The Project Gutenberg eBook of Frankenstein, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (2024)

CONTENTS

Letter 1

To Mrs. Saville, England.

St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—.

You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement ofan enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings. I arrivedhere yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister of my welfare andincreasing confidence in the success of my undertaking.

I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets of Petersburgh,I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves andfills me with delight. Do you understand this feeling? This breeze, which hastravelled from the regions towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretasteof those icy climes. Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams becomemore fervent and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seatof frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as theregion of beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is for ever visible, itsbroad disk just skirting the horizon and diffusing a perpetual splendour.There—for with your leave, my sister, I will put some trust in precedingnavigators—there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea, wemay be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beauty every regionhitherto discovered on the habitable globe. Its productions and features may bewithout example, as the phenomena of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are inthose undiscovered solitudes. What may not be expected in a country of eternallight? I may there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle andmay regulate a thousand celestial observations that require only this voyage torender their seeming eccentricities consistent for ever. I shall satiate myardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world never before visited,and may tread a land never before imprinted by the foot of man. These are myenticements, and they are sufficient to conquer all fear of danger or death andto induce me to commence this laborious voyage with the joy a child feels whenhe embarks in a little boat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition ofdiscovery up his native river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false,you cannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer on all mankind,to the last generation, by discovering a passage near the pole to thosecountries, to reach which at present so many months are requisite; or byascertaining the secret of the magnet, which, if at all possible, can only beeffected by an undertaking such as mine.

These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my letter,and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven, fornothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as a steady purpose—apoint on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye. This expedition has beenthe favourite dream of my early years. I have read with ardour the accounts ofthe various voyages which have been made in the prospect of arriving at theNorth Pacific Ocean through the seas which surround the pole. You may rememberthat a history of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed thewhole of our good Uncle Thomas’ library. My education was neglected, yet I waspassionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study day and night, and myfamiliarity with them increased that regret which I had felt, as a child, onlearning that my father’s dying injunction had forbidden my uncle to allow meto embark in a seafaring life.

These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets whoseeffusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also became a poet andfor one year lived in a paradise of my own creation; I imagined that I alsomight obtain a niche in the temple where the names of Homer and Shakespeare areconsecrated. You are well acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore thedisappointment. But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, andmy thoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.

Six years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking. I can, evennow, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself to this great enterprise.I commenced by inuring my body to hardship. I accompanied the whale-fishers onseveral expeditions to the North Sea; I voluntarily endured cold, famine,thirst, and want of sleep; I often worked harder than the common sailors duringthe day and devoted my nights to the study of mathematics, the theory ofmedicine, and those branches of physical science from which a naval adventurermight derive the greatest practical advantage. Twice I actually hired myself asan under-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I mustown I felt a little proud when my captain offered me the second dignity in thevessel and entreated me to remain with the greatest earnestness, so valuabledid he consider my services.

And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose? Mylife might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to everyenticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh, that some encouraging voice wouldanswer in the affirmative! My courage and my resolution is firm; but my hopesfluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed. I am about to proceed on a longand difficult voyage, the emergencies of which will demand all my fortitude: Iam required not only to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustainmy own, when theirs are failing.

This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia. They fly quicklyover the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in my opinion, farmore agreeable than that of an English stagecoach. The cold is not excessive,if you are wrapped in furs—a dress which I have already adopted, for there is agreat difference between walking the deck and remaining seated motionless forhours, when no exercise prevents the blood from actually freezing in yourveins. I have no ambition to lose my life on the post-road between St.Petersburgh and Archangel.

I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks; and myintention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be done by paying theinsurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors as I think necessaryamong those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do not intend to sailuntil the month of June; and when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how can Ianswer this question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, will passbefore you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon, or never.

Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings on you, andsave me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for all your love andkindness.

Your affectionate brother,
R. Walton

Letter 2

To Mrs. Saville, England.

Archangel, 28th March, 17—.

How slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow! Yet asecond step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a vessel and amoccupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have already engaged appear tobe men on whom I can depend and are certainly possessed of dauntless courage.

But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and theabsence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil, I have nofriend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there willbe none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one willendeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughts to paper, itis true; but that is a poor medium for the communication of feeling. I desirethe company of a man who could sympathise with me, whose eyes would reply tomine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want ofa friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet courageous, possessed of acultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whose tastes are like my own, toapprove or amend my plans. How would such a friend repair the faults of yourpoor brother! I am too ardent in execution and too impatient of difficulties.But it is a still greater evil to me that I am self-educated: for the firstfourteen years of my life I ran wild on a common and read nothing but our UncleThomas’ books of voyages. At that age I became acquainted with the celebratedpoets of our own country; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my powerto derive its most important benefits from such a conviction that I perceivedthe necessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my nativecountry. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than manyschoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that mydaydreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the painterscall it) keeping; and I greatly need a friend who would have senseenough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me to endeavourto regulate my mind.

Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on thewide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yet somefeelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these ruggedbosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage andenterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or rather, to word my phrase morecharacteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is an Englishman, andin the midst of national and professional prejudices, unsoftened bycultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of humanity. I first becameacquainted with him on board a whale vessel; finding that he was unemployed inthis city, I easily engaged him to assist in my enterprise.

The master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in theship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. This circ*mstance,added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made me very desirousto engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best years spent under yourgentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the groundwork of my characterthat I cannot overcome an intense distaste to the usual brutality exercised onboard ship: I have never believed it to be necessary, and when I heard of amariner equally noted for his kindliness of heart and the respect and obediencepaid to him by his crew, I felt myself peculiarly fortunate in being able tosecure his services. I heard of him first in rather a romantic manner, from alady who owes to him the happiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story.Some years ago he loved a young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and havingamassed a considerable sum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented tothe match. He saw his mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she wasbathed in tears, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to spare her,confessing at the same time that she loved another, but that he was poor, andthat her father would never consent to the union. My generous friend reassuredthe suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover, instantlyabandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm with his money, on which hehad designed to pass the remainder of his life; but he bestowed the whole onhis rival, together with the remains of his prize-money to purchase stock, andthen himself solicited the young woman’s father to consent to her marriage withher lover. But the old man decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honourto my friend, who, when he found the father inexorable, quitted his country,nor returned until he heard that his former mistress was married according toher inclinations. “What a noble fellow!” you will exclaim. He is so; but thenhe is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind of ignorantcarelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct the moreastonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which otherwise he wouldcommand.

Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can conceive aconsolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am wavering in myresolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage is only now delayeduntil the weather shall permit my embarkation. The winter has been dreadfullysevere, but the spring promises well, and it is considered as a remarkablyearly season, so that perhaps I may sail sooner than I expected. I shall donothing rashly: you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence andconsiderateness whenever the safety of others is committed to my care.

I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of my undertaking.It is impossible to communicate to you a conception of the trembling sensation,half pleasurable and half fearful, with which I am preparing to depart. I amgoing to unexplored regions, to “the land of mist and snow,” but I shall killno albatross; therefore do not be alarmed for my safety or if I should comeback to you as worn and woeful as the “Ancient Mariner.” You will smile at myallusion, but I will disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachmentto, my passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to thatproduction of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something at workin my soul which I do not understand. I am practically industrious—painstaking,a workman to execute with perseverance and labour—but besides this there is alove for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all myprojects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wildsea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.

But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, after havingtraversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of Africa orAmerica? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to look on thereverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write to me by everyopportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions when I need them mostto support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. Remember me with affection,should you never hear from me again.

Your affectionate brother,
Robert Walton

Letter 3

To Mrs. Saville, England.

July 7th, 17—.

My dear Sister,

I write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe—and well advanced on myvoyage. This letter will reach England by a merchantman now on its homewardvoyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not see my native land,perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in good spirits: my men are bold andapparently firm of purpose, nor do the floating sheets of ice that continuallypass us, indicating the dangers of the region towards which we are advancing,appear to dismay them. We have already reached a very high latitude; but it isthe height of summer, and although not so warm as in England, the southerngales, which blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desireto attain, breathe a degree of renovating warmth which I had not expected.

No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure in a letter.One or two stiff gales and the springing of a leak are accidents whichexperienced navigators scarcely remember to record, and I shall be well contentif nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.

Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured that for my own sake, as well as yours, Iwill not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool, persevering, and prudent.

But success shall crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I havegone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars themselvesbeing witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not still proceed over theuntamed yet obedient element? What can stop the determined heart and resolvedwill of man?

My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus. But I must finish.Heaven bless my beloved sister!

R.W.

Letter 4

To Mrs. Saville, England.

August 5th, 17—.

So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear recording it,although it is very probable that you will see me before these papers can comeinto your possession.

Last Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed in theship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea-room in which she floated. Oursituation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we were compassed round by avery thick fog. We accordingly lay to, hoping that some change would take placein the atmosphere and weather.

About two o’clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out in everydirection, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to have no end. Someof my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to grow watchful with anxiousthoughts, when a strange sight suddenly attracted our attention and divertedour solicitude from our own situation. We perceived a low carriage, fixed on asledge and drawn by dogs, pass on towards the north, at the distance of half amile; a being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature,sat in the sledge and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress of thetraveller with our telescopes until he was lost among the distant inequalitiesof the ice.

This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed, manyhundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote that it wasnot, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in, however, by ice, itwas impossible to follow his track, which we had observed with the greatestattention.

About two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea, and before nightthe ice broke and freed our ship. We, however, lay to until the morning,fearing to encounter in the dark those large loose masses which float aboutafter the breaking up of the ice. I profited of this time to rest for a fewhours.

In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck and foundall the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently talking to someonein the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we had seen before, which haddrifted towards us in the night on a large fragment of ice. Only one dogremained alive; but there was a human being within it whom the sailors werepersuading to enter the vessel. He was not, as the other traveller seemed tobe, a savage inhabitant of some undiscovered island, but a European. When Iappeared on deck the master said, “Here is our captain, and he will not allowyou to perish on the open sea.”

On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a foreignaccent. “Before I come on board your vessel,” said he, “will you have thekindness to inform me whither you are bound?”

You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed to mefrom a man on the brink of destruction and to whom I should have supposed thatmy vessel would have been a resource which he would not have exchanged for themost precious wealth the earth can afford. I replied, however, that we were ona voyage of discovery towards the northern pole.

Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board. GoodGod! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated for his safety,your surprise would have been boundless. His limbs were nearly frozen, and hisbody dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in sowretched a condition. We attempted to carry him into the cabin, but as soon ashe had quitted the fresh air he fainted. We accordingly brought him back to thedeck and restored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy and forcing himto swallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed signs of life we wrapped himup in blankets and placed him near the chimney of the kitchen stove. By slowdegrees he recovered and ate a little soup, which restored him wonderfully.

Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak, and I often fearedthat his sufferings had deprived him of understanding. When he had in somemeasure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin and attended on him as much asmy duty would permit. I never saw a more interesting creature: his eyes havegenerally an expression of wildness, and even madness, but there are momentswhen, if anyone performs an act of kindness towards him or does him any themost trifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with abeam of benevolence and sweetness that I never saw equalled. But he isgenerally melancholy and despairing, and sometimes he gnashes his teeth, as ifimpatient of the weight of woes that oppresses him.

When my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble to keep off the men,who wished to ask him a thousand questions; but I would not allow him to betormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body and mind whoserestoration evidently depended upon entire repose. Once, however, thelieutenant asked why he had come so far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle.

His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom, and hereplied, “To seek one who fled from me.”

“And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?”

“Yes.”

“Then I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up we saw somedogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.”

This aroused the stranger’s attention, and he asked a multitude of questionsconcerning the route which the dæmon, as he called him, had pursued. Soonafter, when he was alone with me, he said, “I have, doubtless, excited yourcuriosity, as well as that of these good people; but you are too considerate tomake inquiries.”

“Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to troubleyou with any inquisitiveness of mine.”

“And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you havebenevolently restored me to life.”

Soon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up of the ice haddestroyed the other sledge. I replied that I could not answer with any degreeof certainty, for the ice had not broken until near midnight, and the travellermight have arrived at a place of safety before that time; but of this I couldnot judge.

From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of thestranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck to watch for thesledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in thecabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of the atmosphere. I havepromised that someone should watch for him and give him instant notice if anynew object should appear in sight.

Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the presentday. The stranger has gradually improved in health but is very silent andappears uneasy when anyone except myself enters his cabin. Yet his manners areso conciliating and gentle that the sailors are all interested in him, althoughthey have had very little communication with him. For my own part, I begin tolove him as a brother, and his constant and deep grief fills me with sympathyand compassion. He must have been a noble creature in his better days, beingeven now in wreck so attractive and amiable.

I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend onthe wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit had been brokenby misery, I should have been happy to have possessed as the brother of myheart.

I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals, should I haveany fresh incidents to record.

August 13th, 17—.

My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once my admirationand my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see so noble a creaturedestroyed by misery without feeling the most poignant grief? He is so gentle,yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and when he speaks, although his wordsare culled with the choicest art, yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleledeloquence.

He is now much recovered from his illness and is continually on the deck,apparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet, althoughunhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery but that he interestshimself deeply in the projects of others. He has frequently conversed with meon mine, which I have communicated to him without disguise. He enteredattentively into all my arguments in favour of my eventual success and intoevery minute detail of the measures I had taken to secure it. I was easily ledby the sympathy which he evinced to use the language of my heart, to giveutterance to the burning ardour of my soul and to say, with all the fervourthat warmed me, how gladly I would sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my everyhope, to the furtherance of my enterprise. One man’s life or death were but asmall price to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which I sought, for thedominion I should acquire and transmit over the elemental foes of our race. AsI spoke, a dark gloom spread over my listener’s countenance. At first Iperceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before hiseyes, and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle fast frombetween his fingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast. I paused; at lengthhe spoke, in broken accents: “Unhappy man! Do you share my madness? Have youdrunk also of the intoxicating draught? Hear me; let me reveal my tale, and youwill dash the cup from your lips!”

Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the paroxysm ofgrief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened powers, and many hoursof repose and tranquil conversation were necessary to restore his composure.

Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise himselffor being the slave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of despair, heled me again to converse concerning myself personally. He asked me the historyof my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it awakened various trainsof reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a friend, of my thirst for amore intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than had ever fallen to my lot, andexpressed my conviction that a man could boast of little happiness who did notenjoy this blessing.

“I agree with you,” replied the stranger; “we are unfashioned creatures, buthalf made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves—such a friend oughtto be—do not lend his aid to perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. I oncehad a friend, the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, tojudge respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before you, and haveno cause for despair. But I—I have lost everything and cannot begin life anew.”

As he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm, settled grief thattouched me to the heart. But he was silent and presently retired to his cabin.

Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does thebeauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by thesewonderful regions seem still to have the power of elevating his soul fromearth. Such a man has a double existence: he may suffer misery and beoverwhelmed by disappointments, yet when he has retired into himself, he willbe like a celestial spirit that has a halo around him, within whose circle nogrief or folly ventures.

Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine wanderer? Youwould not if you saw him. You have been tutored and refined by books andretirement from the world, and you are therefore somewhat fastidious; but thisonly renders you the more fit to appreciate the extraordinary merits of thiswonderful man. Sometimes I have endeavoured to discover what quality it iswhich he possesses that elevates him so immeasurably above any other person Iever knew. I believe it to be an intuitive discernment, a quick butnever-failing power of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things,unequalled for clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expressionand a voice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing music.

August 19th, 17—.

Yesterday the stranger said to me, “You may easily perceive, Captain Walton,that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes. I had determined atone time that the memory of these evils should die with me, but you have won meto alter my determination. You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did;and I ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpentto sting you, as mine has been. I do not know that the relation of my disasterswill be useful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing the samecourse, exposing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered me what I am,I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one that may directyou if you succeed in your undertaking and console you in case of failure.Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually deemed marvellous. Were weamong the tamer scenes of nature I might fear to encounter your unbelief,perhaps your ridicule; but many things will appear possible in these wild andmysterious regions which would provoke the laughter of those unacquainted withthe ever-varied powers of nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys inits series internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it iscomposed.”

You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered communication,yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by a recital of hismisfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness to hear the promised narrative,partly from curiosity and partly from a strong desire to ameliorate his fate ifit were in my power. I expressed these feelings in my answer.

“I thank you,” he replied, “for your sympathy, but it is useless; my fate isnearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and then I shall repose in peace. Iunderstand your feeling,” continued he, perceiving that I wished to interrupthim; “but you are mistaken, my friend, if thus you will allow me to name you;nothing can alter my destiny; listen to my history, and you will perceive howirrevocably it is determined.”

He then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day when I shouldbe at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. I have resolvedevery night, when I am not imperatively occupied by my duties, to record, asnearly as possible in his own words, what he has related during the day. If Ishould be engaged, I will at least make notes. This manuscript will doubtlessafford you the greatest pleasure; but to me, who know him, and who hear it fromhis own lips—with what interest and sympathy shall I read it in some futureday! Even now, as I commence my task, his full-toned voice swells in my ears;his lustrous eyes dwell on me with all their melancholy sweetness; I see histhin hand raised in animation, while the lineaments of his face are irradiatedby the soul within. Strange and harrowing must be his story, frightful thestorm which embraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked it—thus!

Chapter 1

I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished ofthat republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics,and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation.He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigableattention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupiedby the affairs of his country; a variety of circ*mstances had prevented hismarrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husbandand the father of a family.

As the circ*mstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot refrainfrom relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a merchant who, from aflourishing state, fell, through numerous mischances, into poverty. This man,whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud and unbending disposition and could notbear to live in poverty and oblivion in the same country where he had formerlybeen distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts,therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter to thetown of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My father lovedBeaufort with the truest friendship and was deeply grieved by his retreat inthese unfortunate circ*mstances. He bitterly deplored the false pride which ledhis friend to a conduct so little worthy of the affection that united them. Helost no time in endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading himto begin the world again through his credit and assistance.

Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten monthsbefore my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastenedto the house, which was situated in a mean street near the Reuss. But when heentered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a verysmall sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but it was sufficient toprovide him with sustenance for some months, and in the meantime he hoped toprocure some respectable employment in a merchant’s house. The interval was,consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and ranklingwhen he had leisure for reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of hismind that at the end of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable ofany exertion.

His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw withdespair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that there was noother prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind of anuncommon mould, and her courage rose to support her in her adversity. Sheprocured plain work; she plaited straw and by various means contrived to earn apittance scarcely sufficient to support life.

Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time was moreentirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence decreased; and inthe tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving her an orphan and abeggar. This last blow overcame her, and she knelt by Beaufort’s coffin weepingbitterly, when my father entered the chamber. He came like a protecting spiritto the poor girl, who committed herself to his care; and after the interment ofhis friend he conducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of arelation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.

There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but thiscirc*mstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted affection.There was a sense of justice in my father’s upright mind which rendered itnecessary that he should approve highly to love strongly. Perhaps during formeryears he had suffered from the late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved andso was disposed to set a greater value on tried worth. There was a show ofgratitude and worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from thedoting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her virtues and adesire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing her for the sorrows shehad endured, but which gave inexpressible grace to his behaviour to her.Everything was made to yield to her wishes and her convenience. He strove toshelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered by the gardener, from every rougherwind and to surround her with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotionin her soft and benevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of herhitherto constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. Duringthe two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father hadgradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after theirunion they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change of scene andinterest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, as a restorative forher weakened frame.

From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born atNaples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained forseveral years their only child. Much as they were attached to each other, theyseemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love tobestow them upon me. My mother’s tender caresses and my father’s smile ofbenevolent pleasure while regarding me are my first recollections. I was theirplaything and their idol, and something better—their child, the innocent andhelpless creature bestowed on them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, andwhose future lot it was in their hands to direct to happiness or misery,according as they fulfilled their duties towards me. With this deepconsciousness of what they owed towards the being to which they had given life,added to the active spirit of tenderness that animated both, it may be imaginedthat while during every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience,of charity, and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that allseemed but one train of enjoyment to me.

For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have adaughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five yearsold, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they passed aweek on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent disposition often madethem enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my mother, was more than a duty;it was a necessity, a passion—remembering what she had suffered, and how shehad been relieved—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to theafflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a valeattracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number ofhalf-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst shape. Oneday, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother, accompanied by me,visited this abode. She found a peasant and his wife, hard working, bent downby care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to five hungry babes. Amongthese there was one which attracted my mother far above all the rest. Sheappeared of a different stock. The four others were dark-eyed, hardy littlevagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her hair was the brightest livinggold, and despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed to set a crown ofdistinction on her head. Her brow was clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless,and her lips and the moulding of her face so expressive of sensibility andsweetness that none could behold her without looking on her as of a distinctspecies, a being heaven-sent, and bearing a celestial stamp in all herfeatures.

The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder andadmiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She was nother child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a German andhad died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with these good peopleto nurse: they were better off then. They had not been long married, and theireldest child was but just born. The father of their charge was one of thoseItalians nursed in the memory of the antique glory of Italy—one among theschiavi ognor frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of hiscountry. He became the victim of its weakness. Whether he had died or stilllingered in the dungeons of Austria was not known. His property wasconfiscated; his child became an orphan and a beggar. She continued with herfoster parents and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a garden rose amongdark-leaved brambles.

When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of ourvilla a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed to shedradiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter than thechamois of the hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his permission mymother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her. Theywere fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to them, butit would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want when Providenceafforded her such powerful protection. They consulted their village priest, andthe result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became the inmate of my parents’ house—mymore than sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations andmy pleasures.

Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment withwhich all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. Onthe evening previous to her being brought to my home, my mother had saidplayfully, “I have a pretty present for my Victor—tomorrow he shall have it.”And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I,with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked uponElizabeth as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. All praises bestowed onher I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each otherfamiliarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body forth thekind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than sister, since till deathshe was to be mine only.

Chapter 2

We were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in our ages.I need not say that we were strangers to any species of disunion or dispute.Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and the diversity and contrast thatsubsisted in our characters drew us nearer together. Elizabeth was of a calmerand more concentrated disposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of amore intense application and was more deeply smitten with the thirst forknowledge. She busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets;and in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss home —thesublime shapes of the mountains, the changes of the seasons, tempest and calm,the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of our Alpine summers—shefound ample scope for admiration and delight. While my companion contemplatedwith a serious and satisfied spirit the magnificent appearances of things, Idelighted in investigating their causes. The world was to me a secret which Idesired to divine. Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws ofnature, gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among theearliest sensations I can remember.

On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave upentirely their wandering life and fixed themselves in their native country. Wepossessed a house in Geneva, and a campagne on Belrive, the easternshore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a league from the city.We resided principally in the latter, and the lives of my parents were passedin considerable seclusion. It was my temper to avoid a crowd and to attachmyself fervently to a few. I was indifferent, therefore, to my school-fellowsin general; but I united myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to oneamong them. Henry Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy ofsingular talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger forits own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. He composedheroic songs and began to write many a tale of enchantment and knightlyadventure. He tried to make us act plays and to enter into masquerades, inwhich the characters were drawn from the heroes of Roncesvalles, of the RoundTable of King Arthur, and the chivalrous train who shed their blood to redeemthe holy sepulchre from the hands of the infidels.

No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My parentswere possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence. We felt that theywere not the tyrants to rule our lot according to their caprice, but the agentsand creators of all the many delights which we enjoyed. When I mingled withother families I distinctly discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, andgratitude assisted the development of filial love.

My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some law inmy temperature they were turned not towards childish pursuits but to an eagerdesire to learn, and not to learn all things indiscriminately. I confess thatneither the structure of languages, nor the code of governments, nor thepolitics of various states possessed attractions for me. It was the secrets ofheaven and earth that I desired to learn; and whether it was the outwardsubstance of things or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul ofman that occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical, orin its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.

Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral relations ofthings. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes, and the actions of menwere his theme; and his hope and his dream was to become one among those whosenames are recorded in story as the gallant and adventurous benefactors of ourspecies. The saintly soul of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp inour peaceful home. Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweetglance of her celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us. She wasthe living spirit of love to soften and attract; I might have become sullen inmy study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that she was there tosubdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness. And Clerval—could aught illentrench on the noble spirit of Clerval? Yet he might not have been soperfectly humane, so thoughtful in his generosity, so full of kindness andtenderness amidst his passion for adventurous exploit, had she not unfolded tohim the real loveliness of beneficence and made the doing good the end and aimof his soaring ambition.

I feel exquisite pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, beforemisfortune had tainted my mind and changed its bright visions of extensiveusefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. Besides, in drawingthe picture of my early days, I also record those events which led, byinsensible steps, to my after tale of misery, for when I would account tomyself for the birth of that passion which afterwards ruled my destiny I findit arise, like a mountain river, from ignoble and almost forgotten sources;but, swelling as it proceeded, it became the torrent which, in its course, hasswept away all my hopes and joys.

Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire,therefore, in this narration, to state those facts which led to my predilectionfor that science. When I was thirteen years of age we all went on a party ofpleasure to the baths near Thonon; the inclemency of the weather obliged us toremain a day confined to the inn. In this house I chanced to find a volume ofthe works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it with apathy; the theory which heattempts to demonstrate and the wonderful facts which he relates soon changedthis feeling into enthusiasm. A new light seemed to dawn upon my mind, andbounding with joy, I communicated my discovery to my father. My father lookedcarelessly at the title page of my book and said, “Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! Mydear Victor, do not waste your time upon this; it is sad trash.”

If, instead of this remark, my father had taken the pains to explain to me thatthe principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded and that a modern systemof science had been introduced which possessed much greater powers than theancient, because the powers of the latter were chimerical, while those of theformer were real and practical, under such circ*mstances I should certainlyhave thrown Agrippa aside and have contented my imagination, warmed as it was,by returning with greater ardour to my former studies. It is even possible thatthe train of my ideas would never have received the fatal impulse that led tomy ruin. But the cursory glance my father had taken of my volume by no meansassured me that he was acquainted with its contents, and I continued to readwith the greatest avidity.

When I returned home my first care was to procure the whole works of thisauthor, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read and studiedthe wild fancies of these writers with delight; they appeared to me treasuresknown to few besides myself. I have described myself as always having beenimbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of nature. In spite ofthe intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern philosophers, I alwayscame from my studies discontented and unsatisfied. Sir Isaac Newton is said tohave avowed that he felt like a child picking up shells beside the great andunexplored ocean of truth. Those of his successors in each branch of naturalphilosophy with whom I was acquainted appeared even to my boy’s apprehensionsas tyros engaged in the same pursuit.

The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him and was acquainted withtheir practical uses. The most learned philosopher knew little more. He hadpartially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal lineaments were still awonder and a mystery. He might dissect, anatomise, and give names; but, not tospeak of a final cause, causes in their secondary and tertiary grades wereutterly unknown to him. I had gazed upon the fortifications and impedimentsthat seemed to keep human beings from entering the citadel of nature, andrashly and ignorantly I had repined.

But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew more.I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their disciple. Itmay appear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth century; but whileI followed the routine of education in the schools of Geneva, I was, to a greatdegree, self-taught with regard to my favourite studies. My father was notscientific, and I was left to struggle with a child’s blindness, added to astudent’s thirst for knowledge. Under the guidance of my new preceptors Ientered with the greatest diligence into the search of the philosopher’s stoneand the elixir of life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention.Wealth was an inferior object, but what glory would attend the discovery if Icould banish disease from the human frame and render man invulnerable to anybut a violent death!

Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a promiseliberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of which I mosteagerly sought; and if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I attributedthe failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake than to a want of skillor fidelity in my instructors. And thus for a time I was occupied by explodedsystems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand contradictory theories andfloundering desperately in a very slough of multifarious knowledge, guided byan ardent imagination and childish reasoning, till an accident again changedthe current of my ideas.

When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near Belrive,when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunderstorm. It advanced frombehind the mountains of Jura, and the thunder burst at once with frightfulloudness from various quarters of the heavens. I remained, while the stormlasted, watching its progress with curiosity and delight. As I stood at thedoor, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire issue from an old and beautiful oakwhich stood about twenty yards from our house; and so soon as the dazzlinglight vanished, the oak had disappeared, and nothing remained but a blastedstump. When we visited it the next morning, we found the tree shattered in asingular manner. It was not splintered by the shock, but entirely reduced tothin ribbons of wood. I never beheld anything so utterly destroyed.

Before this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of electricity.On this occasion a man of great research in natural philosophy was with us, andexcited by this catastrophe, he entered on the explanation of a theory which hehad formed on the subject of electricity and galvanism, which was at once newand astonishing to me. All that he said threw greatly into the shade CorneliusAgrippa, Albertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but bysome fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my accustomedstudies. It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever be known. All thathad so long engaged my attention suddenly grew despicable. By one of thosecaprices of the mind which we are perhaps most subject to in early youth, I atonce gave up my former occupations, set down natural history and all itsprogeny as a deformed and abortive creation, and entertained the greatestdisdain for a would-be science which could never even step within the thresholdof real knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the mathematics andthe branches of study appertaining to that science as being built upon securefoundations, and so worthy of my consideration.

Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments are webound to prosperity or ruin. When I look back, it seems to me as if this almostmiraculous change of inclination and will was the immediate suggestion of theguardian angel of my life—the last effort made by the spirit of preservation toavert the storm that was even then hanging in the stars and ready to envelopme. Her victory was announced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soulwhich followed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting studies.It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with their prosecution,happiness with their disregard.

It was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual. Destinywas too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terribledestruction.

Chapter 3

When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I shouldbecome a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended theschools of Geneva, but my father thought it necessary for the completion of myeducation that I should be made acquainted with other customs than those of mynative country. My departure was therefore fixed at an early date, but beforethe day resolved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred—anomen, as it were, of my future misery.

Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; her illness was severe, and she was inthe greatest danger. During her illness many arguments had been urged topersuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had at first yieldedto our entreaties, but when she heard that the life of her favourite wasmenaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. She attended her sickbed; herwatchful attentions triumphed over the malignity of the distemper—Elizabeth wassaved, but the consequences of this imprudence were fatal to her preserver. Onthe third day my mother sickened; her fever was accompanied by the mostalarming symptoms, and the looks of her medical attendants prognosticated theworst event. On her deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of womendid not desert her. She joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself. “Mychildren,” she said, “my firmest hopes of future happiness were placed on theprospect of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation of yourfather. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to my younger children.Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy and beloved as I have been,is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not thoughts befitting me; I willendeavour to resign myself cheerfully to death and will indulge a hope ofmeeting you in another world.”

She died calmly, and her countenance expressed affection even in death. I neednot describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent by that mostirreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the soul, and the despairthat is exhibited on the countenance. It is so long before the mind canpersuade itself that she whom we saw every day and whose very existenceappeared a part of our own can have departed for ever—that the brightness of abeloved eye can have been extinguished and the sound of a voice so familiar anddear to the ear can be hushed, never more to be heard. These are thereflections of the first days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality ofthe evil, then the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has notthat rude hand rent away some dear connection? And why should I describe asorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives whengrief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile that plays uponthe lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished. My mother wasdead, but we had still duties which we ought to perform; we must continue ourcourse with the rest and learn to think ourselves fortunate whilst one remainswhom the spoiler has not seized.

My departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events, was nowagain determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of some weeks. Itappeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose, akin to death, of thehouse of mourning and to rush into the thick of life. I was new to sorrow, butit did not the less alarm me. I was unwilling to quit the sight of those thatremained to me, and above all, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in somedegree consoled.

She indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all. Shelooked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and zeal. Shedevoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call her uncle andcousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time, when she recalled thesunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us. She forgot even her own regretin her endeavours to make us forget.

The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the last evening withus. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit him to accompany me andto become my fellow student, but in vain. His father was a narrow-minded traderand saw idleness and ruin in the aspirations and ambition of his son. Henrydeeply felt the misfortune of being debarred from a liberal education. He saidlittle, but when he spoke I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glancea restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details ofcommerce.

We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor persuadeourselves to say the word “Farewell!” It was said, and we retired under thepretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the other was deceived; but whenat morning’s dawn I descended to the carriage which was to convey me away, theywere all there—my father again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more,my Elizabeth to renew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow thelast feminine attentions on her playmate and friend.

I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away and indulged in themost melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by amiablecompanions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow mutual pleasure—I wasnow alone. In the university whither I was going I must form my own friends andbe my own protector. My life had hitherto been remarkably secluded anddomestic, and this had given me invincible repugnance to new countenances. Iloved my brothers, Elizabeth, and Clerval; these were “old familiar faces,” butI believed myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were myreflections as I commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits and hopesrose. I ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when athome, thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up in one place and hadlonged to enter the world and take my station among other human beings. Now mydesires were complied with, and it would, indeed, have been folly to repent.

I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my journeyto Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the high white steepleof the town met my eyes. I alighted and was conducted to my solitary apartmentto spend the evening as I pleased.

The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction and paid a visit tosome of the principal professors. Chance—or rather the evil influence, theAngel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me from the moment Iturned my reluctant steps from my father’s door—led me first to M. Krempe,professor of natural philosophy. He was an uncouth man, but deeply imbued inthe secrets of his science. He asked me several questions concerning myprogress in the different branches of science appertaining to naturalphilosophy. I replied carelessly, and partly in contempt, mentioned the namesof my alchemists as the principal authors I had studied. The professor stared.“Have you,” he said, “really spent your time in studying such nonsense?”

I replied in the affirmative. “Every minute,” continued M. Krempe with warmth,“every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly and entirelylost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systems and useless names.Good God! In what desert land have you lived, where no one was kind enough toinform you that these fancies which you have so greedily imbibed are a thousandyears old and as musty as they are ancient? I little expected, in thisenlightened and scientific age, to find a disciple of Albertus Magnus andParacelsus. My dear sir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.”

So saying, he stepped aside and wrote down a list of several books treating ofnatural philosophy which he desired me to procure, and dismissed me aftermentioning that in the beginning of the following week he intended to commencea course of lectures upon natural philosophy in its general relations, and thatM. Waldman, a fellow professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate daysthat he omitted.

I returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long consideredthose authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I returned not at allthe more inclined to recur to these studies in any shape. M. Krempe was alittle squat man with a gruff voice and a repulsive countenance; the teacher,therefore, did not prepossess me in favour of his pursuits. In rather a toophilosophical and connected a strain, perhaps, I have given an account of theconclusions I had come to concerning them in my early years. As a child I hadnot been content with the results promised by the modern professors of naturalscience. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my extreme youthand my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the steps of knowledgealong the paths of time and exchanged the discoveries of recent inquirers forthe dreams of forgotten alchemists. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses ofmodern natural philosophy. It was very different when the masters of thescience sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were grand;but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer seemed to limitit*elf to the annihilation of those visions on which my interest in science waschiefly founded. I was required to exchange chimeras of boundless grandeur forrealities of little worth.

Such were my reflections during the first two or three days of my residence atIngolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming acquainted with the localitiesand the principal residents in my new abode. But as the ensuing week commenced,I thought of the information which M. Krempe had given me concerning thelectures. And although I could not consent to go and hear that little conceitedfellow deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what he had said of M.Waldman, whom I had never seen, as he had hitherto been out of town.

Partly from curiosity and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing room,which M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very unlike hiscolleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but with an aspect expressiveof the greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs covered his temples, but those atthe back of his head were nearly black. His person was short but remarkablyerect and his voice the sweetest I had ever heard. He began his lecture by arecapitulation of the history of chemistry and the various improvements made bydifferent men of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names of the mostdistinguished discoverers. He then took a cursory view of the present state ofthe science and explained many of its elementary terms. After having made a fewpreparatory experiments, he concluded with a panegyric upon modern chemistry,the terms of which I shall never forget:

“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he, “promised impossibilities andperformed nothing. The modern masters promise very little; they know thatmetals cannot be transmuted and that the elixir of life is a chimera but thesephilosophers, whose hands seem only made to dabble in dirt, and their eyes topore over the microscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. Theypenetrate into the recesses of nature and show how she works in herhiding-places. They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the bloodcirculates, and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new andalmost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic theearthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows.”

Such were the professor’s words—rather let me say such the words of thefate—enounced to destroy me. As he went on I felt as if my soul were grapplingwith a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were touched which formedthe mechanism of my being; chord after chord was sounded, and soon my mind wasfilled with one thought, one conception, one purpose. So much has been done,exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve; treading inthe steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, andunfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.

I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state ofinsurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I had nopower to produce it. By degrees, after the morning’s dawn, sleep came. I awoke,and my yesternight’s thoughts were as a dream. There only remained a resolutionto return to my ancient studies and to devote myself to a science for which Ibelieved myself to possess a natural talent. On the same day I paid M. Waldmana visit. His manners in private were even more mild and attractive than inpublic, for there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture which inhis own house was replaced by the greatest affability and kindness. I gave himpretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had given to hisfellow professor. He heard with attention the little narration concerning mystudies and smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa and Paracelsus, butwithout the contempt that M. Krempe had exhibited. He said that “These were mento whose indefatigable zeal modern philosophers were indebted for most of thefoundations of their knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to givenew names and arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in agreat degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The labours of menof genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimatelyturning to the solid advantage of mankind.” I listened to his statement, whichwas delivered without any presumption or affectation, and then added that hislecture had removed my prejudices against modern chemists; I expressed myselfin measured terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to hisinstructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have made meashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended labours. Irequested his advice concerning the books I ought to procure.

“I am happy,” said M. Waldman, “to have gained a disciple; and if yourapplication equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success. Chemistry isthat branch of natural philosophy in which the greatest improvements have beenand may be made; it is on that account that I have made it my peculiar study;but at the same time, I have not neglected the other branches of science. A manwould make but a very sorry chemist if he attended to that department of humanknowledge alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science and notmerely a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch ofnatural philosophy, including mathematics.”

He then took me into his laboratory and explained to me the uses of his variousmachines, instructing me as to what I ought to procure and promising me the useof his own when I should have advanced far enough in the science not to derangetheir mechanism. He also gave me the list of books which I had requested, and Itook my leave.

Thus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.

Chapter 4

From this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the mostcomprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation. I read withardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination, which moderninquirers have written on these subjects. I attended the lectures andcultivated the acquaintance of the men of science of the university, and Ifound even in M. Krempe a great deal of sound sense and real information,combined, it is true, with a repulsive physiognomy and manners, but not on thataccount the less valuable. In M. Waldman I found a true friend. His gentlenesswas never tinged by dogmatism, and his instructions were given with an air offrankness and good nature that banished every idea of pedantry. In a thousandways he smoothed for me the path of knowledge and made the most abstruseinquiries clear and facile to my apprehension. My application was at firstfluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded and soon became soardent and eager that the stars often disappeared in the light of morningwhilst I was yet engaged in my laboratory.

As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that my progress was rapid.My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students, and my proficiency thatof the masters. Professor Krempe often asked me, with a sly smile, howCornelius Agrippa went on, whilst M. Waldman expressed the most heartfeltexultation in my progress. Two years passed in this manner, during which I paidno visit to Geneva, but was engaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of somediscoveries which I hoped to make. None but those who have experienced them canconceive of the enticements of science. In other studies you go as far asothers have gone before you, and there is nothing more to know; but in ascientific pursuit there is continual food for discovery and wonder. A mind ofmoderate capacity which closely pursues one study must infallibly arrive atgreat proficiency in that study; and I, who continually sought the attainmentof one object of pursuit and was solely wrapped up in this, improved so rapidlythat at the end of two years I made some discoveries in the improvement of somechemical instruments, which procured me great esteem and admiration at theuniversity. When I had arrived at this point and had become as well acquaintedwith the theory and practice of natural philosophy as depended on the lessonsof any of the professors at Ingolstadt, my residence there being no longerconducive to my improvements, I thought of returning to my friends and mynative town, when an incident happened that protracted my stay.

One of the phenomena which had peculiarly attracted my attention was thestructure of the human frame, and, indeed, any animal endued with life. Whence,I often asked myself, did the principle of life proceed? It was a boldquestion, and one which has ever been considered as a mystery; yet with howmany things are we upon the brink of becoming acquainted, if cowardice orcarelessness did not restrain our inquiries. I revolved these circ*mstances inmy mind and determined thenceforth to apply myself more particularly to thosebranches of natural philosophy which relate to physiology. Unless I had beenanimated by an almost supernatural enthusiasm, my application to this studywould have been irksome and almost intolerable. To examine the causes of life,we must first have recourse to death. I became acquainted with the science ofanatomy, but this was not sufficient; I must also observe the natural decay andcorruption of the human body. In my education my father had taken the greatestprecautions that my mind should be impressed with no supernatural horrors. I donot ever remember to have trembled at a tale of superstition or to have fearedthe apparition of a spirit. Darkness had no effect upon my fancy, and achurchyard was to me merely the receptacle of bodies deprived of life, which,from being the seat of beauty and strength, had become food for the worm. Now Iwas led to examine the cause and progress of this decay and forced to spenddays and nights in vaults and charnel-houses. My attention was fixed upon everyobject the most insupportable to the delicacy of the human feelings. I saw howthe fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of deathsucceed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited the wondersof the eye and brain. I paused, examining and analysing all the minutiae ofcausation, as exemplified in the change from life to death, and death to life,until from the midst of this darkness a sudden light broke in upon me—a lightso brilliant and wondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with theimmensity of the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that among somany men of genius who had directed their inquiries towards the same science,that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a secret.

Remember, I am not recording the vision of a madman. The sun does not morecertainly shine in the heavens than that which I now affirm is true. Somemiracle might have produced it, yet the stages of the discovery were distinctand probable. After days and nights of incredible labour and fatigue, Isucceeded in discovering the cause of generation and life; nay, more, I becamemyself capable of bestowing animation upon lifeless matter.

The astonishment which I had at first experienced on this discovery soon gaveplace to delight and rapture. After so much time spent in painful labour, toarrive at once at the summit of my desires was the most gratifying consummationof my toils. But this discovery was so great and overwhelming that all thesteps by which I had been progressively led to it were obliterated, and Ibeheld only the result. What had been the study and desire of the wisest mensince the creation of the world was now within my grasp. Not that, like a magicscene, it all opened upon me at once: the information I had obtained was of anature rather to direct my endeavours so soon as I should point them towardsthe object of my search than to exhibit that object already accomplished. I waslike the Arabian who had been buried with the dead and found a passage to life,aided only by one glimmering and seemingly ineffectual light.

I see by your eagerness and the wonder and hope which your eyes express, myfriend, that you expect to be informed of the secret with which I amacquainted; that cannot be; listen patiently until the end of my story, and youwill easily perceive why I am reserved upon that subject. I will not lead youon, unguarded and ardent as I then was, to your destruction and infalliblemisery. Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, howdangerous is the acquirement of knowledge and how much happier that man is whobelieves his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greaterthan his nature will allow.

When I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated a longtime concerning the manner in which I should employ it. Although I possessedthe capacity of bestowing animation, yet to prepare a frame for the receptionof it, with all its intricacies of fibres, muscles, and veins, still remained awork of inconceivable difficulty and labour. I doubted at first whether Ishould attempt the creation of a being like myself, or one of simplerorganization; but my imagination was too much exalted by my first success topermit me to doubt of my ability to give life to an animal as complex andwonderful as man. The materials at present within my command hardly appearedadequate to so arduous an undertaking, but I doubted not that I shouldultimately succeed. I prepared myself for a multitude of reverses; myoperations might be incessantly baffled, and at last my work be imperfect, yetwhen I considered the improvement which every day takes place in science andmechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present attempts would at least lay thefoundations of future success. Nor could I consider the magnitude andcomplexity of my plan as any argument of its impracticability. It was withthese feelings that I began the creation of a human being. As the minuteness ofthe parts formed a great hindrance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to myfirst intention, to make the being of a gigantic stature, that is to say, abouteight feet in height, and proportionably large. After having formed thisdetermination and having spent some months in successfully collecting andarranging my materials, I began.

No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like ahurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death appeared to meideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of lightinto our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source;many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father couldclaim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs.Pursuing these reflections, I thought that if I could bestow animation uponlifeless matter, I might in process of time (although I now found itimpossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body tocorruption.

These thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking withunremitting ardour. My cheek had grown pale with study, and my person hadbecome emaciated with confinement. Sometimes, on the very brink of certainty, Ifailed; yet still I clung to the hope which the next day or the next hour mightrealise. One secret which I alone possessed was the hope to which I haddedicated myself; and the moon gazed on my midnight labours, while, withunrelaxed and breathless eagerness, I pursued nature to her hiding-places. Whoshall conceive the horrors of my secret toil as I dabbled among the unhalloweddamps of the grave or tortured the living animal to animate the lifeless clay?My limbs now tremble, and my eyes swim with the remembrance; but then aresistless and almost frantic impulse urged me forward; I seemed to have lostall soul or sensation but for this one pursuit. It was indeed but a passingtrance, that only made me feel with renewed acuteness so soon as, the unnaturalstimulus ceasing to operate, I had returned to my old habits. I collected bonesfrom charnel-houses and disturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secretsof the human frame. In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of thehouse, and separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase,I kept my workshop of filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from theirsockets in attending to the details of my employment. The dissecting room andthe slaughter-house furnished many of my materials; and often did my humannature turn with loathing from my occupation, whilst, still urged on by aneagerness which perpetually increased, I brought my work near to a conclusion.

The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in onepursuit. It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields bestow a moreplentiful harvest or the vines yield a more luxuriant vintage, but my eyes wereinsensible to the charms of nature. And the same feelings which made me neglectthe scenes around me caused me also to forget those friends who were so manymiles absent, and whom I had not seen for so long a time. I knew my silencedisquieted them, and I well remembered the words of my father: “I know thatwhile you are pleased with yourself you will think of us with affection, and weshall hear regularly from you. You must pardon me if I regard any interruptionin your correspondence as a proof that your other duties are equallyneglected.”

I knew well therefore what would be my father’s feelings, but I could not tearmy thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which had taken anirresistible hold of my imagination. I wished, as it were, to procrastinate allthat related to my feelings of affection until the great object, whichswallowed up every habit of my nature, should be completed.

I then thought that my father would be unjust if he ascribed my neglect to viceor faultiness on my part, but I am now convinced that he was justified inconceiving that I should not be altogether free from blame. A human being inperfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful mind and never to allowpassion or a transitory desire to disturb his tranquillity. I do not think thatthe pursuit of knowledge is an exception to this rule. If the study to whichyou apply yourself has a tendency to weaken your affections and to destroy yourtaste for those simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then thatstudy is certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind. Ifthis rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit whatsoever tointerfere with the tranquillity of his domestic affections, Greece had not beenenslaved, Cæsar would have spared his country, America would have beendiscovered more gradually, and the empires of Mexico and Peru had not beendestroyed.

But I forget that I am moralizing in the most interesting part of my tale, andyour looks remind me to proceed.

My father made no reproach in his letters and only took notice of my silence byinquiring into my occupations more particularly than before. Winter, spring,and summer passed away during my labours; but I did not watch the blossom orthe expanding leaves—sights which before always yielded me supreme delight—sodeeply was I engrossed in my occupation. The leaves of that year had witheredbefore my work drew near to a close, and now every day showed me more plainlyhow well I had succeeded. But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and Iappeared rather like one doomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any otherunwholesome trade than an artist occupied by his favourite employment. Everynight I was oppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a most painfuldegree; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow creatures as ifI had been guilty of a crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed at the wreck I perceivedthat I had become; the energy of my purpose alone sustained me: my labourswould soon end, and I believed that exercise and amusem*nt would then driveaway incipient disease; and I promised myself both of these when my creationshould be complete.

Chapter 5

It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of mytoils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected theinstruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into thelifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rainpattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when,by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of thecreature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.

How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the wretchwhom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form? His limbswere in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Beautiful!Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteriesbeneath; his hair was of a lustrous black, and flowing; his teeth of a pearlywhiteness; but these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with hiswatery eyes, that seemed almost of the same colour as the dun-white sockets inwhich they were set, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of humannature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole purpose ofinfusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of restand health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; butnow that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathlesshorror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being Ihad created, I rushed out of the room and continued a long time traversing mybed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeededto the tumult I had before endured, and I threw myself on the bed in myclothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was invain; I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I thought Isaw Elizabeth, in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of Ingolstadt.Delighted and surprised, I embraced her, but as I imprinted the first kiss onher lips, they became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared tochange, and I thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms; ashroud enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds ofthe flannel. I started from my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered myforehead, my teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dimand yellow light of the moon, as it forced its way through the window shutters,I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster whom I had created. He held up thecurtain of the bed; and his eyes, if eyes they may be called, were fixed on me.His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds, while a grinwrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not hear; one hand wasstretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped and rushed downstairs. Itook refuge in the courtyard belonging to the house which I inhabited, where Iremained during the rest of the night, walking up and down in the greatestagitation, listening attentively, catching and fearing each sound as if it wereto announce the approach of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserablygiven life.

Oh! No mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy againendued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I had gazed onhim while unfinished; he was ugly then, but when those muscles and joints wererendered capable of motion, it became a thing such as even Dante could not haveconceived.

I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and hardlythat I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly sank to theground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with this horror, I feltthe bitterness of disappointment; dreams that had been my food and pleasantrest for so long a space were now become a hell to me; and the change was sorapid, the overthrow so complete!

Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned and discovered to my sleepless andaching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple and clock, whichindicated the sixth hour. The porter opened the gates of the court, which hadthat night been my asylum, and I issued into the streets, pacing them withquick steps, as if I sought to avoid the wretch whom I feared every turning ofthe street would present to my view. I did not dare return to the apartmentwhich I inhabited, but felt impelled to hurry on, although drenched by the rainwhich poured from a black and comfortless sky.

I continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring by bodilyexercise to ease the load that weighed upon my mind. I traversed the streetswithout any clear conception of where I was or what I was doing. My heartpalpitated in the sickness of fear, and I hurried on with irregular steps, notdaring to look about me:

Continuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the variousdiligences and carriages usually stopped. Here I paused, I knew not why; but Iremained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a coach that was coming towards mefrom the other end of the street. As it drew nearer I observed that it was theSwiss diligence; it stopped just where I was standing, and on the door beingopened, I perceived Henry Clerval, who, on seeing me, instantly sprung out. “Mydear Frankenstein,” exclaimed he, “how glad I am to see you! How fortunate thatyou should be here at the very moment of my alighting!”

Nothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence brought back tomy thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes of home so dear to myrecollection. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my horror andmisfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the first time during many months, calmand serene joy. I welcomed my friend, therefore, in the most cordial manner,and we walked towards my college. Clerval continued talking for some time aboutour mutual friends and his own good fortune in being permitted to come toIngolstadt. “You may easily believe,” said he, “how great was the difficulty topersuade my father that all necessary knowledge was not comprised in the nobleart of book-keeping; and, indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last,for his constant answer to my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of theDutch schoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: ‘I have ten thousand florins ayear without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.’ But his affection for me atlength overcame his dislike of learning, and he has permitted me to undertake avoyage of discovery to the land of knowledge.”

“It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left myfather, brothers, and Elizabeth.”

“Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from you soseldom. By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their account myself.But, my dear Frankenstein,” continued he, stopping short and gazing full in myface, “I did not before remark how very ill you appear; so thin and pale; youlook as if you had been watching for several nights.”

“You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one occupationthat I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see; but I hope, Isincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an end and that I am atlength free.”

I trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far less to alludeto, the occurrences of the preceding night. I walked with a quick pace, and wesoon arrived at my college. I then reflected, and the thought made me shiver,that the creature whom I had left in my apartment might still be there, aliveand walking about. I dreaded to behold this monster, but I feared still morethat Henry should see him. Entreating him, therefore, to remain a few minutesat the bottom of the stairs, I darted up towards my own room. My hand wasalready on the lock of the door before I recollected myself. I then paused, anda cold shivering came over me. I threw the door forcibly open, as children areaccustomed to do when they expect a spectre to stand in waiting for them on theother side; but nothing appeared. I stepped fearfully in: the apartment wasempty, and my bedroom was also freed from its hideous guest. I could hardlybelieve that so great a good fortune could have befallen me, but when I becameassured that my enemy had indeed fled, I clapped my hands for joy and ran downto Clerval.

We ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought breakfast; but Iwas unable to contain myself. It was not joy only that possessed me; I felt myflesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse beat rapidly. I wasunable to remain for a single instant in the same place; I jumped over thechairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud. Clerval at first attributed myunusual spirits to joy on his arrival, but when he observed me moreattentively, he saw a wildness in my eyes for which he could not account, andmy loud, unrestrained, heartless laughter frightened and astonished him.

“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what, for God’s sake, is the matter? Do not laughin that manner. How ill you are! What is the cause of all this?”

“Do not ask me,” cried I, putting my hands before my eyes, for I thought I sawthe dreaded spectre glide into the room; “he can tell. Oh, save me! Saveme!” I imagined that the monster seized me; I struggled furiously and fell downin a fit.

Poor Clerval! What must have been his feelings? A meeting, which he anticipatedwith such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I was not the witness ofhis grief, for I was lifeless and did not recover my senses for a long, longtime.

This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for severalmonths. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I afterwards learnedthat, knowing my father’s advanced age and unfitness for so long a journey, andhow wretched my sickness would make Elizabeth, he spared them this grief byconcealing the extent of my disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kindand attentive nurse than himself; and, firm in the hope he felt of my recovery,he did not doubt that, instead of doing harm, he performed the kindest actionthat he could towards them.

But I was in reality very ill, and surely nothing but the unbounded andunremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life. The form ofthe monster on whom I had bestowed existence was for ever before my eyes, and Iraved incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my words surprised Henry; he atfirst believed them to be the wanderings of my disturbed imagination, but thepertinacity with which I continually recurred to the same subject persuaded himthat my disorder indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.

By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses that alarmed and grieved myfriend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became capable of observingoutward objects with any kind of pleasure, I perceived that the fallen leaveshad disappeared and that the young buds were shooting forth from the trees thatshaded my window. It was a divine spring, and the season contributed greatly tomy convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in mybosom; my gloom disappeared, and in a short time I became as cheerful as beforeI was attacked by the fatal passion.

“Dearest Clerval,” exclaimed I, “how kind, how very good you are to me. Thiswhole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you promised yourself, hasbeen consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever repay you? I feel the greatestremorse for the disappointment of which I have been the occasion, but you willforgive me.”

“You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get well asfast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I may speak to youon one subject, may I not?”

I trembled. One subject! What could it be? Could he allude to an object on whomI dared not even think?

“Compose yourself,” said Clerval, who observed my change of colour, “I will notmention it if it agitates you; but your father and cousin would be very happyif they received a letter from you in your own handwriting. They hardly knowhow ill you have been and are uneasy at your long silence.”

“Is that all, my dear Henry? How could you suppose that my first thought wouldnot fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and who are so deservingof my love?”

“If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad to see aletter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from your cousin, Ibelieve.”

Chapter 6

Clerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my ownElizabeth:

“My dearest Cousin,

“You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear kind Henryare not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are forbidden towrite—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor, is necessary to calmour apprehensions. For a long time I have thought that each post would bringthis line, and my persuasions have restrained my uncle from undertaking ajourney to Ingolstadt. I have prevented his encountering the inconveniences andperhaps dangers of so long a journey, yet how often have I regretted not beingable to perform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending onyour sickbed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never guessyour wishes nor minister to them with the care and affection of your poorcousin. Yet that is over now: Clerval writes that indeed you are gettingbetter. I eagerly hope that you will confirm this intelligence soon in your ownhandwriting.

“Get well—and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home and friendswho love you dearly. Your father’s health is vigorous, and he asks but to seeyou, but to be assured that you are well; and not a care will ever cloud hisbenevolent countenance. How pleased you would be to remark the improvement ofour Ernest! He is now sixteen and full of activity and spirit. He is desirousto be a true Swiss and to enter into foreign service, but we cannot part withhim, at least until his elder brother returns to us. My uncle is not pleasedwith the idea of a military career in a distant country, but Ernest never hadyour powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his timeis spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the lake. I fear thathe will become an idler unless we yield the point and permit him to enter onthe profession which he has selected.

“Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken placesince you left us. The blue lake and snow-clad mountains—they never change; andI think our placid home and our contented hearts are regulated by the sameimmutable laws. My trifling occupations take up my time and amuse me, and I amrewarded for any exertions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me.Since you left us, but one change has taken place in our little household. Doyou remember on what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably youdo not; I will relate her history, therefore in a few words. Madame Moritz, hermother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third. Thisgirl had always been the favourite of her father, but through a strangeperversity, her mother could not endure her, and after the death of M. Moritz,treated her very ill. My aunt observed this, and when Justine was twelve yearsof age, prevailed on her mother to allow her to live at our house. Therepublican institutions of our country have produced simpler and happiermanners than those which prevail in the great monarchies that surround it.Hence there is less distinction between the several classes of its inhabitants;and the lower orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, their manners aremore refined and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same thing as aservant in France and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learnedthe duties of a servant, a condition which, in our fortunate country, does notinclude the idea of ignorance and a sacrifice of the dignity of a human being.

“Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; and I recollect youonce remarked that if you were in an ill humour, one glance from Justine coulddissipate it, for the same reason that Ariosto gives concerning the beauty ofAngelica—she looked so frank-hearted and happy. My aunt conceived a greatattachment for her, by which she was induced to give her an education superiorto that which she had at first intended. This benefit was fully repaid; Justinewas the most grateful little creature in the world: I do not mean that she madeany professions I never heard one pass her lips, but you could see by her eyesthat she almost adored her protectress. Although her disposition was gay and inmany respects inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest attention to everygesture of my aunt. She thought her the model of all excellence and endeavouredto imitate her phraseology and manners, so that even now she often reminds meof her.

“When my dearest aunt died every one was too much occupied in their own griefto notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness with the mostanxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other trials were reservedfor her.

“One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the exceptionof her neglected daughter, was left childless. The conscience of the woman wastroubled; she began to think that the deaths of her favourites was a judgementfrom heaven to chastise her partiality. She was a Roman Catholic; and I believeher confessor confirmed the idea which she had conceived. Accordingly, a fewmonths after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by herrepentant mother. Poor girl! She wept when she quitted our house; she was muchaltered since the death of my aunt; grief had given softness and a winningmildness to her manners, which had before been remarkable for vivacity. Nor washer residence at her mother’s house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The poorwoman was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged Justine toforgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of having caused thedeaths of her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw MadameMoritz into a decline, which at first increased her irritability, but she isnow at peace for ever. She died on the first approach of cold weather, at thebeginning of this last winter. Justine has just returned to us; and I assureyou I love her tenderly. She is very clever and gentle, and extremely pretty;as I mentioned before, her mien and her expression continually remind me of mydear aunt.

“I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling William.I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with sweet laughing blueeyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little dimplesappear on each cheek, which are rosy with health. He has already had one or twolittle wives, but Louisa Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl offive years of age.

“Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little gossipconcerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield has alreadyreceived the congratulatory visits on her approaching marriage with a youngEnglishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly sister, Manon, married M. Duvillard,the rich banker, last autumn. Your favourite schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, hassuffered several misfortunes since the departure of Clerval from Geneva. But hehas already recovered his spirits, and is reported to be on the point ofmarrying a lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow, andmuch older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite witheverybody.

“I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety returnsupon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor,—one line—one word will be ablessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection,and his many letters; we are sincerely grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care ofyourself; and, I entreat you, write!

“Elizabeth Lavenza.

“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.”

“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed, when I had read her letter: “I will writeinstantly and relieve them from the anxiety they must feel.” I wrote, and thisexertion greatly fatigued me; but my convalescence had commenced, and proceededregularly. In another fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.

One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the severalprofessors of the university. In doing this, I underwent a kind of rough usage,ill befitting the wounds that my mind had sustained. Ever since the fatalnight, the end of my labours, and the beginning of my misfortunes, I hadconceived a violent antipathy even to the name of natural philosophy. When Iwas otherwise quite restored to health, the sight of a chemical instrumentwould renew all the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and hadremoved all my apparatus from my view. He had also changed my apartment; for heperceived that I had acquired a dislike for the room which had previously beenmy laboratory. But these cares of Clerval were made of no avail when I visitedthe professors. M. Waldman inflicted torture when he praised, with kindness andwarmth, the astonishing progress I had made in the sciences. He soon perceivedthat I disliked the subject; but not guessing the real cause, he attributed myfeelings to modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement, to thescience itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me out. Whatcould I do? He meant to please, and he tormented me. I felt as if he had placedcarefully, one by one, in my view those instruments which were to be afterwardsused in putting me to a slow and cruel death. I writhed under his words, yetdared not exhibit the pain I felt. Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were alwaysquick in discerning the sensations of others, declined the subject, alleging,in excuse, his total ignorance; and the conversation took a more general turn.I thanked my friend from my heart, but I did not speak. I saw plainly that hewas surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from me; and although Iloved him with a mixture of affection and reverence that knew no bounds, yet Icould never persuade myself to confide in him that event which was so oftenpresent to my recollection, but which I feared the detail to another would onlyimpress more deeply.

M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of almostinsupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even more painthan the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. “D—n the fellow!” cried he;“why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript us all. Ay, stare if youplease; but it is nevertheless true. A youngster who, but a few years ago,believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly as in the gospel, has now set himselfat the head of the university; and if he is not soon pulled down, we shall allbe out of countenance.—Ay, ay,” continued he, observing my face expressive ofsuffering, “M. Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a young man.Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval: I was myselfwhen young; but that wears out in a very short time.”

M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned theconversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.

Clerval had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and hisliterary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me. He came tothe university with the design of making himself complete master of theoriental languages, and thus he should open a field for the plan of life he hadmarked out for himself. Resolved to pursue no inglorious career, he turned hiseyes toward the East, as affording scope for his spirit of enterprise. ThePersian, Arabic, and Sanskrit languages engaged his attention, and I was easilyinduced to enter on the same studies. Idleness had ever been irksome to me, andnow that I wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former studies, I feltgreat relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend, and found not onlyinstruction but consolation in the works of the orientalists. I did not, likehim, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for I did not contemplatemaking any other use of them than temporary amusem*nt. I read merely tounderstand their meaning, and they well repaid my labours. Their melancholy issoothing, and their joy elevating, to a degree I never experienced in studyingthe authors of any other country. When you read their writings, life appears toconsist in a warm sun and a garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns of a fairenemy, and the fire that consumes your own heart. How different from the manlyand heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!

Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was fixed forthe latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several accidents, winter andsnow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable, and my journey was retardeduntil the ensuing spring. I felt this delay very bitterly; for I longed to seemy native town and my beloved friends. My return had only been delayed so long,from an unwillingness to leave Clerval in a strange place, before he had becomeacquainted with any of its inhabitants. The winter, however, was spentcheerfully; and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came itsbeauty compensated for its dilatoriness.

The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily whichwas to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a pedestrian tour inthe environs of Ingolstadt, that I might bid a personal farewell to the countryI had so long inhabited. I acceded with pleasure to this proposition: I wasfond of exercise, and Clerval had always been my favourite companion in theramble of this nature that I had taken among the scenes of my native country.

We passed a fortnight in these perambulations: my health and spirits had longbeen restored, and they gained additional strength from the salubrious air Ibreathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and the conversation of myfriend. Study had before secluded me from the intercourse of myfellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but Clerval called forth the betterfeelings of my heart; he again taught me to love the aspect of nature, and thecheerful faces of children. Excellent friend! how sincerely you did love me,and endeavour to elevate my mind until it was on a level with your own. Aselfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness andaffection warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature who, afew years ago, loved and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care. When happy,inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most delightfulsensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with ecstasy. The presentseason was indeed divine; the flowers of spring bloomed in the hedges, whilethose of summer were already in bud. I was undisturbed by thoughts which duringthe preceding year had pressed upon me, notwithstanding my endeavours to throwthem off, with an invincible burden.

Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: heexerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled hissoul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly astonishing: hisconversation was full of imagination; and very often, in imitation of thePersian and Arabic writers, he invented tales of wonderful fancy and passion.At other times he repeated my favourite poems, or drew me out into arguments,which he supported with great ingenuity.

We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon: the peasants were dancing,and every one we met appeared gay and happy. My own spirits were high, and Ibounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and hilarity.

Chapter 7

On my return, I found the following letter from my father:—

“My dear Victor,

“You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of yourreturn to us; and I was at first tempted to write only a few lines, merelymentioning the day on which I should expect you. But that would be a cruelkindness, and I dare not do it. What would be your surprise, my son, when youexpected a happy and glad welcome, to behold, on the contrary, tears andwretchedness? And how, Victor, can I relate our misfortune? Absence cannot haverendered you callous to our joys and griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on mylong absent son? I wish to prepare you for the woeful news, but I know it isimpossible; even now your eye skims over the page to seek the words which areto convey to you the horrible tidings.

“William is dead!—that sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed my heart,who was so gentle, yet so gay! Victor, he is murdered!

“I will not attempt to console you; but will simply relate the circ*mstances ofthe transaction.

“Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to walk inPlainpalais. The evening was warm and serene, and we prolonged our walk fartherthan usual. It was already dusk before we thought of returning; and then wediscovered that William and Ernest, who had gone on before, were not to befound. We accordingly rested on a seat until they should return. PresentlyErnest came, and enquired if we had seen his brother; he said, that he had beenplaying with him, that William had run away to hide himself, and that he vainlysought for him, and afterwards waited for a long time, but that he did notreturn.

“This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search for him until nightfell, when Elizabeth conjectured that he might have returned to the house. Hewas not there. We returned again, with torches; for I could not rest, when Ithought that my sweet boy had lost himself, and was exposed to all the dampsand dews of night; Elizabeth also suffered extreme anguish. About five in themorning I discovered my lovely boy, whom the night before I had seen bloomingand active in health, stretched on the grass livid and motionless; the print ofthe murder’s finger was on his neck.

“He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my countenancebetrayed the secret to Elizabeth. She was very earnest to see the corpse. Atfirst I attempted to prevent her but she persisted, and entering the room whereit lay, hastily examined the neck of the victim, and clasping her handsexclaimed, ‘O God! I have murdered my darling child!’

“She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty. When she again lived,it was only to weep and sigh. She told me, that that same evening William hadteased her to let him wear a very valuable miniature that she possessed of yourmother. This picture is gone, and was doubtless the temptation which urged themurderer to the deed. We have no trace of him at present, although ourexertions to discover him are unremitted; but they will not restore my belovedWilliam!

“Come, dearest Victor; you alone can console Elizabeth. She weeps continually,and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of his death; her words pierce myheart. We are all unhappy; but will not that be an additional motive for you,my son, to return and be our comforter? Your dear mother! Alas, Victor! I nowsay, Thank God she did not live to witness the cruel, miserable death of heryoungest darling!

“Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin, butwith feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of festering,the wounds of our minds. Enter the house of mourning, my friend, but withkindness and affection for those who love you, and not with hatred for yourenemies.

“Your affectionate and afflicted father,
“Alphonse Frankenstein.

“Geneva, May 12th, 17—.”

Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was surprised toobserve the despair that succeeded the joy I at first expressed on receivingnew from my friends. I threw the letter on the table, and covered my face withmy hands.

“My dear Frankenstein,” exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me weep withbitterness, “are you always to be unhappy? My dear friend, what has happened?”

I motioned him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the room inthe extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of Clerval, as he readthe account of my misfortune.

“I can offer you no consolation, my friend,” said he; “your disaster isirreparable. What do you intend to do?”

“To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses.”

During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation; hecould only express his heartfelt sympathy. “Poor William!” said he, “dearlovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had seen him brightand joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his untimely loss! To die somiserably; to feel the murderer’s grasp! How much more a murdered that coulddestroy radiant innocence! Poor little fellow! one only consolation have we;his friends mourn and weep, but he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferingsare at an end for ever. A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. Hecan no longer be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserablesurvivors.”

Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words impressedthemselves on my mind and I remembered them afterwards in solitude. But now, assoon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a cabriolet, and bade farewell to myfriend.

My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed toconsole and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; but when I drewnear my native town, I slackened my progress. I could hardly sustain themultitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I passed through scenesfamiliar to my youth, but which I had not seen for nearly six years. Howaltered every thing might be during that time! One sudden and desolating changehad taken place; but a thousand little circ*mstances might have by degreesworked other alterations, which, although they were done more tranquilly, mightnot be the less decisive. Fear overcame me; I dared no advance, dreading athousand nameless evils that made me tremble, although I was unable to definethem.

I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I contemplatedthe lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; and the snowy mountains,“the palaces of nature,” were not changed. By degrees the calm and heavenlyscene restored me, and I continued my journey towards Geneva.

The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I approached mynative town. I discovered more distinctly the black sides of Jura, and thebright summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a child. “Dear mountains! my ownbeautiful lake! how do you welcome your wanderer? Your summits are clear; thesky and lake are blue and placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock atmy unhappiness?”

I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on thesepreliminary circ*mstances; but they were days of comparative happiness, and Ithink of them with pleasure. My country, my beloved country! who but a nativecan tell the delight I took in again beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and,more than all, thy lovely lake!

Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night also closedaround; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still moregloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I foresawobscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human beings.Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single circ*mstance, that inall the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not conceive the hundredth part ofthe anguish I was destined to endure.

It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the gates ofthe town were already shut; and I was obliged to pass the night at Secheron, avillage at the distance of half a league from the city. The sky was serene;and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poorWilliam had been murdered. As I could not pass through the town, I was obligedto cross the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. During this short voyageI saw the lightning playing on the summit of Mont Blanc in the most beautifulfigures. The storm appeared to approach rapidly, and, on landing, I ascended alow hill, that I might observe its progress. It advanced; the heavens wereclouded, and I soon felt the rain coming slowly in large drops, but itsviolence quickly increased.

I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm increasedevery minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash over my head. It wasechoed from Salêve, the Juras, and the Alps of Savoy; vivid flashes oflightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the lake, making it appear like a vastsheet of fire; then for an instant every thing seemed of a pitchy darkness,until the eye recovered itself from the preceding flash. The storm, as is oftenthe case in Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. Themost violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over the part of the lakewhich lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of Copêt. Anotherstorm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another darkened and sometimesdisclosed the Môle, a peaked mountain to the east of the lake.

While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with ahasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my hands,and exclaimed aloud, “William, dear angel! this is thy funeral, this thydirge!” As I said these words, I perceived in the gloom a figure which stolefrom behind a clump of trees near me; I stood fixed, gazing intently: I couldnot be mistaken. A flash of lightning illuminated the object, and discoveredits shape plainly to me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspectmore hideous than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was thewretch, the filthy dæmon, to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could hebe (I shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No sooner didthat idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of its truth; my teethchattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree for support. The figurepassed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in human shape couldhave destroyed the fair child. He was the murderer! I could not doubtit. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the fact. Ithought of pursuing the devil; but it would have been in vain, for anotherflash discovered him to me hanging among the rocks of the nearly perpendicularascent of Mont Salêve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the south. He soonreached the summit, and disappeared.

I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still continued, andthe scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. I revolved in my mind theevents which I had until now sought to forget: the whole train of my progresstoward the creation; the appearance of the works of my own hands at my bedside;its departure. Two years had now nearly elapsed since the night on which hefirst received life; and was this his first crime? Alas! I had turned looseinto the world a depraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; hadhe not murdered my brother?

No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the night,which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air. But I did not feel theinconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in scenes of evil anddespair. I considered the being whom I had cast among mankind, and endowed withthe will and power to effect purposes of horror, such as the deed which he hadnow done, nearly in the light of my own vampire, my own spirit let loose fromthe grave, and forced to destroy all that was dear to me.

Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town. The gates were open, andI hastened to my father’s house. My first thought was to discover what I knewof the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be made. But I paused when Ireflected on the story that I had to tell. A being whom I myself had formed,and endued with life, had met me at midnight among the precipices of aninaccessible mountain. I remembered also the nervous fever with which I hadbeen seized just at the time that I dated my creation, and which would give anair of delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable. I well knew that ifany other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have looked upon itas the ravings of insanity. Besides, the strange nature of the animal wouldelude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited as to persuade my relativesto commence it. And then of what use would be pursuit? Who could arrest acreature capable of scaling the overhanging sides of Mont Salêve? Thesereflections determined me, and I resolved to remain silent.

It was about five in the morning when I entered my father’s house. I told theservants not to disturb the family, and went into the library to attend theirusual hour of rising.

Six years had elapsed, passed in a dream but for one indelible trace, and Istood in the same place where I had last embraced my father before my departurefor Ingolstadt. Beloved and venerable parent! He still remained to me. I gazedon the picture of my mother, which stood over the mantel-piece. It was anhistorical subject, painted at my father’s desire, and represented CarolineBeaufort in an agony of despair, kneeling by the coffin of her dead father. Hergarb was rustic, and her cheek pale; but there was an air of dignity andbeauty, that hardly permitted the sentiment of pity. Below this picture was aminiature of William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it. While I wasthus engaged, Ernest entered: he had heard me arrive, and hastened to welcomeme: “Welcome, my dearest Victor,” said he. “Ah! I wish you had come threemonths ago, and then you would have found us all joyous and delighted. You cometo us now to share a misery which nothing can alleviate; yet your presencewill, I hope, revive our father, who seems sinking under his misfortune; andyour persuasions will induce poor Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormentingself-accusations.—Poor William! he was our darling and our pride!”

Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother’s eyes; a sense of mortal agony creptover my frame. Before, I had only imagined the wretchedness of my desolatedhome; the reality came on me as a new, and a not less terrible, disaster. Itried to calm Ernest; I enquired more minutely concerning my father, and here Inamed my cousin.

“She most of all,” said Ernest, “requires consolation; she accused herself ofhaving caused the death of my brother, and that made her very wretched. Butsince the murderer has been discovered—”

“The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt topursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the winds, orconfine a mountain-stream with a straw. I saw him too; he was free last night!”

“I do not know what you mean,” replied my brother, in accents of wonder, “butto us the discovery we have made completes our misery. No one would believe itat first; and even now Elizabeth will not be convinced, notwithstanding all theevidence. Indeed, who would credit that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, andfond of all the family, could suddenly become so capable of so frightful, soappalling a crime?”

“Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is wrongfully;every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?”

“No one did at first; but several circ*mstances came out, that have almostforced conviction upon us; and her own behaviour has been so confused, as toadd to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear, leaves no hope for doubt.But she will be tried today, and you will then hear all.”

He then related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William had beendiscovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her bed for severaldays. During this interval, one of the servants, happening to examine theapparel she had worn on the night of the murder, had discovered in her pocketthe picture of my mother, which had been judged to be the temptation of themurderer. The servant instantly showed it to one of the others, who, withoutsaying a word to any of the family, went to a magistrate; and, upon theirdeposition, Justine was apprehended. On being charged with the fact, the poorgirl confirmed the suspicion in a great measure by her extreme confusion ofmanner.

This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I repliedearnestly, “You are all mistaken; I know the murderer. Justine, poor, goodJustine, is innocent.”

At that instant my father entered. I saw unhappiness deeply impressed on hiscountenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me cheerfully; and, after we hadexchanged our mournful greeting, would have introduced some other topic thanthat of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed, “Good God, papa! Victor saysthat he knows who was the murderer of poor William.”

“We do also, unfortunately,” replied my father, “for indeed I had rather havebeen for ever ignorant than have discovered so much depravity and ungratitudein one I valued so highly.”

“My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent.”

“If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty. She is to be triedtoday, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted.”

This speech calmed me. I was firmly convinced in my own mind that Justine, andindeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder. I had no fear,therefore, that any circ*mstantial evidence could be brought forward strongenough to convict her. My tale was not one to announce publicly; its astoundinghorror would be looked upon as madness by the vulgar. Did any one indeed exist,except I, the creator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, inthe existence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance which Ihad let loose upon the world?

We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had altered her since I last beheld her;it had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of her childish years.There was the same candour, the same vivacity, but it was allied to anexpression more full of sensibility and intellect. She welcomed me with thegreatest affection. “Your arrival, my dear cousin,” said she, “fills me withhope. You perhaps will find some means to justify my poor guiltless Justine.Alas! who is safe, if she be convicted of crime? I rely on her innocence ascertainly as I do upon my own. Our misfortune is doubly hard to us; we have notonly lost that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely love,is to be torn away by even a worse fate. If she is condemned, I never shallknow joy more. But she will not, I am sure she will not; and then I shall behappy again, even after the sad death of my little William.”

“She is innocent, my Elizabeth,” said I, “and that shall be proved; fearnothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance of her acquittal.”

“How kind and generous you are! every one else believes in her guilt, and thatmade me wretched, for I knew that it was impossible: and to see every one elseprejudiced in so deadly a manner rendered me hopeless and despairing.” Shewept.

“Dearest niece,” said my father, “dry your tears. If she is, as you believe,innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the activity with which I shallprevent the slightest shadow of partiality.”

Chapter 8

We passed a few sad hours until eleven o’clock, when the trial was to commence.My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend as witnesses, Iaccompanied them to the court. During the whole of this wretched mockery ofjustice I suffered living torture. It was to be decided whether the result ofmy curiosity and lawless devices would cause the death of two of my fellowbeings: one a smiling babe full of innocence and joy, the other far moredreadfully murdered, with every aggravation of infamy that could make themurder memorable in horror. Justine also was a girl of merit and possessedqualities which promised to render her life happy; now all was to beobliterated in an ignominious grave, and I the cause! A thousand times ratherwould I have confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine, but Iwas absent when it was committed, and such a declaration would have beenconsidered as the ravings of a madman and would not have exculpated her whosuffered through me.

The appearance of Justine was calm. She was dressed in mourning, and hercountenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her feelings,exquisitely beautiful. Yet she appeared confident in innocence and did nottremble, although gazed on and execrated by thousands, for all the kindnesswhich her beauty might otherwise have excited was obliterated in the minds ofthe spectators by the imagination of the enormity she was supposed to havecommitted. She was tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained;and as her confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, sheworked up her mind to an appearance of courage. When she entered the court shethrew her eyes round it and quickly discovered where we were seated. A tearseemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she quickly recovered herself, and alook of sorrowful affection seemed to attest her utter guiltlessness.

The trial began, and after the advocate against her had stated the charge,several witnesses were called. Several strange facts combined against her,which might have staggered anyone who had not such proof of her innocence as Ihad. She had been out the whole of the night on which the murder had beencommitted and towards morning had been perceived by a market-woman not far fromthe spot where the body of the murdered child had been afterwards found. Thewoman asked her what she did there, but she looked very strangely and onlyreturned a confused and unintelligible answer. She returned to the house abouteight o’clock, and when one inquired where she had passed the night, shereplied that she had been looking for the child and demanded earnestly ifanything had been heard concerning him. When shown the body, she fell intoviolent hysterics and kept her bed for several days. The picture was thenproduced which the servant had found in her pocket; and when Elizabeth, in afaltering voice, proved that it was the same which, an hour before the childhad been missed, she had placed round his neck, a murmur of horror andindignation filled the court.

Justine was called on for her defence. As the trial had proceeded, hercountenance had altered. Surprise, horror, and misery were strongly expressed.Sometimes she struggled with her tears, but when she was desired to plead, shecollected her powers and spoke in an audible although variable voice.

“God knows,” she said, “how entirely I am innocent. But I do not pretend thatmy protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence on a plain and simpleexplanation of the facts which have been adduced against me, and I hope thecharacter I have always borne will incline my judges to a favourableinterpretation where any circ*mstance appears doubtful or suspicious.”

She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed theevening of the night on which the murder had been committed at the house of anaunt at Chêne, a village situated at about a league from Geneva. On her return,at about nine o’clock, she met a man who asked her if she had seen anything ofthe child who was lost. She was alarmed by this account and passed severalhours in looking for him, when the gates of Geneva were shut, and she wasforced to remain several hours of the night in a barn belonging to a cottage,being unwilling to call up the inhabitants, to whom she was well known. Most ofthe night she spent here watching; towards morning she believed that she sleptfor a few minutes; some steps disturbed her, and she awoke. It was dawn, andshe quitted her asylum, that she might again endeavour to find my brother. Ifshe had gone near the spot where his body lay, it was without her knowledge.That she had been bewildered when questioned by the market-woman was notsurprising, since she had passed a sleepless night and the fate of poor Williamwas yet uncertain. Concerning the picture she could give no account.

“I know,” continued the unhappy victim, “how heavily and fatally this onecirc*mstance weighs against me, but I have no power of explaining it; and whenI have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left to conjecture concerningthe probabilities by which it might have been placed in my pocket. But herealso I am checked. I believe that I have no enemy on earth, and none surelywould have been so wicked as to destroy me wantonly. Did the murderer place itthere? I know of no opportunity afforded him for so doing; or, if I had, whyshould he have stolen the jewel, to part with it again so soon?

“I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for hope. Ibeg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my character, and iftheir testimony shall not overweigh my supposed guilt, I must be condemned,although I would pledge my salvation on my innocence.”

Several witnesses were called who had known her for many years, and they spokewell of her; but fear and hatred of the crime of which they supposed her guiltyrendered them timorous and unwilling to come forward. Elizabeth saw even thislast resource, her excellent dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about tofail the accused, when, although violently agitated, she desired permission toaddress the court.

“I am,” said she, “the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or ratherhis sister, for I was educated by and have lived with his parents ever sinceand even long before his birth. It may therefore be judged indecent in me tocome forward on this occasion, but when I see a fellow creature about to perishthrough the cowardice of her pretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak,that I may say what I know of her character. I am well acquainted with theaccused. I have lived in the same house with her, at one time for five and atanother for nearly two years. During all that period she appeared to me themost amiable and benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame Frankenstein,my aunt, in her last illness, with the greatest affection and care andafterwards attended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a manner thatexcited the admiration of all who knew her, after which she again lived in myuncle’s house, where she was beloved by all the family. She was warmly attachedto the child who is now dead and acted towards him like a most affectionatemother. For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that, notwithstanding all theevidence produced against her, I believe and rely on her perfect innocence. Shehad no temptation for such an action; as to the bauble on which the chief proofrests, if she had earnestly desired it, I should have willingly given it toher, so much do I esteem and value her.”

A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth’s simple and powerful appeal, but itwas excited by her generous interference, and not in favour of poor Justine, onwhom the public indignation was turned with renewed violence, charging her withthe blackest ingratitude. She herself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did notanswer. My own agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial. Ibelieved in her innocence; I knew it. Could the dæmon who had (I did not for aminute doubt) murdered my brother also in his hellish sport have betrayed theinnocent to death and ignominy? I could not sustain the horror of my situation,and when I perceived that the popular voice and the countenances of the judgeshad already condemned my unhappy victim, I rushed out of the court in agony.The tortures of the accused did not equal mine; she was sustained by innocence,but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold.

I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness. In the morning I went to the court;my lips and throat were parched. I dared not ask the fatal question, but I wasknown, and the officer guessed the cause of my visit. The ballots had beenthrown; they were all black, and Justine was condemned.

I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt. I had before experiencedsensations of horror, and I have endeavoured to bestow upon them adequateexpressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the heart-sickening despairthat I then endured. The person to whom I addressed myself added that Justinehad already confessed her guilt. “That evidence,” he observed, “was hardlyrequired in so glaring a case, but I am glad of it, and, indeed, none of ourjudges like to condemn a criminal upon circ*mstantial evidence, be it ever sodecisive.”

This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean? Had my eyesdeceived me? And was I really as mad as the whole world would believe me to beif I disclosed the object of my suspicions? I hastened to return home, andElizabeth eagerly demanded the result.

“My cousin,” replied I, “it is decided as you may have expected; all judges hadrather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty should escape. Butshe has confessed.”

This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness uponJustine’s innocence. “Alas!” said she. “How shall I ever again believe in humangoodness? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my sister, how could she put onthose smiles of innocence only to betray? Her mild eyes seemed incapable of anyseverity or guile, and yet she has committed a murder.”

Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire to see mycousin. My father wished her not to go but said that he left it to her ownjudgment and feelings to decide. “Yes,” said Elizabeth, “I will go, althoughshe is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany me; I cannot go alone.” Theidea of this visit was torture to me, yet I could not refuse.

We entered the gloomy prison chamber and beheld Justine sitting on some strawat the farther end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested on her knees.She rose on seeing us enter, and when we were left alone with her, she threwherself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My cousin wept also.

“Oh, Justine!” said she. “Why did you rob me of my last consolation? I reliedon your innocence, and although I was then very wretched, I was not somiserable as I am now.”

“And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also join withmy enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?” Her voice was suffocatedwith sobs.

“Rise, my poor girl,” said Elizabeth; “why do you kneel, if you are innocent? Iam not one of your enemies, I believed you guiltless, notwithstanding everyevidence, until I heard that you had yourself declared your guilt. That report,you say, is false; and be assured, dear Justine, that nothing can shake myconfidence in you for a moment, but your own confession.”

“I did confess, but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that I might obtainabsolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than all my othersins. The God of heaven forgive me! Ever since I was condemned, my confessorhas besieged me; he threatened and menaced, until I almost began to think thatI was the monster that he said I was. He threatened excommunication and hellfire in my last moments if I continued obdurate. Dear lady, I had none tosupport me; all looked on me as a wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition. Whatcould I do? In an evil hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I trulymiserable.”

She paused, weeping, and then continued, “I thought with horror, my sweet lady,that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed aunt had so highlyhonoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable of a crime which none butthe devil himself could have perpetrated. Dear William! dearest blessed child!I soon shall see you again in heaven, where we shall all be happy; and thatconsoles me, going as I am to suffer ignominy and death.”

“Oh, Justine! Forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you. Why did youconfess? But do not mourn, dear girl. Do not fear. I will proclaim, I willprove your innocence. I will melt the stony hearts of your enemies by my tearsand prayers. You shall not die! You, my playfellow, my companion, my sister,perish on the scaffold! No! No! I never could survive so horrible amisfortune.”

