well

1 files changed, 7553 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/fuck b/fuck
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8d6dd99
--- /dev/null
+++ b/fuck
@@ -0,0 +1,7553 @@
+The event on which this fiction is founded has been supposed, by Dr.
+Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of
+impossible occurrence. I shall not be supposed as according the remotest
+degree of serious faith to such an imagination; yet, in assuming it as
+the basis of a work of fancy, I have not considered myself as merely
+weaving a series of supernatural terrors. The event on which the
+interest of the story depends is exempt from the disadvantages of a mere
+tale of spectres or enchantment. It was recommended by the novelty of
+the situations which it developes; and, however impossible as a physical
+fact, affords a point of view to the imagination for the delineating of
+human passions more comprehensive and commanding than any which the
+ordinary relations of existing events can yield.
+
+I have thus endeavoured to preserve the truth of the elementary
+principles of human nature, while I have not scrupled to innovate
+upon their combinations. The _Iliad_, the tragic poetry of
+Greece,—Shakespeare, in the _Tempest_ and _Midsummer Night’s
+Dream_,—and most especially Milton, in _Paradise Lost_, conform to this
+rule; and the most humble novelist, who seeks to confer or receive
+amusement from his labours, may, without presumption, apply to prose
+fiction a licence, or rather a rule, from the adoption of which so many
+exquisite combinations of human feeling have resulted in the highest
+specimens of poetry.
+
+The circumstance on which my story rests was suggested in casual
+conversation. It was commenced, partly as a source of amusement, and
+partly as an expedient for exercising any untried resources of mind.
+Other motives were mingled with these, as the work proceeded. I am by no
+means indifferent to the manner in which whatever moral tendencies exist
+in the sentiments or characters it contains shall affect the reader; yet
+my chief concern in this respect has been limited to the avoiding of the
+enervating effects of the novels of the present day, and to the
+exhibitions of the amiableness of domestic affection, and the excellence
+of universal virtue. The opinions which naturally spring from the
+character and situation of the hero are by no means to be conceived as
+existing always in my own conviction; nor is any inference justly to be
+drawn from the following pages as prejudicing any philosophical doctrine
+of whatever kind.
+
+It is a subject also of additional interest to the author, that this
+story was begun in the majestic region where the scene is principally
+laid, and in society which cannot cease to be regretted. I passed the
+summer of 1816 in the environs of Geneva. The season was cold and rainy,
+and in the evenings we crowded around a blazing wood fire, and
+occasionally amused ourselves with some German stories of ghosts, which
+happened to fall into our hands. These tales excited in us a playful
+desire of imitation. Two other friends (a tale from the pen of one of
+whom would be far more acceptable to the public than any thing I can
+ever hope to produce) and myself agreed to write each a story, founded
+on some supernatural occurrence.
+
+The weather, however, suddenly became serene; and my two friends left me
+on a journey among the Alps, and lost, in the magnificent scenes which
+they present, all memory of their ghostly visions. The following tale is
+the only one which has been completed.
+
+
+
+
+FRANKENSTEIN;
+
+OR, THE
+
+_MODERN PROMETHEUS._
+
+
+
+
+LETTER I.
+
+
+_To Mrs._ SAVILLE, _England_.
+
+St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17—.
+
+You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the
+commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil
+forebodings. I arrived here yesterday; and my first task is to assure my
+dear sister of my welfare, and increasing 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, and fills me with delight. Do you understand this
+feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions towards which
+I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes. Inspirited by
+this wind of promise, my day dreams become more fervent and vivid. I try
+in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and
+desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of
+beauty and delight. There, Margaret, the sun is for ever visible; its
+broad disk just skirting the horizon, and diffusing a perpetual
+splendour. There—for with your leave, my sister, I will put some trust
+in preceding navigators—there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing
+over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in
+beauty every region hitherto discovered on the habitable globe. Its
+productions and features may be without example, as the phænomena of the
+heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered solitudes. What
+may not be expected in a country of eternal light? I may there discover
+the wondrous power which attracts the needle; and may regulate a
+thousand celestial observations, that require only this voyage to render
+their seeming eccentricities consistent for ever. I shall satiate my
+ardent 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 my enticements, and they are sufficient to conquer all fear of
+danger or death, and to induce me to commence this laborious voyage with
+the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little boat, with his holiday
+mates, on an expedition of discovery 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 those countries, to reach which
+at present so many months are requisite; or by ascertaining the secret
+of the magnet, which, if at all possible, can only be effected 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; for nothing contributes so much to tranquillize the mind as a
+steady purpose,—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye.
+This expedition has been the favourite dream of my early years. I have
+read with ardour the accounts of the various voyages which have been
+made in the prospect of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean through the
+seas which surround the pole. You may remember, that a history of all
+the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the whole of our
+good uncle Thomas’s library. My education was neglected, yet I was
+passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study day and night,
+and my familiarity with them increased that regret which I had felt, as
+a child, on learning that my father’s dying injunction had forbidden my
+uncle to allow me to embark in a sea-faring life.
+
+These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets
+whose effusions entranced my soul, and lifted it to heaven. I also
+became a poet, and for one year lived in a Paradise of my own creation;
+I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the
+names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated. You are well acquainted
+with my failure, and how heavily I bore the disappointment. But just at
+that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my thoughts were
+turned into the channel of their earlier bent.
+
+Six years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking. I can,
+even now, 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 on several expeditions to the North Sea; I voluntarily
+endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep; I often worked harder
+than the common sailors during the day, and devoted my nights to the
+study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those branches of
+physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive the greatest
+practical advantage. Twice I actually hired myself as an under-mate in
+a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration. I must own I
+felt a little proud, when my captain offered me the second dignity in
+the vessel, and entreated me to remain with the greatest earnestness; so
+valuable did he consider my services.
+
+And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great
+purpose. My life might have been passed in ease and luxury; but I
+preferred glory to every enticement that wealth placed in my path. Oh,
+that some encouraging voice would answer in the affirmative! My courage
+and my resolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are
+often depressed. I am about to proceed on a long and difficult voyage;
+the emergencies of which will demand all my fortitude: I am required not
+only to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own,
+when their’s are failing.
+
+This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia. They fly
+quickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in
+my opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stage-coach. The
+cold is not excessive, if you are wrapt in furs, a dress which I have
+already adopted; for there is a great difference between walking the
+deck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exercise
+prevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins. 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 my
+intention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be done by paying
+the insurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors as I think
+necessary among those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing. I do not
+intend to sail until the month of June: and when shall I return? Ah,
+dear sister, how can I answer this question? If I succeed, many, many
+months, perhaps years, will pass before 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, and save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude for
+all your love and kindness.
+
+Your affectionate brother,
+
+R. WALTON.
+
+
+
+
+LETTER II.
+
+
+_To Mrs._ SAVILLE, _England_.
+
+Archangel, 28th March, 17—.
+
+How slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow;
+yet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a vessel,
+and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have already
+engaged appear to be 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 the
+absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil. I have
+no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success,
+there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by
+disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I
+shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium
+for the communication of feeling. I desire the company of a man who
+could sympathize with me; whose eyes would reply to mine. You may deem
+me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel the want of a friend. I
+have no one near me, gentle yet courageous, possessed of a cultivated as
+well as of a capacious mind, whose tastes are like my own, to approve
+or amend my plans. How would such a friend repair the faults of your
+poor 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 first fourteen years of my life I ran wild on a
+common, and read nothing but our uncle Thomas’s books of voyages. At
+that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own
+country; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive
+its most important benefits from such a conviction, that I perceived the
+necessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my
+native country. Now I am twenty-eight, and am in reality more illiterate
+than many school-boys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more,
+and that my day dreams are more extended and magnificent; but they want
+(as the painters call it) _keeping_; and I greatly need a friend who
+would have sense enough not to despise me as romantic, and affection
+enough for me to endeavour to regulate my mind.
+
+Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on
+the wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen.
+Yet some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in
+these rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful
+courage and enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory. He is an
+Englishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices,
+unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of
+humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel:
+finding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to
+assist in my enterprise.
+
+The master is a person of an excellent disposition, and is remarkable in
+the ship for his gentleness, and the mildness of his discipline. He is,
+indeed, of so amiable a nature, that he will not hunt (a favourite, and
+almost the only amusement here), because he cannot endure to spill
+blood. He is, moreover, heroically generous. Some years ago he loved a
+young Russian lady, of moderate fortune; and having amassed a
+considerable sum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the
+match. He saw his mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she
+was bathed 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, and that her father would never consent to the union. My
+generous friend reassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the
+name of her lover instantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought
+a farm with his money, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of
+his life; but he bestowed the whole on his rival, together with the
+remains of his prize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited
+the young woman’s father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But
+the old man decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my
+friend; who, when he found the father inexorable, quitted his country,
+nor returned until he heard that his former mistress was married
+according to her inclinations. “What a noble fellow!” you will exclaim.
+He is so; but then he has passed all his life on board a vessel, and has
+scarcely an idea beyond the rope and the shroud.
+
+But do not suppose that, because I complain a little, or because I can
+conceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am
+wavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate; and my voyage is
+only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation. The
+winter has been dreadfully severe; but the spring promises well, and it
+is considered as a remarkably early season; so that, perhaps, I may sail
+sooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly; you know me
+sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness 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 am going to unexplored regions, to “the land of
+mist and snow;” but I shall kill no albatross, therefore do not be
+alarmed for my safety.
+
+Shall I meet you again, after having traversed immense seas, and
+returned by the most southern cape of Africa or America? I dare not
+expect such success, yet I cannot bear to look on the reverse of the
+picture. Continue to write to me by every opportunity: I may receive
+your letters (though the chance is very doubtful) on some occasions when
+I need them most to 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 III.
+
+
+_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 my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchant-man now on
+its homeward voyage 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, and apparently firm of purpose; nor do the
+floating sheets of ice that continually pass 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 is the height of
+summer, and although not so warm as in England, the southern gales,
+which blow us speedily towards those shores which I so ardently desire
+to 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 breaking of a mast, are
+accidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record; and
+I shall be well content, if nothing worse happen to us during our
+voyage.
+
+Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured, that for my own sake, as well as
+your’s, I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool, persevering,
+and prudent.
+
+Remember me to all my English friends.
+
+Most affectionately yours,
+
+R. W.
+
+
+
+
+LETTER IV.
+
+
+_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 come into your possession.
+
+Last Monday (July 31st), we were nearly surrounded by ice, which closed
+in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her the sea room in which she
+floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as we were
+compassed round by a very thick fog. We accordingly lay to, hoping that
+some change would take place in the atmosphere and weather.
+
+About two o’clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out in
+every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice, which seemed to have
+no end. Some of my comrades groaned, and my own mind began to grow
+watchful with anxious thoughts, when a strange sight suddenly attracted
+our attention, and diverted our solicitude from our own situation. We
+perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by dogs, pass on
+towards the north, at the distance of half a mile: 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 the traveller
+with our telescopes, until he was lost among the distant inequalities of
+the ice.
+
+This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed,
+many hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote
+that it was not, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in,
+however, by ice, it was impossible to follow his track, which we had
+observed with the greatest attention.
+
+About two hours after this occurrence, we heard the ground sea; and
+before night the 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 about after the breaking up of the ice. I profited of
+this time to rest for a few hours.
+
+In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck, and
+found all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel, apparently talking
+to some one in the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge, like that we had seen
+before, which had drifted towards us in the night, on a large fragment
+of ice. Only one dog remained alive; but there was a human being within
+it, whom the sailors were persuading to enter the vessel. He was not, as
+the other traveller seemed to be, a savage inhabitant of some
+undiscovered island, but an European. When I appeared on deck, the
+master said, “Here is our captain, and he will not allow you to perish
+on the open sea.”
+
+On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English, although with a
+foreign accent. “Before I come on board your vessel,” said he, “will you
+have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?”
+
+You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question addressed to
+me from a man on the brink of destruction, and to whom I should have
+supposed that my vessel would have been a resource which he would not
+have exchanged for the most precious wealth the earth can afford. I
+replied, however, that we were on a voyage of discovery towards the
+northern pole.
+
+Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied, and consented to come on board.
+Good God! 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 his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and suffering. I
+never saw a man in so wretched a condition. We attempted to carry him
+into the cabin; but as soon as he had quitted the fresh air, he fainted.
+We accordingly brought him back to the deck, and restored him to
+animation by rubbing him with brandy, and forcing him to swallow a small
+quantity. As soon as he shewed signs of life, we wrapped him up in
+blankets, and placed him near the chimney of the kitchen-stove. By slow
+degrees 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
+feared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding. When he
+had in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin, and
+attended on him as much as my duty would permit. I never saw a more
+interesting creature: his eyes have generally an expression of wildness,
+and even madness; but there are moments when, if any one performs an act
+of kindness towards him, or does him any the most trifling service, his
+whole countenance is lighted up, as it were, with a beam of benevolence
+and sweetness that I never saw equalled. But he is generally melancholy
+and despairing; and sometimes he gnashes his teeth, as if impatient 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 be tormented by their idle curiosity, in a state of body
+and mind whose restoration evidently depended upon entire repose. Once,
+however, the lieutenant 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 he
+replied, “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 some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.”
+
+This aroused the stranger’s attention; and he asked a multitude of
+questions concerning the route which the dæmon, as he called him, had
+pursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said, “I have,
+doubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that of these good people;
+but you are too considerate to make inquiries.”
+
+“Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman in me to
+trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine.”
+
+“And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation; you have
+benevolently restored me to life.”
+
+Soon after this he inquired, if I thought that the breaking up of the
+ice had destroyed the other sledge? I replied, that I could not answer
+with any degree of certainty; for the ice had not broken until near
+midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety
+before that time; but of this I could not judge.
+
+From this time the stranger seemed very eager to be upon deck, to watch
+for the sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to
+remain in the cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness of
+the atmosphere. But I have promised that some one should watch for him,
+and give him instant notice if any new object should appear in sight.
+
+Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence up to the
+present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health, but is very
+silent, and appears uneasy when any one except myself enters his cabin.
+Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle, that the sailors are all
+interested in him, although they have had very little communication with
+him. For my own part, I begin to love him as a brother; and his constant
+and deep grief fills me with sympathy and compassion. He must have been
+a noble creature in his better days, being even now in wreck so
+attractive and amiable.
+
+I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no
+friend on the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit
+had been broken by misery, I should have been happy to have possessed as
+the brother of my heart.
+
+I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals, should
+I have any fresh incidents to record.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+August 13th, 17—.
+
+My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once my
+admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree. How can I see so noble
+a creature destroyed 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 words are culled with the choicest art, yet they
+flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.
+
+He is now much recovered from his illness, and is continually on the
+deck, apparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own. Yet,
+although unhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery, but
+that he interests himself deeply in the employments of others. He has
+asked me many questions concerning my design; and I have related my
+little history frankly to him. He appeared pleased with the confidence,
+and suggested several alterations in my plan, which I shall find
+exceedingly useful. There is no pedantry in his manner; but all he does
+appears to spring solely from the interest he instinctively takes in the
+welfare of those who surround him. He is often overcome by gloom, and
+then he sits by himself, and tries to overcome all that is sullen or
+unsocial in his humour. These paroxysms pass from him like a cloud from
+before the sun, though his dejection never leaves him. I have
+endeavoured to win his confidence; and I trust that I have succeeded.
+One day I mentioned to him the desire I had always felt of finding a
+friend who might sympathize with me, and direct me by his counsel. I
+said, I did not belong to that class of men who are offended by advice.
+“I am self-educated, and perhaps I hardly rely sufficiently upon my own
+powers. I wish therefore that my companion should be wiser and more
+experienced than myself, to confirm and support me; nor have I believed
+it impossible to find a true friend.”
+
+“I agree with you,” replied the stranger, “in believing that friendship
+is not only a desirable, but a possible acquisition. I once had a
+friend, the most noble of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore,
+to judge respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before you,
+and have no cause for despair. But I——I have lost every thing, and
+cannot begin life anew.”
+
+As he said this, his countenance became expressive of a calm settled
+grief, that touched 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
+the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight
+afforded by these wonderful regions, seems still to have the power of
+elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he may
+suffer misery, and be overwhelmed by disappointments; yet when he has
+retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit, that has a
+halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.
+
+Will you laugh at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine
+wanderer? If you do, you must have certainly lost that simplicity which
+was once your characteristic charm. Yet, if you will, smile at the
+warmth of my expressions, while I find every day new causes for
+repeating them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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, once, that the memory of these evils should die with me; but
+you have won me to 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 serpent to sting you, as mine has been. I do
+not know that the relation of my misfortunes will be useful to you, yet,
+if you are inclined, listen to my tale. I believe that the strange
+incidents connected with it will afford a view of nature, which may
+enlarge your faculties and understanding. You will hear of powers and
+occurrences, such as you have been accustomed to believe impossible: but
+I do not doubt that my tale conveys in its series internal evidence of
+the truth of the events of which it is composed.”
+
+You may easily conceive that I was much gratified by the offered
+communication; yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by
+a recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness to hear the
+promised narrative, partly from curiosity, and partly from a strong
+desire to ameliorate his fate, if it 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 is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event, and then I shall
+repose in peace. I understand your feeling,” continued he, perceiving
+that I wished to interrupt him; “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 how irrevocably it is determined.”
+
+He then told me, that he would commence his narrative the next day when
+I should be at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. I
+have resolved every night, when I am not engaged, to record, as nearly
+as possible in his own words, what he has related during the day. If I
+should be engaged, I will at least make notes. This manuscript will
+doubtless afford you the greatest pleasure: but to me, who know him, and
+who hear it from his own lips, with what interest and sympathy shall I
+read it in some future day!
+
+
+
+
+FRANKENSTEIN;
+
+OR,
+
+THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+I am by birth a Genevese; and my family is one of the most distinguished
+of that 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 indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger
+days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; and it was not
+until the decline of life that he thought of marrying, and bestowing on
+the state sons who might carry his virtues and his name down to
+posterity.
+
+As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot
+refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a
+merchant, who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous
+mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a
+proud and unbending disposition, and could not bear to live in poverty
+and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been
+distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts,
+therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter
+to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My
+father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship, and was deeply grieved
+by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He grieved also for
+the loss of his society, and resolved to seek him out and endeavour to
+persuade him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.
+
+Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself; and it was ten
+months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this
+discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean
+street, near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone
+welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the
+wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to provide him with
+sustenance for some months, and in the mean time he hoped to procure
+some respectable employment in a merchant’s house. The interval was
+consequently spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and
+rankling, when he had leisure for reflection; and at length it took so
+fast hold of his mind, that at the end of three months he lay on a bed
+of sickness, incapable of any exertion.
+
+His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness; but she saw with
+despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing, and that there
+was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind
+of an uncommon mould; and her courage rose to support her in her
+adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw; and by various
+means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to support life.
+
+Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time
+was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence
+decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving
+her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her; and she knelt
+by Beaufort’s coffin, weeping bitterly, when my father entered the
+chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who
+committed herself to his care, and after the interment of his friend he
+conducted her to Geneva, and placed her under the protection of a
+relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.
+
+When my father became a husband and a parent, he found his time so
+occupied by the duties of his new situation, that he relinquished many
+of his public employments, and devoted himself to the education of his
+children. Of these I was the eldest, and the destined successor to all
+his labours and utility. No creature could have more tender parents than
+mine. My improvement and health were their constant care, especially as
+I remained for several years their only child. But before I continue my
+narrative, I must record an incident which took place when I was four
+years of age.
+
+My father had a sister, whom he tenderly loved, and who had married
+early in life an Italian gentleman. Soon after her marriage, she had
+accompanied her husband into her native country, and for some years my
+father had very little communication with her. About the time I
+mentioned she died; and a few months afterwards he received a letter
+from her husband, acquainting him with his intention of marrying an
+Italian lady, and requesting my father to take charge of the infant
+Elizabeth, the only child of his deceased sister. “It is my wish,” he
+said, “that you should consider her as your own daughter, and educate
+her thus. Her mother’s fortune is secured to her, the documents of which
+I will commit to your keeping. Reflect upon this proposition; and decide
+whether you would prefer educating your niece yourself to her being
+brought up by a stepmother.”
+
+My father did not hesitate, and immediately went to Italy, that he
+might accompany the little Elizabeth to her future home. I have often
+heard my mother say, that she was at that time the most beautiful child
+she had ever seen, and shewed signs even then of a gentle and
+affectionate disposition. These indications, and a desire to bind as
+closely as possible the ties of domestic love, determined my mother to
+consider Elizabeth as my future wife; a design which she never found
+reason to repent.
+
+From this time Elizabeth Lavenza became my playfellow, and, as we grew
+older, my friend. She was docile and good tempered, yet gay and playful
+as a summer insect. Although she was lively and animated, her feelings
+were strong and deep, and her disposition uncommonly affectionate. No
+one could better enjoy liberty, yet no one could submit with more grace
+than she did to constraint and caprice. Her imagination was luxuriant,
+yet her capability of application was great. Her person was the image of
+her mind; her hazel eyes, although as lively as a bird’s, possessed an
+attractive softness. Her figure was light and airy; and, though capable
+of enduring great fatigue, she appeared the most fragile creature in the
+world. While I admired her understanding and fancy, I loved to tend on
+her, as I should on a favourite animal; and I never saw so much grace
+both of person and mind united to so little pretension.
+
+Every one adored Elizabeth. If the servants had any request to make, it
+was always through her intercession. We were strangers to any species of
+disunion and dispute; for although there was a great dissimilitude in
+our characters, there was an harmony in that very dissimilitude. I was
+more calm and philosophical than my companion; yet my temper was not so
+yielding. My application was of longer endurance; but it was not so
+severe whilst it endured. I delighted in investigating the facts
+relative to the actual world; she busied herself in following the aërial
+creations of the poets. The world was to me a secret, which I desired to
+discover; to her it was a vacancy, which she sought to people with
+imaginations of her own.
+
+My brothers were considerably younger than myself; but I had a friend
+in one of my schoolfellows, who compensated for this deficiency. Henry
+Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva, an intimate friend of my
+father. He was a boy of singular talent and fancy. I remember, when he
+was nine years old, he wrote a fairy tale, which was the delight and
+amazement of all his companions. His favourite study consisted in books
+of chivalry and romance; and when very young, I can remember, that we
+used to act plays composed by him out of these favourite books, the
+principal characters of which were Orlando, Robin Hood, Amadis, and St.
+George.
+
+No youth could have passed more happily than mine. My parents were
+indulgent, and my companions amiable. Our studies were never forced; and
+by some means we always had an end placed in view, which excited us to
+ardour in the prosecution of them. It was by this method, and not by
+emulation, that we were urged to application. Elizabeth was not incited
+to apply herself to drawing, that her companions might not outstrip her;
+but through the desire of pleasing her aunt, by the representation of
+some favourite scene done by her own hand. We learned Latin and English,
+that we might read the writings in those languages; and so far from
+study being made odious to us through punishment, we loved application,
+and our amusements would have been the labours of other children.
+Perhaps we did not read so many books, or learn languages so quickly, as
+those who are disciplined according to the ordinary methods; but what
+we learned was impressed the more deeply on our memories.
+
+In this description of our domestic circle I include Henry Clerval; for
+he was constantly with us. He went to school with me, and generally
+passed the afternoon at our house; for being an only child, and
+destitute of companions at home, his father was well pleased that he
+should find associates at our house; and we were never completely happy
+when Clerval was absent.
+
+I feel pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, before
+misfortune had tainted my mind, and changed its bright visions of
+extensive usefulness into gloomy and narrow reflections upon self. But,
+in drawing the picture of my early days, I must not omit to record those
+events which led, by insensible steps to my after tale of misery: for
+when I would account to myself for the birth of that passion, which
+afterwards ruled my destiny, I find it arise, like a mountain river,
+from ignoble and almost forgotten sources; but, swelling as it
+proceeded, it became the torrent which, in its course, has swept 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
+predilection for that science. When I was thirteen years of age, we all
+went on a party of pleasure to the baths near Thonon: the inclemency of
+the weather obliged us to remain a day confined to the inn. In this
+house I chanced to find a volume of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I
+opened it with apathy; the theory which he attempts to demonstrate, and
+the wonderful facts which he relates, soon changed this feeling into
+enthusiasm. A new light seemed to dawn upon my mind; and, bounding with
+joy, I communicated my discovery to my father. I cannot help remarking
+here the many opportunities instructors possess of directing the
+attention of their pupils to useful knowledge, which they utterly
+neglect. My father looked carelessly at the title-page of my book, and
+said, “Ah! Cornelius Agrippa! My dear 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, that the principles of Agrippa had been entirely exploded, and that
+a modern system of science had been introduced, which possessed much
+greater powers than the ancient, because the powers of the latter were
+chimerical, while those of the former were real and practical; under
+such circumstances, I should certainly have thrown Agrippa aside, and,
+with my imagination warmed as it was, should probably have applied
+myself to the more rational theory of chemistry which has resulted from
+modern discoveries. It is even possible, that the train of my ideas
+would never have received the fatal impulse that led to my ruin. But the
+cursory glance my father had taken of my volume by no means assured me
+that he was acquainted with its contents; and I continued to read with
+the greatest avidity.
+
+When I returned home, my first care was to procure the whole works of
+this author, and afterwards of Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus. I read
+and studied the wild fancies of these writers with delight; they
+appeared to me treasures known to few beside myself; and although I
+often wished to communicate these secret stores of knowledge to my
+father, yet his indefinite censure of my favourite Agrippa always
+withheld me. I disclosed my discoveries to Elizabeth, therefore, under a
+promise of strict secrecy; but she did not interest herself in the
+subject, and I was left by her to pursue my studies alone.
+
+It may appear very strange, that a disciple of Albertus Magnus should
+arise in the eighteenth century; but our family was not scientifical,
+and I had not attended any of the lectures given at the schools of
+Geneva. My dreams were therefore undisturbed by reality; and I entered
+with the greatest diligence into the search of the philosopher’s stone
+and the elixir of life. But the latter obtained my most undivided
+attention: wealth was an inferior object; but what glory would attend
+the discovery, if I could banish disease from the human frame, and
+render man invulnerable to any but a violent death!
+
+Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a
+promise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of
+which I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always
+unsuccessful, I attributed the failure rather to my own inexperience and
+mistake, than to a want of skill or fidelity in my instructors.
+
+The natural phænomena that take place every day before our eyes did not
+escape my examinations. Distillation, and the wonderful effects of
+steam, processes of which my favourite authors were utterly ignorant,
+excited my astonishment; but my utmost wonder was engaged by some
+experiments on an air-pump, which I saw employed by a gentleman whom we
+were in the habit of visiting.
