invincible, and that when he had pronounced the words, "I shall be with
you on your wedding-night," I should regard the threatened fate as
unavoidable. But death was no evil to me if the loss of Elizabeth were
balanced with it; and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful
countenance, agreed with my father that, if my cousin would consent, the
ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined, the
seal to my fate.

Great God! if for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish
intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself
for ever from my native country, and wandered a friendless outcast over
the earth, than to have consented to this miserable marriage. But, if
possessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to his real
intentions; and when I thought that I had prepared only my own death, I
hastened that of a far dearer victim.

As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice
or a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed
my feelings by an appearance of hilarity, that brought smiles and joy to
the countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful and
nicer eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placid
contentment, not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortunes
had impressed, that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness
might soon dissipate into an airy dream, and leave no trace but deep and
everlasting regret.

Preparations were made for the event; congratulatory visits were
received; and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I
could, in my own heart the anxiety that preyed there, and entered with
seeming earnestness into the plans of my father, although they might
only serve as the decorations of my tragedy. Through my father's
exertions, a part of the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored to
her by the Austrian government. A small possession on the shores of Como
belonged to her. It was agreed that, immediately after our union, we
should proceed to Villa Lavenza, and spend our first days of happiness
beside the beautiful lake near which it stood.

In the meantime I took every precaution to defend my person in case the
fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a dagger constantly
about me, and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice and by these
means gained a greater degree of tranquillity. Indeed, as the period
approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be regarded
as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for in my
marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty as the day fixed for its
solemnisation drew nearer and I heard it continually spoken of as an
occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent.

Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to
calm her mind. But on the day that was to fulfill my wishes and my
destiny she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her; and
perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had promised to
reveal to her on the following day. My father was in the meantime
overjoyed, and, in the bustle of preparation, only recognised in the
melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride.

After the ceremony was performed a large party assembled at my father's;
but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commerce our journey by
water, sleeping that night at Evian, and continuing our voyage on the
following day. The day was fair, the wind favourable, all smiled on our
nuptial embarkation.

Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the
feeling of happiness. We passed rapidly along: the sun was hot, but we
were sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy, while we enjoyed the
beauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw
Mont Saleve, the pleasant banks of Montalegre, and at a distance,
surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc, and the assemblage of snowy
mountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting the
opposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the
ambition that would quit its native country, and an almost
insurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it.

I took the hand of Elizabeth: "You are sorrowful, my love. Ah! if you
knew what I have suffered, and what I may yet endure, you would
endeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this
one day at least permits me to enjoy."

"Be happy, my dear Victor," replied Elizabeth; "there is, I hope,
nothing to distress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not
painted in my face, my heart is contented. Something whispers to me not
to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us; but I will
not listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move along, and
how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise above the
dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more interesting.
Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in the clear waters,
where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at the bottom. What a
divine day! how happy and serene all nature appears!"

Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from all
reflection upon melancholy subjects. But her temper was fluctuating; joy
for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place to
distraction and reverie.

The sun sunk lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance, and
observed its path through the chasms of the higher, and the glens of the
lower hills. The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached
the amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary. The
spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it, and the range
of mountain above mountain by which it was overhung.

The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity,
sunk at sunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water,
and caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the shore,
from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and hay. The
sun sunk beneath the horizon as we landed; and as I touched the shore, I
felt those cares and fears revive which soon were to clasp me and cling
to me for ever.

                    CHAPTER XXIII


 IT WAS eight o'clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the
shore enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn and
contemplated the lovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured
in darkness, yet still displaying their black outlines.

The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence in
the west. The moon had reached her summit in the heavens and was
beginning to descend- the clouds swept across it swifter than the flight
of the vulture and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the scene
of the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves that
were beginning to rise. Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended.

I had been calm during the day; but so soon as night obscured the shapes
of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind. I was anxious and
watchful, while my right band grasped a pistol which was hidden in my
bosom; every sound terrified me; but I resolved that I would sell my
life dearly, and not shrink from the conflict until my own life, or that
of my adversary, was extinguished.

Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful
silence; but there was something in my glance which communicated terror
to her, and trembling she asked, "What is it that agitates you, my dear
Victor? What is it you fear?"

"Oh! peace, my love," replied I; "this night and all will be safe: but
this night is dreadful, very dreadful."

I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how
fearful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife, and
I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her until I
had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.

She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages
of the house, and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to
my adversary. But I discovered no trace of him, and was beginning to
conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the
execution of his menaces, when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful
scream. It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired. As I
heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the
motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood
trickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This
state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed
into the room.

Great God! why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the
destruction of the best hope and the purest creature of earth? She was
there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging
down, and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair.
Everywhere I turn I see the same figure- her bloodless arms and relaxed
form flung by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this and
live? Alas! life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated.
For a moment only did I lose recollection; I fell senseless on the
ground.

When I recovered, I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn;
their countenances expressed a breathless terror: but the horror of
others appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that
oppressed me. I escaped from them to the room where lay the body of
Elizabeth, my love, my wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy. She
had been moved from the posture in which I had first beheld her; and
now, as she lay, her head upon her arm, and a handkerchief thrown across
her face and neck, I might have supposed her asleep. I rushed towards
her, and embraced her with ardour; but the deadly languor and coldness
of the limbs told me that what I now held in my arms had ceased to be
the Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished. The murderous mark of the
fiend's grasp was on her neck, and the breath had ceased to issue from
her lips.