Justine shook her head mournfully. “I do not fear to die,” she said; “that pangis past. God raises my weakness and gives me courage to endure the worst. Ileave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember me and think of me as of oneunjustly condemned, I am resigned to the fate awaiting me. Learn from me, dearlady, to submit in patience to the will of heaven!”

During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison room, where Icould conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who dared talk ofthat? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the awful boundary betweenlife and death, felt not, as I did, such deep and bitter agony. I gnashed myteeth and ground them together, uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul.Justine started. When she saw who it was, she approached me and said, “Dearsir, you are very kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I amguilty?”

I could not answer. “No, Justine,” said Elizabeth; “he is more convinced ofyour innocence than I was, for even when he heard that you had confessed, hedid not credit it.”

“I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitudetowards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection ofothers to such a wretch as I am! It removes more than half my misfortune, and Ifeel as if I could die in peace now that my innocence is acknowledged by you,dear lady, and your cousin.”

Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed gainedthe resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the never-dyingworm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or consolation. Elizabeth alsowept and was unhappy, but hers also was the misery of innocence, which, like acloud that passes over the fair moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish itsbrightness. Anguish and despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; Ibore a hell within me which nothing could extinguish. We stayed several hourswith Justine, and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tearherself away. “I wish,” cried she, “that I were to die with you; I cannot livein this world of misery.”

Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty repressed herbitter tears. She embraced Elizabeth and said in a voice of half-suppressedemotion, “Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, my beloved and only friend;may heaven, in its bounty, bless and preserve you; may this be the lastmisfortune that you will ever suffer! Live, and be happy, and make others so.”

And on the morrow Justine died. Elizabeth’s heart-rending eloquence failed tomove the judges from their settled conviction in the criminality of the saintlysufferer. My passionate and indignant appeals were lost upon them. And when Ireceived their cold answers and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of thesem*n, my purposed avowal died away on my lips. Thus I might proclaim myself amadman, but not revoke the sentence passed upon my wretched victim. Sheperished on the scaffold as a murderess!

From the tortures of my own heart, I turned to contemplate the deep andvoiceless grief of my Elizabeth. This also was my doing! And my father’s woe,and the desolation of that late so smiling home all was the work of mythrice-accursed hands! Ye weep, unhappy ones, but these are not your lasttears! Again shall you raise the funeral wail, and the sound of yourlamentations shall again and again be heard! Frankenstein, your son, yourkinsman, your early, much-loved friend; he who would spend each vital drop ofblood for your sakes, who has no thought nor sense of joy except as it ismirrored also in your dear countenances, who would fill the air with blessingsand spend his life in serving you—he bids you weep, to shed countless tears;happy beyond his hopes, if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if thedestruction pause before the peace of the grave have succeeded to your sadtorments!

Thus spoke my prophetic soul, as, torn by remorse, horror, and despair, Ibeheld those I loved spend vain sorrow upon the graves of William and Justine,the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts.

Chapter 9

Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have beenworked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction andcertainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear. Justinedied, she rested, and I was alive. The blood flowed freely in my veins, but aweight of despair and remorse pressed on my heart which nothing could remove.Sleep fled from my eyes; I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committeddeeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more (I persuadedmyself) was yet behind. Yet my heart overflowed with kindness and the love ofvirtue. I had begun life with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the momentwhen I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow beings.Now all was blasted; instead of that serenity of conscience which allowed me tolook back upon the past with self-satisfaction, and from thence to gatherpromise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, whichhurried me away to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe.

This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had perhaps never entirelyrecovered from the first shock it had sustained. I shunned the face of man; allsound of joy or complacency was torture to me; solitude was my onlyconsolation—deep, dark, deathlike solitude.

My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my disposition andhabits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the feelings of his sereneconscience and guiltless life to inspire me with fortitude and awaken in me thecourage to dispel the dark cloud which brooded over me. “Do you think, Victor,”said he, “that I do not suffer also? No one could love a child more than Iloved your brother”—tears came into his eyes as he spoke—“but is it not a dutyto the survivors that we should refrain from augmenting their unhappiness by anappearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty owed to yourself, forexcessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment, or even the discharge ofdaily usefulness, without which no man is fit for society.”

This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I should havebeen the first to hide my grief and console my friends if remorse had notmingled its bitterness, and terror its alarm, with my other sensations. Now Icould only answer my father with a look of despair and endeavour to hide myselffrom his view.

About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This change wasparticularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at teno’clock and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that hour hadrendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome to me. I was nowfree. Often, after the rest of the family had retired for the night, I took theboat and passed many hours upon the water. Sometimes, with my sails set, I wascarried by the wind; and sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, Ileft the boat to pursue its own course and gave way to my own miserablereflections. I was often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I theonly unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful andheavenly—if I except some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and interruptedcroaking was heard only when I approached the shore—often, I say, I was temptedto plunge into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me and mycalamities for ever. But I was restrained, when I thought of the heroic andsuffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved, and whose existence was bound up inmine. I thought also of my father and surviving brother; should I by my basedesertion leave them exposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom Ihad let loose among them?

At these moments I wept bitterly and wished that peace would revisit my mindonly that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that could not be.Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of unalterable evils,and I lived in daily fear lest the monster whom I had created should perpetratesome new wickedness. I had an obscure feeling that all was not over and that hewould still commit some signal crime, which by its enormity should almostefface the recollection of the past. There was always scope for fear so long asanything I loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot beconceived. When I thought of him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed,and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlesslybestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revengeburst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highestpeak of the Andes, could I, when there, have precipitated him to their base. Iwished to see him again, that I might wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence onhis head and avenge the deaths of William and Justine.

Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply shaken bythe horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and desponding; she nolonger took delight in her ordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed to hersacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe and tears she then thought was the justtribute she should pay to innocence so blasted and destroyed. She was no longerthat happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of thelake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The first of thosesorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited her, and itsdimming influence quenched her dearest smiles.

“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of JustineMoritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before appeared to me.Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and injustice that I read in booksor heard from others as tales of ancient days or imaginary evils; at least theywere remote and more familiar to reason than to the imagination; but now miseryhas come home, and men appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other’sblood. Yet I am certainly unjust. Everybody believed that poor girl to beguilty; and if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered,assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human creatures. For thesake of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend, achild whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if it hadbeen her own! I could not consent to the death of any human being, butcertainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to remain in the societyof men. But she was innocent. I know, I feel she was innocent; you are of thesame opinion, and that confirms me. Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look solike the truth, who can assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if Iwere walking on the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowdingand endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine wereassassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free, andperhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to suffer on the scaffold forthe same crimes, I would not change places with such a wretch.”

I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I, not in deed, but ineffect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my countenance, andkindly taking my hand, said, “My dearest friend, you must calm yourself. Theseevents have affected me, God knows how deeply; but I am not so wretched as youare. There is an expression of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in yourcountenance that makes me tremble. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions.Remember the friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have welost the power of rendering you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are true toeach other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native country, we mayreap every tranquil blessing—what can disturb our peace?”

And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every other giftof fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my heart? Even as shespoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at that very moment thedestroyer had been near to rob me of her.

Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of heaven,could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were ineffectual. I wasencompassed by a cloud which no beneficial influence could penetrate. Thewounded deer dragging its fainting limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gazeupon the arrow which had pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me.

Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, butsometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodilyexercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable sensations. Itwas during an access of this kind that I suddenly left my home, and bending mysteps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought in the magnificence, the eternityof such scenes, to forget myself and my ephemeral, because human, sorrows. Mywanderings were directed towards the valley of Chamounix. I had visited itfrequently during my boyhood. Six years had passed since then: I was awreck, but nought had changed in those savage and enduring scenes.

I performed the first part of my journey on horseback. I afterwards hired amule, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive injury on theserugged roads. The weather was fine; it was about the middle of the month ofAugust, nearly two months after the death of Justine, that miserable epoch fromwhich I dated all my woe. The weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as Iplunged yet deeper in the ravine of Arve. The immense mountains and precipicesthat overhung me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks,and the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty asOmnipotence—and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less almighty thanthat which had created and ruled the elements, here displayed in their mostterrific guise. Still, as I ascended higher, the valley assumed a moremagnificent and astonishing character. Ruined castles hanging on the precipicesof piny mountains, the impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and therepeeping forth from among the trees formed a scene of singular beauty. But itwas augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and shiningpyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another earth, thehabitations of another race of beings.

I passed the bridge of Pélissier, where the ravine, which the river forms,opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that overhangs it. Soonafter, I entered the valley of Chamounix. This valley is more wonderful andsublime, but not so beautiful and picturesque as that of Servox, through whichI had just passed. The high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries,but I saw no more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciersapproached the road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche andmarked the smoke of its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme and magnificent MontBlanc, raised itself from the surrounding aiguilles, and its tremendousdôme overlooked the valley.

A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during thisjourney. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived andrecognised, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with thelighthearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing accents,and maternal Nature bade me weep no more. Then again the kindly influenceceased to act—I found myself fettered again to grief and indulging in all themisery of reflection. Then I spurred on my animal, striving so to forget theworld, my fears, and more than all, myself—or, in a more desperate fashion, Ialighted and threw myself on the grass, weighed down by horror and despair.

At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. Exhaustion succeeded to theextreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured. For a short spaceof time I remained at the window watching the pallid lightnings that playedabove Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which pursued itsnoisy way beneath. The same lulling sounds acted as a lullaby to my too keensensations; when I placed my head upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I feltit as it came and blessed the giver of oblivion.

Chapter 10

I spent the following day roaming through the valley. I stood beside thesources of the Arveiron, which take their rise in a glacier, that with slowpace is advancing down from the summit of the hills to barricade the valley.The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before me; the icy wall of the glacieroverhung me; a few shattered pines were scattered around; and the solemnsilence of this glorious presence-chamber of imperial Nature was broken only bythe brawling waves or the fall of some vast fragment, the thunder sound of theavalanche or the cracking, reverberated along the mountains, of the accumulatedice, which, through the silent working of immutable laws, was ever and anonrent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in their hands. These sublimeand magnificent scenes afforded me the greatest consolation that I was capableof receiving. They elevated me from all littleness of feeling, and althoughthey did not remove my grief, they subdued and tranquillised it. In somedegree, also, they diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had broodedfor the last month. I retired to rest at night; my slumbers, as it were, waitedon and ministered to by the assemblance of grand shapes which I hadcontemplated during the day. They congregated round me; the unstained snowymountain-top, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods, and ragged bare ravine,the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds—they all gathered round me and bade me beat peace.

Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke? All of soul-inspiriting fledwith sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every thought. The rain was pouring intorrents, and thick mists hid the summits of the mountains, so that I even sawnot the faces of those mighty friends. Still I would penetrate their misty veiland seek them in their cloudy retreats. What were rain and storm to me? My mulewas brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of Montanvert.I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous and ever-moving glacierhad produced upon my mind when I first saw it. It had then filled me with asublime ecstasy that gave wings to the soul and allowed it to soar from theobscure world to light and joy. The sight of the awful and majestic in naturehad indeed always the effect of solemnising my mind and causing me to forgetthe passing cares of life. I determined to go without a guide, for I was wellacquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy thesolitary grandeur of the scene.

The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and shortwindings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the mountain. Itis a scene terrifically desolate. In a thousand spots the traces of the winteravalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken and strewed on the ground,some entirely destroyed, others bent, leaning upon the jutting rocks of themountain or transversely upon other trees. The path, as you ascend higher, isintersected by ravines of snow, down which stones continually roll from above;one of them is particularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as evenspeaking in a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to drawdestruction upon the head of the speaker. The pines are not tall or luxuriant,but they are sombre and add an air of severity to the scene. I looked on thevalley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers which ran through it andcurling in thick wreaths around the opposite mountains, whose summits were hidin the uniform clouds, while rain poured from the dark sky and added to themelancholy impression I received from the objects around me. Alas! Why does manboast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only rendersthem more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst,and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by every wind thatblows and a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us.

We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.
We rise; one wand’ring thought pollutes the day.
We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;
It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free.
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but mutability!

It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent. For some time I satupon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. A mist covered both that and thesurrounding mountains. Presently a breeze dissipated the cloud, and I descendedupon the glacier. The surface is very uneven, rising like the waves of atroubled sea, descending low, and interspersed by rifts that sink deep. Thefield of ice is almost a league in width, but I spent nearly two hours incrossing it. The opposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock. From the sidewhere I now stood Montanvert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league;and above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty. I remained in a recess of therock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene. The sea, or rather thevast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains, whose aerial summitshung over its recesses. Their icy and glittering peaks shone in the sunlightover the clouds. My heart, which was before sorrowful, now swelled withsomething like joy; I exclaimed, “Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, anddo not rest in your narrow beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, asyour companion, away from the joys of life.”

As I said this I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance,advancing towards me with superhuman speed. He bounded over the crevices in theice, among which I had walked with caution; his stature, also, as heapproached, seemed to exceed that of man. I was troubled; a mist came over myeyes, and I felt a faintness seize me, but I was quickly restored by the coldgale of the mountains. I perceived, as the shape came nearer (sight tremendousand abhorred!) that it was the wretch whom I had created. I trembled with rageand horror, resolving to wait his approach and then close with him in mortalcombat. He approached; his countenance bespoke bitter anguish, combined withdisdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness rendered it almost toohorrible for human eyes. But I scarcely observed this; rage and hatred had atfirst deprived me of utterance, and I recovered only to overwhelm him withwords expressive of furious detestation and contempt.

“Devil,” I exclaimed, “do you dare approach me? And do not you fear the fiercevengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone, vile insect! Orrather, stay, that I may trample you to dust! And, oh! That I could, with theextinction of your miserable existence, restore those victims whom you have sodiabolically murdered!”

“I expected this reception,” said the dæmon. “All men hate the wretched; how,then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, mycreator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties onlydissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dareyou sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towardsyou and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I willleave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death,until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends.”

“Abhorred monster! Fiend that thou art! The tortures of hell are too mild avengeance for thy crimes. Wretched devil! You reproach me with your creation,come on, then, that I may extinguish the spark which I so negligentlybestowed.”

My rage was without bounds; I sprang on him, impelled by all the feelings whichcan arm one being against the existence of another.

He easily eluded me and said,

“Be calm! I entreat you to hear me before you give vent to your hatred on mydevoted head. Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to increase my misery?Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and Iwill defend it. Remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself; myheight is superior to thine, my joints more supple. But I will not be temptedto set myself in opposition to thee. I am thy creature, and I will be even mildand docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part, thewhich thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other andtrample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency andaffection, is most due. Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thyAdam, but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for nomisdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. Iwas benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shallagain be virtuous.”

“Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you and me; weare enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in which one mustfall.”

“How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable eyeupon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion? Believe me,Frankenstein, I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity; but am Inot alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gatherfrom your fellow creatures, who owe me nothing? They spurn and hate me. Thedesert mountains and dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here manydays; the caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and theonly one which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they arekinder to me than your fellow beings. If the multitude of mankind knew of myexistence, they would do as you do, and arm themselves for my destruction.Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no terms with my enemies.I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. Yet it is in your powerto recompense me, and deliver them from an evil which it only remains for youto make so great, that not only you and your family, but thousands of others,shall be swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage. Let your compassion bemoved, and do not disdain me. Listen to my tale; when you have heard that,abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me. Theguilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they are, to speak in their owndefence before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me ofmurder, and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience, destroy your owncreature. Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask you not to spare me;listen to me, and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of yourhands.”

“Why do you call to my remembrance,” I rejoined, “circ*mstances of which Ishudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author? Cursed bethe day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw light! Cursed (although I cursemyself) be the hands that formed you! You have made me wretched beyondexpression. You have left me no power to consider whether I am just to you ornot. Begone! Relieve me from the sight of your detested form.”

“Thus I relieve thee, my creator,” he said, and placed his hated hands beforemy eyes, which I flung from me with violence; “thus I take from thee a sightwhich you abhor. Still thou canst listen to me and grant me thy compassion. Bythe virtues that I once possessed, I demand this from you. Hear my tale; it islong and strange, and the temperature of this place is not fitting to your finesensations; come to the hut upon the mountain. The sun is yet high in theheavens; before it descends to hide itself behind your snowy precipices andilluminate another world, you will have heard my story and can decide. On youit rests, whether I quit for ever the neighbourhood of man and lead a harmlesslife, or become the scourge of your fellow creatures and the author of your ownspeedy ruin.”

As he said this he led the way across the ice; I followed. My heart was full,and I did not answer him, but as I proceeded, I weighed the various argumentsthat he had used and determined at least to listen to his tale. I was partlyurged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my resolution. I had hithertosupposed him to be the murderer of my brother, and I eagerly sought aconfirmation or denial of this opinion. For the first time, also, I felt whatthe duties of a creator towards his creature were, and that I ought to renderhim happy before I complained of his wickedness. These motives urged me tocomply with his demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended theopposite rock. The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend; weentered the hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy heart anddepressed spirits. But I consented to listen, and seating myself by the firewhich my odious companion had lighted, he thus began his tale.

Chapter 11

“It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original era of mybeing; all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct. A strangemultiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, and smelt at thesame time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I learned to distinguishbetween the operations of my various senses. By degrees, I remember, a strongerlight pressed upon my nerves, so that I was obliged to shut my eyes. Darknessthen came over me and troubled me, but hardly had I felt this when, by openingmy eyes, as I now suppose, the light poured in upon me again. I walked and, Ibelieve, descended, but I presently found a great alteration in my sensations.Before, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my touch orsight; but I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with no obstacleswhich I could not either surmount or avoid. The light became more and moreoppressive to me, and the heat wearying me as I walked, I sought a place whereI could receive shade. This was the forest near Ingolstadt; and here I lay bythe side of a brook resting from my fatigue, until I felt tormented by hungerand thirst. This roused me from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berrieswhich I found hanging on the trees or lying on the ground. I slaked my thirstat the brook, and then lying down, was overcome by sleep.

“It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half frightened, as it were,instinctively, finding myself so desolate. Before I had quitted your apartment,on a sensation of cold, I had covered myself with some clothes, but these wereinsufficient to secure me from the dews of night. I was a poor, helpless,miserable wretch; I knew, and could distinguish, nothing; but feeling paininvade me on all sides, I sat down and wept.

“Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens and gave me a sensation ofpleasure. I started up and beheld a radiant form rise from among the trees.[The moon] I gazed with a kind of wonder. It moved slowly, but it enlightenedmy path, and I again went out in search of berries. I was still cold when underone of the trees I found a huge cloak, with which I covered myself, and satdown upon the ground. No distinct ideas occupied my mind; all was confused. Ifelt light, and hunger, and thirst, and darkness; innumerable sounds rang in myears, and on all sides various scents saluted me; the only object that I coulddistinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with pleasure.

“Several changes of day and night passed, and the orb of night had greatlylessened, when I began to distinguish my sensations from each other. Igradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with drink and thetrees that shaded me with their foliage. I was delighted when I firstdiscovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my ears, proceeded fromthe throats of the little winged animals who had often intercepted the lightfrom my eyes. I began also to observe, with greater accuracy, the forms thatsurrounded me and to perceive the boundaries of the radiant roof of light whichcanopied me. Sometimes I tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds butwas unable. Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but theuncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into silenceagain.

“The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, with a lessened form,showed itself, while I still remained in the forest. My sensations had by thistime become distinct, and my mind received every day additional ideas. My eyesbecame accustomed to the light and to perceive objects in their right forms; Idistinguished the insect from the herb, and by degrees, one herb from another.I found that the sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst those of theblackbird and thrush were sweet and enticing.

“One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been left bysome wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the warmth Iexperienced from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live embers, butquickly drew it out again with a cry of pain. How strange, I thought, that thesame cause should produce such opposite effects! I examined the materials ofthe fire, and to my joy found it to be composed of wood. I quickly collectedsome branches, but they were wet and would not burn. I was pained at this andsat still watching the operation of the fire. The wet wood which I had placednear the heat dried and itself became inflamed. I reflected on this, and bytouching the various branches, I discovered the cause and busied myself incollecting a great quantity of wood, that I might dry it and have a plentifulsupply of fire. When night came on and brought sleep with it, I was in thegreatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished. I covered it carefully withdry wood and leaves and placed wet branches upon it; and then, spreading mycloak, I lay on the ground and sank into sleep.

“It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire. Iuncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fanned it into a flame. I observedthis also and contrived a fan of branches, which roused the embers when theywere nearly extinguished. When night came again I found, with pleasure, thatthe fire gave light as well as heat and that the discovery of this element wasuseful to me in my food, for I found some of the offals that the travellers hadleft had been roasted, and tasted much more savoury than the berries I gatheredfrom the trees. I tried, therefore, to dress my food in the same manner,placing it on the live embers. I found that the berries were spoiled by thisoperation, and the nuts and roots much improved.

“Food, however, became scarce, and I often spent the whole day searching invain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When I found this, Iresolved to quit the place that I had hitherto inhabited, to seek for one wherethe few wants I experienced would be more easily satisfied. In this emigrationI exceedingly lamented the loss of the fire which I had obtained throughaccident and knew not how to reproduce it. I gave several hours to the seriousconsideration of this difficulty, but I was obliged to relinquish all attemptto supply it, and wrapping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the woodtowards the setting sun. I passed three days in these rambles and at lengthdiscovered the open country. A great fall of snow had taken place the nightbefore, and the fields were of one uniform white; the appearance wasdisconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold damp substance thatcovered the ground.

“It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and shelter; atlength I perceived a small hut, on a rising ground, which had doubtless beenbuilt for the convenience of some shepherd. This was a new sight to me, and Iexamined the structure with great curiosity. Finding the door open, I entered.An old man sat in it, near a fire, over which he was preparing his breakfast.He turned on hearing a noise, and perceiving me, shrieked loudly, and quittingthe hut, ran across the fields with a speed of which his debilitated formhardly appeared capable. His appearance, different from any I had ever beforeseen, and his flight somewhat surprised me. But I was enchanted by theappearance of the hut; here the snow and rain could not penetrate; the groundwas dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite and divine a retreat asPandæmonium appeared to the dæmons of hell after their sufferings in the lakeof fire. I greedily devoured the remnants of the shepherd’s breakfast, whichconsisted of bread, cheese, milk, and wine; the latter, however, I did notlike. Then, overcome by fatigue, I lay down among some straw and fell asleep.

“It was noon when I awoke, and allured by the warmth of the sun, which shonebrightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my travels; and,depositing the remains of the peasant’s breakfast in a wallet I found, Iproceeded across the fields for several hours, until at sunset I arrived at avillage. How miraculous did this appear! The huts, the neater cottages, andstately houses engaged my admiration by turns. The vegetables in the gardens,the milk and cheese that I saw placed at the windows of some of the cottages,allured my appetite. One of the best of these I entered, but I had hardlyplaced my foot within the door before the children shrieked, and one of thewomen fainted. The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me,until, grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons, Iescaped to the open country and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel, quitebare, and making a wretched appearance after the palaces I had beheld in thevillage. This hovel however, joined a cottage of a neat and pleasantappearance, but after my late dearly bought experience, I dared not enter it.My place of refuge was constructed of wood, but so low that I could withdifficulty sit upright in it. No wood, however, was placed on the earth, whichformed the floor, but it was dry; and although the wind entered it byinnumerable chinks, I found it an agreeable asylum from the snow and rain.

“Here, then, I retreated and lay down happy to have found a shelter, howevermiserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more from the barbarityof man. As soon as morning dawned I crept from my kennel, that I might view theadjacent cottage and discover if I could remain in the habitation I had found.It was situated against the back of the cottage and surrounded on the sideswhich were exposed by a pig sty and a clear pool of water. One part was open,and by that I had crept in; but now I covered every crevice by which I might beperceived with stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them onoccasion to pass out; all the light I enjoyed came through the sty, and thatwas sufficient for me.

“Having thus arranged my dwelling and carpeted it with clean straw, I retired,for I saw the figure of a man at a distance, and I remembered too well mytreatment the night before to trust myself in his power. I had first, however,provided for my sustenance for that day by a loaf of coarse bread, which Ipurloined, and a cup with which I could drink more conveniently than from myhand of the pure water which flowed by my retreat. The floor was a littleraised, so that it was kept perfectly dry, and by its vicinity to the chimneyof the cottage it was tolerably warm.

“Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel until something shouldoccur which might alter my determination. It was indeed a paradise compared tothe bleak forest, my former residence, the rain-dropping branches, and dankearth. I ate my breakfast with pleasure and was about to remove a plank toprocure myself a little water when I heard a step, and looking through a smallchink, I beheld a young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before myhovel. The girl was young and of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have sincefound cottagers and farmhouse servants to be. Yet she was meanly dressed, acoarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb; her fair hair wasplaited but not adorned: she looked patient yet sad. I lost sight of her, andin about a quarter of an hour she returned bearing the pail, which was nowpartly filled with milk. As she walked along, seemingly incommoded by theburden, a young man met her, whose countenance expressed a deeper despondence.Uttering a few sounds with an air of melancholy, he took the pail from her headand bore it to the cottage himself. She followed, and they disappeared.Presently I saw the young man again, with some tools in his hand, cross thefield behind the cottage; and the girl was also busied, sometimes in the houseand sometimes in the yard.

“On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the cottage hadformerly occupied a part of it, but the panes had been filled up with wood. Inone of these was a small and almost imperceptible chink through which the eyecould just penetrate. Through this crevice a small room was visible,whitewashed and clean but very bare of furniture. In one corner, near a smallfire, sat an old man, leaning his head on his hands in a disconsolate attitude.The young girl was occupied in arranging the cottage; but presently she tooksomething out of a drawer, which employed her hands, and she sat down besidethe old man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play and to produce soundssweeter than the voice of the thrush or the nightingale. It was a lovely sight,even to me, poor wretch who had never beheld aught beautiful before. The silverhair and benevolent countenance of the aged cottager won my reverence, whilethe gentle manners of the girl enticed my love. He played a sweet mournful airwhich I perceived drew tears from the eyes of his amiable companion, of whichthe old man took no notice, until she sobbed audibly; he then pronounced a fewsounds, and the fair creature, leaving her work, knelt at his feet. He raisedher and smiled with such kindness and affection that I felt sensations of apeculiar and overpowering nature; they were a mixture of pain and pleasure,such as I had never before experienced, either from hunger or cold, warmth orfood; and I withdrew from the window, unable to bear these emotions.

“Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a load ofwood. The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of his burden, andtaking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on the fire; then she andthe youth went apart into a nook of the cottage, and he showed her a large loafand a piece of cheese. She seemed pleased and went into the garden for someroots and plants, which she placed in water, and then upon the fire. Sheafterwards continued her work, whilst the young man went into the garden andappeared busily employed in digging and pulling up roots. After he had beenemployed thus about an hour, the young woman joined him and they entered thecottage together.

“The old man had, in the meantime, been pensive, but on the appearance of hiscompanions he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to eat. The mealwas quickly dispatched. The young woman was again occupied in arranging thecottage, the old man walked before the cottage in the sun for a few minutes,leaning on the arm of the youth. Nothing could exceed in beauty the contrastbetween these two excellent creatures. One was old, with silver hairs and acountenance beaming with benevolence and love; the younger was slight andgraceful in his figure, and his features were moulded with the finest symmetry,yet his eyes and attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency. The oldman returned to the cottage, and the youth, with tools different from those hehad used in the morning, directed his steps across the fields.

“Night quickly shut in, but to my extreme wonder, I found that the cottagershad a means of prolonging light by the use of tapers, and was delighted to findthat the setting of the sun did not put an end to the pleasure I experienced inwatching my human neighbours. In the evening the young girl and her companionwere employed in various occupations which I did not understand; and the oldman again took up the instrument which produced the divine sounds that hadenchanted me in the morning. So soon as he had finished, the youth began, notto play, but to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling theharmony of the old man’s instrument nor the songs of the birds; I since foundthat he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the science of words orletters.

“The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time, extinguishedtheir lights and retired, as I conjectured, to rest.”

Chapter 12

“I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences of theday. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these people, and Ilonged to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well the treatment I hadsuffered the night before from the barbarous villagers, and resolved, whatevercourse of conduct I might hereafter think it right to pursue, that for thepresent I would remain quietly in my hovel, watching and endeavouring todiscover the motives which influenced their actions.

“The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman arrangedthe cottage and prepared the food, and the youth departed after the first meal.

“This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The youngman was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various laboriousoccupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be blind, employedhis leisure hours on his instrument or in contemplation. Nothing could exceedthe love and respect which the younger cottagers exhibited towards theirvenerable companion. They performed towards him every little office ofaffection and duty with gentleness, and he rewarded them by his benevolentsmiles.