+
+The ignorance of the early philosophers on these and several other
+points served to decrease their credit with me: but I could not entirely
+throw them aside, before some other system should occupy their place in
+my mind.
+
+When I was about fifteen years old, we had retired to our house near
+Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunder-storm. It
+advanced from behind the mountains of Jura; and the thunder burst at
+once with frightful loudness from various quarters of the heavens. I
+remained, while the storm lasted, watching its progress with curiosity
+and delight. As I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of
+fire issue from an old and beautiful oak, which stood about twenty yards
+from our house; and so soon as the dazzling light vanished, the oak had
+disappeared, and nothing remained but a blasted stump. When we visited
+it the next morning, we found the tree shattered in a singular manner.
+It was not splintered by the shock, but entirely reduced to thin
+ribbands of wood. I never beheld any thing so utterly destroyed.
+
+The catastrophe of this tree excited my extreme astonishment; and I
+eagerly inquired of my father the nature and origin of thunder and
+lightning. He replied, “Electricity;” describing at the same time the
+various effects of that power. He constructed a small electrical
+machine, and exhibited a few experiments; he made also a kite, with a
+wire and string, which drew down that fluid from the clouds.
+
+This last stroke completed the overthrow of Cornelius Agrippa, Albertus
+Magnus, and Paracelsus, who had so long reigned the lords of my
+imagination. But by some fatality I did not feel inclined to commence
+the study of any modern system; and this disinclination was influenced
+by the following circumstance.
+
+My father expressed a wish that I should attend a course of lectures
+upon natural philosophy, to which I cheerfully consented. Some accident
+prevented my attending these lectures until the course was nearly
+finished. The lecture, being therefore one of the last, was entirely
+incomprehensible to me. The professor discoursed with the greatest
+fluency of potassium and boron, of sulphates and oxyds, terms to which I
+could affix no idea; and I became disgusted with the science of natural
+philosophy, although I still read Pliny and Buffon with delight,
+authors, in my estimation, of nearly equal interest and utility.
+
+My occupations at this age were principally the mathematics, and most of
+the branches of study appertaining to that science. I was busily
+employed in learning languages; Latin was already familiar to me, and I
+began to read some of the easiest Greek authors without the help of a
+lexicon. I also perfectly understood English and German. This is the
+list of my accomplishments at the age of seventeen; and you may conceive
+that my hours were fully employed in acquiring and maintaining a
+knowledge of this various literature.
+
+Another task also devolved upon me, when I became the instructor of my
+brothers. Ernest was six years younger than myself, and was my principal
+pupil. He had been afflicted with ill health from his infancy, through
+which Elizabeth and I had been his constant nurses: his disposition was
+gentle, but he was incapable of any severe application. William, the
+youngest of our family, was yet an infant, and the most beautiful little
+fellow in the world; his lively blue eyes, dimpled cheeks, and endearing
+manners, inspired the tenderest affection.
+
+Such was our domestic circle, from which care and pain seemed for ever
+banished. My father directed our studies, and my mother partook of our
+enjoyments. Neither of us possessed the slightest pre-eminence over the
+other; the voice of command was never heard amongst us; but mutual
+affection engaged us all to comply with and obey the slightest desire of
+each other.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+When I had attained the age of seventeen, my parents resolved that I
+should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto
+attended the schools of Geneva; but my father thought it necessary, for
+the completion of my education, that I should be made acquainted with
+other customs than those of my native country. My departure was
+therefore fixed at an early date; but, before the day resolved upon
+could arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred—an omen, as it
+were, of my future misery.
+
+Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; but her illness was not severe,
+and she quickly recovered. During her confinement, many arguments had
+been urged to persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She
+had, at first, yielded to our entreaties; but when she heard that her
+favourite was recovering, she could no longer debar herself from her
+society, and entered her chamber long before the danger of infection was
+past. The consequences of this imprudence were fatal. On the third day
+my mother sickened; her fever was very malignant, and the looks of her
+attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her death-bed the
+fortitude and benignity of this admirable woman did not desert her. She
+joined the hands of Elizabeth and myself: “My children,” she said, “my
+firmest hopes of future happiness were placed on the prospect of your
+union. This expectation will now be the consolation of your father.
+Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to your younger cousins.
+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 will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to death, and
+will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.”
+
+She died calmly; and her countenance expressed affection even in death.
+I need not describe the feelings of those whose dearest ties are rent by
+that most irreparable evil, the void that presents itself to the soul,
+and the despair that is exhibited on the countenance. It is so long
+before the mind can persuade itself that she, whom we saw every day, and
+whose very existence appeared a part of our own, can have departed for
+ever—that the brightness of a beloved eye can have been extinguished,
+and the sound of a voice so familiar, and dear to the ear, can be
+hushed, never more to be heard. These are the reflections of the first
+days; but when the lapse of time proves the reality of the evil, then
+the actual bitterness of grief commences. Yet from whom has not that
+rude hand rent away some dear connexion; and why should I describe a
+sorrow which all have felt, and must feel? The time at length arrives,
+when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile that
+plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not
+banished. My mother was dead, but we had still duties which we ought to
+perform; we must continue our course with the rest, and learn to think
+ourselves fortunate, whilst one remains whom the spoiler has not seized.
+
+My journey to Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events, was
+now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of some
+weeks. This period was spent sadly; my mother’s death, and my speedy
+departure, depressed our spirits; but Elizabeth endeavoured to renew the
+spirit of cheerfulness in our little society. Since the death of her
+aunt, her mind had acquired new firmness and vigour. She determined to
+fulfil her duties with the greatest exactness; and she felt that that
+most imperious duty, of rendering her uncle and cousins happy, had
+devolved upon her. She consoled me, amused her uncle, instructed my
+brothers; and I never beheld her so enchanting as at this time, when she
+was continually endeavouring to contribute to the happiness of others,
+entirely forgetful of herself.
+
+The day of my departure at length arrived. I had taken leave of all my
+friends, excepting Clerval, who spent the last evening with us. He
+bitterly lamented that he was unable to accompany me: but his father
+could not be persuaded to part with him, intending that he should become
+a partner with him in business, in compliance with his favourite theory,
+that learning was superfluous in the commerce of ordinary life. Henry
+had a refined mind; he had no desire to be idle, and was well pleased to
+become his father’s partner, but he believed that a man might be a very
+good trader, and yet possess a cultivated understanding.
+
+We sat late, listening to his complaints, and making many little
+arrangements for the future. The next morning early I departed. Tears
+gushed from the eyes of Elizabeth; they proceeded partly from sorrow at
+my departure, and partly because she reflected that the same journey was
+to have taken place three months before, when a mother’s blessing would
+have accompanied me.
+
+I threw myself into the chaise that was to convey me away, and indulged
+in the most melancholy reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by
+amiable companions, continually engaged in endeavouring to bestow
+mutual pleasure, I was now alone. In the university, whither I was
+going, I must form my own friends, and be my own protector. My life had
+hitherto been remarkably secluded and domestic; and this had given me
+invincible repugnance to new countenances. I loved my brothers,
+Elizabeth, and Clerval; these were “old familiar faces;” but I believed
+myself totally unfitted for the company of strangers. Such were my
+reflections as I commenced my journey; but as I proceeded, my spirits
+and hopes rose. I ardently desired the acquisition of knowledge. I had
+often, when at home, thought it hard to remain during my youth cooped up
+in one place, and had longed to enter the world, and take my station
+among other human beings. Now my desires were complied with, and it
+would, indeed, have been folly to repent.
+
+I had sufficient leisure for these and many other reflections during my
+journey to Ingolstadt, which was long and fatiguing. At length the high
+white steeple of the town met my eyes. I alighted, and was conducted to
+my solitary apartment, to spend the evening as I pleased.
+
+The next morning I delivered my letters of introduction, and paid a
+visit to some of the principal professors, and among others to M.
+Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He received me with politeness,
+and asked me several questions concerning my progress in the different
+branches of science appertaining to natural philosophy. I mentioned, it
+is true, with fear and trembling, the only authors I had ever read upon
+those subjects. 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 entirely lost. 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 to inform you that these fancies, which you have
+so greedily imbibed, are a thousand years old, and as musty as they are
+ancient? I little expected in this enlightened and scientific age to
+find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear Sir, you must
+begin your studies entirely anew.”
+
+So saying, he stept aside, and wrote down a list of several books
+treating of natural philosophy, which he desired me to procure, and
+dismissed me, after mentioning that in the beginning of the following
+week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural
+philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a
+fellow-professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that
+he missed.
+
+I returned home, not disappointed, for I had long considered those
+authors useless whom the professor had so strongly reprobated; but I did
+not feel much inclined to study the books which I procured at his
+recommendation. M. Krempe was a little squat man, with a gruff voice and
+repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in
+favour of his doctrine. Besides, I had a contempt for the uses of modern
+natural philosophy. It was very different, when the masters of the
+science sought immortality and power; such views, although futile, were
+grand: but now the scene was changed. The ambition of the inquirer
+seemed to limit itself to the annihilation of those visions on which my
+interest in science was chiefly founded. I was required to exchange
+chimeras of boundless grandeur for realities of little worth.
+
+Such were my reflections during the first two or three days spent almost
+in solitude. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the
+information which M. Krempe had given me concerning the lectures. And
+although I could not consent to go and hear that little conceited fellow
+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 his colleague. He appeared about fifty years of age, but
+with an aspect expressive of the greatest benevolence; a few gray hairs
+covered his temples, but those at the back of his head were nearly
+black. His person was short, but remarkably erect; and his voice the
+sweetest I had ever heard. He began his lecture by a recapitulation of
+the history of chemistry and the various improvements made by different
+men of learning, pronouncing with fervour the names of the most
+distinguished discoverers. He then took a cursory view of the present
+state of the science, and explained many of its elementary terms. After
+having made a few preparatory 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, and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very
+little; they know that metals cannot be transmuted, and that the elixir
+of life is a chimera. But these philosophers, whose hands seem only made
+to dabble in dirt, and their eyes to pour over the microscope or
+crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the
+recesses of nature, and shew how she works in her hiding places. They
+ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates,
+and the nature of the air we breathe. They have acquired new and almost
+unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the
+earthquake, and even mock the invisible world with its own shadows.”
+
+I departed highly pleased with the professor and his lecture, and paid
+him a visit the same evening. His manners in private were even more mild
+and attractive than in public; for there was a certain dignity in his
+mien during his lecture, which in his own house was replaced by the
+greatest affability and kindness. He heard with attention my little
+narration concerning my studies, and smiled at the names of Cornelius
+Agrippa, and Paracelsus, but without the contempt that M. Krempe had
+exhibited. He said, that “these were men to whose indefatigable zeal
+modern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their
+knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give new names,
+and arrange in connected classifications, the facts which they in a
+great degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The labours
+of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in
+ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.” I listened to his
+statement, which was delivered without any presumption or affectation;
+and then added, that his lecture had removed my prejudices against
+modern chemists; and I, at the same time, requested his advice
+concerning the books I ought to procure.
+
+“I am happy,” said M. Waldman, “to have gained a disciple; and if your
+application equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success.
+Chemistry is that branch of natural philosophy in which the greatest
+improvements have been and 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 man would make but a very
+sorry chemist, if he attended to that department of human knowledge
+alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science, and not merely
+a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of
+natural philosophy, including mathematics.”
+
+He then took me into his laboratory, and explained to me the uses of
+his various machines; instructing me as to what I ought to procure, and
+promising me the use of his own, when I should have advanced far enough
+in the science not to derange their mechanism. He also gave me the list
+of books which I had requested; and I took my leave.
+
+Thus ended a day memorable to me; it decided my future destiny.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+From this day natural philosophy, and particularly chemistry, in the
+most comprehensive sense of the term, became nearly my sole occupation.
+I read with ardour those works, so full of genius and discrimination,
+which modern inquirers have written on these subjects. I attended the
+lectures, and cultivated the acquaintance, of the men of science of the
+university; and I found 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 that account the less valuable. In M. Waldman I
+found a true friend. His gentleness was never tinged by dogmatism; and
+his instructions were given with an air of frankness and good nature,
+that banished every idea of pedantry. It was, perhaps, the amiable
+character of this man that inclined me more to that branch of natural
+philosophy which he professed, than an intrinsic love for the science
+itself. But this state of mind had place only in the first steps towards
+knowledge: the more fully I entered into the science, the more
+exclusively I pursued it for its own sake. That application, which at
+first had been a matter of duty and resolution, now became so ardent and
+eager, that the stars often disappeared in the light of morning whilst
+I was yet engaged in my laboratory.
+
+As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that I improved
+rapidly. My ardour was indeed the astonishment of the students; and my
+proficiency, that of the masters. Professor Krempe often asked me, with
+a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa went on? whilst M. Waldman expressed
+the most heart-felt exultation in my progress. Two years passed in this
+manner, during which I paid no visit to Geneva, but was engaged, heart
+and soul, in the pursuit of some discoveries, which I hoped to make.
+None but those who have experienced them can conceive of the enticements
+of science. In other studies you go as far as others have gone before
+you, and there is nothing more to know; but in a scientific pursuit
+there is continual food for discovery and wonder. A mind of moderate
+capacity, which closely pursues one study, must infallibly arrive at
+great proficiency in that study; and I, who continually sought the
+attainment of one object of pursuit, and was solely wrapt up in this,
+improved so rapidly, that, at the end of two years, I made some
+discoveries in the improvement of some chemical instruments, which
+procured me great esteem and admiration at the university. When I had
+arrived at this point, and had become as well acquainted with the theory
+and practice of natural philosophy as depended on the lessons of any of
+the professors at Ingolstadt, my residence there being no longer
+conducive to my improvements, I thought of returning to my friends and
+my native town, when an incident happened that protracted my stay.
+
+One of the phænonema which had peculiarly attracted my attention was the
+structure 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 bold question, and one which has ever been considered as a mystery;
+yet with how many things are we upon the brink of becoming acquainted,
+if cowardice or carelessness did not restrain our inquiries. I revolved
+these circumstances in my mind, and determined thenceforth to apply
+myself more particularly to those branches of natural philosophy which
+relate to physiology. Unless I had been animated by an almost
+supernatural enthusiasm, my application to this study would 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 of
+anatomy: but this was not sufficient; I must also observe the natural
+decay and corruption of the human body. In my education my father had
+taken the greatest precautions that my mind should be impressed with no
+supernatural horrors. I do not ever remember to have trembled at a tale
+of superstition, or to have feared the apparition of a spirit. Darkness
+had no effect upon my fancy; and a church-yard 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 I was led to
+examine the cause and progress of this decay, and forced to spend days
+and nights in vaults and charnel houses. My attention was fixed upon
+every object the most insupportable to the delicacy of the human
+feelings. I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I
+beheld the corruption of death succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I
+saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and brain. I paused,
+examining and analysing all the minutiæ of causation, 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 light so brilliant
+and wondrous, yet so simple, that while I became dizzy with the
+immensity of the prospect which it illustrated, I was surprised that
+among so many 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
+more certainly shine in the heavens, than that which I now affirm is
+true. Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of the
+discovery were distinct and probable. After days and nights of
+incredible labour and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of
+generation and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing
+animation upon lifeless matter.
+
+The astonishment which I had at first experienced on this discovery soon
+gave place to delight and rapture. After so much time spent in painful
+labour, to arrive at once at the summit of my desires, was the most
+gratifying consummation of my toils. But this discovery was so great
+and overwhelming, that all the steps by which I had been progressively
+led to it were obliterated, and I beheld only the result. What had been
+the study and desire of the wisest men since the creation of the world,
+was now within my grasp. Not that, like a magic scene, it all opened
+upon me at once: the information I had obtained was of a nature rather
+to direct my endeavours so soon as I should point them towards the
+object of my search, than to exhibit that object already accomplished. I
+was like 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, my friend, that you expect to be informed of the secret with
+which I am acquainted; that cannot be: listen patiently until the end of
+my story, and you will easily perceive why I am reserved upon that
+subject. I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was, to
+your destruction and infallible misery. Learn from me, if not by my
+precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of
+knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town
+to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature
+will allow.
+
+When I found so astonishing a power placed within my hands, I hesitated
+a long time concerning the manner in which I should employ it. Although
+I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to prepare a frame
+for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of fibres, muscles,
+and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable difficulty and labour.
+I doubted at first whether I should attempt the creation of a being like
+myself or one of simpler organization; but my imagination was too much
+exalted by my first success to permit me to doubt of my ability to give
+life to an animal as complex and wonderful as man. The materials at
+present within my command hardly appeared adequate to so arduous an
+undertaking; but I doubted not that I should ultimately succeed. I
+prepared myself for a multitude of reverses; my operations might be
+incessantly baffled, and at last my work be imperfect: yet, when I
+considered the improvement which every day takes place in science and
+mechanics, I was encouraged to hope my present attempts would at least
+lay the foundations of future success. Nor could I consider the
+magnitude and complexity of my plan as any argument of its
+impracticability. It was with these feelings that I began the creation
+of a human being. As the minuteness of the parts formed a great
+hindrance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first intention, to
+make the being of a gigantic stature; that is to say, about eight feet
+in height, and proportionably large. After having formed this
+determination, and having spent some months in successfully collecting
+and arranging my materials, I began.
+
+No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like
+a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death appeared
+to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a
+torrent of light into 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 could claim the gratitude of his child so
+completely as I should deserve their’s. Pursuing these reflections, I
+thought, that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might
+in process of time (although I now found it impossible) renew life where
+death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.
+
+These thoughts supported my spirits, while I pursued my undertaking with
+unremitting ardour. My cheek had grown pale with study, and my person
+had become emaciated with confinement. Sometimes, on the very brink of
+certainty, I failed; yet still I clung to the hope which the next day or
+the next hour might realize. One secret which I alone possessed was the
+hope to which I had dedicated myself; and the moon gazed on my midnight
+labours, while, with unrelaxed and breathless eagerness, I pursued
+nature to her hiding places. Who shall conceive the horrors of my secret
+toil, as I dabbled among the unhallowed damps 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 a resistless, and almost
+frantic impulse, urged me forward; I seemed to have lost all soul or
+sensation but for this one pursuit. It was indeed but a passing trance,
+that only made me feel with renewed acuteness so soon as, the unnatural
+stimulus ceasing to operate, I had returned to my old habits. I
+collected bones from charnel houses; and disturbed, with profane
+fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human frame. In a solitary
+chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house, and separated from all
+the other apartments by a gallery and staircase, I kept my workshop of
+filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from their sockets in
+attending to the details of my employment. The dissecting room and the
+slaughter-house furnished many of my materials; and often did my human
+nature turn with loathing from my occupation, whilst, still urged on by
+an eagerness which perpetually increased, I brought my work near to a
+conclusion.
+
+The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in
+one pursuit. It was a most beautiful season; never did the fields bestow
+a more plentiful harvest, or the vines yield a more luxuriant vintage:
+but my eyes were insensible to the charms of nature. And the same
+feelings which made me neglect the scenes around me caused me also to
+forget those friends who were so many miles absent, and whom I had not
+seen for so long a time. I knew my silence disquieted them; and I well
+remembered the words of my father: “I know that while you are pleased
+with yourself, you will think of us with affection, and we shall hear
+regularly from you. You must pardon me, if I regard any interruption in
+your correspondence as a proof that your other duties are equally
+neglected.”
+
+I knew well therefore what would be my father’s feelings; but I could
+not tear my thoughts from my employment, loathsome in itself, but which
+had taken an irresistible hold of my imagination. I wished, as it were,
+to procrastinate all that related to my feelings of affection until the
+great object, which swallowed up every habit of my nature, should be
+completed.
+
+I then thought that my father would be unjust if he ascribed my neglect
+to vice, or faultiness on my part; but I am now convinced that he was
+justified in conceiving that I should not be altogether free from blame.
+A human being in perfection ought always to preserve a calm and peaceful
+mind, and never to allow passion or a transitory desire to disturb his
+tranquillity. I do not think that the pursuit of knowledge is an
+exception to this rule. If the study to which you apply yourself has a
+tendency to weaken your affections, and to destroy your taste for those
+simple pleasures in which no alloy can possibly mix, then that study is
+certainly unlawful, that is to say, not befitting the human mind. If
+this rule were always observed; if no man allowed any pursuit
+whatsoever to interfere with the tranquillity of his domestic
+affections, Greece had not been enslaved; Cæsar would have spared his
+country; America would have been discovered more gradually; and the
+empires of Mexico and Peru had not been destroyed.
+
+But I forget that I am moralizing in the most interesting part of my
+tale; and your looks remind me to proceed.
+
+My father made no reproach in his letters; and only took notice of my
+silence by inquiring into my occupations more particularly than before.
+Winter, spring, and summer, passed away during my labours; but I did not
+watch the blossom or the expanding leaves—sights which before always
+yielded me supreme delight, so deeply was I engrossed in my occupation.
+The leaves of that year had withered before my work drew near to a
+close; and now every day shewed me more plainly how well I had
+succeeded. But my enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and I appeared
+rather like one doomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any other
+unwholesome trade, than an artist occupied by his favourite employment.
+Every night I was oppressed by a slow fever, and I became nervous to a
+most painful degree; a disease that I regretted the more because I had
+hitherto enjoyed most excellent health, and had always boasted of the
+firmness of my nerves. But I believed that exercise and amusement would
+soon drive away such symptoms; and I promised myself both of these, when
+my creation should be complete.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+It was on a dreary night of November, that I beheld the accomplishment
+of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected
+the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being
+into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the
+morning; the rain pattered 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 the creature open; it breathed hard, and a
+convulsive motion agitated its limbs.
+
+How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe, or how delineate the
+wretch whom with such infinite pains and care I had endeavoured to form?
+His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as
+beautiful. Beautiful!—Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the
+work of muscles and arteries beneath; his hair was of a lustrous black,
+and flowing; his teeth of a pearly whiteness; but these luxuriances only
+formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, that seemed almost
+of the same colour as the dun white sockets in which they were set, his
+shrivelled complexion, and straight black lips.
+
+The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of
+human nature. I had worked hard for nearly two years, for the sole
+purpose of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived
+myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far
+exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the
+dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart.
+Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of
+the room, and continued a long time traversing my bed-chamber, unable
+to compose my mind to sleep. At length lassitude succeeded to the
+tumult I had before endured; and I threw myself on the bed in my
+clothes, endeavouring to seek a few moments of forgetfulness. But it was
+in vain: I slept indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I
+thought I saw 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 on her lips, they became livid with the hue of
+death; her features appeared to change, and I thought that I held the
+corpse of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud enveloped her form, and I
+saw the grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I started from
+my sleep with horror; a cold dew covered my forehead, my teeth
+chattered, and every limb became convulsed; when, by the dim and 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
+the curtain 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 grin wrinkled his cheeks. He might have spoken, but I did not
+hear; one hand was stretched out, seemingly to detain me, but I escaped,
+and rushed down stairs. I took refuge in the court-yard belonging to the
+house which I inhabited; where I remained during the rest of the night,
+walking up and down in the greatest agitation, listening attentively,
+catching and fearing each sound as if it were to announce the approach
+of the demoniacal corpse to which I had so miserably given life.
+
+Oh! no mortal could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy
+again endued with animation could not be so hideous as that wretch. I
+had gazed on him while unfinished; he was ugly then; but when those
+muscles and joints were rendered capable of motion, it became a thing
+such as even Dante could not have conceived.
+
+I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly and
+hardly, that I felt the palpitation of every artery; at others, I nearly
+sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. Mingled with
+this horror, I felt the bitterness of disappointment: dreams that had
+been my food and pleasant rest for so long a space, were now become a
+hell to me; and the change was so rapid, the overthrow so complete!
+
+Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned, and discovered to my
+sleepless and aching eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple
+and clock, which indicated the sixth hour. The porter opened the gates
+of the court, which had that night been my asylum, and I issued into the
+streets, pacing them with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the
+wretch whom I feared every turning of the street would present to my
+view. I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited, but felt
+impelled to hurry on, although wetted by the rain, which poured from a
+black and comfortless sky.
+
+I continued walking in this manner for some time, endeavouring, by
+bodily exercise, to ease the load that weighed upon my mind. I
+traversed the streets, without any clear conception of where I was, or
+what I was doing. My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear; and I
+hurried on with irregular steps, not daring to look about me:
+
+    Like one who, on a lonely road,
+      Doth walk in fear and dread,
+    And, having once turn’d round, walks on,
+      And turns no more his head;
+    Because he knows a frightful fiend
+      Doth close behind him tread.
+
+Continuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the
+various diligences and carriages usually stopped. Here I paused, I knew
+not why; but I remained some minutes with my eyes fixed on a coach that
+was coming towards me from the other end of the street. As it drew
+nearer, I observed that it was the Swiss diligence: it stopped just
+where I was standing; and, on the door being opened, I perceived Henry
+Clerval, who, on seeing me, instantly sprung out. “My dear
+Frankenstein,” exclaimed he, “how glad I am to see you! how fortunate
+that you should be here at the very moment of my alighting!”
+
+Nothing could equal my delight on seeing Clerval; his presence brought
+back to my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all those scenes of home
+so dear to my recollection. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot
+my horror and misfortune; I felt suddenly, and for the first time during
+many months, calm and serene joy. I welcomed my friend, therefore, in
+the most cordial manner, and we walked towards my college. Clerval
+continued talking for some time about our mutual friends, and his own
+good fortune in being permitted to come to Ingolstadt. “You may easily
+believe,” said he, “how great was the difficulty to persuade my father
+that it was not absolutely necessary for a merchant not to understand
+any thing except 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 the Dutch schoolmaster in the Vicar
+of Wakefield: ‘I have ten thousand florins a year without Greek, I eat
+heartily without Greek.’ But his affection for me at length overcame his
+dislike of learning, and he has permitted me to undertake a voyage of
+discovery to the land of knowledge.”
+
+“It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left
+my father, brothers, and Elizabeth.”
+
+“Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from you
+so seldom. By the bye, I mean to lecture you a little upon their account
+myself.—But, my dear Frankenstein,” continued he, stopping short, and
+gazing full in my face, “I did not before remark how very ill you
+appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for
+several nights.”
+
+“You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one
+occupation, that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see:
+but I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an
+end, and that I am at length free.”
+
+I trembled excessively; I could not endure to think of, and far less to
+allude to the occurrences of the preceding night. I walked with a quick
+pace, and we soon 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, alive, and walking about. I dreaded to
+behold this monster; but I feared still more that Henry should see him.