While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look
up. The windows of the room had before been darkened, and I felt a kind
of panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the
chamber. The shutters had been thrown back; and, with a sensation of
horror not to be described, I saw at the open window a figure the most
hideous and abhorred. A grin was on the face of the monster; he seemed
to jeer as with his fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my
wife. I rushed towards the window and, drawing a pistol from my bosom,
fired; but he eluded me, leaped from his station, and, running with the
swiftness of lightning, plunged into the lake.

The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to the
spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with boats;
nets were cast, but in vain. After passing several hours, we returned
hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a form
conjured up by my fancy. After having landed, they proceeded to search
the country, parties going in different directions among the woods and
vines.

I attempted to accompany them, and proceeded a short distance from the
house; but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken
man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my
eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever. In this state I
was carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had
happened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that I
had lost.

After an interval I arose and, as if by instinct, crawled into the room
where the corpse of my beloved lay. There were women weeping around- I
hung over it, and joined my sad tears to theirs- all this time no
distinct idea presented itself to my mind; but my thoughts rambled to
various subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes and their
cause. I was bewildered in a cloud of wonder and horror. The death of
William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly of
my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining friends
were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now might be
writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his feet. This
idea made me shudder and recalled me to action. I started up and
resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed.

There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but
the wind was unfavourable and the rain fell in torrents. However, it was
hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired
men to row, and took an oar myself; for I had always experienced relief
from mental torment in bodily exercise. But the overflowing misery I now
felt, and the excess of agitation that I endured, rendered me incapable
of any exertion. I threw down the oar, and leaning my head upon my hands
gave way to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up, I saw the
scenes which were familiar to me in my happier time, and which I had
contemplated but the day before in the company of her who was now but a
shadow and a recollection. Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain had
ceased for a moment, and I saw the fish play in the waters as they had
done a few hours before; they had then been observed by Elizabeth.
Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.
The sun might shine or the clouds might lower: but nothing could appear
to me as it had done the day before. A fiend had snatched from me to me
as it every hope of future happiness: no creature had ever been so
miserable as I was; so frightful an event is single in the history of
man.

But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last
overwhelming event? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached
their acme, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know
that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left desolate. My
own strength is exhausted; and I must tell, in a few words, what remains
of my hideous narration.

I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived; but the former sunk
under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable
old man! his eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and
their delight- his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doated on
with all that affection which a man feels, who in the decline of life,
having few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain.
Cursed, cursed be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs, and
doomed him to waste in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors
that were accumulated around him; the springs of existence suddenly gave
way: he was unable to rise from his bed, and in a few days he died in my
arms.

What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and
darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes, indeed,
I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales with the
friends of my youth; but I awoke, and. found myself in a dungeon.
Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear conception of my
miseries and situation, and was then released from my prison. For they
had called me mad; and during many months, as I understood, a solitary
cell had been my habitation.

Liberty, however, had been an useless gift to me had I not, as I
awakened to reason, at the same time awakened to revenge. As the memory
of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect on their cause-
the monster whom I had created, the miserable daemon whom I had sent
abroad into the world for my destruction. I was possessed by a maddening
rage when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed that I might
have him within my grasp to wreak a great and signal revenge on his
cursed head.

Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to
reflect on the best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about a
month after my release, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town, and
told him that I had an accusation to make; and that I knew the destroyer
of my family; and that I required him to exert his whole authority for
the apprehension of the murderer.
   The magistrate listened to me with attention and kindness. "Be
assured, sir," said he "no pains or exertions on my part shall be spared
to discover the villain."

"I thank you," replied I; "listen, therefore, to the deposition that I
have to make. It is indeed a tale so strange that I should fear you
would not credit it were there not something in truth which, however
wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to be mistaken
for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood." My manner as I thus
addressed him, was impressive but calm; I had formed in my heart a
resolution to pursue my destroyer to death; and this purpose quieted my
agony, and for an interval reconciled me to life. I now related my
history, briefly, but with firmness and precision, marking the dates
with accuracy, and never deviating into or exclamation.

The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I
continued he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes
shudder with horror, at others a lively surprise, unmingled with
disbelief, was painted on his countenance.

When I had concluded my narration, I said, "This is the being whom I
accuse, and for whose seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert
your whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and
hope that your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of
those functions on this occasion."

This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my own
auditor. He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is
given to a tale of spirits and supernatural events; but when he was
called upon to act officially in consequence, the whole tide of his
incredulity returned. He, however, answered mildly, "I would willingly
afford you every aid in your pursuit; but the creature of whom you speak
appears to have powers which would put all my exertions to defiance. Who
can follow an animal which can traverse the sea of ice, and inhabit
caves and dens where no man would venture to intrude? Besides, some
months have elapsed since the commission of his crimes, and no one can
conjecture to what place he has wandered, or what region he may now
inhabit."

"I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit; and if he
has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois,
and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts: you do
not credit my narrative, and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the
punishment which is his desert."

As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated:-
"You are mistaken," said he, "I will exert myself, if it is in my power
to seize the monster, be assured that he shall suffer punishment
proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have yourself
described to be his properties, that this will prove impracticable; and
thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should make up your
mind to disappointment."

"That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My
revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I
confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage is
unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned loose
upon society, still exists. You refuse my just demand: I have but one
resource; and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his
destruction."