“They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often went apartand appeared to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness, but I was deeplyaffected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strangethat I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched. Yet why were thesegentle beings unhappy? They possessed a delightful house (for such it was in myeyes) and every luxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill and deliciousviands when hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,they enjoyed one another’s company and speech, interchanging each day looks ofaffection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they really expresspain? I was at first unable to solve these questions, but perpetual attentionand time explained to me many appearances which were at first enigmatic.

“A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of theuneasiness of this amiable family: it was poverty, and they suffered that evilin a very distressing degree. Their nourishment consisted entirely of thevegetables of their garden and the milk of one cow, which gave very littleduring the winter, when its masters could scarcely procure food to support it.They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especiallythe two younger cottagers, for several times they placed food before the oldman when they reserved none for themselves.

“This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed, during thenight, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption, but when I foundthat in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I abstained and satisfiedmyself with berries, nuts, and roots which I gathered from a neighbouring wood.

“I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist theirlabours. I found that the youth spent a great part of each day in collectingwood for the family fire, and during the night I often took his tools, the useof which I quickly discovered, and brought home firing sufficient for theconsumption of several days.

“I remember, the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she openedthe door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a great pile ofwood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud voice, and the youthjoined her, who also expressed surprise. I observed, with pleasure, that he didnot go to the forest that day, but spent it in repairing the cottage andcultivating the garden.

“By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that thesepeople possessed a method of communicating their experience and feelings to oneanother by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words they spoke sometimesproduced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and countenances ofthe hearers. This was indeed a godlike science, and I ardently desired tobecome acquainted with it. But I was baffled in every attempt I made for thispurpose. Their pronunciation was quick, and the words they uttered, not havingany apparent connection with visible objects, I was unable to discover any clueby which I could unravel the mystery of their reference. By great application,however, and after having remained during the space of several revolutions ofthe moon in my hovel, I discovered the names that were given to some of themost familiar objects of discourse; I learned and applied the words, fire,milk, bread, and wood. I learned also the names of the cottagersthemselves. The youth and his companion had each of them several names, but theold man had only one, which was father. The girl was calledsister or Agatha, and the youth Felix, brother, orson. I cannot describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideasappropriated to each of these sounds and was able to pronounce them. Idistinguished several other words without being able as yet to understand orapply them, such as good, dearest, unhappy.

“I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle manners and beauty of thecottagers greatly endeared them to me; when they were unhappy, I feltdepressed; when they rejoiced, I sympathised in their joys. I saw few humanbeings besides them, and if any other happened to enter the cottage, theirharsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the superior accomplishments ofmy friends. The old man, I could perceive, often endeavoured to encourage hischildren, as sometimes I found that he called them, to cast off theirmelancholy. He would talk in a cheerful accent, with an expression of goodnessthat bestowed pleasure even upon me. Agatha listened with respect, her eyessometimes filled with tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived;but I generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful afterhaving listened to the exhortations of her father. It was not thus with Felix.He was always the saddest of the group, and even to my unpractised senses, heappeared to have suffered more deeply than his friends. But if his countenancewas more sorrowful, his voice was more cheerful than that of his sister,especially when he addressed the old man.

“I could mention innumerable instances which, although slight, marked thedispositions of these amiable cottagers. In the midst of poverty and want,Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little white flower thatpeeped out from beneath the snowy ground. Early in the morning, before she hadrisen, he cleared away the snow that obstructed her path to the milk-house,drew water from the well, and brought the wood from the outhouse, where, to hisperpetual astonishment, he found his store always replenished by an invisiblehand. In the day, I believe, he worked sometimes for a neighbouring farmer,because he often went forth and did not return until dinner, yet brought nowood with him. At other times he worked in the garden, but as there was littleto do in the frosty season, he read to the old man and Agatha.

“This reading had puzzled me extremely at first, but by degrees I discoveredthat he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when he talked. Iconjectured, therefore, that he found on the paper signs for speech which heunderstood, and I ardently longed to comprehend these also; but how was thatpossible when I did not even understand the sounds for which they stood assigns? I improved, however, sensibly in this science, but not sufficiently tofollow up any kind of conversation, although I applied my whole mind to theendeavour, for I easily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discovermyself to the cottagers, I ought not to make the attempt until I had firstbecome master of their language, which knowledge might enable me to make themoverlook the deformity of my figure, for with this also the contrastperpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted.

“I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers—their grace, beauty, anddelicate complexions; but how was I terrified when I viewed myself in atransparent pool! At first I started back, unable to believe that it was indeedI who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became fully convinced that I wasin reality the monster that I am, I was filled with the bitterest sensations ofdespondence and mortification. Alas! I did not yet entirely know the fataleffects of this miserable deformity.

“As the sun became warmer and the light of day longer, the snow vanished, and Ibeheld the bare trees and the black earth. From this time Felix was moreemployed, and the heart-moving indications of impending famine disappeared.Their food, as I afterwards found, was coarse, but it was wholesome; and theyprocured a sufficiency of it. Several new kinds of plants sprang up in thegarden, which they dressed; and these signs of comfort increased daily as theseason advanced.

“The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did notrain, as I found it was called when the heavens poured forth its waters. Thisfrequently took place, but a high wind quickly dried the earth, and the seasonbecame far more pleasant than it had been.

“My mode of life in my hovel was uniform. During the morning I attended themotions of the cottagers, and when they were dispersed in various occupations,I slept; the remainder of the day was spent in observing my friends. When theyhad retired to rest, if there was any moon or the night was star-light, I wentinto the woods and collected my own food and fuel for the cottage. When Ireturned, as often as it was necessary, I cleared their path from the snow andperformed those offices that I had seen done by Felix. I afterwards found thatthese labours, performed by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them; andonce or twice I heard them, on these occasions, utter the words good spirit,wonderful; but I did not then understand the signification of these terms.

“My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to discover the motives andfeelings of these lovely creatures; I was inquisitive to know why Felixappeared so miserable and Agatha so sad. I thought (foolish wretch!) that itmight be in my power to restore happiness to these deserving people. When Islept or was absent, the forms of the venerable blind father, the gentleAgatha, and the excellent Felix flitted before me. I looked upon them assuperior beings who would be the arbiters of my future destiny. I formed in myimagination a thousand pictures of presenting myself to them, and theirreception of me. I imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentledemeanour and conciliating words, I should first win their favour andafterwards their love.

“These thoughts exhilarated me and led me to apply with fresh ardour to theacquiring the art of language. My organs were indeed harsh, but supple; andalthough my voice was very unlike the soft music of their tones, yet Ipronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease. It was as the assand the lap-dog; yet surely the gentle ass whose intentions were affectionate,although his manners were rude, deserved better treatment than blows andexecration.

“The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the aspect ofthe earth. Men who before this change seemed to have been hid in cavesdispersed themselves and were employed in various arts of cultivation. Thebirds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves began to bud forth on thetrees. Happy, happy earth! Fit habitation for gods, which, so short a timebefore, was bleak, damp, and unwholesome. My spirits were elevated by theenchanting appearance of nature; the past was blotted from my memory, thepresent was tranquil, and the future gilded by bright rays of hope andanticipations of joy.”

Chapter 13

“I now hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall relate events thatimpressed me with feelings which, from what I had been, have made me what I am.

“Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine and the skies cloudless. Itsurprised me that what before was desert and gloomy should now bloom with themost beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses were gratified and refreshed by athousand scents of delight and a thousand sights of beauty.

“It was on one of these days, when my cottagers periodically rested fromlabour—the old man played on his guitar, and the children listened to him—thatI observed the countenance of Felix was melancholy beyond expression; he sighedfrequently, and once his father paused in his music, and I conjectured by hismanner that he inquired the cause of his son’s sorrow. Felix replied in acheerful accent, and the old man was recommencing his music when someone tappedat the door.

“It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a country-man as a guide. The ladywas dressed in a dark suit and covered with a thick black veil. Agatha asked aquestion, to which the stranger only replied by pronouncing, in a sweet accent,the name of Felix. Her voice was musical but unlike that of either of myfriends. On hearing this word, Felix came up hastily to the lady, who, when shesaw him, threw up her veil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty andexpression. Her hair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyeswere dark, but gentle, although animated; her features of a regular proportion,and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with a lovely pink.

“Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her, every trait of sorrowvanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of ecstatic joy, ofwhich I could hardly have believed it capable; his eyes sparkled, as his cheekflushed with pleasure; and at that moment I thought him as beautiful as thestranger. She appeared affected by different feelings; wiping a few tears fromher lovely eyes, she held out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously andcalled her, as well as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian. She did notappear to understand him, but smiled. He assisted her to dismount, anddismissing her guide, conducted her into the cottage. Some conversation tookplace between him and his father, and the young stranger knelt at the old man’sfeet and would have kissed his hand, but he raised her and embraced heraffectionately.

“I soon perceived that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds andappeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood by norherself understood the cottagers. They made many signs which I did notcomprehend, but I saw that her presence diffused gladness through the cottage,dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the morning mists. Felix seemedpeculiarly happy and with smiles of delight welcomed his Arabian. Agatha, theever-gentle Agatha, kissed the hands of the lovely stranger, and pointing toher brother, made signs which appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowfuluntil she came. Some hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances,expressed joy, the cause of which I did not comprehend. Presently I found, bythe frequent recurrence of some sound which the stranger repeated after them,that she was endeavouring to learn their language; and the idea instantlyoccurred to me that I should make use of the same instructions to the same end.The stranger learned about twenty words at the first lesson; most of them,indeed, were those which I had before understood, but I profited by the others.

“As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired early. When they separatedFelix kissed the hand of the stranger and said, ‘Good night sweet Safie.’ Hesat up much longer, conversing with his father, and by the frequent repetitionof her name I conjectured that their lovely guest was the subject of theirconversation. I ardently desired to understand them, and bent every facultytowards that purpose, but found it utterly impossible.

“The next morning Felix went out to his work, and after the usual occupationsof Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the old man, and takinghis guitar, played some airs so entrancingly beautiful that they at once drewtears of sorrow and delight from my eyes. She sang, and her voice flowed in arich cadence, swelling or dying away like a nightingale of the woods.

“When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first declinedit. She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in sweet accents, butunlike the wondrous strain of the stranger. The old man appeared enraptured andsaid some words which Agatha endeavoured to explain to Safie, and by which heappeared to wish to express that she bestowed on him the greatest delight byher music.

“The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the sole alteration that joyhad taken place of sadness in the countenances of my friends. Safie was alwaysgay and happy; she and I improved rapidly in the knowledge of language, so thatin two months I began to comprehend most of the words uttered by my protectors.

“In the meanwhile also the black ground was covered with herbage, and the greenbanks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the scent and the eyes,stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods; the sun became warmer, thenights clear and balmy; and my nocturnal rambles were an extreme pleasure tome, although they were considerably shortened by the late setting and earlyrising of the sun, for I never ventured abroad during daylight, fearful ofmeeting with the same treatment I had formerly endured in the first villagewhich I entered.

“My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily master thelanguage; and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than the Arabian, whounderstood very little and conversed in broken accents, whilst I comprehendedand could imitate almost every word that was spoken.

“While I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters as it wastaught to the stranger, and this opened before me a wide field for wonder anddelight.

“The book from which Felix instructed Safie was Volney’s Ruins ofEmpires. I should not have understood the purport of this book had notFelix, in reading it, given very minute explanations. He had chosen this work,he said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation of the Easternauthors. Through this work I obtained a cursory knowledge of history and a viewof the several empires at present existing in the world; it gave me an insightinto the manners, governments, and religions of the different nations of theearth. I heard of the slothful Asiatics, of the stupendous genius and mentalactivity of the Grecians, of the wars and wonderful virtue of the earlyRomans—of their subsequent degenerating—of the decline of that mighty empire,of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard of the discovery of the Americanhemisphere and wept with Safie over the hapless fate of its originalinhabitants.

“These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings. Was man, indeed,at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so vicious and base? Heappeared at one time a mere scion of the evil principle and at another as allthat can be conceived of noble and godlike. To be a great and virtuous manappeared the highest honour that can befall a sensitive being; to be base andvicious, as many on record have been, appeared the lowest degradation, acondition more abject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm. For a longtime I could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, oreven why there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of vice andbloodshed, my wonder ceased and I turned away with disgust and loathing.

“Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new wonders to me. While Ilistened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the Arabian, the strangesystem of human society was explained to me. I heard of the division ofproperty, of immense wealth and squalid poverty, of rank, descent, and nobleblood.

“The words induced me to turn towards myself. I learned that the possessionsmost esteemed by your fellow creatures were high and unsullied descent unitedwith riches. A man might be respected with only one of these advantages, butwithout either he was considered, except in very rare instances, as a vagabondand a slave, doomed to waste his powers for the profits of the chosen few! Andwhat was I? Of my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knewthat I possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property. I was, besides,endued with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even of thesame nature as man. I was more agile than they and could subsist upon coarserdiet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with less injury to my frame; mystature far exceeded theirs. When I looked around I saw and heard of none likeme. Was I, then, a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled andwhom all men disowned?

“I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted upon me; Itried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with knowledge. Oh, that I hadfor ever remained in my native wood, nor known nor felt beyond the sensationsof hunger, thirst, and heat!

“Of what a strange nature is knowledge! It clings to the mind when it has onceseized on it like a lichen on the rock. I wished sometimes to shake off allthought and feeling, but I learned that there was but one means to overcome thesensation of pain, and that was death—a state which I feared yet did notunderstand. I admired virtue and good feelings and loved the gentle manners andamiable qualities of my cottagers, but I was shut out from intercourse withthem, except through means which I obtained by stealth, when I was unseen andunknown, and which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of becomingone among my fellows. The gentle words of Agatha and the animated smiles of thecharming Arabian were not for me. The mild exhortations of the old man and thelively conversation of the loved Felix were not for me. Miserable, unhappywretch!

“Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply. I heard of thedifference of sexes, and the birth and growth of children, how the father dotedon the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the older child, how allthe life and cares of the mother were wrapped up in the precious charge, howthe mind of youth expanded and gained knowledge, of brother, sister, and allthe various relationships which bind one human being to another in mutualbonds.

“But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days,no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses; or if they had, all my pastlife was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I distinguished nothing. From myearliest remembrance I had been as I then was in height and proportion. I hadnever yet seen a being resembling me or who claimed any intercourse with me.What was I? The question again recurred, to be answered only with groans.

“I will soon explain to what these feelings tended, but allow me now to returnto the cottagers, whose story excited in me such various feelings ofindignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated in additional loveand reverence for my protectors (for so I loved, in an innocent, half-painfulself-deceit, to call them).”

Chapter 14

“Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was one whichcould not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding as it did anumber of circ*mstances, each interesting and wonderful to one so utterlyinexperienced as I was.

“The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good family inFrance, where he had lived for many years in affluence, respected by hissuperiors and beloved by his equals. His son was bred in the service of hiscountry, and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the highest distinction. A fewmonths before my arrival they had lived in a large and luxurious city calledParis, surrounded by friends and possessed of every enjoyment which virtue,refinement of intellect, or taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, couldafford.

“The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin. He was a Turkishmerchant and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some reason which Icould not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was seized and castinto prison the very day that Safie arrived from Constantinople to join him. Hewas tried and condemned to death. The injustice of his sentence was veryflagrant; all Paris was indignant; and it was judged that his religion andwealth rather than the crime alleged against him had been the cause of hiscondemnation.

“Felix had accidentally been present at the trial; his horror and indignationwere uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the court. He made, at thatmoment, a solemn vow to deliver him and then looked around for the means. Aftermany fruitless attempts to gain admittance to the prison, he found a stronglygrated window in an unguarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeonof the unfortunate Muhammadan, who, loaded with chains, waited in despair theexecution of the barbarous sentence. Felix visited the grate at night and madeknown to the prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed anddelighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer by promises ofreward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with contempt, yet when he saw thelovely Safie, who was allowed to visit her father and who by her gesturesexpressed her lively gratitude, the youth could not help owning to his own mindthat the captive possessed a treasure which would fully reward his toil andhazard.

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

“During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for theescape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several letters that hereceived from this lovely girl, who found means to express her thoughts in thelanguage of her lover by the aid of an old man, a servant of her father whounderstood French. She thanked him in the most ardent terms for his intendedservices towards her parent, and at the same time she gently deplored her ownfate.

“I have copies of these letters, for I found means, during my residence in thehovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters were often in thehands of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart I will give them to you; they willprove 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 bythe Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of the father ofSafie, who married her. The young girl spoke in high and enthusiastic terms ofher mother, who, born in freedom, spurned the bondage to which she was nowreduced. She instructed her daughter in the tenets of her religion and taughther to aspire to higher powers of intellect and an independence of spiritforbidden to the female followers of Muhammad. This lady died, but her lessonswere indelibly impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect ofa*gain returning to Asia and being immured within the walls of a harem, allowedonly to occupy herself with infantile amusem*nts, ill-suited to the temper ofher soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble emulation for virtue. Theprospect of marrying a Christian and remaining in a country where women wereallowed 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 toit he quitted his prison and before morning was distant many leagues fromParis. Felix had procured passports in the name of his father, sister, andhimself. He had previously communicated his plan to the former, who aided thedeceit by quitting his house, under the pretence of a journey and concealedhimself, with his daughter, in an obscure part of Paris.

“Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons and across Mont Cenis toLeghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable opportunity ofpassing 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 hisdeliverer; and Felix remained with them in expectation of that event; and inthe meantime he enjoyed the society of the Arabian, who exhibited towards himthe simplest and tenderest affection. They conversed with one another throughthe 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 theyouthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other plans. He loathedthe idea that his daughter should be united to a Christian, but he feared theresentment of Felix if he should appear lukewarm, for he knew that he was stillin the power of his deliverer if he should choose to betray him to the Italianstate which they inhabited. He revolved a thousand plans by which he should beenabled to prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, andsecretly to take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans werefacilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.

“The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their victimand spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer. The plot of Felix wasquickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were thrown into prison. The newsreached Felix and roused him from his dream of pleasure. His blind and agedfather and his gentle sister lay in a noisome dungeon while he enjoyed the freeair and the society of her whom he loved. This idea was torture to him. Hequickly arranged with the Turk that if the latter should find a favourableopportunity for escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remainas a boarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian, hehastened to Paris and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the law, hopingto free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.

“He did not succeed. They remained confined for five months before the trialtook place, the result of which deprived them of their fortune and condemnedthem to a perpetual exile from their native country.

“They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany, where I discoveredthem. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for whom he and his familyendured such unheard-of oppression, on discovering that his deliverer was thusreduced to poverty and ruin, became a traitor to good feeling and honour andhad quitted Italy with his daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance ofmoney 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, whenI first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could have enduredpoverty, and while this distress had been the meed of his virtue, he gloried init; but the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss of his beloved Safie weremisfortunes more bitter and irreparable. The arrival of the Arabian now infusednew 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 toprepare to return to her native country. The generous nature of Safie wasoutraged by this command; she attempted to expostulate with her father, but heleft her angrily, reiterating his tyrannical mandate.

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

“When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it wouldbecome her to pursue in this emergency. A residence in Turkey was abhorrent toher; her religion and her feelings were alike averse to it. By some papers ofher father which fell into her hands she heard of the exile of her lover andlearnt the name of the spot where he then resided. She hesitated some time, butat length she formed her determination. Taking with her some jewels thatbelonged to her and a sum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, anative of Leghorn, but who understood the common language of Turkey, anddeparted for Germany.

“She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage of DeLacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safie nursed her with the mostdevoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the Arabian was left alone,unacquainted with the language of the country and utterly ignorant of thecustoms of the world. She fell, however, into good hands. The Italian hadmentioned the name of the spot for which they were bound, and after her deaththe woman of the house in which they had lived took care that Safie shouldarrive in safety at the cottage of her lover.”

Chapter 15

“Such was the history of my beloved cottagers. It impressed me deeply. Ilearned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire theirvirtues and to deprecate the vices of mankind.

“As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and generosity wereever present before me, inciting within me a desire to become an actor in thebusy 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 acirc*mstance which occurred in the beginning of the month of August of the sameyear.

“One night during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood where Icollected my own food and brought home firing for my protectors, I found on theground a leathern portmanteau containing several articles of dress and somebooks. I eagerly seized the prize and returned with it to my hovel. Fortunatelythe books were written in the language, the elements of which I had acquired atthe cottage; they consisted of Paradise Lost, a volume of Plutarch’sLives, and the Sorrows of Werter. The possession of these treasuresgave me extreme delight; I now continually studied and exercised my mind uponthese 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 aninfinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me to ecstasy, butmore frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In the Sorrows ofWerter, besides the interest of its simple and affecting story, so manyopinions are canvassed and so many lights thrown upon what had hitherto been tome obscure subjects that I found in it a never-ending source of speculation andastonishment. The gentle and domestic manners it described, combined with loftysentiments and feelings, which had for their object something out of self,accorded well with my experience among my protectors and with the wants whichwere for ever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Werter himself a more divinebeing than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character contained nopretension, but it sank deep. The disquisitions upon death and suicide werecalculated to fill me with wonder. I did not pretend to enter into the meritsof the case, yet I inclined towards the opinions of the hero, whose extinctionI wept, without precisely understanding it.

“As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings andcondition. I found myself similar yet at the same time strangely unlike to thebeings concerning whom I read and to whose conversation I was a listener. Isympathised with and partly understood them, but I was unformed in mind; I wasdependent on none and related to none. ‘The path of my departure was free,’ andthere was none to lament my annihilation. My person was hideous and my staturegigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? Whatwas my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable tosolve them.

“The volume of Plutarch’s Lives which I possessed contained thehistories of the first founders of the ancient republics. This book had a fardifferent effect upon me from the Sorrows of Werter. I learned fromWerter’s imaginations despondency and gloom, but Plutarch taught me highthoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my own reflections, toadmire and love the heroes of past ages. Many things I read surpassed myunderstanding and experience. I had a very confused knowledge of kingdoms, wideextents of country, mighty rivers, and boundless seas. But I was perfectlyunacquainted with towns and large assemblages of men. The cottage of myprotectors had been the only school in which I had studied human nature, butthis book developed new and mightier scenes of action. I read of men concernedin public affairs, governing or massacring their species. I felt the greatestardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as far as Iunderstood the signification of those terms, relative as they were, as Iapplied them, to pleasure and pain alone. Induced by these feelings, I was ofcourse led to admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa, Solon, and Lycurgus, inpreference to Romulus and Theseus. The patriarchal lives of my protectorscaused these impressions to take a firm hold on my mind; perhaps, if my firstintroduction to humanity had been made by a young soldier, burning for gloryand 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 truehistory. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the picture of anomnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of exciting. I oftenreferred the several situations, as their similarity struck me, to my own. LikeAdam, I was apparently united by no link to any other being in existence; buthis state was far different from mine in every other respect. He had come forthfrom the hands of God a perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by theespecial care of his Creator; he was allowed to converse with and acquireknowledge from beings of a superior nature, but I was wretched, helpless, andalone. Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, foroften, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter gall ofenvy rose within me.

“Another circ*mstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon after myarrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of the dress whichI had taken from your laboratory. At first I had neglected them, but now that Iwas able to decipher the characters in which they were written, I began tostudy them with diligence. It was your journal of the four months that precededmy creation. You minutely described in these papers every step you took in theprogress of your work; this history was mingled with accounts of domesticoccurrences. You doubtless recollect these papers. Here they are. Everything isrelated in them which bears reference to my accursed origin; the whole detailof that series of disgusting circ*mstances which produced it is set in view;the minutest description of my odious and loathsome person is given, inlanguage which painted your own horrors and rendered mine indelible. I sickenedas I read. ‘Hateful day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony. ‘Accursedcreator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned fromme in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his ownimage; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the veryresemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encouragehim, but I am solitary and abhorred.’

“These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude; but when Icontemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and benevolentdispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should become acquainted withmy admiration of their virtues they would compassionate me and overlook mypersonal deformity. Could they turn from their door one, however monstrous, whosolicited their compassion and friendship? I resolved, at least, not todespair, but in every way to fit myself for an interview with them which woulddecide my fate. I postponed this attempt for some months longer, for theimportance 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’sexperience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few moremonths should have added to my sagacity.

“Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cottage. The presence ofSafie diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and I also found that a greaterdegree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha spent more time in amusem*ntand conversation, and were assisted in their labours by servants. They did notappear rich, but they were contented and happy; their feelings were serene andpeaceful, while mine became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledgeonly discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I cherishedhope, it is true, but it vanished when I beheld my person reflected in water ormy 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 whichin 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 fancyamiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my feelings and cheering mygloom; their angelic countenances breathed smiles of consolation. But it wasall a dream; no Eve soothed my sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. Iremembered Adam’s supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He hadabandoned 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 Ifirst beheld the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did not heed the bleakness ofthe weather; I was better fitted by my conformation for the endurance of coldthan heat. But my chief delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, andall the gay apparel of summer; when those deserted me, I turned with moreattention towards the cottagers. Their happiness was not decreased by theabsence of summer. They loved and sympathised with one another; and their joys,depending on each other, were not interrupted by the casualties that took placearound them. The more I saw of them, the greater became my desire to claimtheir protection and kindness; my heart yearned to be known and loved by theseamiable creatures; to see their sweet looks directed towards me with affectionwas the utmost limit of my ambition. I dared not think that they would turnthem from me with disdain and horror. The poor that stopped at their door werenever driven away. I asked, it is true, for greater treasures than a littlefood or rest: I required kindness and sympathy; but I did not believe myselfutterly unworthy of it.

“The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken placesince I awoke into life. My attention at this time was solely directed towardsmy plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my protectors. I revolvedmany projects, but that on which I finally fixed was to enter the dwelling whenthe blind old man should be alone. I had sagacity enough to discover that theunnatural hideousness of my person was the chief object of horror with thosewho had formerly beheld me. My voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible init; I thought, therefore, that if in the absence of his children I could gainthe good will and mediation of the old De Lacey, I might by his means betolerated by my younger protectors.

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

“My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which would decidemy 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 theground. 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 doorof 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 alittle rest; you would greatly oblige me if you would allow me to remain a fewminutes before the fire.’

“‘Enter,’ said De Lacey, ‘and I will try in what manner I can to relieve yourwants; but, unfortunately, my children are from home, and as I am blind, I amafraid I shall find it difficult to procure food for you.’

“‘Do not trouble yourself, my kind host; I have food; it is warmth and restonly 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 theold 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 anddeserted 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. Iam 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 heartsof men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are full of brotherlylove and charity. Rely, therefore, on your hopes; and if these friends are goodand 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; mylife has been hitherto harmless and in some degree beneficial; but a fatalprejudice clouds their eyes, and where they ought to see a feeling and kindfriend, they behold only a detestable monster.’

“‘That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot youundeceive them?’

“‘I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I feel somany overwhelming terrors. I tenderly love these friends; I have, unknown tothem, been for many months in the habits of daily kindness towards them; butthey believe that I wish to injure them, and it is that prejudice which I wishto overcome.’

“‘Where do these friends reside?’

“‘Near this spot.’

“The old man paused and then continued, ‘If you will unreservedly confide to methe particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in undeceiving them. I amblind and cannot judge of your countenance, but there is something in yourwords which persuades me that you are sincere. I am poor and an exile, but itwill 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 fromthe dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid, I shall not be drivenfrom the society and sympathy of your fellow creatures.’

“‘Heaven forbid! Even if you were really criminal, for that can only drive youto desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I also am unfortunate; I andmy family have been condemned, although innocent; judge, therefore, if I do notfeel for your misfortunes.’

“‘How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? From your lips first have Iheard 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 onthe 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 ofor bestow happiness on me for ever. I struggled vainly for firmness sufficientto answer him, but the effort destroyed all my remaining strength; I sank onthe chair and sobbed aloud. At that moment I heard the steps of my youngerprotectors. I had not a moment to lose, but seizing the hand of the old man, Icried, ‘Now is the time! Save and protect me! You and your family are thefriends 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 Agathaentered. Who can describe their horror and consternation on beholding me?Agatha fainted, and Safie, unable to attend to her friend, rushed out of thecottage. Felix darted forward, and with supernatural force tore me from hisfather, to whose knees I clung, in a transport of fury, he dashed me to theground and struck me violently with a stick. I could have torn him limb fromlimb, as the lion rends the antelope. But my heart sank within me as withbitter 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 generaltumult escaped unperceived to my hovel.”

Chapter 16

“Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I notextinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I knownot; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were those of rageand revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the cottage and itsinhabitants and have glutted myself with their shrieks and misery.