+Entreating him therefore to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the
+stairs, I darted up towards my own room. My hand was already on the lock
+of the door before I recollected myself. I then paused; and a cold
+shivering came over me. I threw the door forcibly open, as children are
+accustomed to do when they expect a spectre to stand in waiting for them
+on the other side; but nothing appeared. I stepped fearfully in: the
+apartment was empty; and my bedroom was also freed from its hideous
+guest. I could hardly believe that so great a good-fortune could have
+befallen me; but when I became assured that my enemy had indeed fled, I
+clapped my hands for joy, and ran down to Clerval.
+
+We ascended into my room, and the servant presently brought breakfast;
+but I was unable to contain myself. It was not joy only that possessed
+me; I felt my flesh tingle with excess of sensitiveness, and my pulse
+beat rapidly. I was unable to remain for a single instant in the same
+place; I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud.
+Clerval at first attributed my unusual spirits to joy on his arrival;
+but when he observed me more attentively, he saw a wildness in my eyes
+for which he could not account; and my loud, unrestrained, heartless
+laughter, frightened and astonished him.
+
+“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what, for God’s sake, is the matter? Do not
+laugh in 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 saw the dreaded spectre glide into the room; “_he_ can tell.—Oh, save
+me! save me!” I imagined that the monster seized me; I struggled
+furiously, and fell down in a fit.
+
+Poor Clerval! what must have been his feelings? A meeting, which he
+anticipated with such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I was
+not the witness of his grief; for I was lifeless, and did not recover my
+senses for a long, long time.
+
+This was the commencement of a nervous fever, which confined me for
+several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. I
+afterwards learned that, knowing my father’s advanced age, and unfitness
+for so long a journey, and how wretched my sickness would make
+Elizabeth, he spared them this grief by concealing the extent of my
+disorder. He knew that I could not have a more kind and 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 action that
+he could towards them.
+
+But I was in reality very ill; and surely nothing but the unbounded and
+unremitting attentions of my friend could have restored me to life. The
+form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was for ever before
+my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him. Doubtless my words
+surprised Henry: he at first believed them to be the wanderings of my
+disturbed imagination; but the pertinacity with which I continually
+recurred to the same subject persuaded him that my disorder indeed owed
+its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.
+
+By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses, that alarmed and
+grieved my friend, I recovered. I remember the first time I became
+capable of observing outward objects with any kind of pleasure, I
+perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared, and that the young
+buds were shooting forth from the trees that shaded my window. It was a
+divine spring; and the season contributed greatly to my convalescence. I
+felt also sentiments of joy and affection revive in my bosom; my gloom
+disappeared, and in a short time I became as cheerful as before I was
+attacked by the fatal passion.
+
+“Dearest Clerval,” exclaimed I, “how kind, how very good you are to me.
+This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you promised
+yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever repay
+you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I have
+been the occasion; but you will forgive me.”
+
+“You will repay me entirely, if you do not discompose yourself, but get
+well as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I
+may speak to you on one subject, may I not?”
+
+I trembled. One subject! what could it be? Could he allude to an object
+on whom I dared not even think?
+
+“Compose yourself,” said Clerval, who observed my change of colour, “I
+will not mention it, if it agitates you; but your father and cousin
+would be very happy if they received a letter from you in your own
+hand-writing. They hardly know how 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
+would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love, and who are
+so deserving of my love.”
+
+“If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad to
+see a letter that has been lying here some days for you: it is from your
+cousin, I believe.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+Clerval then put the following letter into my hands.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“_To_ V. FRANKENSTEIN.
+
+“MY DEAR COUSIN,
+
+“I cannot describe to you the uneasiness we have all felt concerning
+your health. We cannot help imagining that your friend Clerval conceals
+the extent of your disorder: for it is now several months since we have
+seen your hand-writing; and all this time you have been obliged to
+dictate your letters to Henry. Surely, Victor, you must have been
+exceedingly ill; and this makes us all very wretched, as much so nearly
+as after the death of your dear mother. My uncle was almost persuaded
+that you were indeed dangerously ill, and could hardly be restrained
+from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. Clerval always writes that you
+are getting better; I eagerly hope that you will confirm this
+intelligence soon in your own hand-writing; for indeed, indeed, Victor,
+we are all very miserable on this account. Relieve us from this fear,
+and we shall be the happiest creatures in the world. Your father’s
+health is now so vigorous, that he appears ten years younger since last
+winter. Ernest also is so much improved, that you would hardly know him:
+he is now nearly sixteen, and has lost that sickly appearance which he
+had some years ago; he is grown quite robust and active.
+
+“My uncle and I conversed a long time last night about what profession
+Ernest should follow. His constant illness when young has deprived him
+of the habits of application; and now that he enjoys good health, he is
+continually in the open air, climbing the hills, or rowing on the lake.
+I therefore proposed that he should be a farmer; which you know, Cousin,
+is a favourite scheme of mine. A farmer’s is a very healthy happy life;
+and the least hurtful, or rather the most beneficial profession of any.
+My uncle had an idea of his being educated as an advocate, that through
+his interest he might become a judge. But, besides that he is not at all
+fitted for such an occupation, it is certainly more creditable to
+cultivate the earth for the sustenance of man, than to be the confidant,
+and sometimes the accomplice, of his vices; which is the profession of a
+lawyer. I said, that the employments of a prosperous farmer, if they
+were not a more honourable, they were at least a happier species of
+occupation than that of a judge, whose misfortune it was always to
+meddle with the dark side of human nature. My uncle smiled, and said,
+that I ought to be an advocate myself, which put an end to the
+conversation on that subject.
+
+“And now I must tell you a little story that will please, and perhaps
+amuse you. Do you not remember Justine Moritz? Probably you do not; I
+will relate her history, therefore, in a few words. Madame Moritz, her
+mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third.
+This girl had always been the favourite of her father; but, through a
+strange perversity, 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 years of age, prevailed on her mother to allow
+her to live at her house. The republican institutions of our country
+have produced simpler and happier manners 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 are more refined
+and moral. A servant in Geneva does not mean the same thing as a servant
+in France and England. Justine, thus received in our family, learned the
+duties of a servant; a condition which, in our fortunate country, does
+not include the idea of ignorance, and a sacrifice of the dignity of a
+human being.
+
+“After what I have said, I dare say you well remember the heroine of my
+little tale: for Justine was a great favourite of your’s; and I
+recollect you once remarked, that if you were in an ill-humour, one
+glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that Ariosto
+gives concerning the beauty of Angelica—she looked so frank-hearted and
+happy. My aunt conceived a great attachment for her, by which she was
+induced to give her an education superior to that which she had at
+first intended. This benefit was fully repaid; Justine was the most
+grateful little creature in the world: I do not mean that she made any
+professions, I never heard one pass her lips; but you could see by her
+eyes that she almost adored her protectress. Although her disposition
+was gay, and in many respects inconsiderate, yet she paid the greatest
+attention to every gesture of my aunt. She thought her the model of all
+excellence, and endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners, so
+that even now she often reminds me of her.
+
+“When my dearest aunt died, every one was too much occupied in their own
+grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness
+with the most anxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other
+trials were reserved for her.
+
+“One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the
+exception of her neglected daughter, was left childless. The conscience
+of the woman was troubled; she began to think that the deaths of her
+favourites was a judgment from heaven to chastise her partiality. She
+was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor confirmed the idea
+which she had conceived. Accordingly, a few months after your departure
+for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her repentant mother. Poor
+girl! she wept when she quitted our house: she was much altered since
+the death of my aunt; grief had given softness and a winning mildness to
+her manners, which had before been remarkable for vivacity. Nor was her
+residence at her mother’s house of a nature to restore her gaiety. The
+poor woman was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged
+Justine to forgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of
+having caused the deaths of her brothers and sister. Perpetual fretting
+at length threw Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first increased
+her irritability, but she is now at peace for ever. She died on the
+first approach of cold weather, at the beginning of this last winter.
+Justine has returned to us; and I assure you I love her tenderly. She is
+very clever and gentle, and extremely pretty; as I mentioned before, her
+mien and her expressions continually remind me of my dear 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 blue eyes, dark eye-lashes, and curling hair. When he
+smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with
+health. He has already had one or two little _wives_, but Louisa Biron
+is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.
+
+“Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little gossip
+concerning the good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield has
+already received the congratulatory visits on her approaching marriage
+with a young Englishman, John Melbourne, Esq. Her ugly sister, Manon,
+married M. Duvillard, the rich banker, last autumn. Your favourite
+schoolfellow, Louis Manoir, has suffered several misfortunes since the
+departure of Clerval from Geneva. But he has already recovered his
+spirits, and is reported to be on the point of marrying a very lively
+pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow, and much older
+than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with every
+body.
+
+“I have written myself into good spirits, dear cousin; yet I cannot
+conclude without again anxiously inquiring concerning your health. Dear
+Victor, if you are not very ill, write yourself, and make your father
+and all of us happy; or——I cannot bear to think of the other side of
+the question; my tears already flow. Adieu, my dearest cousin.”
+
+“ELIZABETH LAVENZA.
+
+“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed when I had read her letter, “I will
+write instantly, and relieve them from the anxiety they must feel.” I
+wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me; but my convalescence had
+commenced, and proceeded regularly. In another fortnight I was able to
+leave my chamber.
+
+One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the
+several professors 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 fatal night, the end of my labours, and the beginning of
+my misfortunes, I had conceived a violent antipathy even to the name of
+natural philosophy. When I was otherwise quite restored to health, the
+sight of a chemical instrument would renew all the agony of my nervous
+symptoms. Henry saw this, and had removed all my apparatus from my view.
+He had also changed my apartment; for he perceived that I had acquired a
+dislike for the room which had previously been my laboratory. But these
+cares of Clerval were made of no avail when I visited the professors. M.
+Waldman inflicted torture when he praised, with kindness and warmth, the
+astonishing progress I had made in the sciences. He soon perceived that
+I disliked the subject; but, not guessing the real cause, he attributed
+my feelings to modesty, and changed the subject from my improvement to
+the science itself, with a desire, as I evidently saw, of drawing me
+out. What could I do? He meant to please, and he tormented me. I felt as
+if he had placed carefully, one by one, in my view those instruments
+which were to be afterwards used in putting me to a slow and cruel
+death. I writhed under his words, yet dared not exhibit the pain I felt.
+Clerval, whose eyes and feelings were always quick 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
+he was surprised, but he never attempted to draw my secret from me; and
+although I loved him with a mixture of affection and reverence that knew
+no bounds, yet I could never persuade myself to confide to him that
+event which was so often present to my recollection, but which I feared
+the detail to another would only impress more deeply.
+
+M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of
+almost insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me
+even more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. “D—n the
+fellow!” cried he; “why, M. Clerval, I assure you he has outstript us
+all. Aye, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A youngster
+who, but a few years ago, believed Cornelius Agrippa as firmly as the
+gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if he is
+not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Aye, aye,”
+continued he, observing my face expressive of suffering, “M.
+Frankenstein is modest; an excellent quality in a young man. Young men
+should be diffident of themselves, you know, M. Clerval; I was myself
+when young: but that wears out in a very short time.”
+
+M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned
+the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.
+
+Clerval was no natural philosopher. His imagination was too vivid for
+the minutiæ of science. Languages were his principal study; and he
+sought, by acquiring their elements, to open a field for
+self-instruction on his return to Geneva. Persian, Arabic, and Hebrew,
+gained his attention, after he had made himself perfectly master of
+Greek and Latin. For my own part, idleness had ever been irksome to me;
+and now that I wished to fly from reflection, and hated my former
+studies, I felt great relief in being the fellow-pupil with my friend,
+and found not only instruction but consolation in the works of the
+orientalists. Their melancholy is soothing, and their joy elevating to a
+degree I never experienced in studying the authors of any other country.
+When you read their writings, life appears to consist in a warm sun and
+garden of roses,—in the smiles and frowns of a fair enemy, and the fire
+that consumes your own heart. How different from the manly and heroical
+poetry of Greece and Rome.
+
+Summer passed away in these occupations, and my return to Geneva was
+fixed for the latter end of autumn; but being delayed by several
+accidents, winter and snow arrived, the roads were deemed impassable,
+and my journey was retarded until the ensuing spring. I felt this delay
+very bitterly; for I longed to see my 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 become acquainted
+with any of its inhabitants. The winter, however, was spent cheerfully;
+and although the spring was uncommonly late, when it came, its beauty
+compensated for its dilatoriness.
+
+The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily
+which was to fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a
+pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt that I might bid a
+personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited. I acceded
+with pleasure to this proposition: I was fond of exercise, and Clerval
+had always been my favourite companion in the rambles 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
+long been restored, and they gained additional strength from the
+salubrious air I breathed, the natural incidents of our progress, and
+the conversation of my friend. Study had before secluded me from the
+intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but
+Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught me
+to love the aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children.
+Excellent friend! how sincerely did you love me, and endeavour to
+elevate my mind, until it was on a level with your own. A selfish
+pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection
+warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature who, a few
+years ago, loving and beloved by all, had no sorrow or care. When happy,
+inanimate nature had the power of bestowing on me the most delightful
+sensations. A serene sky and verdant fields filled me with ecstacy. The
+present season was indeed divine; the flowers of spring bloomed in the
+hedges, while those of summer were already in bud: I was undisturbed by
+thoughts which during the preceding year had pressed upon me,
+notwithstanding my endeavours to throw them off, with an invincible
+burden.
+
+Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathized in my feelings:
+he exerted himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that
+filled his soul. The resources of his mind on this occasion were truly
+astonishing: his conversation was full of imagination; and very often,
+in imitation of the Persian 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 I bounded along with feelings of unbridled joy and
+hilarity.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+On my return, I found the following letter from my father:—
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“_To_ V. FRANKENSTEIN.
+
+“MY DEAR VICTOR,
+
+“You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of
+your return to us; and I was at first tempted to write only a few lines,
+merely mentioning the day on which I should expect you. But that would
+be a cruel kindness, and I dare not do it. What would be your surprise,
+my son, when you expected a happy and gay welcome, to behold, on the
+contrary, tears and wretchedness? And how, Victor, can I relate our
+misfortune? Absence cannot have rendered you callous to our joys and
+griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on an absent child? I wish to
+prepare you for the woeful news, but I know it is impossible; even now
+your eye skims over the page, to seek the words which are to 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
+circumstances of the transaction.
+
+“Last Thursday (May 7th) I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to
+walk in Plainpalais. The evening was warm and serene, and we prolonged
+our walk farther than usual. It was already dusk before we thought of
+returning; and then we discovered that William and Ernest, who had gone
+on before, were not to be found. We accordingly rested on a seat until
+they should return. Presently Ernest came, and inquired if we had seen
+his brother: he said, that they had been playing together, that William
+had run away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him, and
+afterwards waited for him a long time, but that he did not return.
+
+“This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search for him
+until night fell, when Elizabeth conjectured that he might have returned
+to the house. He was not there. We returned again, with torches; for I
+could not rest, when I thought that my sweet boy had lost himself, and
+was exposed to all the damps and dews of night: Elizabeth also suffered
+extreme anguish. About five in the morning I discovered my lovely boy,
+whom the night before I had seen blooming and active in health,
+stretched on the grass livid and motionless: the print of the murderer’s
+finger was on his neck.
+
+“He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my
+countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth. She was very earnest to
+see the corpse. At first I attempted to prevent her; but she persisted,
+and entering the room where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the
+victim, and clasping her hands exclaimed, ‘O God! I have murdered my
+darling infant!’
+
+“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 had teazed her to let him wear a very valuable miniature that
+she possessed of your mother. This picture is gone, and was doubtless
+the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed. We have no trace of
+him at present, although our exertions to discover him are unremitted;
+but they will not restore my beloved William.
+
+“Come, dearest Victor; you alone can console Elizabeth. She weeps
+continually, and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of his death; her
+words pierce my heart. 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 now say, Thank God she did not live to
+witness the cruel, miserable death of her youngest darling!
+
+“Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin,
+but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of
+festering the wounds of our minds. Enter the house of mourning, my
+friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not
+with hatred for your enemies.
+
+“Your affectionate and afflicted father,
+
+“ALPHONSE FRANKENSTEIN.
+
+“Geneva, May 12th, 17—.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was
+surprised to observe the despair that succeeded to the joy I at first
+expressed on receiving news from my friends. I threw the letter on the
+table, and covered my face with my hands.
+
+“My dear Frankenstein,” exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me weep with
+bitterness, “are you always to be unhappy? My dear friend, what has
+happened?”
+
+I motioned to him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the
+room in the extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of
+Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune.
+
+“I can offer you no consolation, my friend,” said he; “your disaster is
+irreparable. 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 raise my spirits. He did not do
+this by common topics of consolation, but by exhibiting the truest
+sympathy. “Poor William!” said he, “that dear child; he now sleeps with
+his angel mother. His friends mourn and weep, but he is at rest: he does
+not now feel the murderer’s grasp; a sod covers his gentle form, and he
+knows no pain. He can no longer be a fit subject for pity; the survivors
+are the greatest sufferers, and for them time is the only consolation.
+Those maxims of the Stoics, that death was no evil, and that the mind of
+man ought to be superior to despair on the eternal absence of a beloved
+object, ought not to be urged. Even Cato wept over the dead body of his
+brother.”
+
+Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words
+impressed themselves on my mind, and I remembered them afterwards in
+solitude. But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a
+cabriole, and bade farewell to my friend.
+
+My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I
+longed to console and sympathize with my loved and sorrowing friends;
+but when I drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could
+hardly sustain the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I
+passed through scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen for
+nearly six years. How altered every thing might be during that time? One
+sudden and desolating change had taken place; but a thousand little
+circumstances might have by degrees worked other alterations which,
+although they were done more tranquilly, might not be the less decisive.
+Fear overcame me; I dared not advance, dreading a thousand nameless
+evils that made me tremble, although I was unable to define them.
+
+I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I
+contemplated the 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 heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my
+journey towards Geneva.
+
+The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I
+approached my native town. I discovered more distinctly the black sides
+of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blânc; I wept like a child: “Dear
+mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your wanderer? Your
+summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and placid. Is this to
+prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?”
+
+I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on
+these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative
+happiness, and I think of them with pleasure. My country, my beloved
+country! who but a native can 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
+closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt
+still more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil,
+and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched
+of human beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single
+circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not
+conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was destined to endure.
+
+It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the
+gates of the town were already shut; and I was obliged to pass the night
+at Secheron, a village half a league to the east of the city. The sky
+was serene; and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot
+where my poor William had been murdered. As I could not pass through the
+town, I was obliged to cross the lake in a boat to arrive at
+Plainpalais. During this short voyage I saw the lightnings playing on
+the summit of Mont Blânc in the most beautiful figures. The storm
+appeared to approach rapidly; and, on landing, I ascended a low hill,
+that I might observe its progress. It advanced; the heavens were
+clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming slowly in large drops, but its
+violence quickly increased.
+
+I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm
+increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash
+over my head. It was echoed from Salêve, the Juras, and the Alps of
+Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the
+lake, making it appear like a vast sheet 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 often the case in
+Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The most
+violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over that part of the lake
+which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of Copêt.
+Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another darkened
+and sometimes disclosed the Môle, a peaked mountain to the east of the
+lake.
+
+While I watched the storm, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with
+a hasty 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 thy dirge!” As I said these words, I perceived in the
+gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I stood
+fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning
+illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me; its
+gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect, more hideous than
+belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the
+filthy dæmon to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could he be (I
+shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No sooner did
+that idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of its truth; my
+teeth chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree for support.
+The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in
+human shape could have destroyed that fair child. _He_ was the murderer!
+I could not doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible
+proof of the fact. I thought of pursuing the devil; but it would have
+been in vain, for another flash discovered him to me hanging among the
+rocks of the nearly perpendicular ascent of Mont Salêve, a hill that
+bounds Plainpalais on the south. He soon reached the summit, and
+disappeared.
+
+I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still continued,
+and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. I revolved in
+my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget: the whole
+train of my progress towards the creation; the appearance of the work of
+my own hands alive at my bed side; its departure. Two years had now
+nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and was
+this his first crime? Alas! I had turned loose into the world a depraved
+wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he 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
+the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in scenes of
+evil and despair. I considered the being whom I had cast among mankind,
+and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes of horror, such
+as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light of my own
+vampire, my own spirit let loose from the 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; and I hastened to my father’s house. My first thought was to
+discover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be
+made. But I paused when I reflected 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 an inaccessible mountain. I remembered
+also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at the time
+that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of delirium to a
+tale otherwise so utterly improbable. I well knew that if any other had
+communicated such a relation to me, I should have looked upon it as the
+ravings of insanity. Besides, the strange nature of the animal would
+elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited as to persuade my
+relatives to commence it. Besides, of what use would be pursuit? Who
+could arrest a creature capable of scaling the overhanging sides of Mont
+Salêve? These reflections determined me, and I resolved to remain
+silent.
+
+It was about five in the morning when I entered my father’s house. I
+told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library
+to attend their usual hour of rising.
+
+Six years had elapsed, passed as a dream but for one indelible trace,
+and I stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father before
+my departure for Ingolstadt. Beloved and respectable parent! He still
+remained to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over
+the mantle-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my father’s
+desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of despair,
+kneeling by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was rustic, and her
+cheek pale; but there was an air of dignity and beauty, that hardly
+permitted the sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a miniature of
+William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it. While I was thus
+engaged, Ernest entered: he had heard me arrive, and hastened to welcome
+me. He expressed a sorrowful delight to see me: “Welcome, my dearest
+Victor,” said he. “Ah! I wish you had come three months ago, and then
+you would have found us all joyous and delighted. But we are now
+unhappy; and, I am afraid, tears instead of smiles will be your welcome.
+Our father looks so sorrowful: this dreadful event seems to have revived
+in his mind his grief on the death of Mamma. Poor Elizabeth also is
+quite inconsolable.” Ernest began to weep as he said these words.
+
+“Do not,” said I, “welcome me thus; try to be more calm, that I may not
+be absolutely miserable the moment I enter my father’s house after so
+long an absence. But, tell me, how does my father support his
+misfortunes? and how is my poor Elizabeth?”
+
+“She indeed requires consolation; she accused herself of having caused
+the death of my brother, and that made her very wretched. But since the
+murderer has been discovered——”
+
+“The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt
+to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the
+winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw.”
+
+“I do not know what you mean; but we were all very unhappy when she was
+discovered. No one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth
+will not be convinced, notwithstanding all the evidence. Indeed, who
+would credit that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all
+the family, could all at once become so extremely wicked?”
+
+“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 circumstances came out, that have
+almost forced conviction upon us: and her own behaviour has been so
+confused, as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear,
+leaves no hope for doubt. But she will be tried to-day, and you will
+then hear all.”
+
+He related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William had
+been discovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her bed;
+and, after several days, one of the servants, happening to examine the
+apparel she had worn on the night of the murder, had discovered in her
+pocket the picture of my mother, which had been judged to be the
+temptation of the murderer. The servant instantly shewed it to one of
+the others, who, without saying a word to any of the family, went to a
+magistrate; and, upon their deposition, Justine was apprehended. On
+being charged with the fact, the poor girl confirmed the suspicion in a
+great measure by her extreme confusion of manner.
+
+This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I replied
+earnestly, “You are all mistaken; I know the murderer. Justine, poor,
+good Justine, is innocent.”
+
+At that instant my father entered. I saw unhappiness deeply impressed on
+his countenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me cheerfully; and, after
+we had exchanged our mournful greeting, would have introduced some other
+topic than that of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed, “Good God,
+Papa! Victor says that he knows who was the murderer of poor William.”
+
+“We do also, unfortunately,” replied my father; “for indeed I had rather
+have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much depravity and
+ingratitude in 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
+tried to-day, 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, and indeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder. I
+had no fear, therefore, that any circumstantial evidence could be
+brought forward strong enough to convict her; and, in this assurance, I
+calmed myself, expecting the trial with eagerness, but without
+prognosticating an evil result.
+
+We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had made great alterations in her
+form since I had last beheld her. Six years before she had been a
+pretty, good-humoured girl, whom every one loved and caressed. She was
+now a woman in stature and expression of countenance, which was
+uncommonly lovely. An open and capacious forehead gave indications of a
+good understanding, joined to great frankness of disposition. Her eyes
+were hazel, and expressive of mildness, now through recent affliction
+allied to sadness. Her hair was of a rich, dark auburn, her complexion
+fair, and her figure slight and graceful. She welcomed me with the
+greatest affection. “Your arrival, my dear cousin,” said she, “fills me
+with hope. 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 as certainly as I do upon my own. Our misfortune is doubly
+hard to us; we have not only 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 shall know joy more. But she will not, I am
+sure she will not; and then I shall be happy again, even after the sad
+death of my little William.”
+
+“She is innocent, my Elizabeth,” said I, “and that shall be proved;
+fear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance of her
+acquittal.”
+
+“How kind you are! every one else believes in her guilt, and that made
+me wretched; for I knew that it was impossible: and to see every one
+else prejudiced in so deadly a manner, rendered me hopeless and
+despairing.” She wept.
+
+“Sweet niece,” said my father, “dry your tears. If she is, as you
+believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our judges, and the activity
+with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of partiality.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+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, I accompanied them to the court. During the whole of this
+wretched mockery of justice, I suffered living torture. It was to be
+decided, whether the result of my curiosity and lawless devices would
+cause the death of two of my fellow-beings: one a smiling babe, full of
+innocence and joy; the other far more dreadfully murdered, with every
+aggravation of infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror.
+Justine also was a girl of merit, and possessed qualities which promised
+to render her life happy: now all was to be obliterated in an
+ignominious grave; and I the cause! A thousand times rather would I have
+confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine; but I was
+absent when it was committed, and such a declaration would have been
+considered as the ravings of a madman, and would not have exculpated her
+who suffered through me.
+
+The appearance of Justine was calm. She was dressed in mourning; and her
+countenance, always engaging, was rendered, by the solemnity of her
+feelings, exquisitely beautiful. Yet she appeared confident in
+innocence, and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by
+thousands; for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have
+excited, was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the
+imagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed. She was
+tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently constrained; and as her
+confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she worked up
+her mind to an appearance of courage. When she entered the court, she
+threw her eyes round it, and quickly discovered where we were seated. A
+tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us; but she quickly recovered
+herself, and a look 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 any one who had not such proof
+of her innocence as I had. She had been out the whole of the night on
+which the murder had been committed, and towards morning had been
+perceived by a market-woman not far from the spot where the body of the
+murdered child had been afterwards found. The woman asked her what she
+did there; but she looked very strangely, and only returned a confused
+and unintelligible answer. She returned to the house about eight
+o’clock; and when one inquired where she had passed the night, she
+replied, that she had been looking for the child, and demanded
+earnestly, if any thing had been heard concerning him. When shewn the
+body, she fell into violent hysterics, and kept her bed for several
+days. The picture was then produced, which the servant had found in her
+pocket; and when Elizabeth, in a faltering voice, proved that it was the
+same which, an hour before the child had been missed, she had placed
+round his neck, a murmur of horror and indignation filled the court.