I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy
in my manner and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness
which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed. But to a Genevan
magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of
devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of
madness. He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child, and
reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium.

"Man," I cried, "how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom! Cease;
you know not what it is you say."

I broke from the house angry and disturbed, and retired to meditate on
some other mode of action.

                    CHAPTER XXIV


MY PRESENT situation was one in which all voluntary thought was
swallowed up and lost. I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone endowed
me with strength and composure; it moulded my feelings, and allowed me
to be calculating and calm, at periods when otherwise delirium or death
would have been my portion.

My first resolution was to quit Geneva forever; my country, which, when
I was happy and beloved, was dear to me, now, in my adversity, became
hateful. I provided myself with a sum of money, together with a few
jewels which had belonged to my mother, and departed.

And now my wanderings began, which are to cease but with life. I have
traversed a vast portion of the earth, and have endured all the
hardships which travellers, in deserts and barbarous countries, are wont
to meet. How I have lived I hardly know; many times have I stretched my
failing limbs upon the sandy plain and prayed for death. But revenge
kept me alive; I dared not die and leave my adversary in being.

When I quitted Geneva my first labour was to gain some clue by which I
might trace the steps of my fiendish enemy. But my plan was unsettled;
and I wandered many hours round the confines of the town, uncertain what
path I should pursue. As night approached, I found myself at the
entrance of the cemetery where William, Elizabeth, and my father
reposed. I entered it and approached the tomb which marked their graves.
Everything was silent, except the leaves of the trees, which were gently
agitated by the wind; the night was nearly dark; and the scene would
have been solemn and affecting even to an uninterested observer. The
spirits of the departed seemed to flit around and to cast a shadow,
which was felt but not seen, around the head of the mourner.

The deep grief which this scene had at first excited quickly gave way to
rage and despair. They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also
lived, and to destroy him I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on
the grass and kissed the earth, and with quivering lips exclaimed, "By
the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that claimed, I wander
near me, by the deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by
thee, O Night, and the spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the
daemon who caused this misery until he or I shall perish in mortal
conflict. For this purpose I will preserve my life: to execute this dear
revenge will I again behold the sun and tread the green herbage of
earth, which otherwise should vanish from my eyes forever. And I call on
you, spirits of the dead; and on you, wandering ministers of vengeance,
to aid and conduct me in my work. Let the cursed and hellish monster
drink deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now torments me."

I had begun my abjuration with solemnity and an awe which almost assured
me that the shades of my murdered friends heard and approved my
devotion; but the furies possessed me as I concluded, and rage choked my
utterance.

I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish
laugh. it rung on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed it,
and I felt as if all hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter.
Surely in that moment I should have been possessed by frenzy, and have
destroyed my miserable existence, but that my vow was heard and that I
was reserved for vengeance. The laughter died away; when a well-known
and abhorred voice, apparently close to my ear, addressed me in an
audible whisper- "I am satisfied: miserable wretch! you have determined
to live, and I am satisfied."

I darted towards the spot from which the sound proceeded; but the devil
eluded my grasp. Suddenly the broad disk of the moon arose and shone
full upon his ghastly and distorted shape as he fled with more than
mortal speed.

I pursued him; and for many months this has been my task. Guided by a
slight clue I followed the windings of the Rhone, but vainly. The blue
Mediterranean appeared; and, by a strange chance, I saw the fiend enter
by night and hide himself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea. I took my
passage in the same ship; but he escaped, I know not how.

Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still evaded me, I
have ever followed in his track. Sometimes the peasants, scared by this
horrid apparition, informed me of his path; sometimes he himself, who
feared that if I lost all trace of him I should despair and die, left
some mark to guide me. The snows descended on my head, and I saw the
print of his huge step on the white plain. To you first entering on
life, to whom care is new and agony unknown, how can you understand what
I have felt and still feel? Cold, want, and fatigue were the least pains
which I was destined to endure; I was cursed by some devil, and carried
about with me my eternal hell; yet still a spirit of good followed and
directed my steps; and, when I most murmured, would suddenly extricate
me from seemingly insurmountable difficulties. Sometimes, when nature,
overcome by hunger, sunk under the exhaustion, a repast was prepared for
me in the desert that restored and inspirited me. The fare was, indeed,
coarse, such as the peasants of the country ate; but I will not doubt
that it was set there by the spirits that I had invoked to aid me.
Often, when all was dry, the heavens cloudless, and I was parched by
thirst, a slight cloud would bedim the sky, shed the few drops that
revived me, and vanish.

I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the daemon
generally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the
country chiefly collected. In other places human beings were seldom
seen; and I generally subsisted on the wild animals that crossed my
path. I had money with me, and gained the friendship of the villagers by
distributing it; or I brought with me some food that I had killed,
which, after taking a small part, I always presented to those who had
provided me with fire and utensils for cooking.

My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during
sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep! often, when most
miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture.
The spirits that guarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours,
of happiness, that I might retain strength to fulfill my pilgrimage.
Deprived of this respite, I should have sunk under my hardships. During
the day I was sustained and inspirited by the hope of night: for in
sleep I saw my friends, my wife, and my beloved country; again I saw the
benevolent countenance of my father, heard the silver tones of my
Elizabeth's voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health and youth. Often,
when wearied by a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that I was
dreaming, until night should come, and that I should then enjoy reality
in the arms of my dearest friends. What agonising fondness did I feel
for them! how did I cling to their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted
even my waking hours, and persuade myself that they still lived! At such
moments vengeance, that burned within me, died in my heart, and I
pursued my path towards the destruction of the daemon more as a task
enjoined by heaven, as the mechanical impulse of some power of which I
was unconscious, than as the ardent desire of my soul.