“When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood; and now, nolonger restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my anguish infearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the toils, destroyingthe objects that obstructed me and ranging through the wood with a stag-likeswiftness. Oh! What a miserable night I passed! The cold stars shone inmockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me; now and then thesweet 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, spreadhavoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed theruin.

“But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became fatiguedwith excess of bodily exertion and sank on the damp grass in the sick impotenceof despair. There was none among the myriads of men that existed who would pityor assist me; and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No: from thatmoment 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 toreturn to my retreat during that day. Accordingly I hid myself in some thickunderwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours to reflection on mysituation.

“The pleasant sunshine and the pure air of day restored me to some degree oftranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the cottage, I could nothelp believing that I had been too hasty in my conclusions. I had certainlyacted imprudently. It was apparent that my conversation had interested thefather in my behalf, and I was a fool in having exposed my person to the horrorof his children. I ought to have familiarised the old De Lacey to me, and bydegrees to have discovered myself to the rest of his family, when they shouldhave been prepared for my approach. But I did not believe my errors to beirretrievable, and after much consideration I resolved to return to thecottage, 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 for ever acting before my eyes; thefemales were flying and the enraged Felix tearing me from his father’s feet. Iawoke exhausted, and finding that it was already night, I crept forth from myhiding-place, and went in search of food.

“When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the well-known paththat conducted to the cottage. All there was at peace. I crept into my hoveland remained in silent expectation of the accustomed hour when the familyarose. That hour passed, the sun mounted high in the heavens, but the cottagersdid not appear. I trembled violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune.The inside of the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion; I cannot describethe agony of this suspense.

“Presently two countrymen passed by, but pausing near the cottage, they enteredinto conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not understand whatthey said, as they spoke the language of the country, which differed from thatof my protectors. Soon after, however, Felix approached with another man; I wassurprised, as I knew that he had not quitted the cottage that morning, andwaited anxiously to discover from his discourse the meaning of these unusualappearances.

“‘Do you consider,’ said his companion to him, ‘that you will be obliged to paythree months’ rent and to lose the produce of your garden? I do not wish totake any unfair advantage, and I beg therefore that you will take some days toconsider of your determination.’

“‘It is utterly useless,’ replied Felix; ‘we can never again inhabit yourcottage. The life of my father is in the greatest danger, owing to the dreadfulcirc*mstance that I have related. My wife and my sister will never recover fromtheir horror. I entreat you not to reason with me any more. Take possession ofyour tenement and let me fly from this place.’

“Felix trembled violently as he said this. He and his companion entered thecottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then departed. I neversaw any of the family of De Lacey more.

“I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of utter andstupid despair. My protectors had departed and had broken the only link thatheld me to the world. For the first time the feelings of revenge and hatredfilled my bosom, and I did not strive to control them, but allowing myself tobe borne away by the stream, I bent my mind towards injury and death. When Ithought of my friends, of the mild voice of De Lacey, the gentle eyes ofa*gatha, and the exquisite beauty of the Arabian, these thoughts vanished and agush of tears somewhat soothed me. But again when I reflected that they hadspurned and deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger, and unable to injureanything human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects. As night advanced,I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage, and after havingdestroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden, I waited with forcedimpatience until the moon had sunk to commence my operations.

“As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods and quicklydispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens; the blast tore alonglike a mighty avalanche and produced a kind of insanity in my spirits thatburst all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted the dry branch of a treeand danced with fury around the devoted cottage, my eyes still fixed on thewestern horizon, the edge of which the moon nearly touched. A part of its orbwas at length hid, and I waved my brand; it sank, and with a loud scream Ifired the straw, and heath, and bushes, which I had collected. The wind fannedthe fire, and the cottage was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung toit and licked it with their forked and destroying tongues.

“As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of thehabitation, 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 resolvedto 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 mymind. I learned from your papers that you were my father, my creator; and towhom could I apply with more fitness than to him who had given me life? Amongthe lessons that Felix had bestowed upon Safie, geography had not been omitted;I had learned from these the relative situations of the different countries ofthe earth. You had mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town, andtowards this place I resolved to proceed.

“But how was I to direct myself? I knew that I must travel in a southwesterlydirection to reach my destination, but the sun was my only guide. I did notknow the names of the towns that I was to pass through, nor could I askinformation from a single human being; but I did not despair. From you onlycould I hope for succour, although towards you I felt no sentiment but that ofhatred. Unfeeling, heartless creator! You had endowed me with perceptions andpassions 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 determinedto seek that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from any other being thatwore the human form.

“My travels were long and the sufferings I endured intense. It was late inautumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided. I travelledonly at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a human being. Naturedecayed 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, andbare, and I found no shelter. Oh, earth! How often did I imprecate curses onthe cause of my being! The mildness of my nature had fled, and all within mewas 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. Snowfell, and the waters were hardened, but I rested not. A few incidents now andthen directed me, and I possessed a map of the country; but I often wanderedwide from my path. The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite; no incidentoccurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food; but acirc*mstance that happened when I arrived on the confines of Switzerland, whenthe 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 bynight from the view of man. One morning, however, finding that my path laythrough 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 theloveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of the air. I felt emotions ofgentleness and pleasure, that had long appeared dead, revive within me. Halfsurprised by the novelty of these sensations, I allowed myself to be borne awayby them, and forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy. Softtears again bedewed my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes withthankfulness 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 benttheir branches, now budding with the fresh spring. Here I paused, not exactlyknowing what path to pursue, when I heard the sound of voices, that induced meto conceal myself under the shade of a cypress. I was scarcely hid when a younggirl came running towards the spot where I was concealed, laughing, as if sheran from someone in sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sidesof the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the rapidstream. I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour, from the forceof the current, saved her and dragged her to shore. She was senseless, and Iendeavoured by every means in my power to restore animation, when I wassuddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, who was probably the personfrom whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me, he darted towards me, andtearing the girl from my arms, hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood. Ifollowed speedily, I hardly knew why; but when the man saw me draw near, heaimed a gun, which he carried, at my body and fired. I sank to the ground, andmy injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood.

“This was then the reward of my benevolence! I had saved a human being fromdestruction, and as a recompense I now writhed under the miserable pain of awound which shattered the flesh and bone. The feelings of kindness andgentleness which I had entertained but a few moments before gave place tohellish rage and gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatredand vengeance to all mankind. But the agony of my wound overcame me; my pulsespaused, and I fainted.

“For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to cure thewound which I had received. The ball had entered my shoulder, and I knew notwhether it had remained there or passed through; at any rate I had no means ofextracting it. My sufferings were augmented also by the oppressive sense of theinjustice and ingratitude of their infliction. My daily vows rose for revenge—adeep and deadly revenge, such as would alone compensate for the outrages andanguish I had endured.

“After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey. The labours Iendured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or gentle breezes ofspring; all joy was but a mockery which insulted my desolate state and made mefeel 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 reachedthe environs of Geneva.

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

“At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection, which wasdisturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came running into therecess I had chosen, with all the sportiveness of infancy. Suddenly, as I gazedon him, an idea seized me that this little creature was unprejudiced and hadlived too short a time to have imbibed a horror of deformity. If, therefore, Icould seize him and educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be sodesolate in this peopled earth.

“Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed and drew him towardsme. As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before his eyes anduttered 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 tome.’

“He struggled violently. ‘Let me go,’ he cried; ‘monster! Ugly wretch! You wishto eat me and tear me to pieces. You are an ogre. Let me go, or I will tell mypapa.’

“‘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 willpunish you. You dare not keep me.’

“‘Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy—to him towards whom I have sworneternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.’

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

“I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellishtriumph; clapping my hands, I exclaimed, ‘I too can create desolation; my enemyis not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and a thousand othermiseries shall torment and destroy him.’

“As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his breast. Itook it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman. In spite of my malignity, itsoftened and attracted me. For a few moments I gazed with delight on her darkeyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her lovely lips; but presently my ragereturned; I remembered that I was for ever deprived of the delights that suchbeautiful creatures could bestow and that she whose resemblance I contemplatedwould, in regarding me, have changed that air of divine benignity to oneexpressive of disgust and affright.

“Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage? I only wonder thatat that moment, instead of venting my sensations in exclamations and agony, Idid 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 committedthe murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I entered a barn whichhad appeared to me to be empty. A woman was sleeping on some straw; she wasyoung, not indeed so beautiful as her whose portrait I held, but of anagreeable aspect and blooming in the loveliness of youth and health. Here, Ithought, 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—hewho would give his life but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes; mybeloved, awake!’

“The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran through me. Should she indeedawake, and see me, and curse me, and denounce the murderer? Thus would sheassuredly act if her darkened eyes opened and she beheld me. The thought wasmadness; it stirred the fiend within me—not I, but she, shall suffer; themurder I have committed because I am for ever robbed of all that she could giveme, 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 learnednow to work mischief. I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in oneof the folds of her dress. She moved again, and I fled.

“For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place, sometimeswishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and its miseries forever. At length I wandered towards these mountains, and have ranged throughtheir immense recesses, consumed by a burning passion which you alone cangratify. 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 deformedand horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be ofthe same species and have the same defects. This being you must create.”

Chapter 17

The being finished speaking and fixed his looks upon me in the expectation of areply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my ideassufficiently 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 ofthose sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do, and I demand itof 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 awaywhile he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and as he said this Icould no longer suppress the rage that burned within me.

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

“You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and instead of threatening, I amcontent to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I notshunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces andtriumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pitiesme? You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of thoseice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect manwhen he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness, andinstead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitudeat his acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountablebarriers 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, andchiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swearinextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I will work at your destruction, norfinish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of yourbirth.”

A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled intocontortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently he calmedhimself and proceeded—

“I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do notreflect that you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotionsof benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundredfold;for that one creature’s sake I would make peace with the whole kind! But I nowindulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realised. What I ask of you isreasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous asmyself; the gratification is small, but it is all that I can receive, and itshall 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 willnot 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 onebenefit! Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do notdeny me my request!”

I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences of myconsent, but I felt that there was some justice in his argument. His tale andthe 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 inmy 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 donot destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite; acorns and berries affordme sufficient nourishment. My companion will be of the same nature as myselfand 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 Ipresent to you is peaceful and human, and you must feel that you could deny itonly in the wantonness of power and cruelty. Pitiless as you have been towardsme, I now see compassion in your eyes; let me seize the favourable moment andpersuade you to promise what I so ardently desire.”

“You propose,” replied I, “to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell inthose wilds where the beasts of the field will be your only companions. How canyou, who long for the love and sympathy of man, persevere in this exile? Youwill return and again seek their kindness, and you will meet with theirdetestation; your evil passions will be renewed, and you will then have acompanion to aid you in the task of destruction. This may not be; cease toargue the point, for I cannot consent.”

“How inconstant are your feelings! But a moment ago you were moved by myrepresentations, and why do you again harden yourself to my complaints? I swearto you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me, that with thecompanion you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of man and dwell, as it maychance, in the most savage of places. My evil passions will have fled, for Ishall meet with sympathy! My life will flow quietly away, and in my dyingmoments I shall not curse my maker.”

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

“You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not already shown a degreeof malice that should reasonably make me distrust you? May not even this be afeint that will increase your triumph by affording a wider scope for yourrevenge?”

“How is this? I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer. If I have noties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion; the love of anotherwill destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall become a thing of whoseexistence everyone will be ignorant. My vices are the children of a forcedsolitude that I abhor, and my virtues will necessarily arise when I live incommunion with an equal. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive being andbecome linked to the chain of existence and events from which I am nowexcluded.”

I paused some time to reflect on all he had related and the various argumentswhich he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues which he haddisplayed on the opening of his existence and the subsequent blight of allkindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which his protectors had manifestedtowards him. His power and threats were not omitted in my calculations; acreature who could exist in the ice-caves of the glaciers and hide himself frompursuit among the ridges of inaccessible precipices was a being possessingfaculties it would be vain to cope with. After a long pause of reflection Iconcluded that the justice due both to him and my fellow creatures demanded ofme 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, andevery other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall deliver intoyour 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 thefire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my prayer, while they existyou 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 thatwhen you are ready I shall appear.”

Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in mysentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than the flightof 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 thehorizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to hasten my descent towards thevalley, 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 mountainand fixing my feet firmly as I advanced perplexed me, occupied as I was by theemotions which the occurrences of the day had produced. Night was far advancedwhen I came to the halfway resting-place and seated myself beside the fountain.The stars shone at intervals as the clouds passed from over them; the darkpines 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. Iwept bitterly, and clasping my hands in agony, I exclaimed, “Oh! stars andclouds and winds, ye are all about to mock me; if ye really pity me, crushsensation and memory; let me become as nought; but if not, depart, depart, andleave me in darkness.”

These were wild and miserable thoughts, but I cannot describe to you how theeternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me and how I listened to everyblast 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 noexpression to my sensations—they weighed on me with a mountain’s weight andtheir excess destroyed my agony beneath them. Thus I returned home, andentering the house, presented myself to the family. My haggard and wildappearance awoke intense alarm, but I answered no question, scarcely did Ispeak. I felt as if I were placed under a ban—as if I had no right to claimtheir sympathies—as if never more might I enjoy companionship with them. Yeteven thus I loved them to adoration; and to save them, I resolved to dedicatemyself to my most abhorred task. The prospect of such an occupation made everyother circ*mstance of existence pass before me like a dream, and that thoughtonly had to me the reality of life.

Chapter 18

Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and I couldnot collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the vengeance of thedisappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my repugnance to the taskwhich was enjoined me. I found that I could not compose a female without againdevoting several months to profound study and laborious disquisition. I hadheard of some discoveries having been made by an English philosopher, theknowledge of which was material to my success, and I sometimes thought ofobtaining my father’s consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung toevery pretence of delay and shrank from taking the first step in an undertakingwhose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to me. A change indeedhad taken place in me; my health, which had hitherto declined, was now muchrestored; and my spirits, when unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise,rose proportionably. My father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned histhoughts towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy,which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring blacknessovercast the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took refuge in the mostperfect 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 andlistless. But the fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to restore me to somedegree of composure, and on my return I met the salutations of my friends witha readier smile and a more cheerful heart.

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

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

I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued—

“I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage with ourdear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort and the stay of my decliningyears. You were attached to each other from your earliest infancy; you studiedtogether, and appeared, in dispositions and tastes, entirely suited to oneanother. But so blind is the experience of man that what I conceived to be thebest assistants to my plan may have entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regardher as your sister, without any wish that she might become your wife. Nay, youmay have met with another whom you may love; and considering yourself as boundin honour to Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery whichyou appear to feel.”

“My dear father, reassure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and sincerely. Inever saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my warmest admiration andaffection. My future hopes and prospects are entirely bound up in theexpectation of our union.”

“The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear Victor, gives memore pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you feel thus, we shallassuredly be happy, however present events may cast a gloom over us. But it isthis gloom which appears to have taken so strong a hold of your mind that Iwish to dissipate. Tell me, therefore, whether you object to an immediatesolemnisation of the marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events havedrawn us from that everyday tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities.You are younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competentfortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future plans ofhonour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose, however, that Iwish to dictate happiness to you or that a delay on your part would cause meany serious uneasiness. Interpret my words with candour and answer me, Iconjure you, with confidence and sincerity.”

I listened to my father in silence and remained for some time incapable ofoffering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of thoughts andendeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. Alas! To me the idea of an immediateunion with my Elizabeth was one of horror and dismay. I was bound by a solemnpromise which I had not yet fulfilled and dared not break, or if I did, whatmanifold miseries might not impend over me and my devoted family! Could I enterinto a festival with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing meto the ground? I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with hismate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from which Iexpected peace.

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to Englandor entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers of that countrywhose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my presentundertaking. The latter method of obtaining the desired intelligence wasdilatory and unsatisfactory; besides, I had an insurmountable aversion to theidea of engaging myself in my loathsome task in my father’s house while inhabits of familiar intercourse with those I loved. I knew that a thousandfearful accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale tothrill all connected with me with horror. I was aware also that I should oftenlose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the harrowing sensations thatwould possess me during the progress of my unearthly occupation. I must absentmyself from all I loved while thus employed. Once commenced, it would quicklybe achieved, and I might be restored to my family in peace and happiness. Mypromise fulfilled, the monster would depart for ever. Or (so my fond fancyimaged) some accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to myslavery for ever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to visitEngland, but concealing the true reasons of this request, I clothed my desiresunder a guise which excited no suspicion, while I urged my desire with anearnestness that easily induced my father to comply. After so long a period ofan absorbing melancholy that resembled madness in its intensity and effects, hewas glad to find that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such ajourney, and he hoped that change of scene and varied amusem*nt would, beforemy return, have restored me entirely to myself.

The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or at mosta year, was the period contemplated. One paternal kind precaution he had takento ensure my having a companion. Without previously communicating with me, hehad, in concert with Elizabeth, arranged that Clerval should join me atStrasburgh. This interfered with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution ofmy task; yet at the commencement of my journey the presence of my friend couldin no way be an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be savedmany hours of lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might stand between meand the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone, would he not at times force hisabhorred 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 withElizabeth should take place immediately on my return. My father’s age renderedhim extremely averse to delay. For myself, there was one reward I promisedmyself from my detested toils—one consolation for my unparalleled sufferings;it was the prospect of that day when, enfranchised from my miserable slavery, Imight claim Elizabeth and forget the past in my union with her.

I now made arrangements for my journey, but one feeling haunted me which filledme with fear and agitation. During my absence I should leave my friendsunconscious 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 mewherever I might go, and would he not accompany me to England? This imaginationwas dreadful in itself, but soothing inasmuch as it supposed the safety of myfriends. I was agonised with the idea of the possibility that the reverse ofthis might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the slave ofmy creature I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of the moment; andmy present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend would follow me andexempt 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, butshe was filled with disquiet at the idea of my suffering, away from her, theinroads of misery and grief. It had been her care which provided me a companionin Clerval—and yet a man is blind to a thousand minute circ*mstances which callforth a woman’s sedulous attention. She longed to bid me hasten my return; athousand 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 knowingwhither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. I rememberedonly, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on it, to order that mychemical instruments should be packed to go with me. Filled with drearyimaginations, I passed through many beautiful and majestic scenes, but my eyeswere fixed and unobserving. I could only think of the bourne of my travels andthe work which was to occupy me whilst they endured.

After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed manyleagues, 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 hebeheld it rise and recommence a new day. He pointed out to me the shiftingcolours of the landscape and the appearances of the sky. “This is what it is tolive,” he cried; “now I enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein,wherefore are you desponding and sorrowful!” In truth, I was occupied by gloomythoughts and neither saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden sunrisereflected in the Rhine. And you, my friend, would be far more amused with thejournal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of feeling anddelight, than in listening to my reflections. I, a miserable wretch, haunted bya 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 manywillowy islands and saw several beautiful towns. We stayed a day at Mannheim,and on the fifth from our departure from Strasburgh, arrived at Mainz. Thecourse of the Rhine below Mainz becomes much more picturesque. The riverdescends rapidly and winds between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautifulforms. 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 ruggedhills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhinerushing beneath; and on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing vineyardswith green sloping banks and a meandering river and populous towns occupy thescene.

We travelled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the labourers aswe glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and my spiritscontinually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at thebottom of the boat, and as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to drinkin a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if these were mysensations, who can describe those of Henry? He felt as if he had beentransported to Fairy-land and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by man. “I haveseen,” he said, “the most beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visitedthe lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almostperpendicularly to the water, casting black and impenetrable shades, whichwould cause a gloomy and mournful appearance were it not for the most verdantislands that relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lakeagitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water and gave youan idea of what the water-spout must be on the great ocean; and the waves dashwith fury the base of the mountain, where the priest and his mistress wereoverwhelmed by an avalanche and where their dying voices are still said to beheard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I have seen the mountains of LaValais, and the Pays de Vaud; but this country, Victor, pleases me more thanall 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 sawequalled. Look at that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also onthe island, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and nowthat group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village halfhid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely the spirit that inhabits andguards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who pile theglacier or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our owncountry.”

Clerval! Beloved friend! Even now it delights me to record your words and todwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He was a beingformed in the “very poetry of nature.” His wild and enthusiastic imaginationwas chastened by the sensibility of his heart. His soul overflowed with ardentaffections, and his friendship was of that devoted and wondrous nature that theworldly-minded teach us to look for only in the imagination. But even humansympathies were not sufficient to satisfy his eager mind. The scenery ofexternal nature, which others regard only with admiration, he loved withardour:—

And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost for ever? Hasthis mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful and magnificent, whichformed a world, whose existence depended on the life of its creator;—has thismind perished? Does it now only exist in my memory? No, it is not thus; yourform so divinely wrought, and beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spiritstill visits and consoles your unhappy friend.

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

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

Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery, but wearrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England. Itwas on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw thewhite cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new scene; theywere flat but fertile, and almost every town was marked by the remembrance ofsome 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 aboveall, and the Tower famed in English history.

Chapter 19

London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several months inthis wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the intercourse of the menof genius and talent who flourished at this time, but this was with me asecondary object; I was principally occupied with the means of obtaining theinformation necessary for the completion of my promise and quickly availedmyself of the letters of introduction that I had brought with me, addressed tothe most distinguished natural philosophers.

If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness, it wouldhave afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had come over myexistence, and I only visited these people for the sake of the information theymight 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 ofheaven and earth; the voice of Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myselfinto a transitory peace. But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought backdespair to my heart. I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and myfellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and Justine, andto reflect on the events connected with those names filled my soul withanguish.

But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive andanxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of manners which heobserved was to him an inexhaustible source of instruction and amusem*nt. Hewas also pursuing an object he had long had in view. His design was to visitIndia, in the belief that he had in his knowledge of its various languages, andin the views he had taken of its society, the means of materially assisting theprogress of European colonization and trade. In Britain only could he furtherthe execution of his plan. He was for ever busy, and the only check to hisenjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this as muchas possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures natural to one whowas entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by any care or bitterrecollection. I often refused to accompany him, alleging another engagement,that I might remain alone. I now also began to collect the materials necessaryfor my new creation, and this was to me like the torture of single drops ofwater continually falling on the head. Every thought that was devoted to it wasan extreme anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused mylips to quiver, and my heart to palpitate.

After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person inScotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned the beautiesof his native country and asked us if those were not sufficient allurements toinduce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth, where he resided.Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation, and I, although I abhorredsociety, wished to view again mountains and streams and all the wondrous workswith 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 theexpiration of another month. In this expedition we did not intend to follow thegreat road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and theCumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of this tour about theend of July. I packed up my chemical instruments and the materials I hadcollected, resolving to finish my labours in some obscure nook in the northernhighlands 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; themajestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of stately deer were allnovelties to us.

From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds werefilled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted there morethan a century and a half before. It was here that Charles I. had collected hisforces. This city had remained faithful to him, after the whole nation hadforsaken his cause to join the standard of Parliament and liberty. The memoryof that unfortunate king and his companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolentGoring, his queen, and son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the citywhich they might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days founda dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these feelings hadnot found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of the city had yet initself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. The colleges are ancient andpicturesque; the streets are almost magnificent; and the lovely Isis, whichflows beside it through meadows of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into aplacid expanse of waters, which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, andspires, and domes, embosomed among aged trees.

I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the memory ofthe past and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for peacefulhappiness. During my youthful days discontent never visited my mind, and if Iwas ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what is beautiful in nature orthe study of what is excellent and sublime in the productions of man couldalways interest my heart and communicate elasticity to my spirits. But I am ablasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I shouldsurvive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle ofwrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.

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

We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next placeof rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village resembled, to agreater 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 onthe piny mountains of my native country. We visited the wondrous cave and thelittle cabinets of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in thesame manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name mademe tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit Matlock, with whichthat terrible scene was thus associated.

From Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in Cumberland andWestmorland. I could now almost fancy myself among the Swiss mountains. Thelittle patches of snow which yet lingered on the northern sides of themountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the rocky streams were all familiarand dear sights to me. Here also we made some acquaintances, who almostcontrived to cheat me into happiness. The delight of Clerval was proportionablygreater than mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and hefound in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could haveimagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his inferiors. “Icould pass my life here,” said he to me; “and among these mountains I shouldscarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine.”

But he found that a traveller’s life is one that includes much pain amidst itsenjoyments. His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and when he begins tosink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit that on which he rests inpleasure for something new, which again engages his attention, and which alsohe forsakes for other novelties.

We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland andconceived an affection for some of the inhabitants when the period of ourappointment 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 dæmon’s disappointment. He might remain inSwitzerland and wreak his vengeance on my relatives. This idea pursued me andtormented me at every moment from which I might otherwise have snatched reposeand peace. I waited for my letters with feverish impatience; if they weredelayed I was miserable and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrivedand I saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to readand ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the fiend followed me and mightexpedite my remissness by murdering my companion. When these thoughts possessedme, I would not quit Henry for a moment, but followed him as his shadow, toprotect him from the fancied rage of his destroyer. I felt as if I hadcommitted some great crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I wasguiltless, but I had indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortalas that of crime.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might haveinterested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so well asOxford, for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing to him. But thebeauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its romantic castle and itsenvirons, 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 withcheerfulness and admiration. But I was impatient to arrive at the terminationof my journey.

We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew’s, and alongthe banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. But I was in nomood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into their feelings or planswith the good humour expected from a guest; and accordingly I told Clerval thatI 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 notinterfere with my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for ashort time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, morecongenial to your own temper.”

Henry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased toremonstrate. He entreated me to write often. “I had rather be with you,” hesaid, “in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch people, whom I do notknow; hasten, then, my dear friend, to return, that I may again feel myselfsomewhat at home, which I cannot do in your absence.”

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

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

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

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

In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but as Iproceeded 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 severaldays, 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 firstexperiment, a kind of enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of myemployment; my mind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and myeyes were shut to the horror of my proceedings. But now I went to it in coldblood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.

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

In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably advanced.I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager hope, which I darednot trust myself to question but which was intermixed with obscure forebodingsof evil that made my heart sicken in my bosom.

Chapter 20

I sat one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was justrising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment, and Iremained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should leave my labourfor the night or hasten its conclusion by an unremitting attention to it. As Isat, a train of reflection occurred to me which led me to consider the effectsof what I was now doing. Three years before, I was engaged in the same mannerand had created a fiend whose unparalleled barbarity had desolated my heart andfilled it for ever with the bitterest remorse. I was now about to form anotherbeing of whose dispositions I was alike ignorant; she might become ten thousandtimes more malignant than her mate and delight, for its own sake, in murder andwretchedness. He had sworn to quit the neighbourhood of man and hide himself indeserts, but she had not; and she, who in all probability was to become athinking and reasoning animal, might refuse to comply with a compact madebefore her creation. They might even hate each other; the creature who alreadylived loathed his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrencefor it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turnwith disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him, and hebe again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being deserted by oneof his own species.

Even if they were to leave Europe and inhabit the deserts of the new world, yetone of the first results of those sympathies for which the dæmon thirsted wouldbe children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth who mightmake the very existence of the species of man a condition precarious and fullof terror. Had I right, for my own benefit, to inflict this curse uponeverlasting generations? I had before been moved by the sophisms of the being Ihad created; I had been struck senseless by his fiendish threats; but now, forthe first time, the wickedness of my promise burst upon me; I shuddered tothink that future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness had nothesitated to buy its own peace at the price, perhaps, of the existence of thewhole human race.

I trembled and my heart failed within me, when, on looking up, I saw by thelight of the moon the dæmon at the casem*nt. A ghastly grin wrinkled his lipsas 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 himselfin caves, or taken refuge in wide and desert heaths; and he now came to mark myprogress and claim the fulfilment of my promise.

As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of malice andtreachery. I thought with a sensation of madness on my promise of creatinganother like to him, and trembling with passion, tore to pieces the thing onwhich I was engaged. The wretch saw me destroy the creature on whose futureexistence he depended for happiness, and with a howl of devilish despair andrevenge, withdrew.

I left the room, and locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own heart neverto resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I sought my ownapartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate the gloom and relieve mefrom the sickening oppression of the most terrible reveries.

Several hours passed, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea; it wasalmost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature reposed under theeye of the quiet moon. A few fishing vessels alone specked the water, and nowand then the gentle breeze wafted the sound of voices as the fishermen calledto one another. I felt the silence, although I was hardly conscious of itsextreme profundity, until my ear was suddenly arrested by the paddling of oarsnear 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 oneendeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt apresentiment of who it was and wished to rouse one of the peasants who dwelt ina cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the sensation ofhelplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you in vain endeavour tofly 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 andsaid in a smothered voice,

“You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you intend? Doyou dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery; I leftSwitzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among its willowislands and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt many months in theheaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland. I have enduredincalculable 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 mycondescension. Remember that I have power; you believe yourself miserable, butI can make you so wretched that the light of day will be hateful to you. Youare 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 ina determination of not creating you a companion in vice. Shall I, in coolblood, set loose upon the earth a dæmon whose delight is in death andwretchedness? 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 theimpotence of anger. “Shall each man,” cried he, “find a wife for his bosom, andeach beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of affection, and theywere requited by detestation and scorn. Man! You may hate, but beware! Yourhours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which mustravish from you your happiness for ever. Are you to be happy while I grovel inthe intensity of my wretchedness? You can blast my other passions, but revengeremains—revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die, but firstyou, 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 thewiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent ofthe injuries you inflict.”

“Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. I havedeclared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend beneath words. Leaveme; 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, besure that you are yourself safe.”

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

All was again silent, but his words rang in my ears. I burned with rage topursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the ocean. I walked upand down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination conjured up athousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not followed him and closedwith him in mortal strife? But I had suffered him to depart, and he haddirected his course towards the mainland. I shuddered to think who might be thenext victim sacrificed to his insatiate revenge. And then I thought again ofhis words—“I will be with you on your wedding-night.” That, then, wasthe period fixed for the fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I should dieand at once satisfy and extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me tofear; yet when I thought of my beloved Elizabeth, of her tears and endlesssorrow, 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 notto fall before my enemy without a bitter struggle.

The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings becamecalmer, if it may be called calmness when the violence of rage sinks into thedepths of despair. I left the house, the horrid scene of the last night’scontention, and walked on the beach of the sea, which I almost regarded as aninsuperable barrier between me and my fellow creatures; nay, a wish that suchshould prove the fact stole across me. I desired that I might pass my life onthat barren rock, wearily, it is true, but uninterrupted by any sudden shock ofmisery. If I returned, it was to be sacrificed or to see those whom I mostloved die under the grasp of a dæmon whom I had myself created.

I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it lovedand 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 awakethe whole of the preceding night, my nerves were agitated, and my eyes inflamedby watching and misery. The sleep into which I now sank refreshed me; and whenI 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 stillthe words of the fiend rang in my ears like a death-knell; they appeared like adream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.

The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying myappetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw afishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet; itcontained 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, thatletters from the friends he had formed in London desired his return to completethe negotiation they had entered into for his Indian enterprise. He could notany 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 tobestow 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 mightproceed southwards together. This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and Idetermined to quit my island at the expiration of two days.

Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered toreflect; I must pack up my chemical instruments, and for that purpose I mustenter the room which had been the scene of my odious work, and I must handlethose utensils the sight of which was sickening to me. The next morning, atdaybreak, I summoned sufficient courage and unlocked the door of my laboratory.The remains of the half-finished creature, whom I had destroyed, lay scatteredon the floor, and I almost felt as if I had mangled the living flesh of a humanbeing. I paused to collect myself and then entered the chamber. With tremblinghand I conveyed the instruments out of the room, but I reflected that I oughtnot to leave the relics of my work to excite the horror and suspicion of thepeasants; and I accordingly put them into a basket, with a great quantity ofstones, and laying them up, determined to throw them into the sea that verynight; and in the meantime I sat upon the beach, employed in cleaning andarranging my chemical apparatus.

Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place in myfeelings since the night of the appearance of the dæmon. I had before regardedmy 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 myeyes and that I for the first time saw clearly. The idea of renewing my laboursdid not for one instant occur to me; the threat I had heard weighed on mythoughts, but I did not reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it. Ihad resolved in my own mind that to create another like the fiend I had firstmade would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness, and Ibanished 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 mybasket aboard a little skiff, sailed out about four miles from the shore. Thescene was perfectly solitary; a few boats were returning towards land, but Isailed away from them. I felt as if I was about the commission of a dreadfulcrime and avoided with shuddering anxiety any encounter with my fellowcreatures. At one time the moon, which had before been clear, was suddenlyoverspread by a thick cloud, and I took advantage of the moment of darkness andcast my basket into the sea; I listened to the gurgling sound as it sank andthen sailed away from the spot. The sky became clouded, but the air was pure,although chilled by the northeast breeze that was then rising. But it refreshedme and filled me with such agreeable sensations that I resolved to prolong mystay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a direct position, stretched myselfat the bottom of the boat. Clouds hid the moon, everything was obscure, and Iheard only the sound of the boat as its keel cut through the waves; the murmurlulled 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 foundthat the sun had already mounted considerably. The wind was high, and the wavescontinually threatened the safety of my little skiff. I found that the wind wasnortheast 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 theattempt the boat would be instantly filled with water. Thus situated, my onlyresource was to drive before the wind. I confess that I felt a few sensationsof terror. I had no compass with me and was so slenderly acquainted with thegeography of this part of the world that the sun was of little benefit to me. Imight be driven into the wide Atlantic and feel all the tortures of starvationor be swallowed up in the immeasurable waters that roared and buffeted aroundme. 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 coveredby clouds that flew before the wind, only to be replaced by others; I lookedupon the sea; it was to be my grave. “Fiend,” I exclaimed, “your task isalready fulfilled!” I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and of Clerval—allleft behind, on whom the monster might satisfy his sanguinary and mercilesspassions. This idea plunged me into a reverie so despairing and frightful thateven now, when the scene is on the point of closing before me for ever, Ishudder to reflect on it.

Some hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards thehorizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze and the sea became free frombreakers. But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick and hardly able tohold 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 forseveral hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of warm joy tomy heart, and tears gushed from my eyes.

How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have oflife even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail with a part of mydress and eagerly steered my course towards the land. It had a wild and rockyappearance, but as I approached nearer I easily perceived the traces ofcultivation. I saw vessels near the shore and found myself suddenly transportedback to the neighbourhood of civilised man. I carefully traced the windings ofthe land and hailed a steeple which I at length saw issuing from behind a smallpromontory. As I was in a state of extreme debility, I resolved to saildirectly towards the town, as a place where I could most easily procurenourishment. Fortunately I had money with me. As I turned the promontory Iperceived a small neat town and a good harbour, which I entered, my heartbounding with joy at my unexpected escape.

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

“You will know that soon enough,” replied a man with a hoarse voice. “Maybe youare come to a place that will not prove much to your taste, but you will not beconsulted as to your quarters, I promise you.”

I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a stranger, andI was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and angry countenances ofhis companions. “Why do you answer me so roughly?” I replied. “Surely it is notthe custom of Englishmen to receive strangers so inhospitably.”

“I do not know,” said the man, “what the custom of the English may be, but itis 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 insome degree alarmed me. I inquired the way to the inn, but no one replied. Ithen moved forward, and a murmuring sound arose from the crowd as they followedand surrounded me, when an ill-looking man approaching tapped me on theshoulder and said, “Come, sir, you must follow me to Mr. Kirwin’s to give anaccount of yourself.”

“Who is Mr. Kirwin? Why am I to give an account of myself? Is not this a freecountry?”

“Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate, and you areto give an account of the death of a gentleman who was found murdered here lastnight.”

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

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

Chapter 21

I was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old benevolentman with calm and mild manners. He looked upon me, however, with some degree ofseverity, and then, turning towards my conductors, he asked who appeared aswitnesses 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 andbrother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten o’clock, they observed a strongnortherly blast rising, and they accordingly put in for port. It was a verydark 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 walkedon first, carrying a part of the fishing tackle, and his companions followedhim at some distance. As he was proceeding along the sands, he struck his footagainst something and fell at his length on the ground. His companions came upto assist him, and by the light of their lantern they found that he had fallenon the body of a man, who was to all appearance dead. Their first suppositionwas that it was the corpse of some person who had been drowned and was thrownon shore by the waves, but on examination they found that the clothes were notwet and even that the body was not then cold. They instantly carried it to thecottage of an old woman near the spot and endeavoured, but in vain, to restoreit to life. It appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty yearsof age. He had apparently been strangled, for there was no sign of any violenceexcept the black mark of fingers on his neck.

The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me, but whenthe mark of the fingers was mentioned I remembered the murder of my brother andfelt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a mist came over myeyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for support. The magistrate observedme 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 heswore 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 hecould judge by the light of a few stars, it was the same boat in which I hadjust landed.

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

Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the bodyinto her house; it was not cold. They put it into a bed and rubbed it, andDaniel 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 veryprobable that I had beaten about for many hours and had been obliged to returnnearly to the same spot from which I had departed. Besides, they observed thatit appeared that I had brought the body from another place, and it was likelythat as I did not appear to know the shore, I might have put into the harbourignorant of the distance of the town of —— from the place where I had depositedthe corpse.

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

I entered the room where the corpse lay and was led up to the coffin. How can Idescribe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched with horror, nor canI reflect on that terrible moment without shuddering and agony. Theexamination, the presence of the magistrate and witnesses, passed like a dreamfrom my memory when I saw the lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched beforeme. I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on the body, I exclaimed, “Have mymurderous machinations deprived you also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I havealready destroyed; other victims await their destiny; but you, Clerval, myfriend, my benefactor—”

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

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

Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not sinkinto forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming children, theonly hopes of their doting parents; how many brides and youthful lovers havebeen one day in the bloom of health and hope, and the next a prey for worms andthe decay of the tomb! Of what materials was I made that I could thus resist somany shocks, which, like the turning of the wheel, continually renewed thetorture?

But I was doomed to live and in two months found myself as awaking from adream, in a prison, 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 particularsof what had happened and only felt as if some great misfortune had suddenlyoverwhelmed me; but when I looked around and saw the barred windows and thesqualidness of the room in which I was, all flashed across my memory and Igroaned bitterly.

This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside me. Shewas a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her countenanceexpressed all those bad qualities which often characterise that class. Thelines of her face were hard and rude, like that of persons accustomed to seewithout sympathising in sights of misery. Her tone expressed her entireindifference; she addressed me in English, and the voice struck me as one thatI 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 itbe all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am still alive tofeel this misery and horror.”

“For that matter,” replied the old woman, “if you mean about the gentleman youmurdered, I believe that it were better for you if you were dead, for I fancyit will go hard with you! However, that’s none of my business; I am sent tonurse you and get you well; I do my duty with a safe conscience; it were wellif everybody did the same.”

I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a speech toa person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt languid and unableto reflect on all that had passed. The whole series of my life appeared to meas a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it were all true, for it neverpresented itself to my mind with the force of reality.

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

These were my first reflections, but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had shownme extreme kindness. He had caused the best room in the prison to be preparedfor me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who had provided aphysician and a nurse. It is true, he seldom came to see me, for although heardently desired to relieve the sufferings of every human creature, he did notwish 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 shortand with long intervals.

One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my eyeshalf open and my cheeks livid like those in death. I was overcome by gloom andmisery and often reflected I had better seek death than desire to remain in aworld which to me was replete with wretchedness. At one time I consideredwhether 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 doorof my apartment was opened and Mr. Kirwin entered. His countenance expressedsympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to mine and addressed me inFrench,

“I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do anything to make youmore comfortable?”

“I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me; on the whole earththere is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.”

“I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to oneborne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I hope, soonquit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can easily be brought tofree you from the criminal charge.”

“That is my least concern; I am, by a course of strange events, become the mostmiserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and have been, can deathbe any evil to me?”

“Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonising than the strangechances that have lately occurred. You were thrown, by some surprisingaccident, on this shore, renowned for its hospitality, seized immediately, andcharged with murder. The first sight that was presented to your eyes was thebody of your friend, murdered in so unaccountable a manner and placed, as itwere, by some fiend across your path.”

As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on thisretrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at the knowledgehe seemed to possess concerning me. I suppose some astonishment was exhibitedin my countenance, for Mr. Kirwin hastened to say,

“Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that were on your personwere brought me, and I examined them that I might discover some trace by whichI could send to your relations an account of your misfortune and illness. Ifound several letters, and, among others, one which I discovered from itscommencement to be from your father. I instantly wrote to Geneva; nearly twomonths have elapsed since the departure of my letter. But you are ill; even nowyou tremble; you are unfit for agitation of any kind.”

“This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event; tell mewhat 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 someone,a friend, is come to visit you.”

I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it instantlydarted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my misery and tauntme with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for me to comply with hishellish 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 regardingmy 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 havebeen welcome instead of inspiring such violent repugnance.”

“My father!” cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed fromanguish to pleasure. “Is my father indeed come? How kind, how very kind! Butwhere is he, why does he not hasten to me?”

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

Nothing, at this moment, could have given me greater pleasure than the arrivalof 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, bydwelling on these subjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my despondingspirits; 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 atthe barred windows and wretched appearance of the room. “You travelled to seekhappiness, but a fatality seems to pursue you. And poor Clerval—”

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

“Alas! Yes, my father,” replied I; “some destiny of the most horrible kindhangs over me, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I should have died onthe coffin of Henry.”

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

As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black melancholy thatnothing could dissipate. The image of Clerval was for ever before me, ghastlyand murdered. More than once the agitation into which these reflections threwme made my friends dread a dangerous relapse. Alas! Why did they preserve somiserable and detested a life? It was surely that I might fulfil my destiny,which is now drawing to a close. Soon, oh, very soon, will death extinguishthese throbbings and relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears meto 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 tomy thoughts; and I often sat for hours motionless and speechless, wishing forsome mighty revolution that might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins.

The season of the assizes approached. I had already been three months inprison, and although I was still weak and in continual danger of a relapse, Iwas obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the country town where thecourt was held. Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every care of collectingwitnesses and arranging my defence. I was spared the disgrace of appearingpublicly as a criminal, as the case was not brought before the court thatdecides on life and death. The grand jury rejected the bill, on its beingproved that I was on the Orkney Islands at the hour the body of my friend wasfound; and a fortnight after my removal I was liberated from prison.

My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a criminalcharge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh atmosphere and permittedto return to my native country. I did not participate in these feelings, for tome the walls of a dungeon or a palace were alike hateful. The cup of life waspoisoned for ever, and although the sun shone upon me, as upon the happy andgay 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, thedark orbs nearly covered by the lids and the long black lashes that fringedthem; sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of the monster, as I first sawthem 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 drewdeep groans from me. Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish for happiness and thoughtwith melancholy delight of my beloved cousin or longed, with a devouringmaladie du pays, to see once more the blue lake and rapid Rhone, thathad been so dear to me in early childhood; but my general state of feeling wasa torpor in which a prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene innature; and these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish anddespair. At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the existence Iloathed, and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance to restrain me fromcommitting some dreadful act of violence.

Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally triumphed overmy selfish despair. It was necessary that I should return without delay toGeneva, there to watch over the lives of those I so fondly loved and to lie inwait for the murderer, that if any chance led me to the place of hisconcealment, or if he dared again to blast me by his presence, I might, withunfailing aim, put an end to the existence of the monstrous image which I hadendued with the mockery of a soul still more monstrous. My father still desiredto delay our departure, fearful that I could not sustain the fatigues of ajourney, for I was a shattered wreck—the shadow of a human being. My strengthwas gone. I was a mere skeleton, and fever night and day preyed upon my wastedframe.

Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude and impatience, myfather thought it best to yield. We took our passage on board a vessel boundfor Havre-de-Grace and sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores. It wasmidnight. I lay on the deck looking at the stars and listening to the dashingof the waves. I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my sight, and mypulse 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 inwhich I was, the wind that blew me from the detested shore of Ireland, and thesea which surrounded me, told me too forcibly that I was deceived by no visionand that Clerval, my friend and dearest companion, had fallen a victim to meand the monster of my creation. I repassed, in my memory, my whole life; myquiet happiness while residing with my family in Geneva, the death of mymother, and my departure for Ingolstadt. I remembered, shuddering, the madenthusiasm that hurried me on to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I calledto mind the night in which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the train ofthought; 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 everynight a small quantity of laudanum, for it was by means of this drug only thatI was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the preservation of life.Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfortunes, I now swallowed doublemy usual quantity and soon slept profoundly. But sleep did not afford merespite from thought and misery; my dreams presented a thousand objects thatscared me. Towards morning I was possessed by a kind of nightmare; I felt thefiend’s grasp in my neck and could not free myself from it; groans and criesrang in my ears. My father, who was watching over me, perceiving myrestlessness, 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 wasestablished between the present hour and the irresistible, disastrous futureimparted to me a kind of calm forgetfulness, of which the human mind is by itsstructure peculiarly susceptible.

Chapter 22

The voyage came to an end. We landed, and proceeded to Paris. I soon found thatI had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I could continue myjourney. My father’s care and attentions were indefatigable, but he did notknow the origin of my sufferings and sought erroneous methods to remedy theincurable ill. He wished me to seek amusem*nt in society. I abhorred the faceof man. Oh, not abhorred! They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I feltattracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an angelicnature and celestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right to share theirintercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them whose joy it was to shed theirblood and to revel in their groans. How they would, each and all, abhor me andhunt me from the world, did they know my unhallowed acts and the crimes whichhad their source in me!

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

“Alas! My father,” said I, “how little do you know me. Human beings, theirfeelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such a wretch as I feltpride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I, and she sufferedthe 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, andat 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 myimagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my convalescence. Iavoided explanation and maintained a continual silence concerning the wretch Ihad created. I had a persuasion that I should be supposed mad, and this initself would for ever have chained my tongue. But, besides, I could not bringmyself to disclose a secret which would fill my hearer with consternation andmake 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 theworld to have confided the fatal secret. Yet, still, words like those I haverecorded would burst uncontrollably from me. I could offer no explanation ofthem, but their truth in part relieved the burden of my mysterious woe.

Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded wonder, “Mydearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I entreat you never tomake such an assertion again.”

“I am not mad,” I cried energetically; “the sun and the heavens, who haveviewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth. I am the assassin of thosemost innocent victims; they died by my machinations. A thousand times would Ihave shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have saved their lives; but I couldnot, 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 toalter the course of my thoughts. He wished as much as possible to obliteratethe memory of the scenes that had taken place in Ireland and never alluded tothem 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 Icurbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which sometimes desired to declareitself to the whole world, and my manners were calmer and more composed thanthey 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 thefollowing letter from Elizabeth:

“My dear Friend,

“It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle dated atParis; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may hope to see you inless than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much you must have suffered! Iexpect to see you looking even more ill than when you quitted Geneva. Thiswinter has been passed most miserably, tortured as I have been by anxioussuspense; yet I hope to see peace in your countenance and to find that yourheart is not totally void of comfort and tranquillity.

“Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable a yearago, 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 myuncle previous to his departure renders some explanation necessary before wemeet.

Explanation! You may possibly say, What can Elizabeth have to explain? If youreally say this, my questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied. But youare distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet be pleasedwith this explanation; and in a probability of this being the case, I dare notany longer postpone writing what, during your absence, I have often wished toexpress to you but have never had the courage to begin.

“You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan of yourparents ever since our infancy. We were told this when young, and taught tolook forward to it as an event that would certainly take place. We wereaffectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I believe, dear and valuedfriends to one another as we grew older. But as brother and sister oftenentertain a lively affection towards each other without desiring a moreintimate union, may not such also be our case? Tell me, dearest Victor. Answerme, I conjure you by our mutual happiness, with simple truth—Do you not loveanother?

“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 helpsupposing that you might regret our connection and believe yourself bound inhonour to fulfil the wishes of your parents, although they opposed themselvesto your inclinations. But this is false reasoning. I confess to you, my friend,that I love you and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been myconstant friend and companion. But it is your happiness I desire as well as myown when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally miserableunless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Even now I weep to thinkthat, borne down as you are by the cruellest misfortunes, you may stifle, bythe word honour, all hope of that love and happiness which would alonerestore you to yourself. I, who have so disinterested an affection for you, mayincrease 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 tobe made miserable by this supposition. Be happy, my friend; and if you obey mein this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth will have the powerto 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 ofyour health, and if I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasionedby this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness.

“Elizabeth Lavenza.

“Geneva, May 18th, 17—”

This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threat of thefiend—“I will be with you on your wedding-night!” Such was my sentence,and on that night would the dæmon employ every art to destroy me and tear mefrom 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, beit so; a deadly struggle would then assuredly take place, in which if he werevictorious I should be at peace and his power over me be at an end. If he werevanquished, I should be a free man. Alas! What freedom? Such as the peasantenjoys 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 atreasure, alas, balanced by those horrors of remorse and guilt which wouldpursue me until death.

Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and reread her letter, and some softenedfeelings stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisiacal dreams of loveand joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the angel’s arm bared to drive mefrom all hope. Yet I would die to make her happy. If the monster executed histhreat, death was inevitable; yet, again, I considered whether my marriagewould hasten my fate. My destruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner,but if my torturer should suspect that I postponed it, influenced by hismenaces, 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 considerthat threat as binding him to peace in the meantime, for as if to show me thathe was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately afterthe enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if my immediateunion with my cousin would conduce either to hers or my father’s happiness, myadversary’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 andaffectionate. “I fear, my beloved girl,” I said, “little happiness remains forus on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in you. Chase awayyour idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life and my endeavours forcontentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a dreadful one; when revealed toyou, it will chill your frame with horror, and then, far from being surprisedat my misery, you will only wonder that I survive what I have endured. I willconfide this tale of misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shalltake 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 mostearnestly 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 asshe 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 beforecharmed me; but her gentleness and soft looks of compassion made her a more fitcompanion for one blasted and miserable as I was.

The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought madnesswith 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. Ineither spoke nor looked at anyone, but sat motionless, bewildered by themultitude of miseries that overcame me.

Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle voicewould soothe me when transported by passion and inspire me with human feelingswhen sunk in torpor. She wept with me and for me. When reason returned, shewould remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with resignation. Ah! It is wellfor the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace. Theagonies of remorse poison the luxury there is otherwise sometimes found inindulging 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 ordeath, to the happiness of my cousin.”

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

Such were the lessons of my father. But to me the remembrance of the threatreturned; nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had yet been in hisdeeds of blood, I should almost regard him as invincible, and that when he hadpronounced the words “I shall be with you on your wedding-night,” Ishould regard the threatened fate as unavoidable. But death was no evil to meif the loss of Elizabeth were balanced with it, and I therefore, with acontented and even cheerful countenance, agreed with my father that if mycousin 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 intentionof my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself for ever from mynative country and wandered a friendless outcast over the earth than haveconsented to this miserable marriage. But, as if possessed of magic powers, themonster had blinded me to his real intentions; and when I thought that I hadprepared 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 aprophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed my feelingsby an appearance of hilarity that brought smiles and joy to the countenance ofmy father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful and nicer eye of Elizabeth.She looked forward to our union with placid contentment, not unmingled with alittle fear, which past misfortunes had impressed, that what now appearedcertain and tangible happiness might soon dissipate into an airy dream andleave no trace but deep and everlasting regret.

Preparations were made for the event, congratulatory visits were received, andall wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I could, in my own heartthe anxiety that preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness into theplans of my father, although they might only serve as the decorations of mytragedy. Through my father’s exertions a part of the inheritance of Elizabethhad been restored to her by the Austrian government. A small possession on theshores of Como belonged to her. It was agreed that, immediately after ourunion, we should proceed to Villa Lavenza and spend our first days of happinessbeside the beautiful lake near which it stood.

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

Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to calm hermind. But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and my destiny, she wasmelancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her; and perhaps also shethought of the dreadful secret which I had promised to reveal to her on thefollowing day. My father was in the meantime overjoyed, and, in the bustle ofpreparation, only recognised in the melancholy of his niece the diffidence of abride.

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

Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the feeling ofhappiness. We passed rapidly along; the sun was hot, but we were sheltered fromits 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 Salêve, the pleasant banksof Montalègre, 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 darkside to the ambition that would quit its native country, and an almostinsurmountable 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 whatI have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would endeavour to let me tastethe quiet and freedom from despair that this one day at least permits me toenjoy.”

“Be happy, my dear Victor,” replied Elizabeth; “there is, I hope, nothing todistress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not painted in my face, myheart is contented. Something whispers to me not to depend too much on theprospect that is opened before us, but I will not listen to such a sinistervoice. Observe how fast we move along and how the clouds, which sometimesobscure and sometimes rise above the dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene ofbeauty still more interesting. Look also at the innumerable fish that areswimming in the clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that liesat the bottom. What a divine day! How happy and serene all nature appears!”

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

The sun sank lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance and observed itspath through the chasms of the higher and the glens of the lower hills. TheAlps here come closer to the lake, and we approached the amphitheatre ofmountains which forms its eastern boundary. The spire of Evian shone under thewoods that surrounded it and the range of mountain above mountain by which itwas overhung.

The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity, sank atsunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water and caused apleasant motion among the trees as we approached the shore, from which itwafted the most delightful scent of flowers and hay. The sun sank beneath thehorizon as we landed, and as I touched the shore I felt those cares and fearsrevive which soon were to clasp me and cling to me for ever.

Chapter 23

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 thelovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured in darkness, yet stilldisplaying their black outlines.

The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence in thewest. The moon had reached her summit in the heavens and was beginning todescend; the clouds swept across it swifter than the flight of the vulture anddimmed 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 ofobjects, a thousand fears arose in my mind. I was anxious and watchful, whilemy right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in my bosom; every soundterrified me, but I resolved that I would sell my life dearly and not shrinkfrom 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, butthere was something in my glance which communicated terror to her, andtrembling, she asked, “What is it that agitates you, my dear Victor? What is ityou fear?”

“Oh! Peace, peace, my love,” replied I; “this night, and all will be safe; butthis night is dreadful, very dreadful.”

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

She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages of thehouse 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 somefortunate chance had intervened to prevent the execution of his menaces whensuddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful scream. It came from the room into whichElizabeth had retired. As I heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, myarms dropped, the motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feelthe 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 rushedinto the room.

Great God! Why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the destructionof the best hope and the purest creature on earth? She was there, lifeless andinanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down and her pale anddistorted features half covered by her hair. Everywhere I turn I see the samefigure—her bloodless arms and relaxed form flung by the murderer on its bridalbier. Could I behold this and live? Alas! Life is obstinate and clings closestwhere it is most hated. For a moment only did I lose recollection; I fellsenseless on the ground.

When I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn; theircountenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of others appearedonly as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me. I escaped fromthem to the room where lay the body of Elizabeth, my love, my wife, so latelyliving, so dear, so worthy. She had been moved from the posture in which I hadfirst beheld her, and now, as she lay, her head upon her arm and a handkerchiefthrown across her face and neck, I might have supposed her asleep. I rushedtowards her and embraced her with ardour, but the deadly languor and coldnessof the limbs told me that what I now held in my arms had ceased to be theElizabeth whom I had loved and cherished. The murderous mark of the fiend’sgrasp 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. Thewindows of the room had before been darkened, and I felt a kind of panic onseeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber. The shuttershad been thrown back, and with a sensation of horror not to be described, I sawat the open window a figure the most hideous and abhorred. A grin was on theface of the monster; he seemed to jeer, as with his fiendish finger he pointedtowards the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards the window, and drawing apistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me, leaped from his station, andrunning with the swiftness of lightning, plunged into the lake.

The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to the spotwhere 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 mycompanions believing it to have been a form conjured up by my fancy. Afterhaving landed, they proceeded to search the country, parties going in differentdirections 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 atlast in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my eyes, and my skin wasparched with the heat of fever. In this state I was carried back and placed ona bed, hardly conscious of what had happened; my eyes wandered round the roomas if to seek something that I had lost.

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

There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but thewind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents. However, it was hardlymorning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired men to row andtook an oar myself, for I had always experienced relief from mental torment inbodily exercise. But the overflowing misery I now felt, and the excess ofa*gitation that I endured rendered me incapable of any exertion. I threw downthe oar, and leaning my head upon my hands, gave way to every gloomy idea thatarose. If I looked up, I saw scenes which were familiar to me in my happiertime and which I had contemplated but the day before in the company of her whowas now but a shadow and a recollection. Tears streamed from my eyes. The rainhad ceased for a moment, and I saw the fish play in the waters as they had donea few hours before; they had then been observed by Elizabeth. Nothing is sopainful to the human mind as a great and sudden change. The sun might shine orthe clouds might lower, but nothing could appear to me as it had done the daybefore. A fiend had snatched from me every hope of future happiness; nocreature had ever been so miserable as I was; so frightful an event is singlein the history of man.

But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last overwhelmingevent? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached their acme, andwhat I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know that, one by one, myfriends 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 underthe tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable old man! Hiseyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their delight—hisElizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doted on with all that affectionwhich a man feels, who in the decline of life, having few affections, clingsmore earnestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed be the fiend that broughtmisery on his grey hairs and doomed him to waste in wretchedness! He could notlive under the horrors that were accumulated around him; the springs ofexistence suddenly gave way; he was unable to rise from his bed, and in a fewdays he died in my arms.

What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and darknesswere the only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes, indeed, I dreamt that Iwandered 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 degreesI gained a clear conception of my miseries and situation and was then releasedfrom my prison. For they had called me mad, and during many months, as Iunderstood, a solitary cell had been my habitation.