+
+Justine was called on for her defence. As the trial had proceeded, her
+countenance had altered. Surprise, horror, and misery, were strongly
+expressed. Sometimes she struggled with her tears; but when she was
+desired to plead, she collected her powers, and spoke in an audible
+although variable voice:—
+
+“God knows,” she said, “how entirely I am innocent. But I do not pretend
+that my protestations should acquit me: I rest my innocence on a plain
+and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced against me;
+and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my judges to a
+favourable interpretation, where any circumstance appears doubtful or
+suspicious.”
+
+She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed
+the evening of the night on which the murder had been committed, at the
+house of an aunt 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 any thing of the child who was lost. She was alarmed
+by this account, and passed several hours in looking for him, when the
+gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced 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. Unable to rest or sleep,
+she quitted her asylum early, that she might again endeavour to find my
+brother. If she 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 not surprising, since she had passed a sleepless
+night, and the fate of poor William was yet uncertain. Concerning the
+picture she could give no account.
+
+“I know,” continued the unhappy victim, “how heavily and fatally this
+one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of explaining
+it; and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left to
+conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been
+placed in my pocket. But here also I am checked. I believe that I have
+no enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to
+destroy me wantonly. Did the murderer place it there? I know of no
+opportunity afforded him for so doing; or if I had, why should 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. I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my
+character; and if their 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 spoke well of her; but fear, and hatred of the crime of which they
+supposed her guilty, rendered them timorous, and unwilling to come
+forward. Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent
+dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accused,
+when, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address the
+court.
+
+“I am,” said she, “the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or
+rather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived with his parents
+ever since and even long before his birth. It may therefore be judged
+indecent in me to come forward on this occasion; but when I see a
+fellow-creature about to perish through 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 the accused. I have lived in
+the same house with her, at one time for five, and at another for nearly
+two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable
+and benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame Frankenstein, my
+aunt, in her last illness with the greatest affection and care; and
+afterwards attended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a manner
+that excited the admiration of all who knew her. After which she again
+lived in my uncle’s house, where she was beloved by all the family. She
+was warmly attached to the child who is now dead, and acted towards him
+like a most affectionate mother. For my own part, I do not hesitate to
+say, that, notwithstanding all the evidence produced against her, I
+believe and rely on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for
+such an action: as to the bauble on which the chief proof rests, if she
+had earnestly desired it, I should have willingly given it to her; so
+much do I esteem and value her.”
+
+Excellent Elizabeth! A murmur of approbation was heard; but it was
+excited by her generous interference, and not in favour of poor Justine,
+on whom the public indignation was turned with renewed violence,
+charging her with the blackest ingratitude. She herself wept as
+Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer. My own agitation and anguish
+was extreme during the whole trial. I believed in her innocence; I knew
+it. Could the dæmon, who had (I did not for a minute doubt) murdered my
+brother, also in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent 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 judges,
+had 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
+forego 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 was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my
+visit. The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine was
+condemned.
+
+I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt. I had before experienced
+sensations of horror; and I have endeavoured to bestow upon them
+adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the
+heart-sickening despair that I then endured. The person to whom I
+addressed myself added, that Justine had already confessed her guilt.
+“That evidence,” he observed, “was hardly required in so glaring a case,
+but I am glad of it; and, indeed, none of our judges like to condemn a
+criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so decisive.”
+
+When I returned home, Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result.
+
+“My cousin,” replied I, “it is decided as you may have expected; all
+judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer, than that one guilty
+should escape. But she has confessed.”
+
+This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness
+upon Justine’s innocence. “Alas!” said she, “how shall I ever again
+believe in human benevolence? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my
+sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray;
+her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or ill-humour, and yet
+she has committed a murder.”
+
+Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a wish to see my
+cousin. My father wished her not to go; but said, that he left it to her
+own judgment and feelings to decide. “Yes,” said Elizabeth, “I will go,
+although she is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany me: I cannot go
+alone.” The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet I could not
+refuse.
+
+We entered the gloomy prison-chamber, and beheld Justine sitting on some
+straw at the further 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 threw herself 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
+relied on your innocence; and although I was then very wretched, I was
+not so miserable as I am now.”
+
+“And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also
+join with my enemies to crush me?” Her voice was suffocated with sobs.
+
+“Rise, my poor girl,” said Elizabeth, “why do you kneel, if you are
+innocent? I am not one of your enemies; I believed you guiltless,
+notwithstanding every evidence, 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 my confidence in you for a moment,
+but your own confession.”
+
+“I did confess; but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that I might obtain
+absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than all my
+other sins. The God of heaven forgive me! Ever since I was condemned, my
+confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced, until I almost
+began to think that I was the monster that he said I was. He threatened
+excommunication and hell fire in my last moments, if I continued
+obdurate. Dear lady, I had none to support me; all looked on me as a
+wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition. What could I do? In an evil
+hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I truly miserable.”
+
+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 highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable of a
+crime which none but the 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 that consoles me, going as I am to
+suffer ignominy and death.”
+
+“Oh, Justine! forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you. Why
+did you confess? But do not mourn, my dear girl; I will every where
+proclaim your innocence, and force belief. Yet you must die; you, my
+playfellow, my companion, my more than sister. I never can survive so
+horrible a misfortune.”
+
+“Dear, sweet Elizabeth, do not weep. You ought to raise me with thoughts
+of a better life, and elevate me from the petty cares of this world of
+injustice and strife. Do not you, excellent friend, drive me to
+despair.”
+
+“I will try to comfort you; but this, I fear, is an evil too deep and
+poignant to admit of consolation, for there is no hope. Yet heaven
+bless thee, my dearest Justine, with resignation, and a confidence
+elevated beyond this world. Oh! how I hate its shews and mockeries! when
+one creature is murdered, another is immediately deprived of life in a
+slow torturing manner; then the executioners, their hands yet reeking
+with the blood of innocence, believe that they have done a great deed.
+They call this _retribution_. Hateful name! When that word is
+pronounced, I know greater and more horrid punishments are going to be
+inflicted than the gloomiest tyrant has ever invented to satiate his
+utmost revenge. Yet this is not consolation for you, my Justine, unless
+indeed that you may glory in escaping from so miserable a den. Alas! I
+would I were in peace with my aunt and my lovely William, escaped from a
+world which is hateful to me, and the visages of men which I abhor.”
+
+Justine smiled languidly. “This, dear lady, is despair, and not
+resignation. I must not learn the lesson that you would teach me. Talk
+of something else, something that will bring peace, and not increase of
+misery.”
+
+During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison-room,
+where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who
+dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the
+dreary boundary between life and death, felt not as I did, such deep and
+bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth, 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, “Dear Sir, you are very kind to
+visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty.”
+
+I could not answer. “No, Justine,” said Elizabeth; “he is more convinced
+of your innocence than I was; for even when he heard that you had
+confessed, he did not credit it.”
+
+“I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude
+towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection
+of others to such a wretch as I am! It removes more than half my
+misfortune; and I feel 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
+gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the
+never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or
+consolation. Elizabeth also wept, and was unhappy; but her’s also was
+the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair
+moon, for a while hides, but cannot tarnish its brightness. Anguish and
+despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within
+me, which nothing could extinguish. We staid several hours with Justine;
+and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear herself away.
+“I wish,” cried she, “that I were to die with you; I cannot live in this
+world of misery.”
+
+Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty
+repressed her bitter tears. She embraced Elizabeth, and said, in a voice
+of half-suppressed emotion, “Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, my
+beloved and only friend; may heaven in its bounty bless and preserve
+you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever suffer. Live,
+and be happy, and make others so.”
+
+As we returned, Elizabeth said, “You know not, my dear Victor, how much
+I am relieved, now that I trust in the innocence of this unfortunate
+girl. I never could again have known peace, if I had been deceived in my
+reliance on her. For the moment that I did believe her guilty, I felt an
+anguish that I could not have long sustained. Now my heart is lightened.
+The innocent suffers; but she whom I thought amiable and good has not
+betrayed the trust I reposed in her, and I am consoled.”
+
+Amiable cousin! such were your thoughts, mild and gentle as your own
+dear eyes and voice. But I—I was a wretch, and none ever conceived of
+the misery that I then endured.
+
+
+END OF VOL. I.
+
+
+
+
+FRANKENSTEIN;
+
+OR,
+
+THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.
+
+
+    IN THREE VOLUMES.
+    VOL. II.
+
+    London:
+
+    _PRINTED FOR_
+    LACKINGTON, HUGHES, HARDING, MAVOR, & JONES,
+    FINSBURY SQUARE.
+
+    1818.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
+    To mould me man? Did I solicit thee
+    From darkness to promote me?——
+
+    Paradise Lost.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Nothing is more painful to the human mind, than, after the feelings have
+been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of
+inaction and certainty which follows, and deprives the soul both of hope
+and fear. Justine died; she rested; and I was alive. The blood flowed
+freely in my veins, but a weight 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 committed deeds of mischief beyond
+description horrible, and more, much more, (I persuaded myself) was yet
+behind. Yet my heart overflowed with kindness, and the love of virtue. I
+had begun life with benevolent intentions, and thirsted for the moment
+when 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 to look back upon the past with
+self-satisfaction, and from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I
+was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt, which hurried me away to
+a hell of intense tortures, such as no language can describe.
+
+This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had entirely recovered
+from the first shock it had sustained. I shunned the face of man; all
+sound of joy or complacency was torture to me; solitude was my only
+consolation—deep, dark, death-like solitude.
+
+My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my
+disposition and habits, and endeavoured to reason with me on the folly
+of giving way to immoderate grief. “Do you think, Victor,” said he,
+“that I do not suffer also? No one could love a child more than I loved
+your brother;” (tears came into his eyes as he spoke); “but is it not a
+duty to the survivors, that we should refrain from augmenting their
+unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty owed
+to yourself; for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment, or
+even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for
+society.”
+
+This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case; I
+should have been the first to hide my grief, and console my friends, if
+remorse had not mingled its bitterness with my other sensations. Now I
+could only answer my father with a look of despair, and endeavour to
+hide myself from his view.
+
+About this time we retired to our house at Belrive. This change was
+particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at ten
+o’clock, and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that
+hour, had rendered our residence within the walls of Geneva very irksome
+to me. I was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had retired
+for the night, I took the boat, and passed many hours upon the water.
+Sometimes, with my sails set, I was carried by the wind; and sometimes,
+after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to pursue its
+own course, and gave way to my own miserable reflections. I was often
+tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only unquiet thing
+that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and heavenly, if I except
+some bat, or the frogs, whose harsh and interrupted croaking was heard
+only when I approached the shore—often, I say, I was tempted to plunge
+into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me and my
+calamities for ever. But I was restrained, when I thought of the heroic
+and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved, and whose existence was
+bound up in mine. I thought also of my father, and surviving brother:
+should I by my base desertion leave them exposed and unprotected to the
+malice of the fiend whom I had let loose among them?
+
+At these moments I wept bitterly, and wished that peace would revisit my
+mind only 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 perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure
+feeling that all was not over, and that he would still commit some
+signal crime, which by its enormity should almost efface the
+recollection of the past. There was always scope for fear, so long as
+any thing I loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be
+conceived. 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
+thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my
+hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a
+pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I, when there, have
+precipitated him to their base. I wished to see him again, that I might
+wreak the utmost extent of anger on his head, and avenge the deaths of
+William and Justine.
+
+Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply
+shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and
+desponding; she no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations; all
+pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe and tears
+she then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence so
+blasted and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature, who in
+earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake, and talked with
+ecstacy of our future prospects. She had become grave, and often
+conversed of the inconstancy of fortune, and the instability of human
+life.
+
+“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of
+Justine Moritz, 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 books or heard from others, as tales of
+ancient days, or imaginary evils; at least they were remote, and more
+familiar to reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come
+home, and men appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other’s blood.
+Yet I am certainly unjust. Every body believed that poor girl to be
+guilty; and if she could have committed the crime for which she
+suffered, assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human
+creatures. For the sake of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her
+benefactor and friend, a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and
+appeared to love as if it had been her own! I could not consent to the
+death of any human being; but certainly I should have thought such a
+creature unfit to remain in the society of men. Yet she was innocent. I
+know, I feel she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that
+confirms me. Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth,
+who can assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were
+walking on the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are
+crowding, and endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and
+Justine were assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the
+world free, and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to
+suffer on the scaffold for the 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 in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my
+countenance, and kindly taking my hand said, “My dearest cousin, you
+must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how deeply;
+but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of despair,
+and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance, that makes me tremble. Be
+calm, my dear Victor; I would sacrifice my life to your peace. We surely
+shall be happy: quiet in our native country, and not mingling in the
+world, what can disturb our tranquillity?”
+
+She shed tears as she said this, distrusting the very solace that she
+gave; but at the same time she smiled, that she might chase away the
+fiend that lurked in my heart. My father, who saw in the unhappiness
+that was painted in my face only an exaggeration of that sorrow which I
+might naturally feel, thought that an amusement suited to my taste would
+be the best means of restoring to me my wonted serenity. It was from
+this cause that he had removed to the country; and, induced by the same
+motive, he now proposed that we should all make an excursion to the
+valley of Chamounix. I had been there before, but Elizabeth and Ernest
+never had; and both had often expressed an earnest desire to see the
+scenery of this place, which had been described to them as so wonderful
+and sublime. Accordingly we departed from Geneva on this tour about the
+middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of
+Justine.
+
+The weather was uncommonly fine; and if mine had been a sorrow to be
+chased away by any fleeting circumstance, this excursion would certainly
+have had the effect intended by my father. As it was, I was somewhat
+interested in the scene; it sometimes lulled, although it could not
+extinguish my grief. During the first day we travelled in a carriage. In
+the morning we had seen the mountains at a distance, towards which we
+gradually advanced. We perceived that the valley through which we wound,
+and which was formed by the river Arve, whose course we followed, closed
+in upon us by degrees; and when the sun had set, we beheld immense
+mountains and precipices overhanging us on every side, and heard the
+sound of the river raging among rocks, and the dashing of water-falls
+around.
+
+The next day we pursued our journey upon mules; and as we ascended still
+higher, the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character.
+Ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piny mountains; the
+impetuous Arve, and cottages every here and there peeping forth from
+among the trees, formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was augmented
+and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and shining
+pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another earth, the
+habitations of another race of beings.
+
+We passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river
+forms, opened before us, and we began to ascend the mountain that
+overhangs it. Soon after we entered the valley of Chamounix. This valley
+is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and picturesque as
+that of Servox, through which we had just passed. The high and snowy
+mountains were its immediate boundaries; but we saw no more ruined
+castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached the road; we
+heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche, and marked the
+smoke of its passage. Mont Blânc, the supreme and magnificent Mont
+Blânc, raised itself from the surrounding _aiguilles_, and its
+tremendous _dome_ overlooked the valley.
+
+During this journey, I sometimes joined Elizabeth, and exerted myself to
+point out to her the various beauties of the scene. I often suffered my
+mule to lag behind, and indulged in the misery of reflection. At other
+times I spurred on the animal before my companions, that I might forget
+them, the world, and, more than all, myself. When at a distance, I
+alighted, and threw myself on the grass, weighed down by horror and
+despair. At eight in the evening I arrived at Chamounix. My father and
+Elizabeth were very much fatigued; Ernest, who accompanied us, was
+delighted, and in high spirits: the only circumstance that detracted
+from his pleasure was the south wind, and the rain it seemed to promise
+for the next day.
+
+We retired early to our apartments, but not to sleep; at least I did
+not. I remained many hours at the window, watching the pallid lightning
+that played above Mont Blânc, and listening to the rushing of the Arve,
+which ran below my window.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+The next day, contrary to the prognostications of our guides, was fine,
+although clouded. We visited the source of the Arveiron, and rode about
+the valley until evening. These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded
+me the greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. They
+elevated me from all littleness of feeling; and although they did not
+remove my grief, they subdued and tranquillized it. In some degree,
+also, they diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded
+for the last month. I returned in the evening, fatigued, but less
+unhappy, and conversed with my family with more cheerfulness than had
+been my custom for some time. My father was pleased, and Elizabeth
+overjoyed. “My dear cousin,” said she, “you see what happiness you
+diffuse when you are happy; do not relapse again!”
+
+The following morning the rain poured down in torrents, and thick mists
+hid the summits of the mountains. I rose early, but felt unusually
+melancholy. The rain depressed me; my old feelings recurred, and I was
+miserable. I knew how disappointed my father would be at this sudden
+change, and I wished to avoid him until I had recovered myself so far as
+to be enabled to conceal those feelings that overpowered me. I knew
+that they would remain that day at the inn; and as I had ever inured
+myself to rain, moisture, and cold, I resolved to go alone to the summit
+of Montanvert. I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous
+and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it.
+It had then filled me with a sublime ecstacy that gave wings to the
+soul, and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy.
+The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the
+effect of solemnizing my mind, and causing me to forget the passing
+cares of life. I determined to go alone, for I was well acquainted with
+the path, and the presence of another would destroy the solitary
+grandeur of the scene.
+
+The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short
+windings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the
+mountain. It is a scene terrifically desolate. In a thousand spots the
+traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken
+and strewed on the ground; some entirely destroyed, others bent, leaning
+upon the jutting rocks of the mountain, or transversely upon other
+trees. The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines of
+snow, down which stones continually roll from above; one of them is
+particularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking in
+a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw
+destruction 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 the valley beneath; vast mists were rising from the rivers
+which ran through it, and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite
+mountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds, while rain
+poured from the dark sky, and added to the melancholy impression I
+received from the objects around me. Alas! why does man boast of
+sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders
+them 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 that blows, 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 sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. A mist covered
+both that and the surrounding mountains. Presently a breeze dissipated
+the cloud, and I descended upon the glacier. The surface is very uneven,
+rising like the waves of a troubled sea, descending low, and
+interspersed by rifts that sink deep. The field of ice is almost a
+league in width, but I spent nearly two hours in crossing it. The
+opposite mountain is a bare perpendicular rock. From the side where I
+now stood Montanvert was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league;
+and above it rose Mont Blânc, in awful majesty. I remained in a recess
+of the rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene. The sea, or
+rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains, whose
+aërial summits hung over its recesses. Their icy and glittering peaks
+shone in the sunlight over the clouds. My heart, which was before
+sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy; I exclaimed—“Wandering
+spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow beds, allow
+me this faint happiness, or take me, as your 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 the ice, among which I had walked with caution; his stature also, as
+he approached, seemed to exceed that of man. I was troubled: a mist came
+over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me; but I was quickly
+restored by the cold gale of the mountains. I perceived, as the shape
+came nearer, (sight tremendous and abhorred!) that it was the wretch
+whom I had created. I trembled with rage and horror, resolving to wait
+his approach, and then close with him in mortal combat. He approached;
+his countenance bespoke bitter anguish, combined with disdain and
+malignity, while its unearthly ugliness rendered it almost too horrible
+for human eyes. But I scarcely observed this; anger and hatred had at
+first deprived me of utterance, and I recovered only to overwhelm him
+with words expressive of furious detestation and contempt.
+
+“Devil!” I exclaimed, “do you dare approach me? and do not you fear the
+fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone, vile
+insect! or rather stay, that I may trample you to dust! and, oh, that I
+could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore those
+victims whom you have so diabolically 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, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art
+bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You
+purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty
+towards me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If
+you will comply with my conditions, I will leave 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 a vengeance for thy crimes. Wretched devil! you reproach me with
+your creation; come on then, that I may extinguish the spark which I so
+negligently bestowed.”
+
+My rage was without bounds; I sprang on him, impelled by all the
+feelings which can 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 my devoted 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 I will defend it. Remember, thou hast made
+me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine; my joints
+more supple. But I will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to
+thee. I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and docile to my
+natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which
+thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other, and
+trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and
+affection, is most due. Remember, that I am thy creature: I ought to be
+thy Adam; but I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy
+for no misdeed. Every where I see bliss, from which I alone am
+irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend.
+Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.”
+
+“Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you and
+me; we are enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in
+which one must fall.”
+
+“How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favourable
+eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion? Believe
+me, Frankenstein: I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and
+humanity: but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor
+me; what hope can I gather from your fellow-creatures, who owe me
+nothing? they spurn and hate me. The desert mountains and dreary
+glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days; the caves of
+ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the only one
+which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they are kinder
+to me than your fellow-beings. If the multitude of mankind knew of my
+existence, 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 power to recompense me, and deliver them
+from an evil which it only remains for you to 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 be moved, 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. The
+guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they may be, to speak in
+their own defence before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein.
+You accuse me of murder; and yet you would, with a satisfied conscience,
+destroy your own creature. 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 your hands.”
+
+“Why do you call to my remembrance circumstances of which I shudder to
+reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author? Cursed be the
+day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw light! Cursed (although I
+curse myself) be the hands that formed you! You have made me wretched
+beyond expression. You have left me no power to consider whether I am
+just to you, or not. Begone! relieve me from the sight of your detested
+form.”
+
+“Thus I relieve thee, my creator,” he said, and placed his hated hands
+before my eyes, which I flung from me with violence; “thus I take from
+thee a sight which you abhor. Still thou canst listen to me, and grant
+me thy compassion. By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this
+from you. Hear my tale; it is long and strange, and the temperature of
+this place is not fitting to your fine sensations; come to the hut upon
+the mountain. The sun is yet high in the heavens; before it descends to
+hide itself behind yon snowy precipices, and illuminate another world,
+you will have heard my story, and can decide. On you it rests, whether I
+quit for ever the neighbourhood of man, and lead a harmless life, or
+become the scourge of your fellow-creatures, and the author of your own
+speedy 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 arguments that he had used, and determined at least to listen to
+his tale. I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my
+resolution. I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my
+brother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion.
+For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards
+his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I
+complained of his wickedness. These motives urged me to comply with his
+demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended the opposite rock.
+The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend: we entered the
+hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy heart, and
+depressed spirits. But I consented to listen; and, seating myself by the
+fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began his tale.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+“It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original æra of
+my being: all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct.
+A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard,
+and smelt, at the same time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I
+learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses. By
+degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so that I
+was obliged to shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me, and troubled
+me; but hardly had I felt this, when, by opening my eyes, as I now
+suppose, the light poured in upon me again. I walked, and, I believe,
+descended; but I presently found a great alteration in my sensations.
+Before, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my touch
+or sight; but I now found that I could wander on at liberty, with no
+obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid. The light became
+more and more oppressive to me; and, the heat wearying me as I walked, I
+sought a place where I could receive shade. This was the forest near
+Ingolstadt; and here I lay by the side of a brook resting from my
+fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst. This roused me
+from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berries which I found
+hanging on the trees, or lying on the ground. I slaked my thirst at 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 were insufficient to secure me from the dews of
+night. I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch; I knew, and could
+distinguish, nothing; but, feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat
+down and wept.
+
+“Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens, and gave me a sensation of
+pleasure. I started up, and beheld a radiant form rise from among the
+trees. I gazed with a kind of wonder. It moved slowly, but it
+enlightened my path; and I again went out in search of berries. I was
+still cold, when under one of the trees I found a huge cloak, with which
+I covered myself, and sat down upon the ground. No distinct ideas
+occupied my mind; all was confused. I felt light, and hunger, and
+thirst, and darkness; innumerable sounds rung in my ears, and on all
+sides various scents saluted me: the only object that I could
+distinguish 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
+greatly lessened when I began to distinguish my sensations from each
+other. I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with
+drink, and the trees that shaded me with their foliage. I was delighted
+when I first discovered that a pleasant sound, which often saluted my
+ears, proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had
+often intercepted the light from my eyes. I began also to observe, with
+greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me, and to perceive the
+boundaries of the radiant roof of light which canopied me. Sometimes I
+tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds, but was unable.
+Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the
+uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into
+silence again.
+
+“The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, with a lessened
+form, shewed itself, while I still remained in the forest. My sensations
+had, by this time, become distinct, and my mind received every day
+additional ideas. My eyes became accustomed to the light, and to
+perceive objects in their right forms; I distinguished 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 the blackbird and
+thrush were sweet and enticing.
+
+“One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I found a fire which had been
+left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the
+warmth I experienced from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live
+embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain. How strange, I
+thought, that the same cause should produce such opposite effects! I
+examined the materials of the fire, and to my joy found it to be
+composed of wood. I quickly collected some branches; but they were wet,
+and would not burn. I was pained at this, and sat still watching the
+operation of the fire. The wet wood which I had placed near the heat
+dried, and itself became inflamed. I reflected on this; and, by touching
+the various branches, I discovered the cause, and busied myself in
+collecting a great quantity of wood, that I might dry it, and have a
+plentiful supply of fire. When night came on, and brought sleep with it,
+I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished. I
+covered it carefully with dry wood and leaves, and placed wet branches
+upon it; and then, spreading my cloak, I lay on the ground, and sunk
+into sleep.
+
+“It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire. I
+uncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fanned it into a flame. I
+observed this also, and contrived a fan of branches, which roused the
+embers when they were nearly extinguished. When night came again, I
+found, with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as heat; and that
+the discovery of this element was useful to me in my food; for I found
+some of the offals that the travellers had left had been roasted, and
+tasted much more savoury than the berries I gathered from 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 this operation,
+and the nuts and roots much improved.
+
+“Food, however, became scarce; and I often spent the whole day searching
+in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When I found
+this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto inhabited, to
+seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be more easily
+satisfied. In this emigration, I exceedingly lamented the loss of the
+fire which I had obtained through accident, and knew not how to
+re-produce it. I gave several hours to the serious consideration of
+this difficulty; but I was obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply
+it; and, wrapping myself up in my cloak, I struck across the wood
+towards the setting sun. I passed three days in these rambles, and at
+length discovered the open country. A great fall of snow had taken place
+the night before, and the fields were of one uniform white; the
+appearance was disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold
+damp substance that covered the ground.
+
+“It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and
+shelter; at length I perceived a small hut, on a rising ground, which
+had doubtless been built for the convenience of some shepherd. This was
+a new sight to me; and I examined 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, quitting the hut, ran across
+the fields with a speed of which his debilitated form hardly appeared
+capable. His appearance, different from any I had ever before seen, and
+his flight, somewhat surprised me. But I was enchanted by the appearance
+of the hut: here the snow and rain could not penetrate; the ground was
+dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite and divine a retreat as
+Pandæmonium appeared to the dæmons of hell after their sufferings in the
+lake of fire. I greedily devoured the remnants of the shepherd’s
+breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese, milk, and wine; the
+latter, however, I did not like. 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
+shone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my
+travels; and, depositing the remains of the peasant’s breakfast in a
+wallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several hours, until
+at sunset I arrived at a village. How miraculous did this appear! the
+huts, the neater cottages, and stately 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 hardly placed my foot within
+the door, before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted.