What his feelings were whom I pursued I cannot know. Sometimes, indeed,
he left marks in writing on the barks of the trees, or cut in stone,
that guided me and instigated my fury. "My reign is not yet over" (these
words were legible in one of these inscriptions); "you live, and my
power is complete. Follow me; I seek the everlasting ices of the north,
where you will feel the misery of cold and frost to which I am
impassive. You will find near this place, if you follow not too tardily,
a dead hare; eat and be refreshed. Come on, enemy; we have yet to
wrestle for our lives; but many hard and miserable hours must you endure
until that period shall arrive."

Scoffing devil! Again do I vow vengeance; again do I devote thee,
miserable fiend, to torture and death. Never will I give up my search
until he or I perish; and then with what ecstasy shall I join my
Elizabeth and my departed friends, who even now prepare for me the
reward of my tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage!

As I still pursued my journey to the northward, the snows thickened and
the cold increased in a degree almost too severe to support. The
peasants were shut up in their hovels, and only a few of the most hardy
ventured forth to seize the animals whom starvation had forced from
their hiding-places to seek for prey. The rivers were covered with ice
and no fish could be procured; and thus I was cut off from my chief
article of maintenance.

The triumph of my enemy increased with the difficulty of my labours. One
inscription that he left was in these words:- "Prepare! your toils only
begin: wrap yourself in furs and provide food; for we shall soon enter
upon a journey where your sufferings will satisfy my everlasting
hatred."

My courage and perseverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; I
resolved not to fail in my purpose; and, calling on Heaven to support
me, I continued with unabated fervour to traverse immense deserts until
the ocean appeared at a distance and formed the utmost boundary of the
horizon. Oh! how unlike it was to the blue seas of the south! Covered
with ice, it was only to be distinguished from land by its superior
wildness and ruggedness. The Greeks wept for joy when they beheld the
Mediterranean from the hills of Asia, and hailed with rapture the
boundary of their toils. I did not weep; but I knelt down and, with a
full heart, thanked my guiding spirit for conducting me in safety to the
place where I hoped, notwithstanding my adversary's gibe, to meet and
grapple with him.

Some weeks before this period I had procured a sledge and dogs, and thus
traversed the snows with inconceivable speed. I know not whether the
fiend possessed the same advantages; but I found that, as before I had
daily lost ground in the pursuit, I now gained on him: so much so that,
when I first saw the ocean, he was but one day's journey in advance, and
I hoped to intercept him before he should reach the beach. With new
courage, therefore, I pressed on, and in two days arrived at a wretched
hamlet on the sea-shore. I inquired of the inhabitants concerning the
fiend, and gained accurate information. A gigantic monster, they said,
had arrived the night armed with a gun and many pistols, putting to
flight the inhabitants of a solitary cottage through fear of his
terrific appearance. He had carried off their store of winter food, and
placing it in a sledge, to draw which he had seized on a numerous drove
of trained dogs, he had harnessed them, and the same night, to the joy
of the horror-struck villagers, had pursued his journey across the sea
in a direction that led to no land; and they conjectured that he must
speedily be destroyed by the breaking of the ice or frozen by the
eternal frosts.

On hearing this information, I suffered a temporary access of despair.
He had escaped me; and I must commence a destructive and almost endless
journey across the mountainous ices of the ocean- amidst cold that few
of the inhabitants could long endure, and which I, the native of a
genial and sunny climate, could not hope to survive. Yet at the idea
that the fiend should live and be triumphant, my rage and vengeance
returned, and, like a mighty tide, overwhelmed every other feeling.
After a slight repose, during which the spirits of the dead hovered
round and instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for my journey.

I exchanged my land-sledge for one fashioned for the inequalities of the
Frozen Ocean; and purchasing a plentiful stock of provisions, I departed
from land.

I cannot guess how many days have passed since then; but I have endured
misery which nothing but the eternal sentiment of a just retribution
burning within my heart could have enabled me to support. Immense and
rugged mountains of ice often barred up my passage, and I often heard
the thunder of the ground sea which threatened my destruction. But again
the frost came and made the paths of the sea secure.

By the quantity of provision which I had consumed, I should guess that I
had passed three weeks in this journey; and the continual protraction of
hope, returning back upon the heart, often wrung bitter drops of
despondency and grief from my eyes. Despair had indeed almost secured
her prey, and I should soon have sunk beneath this misery. Once, after
the poor animals that conveyed me had with incredible toil gained the
summit of a sloping ice-mountain, and one, sinking under his fatigue,
died, I viewed the expanse before me with anguish, when suddenly my eye
caught a dark speck upon the dusky plain. I strained my sight to
discover what it could be, and uttered a wild cry of ecstasy when I
distinguished a sledge and the distorted proportions of a well-known
form within. Oh! with what a burning gush did hope revisit my heart!
warm tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away that they might
not intercept the view I had of the daemon; but still my sight was
dimmed by the burning drops until, giving way to the emotions that
oppressed me, I wept aloud.