Liberty, however, had been a useless gift to me, had I not, as I awakened toreason, at the same time awakened to revenge. As the memory of past misfortunespressed upon me, I began to reflect on their cause—the monster whom I hadcreated, the miserable dæmon whom I had sent abroad into the world for mydestruction. I was possessed by a maddening rage when I thought of him, anddesired and ardently prayed that I might have him within my grasp to wreak agreat and signal revenge on his cursed head.

Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to reflect onthe best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about a month after myrelease, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town and told him that I had anaccusation to make, that I knew the destroyer of my family, and that I requiredhim 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 thevillain.”

“I thank you,” replied I; “listen, therefore, to the deposition that I have tomake. It is indeed a tale so strange that I should fear you would not credit itwere 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 forfalsehood.” My manner as I thus addressed him was impressive but calm; I hadformed in my own heart a resolution to pursue my destroyer to death, and thispurpose quieted my agony and for an interval reconciled me to life. I nowrelated my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the dateswith accuracy and never deviating into invective or exclamation.

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

When I had concluded my narration, I said, “This is the being whom I accuse andfor whose seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your whole power. Itis your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that your feelings as aman 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 ofspirits and supernatural events; but when he was called upon to act officiallyin consequence, the whole tide of his incredulity returned. He, however,answered mildly, “I would willingly afford you every aid in your pursuit, butthe creature of whom you speak appears to have powers which would put all myexertions to defiance. Who can follow an animal which can traverse the sea ofice 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 canconjecture 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 hasindeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois anddestroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts; you do not creditmy narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the punishment which ishis desert.”

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

“That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My revenge isof no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I confess that it isthe devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage is unspeakable when Ireflect 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, eitherin my life or death, to his destruction.”

I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy in mymanner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness which themartyrs of old are said to have possessed. But to a Genevan magistrate, whosemind was occupied by far other ideas than those of devotion and heroism, thiselevation of mind had much the appearance of madness. He endeavoured to sootheme 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 knownot what it is you say.”

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

Chapter 24

My present situation was one in which all voluntary thought was swallowed upand lost. I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone endowed me with strengthand composure; it moulded my feelings and allowed me to be calculating and calmat periods when otherwise delirium or death would have been my portion.

My first resolution was to quit Geneva for ever; my country, which, when I washappy and beloved, was dear to me, now, in my adversity, became hateful. Iprovided myself with a sum of money, together with a few jewels which hadbelonged to my mother, and departed.

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

When I quitted Geneva my first labour was to gain some clue by which I mighttrace the steps of my fiendish enemy. But my plan was unsettled, and I wanderedmany 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 whereWilliam, Elizabeth, and my father reposed. I entered it and approached the tombwhich marked their graves. Everything was silent except the leaves of thetrees, which were gently agitated by the wind; the night was nearly dark, andthe scene would have been solemn and affecting even to an uninterestedobserver. The spirits of the departed seemed to flit around and to cast ashadow, 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 rageand despair. They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also lived, and todestroy him I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on the grass and kissedthe earth and with quivering lips exclaimed, “By the sacred earth on which Ikneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the deep and eternal grief that Ifeel, I swear; and by thee, O Night, and the spirits that preside over thee, topursue the dæmon who caused this misery, until he or I shall perish in mortalconflict. For this purpose I will preserve my life; to execute this dearrevenge will I again behold the sun and tread the green herbage of earth, whichotherwise should vanish from my eyes for ever. And I call on you, spirits ofthe dead, and on you, wandering ministers of vengeance, to aid and conduct mein my work. Let the cursed and hellish monster drink deep of agony; let himfeel the despair that now torments me.”

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

I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish laugh. Itrang on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed it, and I felt as ifall hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter. Surely in that moment Ishould have been possessed by frenzy and have destroyed my miserable existencebut that my vow was heard and that I was reserved for vengeance. The laughterdied 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 havedetermined to live, and I am satisfied.”

I darted towards the spot from which the sound proceeded, but the devil eludedmy grasp. Suddenly the broad disk of the moon arose and shone full upon hisghastly 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 slightclue, I followed the windings of the Rhone, but vainly. The blue Mediterraneanappeared, and by a strange chance, I saw the fiend enter by night and hidehimself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea. I took my passage in the sameship, but he escaped, I know not how.

Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still evaded me, I haveever followed in his track. Sometimes the peasants, scared by this horridapparition, informed me of his path; sometimes he himself, who feared that if Ilost all trace of him I should despair and die, left some mark to guide me. Thesnows descended on my head, and I saw the print of his huge step on the whiteplain. 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 fatiguewere the least pains which I was destined to endure; I was cursed by some deviland carried about with me my eternal hell; yet still a spirit of good followedand directed my steps and when I most murmured would suddenly extricate me fromseemingly insurmountable difficulties. Sometimes, when nature, overcome byhunger, sank under the exhaustion, a repast was prepared for me in the desertthat restored and inspirited me. The fare was, indeed, coarse, such as thepeasants of the country ate, but I will not doubt that it was set there by thespirits that I had invoked to aid me. Often, when all was dry, the heavenscloudless, 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 dæmon generallyavoided these, as it was here that the population of the country chieflycollected. In other places human beings were seldom seen, and I generallysubsisted on the wild animals that crossed my path. I had money with me andgained the friendship of the villagers by distributing it; or I brought with mesome food that I had killed, which, after taking a small part, I alwayspresented 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 sleepalone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep! Often, when most miserable, Isank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture. The spirits thatguarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours, of happiness that Imight retain strength to fulfil my pilgrimage. Deprived of this respite, Ishould have sunk under my hardships. During the day I was sustained andinspirited by the hope of night, for in sleep I saw my friends, my wife, and mybeloved country; again I saw the benevolent countenance of my father, heard thesilver tones of my Elizabeth’s voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health andyouth. Often, when wearied by a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that I wasdreaming until night should come and that I should then enjoy reality in thearms of my dearest friends. What agonising fondness did I feel for them! Howdid I cling to their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted even my wakinghours, 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 thedestruction of the dæmon more as a task enjoined by heaven, as the mechanicalimpulse of some power of which I was unconscious, than as the ardent desire ofmy soul.

What his feelings were whom I pursued I cannot know. Sometimes, indeed, he leftmarks in writing on the barks of the trees or cut in stone that guided me andinstigated my fury. “My reign is not yet over”—these words were legible in oneof these inscriptions—“you live, and my power is complete. Follow me; I seekthe everlasting ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of cold andfrost, to which I am impassive. You will find near this place, if you follownot too tardily, a dead hare; eat and be refreshed. Come on, my enemy; we haveyet to wrestle for our lives, but many hard and miserable hours must you endureuntil that period shall arrive.”

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

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

The triumph of my enemy increased with the difficulty of my labours. Oneinscription 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 journeywhere your sufferings will satisfy my everlasting hatred.”

My courage and perseverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; Iresolved not to fail in my purpose, and calling on Heaven to support me, Icontinued with unabated fervour to traverse immense deserts, until the oceanappeared at a distance and formed the utmost boundary of the horizon. Oh! Howunlike it was to the blue seasons of the south! Covered with ice, it was onlyto be distinguished from land by its superior wildness and ruggedness. TheGreeks 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 Iknelt down and with a full heart thanked my guiding spirit for conducting me insafety to the place where I hoped, notwithstanding my adversary’s gibe, to meetand grapple with him.

Some weeks before this period I had procured a sledge and dogs and thustraversed the snows with inconceivable speed. I know not whether the fiendpossessed the same advantages, but I found that, as before I had daily lostground in the pursuit, I now gained on him, so much so that when I first sawthe ocean he was but one day’s journey in advance, and I hoped to intercept himbefore he should reach the beach. With new courage, therefore, I pressed on,and in two days arrived at a wretched hamlet on the seashore. I inquired of theinhabitants concerning the fiend and gained accurate information. A giganticmonster, they said, had arrived the night before, armed with a gun and manypistols, putting to flight the inhabitants of a solitary cottage through fearof his terrific appearance. He had carried off their store of winter food, andplacing it in a sledge, to draw which he had seized on a numerous drove oftrained dogs, he had harnessed them, and the same night, to the joy of thehorror-struck villagers, had pursued his journey across the sea in a directionthat led to no land; and they conjectured that he must speedily be destroyed bythe breaking of the ice or frozen by the eternal frosts.

On hearing this information I suffered a temporary access of despair. He hadescaped me, and I must commence a destructive and almost endless journey acrossthe mountainous ices of the ocean, amidst cold that few of the inhabitantscould long endure and which I, the native of a genial and sunny climate, couldnot hope to survive. Yet at the idea that the fiend should live and betriumphant, my rage and vengeance returned, and like a mighty tide, overwhelmedevery other feeling. After a slight repose, during which the spirits of thedead hovered round and instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for myjourney.

I exchanged my land-sledge for one fashioned for the inequalities of the FrozenOcean, 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 miserywhich nothing but the eternal sentiment of a just retribution burning within myheart could have enabled me to support. Immense and rugged mountains of iceoften 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 ofthe sea secure.

By the quantity of provision which I had consumed, I should guess that I hadpassed three weeks in this journey; and the continual protraction of hope,returning back upon the heart, often wrung bitter drops of despondency andgrief from my eyes. Despair had indeed almost secured her prey, and I shouldsoon have sunk beneath this misery. Once, after the poor animals that conveyedme had with incredible toil gained the summit of a sloping ice mountain, andone, sinking under his fatigue, died, I viewed the expanse before me withanguish, when suddenly my eye caught a dark speck upon the dusky plain. Istrained my sight to discover what it could be and uttered a wild cry ofecstasy when I distinguished a sledge and the distorted proportions of awell-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 notintercept the view I had of the dæmon; but still my sight was dimmed by theburning drops, until, giving way to the emotions that oppressed me, I weptaloud.

But this was not the time for delay; I disencumbered the dogs of their deadcompanion, 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, Icontinued my route. The sledge was still visible, nor did I again lose sight ofit except at the moments when for a short time some ice-rock concealed it withits intervening crags. I indeed perceptibly gained on it, and when, afternearly two days’ journey, I beheld my enemy at no more than a mile distant, myheart bounded within me.

But now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my foe, my hopes were suddenlyextinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I had ever donebefore. A ground sea was heard; the thunder of its progress, as the watersrolled and swelled beneath me, became every moment more ominous and terrific. Ipressed on, but in vain. The wind arose; the sea roared; and, as with themighty shock of an earthquake, it split and cracked with a tremendous andoverwhelming sound. The work was soon finished; in a few minutes a tumultuoussea rolled between me and my enemy, and I was left drifting on a scatteredpiece of ice that was continually lessening and thus preparing for me a hideousdeath.

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

Oh! When will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the dæmon, allow me therest 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 myvengeance 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 shouldconduct him to you, swear that he shall not live—swear that he shall nottriumph over my accumulated woes and survive to add to the list of his darkcrimes. He is eloquent and persuasive, and once his words had even power overmy heart; but trust him not. His soul is as hellish as his form, full oftreachery and fiend-like malice. Hear him not; call on the names of William,Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched Victor, and thrustyour sword into his heart. I will hover near and direct the steel aright.

Walton, in continuation.

August 26th, 17—.

You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not feelyour 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 repletewith anguish. His fine and lovely eyes were now lighted up with indignation,now subdued to downcast sorrow and quenched in infinite wretchedness. Sometimeshe commanded his countenance and tones and related the most horrible incidentswith a tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like avolcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression of thewildest rage as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor.

His tale is connected and told with an appearance of the simplest truth, yet Iown to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he showed me, and theapparition of the monster seen from our ship, brought to me a greaterconviction of the truth of his narrative than his asseverations, howeverearnest and connected. Such a monster has, then, really existence! I cannotdoubt it, yet I am lost in surprise and admiration. Sometimes I endeavoured togain from Frankenstein the particulars of his creature’s formation, but on thispoint he was impenetrable.

“Are you mad, my friend?” said he. “Or whither does your senseless curiositylead you? Would you also create for yourself and the world a demoniacal 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 tosee them and then himself corrected and augmented them in many places, butprincipally in giving the life and spirit to the conversations he held with hisenemy. “Since you have preserved my narration,” said he, “I would not that amutilated one should go down to posterity.”

Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest tale thatever imagination formed. My thoughts and every feeling of my soul have beendrunk up by the interest for my guest which this tale and his own elevated andgentle manners have created. I wish to soothe him, yet can I counsel one soinfinitely 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 shatteredspirit to peace and death. Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitudeand delirium; he believes that when in dreams he holds converse with hisfriends and derives from that communion consolation for his miseries orexcitements to his vengeance, that they are not the creations of his fancy, butthe beings themselves who visit him from the regions of a remote world. Thisfaith gives a solemnity to his reveries that render them to me almost asimposing 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 aquick and piercing apprehension. His eloquence is forcible and touching; norcan I hear him, when he relates a pathetic incident or endeavours to move thepassions of pity or love, without tears. What a glorious creature must he havebeen 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 mefor illustrious achievements. This sentiment of the worth of my naturesupported me when others would have been oppressed, for I deemed it criminal tothrow away in useless grief those talents that might be useful to my fellowcreatures. When I reflected on the work I had completed, no less a one than thecreation of a sensitive and rational animal, I could not rank myself with theherd of common projectors. But this thought, which supported me in thecommencement of my career, now serves only to plunge me lower in the dust. Allmy speculations and hopes are as nothing, and like the archangel who aspired toomnipotence, I am chained in an eternal hell. My imagination was vivid, yet mypowers of analysis and application were intense; by the union of thesequalities I conceived the idea and executed the creation of a man. Even now Icannot recollect without passion my reveries while the work was incomplete. Itrod heaven in my thoughts, now exulting in my powers, now burning with theidea of their effects. From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a loftyambition; 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 rarelyvisited 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 havesought one who would sympathise with and love me. Behold, on these desert seasI have found such a one, but I fear I have gained him only to know his valueand 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 miserablea wretch; but when you speak of new ties and fresh affections, think you thatany can replace those who are gone? Can any man be to me as Clerval was, or anywoman another Elizabeth? Even where the affections are not strongly moved byany superior excellence, the companions of our childhood always possess acertain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. Theyknow our infantine dispositions, which, however they may be afterwardsmodified, are never eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with morecertain conclusions as to the integrity of our motives. A sister or a brothercan never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shown early, suspect the otherof fraud or false dealing, when another friend, however strongly he may beattached, may, in spite of himself, be contemplated with suspicion. But Ienjoyed friends, dear not only through habit and association, but from theirown merits; and wherever I am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth and theconversation of Clerval will be ever whispered in my ear. They are dead, andbut one feeling in such a solitude can persuade me to preserve my life. If Iwere engaged in any high undertaking or design, fraught with extensive utilityto my fellow creatures, then could I live to fulfil it. But such is not mydestiny; I must pursue and destroy the being to whom I gave existence; then mylot on earth will be fulfilled and I may die.”

My beloved Sister,

September 2d.

I write to you, encompassed by peril and ignorant whether I am ever doomed tosee again dear England and the dearer friends that inhabit it. I am surroundedby mountains of ice which admit of no escape and threaten every moment to crushmy vessel. The brave fellows whom I have persuaded to be my companions looktowards me for aid, but I have none to bestow. There is something terriblyappalling in our situation, yet my courage and hopes do not desert me. Yet itis terrible to reflect that the lives of all these men are endangered throughme. 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 mydestruction, and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass, and youwill have visitings of despair and yet be tortured by hope. Oh! My belovedsister, the sickening failing of your heart-felt expectations is, in prospect,more terrible to me than my own death. But you have a husband and lovelychildren; you may be happy. Heaven bless you and make you so!

My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion. He endeavours tofill me with hope and talks as if life were a possession which he valued. Hereminds me how often the same accidents have happened to other navigators whohave attempted this sea, and in spite of myself, he fills me with cheerfulauguries. 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 voicethey believe these vast mountains of ice are mole-hills which will vanishbefore the resolutions of man. These feelings are transitory; each day ofexpectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny caused bythis despair.

September 5th.

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

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

I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny. Thismorning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend—his eyes halfclosed and his limbs hanging listlessly—I was roused by half a dozen of thesailors, who demanded admission into the cabin. They entered, and their leaderaddressed me. He told me that he and his companions had been chosen by theother sailors to come in deputation to me to make me a requisition which, injustice, I could not refuse. We were immured in ice and should probably neverescape, but they feared that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate anda free passage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage andlead them into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted this.They insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn promise that ifthe vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my course southwards.

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

“What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you, then, so easilyturned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious expedition? “Andwherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was smooth and placid as asouthern sea, but because it was full of dangers and terror, because at everynew incident your fortitude was to be called forth and your courage exhibited,because danger and death surrounded it, and these you were to brave andovercome. For this was it a glorious, for this was it an honourableundertaking. You were hereafter to be hailed as the benefactors of yourspecies, your names adored as belonging to brave men who encountered death forhonour and the benefit of mankind. And now, behold, with the first imaginationof danger, or, if you will, the first mighty and terrific trial of yourcourage, you shrink away and are content to be handed down as men who had notstrength enough to endure cold and peril; and so, poor souls, they were chillyand 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 adefeat merely to prove yourselves cowards. Oh! Be men, or be more than men. Besteady to your purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuffas your hearts may be; it is mutable and cannot withstand you if you say thatit shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace markedon your brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered and who know notwhat it is to turn their backs on the foe.”

He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings expressed inhis speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and heroism, that can youwonder that these men were moved? They looked at one another and were unable toreply. I spoke; I told them to retire and consider of what had been said, thatI 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 andalmost deprived of life.

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

September 7th.

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

September 12th.

It is past; I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility andglory; I have lost my friend. But I will endeavour to detail these bittercirc*mstances to you, my dear sister; and while I am wafted towards England andtowards you, I will not despond.

September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were heard at adistance as the islands split and cracked in every direction. We were in themost imminent peril, but as we could only remain passive, my chief attentionwas occupied by my unfortunate guest whose illness increased in such a degreethat he was entirely confined to his bed. The ice cracked behind us and wasdriven with force towards the north; a breeze sprang from the west, and on the11th the passage towards the south became perfectly free. When the sailors sawthis and that their return to their native country was apparently assured, ashout 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 todanger, and I must return.”

“Do so, if you will; but I will not. You may give up your purpose, but mine isassigned to me by Heaven, and I dare not. I am weak, but surely the spirits whoassist my vengeance will endow me with sufficient strength.” Saying this, heendeavoured to spring from the bed, but the exertion was too great for him; hefell back and fainted.

It was long before he was restored, and I often thought that life was entirelyextinct. At length he opened his eyes; he breathed with difficulty and wasunable to speak. The surgeon gave him a composing draught and ordered us toleave him undisturbed. In the meantime he told me that my friend had certainlynot many hours to live.

His sentence was pronounced, and I could only grieve and be patient. I sat byhis bed, watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he slept; butpresently 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, Walton, that in thelast moments of my existence I feel that burning hatred and ardent desire ofrevenge I once expressed; but I feel myself justified in desiring the death ofmy adversary. During these last days I have been occupied in examining my pastconduct; nor do I find it blamable. In a fit of enthusiastic madness I createda rational creature and was bound towards him to assure, as far as was in mypower, his happiness and well-being. This was my duty, but there was anotherstill paramount to that. My duties towards the beings of my own species hadgreater claims to my attention because they included a greater proportion ofhappiness or misery. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right inrefusing, to create a companion for the first creature. He showed unparalleledmalignity and selfishness in evil; he destroyed my friends; he devoted todestruction beings who possessed exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom;nor do I know where this thirst for vengeance may end. Miserable himself thathe may render no other wretched, he ought to die. The task of his destructionwas mine, but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious motives, Iasked you to undertake my unfinished work, and I renew this request now, when Iam only induced by reason and virtue.

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

“That he should live to be an instrument of mischief disturbs me; in otherrespects, this hour, when I momentarily expect my release, is the only happyone which I have enjoyed for several years. The forms of the beloved dead flitbefore me, and I hasten to their arms. Farewell, Walton! Seek happiness intranquillity and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent oneof distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries. Yet why do I say this? Ihave 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 sank into silence. About half an hour afterwards he attempted again to speakbut was unable; he pressed my hand feebly, and his eyes closed for ever, whilethe irradiation of a gentle smile passed away from his lips.

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

I am interrupted. What do these sounds portend? It is midnight; the breezeblows fairly, and the watch on deck scarcely stir. Again there is a sound as ofa human voice, but hoarser; it comes from the cabin where the remains ofFrankenstein 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 theremembrance 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 andwonderful 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, hisface was concealed by long locks of ragged hair; but one vast hand wasextended, in colour and apparent texture like that of a mummy. When he heardthe sound of my approach, he ceased to utter exclamations of grief and horrorand sprung towards the window. Never did I behold a vision so horrible as hisface, of such loathsome yet appalling hideousness. I shut my eyes involuntarilyand 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 lifelessform of his creator, he seemed to forget my presence, and every feature andgesture seemed instigated by the wildest rage of some uncontrollable passion.

“That is also my victim!” he exclaimed. “In his murder my crimes areconsummated; the miserable series of my being is wound to its close! Oh,Frankenstein! Generous and self-devoted being! What does it avail that I nowask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee by destroying allthou lovedst. Alas! He is cold, he cannot answer me.”

His voice seemed suffocated, and my first impulses, which had suggested to methe 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 thistremendous being; I dared not again raise my eyes to his face, there wassomething so scaring and unearthly in his ugliness. I attempted to speak, butthe words died away on my lips. The monster continued to utter wild andincoherent self-reproaches. At length I gathered resolution to address him in apause of the tempest of his passion.

“Your repentance,” I said, “is now superfluous. If you had listened to thevoice of conscience and heeded the stings of remorse before you had urged yourdiabolical vengeance to this extremity, Frankenstein would yet have lived.”

“And do you dream?” said the dæmon. “Do you think that I was then dead to agonyand remorse? He,” he continued, pointing to the corpse, “he suffered not in theconsummation of the deed. Oh! Not the ten-thousandth portion of the anguishthat was mine during the lingering detail of its execution. A frightfulselfishness hurried me on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse. Think youthat the groans of Clerval were music to my ears? My heart was fashioned to besusceptible of love and sympathy, and when wrenched by misery to vice andhatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without torture such asyou cannot even imagine.

“After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland, heart-broken andovercome. 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 itsunspeakable torments, dared to hope for happiness, that while he accumulatedwretchedness and despair upon me he sought his own enjoyment in feelings andpassions from the indulgence of which I was for ever barred, then impotent envyand bitter indignation filled me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance. Irecollected my threat and resolved that it should be accomplished. I knew thatI was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I was the slave, not themaster, of an impulse which I detested yet could not disobey. Yet when shedied! Nay, then I was not miserable. I had cast off all feeling, subdued allanguish, 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 Ihad willingly chosen. The completion of my demoniacal design became aninsatiable 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 tomind what Frankenstein had said of his powers of eloquence and persuasion, andwhen I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my friend, indignation wasrekindled within me. “Wretch!” I said. “It is well that you come here to whineover the desolation that you have made. You throw a torch into a pile ofbuildings, and when they are consumed, you sit among the ruins and lament thefall. Hypocritical fiend! If he whom you mourn still lived, still would he bethe object, again would he become the prey, of your accursed vengeance. It isnot pity that you feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity iswithdrawn from your power.”

“Oh, it is not thus—not thus,” interrupted the being. “Yet such must be theimpression conveyed to you by what appears to be the purport of my actions. YetI seek not a fellow feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever find. When Ifirst sought it, it was the love of virtue, the feelings of happiness andaffection with which my whole being overflowed, that I wished to beparticipated. But now that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happinessand affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should Iseek for sympathy? I am content to suffer alone while my sufferings shallendure; when I die, I am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium shouldload my memory. Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, andof enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning myoutward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable ofunfolding. I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But nowcrime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, nomalignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine. When I run over thefrightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creaturewhose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of thebeauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomesa malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends andassociates in his desolation; I am alone.

“You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my crimesand his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them he could notsum up the hours and months of misery which I endured wasting in impotentpassions. 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, andI was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am I to be thought theonly criminal, when all humankind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix,who drove his friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate therustic who sought to destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuousand immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion, tobe spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my blood boils at therecollection of this injustice.

“But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and thehelpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and grasped to death histhroat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have devoted mycreator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love and admiration amongmen, to misery; I have pursued him even to that irremediable ruin. There helies, white and cold in death. You hate me, but your abhorrence cannot equalthat with which I regard myself. I look on the hands which executed the deed; Ithink on the heart in which the imagination of it was conceived and long forthe moment when these hands will meet my eyes, when that imagination will hauntmy thoughts no more.

“Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work is nearlycomplete. Neither yours nor any man’s death is needed to consummate the seriesof my being and accomplish that which must be done, but it requires my own. Donot think that I shall be slow to perform this sacrifice. I shall quit yourvessel on the ice raft which brought me thither and shall seek the mostnorthern extremity of the globe; I shall collect my funeral pile and consume toashes this miserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curiousand unhallowed wretch who would create such another as I have been. I shalldie. I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me or be the prey offeelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched. He is dead who called me into being; andwhen 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 myhappiness. Some years ago, when the images which this world affords firstopened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer and heard therustling 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 crimesand torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death?

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

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

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

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions willbe renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyrightlaw means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the UnitedStates without permission and without paying copyrightroyalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use partof this license, apply to copying and distributing ProjectGutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by followingthe terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for useof the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything forcopies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is veryeasy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creationof derivative works, reports, performances and research. ProjectGutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you maydo practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protectedby U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademarklicense, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the freedistribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “ProjectGutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the FullProject Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online atwww.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree toand accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by allthe terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return ordestroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in yourpossession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to aProject Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be boundby the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the personor entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only beused on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people whoagree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a fewthings that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic workseven without complying with the full terms of this agreement. Seeparagraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with ProjectGutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of thisagreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“theFoundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collectionof Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individualworks in the collection are in the public domain in the UnitedStates. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in theUnited States and you are located in the United States, we do notclaim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long asall references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hopethat you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promotingfree access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping theProject Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easilycomply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in thesame format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License whenyou share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also governwhat you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries arein a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of thisagreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or anyother Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes norepresentations concerning the copyright status of any work in anycountry other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or otherimmediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appearprominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any workon which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which thephrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work isderived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does notcontain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of thecopyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone inthe United States without paying any fees or charges. If you areredistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “ProjectGutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must complyeither with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 orobtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is postedwith the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distributionmust comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and anyadditional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional termswill be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all worksposted with the permission of the copyright holder found at thebeginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of thiswork or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute thiselectronic work, or any part of this electronic work, withoutprominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 withactive links or immediate access to the full terms of the ProjectGutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, includingany word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide accessto or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a formatother than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the officialversion posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expenseto the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a meansof obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “PlainVanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include thefull Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ worksunless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providingaccess to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic worksprovided that:

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a ProjectGutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms thanare set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writingfrom the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager ofthe Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as setforth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerableeffort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofreadworks not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the ProjectGutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, maycontain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurateor corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or otherintellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk orother medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage orcannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Rightof Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the ProjectGutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a ProjectGutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim allliability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legalfees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICTLIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSEPROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THETRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BELIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE ORINCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCHDAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover adefect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you canreceive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending awritten explanation to the person you received the work from. If youreceived the work on a physical medium, you must return the mediumwith your written explanation. The person or entity that provided youwith the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy inlieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the personor entity providing it to you may choose to give you a secondopportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. Ifthe second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writingwithout further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forthin paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NOOTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOTLIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain impliedwarranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types ofdamages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreementviolates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, theagreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer orlimitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity orunenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void theremaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, thetrademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyoneproviding copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works inaccordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with theproduction, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any ofthe following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of thisor any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, oradditions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) anyDefect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution ofelectronic works in formats readable by the widest variety ofcomputers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. Itexists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donationsfrom people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with theassistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’sgoals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection willremain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the ProjectGutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secureand permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and futuregenerations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, seeSections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of thestate of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the InternalRevenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identificationnumber is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted byU.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and upto date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s websiteand official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespreadpublic support and donations to carry out its mission ofincreasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can befreely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widestarray of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exemptstatus with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulatingcharities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the UnitedStates. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes aconsiderable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep upwith these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locationswhere we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SENDDONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular statevisit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where wehave not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibitionagainst accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states whoapproach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot makeany statements concerning tax treatment of donations received fromoutside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donationmethods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of otherways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. Todonate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the ProjectGutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could befreely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced anddistributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network ofvolunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printededitions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright inthe U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do notnecessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paperedition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG searchfacility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg LiteraryArchive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how tosubscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.