+The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me, until,
+grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons, I
+escaped to the open country, and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel,
+quite bare, and making a wretched appearance after the palaces I had
+beheld in the village. This hovel, however, joined a cottage of a neat
+and pleasant appearance; 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 with difficulty sit upright in it. No wood, however,
+was placed on the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and
+although the wind entered it by innumerable 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,
+however miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more
+from the barbarity of man.
+
+“As soon as morning dawned, I crept from my kennel, that I might view
+the adjacent 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 sides which were exposed by a pig-stye 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 be perceived with stones and
+wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them on occasion to pass
+out: all the light I enjoyed came through the stye, and that was
+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 my treatment 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 I purloined, and a cup with which I could drink,
+more conveniently than from my hand, of the pure water which flowed by
+my retreat. The floor was a little raised, so that it was kept perfectly
+dry, and by its vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was tolerably
+warm.
+
+“Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel, until
+something should occur which might alter my determination. It was indeed
+a paradise, compared to the bleak forest, my former residence, the
+rain-dropping branches, and dank earth. I ate my breakfast with
+pleasure, and was about to remove a plank to procure myself a little
+water, when I heard a step, and, looking through a small chink, I beheld
+a young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before my hovel. The
+girl was young and of gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since found
+cottagers and farm-house servants to be. Yet she was meanly dressed, a
+coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb; her fair
+hair was plaited, but not adorned; she looked patient, yet sad. I lost
+sight of her; and in about a quarter of an hour she returned, bearing
+the pail, which was now partly filled with milk. As she walked along,
+seemingly incommoded by the burden, 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 head, and 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 the field behind the
+cottage; and the girl was also busied, sometimes in the house, and
+sometimes in the yard.
+
+“On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the
+cottage had formerly occupied a part of it, but the panes had been
+filled up with wood. In one of these was a small and almost
+imperceptible chink, through which the eye could just penetrate. Through
+this crevice, a small room was visible, white-washed and clean, but very
+bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, 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 took something
+out of a drawer, which employed her hands, and she sat down beside the
+old man, who, taking up an instrument, began to play, and to produce
+sounds, sweeter 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 silver hair and benevolent countenance of the aged
+cottager, won my reverence; while the gentle manners of the girl enticed
+my love. He played a sweet mournful air, which I perceived drew tears
+from the eyes of his amiable companion, of which the old man took no
+notice, until she sobbed audibly; he then pronounced a few sounds, and
+the fair creature, leaving her work, knelt at his feet. He raised her,
+and smiled with such kindness and affection, that I felt sensations of a
+peculiar and over-powering nature: they were a mixture of pain and
+pleasure, such as I had never before experienced, either from hunger or
+cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the window, unable to bear
+these emotions.
+
+“Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a load
+of wood. The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of his
+burden, and, taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on the
+fire; then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage, and
+he shewed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese. She seemed pleased;
+and went into the garden for some roots and plants, which she placed in
+water, and then upon the fire. She afterwards continued her work, whilst
+the young man went into the garden, and appeared busily employed in
+digging and pulling up roots. After he had been employed thus about an
+hour, the young woman joined him, and they entered the cottage together.
+
+“The old man had, in the mean time, been pensive; but, on the appearance
+of his companions, he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to
+eat. The meal was quickly dispatched. The young woman was again occupied
+in arranging the cottage; 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 contrast between these two excellent creatures. One
+was old, with silver hairs and a countenance beaming with benevolence
+and love: the younger was slight and graceful in his figure, and his
+features were moulded with the finest symmetry; yet his eyes and
+attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency. The old man
+returned to the cottage; and the youth, with tools different from those
+he had used in the morning, directed his steps across the fields.
+
+“Night quickly shut in; but, to my extreme wonder, I found that the
+cottagers had a means of prolonging light, by the use of tapers, and was
+delighted to find, that the setting of the sun did not put an end to the
+pleasure I experienced in watching my human neighbours. In the evening,
+the young girl and her companion were employed in various occupations
+which I did not understand; and the old man again took up the
+instrument, which produced the divine sounds that had enchanted me in
+the morning. So soon as he had finished, the youth began, not to play,
+but to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the
+harmony of the old man’s instrument or the songs of the birds; I since
+found that he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the science
+of words or letters.
+
+“The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time,
+extinguished their lights, and retired, as I conjectured, to rest.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+“I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences
+of the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these
+people; and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well
+the treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous
+villagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hereafter
+think it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in
+my hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover the motives which
+influenced their actions.
+
+“The cottagers arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman
+arranged the 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
+young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various
+laborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be
+blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument, or in
+contemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the
+younger cottagers exhibited towards their venerable companion. They
+performed towards him every little office of affection and duty with
+gentleness; and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles.
+
+“They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often
+went apart, and appeared to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness;
+but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were
+miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being,
+should be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy? They
+possessed a delightful house (for such it was in my eyes), and every
+luxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill, and delicious viands
+when hungry; they were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still more,
+they enjoyed one another’s company and speech, interchanging each day
+looks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they
+really express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions; but
+perpetual attention, and time, explained to me many appearances which
+were at first enigmatic.
+
+“A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of
+the uneasiness of this amiable family; it was poverty: and they suffered
+that evil in a very distressing degree. Their nourishment consisted
+entirely of the vegetables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, who
+gave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely
+procure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of
+hunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottagers; for
+several times they placed food before the old man, when they reserved
+none for themselves.
+
+“This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed,
+during the night, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption;
+but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottagers, I
+abstained, and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and roots, which I
+gathered from a neighbouring wood.
+
+“I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist
+their labours. I found that the youth spent a great part of each day in
+collecting wood for the family fire; and, during the night, I often took
+his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home
+firing sufficient for the consumption of several days.
+
+“I remember, the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she
+opened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a
+great pile of wood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud
+voice, and the youth joined her, who also expressed surprise. I
+observed, with pleasure, that he did not go to the forest that day, but
+spent it in repairing the cottage, and cultivating the garden.
+
+“By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that
+these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and
+feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words
+they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in
+the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike
+science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was
+baffled in every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation
+was quick; and the words they uttered, not having any apparent connexion
+with visible objects, I was unable to discover any clue by which I could
+unravel the mystery of their reference. By great application, however,
+and after having remained during the space of several revolutions of the
+moon in my hovel, I discovered the names that were given to some of the
+most familiar objects of discourse: I learned and applied the words
+_fire_, _milk_, _bread_, and _wood_. I learned also the names of the
+cottagers themselves. The youth and his companion had each of them
+several names, but the old man had only one, which was _father_. The
+girl was called _sister_, or _Agatha_; and the youth _Felix_, _brother_,
+or _son_. I cannot describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideas
+appropriated to each of these sounds, and was able to pronounce them. I
+distinguished several other words, without being able as yet to
+understand or apply them; such as _good_, _dearest_, _unhappy_.
+
+“I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle manners and beauty of the
+cottagers greatly endeared them to me: when they were unhappy, I felt
+depressed; when they rejoiced, I sympathized in their joys. I saw few
+human beings beside them; and if any other happened to enter the
+cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the
+superior accomplishments of my friends. The old man, I could perceive,
+often endeavoured to encourage his children, as sometimes I found that
+he called them, to cast off their melancholy. He would talk in a
+cheerful accent, with an expression of goodness that bestowed pleasure
+even upon me. Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled
+with tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived; but I
+generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after
+having listened to the exhortations of her father. It was not thus with
+Felix. He was always the saddest of the groupe; and, even to my
+unpractised senses, he appeared to have suffered more deeply than his
+friends. But if his countenance was 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
+the dispositions of these amiable cottagers. In the midst of poverty and
+want, Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little white
+flower that peeped out from beneath the snowy ground. Early in the
+morning before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that obstructed
+her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and brought the
+wood from the out-house, where, to his perpetual astonishment, he found
+his store always replenished by an invisible hand. 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 no wood with
+him. At other times he worked in the garden; but, as there was little to
+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
+discovered that he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when
+he talked. I conjectured, therefore, that he found on the paper signs
+for speech which he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend
+these also; but how was that possible, when I did not even understand
+the sounds for which they stood as signs? I improved, however, sensibly
+in this science, but not sufficiently to follow up any kind of
+conversation, although I applied my whole mind to the endeavour: for I
+easily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to
+the cottagers, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first become
+master of their language; which knowledge might enable me to make them
+overlook the deformity of my figure; for with this also the contrast
+perpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted.
+
+“I had admired the perfect forms of my cottagers—their grace, beauty,
+and delicate complexions: but how was I terrified, when I viewed myself
+in a transparent pool! At first I started back, unable to believe that
+it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became fully
+convinced that I was in reality the monster that I am, I was filled with
+the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification. Alas! I did
+not yet entirely know the fatal effects of this miserable deformity.
+
+“As the sun became warmer, and the light of day longer, the snow
+vanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth. From this
+time Felix was more employed; and the heart-moving indications of
+impending famine disappeared. Their food, as I afterwards found, was
+coarse, but it was wholesome; and they procured a sufficiency of it.
+Several new kinds of plants sprung up in the garden, which they dressed;
+and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season advanced.
+
+“The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did
+not rain, as I found it was called when the heavens poured forth its
+waters. This frequently took place; but a high wind quickly dried the
+earth, and the season became far more pleasant than it had been.
+
+“My mode of life in my hovel was uniform. During the morning I attended
+the motions 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 they had retired to rest, if there was any moon, or the
+night was star-light, I went into the woods, and collected my own food
+and fuel for the cottage. When I returned, as often as it was necessary,
+I cleared their path from the snow, and performed those offices that I
+had seen done by Felix. I afterwards found that these labours, performed
+by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them; and once 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 and feelings of these lovely creatures; I was inquisitive to
+know why Felix appeared so miserable, and Agatha so sad. I thought
+(foolish wretch!) that it might be in my power to restore happiness to
+these deserving people. When I slept, or was absent, the forms of the
+venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent Felix,
+flitted before me. I looked upon them as superior beings, who would be
+the arbiters of my future destiny. I formed in my imagination a thousand
+pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of me. I
+imagined that they would be disgusted, until, by my gentle demeanour and
+conciliating words, I should first win their favour, and afterwards
+their love.
+
+“These thoughts exhilarated me, and led me to apply with fresh ardour to
+the acquiring the art of language. My organs were indeed harsh, but
+supple; and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their
+tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease.
+It was as the ass and the lap-dog; yet surely the gentle ass, whose
+intentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved
+better treatment than blows and execration.
+
+“The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the
+aspect of the earth. Men, who before this change seemed to have been hid
+in caves, dispersed themselves, and were employed in various arts of
+cultivation. The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves
+began to bud forth on the trees. Happy, happy earth! fit habitation for
+gods, which, so short a time before, was bleak, damp, and unwholesome.
+My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of nature; the
+past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, and the
+future gilded by bright rays of hope, and anticipations of joy.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+“I now hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall relate events
+that impressed me with feelings which, from what I was, have made me
+what I am.
+
+“Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine, and the skies
+cloudless. It surprised me, that what before was desert and gloomy
+should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses
+were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight, and a
+thousand sights of beauty.
+
+“It was on one of these days, when my cottagers periodically rested from
+labour—the old man played on his guitar, and the children listened to
+him—I observed that the countenance of Felix was melancholy beyond
+expression: he sighed frequently; and once his father paused in his
+music, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired the cause of his
+son’s sorrow. Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and the old man was
+recommencing his music, when some one tapped at the door.
+
+“It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a countryman as a guide. The
+lady was dressed in a dark suit, and covered with a thick black veil.
+Agatha asked a question; 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 my friends. On hearing this word,
+Felix came up hastily to the lady; who, when she saw him, threw up her
+veil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression. Her
+hair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided; her eyes were
+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
+sorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of
+ecstatic joy, of which I could hardly have believed it capable; his eyes
+sparkled, as his cheek flushed with pleasure; and at that moment I
+thought him as beautiful as the stranger. She appeared affected by
+different feelings; wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she held
+out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously, and called her, as
+well as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian. She did not appear to
+understand him, but smiled. He assisted her to dismount, and, dismissing
+her guide, conducted her into the cottage. Some conversation took place
+between him and his father; and the young stranger knelt at the old
+man’s feet, and would have kissed his hand, but he raised her, and
+embraced her affectionately.
+
+“I soon perceived, that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds,
+and appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood
+by, or herself understood, the cottagers. They made many signs which I
+did not comprehend; but I saw that her presence diffused gladness
+through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the
+morning mists. Felix seemed peculiarly happy, and with smiles of delight
+welcomed his Arabian. Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed the hands
+of the lovely stranger; and, pointing to her brother, made signs which
+appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she came. Some
+hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances, expressed joy, the
+cause of which I did not comprehend. Presently I found, by the frequent
+recurrence of one sound which the stranger repeated after them, that she
+was endeavouring to learn their language; and the idea instantly
+occurred 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
+separated, Felix kissed the hand of the stranger, and said, ‘Good night,
+sweet Safie.’ He sat up much longer, conversing with his father; and, by
+the frequent repetition of her name, I conjectured that their lovely
+guest was the subject of their conversation. I ardently desired to
+understand them, and bent every faculty towards that purpose, but found
+it utterly impossible.
+
+“The next morning Felix went out to his work; and, after the usual
+occupations of Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the
+old man, and, taking his guitar, played some airs so entrancingly
+beautiful, that they at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my
+eyes. She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling or
+dying away, like a nightingale of the woods.
+
+“When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first
+declined it. She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in
+sweet accents, but unlike the wondrous strain of the stranger. The old
+man appeared enraptured, and said some words, which Agatha endeavoured
+to explain to Safie, and by which he appeared to wish to express that
+she bestowed on him the greatest delight by her music.
+
+“The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the sole alteration,
+that joy had taken place of sadness in the countenances of my friends.
+Safie was always gay and happy; she and I improved rapidly in the
+knowledge of language, so that in 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 green banks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the
+scent and the eyes, stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods;
+the sun became warmer, the nights clear and balmy; and my nocturnal
+rambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they were considerably
+shortened by the late setting and early rising of the sun; for I never
+ventured abroad during daylight, fearful of meeting with the same
+treatment as I had formerly endured in the first village which I
+entered.
+
+“My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily
+master the language; and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than
+the Arabian, who understood very little, and conversed in broken
+accents, whilst I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that
+was spoken.
+
+“While I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters, as it
+was taught to the stranger; and this opened before me a wide field for
+wonder and delight.
+
+“The book from which Felix instructed Safie was Volney’s _Ruins of
+Empires_. I should not have understood the purport of this book, had not
+Felix, in reading it, given very minute explanations. He had chosen this
+work, he said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation of
+the eastern authors. Through this work I obtained a cursory knowledge of
+history, and a view of the several empires at present existing in the
+world; it gave me an insight into the manners, governments, and
+religions of the different nations of the earth. I heard of the slothful
+Asiatics; of the stupendous genius and mental activity of the Grecians;
+of the wars and wonderful virtue of the early Romans—of their
+subsequent degeneration—of the decline of that mighty empire; of
+chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard of the discovery of the
+American hemisphere, and wept with Safie over the hapless fate of its
+original inhabitants.
+
+“These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings. Was man,
+indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous, and magnificent, yet so
+vicious and base? He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil
+principle, and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and
+godlike. To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honour that
+can befall a sensitive being; to be base and vicious, as many on record
+have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more abject than
+that of the blind mole or harmless worm. For a long time I could not
+conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even why
+there were laws and governments; but when I heard details of vice and
+bloodshed, my wonder ceased, and I turned away with disgust and
+loathing.
+
+“Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new wonders to me. While
+I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the Arabian,
+the strange system of human society was explained to me. I heard of the
+division of property, of immense wealth and squalid poverty; of rank,
+descent, and noble blood.
+
+“The words induced me to turn towards myself. I learned that the
+possessions most esteemed by your fellow-creatures were, high and
+unsullied descent united with riches. A man might be respected with only
+one of these acquisitions; but without either he was considered, except
+in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to waste his
+powers for the profit of the chosen few. And what was I? Of my creation
+and creator I was absolutely ignorant; but I knew that I possessed no
+money, no friends, no kind of property. I was, besides, endowed with a
+figure hideously deformed and loathsome; I was not even of the same
+nature as man. I was more agile than they, and could subsist upon
+coarser diet; I bore the extremes of heat and cold with less injury to
+my frame; my stature far exceeded their’s. When I looked around, I saw
+and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster, a blot upon the earth,
+from which all men fled, and whom all men disowned?
+
+“I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted
+upon me; I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with
+knowledge. Oh, that I had for ever remained in my native wood, nor known
+or felt beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat!
+
+“Of what a strange nature is knowledge! It clings to the mind, when it
+has once seized on it, like a lichen on the rock. I wished sometimes to
+shake off all thought and feeling; but I learned that there was but one
+means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death—a state
+which I feared yet did not understand. I admired virtue and good
+feelings, and loved the gentle manners and amiable qualities of my
+cottagers; but I was shut out from intercourse with them, except through
+means which I obtained by stealth, when I was unseen and unknown, and
+which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of becoming one
+among my fellows. The gentle words of Agatha, and the animated smiles of
+the charming Arabian, were not for me. The mild exhortations of the old
+man, and the lively conversation of the loved Felix, were not for me.
+Miserable, unhappy wretch!
+
+“Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply. I heard of the
+difference of sexes; of the birth and growth of children; how the father
+doated on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the older
+child; how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapt up in the
+precious charge; how the mind of youth expanded and gained knowledge; of
+brother, sister, and all the various relationships which bind one human
+being to another in mutual bonds.
+
+“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 past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I
+distinguished nothing. From my earliest remembrance I had been as I then
+was in height and proportion. I had never 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
+return to the cottagers, whose story excited in me such various feelings
+of indignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated in
+additional love and reverence for my protectors (for so I loved, in an
+innocent, half painful self-deceit, to call them).”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+“Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was
+one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding
+as it did a number of circumstances each interesting and wonderful to
+one so utterly inexperienced as I was.
+
+“The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good
+family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence,
+respected by his superiors, and beloved by his equals. His son was bred
+in the service of his country; and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the
+highest distinction. A few months before my arrival, they had lived in a
+large and luxurious city, called Paris, surrounded by friends, and
+possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or
+taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.
+
+“The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin. He was a Turkish
+merchant, and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some reason
+which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was
+seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from
+Constantinople to join him. He was tried, and condemned to death. The
+injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant;
+and it was judged that his religion and wealth, rather than the crime
+alleged against him, had been the cause of his condemnation.
+
+“Felix had been present at the trial; his horror and indignation were
+uncontrollable, when he heard the decision of the court. He made, at
+that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him, and then looked around for the
+means. After many fruitless attempts to gain admittance to the prison,
+he found a strongly grated window in an unguarded part of the building,
+which lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Mahometan; who, loaded with
+chains, waited in despair the execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix
+visited the grate at night, and made known to the prisoner his
+intentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed and delighted, endeavoured to
+kindle the zeal of his deliverer by promises of reward and wealth. Felix
+rejected his offers with contempt; yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who
+was allowed to visit her father, and who, by her gestures, expressed her
+lively gratitude, the youth could not help owning to his own mind, that
+the captive possessed a treasure which would fully reward his toil and
+hazard.
+
+“The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on
+the heart of Felix, and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in his
+interests by the promise of her hand in marriage, so soon as he should
+be conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to accept this
+offer; yet he looked forward to the probability of that event as to the
+consummation of his happiness.
+
+“During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for
+the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several
+letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to
+express her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old
+man, a servant of her father’s, who understood French. She thanked him
+in the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her father;
+and at the same time she gently deplored her own fate.
+
+“I have copies of these letters; for I found means, during my residence
+in the hovel, to procure the implements of writing; and the letters were
+often in the hands of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart, I will give them
+to you, they will prove the truth of my tale; but at present, as the
+sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat the
+substance of them to you.
+
+“Safie related, that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a
+slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of
+the father of Safie, who married her. The young girl spoke in high and
+enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom spurned the
+bondage to which she was now reduced. She instructed her daughter in the
+tenets of her religion, and taught her to aspire to higher powers of
+intellect, and an independence of spirit, forbidden to the female
+followers of Mahomet. This lady died; but her lessons were indelibly
+impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again
+returning to Asia, and the being immured within the walls of a harem,
+allowed only to occupy herself with puerile amusements, ill suited to
+the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble
+emulation for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian, and
+remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in
+society, was enchanting to her.
+
+“The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed; but, on the night
+previous to it, he had quitted prison, and before morning was distant
+many leagues from Paris. Felix had procured passports in the name of his
+father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his plan to
+the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under the
+pretence of a journey, and concealed himself, with his daughter, in an
+obscure part of Paris.
+
+“Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons, and across Mont
+Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable
+opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.
+
+“Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his
+departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she
+should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in
+expectation of that event; and in the mean time he enjoyed the society
+of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest
+affection. They conversed with one another through the means of an
+interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie
+sang to him the divine airs of her native country.
+
+“The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place, and encouraged the hopes
+of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other
+plans. He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a
+Christian; but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear
+lukewarm; for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer,
+if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they
+inhabited. He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled to
+prolong the deceit until it might be no longer necessary, and secretly
+to take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans were greatly
+facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.
+
+“The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their
+victim, and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer. The plot
+of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were thrown
+into prison. The news reached Felix, and roused him from his dream of
+pleasure. His blind and aged father, and his gentle sister, lay in a
+noisome dungeon, while he enjoyed the free air, and the society of her
+whom he loved. This idea was torture to him. He quickly arranged with
+the Turk, that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity for
+escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a
+boarder at a convent at Leghorn; and then, quitting the lovely Arabian,
+he hastened to Paris, and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the
+law, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.
+
+“He did not succeed. They remained confined for five months before the
+trial took place; the result of which deprived them of their fortune,
+and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country.
+
+“They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany, where I
+discovered them. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for whom
+he and his family endured such unheard-of oppression, on discovering
+that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and impotence, became a
+traitor to good feeling and honour, and had quitted Italy with his
+daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money to aid him, as
+he said, in some plan of future maintenance.
+
+“Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix, and rendered
+him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could
+have endured poverty, and when this distress had been the meed of his
+virtue, he would have gloried in it: but the ingratitude of the Turk,
+and the loss of his beloved Safie, were misfortunes more bitter and
+irreparable. The arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his
+soul.
+
+“When the news reached Leghorn, that Felix was deprived of his wealth
+and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her
+lover, but to prepare to return with him to her native country. The
+generous nature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to
+expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his
+tyrannical mandate.
+
+“A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter’s apartment, and told
+her hastily, that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn
+had been divulged, and that he should speedily be delivered up to the
+French government; he had, consequently, hired a vessel to convey him
+to Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours. He
+intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential servant,
+to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his property, which
+had not yet arrived at Leghorn.
+
+“When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it
+would become her to pursue in this emergency. A residence in Turkey was
+abhorrent to her; her religion and feelings were alike adverse to it. By
+some papers of her father’s, which fell into her hands, she heard of the
+exile of her lover, and learnt the name of the spot where he then
+resided. She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her
+determination. Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her, and a
+small sum of money, she quitted Italy, with an attendant, a native of
+Leghorn, but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed
+for Germany.
+
+“She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage
+of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safie nursed her
+with the most devoted affection; but the poor girl died, and the Arabian
+was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country, and
+utterly ignorant of the customs of the world. She fell, however, into
+good hands. The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for which
+they were bound; and, after her death, the woman of the house in which
+they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at the
+cottage of her lover.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+“Such was the history of my beloved cottagers. It impressed me deeply. I
+learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire
+their virtues, and to deprecate the vices of mankind.
+
+“As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil; benevolence and
+generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to
+become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities were
+called forth and displayed. But, in giving an account of the progress of
+my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred in the
+beginning of the month of August of the same year.
+
+“One night, during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood, where I
+collected my own food, and brought home firing for my protectors, I
+found on the ground a leathern portmanteau, containing several articles
+of dress and some books. I eagerly seized the prize, and returned with
+it to my hovel. Fortunately the books were written in the language the
+elements of which I had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of
+_Paradise Lost_, a volume of _Plutarch’s Lives_, and the _Sorrows of
+Werter_. The possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I
+now continually studied and exercised my mind upon these histories,
+whilst my friends were employed in their ordinary occupations.
+
+“I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They produced
+in me an infinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me
+to ecstacy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In
+the _Sorrows of Werter_, besides the interest of its simple and
+affecting story, so many opinions are canvassed, and so many lights
+thrown upon what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects, that I found
+in it a never-ending source of speculation and astonishment. The gentle
+and domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and
+feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded
+well with my experience among my protectors, and with the wants which
+were for ever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Werter himself a more
+divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character contained
+no pretension, but it sunk deep. The disquisitions upon death and
+suicide were calculated to fill me with wonder. I did not pretend to
+enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards the opinions
+of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely understanding
+it.
+
+“As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and
+condition. I found myself similar, yet at the same time strangely unlike
+the beings concerning whom I read, and to whose conversation I was a
+listener. I sympathized with, and partly understood them, but I was
+unformed in mind; I was dependent on none, and related to none. ‘The
+path of my departure was free;’ and there was none to lament my
+annihilation. My person was hideous, and my stature gigantic: what did
+this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my
+destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to
+solve them.
+
+“The volume of _Plutarch’s Lives_ which I possessed, contained the
+histories of the first founders of the ancient republics. This book had
+a far different effect upon me from the _Sorrows of Werter_. I learned
+from Werter’s imaginations despondency and gloom: but Plutarch taught me
+high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my own
+reflections, to admire and love the heroes of past ages. Many things I
+read surpassed my understanding and experience. I had a very confused
+knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers, and
+boundless seas. But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns, and large
+assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the only
+school in which I had studied human nature; but this book developed new
+and mightier scenes of action. I read of men concerned in public affairs
+governing or massacring their species. I felt the greatest ardour for
+virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as far as I understood
+the signification of those terms, relative as they were, as I applied
+them, to pleasure and pain alone. Induced by these feelings, I was of
+course led to admire peaceable law-givers, Numa, Solon, and Lycurgus,
+in preference to Romulus and Theseus. The patriarchal lives of my
+protectors caused these impressions to take a firm hold on my mind;
+perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had been made by a young
+soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should have been imbued with
+different sensations.