But this was not the time for delay: I disencumbered the dogs of their
dead companion, gave them a plentiful portion of food; and, after an
hour's rest, which was absolutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly
irksome to me, I continued my route. The sledge was still visible; nor
did I again lose sight of it except at the moments when for a short time
some ice-rock concealed it with its intervening crags. I indeed
perceptibly gained on it; and when, after nearly two days' journey, I
beheld my enemy at no more than a mile distant, my heart bounded within
me.

But now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my foe, my, hopes were
suddenly extinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I
had ever done before. A ground sea was heard; the thunder of its
progress, as the waters rolled and swelled beneath me, became every
moment more ominous and terrific. I pressed on, but in vain. The wind
arose; the sea roared; and, as with the mighty shock of an earthquake,
it split and cracked with a tremendous and overwhelming sound. The work
was soon finished: in a few minutes a tumultuous sea rolled between me
and my enemy, and I was left drifting on a scattered piece of ice, that
was continually lessening, and thus preparing for me a hideous death.

In this manner many appalling hours passed; several of my dogs died; and
I myself was about to sink under the accumulation of distress when I saw
your vessel riding at anchor, and holding forth to me hopes of succour
and life. I had no conception that vessels ever came so far north, and
was astonished at the sight. I quickly destroyed part of my sledge to
construct oars; and by these means was enabled, with infinite fatigue,
to move my ice-raft in the direction of your ship. I had determined, if
you were going southward, still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas
rather than abandon my purpose. I hoped to induce you to grant me a boat
with which I could pursue my enemy. But your direction was northward.
You took me on board when my vigour was exhausted, and I should soon
have sunk under my multiplied hardships into a death which I still
dread- for my task is unfulfilled.

Oh! when will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the daemon, allow
me the rest I so much desire; or must I die and he yet live? If I do,
swear to me, Walton, that he shall not escape; that you will seek him
and satisfy my vengeance in his death. And do I dare to ask of you to
undertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I have undergone?
No; I am not so selfish. Yet, when I am dead, if he should appear; if
the ministers of vengeance should conduct him to you, swear that he
shall not live- swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated
woes, and survive to add to the list of his dark crimes. He is eloquent
and persuasive; and once his words had even power over my heart: but
trust him not. His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery and
fiendish malice. Hear him not; call on the names of William, Justine,
Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched Victor, and thrust
your sword into his heart. I will hover near and direct the steel
aright.



You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not
feel your blood congeal with horror like that which even now curdles
mine? Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his
tale; at others, his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with difficulty
the words so replete with anguish. His fine and lovely eyes were now
lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast sorrow, and
quenched in infinite wretchedness. Sometimes he commanded his
countenance and tones, and related the most horrible incidents with a
tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a
volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression
of the wildest rage, as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor.

His tale is connected, and told with an appearance of the simplest
truth; yet I own to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he
showed me, and the apparition of the monster seen from our ship, brought
to me a greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than his
asseverations, however earnest and connected. Such a monster has then
really existence! I cannot doubt it; yet I am lost in surprise and
admiration. Sometimes I endeavoured to gain from Frankenstein the
particulars of his creature's formation: but on this point he was
impenetrable.

"Are you mad, my friend?" said he; "or whither does your senseless
curiosity lead you? Would you also create for yourself and the world a
daemoniacal enemy? Peace, peace! learn my miseries, and do not seek to
increase your own."

Frankenstein discovered that I made notes concerning his history: he
asked to see them, and then himself corrected and augmented them in many
places; but principally in giving the life and spirit to the
conversations he held with his enemy. "Since you have preserved my
narration," said he, "I would not that a mutilated one should go down to
posterity."

Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest tale
that ever imagination formed. My thoughts, and every feeling of my soul,
have been drunk up by the interest for my guest, which this tale, and
his own elevated and gentle manners, have created. I wish to soothe him;
yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so destitute of every
hope of consolation, to live? Oh, no! the only joy that he can now know
will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and death. Yet he
enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and delirium: he believes
that, when in dreams he holds converse with his friends and derives from
that communion consolation for his miseries or excitements to his
vengeance, they are not the creations of his fancy, but the beings
themselves who visit him from the regions of a remote world. This faith
gives a solemnity to his reveries that render them to me almost as
imposing and interesting as truth.

Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and
misfortunes. On every point of general literature he displays unbounded
knowledge and a quick and piercing apprehension. His eloquence is
forcible and touching; nor can I heir him, when he relates a pathetic
incident, or endeavours to move the passions of pity or love, without
tears. What a glorious creature must he have been in the days of his
prosperity when he is thus noble and godlike in ruin! He seems to feel
his own worth and the greatness of his fall.

"When younger," said he, "I believed myself destined for some great
enterprise. My feelings are profound; but I possessed a coolness of
judgment that fitted me for illustrious achievements. This sentiment of
the worth of my nature supported me when others would have been
oppressed; for I deemed it criminal to throw away in useless grief those
talents that might be useful to my fellow-creatures. When I reflected on
the work I had completed, no less a one than the creation of a sensitive
and rational animal, could not rank myself with the herd of common
projectors. But this thought, which supported me in the commencement of
my career, now serves only to plunge me lower in the dust. All my
speculations and hopes are as nothing; and, like the archangel who
aspired to omnipotence, I am chained in an eternal hell. My imagination
was vivid, yet my powers of analysis and application were intense; by
the union of these qualities I conceived the idea and executed the
creation of a man. Even now I cannot recollect without passion my
reveries while the work was incomplete. I trod heaven in my thoughts,
now exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea of their effects.
From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty ambition; but
how am I sunk! Oh! my friend, if you had known me as I once was you
would not recognise me in this state of degradation. Despondency rarely
visited my heart; a high destiny seemed to bear me on until I fell,
never, never again to rise."

Must I then lose this admirable being? I have longed for a friend; I
have sought one who would sympathise with and love me. Behold, on these
desert seas I have found such a one; but I fear I have gained him only
to know his value and lose him. I would reconcile him to life, but he
repulses the idea.

"I thank you, Walton, "he said, "for your kind intentions towards so
miserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties and fresh affections,
think you that any can replace those who are gone? Can any man be to me
as Clerval was; or any woman another Elizabeth? Even where the
affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence, the
companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our
minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. They know our infantile
dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified, are never
eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more certain
conclusions as to the integrity of our motives. A sister or a brother
can never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early, suspect
the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend, however
strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be contemplated
with suspicion. But I enjoyed friends, dear not only through habit and
association, but from their own merits; and wherever I am the soothing
voice of my Elizabeth and the conversation of Clerval will be ever
whispered in my ear. They are dead, and but one feeling in such a
solitude can persuade me to preserve my life. If I were engaged in any
high undertaking or design, fraught with extensive utility to my
fellow-creatures, then could I live to fulfill it. But such is not my
destiny; I must pursue and destroy the being to whom I gave existence;
then my lot on earth will be fulfilled and I may die."


                                              September 2nd.

My beloved Sister,- I write to you encompassed by peril and ignorant
whether I am ever doomed to see again dear England, and the dearer
friends that inhabit it. I am surrounded by mountains of ice which admit
of no escape and threaten every moment to crush my vessel. The brave
fellows whom I have persuaded to be my companions look towards me for
aid; but I have none to bestow. There is something terribly appalling in
our situation, yet my courage and hopes do not desert me. Yet it is
terrible to reflect that the lives of all these men are endangered
through me. If we are lost, my mad schemes are the cause.

And what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind? You will not hear of
my destruction, and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass,
and you will have visitings of despair, and yet be tortured by hope. Oh!
my beloved sister, the sickening failing of your heartfelt expectations
is, in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death. But you have a
husband and lovely children; you may be happy: Heaven bless you and make
you so!

My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion. He
endeavours to fill me with hope; and talks as if life were a possession
which he valued. He reminds me how often the same accidents have
happened to other navigators who have attempted this sea, and, in spite
of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries. Even the sailors feel the
power of his eloquence: when he speaks they no longer despair; he rouses
their energies and, while they hear his voice, they believe these vast
mountains of ice are mole-hills which will vanish before the resolutions
of man. These feelings are transitory; each day of expectation delayed
fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny caused by this
despair.


                                              September 5th.


A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest that although it is
highly probable that these papers may never reach you, yet I cannot
forbear recording it.

We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger of
being crushed in their conflict. The cold is excessive, and many of my
unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of
desolation. Frankenstein has daily declined in health: a feverish fire
still glimmers in his eyes; but he is exhausted, and when suddenly
roused to any exertion he speedily sinks again into apparent
lifelessness.

I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny. This
morning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend- his eyes
half closed, and his limbs hanging listlessly- I was roused by half a
dozen of the sailors who demanded admission into the cabin. They
entered, and their leader addressed me. He told me that he and his
companions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in deputation to
me, to make me a requisition which, in justice, I could not refuse. We
were immured in ice and should probably never escape; but they feared
that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate, and a free passage
be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage and lead them
into fresh dangers after they might happily have surmounted this. They
insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn promise that if
the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my course southward.

This speech troubled me. I had not despaired; nor had I yet conceived
the idea of returning if set free. Yet could I, in justice, or even in
possibility, refuse this demand? I hesitated before I answered; when
Frankenstein, who had at first been silent, and, indeed, appeared hardly
to have force enough to attend, now roused himself; his eyes sparkled,
and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour. Turning towards the men he
said-

"What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you then so
easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious
expedition? And wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was
smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers
and terror; because at every new incident your fortitude was to be
called forth and your courage exhibited; because danger and death
surrounded it, and these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it
a glorious, for this was it an honourable undertaking. You were
hereafter to be hailed as the benefactors of your species; your names
adored as belonging to brave men who encountered death for honour and
the benefit of mankind. And now, behold, with the first imagination of
danger, or, if you will, the first mighty and terrific trial of your
courage, you shrink away, and are content to be handed down as men who
had not strength enough to endure cold and peril; and so, poor souls,
they were chilly and returned to their warm firesides. Why that requires
not this preparation; ye need not have come thus far, and dragged your
captain to the shame of a defeat, merely to prove yourselves cowards.
Oh! be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your purposes and firm as
a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your hearts may be; it is
mutable and cannot withstand you if you say that it shall not. Do not
return to your families with the stigma of disgrace marked on your
brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered, and who know not
what it is to turn their backs on the foe."

He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings
expressed in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and
heroism, that can you wonder that these men were moved? They looked at
one another and were unable to reply. I spoke; I told them to retire and
consider of what had been said: that I would not lead them farther north
if they strenuously desired the contrary; but that I hoped that, with
reflection, their courage would return.

They retired, and I turned towards my friend; but he was sunk in languor
and almost deprived of life.