+
+“But _Paradise Lost_ excited different and far deeper emotions. I read
+it, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as a
+true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe, that the picture
+of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of exciting.
+I often referred the several situations, as their similarity struck me,
+to my own. Like Adam, I was created apparently united by no link to any
+other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine in
+every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect
+creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of his
+Creator; he was allowed to converse with, and acquire knowledge from
+beings of a superior nature: but I was wretched, helpless, and alone.
+Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition; for
+often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter
+gall of envy rose within me.
+
+“Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon
+after my arrival in the hovel, I discovered some papers in the pocket of
+the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. At first I had
+neglected them; but now that I was able to decypher the characters in
+which they were written, I began to study them with diligence. It was
+your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely
+described in these papers every step you took in the progress of your
+work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic occurrences.
+You, doubtless, recollect these papers. Here they are. Every thing is
+related in them which bears reference to my accursed origin; the whole
+detail of that series of disgusting circumstances which produced it is
+set in view; the minutest description of my odious and loathsome person
+is given, in language which painted your own horrors, and rendered mine
+ineffaceable. I sickened as I read. ‘Hateful day when I received life!’
+I exclaimed in agony. ‘Cursed creator! Why did you form a monster so
+hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God in pity made man
+beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy
+type of your’s, more horrid from its very resemblance. Satan had his
+companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am
+solitary and detested.’
+
+“These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude; but
+when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and
+benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should become
+acquainted with my admiration of their virtues, they would compassionate
+me, and overlook my personal deformity. Could they turn from their door
+one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion and friendship?
+I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for
+an interview with them which would decide my fate. I postponed this
+attempt for some months longer; for the importance attached to its
+success inspired me with a dread lest I should fail. Besides, I found
+that my understanding improved so much with every day’s experience, that
+I was unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few more months
+should have added to my wisdom.
+
+“Several changes, in the mean time, took place in the cottage. The
+presence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants; and I also
+found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha
+spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in
+their labours by servants. They did not appear rich, but they were
+contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine
+became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledge only discovered
+to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I cherished hope, it
+is true; but it vanished, when I beheld my person reflected in water, or
+my shadow in the moon-shine, even as that frail image and that
+inconstant shade.
+
+“I endeavoured to crush these fears, and to fortify myself for the trial
+which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my
+thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and
+dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathizing with my
+feelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed
+smiles of consolation. But it was all a dream: no Eve soothed my
+sorrows, or shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam’s
+supplication to his Creator; but where was mine? he had abandoned me,
+and, in the bitterness of my heart, I cursed him.
+
+“Autumn passed thus. I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay
+and fall, and nature again assume the barren and bleak appearance it had
+worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did not
+heed the bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my
+conformation for the endurance of cold than heat. But my chief delights
+were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay apparel of
+summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention towards the
+cottagers. Their happiness was not decreased by the absence of summer.
+They loved, and sympathized with one another; and their joys, depending
+on each other, were not interrupted by the casualties that took place
+around them. The more I saw of them, the greater became my desire to
+claim their protection and kindness; my heart yearned to be known and
+loved by these amiable creatures: to see their sweet looks turned
+towards me with affection, was the utmost limit of my ambition. I dared
+not think that they would turn them from me with disdain and horror. The
+poor that stopped at their door were never driven away. I asked, it is
+true, for greater treasures than a little food or rest; I required
+kindness and sympathy; but I did not believe myself utterly unworthy of
+it.
+
+“The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken
+place since I awoke into life. My attention, at this time, was solely
+directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my
+protectors. I revolved many projects; but that on which I finally fixed
+was, to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone. I had
+sagacity enough to discover, that the unnatural hideousness of my person
+was the chief object of horror with those who had formerly beheld me. My
+voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I thought, therefore,
+that if, in the absence of his children, I could gain the good-will and
+mediation of the old De Lacy, I might, by his means, be tolerated by my
+younger protectors.
+
+“One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground,
+and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safie, Agatha, and
+Felix, departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own
+desire, was left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed,
+he took up his guitar, and played several mournful, but sweet airs, more
+sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before. At first his
+countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but, as he continued,
+thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded; at length, laying aside the
+instrument, he sat absorbed in reflection.
+
+“My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which
+would decide my hopes, or realize 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 sunk to the ground. Again I rose; and, exerting
+all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had
+placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat. The fresh air revived me,
+and, with renewed determination, I approached the door of their cottage.
+
+“I knocked. ‘Who is there?’ said the old man—‘Come in.’
+
+“I entered; ‘Pardon this intrusion,’ said I, ‘I am a traveller in want
+of a little rest; you would greatly oblige me, if you would allow me to
+remain a few minutes before the fire.’
+
+“‘Enter,’ said De Lacy; ‘and I will try in what manner I can relieve
+your wants; but, unfortunately, my children are from home, and, as I am
+blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to procure food for you.’
+
+“‘Do not trouble yourself, my kind host, I have food; it is warmth and
+rest only that I need.’
+
+“I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew that every minute was precious
+to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence the
+interview; when the old man addressed me—
+
+“‘By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman;—are you
+French?’
+
+“‘No; but I was educated by a French family, and understand that
+language only. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends,
+whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.’
+
+“‘Are these Germans?’
+
+“‘No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an
+unfortunate and deserted creature; I look around, and I have no relation
+or friend upon earth. These amiable people to whom I go have never seen
+me, and know little of me. I am full of fears; for if I fail there, I am
+an outcast in the world for ever.’
+
+“‘Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate; but the
+hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are full
+of brotherly love and charity. Rely, therefore, on your hopes; and if
+these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.’
+
+“‘They are kind—they are the most excellent creatures in the world;
+but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me. I have good
+dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless, and, in some degree,
+beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they
+ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable
+monster.’
+
+“‘That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot
+you undeceive them?’
+
+“‘I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I
+feel so many overwhelming terrors. I tenderly love these friends; I
+have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily
+kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and
+it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.’
+
+“‘Where do these friends reside?’
+
+“‘Near this spot.’
+
+“The old man paused, and then continued, ‘If you will unreservedly
+confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in
+undeceiving them. I am blind, and cannot judge of your countenance, but
+there is something in your words which persuades me that you are
+sincere. I am poor, and an exile; but it will afford me true pleasure to
+be in any way serviceable to a human creature.’
+
+“‘Excellent man! I thank you, and accept your generous offer. You raise
+me from the dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid, I
+shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your
+fellow-creatures.’
+
+“‘Heaven forbid! even if you were really criminal; for that can only
+drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I also am
+unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent:
+judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.’
+
+“‘How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? from your lips first
+have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall be for
+ever grateful; and your present humanity assures me of success with
+those friends whom I am on the point of meeting.’
+
+“‘May I know the names and residence of those friends?’
+
+“I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to rob
+me of, or bestow happiness on me for ever. I struggled vainly for
+firmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my
+remaining strength; I sank on the chair, and sobbed aloud. At that
+moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment to
+lose; but, seizing the hand of the old man, I cried, ‘Now is the
+time!—save and protect me! You and your family are the friends whom I
+seek. Do not you desert me in the hour of trial!’
+
+“‘Great God!’ exclaimed the old man, ‘who are you?’
+
+“At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safie, and
+Agatha entered. Who can describe their horror and consternation on
+beholding me? Agatha fainted; and Safie, unable to attend to her friend,
+rushed out of the cottage. Felix darted forward, and with supernatural
+force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung: in a transport of
+fury, he dashed me to the ground, and struck me violently with a stick.
+I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope.
+But my heart sunk within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained. I
+saw him on the point of repeating his blow, when, overcome by pain and
+anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general tumult escaped
+unperceived to my hovel.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+
+“Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not
+extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed? I
+know not; despair had not yet taken possession of me; my feelings were
+those of rage and revenge. I could with pleasure have destroyed the
+cottage and its inhabitants, and have glutted myself with their shrieks
+and misery.
+
+“When night came, I quitted my retreat, and wandered in the wood; and
+now, no longer restrained by the fear of discovery, I gave vent to my
+anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the
+toils; destroying the objects that obstructed me, and ranging through
+the wood with a stag-like swiftness. Oh! what a miserable night I
+passed! the cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their
+branches above me: now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth
+amidst the universal stillness. All, save I, were at rest or in
+enjoyment: I, like the arch fiend, bore a hell within me; and, finding
+myself unsympathized with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and
+destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin.
+
+“But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became
+fatigued with excess of bodily exertion, and sank on the damp grass in
+the sick impotence of despair. There was none among the myriads of men
+that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness
+towards my enemies? No: from that moment I declared everlasting war
+against the species, and, more than all, against him who had formed me,
+and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.
+
+“The sun rose; I heard the voices of men, and knew that it was
+impossible to return to my retreat during that day. Accordingly I hid
+myself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours
+to reflection on my situation.
+
+“The pleasant sunshine, and the pure air of day, restored me to some
+degree of tranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the
+cottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my
+conclusions. I had certainly acted imprudently. It was apparent that my
+conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and I was a fool in
+having exposed my person to the horror of his children. I ought to have
+familiarized the old De Lacy to me, and by degrees have discovered
+myself to the rest of his family, when they should have been prepared
+for my approach. But I did not believe my errors to be irretrievable;
+and, after much consideration, I resolved to return to the cottage, seek
+the old man, and by my representations win him to my party.
+
+“These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound
+sleep; but the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by
+peaceful dreams. The horrible scene of the preceding day was for ever
+acting before my eyes; the females were flying, and the enraged Felix
+tearing me from his father’s feet. I awoke exhausted; and, finding that
+it was already night, I crept forth from my hiding-place, and went in
+search of food.
+
+“When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the well-known
+path that conducted to the cottage. All there was at peace. I crept into
+my hovel, and remained in silent expectation of the accustomed hour when
+the family arose. That hour past, the sun mounted high in the heavens,
+but the cottagers did not appear. I trembled violently, apprehending
+some dreadful misfortune. The inside of the cottage was dark, and I
+heard no motion; I cannot describe the agony of this suspence.
+
+“Presently two countrymen passed by; but, pausing near the cottage, they
+entered into conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not
+understand what they said, as they spoke the language of the country,
+which differed from that of my protectors. Soon after, however, Felix
+approached with another man: I was surprised, as I knew that he had not
+quitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover, from
+his discourse, the meaning of these unusual appearances.
+
+“‘Do you consider,’ said his companion to him, ‘that you will be obliged
+to pay three months’ rent, and to lose the produce of your garden? I do
+not wish to take any unfair advantage, and I beg therefore that you will
+take some days to consider of your determination.’
+
+“‘It is utterly useless,’ replied Felix, ‘we can never again inhabit
+your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest danger, owing to
+the dreadful circumstance that I have related. My wife and my sister
+will never recover their horror. I entreat you not to reason with me any
+more. Take possession of your tenement, and let me fly from this place.’
+
+“Felix trembled violently as he said this. He and his companion entered
+the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then
+departed. I never saw any of the family of De Lacy more.
+
+“I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of
+utter and stupid despair. My protectors had departed, and had broken the
+only link that held me to the world. For the first time the feelings of
+revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to controul
+them; but, allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I bent my
+mind towards injury and death. When I thought of my friends, of the mild
+voice of De Lacy, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the exquisite beauty of
+the Arabian, these thoughts vanished, and a gush of tears somewhat
+soothed me. But again, when I reflected that they had spurned and
+deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger; and, unable to injure any
+thing human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects. As night
+advanced, I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage; and,
+after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden, I
+waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my
+operations.
+
+“As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods, and quickly
+dispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens: the blast tore
+along like a mighty avalanche, and produced a kind of insanity in my
+spirits, that burst all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted the
+dry branch of a tree, and danced with fury around the devoted cottage,
+my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon
+nearly touched. A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my
+brand; it sunk, and, with a loud scream, I fired the straw, and heath,
+and bushes, which I had collected. The wind fanned the fire, and the
+cottage was quickly enveloped by the flames, which clung to it, and
+licked it with their forked and destroying tongues.
+
+“As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of
+the habitation, I quitted the scene, and sought for refuge in the woods.
+
+“And now, with the world before me, whither should I bend my steps? I
+resolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes; but to me, hated
+and despised, every country must be equally horrible. At length the
+thought of you crossed my mind. I learned from your papers that you were
+my father, my creator; and to whom could I apply with more fitness than
+to him who had given me life? Among the lessons that Felix had bestowed
+upon Safie geography had not been omitted: I had learned from these the
+relative situations of the different countries of the earth. You had
+mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town; and towards this place
+I resolved to proceed.
+
+“But how was I to direct myself? I knew that I must travel in a
+south-westerly direction to reach my destination; but the sun was my
+only guide. I did not know the names of the towns that I was to pass
+through, nor could I ask information from a single human being; but I
+did not despair. From you only could I hope for succour, although
+towards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred. Unfeeling, heartless
+creator! you had endowed me with perceptions and passions, and then cast
+me abroad an object for the scorn and horror of mankind. But on you only
+had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I determined to seek
+that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from any other being that
+wore the human form.
+
+“My travels were long, and the sufferings I endured intense. It was late
+in autumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided. I
+travelled only at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a human
+being. Nature decayed around me, and the sun became heatless; rain and
+snow poured around me; mighty rivers were frozen; the surface of the
+earth was hard, and chill, and bare, and I found no shelter. Oh, earth!
+how often did I imprecate curses on the cause of my being! The mildness
+of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall and
+bitterness. The nearer I approached to your habitation, the more deeply
+did I feel the spirit of revenge enkindled in my heart. Snow fell, and
+the waters were hardened, but I rested not. A few incidents now and then
+directed me, and I possessed a map of the country; but I often wandered
+wide from my path. The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite: no
+incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its
+food; but a circumstance that happened when I arrived on the confines of
+Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth, and the earth again
+began to look green, confirmed in an especial manner the bitterness and
+horror of my feelings.
+
+“I generally rested during the day, and travelled only when I was
+secured by night from the view of man. One morning, however, finding
+that my path lay through a deep wood, I ventured to continue my journey
+after the sun had risen; the day, which was one of the first of spring,
+cheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the balminess of
+the air. I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that had long
+appeared dead, revive within me. Half surprised by the novelty of these
+sensations, I allowed myself to be borne away by them; and, forgetting
+my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy. Soft tears again bedewed
+my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with thankfulness towards the
+blessed sun which bestowed such joy upon me.
+
+“I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its
+boundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many
+of the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring.
+Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard the
+sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself under the shade of a
+cypress. I was scarcely hid, when a young girl came running towards the
+spot where I was concealed, laughing as if she ran from some one in
+sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the
+river, when suddenly her foot slipt, and she fell into the rapid stream.
+I rushed from my hiding-place, and, with extreme labour from the force
+of the current, saved her, and dragged her to shore. She was senseless;
+and I endeavoured, by every means in my power, to restore animation,
+when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, who was
+probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me, he
+darted towards me, and, tearing the girl from my arms, hastened towards
+the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, I hardly knew why;
+but when the man saw me draw near, he aimed a gun, which he carried, at
+my body, and fired. I sunk to the ground, and my injurer, with increased
+swiftness, escaped into the wood.
+
+“This was then the reward of my benevolence! I had saved a human being
+from destruction, and, as a recompense, I now writhed under the
+miserable pain of a wound, which shattered the flesh and bone. The
+feelings of kindness and gentleness, which I had entertained but a few
+moments before, gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth.
+Inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind.
+But the agony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted.
+
+“For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to
+cure the wound which I had received. The ball had entered my shoulder,
+and I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through; at any
+rate I had no means of extracting it. My sufferings were augmented also
+by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their
+infliction. My daily vows rose for revenge—a deep and deadly revenge,
+such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had
+endured.
+
+“After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey. The
+labours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or
+gentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mockery, which insulted my
+desolate state, and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for
+the enjoyment of pleasure.
+
+“But my toils now drew near a close; and, two months from this time, I
+reached the environs of Geneva.
+
+“It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among
+the fields that surround it, to meditate in what manner I should apply
+to you. I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger, and far too unhappy to
+enjoy the gentle breezes of evening, or the prospect of the sun setting
+behind the stupendous mountains of Jura.
+
+“At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection,
+which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came
+running into the recess I had chosen with all the sportiveness of
+infancy. Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me, that this
+little creature was unprejudiced, and had lived too short a time to have
+imbibed a horror of deformity. If, therefore, I could seize him, and
+educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in
+this peopled earth.
+
+“Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed, and drew him
+towards me. As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before his
+eyes, and uttered a shrill scream: I drew his hand forcibly from his
+face, and said, ‘Child, what is the meaning of this? I do not intend to
+hurt you; listen to me.’
+
+“He struggled violently; ‘Let me go,’ he cried; ‘monster! ugly wretch!
+you wish to eat me, and tear me to pieces—You are an ogre—Let me go,
+or I will tell my papa.’
+
+“‘Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.’
+
+“‘Hideous monster! let me go; My papa is a Syndic—he is M.
+Frankenstein—he would punish you. You dare not keep me.’
+
+“‘Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy—to him towards whom I have
+sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.’
+
+“The child still struggled, and loaded me with epithets which carried
+despair to my heart: I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a
+moment he lay dead at my feet.
+
+“I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish
+triumph: clapping my hands, I exclaimed, ‘I, too, can create desolation;
+my enemy is not impregnable; this death will carry despair to him, and a
+thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.’
+
+“As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his
+breast. I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman. In spite of
+my malignity, it softened and attracted me. For a few moments I gazed
+with delight on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her lovely
+lips; but presently my rage returned: I remembered that I was for ever
+deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could bestow; and
+that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in regarding me, have
+changed that air of divine benignity to one expressive of disgust and
+affright.
+
+“Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage? I only
+wonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations in
+exclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind, and perish in the
+attempt to destroy them.
+
+“While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had
+committed the murder, and was seeking a more secluded hiding-place, when
+I perceived a woman passing near me. She was young, not indeed so
+beautiful as her whose portrait I held, but of an agreeable aspect, and
+blooming in the loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one
+of those whose smiles are bestowed on all but me; she shall not escape:
+thanks to the lessons of Felix, and the sanguinary laws of man, I have
+learned how to work mischief. I approached her unperceived, and placed
+the portrait securely in one of the folds of her dress.
+
+“For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place;
+sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and
+its miseries for ever. At length I wandered towards these mountains, and
+have ranged through their immense recesses, consumed by a burning
+passion which you alone can gratify. We may not part until you have
+promised to comply with my requisition. I am alone, and miserable; man
+will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself
+would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species,
+and have the same defects. This being you must create.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+
+The being finished speaking, and fixed his looks upon me in expectation
+of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my
+ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He
+continued—
+
+“You must create a female for me, with whom I can live in the
+interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone
+can do; and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse.”
+
+The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had
+died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and,
+as he said this, I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within
+me.
+
+“I do refuse it,” I replied; “and no torture shall ever extort a consent
+from me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you shall
+never make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like yourself,
+whose joint wickedness might desolate the world. Begone! I have answered
+you; you may torture me, but I will never consent.”
+
+“You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and, instead of threatening,
+I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable;
+am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear
+me to pieces, and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I should pity
+man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder, if you could
+precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the
+work of your own hands. Shall I respect man, when he contemns me? Let
+him live with me in the interchange of kindness, and, instead of injury,
+I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his
+acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable
+barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject
+slavery. I will revenge my injuries: if I cannot inspire love, I will
+cause fear; and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator,
+do I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care: I will work at your
+destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you curse
+the hour of your birth.”
+
+A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled into
+contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently he
+calmed himself, and proceeded—
+
+“I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me; for you do not
+reflect that you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotions
+of benevolence towards me, I should return them an hundred and an
+hundred fold; for that one creature’s sake, I would make peace with the
+whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be
+realized. What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a
+creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself: the gratification is
+small, but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is
+true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that
+account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be
+happy, but they will be harmless, and free from the misery I now feel.
+Oh! my creator, make me happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one
+benefit! Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing;
+do not deny me my request!”
+
+I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences of
+my consent; but I felt that there was some justice in his argument. His
+tale, and the feelings he now expressed, proved him to be a creature of
+fine sensations; and did I not, as his maker, owe him all the portion of
+happiness that it was in my power to bestow? He saw my change of
+feeling, and continued—
+
+“If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see us
+again: I will go to the vast wilds of South America. My food is not that
+of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid, to glut my appetite;
+acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. My companion will
+be of the same nature as myself, and will be content with the same fare.
+We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on
+man, and will ripen our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful
+and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the
+wantonness of power and cruelty. Pitiless as you have been towards me, I
+now see compassion in your eyes: let me seize the favourable moment, and
+persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire.”
+
+“You propose,” replied I, “to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell
+in those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your only
+companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man,
+persevere in this exile? You will return, and again seek their kindness,
+and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be
+renewed, and you will then have a companion to aid you in the task of
+destruction. This may not be; cease to argue the point, for I cannot
+consent.”
+
+“How inconstant are your feelings! but a moment ago you were moved by my
+representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my complaints?
+I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me,
+that, with the companion you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of
+man, and dwell, as it may chance, in the most savage of places. My evil
+passions will have fled, for I shall meet with sympathy; my life will
+flow quietly away, and, in my dying moments, I shall not curse my
+maker.”
+
+His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him, and
+sometimes felt a wish to console him; but when I looked upon him, when I
+saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened, and my
+feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to stifle
+these sensations; I thought, that as I could not sympathize with him, I
+had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which
+was yet in my power to bestow.
+
+“You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not already shewn a
+degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust you? May not
+even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by affording a
+wider scope for your revenge?”
+
+“How is this? I thought I had moved your compassion, and yet you still
+refuse to bestow on me the only benefit that can soften my heart, and
+render me harmless. If I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice
+must be my portion; the love of another will destroy the cause of my
+crimes, and I shall become a thing, of whose existence every one will be
+ignorant. My vices are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor;
+and my virtues will necessarily arise when I live in communion with an
+equal. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive being, and become
+linked to the chain of existence and events, from which I am now
+excluded.”
+
+I paused some time to reflect on all he had related, and the various
+arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues
+which he had displayed on the opening of his existence, and the
+subsequent blight of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which
+his protectors had manifested towards him. His power and threats were
+not omitted in my calculations: a creature who could exist in the ice
+caves of the glaciers, and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of
+inaccessible precipices, was a being possessing faculties it would be
+vain to cope with. After a long pause of reflection, I concluded, that
+the justice due both to him and my fellow-creatures demanded of me that
+I should comply with his request. Turning to him, therefore, I said—
+
+“I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever,
+and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall
+deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile.”
+
+“I swear,” he cried, “by the sun, and by the blue sky of heaven, that if
+you grant my prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again.
+Depart to your home, and commence your labours: I shall watch their
+progress with unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are
+ready I shall appear.”
+
+Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in
+my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than
+the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost him among the undulations of
+the sea of ice.
+
+His tale had occupied the whole day; and the sun was upon the verge of
+the horizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to hasten my descent
+towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my
+heart was heavy, and my steps slow. The labour of winding among the
+little paths of the mountains, and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced,
+perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences of
+the day had produced. Night was far advanced, when I came to the
+half-way resting-place, and seated myself beside the fountain. The stars
+shone at intervals, as the clouds passed from over them; the dark pines
+rose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the
+ground: it was a scene of wonderful solemnity, and stirred strange
+thoughts within me. I wept bitterly; and, clasping my hands in agony, I
+exclaimed, “Oh! stars, and clouds, and winds, ye are all about to mock
+me: if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as
+nought; but if not, depart, depart and leave me in darkness.”
+
+These were wild and miserable thoughts; but I cannot describe to you how
+the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me, and how I listened
+to every blast of wind, as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its way to
+consume me.
+
+Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; but my
+presence, so haggard and strange, hardly calmed the fears of my family,
+who had waited the whole night in anxious expectation of my return.
+
+The following day we returned to Geneva. The intention of my father in
+coming had been to divert my mind, and to restore me to my lost
+tranquillity; but the medicine had been fatal. And, unable to account
+for the excess of misery I appeared to suffer, he hastened to return
+home, hoping the quiet and monotony of a domestic life would by degrees
+alleviate my sufferings from whatsoever cause they might spring.
+
+For myself, I was passive in all their arrangements; and the gentle
+affection of my beloved Elizabeth was inadequate to draw me from the
+depth of my despair. The promise I had made to the dæmon weighed upon my
+mind, like Dante’s iron cowl on the heads of the hellish hypocrites. All
+pleasures of earth and sky passed before me like a dream, and that
+thought only had to me the reality of life. Can you wonder, that
+sometimes a kind of insanity possessed me, or that I saw continually
+about me a multitude of filthy animals inflicting on me incessant
+torture, that often extorted screams and bitter groans?
+
+By degrees, however, these feelings became calmed. I entered again into
+the every-day scene of life, if not with interest, at least with some
+degree of tranquillity.
+
+
+END OF VOL. II.
+
+
+
+
+FRANKENSTEIN;
+
+OR,
+
+THE MODERN PROMETHEUS.
+
+
+    IN THREE VOLUMES.
+    VOL. III.
+
+    London:
+
+    _PRINTED FOR_
+    LACKINGTON, HUGHES, HARDING, MAVOR, & JONES,
+    FINSBURY SQUARE.
+
+    1818.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+    Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
+    To mould me man? Did I solicit thee
+    From darkness to promote me?——
+
+    Paradise Lost.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+
+Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and
+I could not collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the
+vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my
+repugnance to the task which was enjoined me. I found that I could not
+compose a female without again devoting several months to profound study
+and laborious disquisition. I had heard of some discoveries having been
+made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was material to
+my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father’s consent to
+visit England for this purpose; but I clung to every pretence of delay,
+and could not resolve to interrupt my returning tranquillity. My health,
+which had hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when
+unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably. My
+father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts towards
+the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy, which
+every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring blackness
+overcast the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took refuge in the
+most perfect solitude. I passed whole days on the lake alone in a little
+boat, watching the clouds, and listening to the rippling of the waves,
+silent and listless. But the fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to
+restore me to some degree of composure; and, on my return, I met the
+salutations of my friends with a readier smile and a more cheerful
+heart.
+
+It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father, calling
+me aside, thus addressed me:—
+
+“I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former
+pleasures, and seem to be returning to yourself. And yet you are still
+unhappy, and still avoid our society. For some time I was lost in
+conjecture as to the cause of this; but yesterday an idea struck me, and
+if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it. Reserve on such a point
+would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all.”
+
+I trembled violently at this exordium, and my father continued—
+
+“I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage
+with your cousin as the tie of our domestic comfort, and the stay of my
+declining years. You were attached to each other from your earliest
+infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and tastes,
+entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the experience of man,
+that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have
+entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without
+any wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met with
+another whom you may love; and, considering yourself as bound in honour
+to your cousin, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you
+appear to feel.”