How all this will terminate I know not; but I had rather die than return
shamefully- my purpose unfulfilled. Yet I fear such will be my fate; the
men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never willingly
continue to endure their present hardships.


                                               September 7th.


The die is cast; I have consented to return if we are not destroyed.
Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back
ignorant and disappointed. It requires more philosophy than I possess to
bear this injustice with patience.



                                              September 12th.


It is past; I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility
and glory;- I have lost my friend. But I will endeavour to detail these
bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and while I am wafted
towards England, and towards you, I will not despond.

September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were
heard at a distance as the islands split and cracked in every direction.
We were in the most imminent peril; but, as we could only remain
passive, my chief attention was occupied by unfortunate quest, whose
illness increased in such a degree that he was entirely confined to his
bed. The ice cracked behind us, and was driven with force towards the
north; a breeze sprung from the west, and on the 11th the passage
towards the south became perfectly free. When the sailors saw this, and
that their return to their native country was apparently assured, a
shout of tumultuous joy broke from them, loud and long continued.
Frankenstein, who was dozing, awoke and asked the cause of the tumult.
"They shout," I said, "because they will soon return to England."

"Do you then really return?"

"Alas! yes; I cannot withstand their demands. I cannot lead them
unwillingly to danger, and I must return."

"Do so, if you will; but I will not. You may give up your purpose, but
mine is assigned to me by Heaven, and I dare not. I am weak; but surely
the spirits who assist my vengeance will endow me with sufficient
strength." Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the bed, but the
exertion was too great for him; he fell back and fainted.

It was long before he was restored; and I often thought that life was
entirely extinct. At length he opened his eyes; he breathed with
difficulty, and was unable to speak. The surgeon gave him a composing
draught and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the meantime he told
me that my friend had not many hours to live.

His sentence was pronounced, and I could only grieve and be patient. I
sat by his bed watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he
slept; but presently he called to me in a feeble voice, and bidding me
come near, said- "Alas! the strength I relied on is gone; I feel that I
shall soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in being.
Think not, Walten, that in the last moments of my existence I feel that
burning hatred: and ardent desire of revenge I once expressed; but I
feel myself justified in desiring the death of my adversary. During
these last days I have been occupied in examining my past conduct; nor
do I find it blamable. In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a
rational creature, and was bound towards him, to assure, as far as was
in my power, his happiness and well-being. This was my duty; but there
was another still paramount to that. My duties towards the beings of my
own species had greater claims to my attention, because they included a
greater proportion of happiness or misery. Urged by this view, I
refused, and I did right in refusing, to create a companion for the
first creature. He showed unparalleled malignity and selfishness, in
evil: he destroyed my friends; he devoted to destruction beings who
possessed exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom; nor do I know
where this thirst for vengeance may end. Miserable himself, that he may
render no other wretched he ought to die. The task of his destruction
was mine, but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious
motives I asked you to undertake my unfinished work; and I renew this
request now when I am only induced by reason and virtue.

"Yet I cannot ask you to renounce your country and friends to fulfill
this task; and now that you are returning to England you will have
little chance of meeting with him. But the consideration of these
points, and the well balancing of what you may esteem your duties, I
leave to you; my judgment and ideas are already disturbed by the near
approach of death. I dare not ask you to do what I think right, for I
may still be misled by passion.

"That he should live to be an instrument of mischief disturbs me; in
other respects, this hour, when I momentarily expect my release, is the
only happy one which I have enjoyed for several years. The forms of the
beloved dead flit before me and I hasten to their arms. Farewell,
Walton! Seek happiness in tranquillity and avoid ambition, even if it be
only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in science
and discoveries. Yet why do I say this? I have myself been blasted in
these hopes, yet another may succeed."

His voice became fainter as he spoke; and at length, exhausted by his
effort, he sunk into silence. About half an hour afterwards he attempted
again to speak, but was unable; he pressed my hand feebly, and his eyes
closed forever, while the irradiation of a gentle smile passed away from
his lips.

Margaret, what comment can I make on the untimely extinction of this
glorious spirit? What can I say that will enable you to understand the
depth of my sorrow? All that I should express would be inadequate and
feeble. My tears flow; my mind is overshadowed by a cloud of
disappointment. But I journey towards England, and I may there find
consolation.

I am interrupted. What do these sounds portend? It is midnight; the
breeze blows fairly, and the watch on deck scarcely stir. Again; there
is a sound as of a human voice, but hoarser; it comes from the cabin
where the remains of Frankenstein still lie. I must arise and examine.
Good night, my sister.

Great God! what a scene has just taken place! I am yet dizzy with the
remembrance of it. I hardly know whether I shall have the power to
detail it; yet the tale which I have recorded would be incomplete
without this final and wonderful catastrophe.

I entered the cabin where lay the remains of my ill-fated and admirable
friend. Over him hung a form which I cannot find words to describe;
gigantic in stature, yet uncouth and distorted in its proportions. As he
hung over the coffin his face was concealed by long locks of ragged
hair; but one vast hand was extended, in colour and apparent texture
like that of a mummy. When he heard the sound of my approach he ceased
to utter exclamations of grief and horror and sprung towards the window.
Never did I behold a vision so horrible as his face, of such loathsome
yet appalling hideousness. I shut my eyes involuntarily and endeavoured
to recollect what were my duties with regard to this destroyer. I called
on him to stay.

He paused, looking on me with wonder; and, again turning towards the
lifeless form of his creator, he seemed to forget my presence, and every
feature and gesture seemed instigated by the wildest rage of some
uncontrollable passion.