+
+“My dear father, re-assure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and
+sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my
+warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and prospects are
+entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.”
+
+“The expression of your sentiments on this subject, my dear Victor,
+gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you
+feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast
+a gloom over us. But it is this gloom, which appears to have taken so
+strong a hold of your mind, that I wish to dissipate. Tell me,
+therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnization of the
+marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us from
+that every-day tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You are
+younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent
+fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future
+plans of honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose,
+however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you, or that a delay on
+your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words
+with candour, and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and
+sincerity.”
+
+I listened to my father in silence, and remained for some time incapable
+of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of
+thoughts, and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. Alas! to me the
+idea of an immediate union with my cousin was one of horror and dismay.
+I was bound by a solemn promise, which I had not yet fulfilled, and
+dared not break; or, if I did, what manifold miseries might not impend
+over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival with this
+deadly weight yet hanging round my neck, and bowing me to the ground. I
+must perform my engagement, and let the monster depart with his mate,
+before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of an union from which I
+expected peace.
+
+I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to
+England, or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers
+of that country, whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable
+use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining the
+desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory: besides, any
+variation was agreeable to me, and I was delighted with the idea of
+spending a year or two in change of scene and variety of occupation, in
+absence from my family; during which period some event might happen
+which would restore me to them in peace and happiness: my promise might
+be fulfilled, and the monster have departed; or some accident might
+occur to destroy him, and put an end to my slavery for ever.
+
+These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to
+visit England; but, concealing the true reasons of this request, I
+clothed my desires under the guise of wishing to travel and see the
+world before I sat down for life within the walls of my native town.
+
+I urged my entreaty with earnestness, and my father was easily induced
+to comply; for a more indulgent and less dictatorial parent did not
+exist upon earth. Our plan was soon arranged. I should travel to
+Strasburgh, where Clerval would join me. Some short time would be spent
+in the towns of Holland, and our principal stay would be in England. We
+should return by France; and it was agreed that the tour should occupy
+the space of two years.
+
+My father pleased himself with the reflection, that my union with
+Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return to Geneva. “These
+two years,” said he, “will pass swiftly, and it will be the last delay
+that will oppose itself to your happiness. And, indeed, I earnestly
+desire that period to arrive, when we shall all be united, and neither
+hopes or fears arise to disturb our domestic calm.”
+
+“I am content,” I replied, “with your arrangement. By that time we shall
+both have become wiser, and I hope happier, than we at present are.” I
+sighed; but my father kindly forbore to question me further concerning
+the cause of my dejection. He hoped that new scenes, and the amusement
+of travelling, would restore my tranquillity.
+
+I now made arrangements for my journey; but one feeling haunted me,
+which filled me with fear and agitation. During my absence I should
+leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy, and
+unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my
+departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go; and
+would he not accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in
+itself, but soothing, inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends.
+I was agonized with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of this
+might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the slave
+of my creature, I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of the
+moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend
+would follow me, and exempt my family from the danger of his
+machinations.
+
+It was in the latter end of August that I departed, to pass two years of
+exile. Elizabeth approved of the reasons of my departure, and only
+regretted that she had not the same opportunities of enlarging her
+experience, and cultivating her understanding. She wept, however, as she
+bade me farewell, and entreated me to return happy and tranquil. “We
+all,” said she, “depend upon you; and if you are miserable, what must be
+our feelings?”
+
+I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly
+knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. I
+remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on
+it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with
+me: for I resolved to fulfil my promise while abroad, and return, if
+possible, a free man. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through
+many beautiful and majestic scenes; but my eyes were fixed and
+unobserving. I could only think of the bourne of my travels, and the
+work which was to occupy me whilst they endured.
+
+After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed
+many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for
+Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He was
+alive to every new scene; joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting
+sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise, and recommence a new day. He
+pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape, and the
+appearances of the sky. “This is what it is to live;” he cried, “now I
+enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you
+desponding and sorrowful?” In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts,
+and neither saw the descent of the evening star, nor the golden sun-rise
+reflected in the Rhine.—And you, my friend, would be far more amused
+with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of
+feeling and delight, than to listen to my reflections. I, a miserable
+wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment.
+
+We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to
+Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During this voyage,
+we passed by many willowy islands, and saw several beautiful towns. We
+staid a day at Manheim, and, on the fifth from our departure from
+Strasburgh, arrived at Mayence. The course of the Rhine below Mayence
+becomes much more picturesque. The river descends rapidly, and winds
+between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw many
+ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by black
+woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Rhine, indeed, presents a
+singularly variegated landscape. In one spot you view rugged hills,
+ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhine
+rushing beneath; and, on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing
+vineyards, with green sloping banks, and a meandering river, and
+populous towns, occupy the scene.
+
+We travelled at the time of the vintage, and heard the song of the
+labourers, as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and
+my spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased.
+I lay at the bottom of the boat, and, as I gazed on the cloudless blue
+sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a
+stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of
+Henry? He felt as if he had been transported to Fairy-land, and enjoyed
+a happiness seldom tasted by man. “I have seen,” he said, “the most
+beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne
+and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the
+water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy
+and mournful appearance, were it not for the most verdant islands that
+relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake agitated
+by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water, and gave you an
+idea of what the water-spout must be on the great ocean, and the waves
+dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest and his
+mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and where their dying voices
+are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I have
+seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud: but this country,
+Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The mountains of
+Switzerland are more majestic and strange; but there is a charm in the
+banks of this divine river, that I never before saw equalled. Look at
+that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the island,
+almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now that
+group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village
+half-hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely, the spirit that
+inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man, than
+those who pile the glacier, or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the
+mountains of our own country.”
+
+Clerval! beloved friend! even now it delights me to record your words,
+and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving. He
+was a being formed in the “very poetry of nature.” His wild and
+enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart.
+His soul overflowed with ardent affections, and his friendship was of
+that devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to
+look for only in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not
+sufficient to satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external nature,
+which others regard only with admiration, he loved with ardour:
+
+    —— ——“The sounding cataract
+    Haunted _him_ like a passion: the tall rock,
+    The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
+    Their colours and their forms, were then to him
+    An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
+    That had no need of a remoter charm,
+    By thought supplied, or any interest
+    Unborrowed from the eye.”
+
+And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost for
+ever? Has this mind so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful and
+magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the life
+of its creator; has this mind perished? Does it now only exist in my
+memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and beaming
+with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and consoles your
+unhappy friend.
+
+Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight
+tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart,
+overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will
+proceed with my tale.
+
+Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved to
+post the remainder of our way; for the wind was contrary, and the stream
+of the river was too gentle to aid us.
+
+Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery; but
+we arrived in a few days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to
+England. It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that
+I first saw the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames
+presented a new scene; they were flat, but fertile, and almost every
+town was marked by the remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort,
+and remembered the Spanish armada; Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich,
+places which I had heard of even in my country.
+
+At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul’s towering
+above all, and the Tower famed in English history.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+
+London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several
+months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the
+intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this time;
+but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally occupied with
+the means of obtaining the information necessary for the completion of
+my promise, and quickly availed myself of the letters of introduction
+that I had brought with me, addressed to the most distinguished natural
+philosophers.
+
+If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness,
+it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had come
+over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of the
+information they might give me on the subject in which my interest was
+so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I could
+fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of Henry
+soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory peace. But
+busy uninteresting joyous faces brought back despair to my heart. I saw
+an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my fellow-men; this
+barrier was sealed with the blood of William and Justine; and to reflect
+on the events connected with those names filled my soul with anguish.
+
+But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive,
+and anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of
+manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of
+instruction and amusement. He was for ever busy; and the only check to
+his enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mien. I tried to conceal
+this as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures
+natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by
+any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him,
+alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone. I now also began
+to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this was to
+me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling on the
+head. Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme anguish, and
+every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips to quiver, and
+my heart to palpitate.
+
+After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person
+in Scotland, who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned
+the beauties of his native country, and asked us if those were not
+sufficient allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north
+as Perth, where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this
+invitation; and I, although I abhorred society, wished to view again
+mountains and streams, and all the wondrous works with which Nature
+adorns her chosen dwelling-places.
+
+We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now
+February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the
+north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not
+intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor,
+Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the
+completion of this tour about the end of July. I packed my chemical
+instruments, and the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my
+labours in some obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.
+
+We quitted London on the 27th of March, and remained a few days at
+Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us
+mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of
+stately deer, were all novelties to us.
+
+From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds
+were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted
+there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles I.
+had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him, after
+the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of
+parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king, and his
+companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Gower, his queen, and
+son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city, which they
+might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a
+dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these
+feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of the
+city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. The
+colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost
+magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows
+of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters,
+which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and domes,
+embosomed among aged trees.
+
+I enjoyed this scene; and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the
+memory of the past, and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for
+peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never visited my
+mind; and if I was ever overcome by _ennui_, the sight of what is
+beautiful in nature, or the study of what is excellent and sublime in
+the productions of man, could always interest my heart, and communicate
+elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered
+my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit, what I shall
+soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to
+others, and abhorrent to myself.
+
+We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs,
+and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most
+animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery were
+often prolonged by the successive objects that presented themselves. We
+visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden, and the field on which that
+patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated from its debasing and
+miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas of liberty and
+self-sacrifice, of which these sights were the monuments and the
+remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains, and look
+around me with a free and lofty spirit; but the iron had eaten into my
+flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my miserable self.
+
+We left Oxford with regret, and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next
+place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village
+resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but every
+thing is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of distant
+white Alps, which always attend on the piny mountains of my native
+country. We visited the wondrous cave, and the little cabinets of
+natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same manner
+as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name made me
+tremble, when pronounced by Henry; and I hastened to quit Matlock, with
+which that terrible scene was thus associated.
+
+From Derby still journeying northward, we passed two months in
+Cumberland and Westmoreland. I could now almost fancy myself among the
+Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the
+northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the rocky
+streams, were all familiar and dear sights to me. Here also we made some
+acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into happiness. The
+delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than mine; his mind
+expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found in his own nature
+greater capacities and resources than he could have imagined himself to
+have possessed while he associated with his inferiors. “I could pass my
+life here,” said he to me; “and among these mountains I should scarcely
+regret Switzerland and the Rhine.”
+
+But he found that a traveller’s life is one that includes much pain
+amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and
+when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit
+that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again
+engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.
+
+We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and
+Westmoreland, and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants,
+when the period of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached,
+and we left them to travel on. For my own part I was not sorry. I had
+now neglected my promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the
+dæmon’s disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland, and wreak his
+vengeance on my relatives. This idea pursued me, and tormented me at
+every moment from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and
+peace. I waited for my letters with feverish impatience: if they were
+delayed, I was miserable, and overcome by a thousand fears; and when
+they arrived, and I saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I
+hardly dared to read and ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the
+fiend followed me, and might expedite my remissness by murdering my
+companion. When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for
+a moment, but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the
+fancied rage of his destroyer. I felt as if I had committed some great
+crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had
+indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of
+crime.
+
+I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might
+have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so
+well as Oxford; for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing
+to him. But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its
+romantic castle, and its environs, the most delightful in the world,
+Arthur’s Seat, St. Bernard’s Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated
+him for the change, and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But
+I was impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.
+
+We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrews, and
+along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. But
+I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers, or enter into their
+feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and
+accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland
+alone. “Do you,” said I, “enjoy yourself, and let this be our
+rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with my
+motions, I entreat you: leave me to peace and solitude for a short time;
+and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more
+congenial to your own temper.”
+
+Henry wished to dissuade me; but, seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to
+remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. “I had rather be with you,”
+he said, “in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch people, whom
+I do not know: hasten then, my dear friend, to return, that I may again
+feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in your absence.”
+
+Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of
+Scotland, and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the
+monster followed me, and would discover himself to me when I should have
+finished, that he might receive his companion.
+
+With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands, and fixed on
+one of the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene labours. It was a place
+fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock, whose high sides
+were continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely
+affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its
+inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy
+limbs gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when
+they indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured
+from the main land, which was about five miles distant.
+
+On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of
+these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two
+rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable
+penury. The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the
+door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some
+furniture, and took possession; an incident which would, doubtless, have
+occasioned some surprise, had not all the senses of the cottagers been
+benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at and
+unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes which I
+gave; so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations of men.
+
+In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening,
+when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea, to
+listen to the waves as they roared, and dashed at my feet. It was a
+monotonous, yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was
+far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills are
+covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the
+plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky; and, when troubled
+by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively infant, when
+compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.
+
+In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived; but,
+as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and
+irksome to me. Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my
+laboratory for several days; and at other times I toiled day and night
+in order to complete my work. It was indeed a filthy process in which I
+was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of enthusiastic frenzy
+had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my mind was intently
+fixed on the sequel of my labour, and my eyes were shut to the horror of
+my proceedings. But now I went to it in cold blood, and my heart often
+sickened at the work of my hands.
+
+Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in a
+solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from the
+actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I grew
+restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my persecutor.
+Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing to raise them
+lest they should encounter the object which I so much dreaded to behold.
+I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow-creatures, lest when
+alone he should come to claim his companion.
+
+In the 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 dared not trust myself to question, but which was
+intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil, that made my heart sicken
+in my bosom.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+
+I sat one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was
+just rising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment,
+and I remained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should
+leave my labour for the night, or hasten its conclusion by an
+unremitting attention to it. As I sat, a train of reflection occurred to
+me, which led me to consider the effects of what I was now doing. Three
+years before I was engaged in the same manner, and had created a fiend
+whose unparalleled barbarity had desolated my heart, and filled it for
+ever with the bitterest remorse. I was now about to form another being,
+of whose dispositions I was alike ignorant; she might become ten
+thousand times more malignant than her mate, and delight, for its own
+sake, in murder and wretchedness. He had sworn to quit the neighbourhood
+of man, and hide himself in deserts; but she had not; and she, who in
+all probability was to become a thinking and reasoning animal, might
+refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation. They might
+even hate each other; the creature who already lived loathed his own
+deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence for it when it
+came before his eyes in the female form? She also might turn with
+disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might quit him, and
+he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation of being
+deserted by one of his own species.
+
+Even if they were to leave Europe, and inhabit the deserts of the new
+world, yet one of the first results of those sympathies for which the
+dæmon thirsted would be children, and a race of devils would be
+propagated upon the earth, who might make the very existence of the
+species of man a condition precarious and full of terror. Had I a right,
+for my own benefit, to inflict this curse upon everlasting generations?
+I had before been moved by the sophisms of the being I had created; I
+had been struck senseless by his fiendish threats: but now, for the
+first time, the wickedness of my promise burst upon me; I shuddered to
+think that future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness
+had not hesitated to buy its own peace at the price perhaps of the
+existence of the whole human race.
+
+I trembled, and my heart failed within me; when, on looking up, I saw,
+by the light of the moon, the dæmon at the casement. A ghastly grin
+wrinkled his lips as he gazed on me, where I sat fulfilling the task
+which he had allotted to me. Yes, he had followed me in my travels; he
+had loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in wide
+and desert heaths; and he now came to mark my progress, and claim the
+fulfilment of my promise.
+
+As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of
+malice and treachery. I thought with a sensation of madness on my
+promise of creating another like to him, and, trembling with passion,
+tore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged. The wretch saw me
+destroy the creature on whose future existence he depended for
+happiness, and, with a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew.
+
+I left the room, and, locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own
+heart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I
+sought my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate the
+gloom, and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most terrible
+reveries.
+
+Several hours past, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea; it
+was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature reposed
+under the eye of the quiet moon. A few fishing vessels alone specked the
+water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound of voices, as
+the fishermen called to one another. I felt the silence, although I was
+hardly conscious of its extreme profundity until my ear was suddenly
+arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a person landed
+close to my house.
+
+In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one
+endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt a
+presentiment of who it was, and wished to rouse one of the peasants who
+dwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the
+sensation of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you
+in vain endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to the
+spot.
+
+Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage; the door
+opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared. Shutting the door, he
+approached me, and said, in a smothered voice—
+
+“You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you
+intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and
+misery: I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the
+Rhine, among its willow islands, and over the summits of its hills. I
+have dwelt many months in the heaths of England, and among the deserts
+of Scotland. I have endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger;
+do you dare destroy my hopes?”
+
+“Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like
+yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness.”
+
+“Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself
+unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe
+yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of day
+will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your
+master;—obey!”
+
+“The hour of my weakness is past, and the period of your power is
+arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but
+they confirm me in a resolution of not creating you a companion in vice.
+Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a dæmon, whose delight
+is in death and wretchedness. Begone! I am firm, and your words will
+only exasperate my rage.”
+
+The monster saw my determination in my face, and gnashed his teeth in
+the impotence of anger. “Shall each man,” cried he, “find a wife for his
+bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of
+affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man, you may
+hate; but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the
+bolt will fall which must ravish from you your happiness for ever. Are
+you to be happy, while I grovel in the intensity of my wretchedness? You
+can blast my other passions; but revenge remains—revenge, henceforth
+dearer than light or food! I may die; but first you, my tyrant and
+tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your misery. Beware; for I
+am fearless, and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a
+snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the
+injuries you inflict.”
+
+“Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. I
+have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend beneath
+words. Leave me; I am inexorable.”
+
+“It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your
+wedding-night.”
+
+I started forward, and exclaimed, “Villain! before you sign my
+death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe.”
+
+I would have seized him; but he eluded me, and quitted the house with
+precipitation: in a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot across
+the waters with an arrowy swiftness, and was soon lost amidst the waves.
+
+All was again silent; but his words rung in my ears. I burned with rage
+to pursue the murderer of my peace, and precipitate him into the ocean.
+I walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my imagination
+conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why had I not
+followed him, and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had suffered
+him to depart, and he had directed his course towards the main land. I
+shuddered to think who might be the next victim sacrificed to his
+insatiate revenge. And then I thought again of his words—“_I will be
+with you on your wedding-night._” That then was the period fixed for the
+fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I should die, and at once satisfy
+and extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move me to fear; yet
+when I thought of my beloved Elizabeth,—of her tears and endless
+sorrow, when she should find her lover so barbarously snatched from
+her,—tears, the first I had shed for many months, streamed from my
+eyes, and I resolved not to fall before my enemy without a bitter
+struggle.
+
+The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings
+became calmer, if it may be called calmness, when the violence of rage
+sinks into the depths of despair. I left the house, the horrid scene of
+the last night’s contention, and walked on the beach of the sea, which I
+almost regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my
+fellow-creatures; nay, a wish that such should prove the fact stole
+across me. I desired that I might pass my life on that barren rock,
+wearily it is true, but uninterrupted by any sudden shock of misery. If
+I returned, it was to be sacrificed, or to see those whom I most loved
+die under the grasp of a dæmon whom I had myself created.
+
+I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it
+loved, and miserable in the separation. When it became noon, and the sun
+rose higher, I lay down on the grass, and was overpowered by a deep
+sleep. I had been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves were
+agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and misery. The sleep into
+which I now sunk refreshed me; and when I awoke, I again felt as if I
+belonged to a race of human beings like myself, and I began to reflect
+upon what had passed with greater composure; yet still the words of the
+fiend rung in my ears like a death-knell, they appeared like a dream,
+yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.
+
+The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my
+appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a
+fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet;
+it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval, entreating me to
+join him. He said that nearly a year had elapsed since we had quitted
+Switzerland, and France was yet unvisited. He entreated me, therefore,
+to leave my solitary isle, and meet him at Perth, in a week from that
+time, when we might arrange the plan of our future proceedings. This
+letter in a degree recalled me to life, and I determined to quit my
+island at the expiration of two days.
+
+Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I
+shuddered to reflect: I must pack my chemical instruments; and for that
+purpose I must enter the room which had been the scene of my odious
+work, and I must handle those utensils, the sight of which was sickening
+to me. The next morning, at day-break, I summoned sufficient courage,
+and unlocked the door of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished
+creature, whom I had destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost
+felt as if I had mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused to
+collect myself, and then entered the chamber. With trembling hand I
+conveyed the instruments out of the room; but I reflected that I ought
+not to leave the relics of my work to excite the horror and suspicion of
+the peasants, and I accordingly put them into a basket, with a great
+quantity of stones, and laying them up, determined to throw them into
+the sea that very night; and in the mean time I sat upon the beach,
+employed in cleaning and arranging my chemical apparatus.
+
+Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place
+in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the dæmon. I had
+before regarded my promise with a gloomy despair, as a thing that, with
+whatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but I now felt as if a film
+had been taken from before my eyes, and that I, for the first time, saw
+clearly. The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur
+to me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not
+reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it. I had resolved in
+my own mind, that to create another like the fiend I had first made
+would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness; and I
+banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different
+conclusion.
+
+Between two and three in the morning the moon rose; and I then, putting
+my basket aboard a little skiff, sailed out about four miles from the
+shore. The scene was perfectly solitary: a few boats were returning
+towards land, but I sailed away from them. I felt as if I was about the
+commission of a dreadful crime, and avoided with shuddering anxiety any
+encounter with my fellow-creatures. At one time the moon, which had
+before been clear, was suddenly overspread by a thick cloud, and I took
+advantage of the moment of darkness, and cast my basket into the sea; I
+listened to the gurgling sound as it sunk, and then sailed away from the
+spot. The sky became clouded; but the air was pure, although chilled by
+the north-east breeze that was then rising. But it refreshed me, and
+filled me with such agreeable sensations, that I resolved to prolong my
+stay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a direct position, stretched
+myself at the bottom of the boat. Clouds hid the moon, every thing was
+obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat, as its keel cut through
+the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short time I slept soundly.
+
+I do not know how long I remained in this situation, but when I awoke I
+found that the sun had already mounted considerably. The wind was high,
+and the waves continually threatened the safety of my little skiff. I
+found that the wind was north-east, and must have driven me far from the
+coast from which I had embarked. I endeavoured to change my course, but
+quickly found that if I again made the attempt the boat would be
+instantly filled with water. Thus situated, my only resource was to
+drive before the wind. I confess that I felt a few sensations of terror.
+I had no compass with me, and was so little acquainted with the
+geography of this part of the world that the sun was of little benefit
+to me. I might be driven into the wide Atlantic, and feel all the
+tortures of starvation, or be swallowed up in the immeasurable waters
+that roared and buffeted around me. I had already been out many hours,
+and felt the torment of a burning thirst, a prelude to my other
+sufferings. I looked on the heavens, which were covered by clouds that
+flew before the wind only to be replaced by others: I looked upon the
+sea, it was to be my grave. “Fiend,” I exclaimed, “your task is already
+fulfilled!” I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and of Clerval; and
+sunk into a reverie, so despairing and frightful, that even now, when
+the scene is on the point of closing before me for ever, I shudder to
+reflect on it.
+
+Some hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards the
+horizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze, and the sea became
+free from breakers. But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick,
+and hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high
+land towards the south.
+
+Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue, and the dreadful suspense I endured
+for several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of
+warm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes.
+
+How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we
+have of life even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail
+with a part of my dress, and eagerly steered my course towards the land.
+It had a wild and rocky appearance; but as I approached nearer, I easily
+perceived the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near the shore, and
+found myself suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood of civilized
+man. I eagerly traced the windings of the land, and hailed a steeple
+which I at length saw issuing from behind a small promontory. As I was
+in a state of extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly towards the
+town as a place where I could most easily procure nourishment.
+Fortunately I had money with me. As I turned the promontory, I perceived
+a small neat town and a good harbour, which I entered, my heart bounding
+with joy at my unexpected escape.
+
+As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several
+people crowded towards the spot. They seemed very much surprised at my
+appearance; but, instead of offering me any assistance, whispered
+together with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me
+a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they
+spoke English; and I therefore addressed them in that language: “My good
+friends,” said I, “will you be so kind as to tell me the name of this
+town, and inform me where I am?”
+
+“You will know that soon enough,” replied a man with a gruff voice. “May
+be you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste; but
+you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you.”
+
+I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a
+stranger; and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and
+angry countenances of his companions. “Why do you answer me so roughly?”
+I replied: “surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to receive
+strangers so inhospitably.”
+
+“I do not know,” said the man, “what the custom of the English may be;
+but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains.”
+
+While this strange dialogue continued, I perceived the crowd rapidly
+increase. Their faces expressed a mixture of curiosity and anger, which
+annoyed, and in some degree alarmed me. I inquired the way to the inn;
+but no one replied. I then moved forward, and a murmuring sound arose
+from the crowd as they followed and surrounded me; when an ill-looking
+man approaching, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, “Come, Sir, you
+must follow me to Mr. Kirwin’s, to give an account of yourself.”
+
+“Who is Mr. Kirwin? Why am I to give an account of myself? Is not this a
+free country?”
+
+“Aye, Sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate; and
+you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was found
+murdered here last night.”
+
+This answer startled me; but I presently recovered myself. I was
+innocent; that could easily be proved: accordingly I followed my
+conductor in silence, and was led to one of the best houses in the town.
+I was ready to sink from fatigue and hunger; but, being surrounded by a
+crowd, I thought it politic to rouse all my strength, that no physical
+debility might be construed into apprehension or conscious guilt. Little
+did I then expect the calamity that was in a few moments to overwhelm
+me, and extinguish in horror and despair all fear of ignominy or death.
+
+I must pause here; for it requires all my fortitude to recall the memory
+of the frightful events which I am about to relate, in proper detail, to
+my recollection.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+
+I was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old
+benevolent man, with calm and mild manners. He looked upon me, however,
+with some degree of severity; and then, turning towards my conductors,
+he asked who appeared as witnesses on this occasion.
+
+About half a dozen men came forward; and one being selected by the
+magistrate, he deposed, that he had been out fishing the night before
+with his son and brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten o’clock,
+they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and they accordingly put
+in for port. It was a very dark night, as the moon had not yet risen;
+they did not land at the harbour, but, as they had been accustomed, at a
+creek about two miles below. He walked on first, carrying a part of the
+fishing tackle, and his companions followed him at some distance. As he
+was proceeding along the sands, he struck his foot against something,
+and fell all his length on the ground. His companions came up to assist
+him; and, by the light of their lantern, they found that he had fallen
+on the body of a man, who was to all appearance dead. Their first
+supposition was, that it was the corpse of some person who had been
+drowned, and was thrown on shore by the waves; but, upon examination,
+they found that the clothes were not wet, and even that the body was not
+then cold. They instantly carried it to the cottage of an old woman near
+the spot, and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it to life. He
+appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty years of age.