"That is also my victim!" he exclaimed: "in his murder my crimes are
consummated; the miserable series of my being is wound to its close! Oh,
Frankenstein! generous and self-devoted being! what does it avail that I
now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee by
destroying all thou lovest. Alas! he is cold, he cannot answer me."

His voice seemed suffocated; and my first impulses, which had suggested
to me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend, in destroying
his enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion.
I approached this tremendous being; I dared not again raise my eyes to
his face, there was something so scaring and unearthly in his ugliness.
I attempted to speak, but the words died away on my lips. The monster
continued to utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At length I
gathered resolution to address him in a pause of the tempest of his
passion: "Your repentance," I said, "is now superfluous. If you had
listened to the voice of conscience, and heeded the stings of remorse,
before you had urged your diabolical vengeance to this extremity,
Frankenstein would yet have lived."

"And do you dream?" said the daemon; "do you think that I was then dead
to agony and remorse?- He," he continued, pointing to the corpse, "he
suffered not in the consummation of the deed- oh! not the ten-thousandth
portion of the anguish that was mine during the lingering detail of its
execution. A frightful selfishness hurried me on, while my heart was
poisoned with remorse. Think you that the groans of Clerval were music
to my ears? My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and
sympathy; and when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred it did not
endure the violence of the change without torture such as you cannot
even imagine.

"After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland heartbroken and
overcome. I pitied Frankenstein; my pity amounted to horror: I abhorred
myself But when I discovered that he, the author at once of my existence
and of its unspeakable torments, dared to hope for happiness; that while
he accumulated wretchedness and despair upon me he sought his own
enjoyment in feelings and passions from the indulgence of which I was
forever barred, then impotent envy and bitter indignation filled me with
an insatiable thirst for vengeance. I recollected my threat and resolved
that it should be accomplished. I knew that I was preparing for myself a
deadly torture; but I was the slave, not the master, of an impulse which
I detested, yet could not disobey. Yet when she died!- nay, then I was
not miserable. I had cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot
in the excess of my despair. Evil thenceforth became my good. Urged thus
far, I had no choice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had
willingly chosen. The completion of my daemoniacal design became an
insatiable passion. And now it is ended; there is my last victim!"

I was at first touched by the expressions of his misery; yet, when I
called to mind what Frankenstein had said of his powers of eloquence and
persuasion, and when I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my
friend, indignation was rekindled within me. "Wretch!" I said, "it is
well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you have made.
You throw a torch into a pile of buildings; and when they are consumed
you sit among the ruins and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend! if he
whom you mourn still lived, still would he be the object, again would he
become the prey, of your accursed vengeance. It is not pity that you
feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn
from your power."

"Oh, it not thus- not thus," interrupted the being; "yet such must be
the impression conveyed to you by what appears to be the purport of my
actions. Yet I seek not a fellow-feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I
ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue, the
feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being
overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now that virtue has
become to me a shadow and that happiness and affection are turned into
bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am
content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure: when I die, I
am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory.
Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of
enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my
outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was
capable of unfolding. I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and
devotion. But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No
guilt, no mischief, no malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to
mine. When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot
believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with
sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of
goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil.
Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his
desolation; I am alone.

"You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my
crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them
he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured,
wasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not
satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still I
desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no
injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal when all human
kind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix who drove his friend
from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic who
sought to destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous and
immaculate beings! I, the miserable and abandoned, am an abortion, to be
spurned, and kicked at, and trampled on. Even now my blood boils at the
recollection of this injustice.

"But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and the
helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept, and grasped to
death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have
devoted my creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love
and admiration among men, to misery; I have pursued him even to that
irremediable ruin. There he lies, white and cold in death. You hate me;
but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself I look
on the hands which executed the deed; think on the heart in which the
imagination of it was conceived, and long for the moment when these
hands will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts no
more.

"Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work is
nearly complete. Neither yours nor any man's death is needed to
consummate the series of my being, and accomplish that which must be
done; but it requires my own. Do not think that I shall be slow to
perform this sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice-raft which
brought me thither, and shall seek the most northern extremity of the
globe; I shall collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this
miserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious and
unhallowed wretch who would create such another as I have been. I shall
die. I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me, or be the
prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched. He is dead who called me
into being; and when I shall be no more the very remembrance of us both
will speedily vanish. I shall no longer see the sun or stars, or feel
the winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense will pass away;
and in this condition must I find my happiness. Some years ago, when the
images which this world affords first opened upon me, when I felt the
cheering warmth of summer, and heard the rustling of the leaves and the
warbling of the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept to
die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by crimes, and tom by the
bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death?

"Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last of human kind whom these
eyes will ever behold. Farewell, Frankenstein! If thou wert yet alive,
and yet cherished a desire of revenge against me, it would be better
satiated in my life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou
didst seek my extinction that I might not cause greater wretchedness;
and if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hast not ceased to think
and feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than
that which I feel. Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to
thine; for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my
wounds until death shall close them for ever.

"But soon," he cried, with sad and solemn enthusiasm, "I shall die, and
what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be
extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly, and exult in the
agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade
away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will
sleep in peace; or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus.
Farewell."

He sprung from the cabin-window, as he said this, upon the ice-raft
which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves and
lost in darkness and distance.



                      THE END