+He had apparently been strangled; for there was no sign of any violence,
+except the black mark of fingers on his neck.
+
+The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me; but
+when the mark of the fingers was mentioned, I remembered the murder of
+my brother, and felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a
+mist came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for support.
+The magistrate observed me with a keen eye, and of course drew an
+unfavourable augury from my manner.
+
+The son confirmed his father’s account: but when Daniel Nugent was
+called, he swore positively that, just before the fall of his companion,
+he saw a boat, with a single man in it, at a short distance from the
+shore; and, as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars, it was
+the same boat in which I had just landed.
+
+A woman deposed, that she lived near the beach, and was standing at the
+door of her cottage, waiting for the return of the fishermen, about an
+hour before she heard of the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat,
+with only one man in it, push off from that part of the shore where the
+corpse was afterwards found.
+
+Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the
+body into her house; it was not cold. They put it into a bed, and rubbed
+it; and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was quite
+gone.
+
+Several other men were examined concerning my landing; and they agreed,
+that, with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it
+was very probable that I had beaten about for many hours, and had been
+obliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed.
+Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body from
+another place, and it was likely, that as I did not appear to know the
+shore, I might have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance of the
+town of —— from the place where I had deposited the corpse.
+
+Mr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken
+into the room where the body lay for interment that it might be observed
+what effect the sight of it would produce upon me. This idea was
+probably suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when the
+mode of the murder had been described. I was accordingly conducted, by
+the magistrate and several other persons, to the inn. I could not help
+being struck by the strange coincidences that had taken place during
+this eventful night; but, knowing that I had been conversing with
+several persons in the island I had inhabited about the time that the
+body had been found, I was perfectly tranquil as to the consequences of
+the affair.
+
+I entered the room where the corpse lay, and was led up to the coffin.
+How can I describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched
+with horror, nor can I reflect on that terrible moment without
+shuddering and agony, that faintly reminds me of the anguish of the
+recognition. The trial, the presence of the magistrate and witnesses,
+passed like a dream from my memory, when I saw the lifeless form of
+Henry Clerval stretched before me. I gasped for breath; and, throwing
+myself on the body, I exclaimed, “Have my murderous machinations
+deprived you also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already
+destroyed; other victims await their destiny: but you, Clerval, my
+friend, my benefactor”——
+
+The human frame could no longer support the agonizing suffering that I
+endured, and I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions.
+
+A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death:
+my ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the
+murderer of William, of Justine, and of Clerval. Sometimes I entreated
+my attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was
+tormented; and, at others, I felt the fingers of the monster already
+grasping my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror. Fortunately,
+as I spoke my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood me; but my
+gestures and bitter cries were sufficient to affright the other
+witnesses.
+
+Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I
+not sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming
+children, the only hopes of their doating parents: how many brides and
+youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and
+the next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials
+was I made, that I could thus resist so many shocks, which, like the
+turning of the wheel, continually renewed the torture.
+
+But I was doomed to live; and, in two months, found myself as awaking
+from a dream, in a 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 particulars of what had happened, and only felt as if some
+great misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me; but when I looked around,
+and saw the barred windows, and the squalidness of the room in which I
+was, all flashed across my memory, and I groaned bitterly.
+
+This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside me.
+She was a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her
+countenance expressed all those bad qualities which often characterize
+that class. The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of
+persons accustomed to see without sympathizing in sights of misery. Her
+tone expressed her entire indifference; she addressed me in English, and
+the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings:
+
+“Are you better now, Sir?” said she.
+
+I replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, “I believe I am;
+but if it be all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am
+still alive to feel this misery and horror.”
+
+“For that matter,” replied the old woman, “if you mean about the
+gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you
+were dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you; but you will be hung
+when the next sessions come on. However, that’s none of my business, I
+am sent to nurse you, and get you well; I do my duty with a safe
+conscience, it were well if every body did the same.”
+
+I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a
+speech to a person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt
+languid, and unable to reflect on all that had passed. The whole series
+of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it
+were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force
+of reality.
+
+As the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew
+feverish; a darkness pressed around me; no one was near me who soothed
+me with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported me. The
+physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared them
+for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first, and the
+expression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the second.
+Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer, but the hangman who
+would gain his fee?
+
+These were my first reflections; but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had
+shewn me extreme kindness. He had caused the best room in the prison to
+be prepared for me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who had
+provided a physician and a nurse. It is true, he seldom came to see me;
+for, although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of every
+human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and
+miserable ravings of a murderer. He came, therefore, sometimes to see
+that I was not neglected; but his visits were short, and at long
+intervals.
+
+One day, when I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my
+eyes half open, and my cheeks livid like those in death, I was overcome
+by gloom and misery, and often reflected I had better seek death than
+remain miserably pent up only to be let loose in a world replete with
+wretchedness. At one time I considered whether I should not declare
+myself guilty, and suffer the penalty of the law, less innocent than
+poor Justine had been. Such were my thoughts, when the door of my
+apartment was opened, and Mr. Kirwin entered. His countenance expressed
+sympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to mine, and addressed me
+in French—
+
+“I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do any thing to
+make you more comfortable?”
+
+“I thank you; but all that you mention is nothing to me: on the whole
+earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.”
+
+“I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to
+one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I
+hope, soon quit this melancholy abode; for, doubtless, evidence can
+easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge.”
+
+“That is my least concern: I am, by a course of strange events, become
+the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and have
+been, can death be any evil to me?”
+
+“Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonizing than the strange
+chances that have lately occurred. You were thrown, by some surprising
+accident, on this shore, renowned for its hospitality: seized
+immediately, and charged with murder. The first sight that was presented
+to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so unaccountable a
+manner, and placed, as it were, by some fiend across your path.”
+
+As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on this
+retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at the
+knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me. I suppose some
+astonishment was exhibited in my countenance; for Mr. Kirwin hastened to
+say—
+
+“It was not until a day or two after your illness that I thought of
+examining your dress, that I might discover some trace by which I could
+send to your relations an account of your misfortune and illness. I
+found several letters, and, among others, one which I discovered from
+its commencement to be from your father. I instantly wrote to Geneva:
+nearly two months have elapsed since the departure of my letter.—But
+you are ill; even now you tremble: you are unfit for agitation of any
+kind.”
+
+“This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event:
+tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am
+now to lament.”
+
+“Your family is perfectly well,” said Mr. Kirwin, with gentleness; “and
+some one, a friend, is come to visit you.”
+
+I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it
+instantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my
+misery, and taunt me with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for
+me to comply with his hellish desires. I put my hand before my eyes, and
+cried out in agony—
+
+“Oh! take him away! I cannot see him; for God’s sake, do not let him
+enter!”
+
+Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance. He could not help
+regarding my exclamation as a presumption of my guilt, and said, in
+rather a severe tone—
+
+“I should have thought, young man, that the presence of your father
+would have been welcome, instead of inspiring such violent repugnance.”
+
+“My father!” cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed
+from anguish to pleasure. “Is my father, indeed, come? How kind, how
+very kind. But where is he, why does he not hasten to me?”
+
+My change of manner surprised and pleased the magistrate; perhaps he
+thought that my former exclamation was a momentary return of delirium,
+and now he instantly resumed his former benevolence. He rose, and
+quitted the room with my nurse, and in a moment my father entered it.
+
+Nothing, at this moment, could have given me greater pleasure than the
+arrival of my father. I stretched out my hand to him, and cried—
+
+“Are you then safe—and Elizabeth—and Ernest?”
+
+My father calmed me with assurances of their welfare, and endeavoured,
+by dwelling on these subjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my
+desponding spirits; but he soon felt that a prison cannot be the abode
+of cheerfulness. “What a place is this that you inhabit, my son!” said
+he, looking mournfully at the barred windows, and wretched appearance of
+the room. “You travelled to seek happiness, but a fatality seems to
+pursue you. And poor Clerval—”
+
+The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too
+great to be endured in my weak state; I shed tears.
+
+“Alas! yes, my father,” replied I; “some destiny of the most horrible
+kind hangs over me, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I should
+have died on the coffin of Henry.”
+
+We were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the
+precarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that
+could insure tranquillity. Mr. Kirwin came in, and insisted that my
+strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion. But the
+appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I
+gradually recovered my health.
+
+As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black
+melancholy, that nothing could dissipate. The image of Clerval was for
+ever before me, ghastly and murdered. More than once the agitation into
+which these reflections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous
+relapse. Alas! why did they preserve so miserable and detested a life?
+It was surely that I might fulfil my destiny, which is now drawing to a
+close. Soon, oh, very soon, will death extinguish these throbbings, and
+relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears me to the dust;
+and, in executing the award of justice, I shall also sink to rest. Then
+the appearance of death was distant, although the wish was ever present
+to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours motionless and speechless,
+wishing for some mighty revolution that might bury me and my destroyer
+in its ruins.
+
+The season of the assizes approached. I had already been three months
+in prison; and although I was still weak, and in continual danger of a
+relapse, I was obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the
+county-town, where the court was held. Mr. Kirwin charged himself with
+every care of collecting witnesses, and arranging my defence. I was
+spared the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was
+not brought before the court that decides on life and death. The grand
+jury rejected the bill, on its being proved that I was on the Orkney
+Islands at the hour the body of my friend was found, and a fortnight
+after my removal I was liberated from prison.
+
+My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a
+criminal charge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh
+atmosphere, and allowed to return to my native country. I did not
+participate in these feelings; for to me the walls of a dungeon or a
+palace were alike hateful. The cup of life was poisoned for ever; and
+although the sun shone upon me, as upon the happy and gay of heart, I
+saw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by
+no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me. Sometimes they
+were the expressive eyes of Henry, languishing in death, the dark orbs
+nearly covered by the lids, and the long black lashes that fringed them;
+sometimes it was the watery clouded eyes of the monster, as I first saw
+them in my chamber at Ingolstadt.
+
+My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection. He talked of
+Geneva, which I should soon visit—of Elizabeth, and Ernest; but these
+words only drew deep groans from me. Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish
+for happiness; and thought, with melancholy delight, of my beloved
+cousin; or longed, with a devouring _maladie du pays_, to see once more
+the blue lake and rapid Rhone, that had been so dear to me in early
+childhood: but my general state of feeling was a torpor, in which a
+prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and
+these fits were seldom interrupted, but by paroxysms of anguish and
+despair. At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the
+existence I loathed; and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance
+to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence.
+
+I remember, as I quitted the prison, I heard one of the men say, “He may
+be innocent of the murder, but he has certainly a bad conscience.” These
+words struck me. A bad conscience! yes, surely I had one. William,
+Justine, and Clerval, had died through my infernal machinations; “And
+whose death,” cried I, “is to finish the tragedy? Ah! my father, do not
+remain in this wretched country; take me where I may forget myself, my
+existence, and all the world.”
+
+My father easily acceded to my desire; and, after having taken leave of
+Mr. Kirwin, we hastened to Dublin. I felt as if I was relieved from a
+heavy weight, when the packet sailed with a fair wind from Ireland, and
+I had quitted for ever the country which had been to me the scene of so
+much misery.
+
+It was midnight. My father slept in the cabin; and I lay on the deck,
+looking at the stars, and listening to the dashing of the waves. I
+hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my sight, and my pulse beat
+with a feverish joy, when I reflected that I should soon see Geneva. The
+past appeared to me in the light of a frightful dream; yet the vessel in
+which I was, the wind that blew me from the detested shore of Ireland,
+and the sea which surrounded me, told me too forcibly that I was
+deceived by no vision, and that Clerval, my friend and dearest
+companion, had fallen a victim to me and the monster of my creation. I
+repassed, in my memory, my whole life; my quiet happiness while residing
+with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my departure for
+Ingolstadt. I remembered shuddering at the mad enthusiasm that hurried
+me on to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I called to mind the
+night during which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the train of
+thought; a thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept bitterly.
+
+Ever since my recovery from the fever I had been in the custom of taking
+every night a small quantity of laudanum; for it was by means of this
+drug only that I was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the
+preservation of life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various
+misfortunes, I now took a double dose, and soon slept profoundly. But
+sleep did not afford me respite from thought and misery; my dreams
+presented a thousand objects that scared me. Towards morning I was
+possessed by a kind of night-mare; I felt the fiend’s grasp in my neck,
+and could not free myself from it; groans and cries rung in my ears. My
+father, who was watching over me, perceiving my restlessness, awoke me,
+and pointed to the port of Holyhead, which we were now entering.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+
+We had resolved not to go to London, but to cross the country to
+Portsmouth, and thence to embark for Havre. I preferred this plan
+principally because I dreaded to see again those places in which I had
+enjoyed a few moments of tranquillity with my beloved Clerval. I thought
+with horror of seeing again those persons whom we had been accustomed to
+visit together, and who might make inquiries concerning an event, the
+very remembrance of which made me again feel the pang I endured when I
+gazed on his lifeless form in the inn at ——.
+
+As for my father, his desires and exertions were bounded to the again
+seeing me restored to health and peace of mind. His tenderness and
+attentions were unremitting; my grief and gloom was obstinate, but he
+would not despair. Sometimes he thought that I felt deeply the
+degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he
+endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.
+
+“Alas! my father,” said I, “how little do you know me. Human beings,
+their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded, if such a wretch
+as I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I,
+and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause
+of this—I murdered her. William, Justine, and Henry—they all died by
+my hands.”
+
+My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same
+assertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an
+explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as caused by
+delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had
+presented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved
+in my convalescence. I avoided explanation, and maintained a continual
+silence concerning the wretch I had created. I had a feeling that I
+should be supposed mad, and this for ever chained my tongue, when I
+would have given the whole world to have confided the fatal secret.
+
+Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded
+wonder, “What do you mean, Victor? are you mad? My dear son, I entreat
+you never to make such an assertion again.”
+
+“I am not mad,” I cried energetically; “the sun and the heavens, who
+have viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth. I am the
+assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations. A
+thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have
+saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not
+sacrifice the whole human race.”
+
+The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were
+deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation, and
+endeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts. He wished as much as
+possible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in
+Ireland, and never alluded to them, or suffered me to speak of my
+misfortunes.
+
+As time passed away I became more calm: misery had her dwelling in my
+heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own
+crimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them. By the utmost
+self-violence, I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which
+sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world; and my manners
+were calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey
+to the sea of ice.
+
+We arrived at Havre on the 8th of May, and instantly proceeded to Paris,
+where my father had some business which detained us a few weeks. In this
+city, I received the following letter from Elizabeth:—
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“_To_ VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN.
+
+“MY DEAREST FRIEND,
+
+“It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle
+dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may
+hope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much you
+must have suffered! I expect to see you looking even more ill than when
+you quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed most miserably, tortured
+as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in your
+countenance, and to find that your heart is not totally devoid of
+comfort and tranquillity.
+
+“Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable
+a year ago, even perhaps augmented by time. I would not disturb you at
+this period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you; but a conversation
+that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders some
+explanation necessary before we meet.
+
+“Explanation! you may possibly say; what can Elizabeth have to explain?
+If you really say this, my questions are answered, and I have no more to
+do than to sign myself your affectionate cousin. But you are distant
+from me, and it is possible that you may dread, and yet be pleased with
+this explanation; and, in a probability of this being the case, I dare
+not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence, I have often
+wished to express to you, but have never had the courage to begin.
+
+“You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan of
+your parents ever since our infancy. We were told this when young, and
+taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take
+place. We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I
+believe, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But as
+brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each
+other, without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our
+case? Tell me, dearest Victor. Answer me, I conjure you, by our mutual
+happiness, with simple truth—Do you not love another?
+
+“You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at
+Ingolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last
+autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude, from the society of every
+creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our
+connexion, and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of
+your parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations. But
+this is false reasoning. I confess to you, my cousin, that I love you,
+and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant friend
+and companion. But it is your happiness I desire as well as my own, when
+I declare to you, that our marriage would render me eternally miserable,
+unless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Even now I weep to
+think, that, borne down as you are by the cruelest misfortunes, you may
+stifle, by the word _honour_, all hope of that love and happiness which
+would alone restore you to yourself. I, who have so interested an
+affection for you, may increase your miseries ten-fold, by being an
+obstacle to your wishes. Ah, Victor, be assured that your cousin and
+playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be made miserable by this
+supposition. Be happy, my friend; and if you obey me in this one
+request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth will have the power to
+interrupt my tranquillity.
+
+“Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer it to-morrow, or the
+next day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain. My uncle
+will send me news of your health; and if I see but one smile on your
+lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I
+shall need no other happiness.
+
+“ELIZABETH LAVENZA.
+
+“Geneva, May 18th, 17—.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threat
+of the fiend—“_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 me from the glimpse of happiness which promised partly to
+console my sufferings. On that night he had determined to consummate his
+crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a deadly struggle would then
+assuredly take place, in which if he was victorious, I should be at
+peace, and his power over me be at an end. If he were vanquished, I
+should be a free man. Alas! what freedom? such as the peasant enjoys
+when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his cottage burnt,
+his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless, pennyless, and
+alone, but free. Such would be my liberty, except that in my Elizabeth I
+possessed a treasure; alas! balanced by those horrors of remorse and
+guilt, which would pursue me until death.
+
+Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and re-read her letter, and some
+softened feelings stole into my heart, and dared to whisper paradisaical
+dreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the
+angel’s arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make her
+happy. If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable; yet,
+again, I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My
+destruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner; but if my torturer
+should suspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would
+surely find other, and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had
+vowed _to be with me on my wedding-night_, yet he did not consider that
+threat as binding him to peace in the mean time; for, as if to shew me
+that he was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval
+immediately after the enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore,
+that if my immediate union with my cousin would conduce either to her’s
+or my father’s happiness, my adversary’s designs against my life should
+not retard it a single hour.
+
+In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and
+affectionate. “I fear, my beloved girl,” I said, “little happiness
+remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is concentered
+in you. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my
+life, and my endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a
+dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with
+horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only
+wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of
+misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place;
+for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But
+until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most
+earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply.”
+
+In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth’s letter, we returned to
+Geneva. My cousin welcomed me with warm affection; yet tears were in her
+eyes, as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a
+change in her also. She was thinner, and had lost much of that heavenly
+vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness, and soft looks
+of compassion, made her a more fit companion for one blasted and
+miserable as I was.
+
+The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought
+madness with it; and when I thought on what had passed, a real insanity
+possessed me; sometimes I was furious, and burnt with rage, sometimes
+low and despondent. I neither spoke or looked, but sat motionless,
+bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me.
+
+Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle
+voice would soothe me when transported by passion, and inspire me with
+human feelings when sunk in torpor. She wept with me, and for me. When
+reason returned, she would remonstrate, and endeavour to inspire me with
+resignation. Ah! it is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for
+the guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury
+there is otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief.
+
+Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage with my
+cousin. I remained silent.
+
+“Have you, then, some other attachment?”
+
+“None on earth. I love Elizabeth, and look forward to our union with
+delight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate
+myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.”
+
+“My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us;
+but let us only cling closer to what remains, and transfer our love for
+those whom we have lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be small,
+but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And when
+time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of care will
+be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly deprived.”
+
+Such were the lessons of my father. But to me the remembrance of the
+threat returned: nor can you wonder, that, omnipotent as the fiend had
+yet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as
+invincible; and that when he had pronounced the words, “_I shall be with
+you on your wedding-night_,” I should regard the threatened fate as
+unavoidable. But death was no evil to me, if the loss of Elizabeth were
+balanced with it; and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful
+countenance, agreed with my father, that if my cousin would consent, the
+ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined, the
+seal to my fate.
+
+Great God! if for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish
+intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself
+for ever from my native country, and wandered a friendless outcast over
+the earth, than have consented to this miserable marriage. But, as if
+possessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to his real
+intentions; and when I thought that I prepared only my own death, I
+hastened that of a far dearer victim.
+
+As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice
+or a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed
+my feelings by an appearance of hilarity, that brought smiles and joy to
+the countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful and
+nicer eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placid
+contentment, not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortunes
+had impressed, that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness,
+might soon dissipate into an airy dream, and leave no trace but deep and
+everlasting regret.
+
+Preparations were made for the event; congratulatory visits were
+received; and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I
+could, in my own heart the anxiety that preyed there, and entered with
+seeming earnestness into the plans of my father, although they might
+only serve as the decorations of my tragedy. A house was purchased for
+us near Cologny, by which we should enjoy the pleasures of the country,
+and yet be so near Geneva as to see my father every day; who would
+still reside within the walls, for the benefit of Ernest, that he might
+follow his studies at the schools.
+
+In the mean time I took every precaution to defend my person, in case
+the fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a dagger
+constantly about me, and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice; and
+by these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity. Indeed, as the
+period approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be
+regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for
+in my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty, as the day fixed
+for its solemnization drew nearer, and I heard it continually spoken of
+as an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent.
+
+Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to
+calm her mind. But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and my
+destiny, she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her;
+and perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret, which I had
+promised to reveal to her the following day. My father was in the mean
+time overjoyed, and, in the bustle of preparation, only observed in the
+melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride.
+
+After the ceremony was performed, a large party assembled at my
+father’s; but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should pass the
+afternoon and night at Evian, and return to Cologny the next morning. As
+the day was fair, and the wind favourable, we resolved to go by water.
+
+Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the
+feeling of happiness. We passed rapidly along: the sun was hot, but we
+were sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy, while we enjoyed the
+beauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw
+Mont Salêve, the pleasant banks of Montalêgre, and at a distance,
+surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blânc, and the assemblage of snowy
+mountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting the
+opposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the
+ambition that would quit its native country, and an almost
+insurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it.
+
+I took the hand of Elizabeth: “You are sorrowful, my love. Ah! if you
+knew what I have suffered, and what I may yet endure, you would
+endeavour to let me taste the quiet, and freedom from despair, that this
+one day at least permits me to enjoy.”
+
+“Be happy, my dear Victor,” replied Elizabeth; “there is, I hope,
+nothing to distress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not
+painted in my face, my heart is contented. Something whispers to me not
+to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us; but I will
+not listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move along, and
+how the clouds which sometimes obscure, and sometimes rise above the
+dome of Mont Blânc, render this scene of beauty still more interesting.
+Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in the clear
+waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at the bottom.
+What a divine day! how happy and serene all nature appears!”
+
+Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from all
+reflection upon melancholy subjects. But her temper was fluctuating; joy
+for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place to
+distraction and reverie.
+
+The sun sunk lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance, and
+observed its path through the chasms of the higher, and the glens of the
+lower hills. The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached
+the amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary. The
+spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it, and the range
+of mountain above mountain by which it was overhung.
+
+The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity,
+sunk at sunset to a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water,
+and caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the shore,
+from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and hay. The
+sun sunk beneath the horizon as we landed; and as I touched the shore, I
+felt those cares and fears revive, which soon were to clasp me, and
+cling to me for ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+
+It was eight o’clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the
+shore, enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn, and
+contemplated the lovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured
+in darkness, yet still displaying their black outlines.
+
+The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence in
+the west. The moon had reached her summit in the heavens, and was
+beginning to descend; the clouds swept across it swifter than the flight
+of the vulture, and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the scene
+of the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves that
+were beginning to rise. Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended.
+
+I had been calm during the day; but so soon as night obscured the shapes
+of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind. I was anxious and
+watchful, while my right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in my
+bosom; every sound terrified me; but I resolved that I would sell my
+life dearly, and not relax the impending conflict until my own life, or
+that of my adversary, were extinguished.
+
+Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful
+silence; at length she said, “What is it that agitates you, my dear
+Victor? What is it you fear?”
+
+“Oh! peace, peace, my love,” replied I, “this night, and all will be
+safe: but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.”
+
+I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how
+dreadful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife,
+and I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her until
+I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.
+
+She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages
+of the house, and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to
+my adversary. But I discovered no trace of him, and was beginning to
+conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the
+execution of his menaces; when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful
+scream. It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired. As I
+heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the
+motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood
+trickling in my veins, and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This
+state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed
+into the room.
+
+Great God! why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the
+destruction of the best hope, and the purest creature of earth. She was
+there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging
+down, and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair.
+Every where I turn I see the same figure—her bloodless arms and relaxed
+form flung by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this, and
+live? Alas! life is obstinate, and clings closest where it is most
+hated. For a moment only did I lose recollection; I fainted.
+
+When I recovered, I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn;
+their countenances expressed a breathless terror: but the horror of
+others appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that
+oppressed me. I escaped from them to the room where lay the body of
+Elizabeth, my love, my wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy. She
+had been moved from the posture in which I had first beheld her; and
+now, as she lay, her head upon her arm, and a handkerchief thrown across
+her face and neck, I might have supposed her asleep. I rushed towards
+her, and embraced her with ardour; but the deathly languor and coldness
+of the limbs told me, that what I now held in my arms had ceased to be
+the Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished. The murderous mark of the
+fiend’s grasp was on her neck, and the breath had ceased to issue from
+her lips.
+
+While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look
+up. The windows of the room had before been darkened; and I felt a kind
+of panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the
+chamber. The shutters had been thrown back; and, with a sensation of
+horror not to be described, I saw at the open window a figure the most
+hideous and abhorred. A grin was on the face of the monster; he seemed
+to jeer, as with his fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my
+wife. I rushed towards the window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom,
+shot; but he eluded me, leaped from his station, and, running with the
+swiftness of lightning, plunged into the lake.
+
+The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to the
+spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with boats;
+nets were cast, but in vain. After passing several hours, we returned
+hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a form
+conjured by my fancy. After having landed, they proceeded to search the
+country, parties going in different directions among the woods and
+vines.
+
+I did not accompany them; I was exhausted: a film covered my eyes, and
+my skin was parched with the heat of fever. In this state I lay on a
+bed, hardly conscious of what had happened; my eyes wandered round the
+room, as if to seek something that I had lost.
+
+At length I remembered that my father would anxiously expect the return
+of Elizabeth and myself, and that I must return alone. This reflection
+brought tears into my eyes, and I wept for a long time; but my thoughts
+rambled to various subjects, reflecting on my misfortunes, and their
+cause. I was bewildered in a cloud of wonder and horror. The death of
+William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly of
+my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining friends
+were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now might be
+writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his feet. This
+idea made me shudder, and recalled me to action. I started up, and
+resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed.
+
+There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but
+the wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents. However, it
+was hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I
+hired men to row, and took an oar myself, for I had always experienced
+relief from mental torment in bodily exercise. But the overflowing
+misery I now felt, and the excess of agitation that I endured, rendered
+me incapable of any exertion. I threw down the oar; and, leaning my head
+upon my hands, gave way to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up,
+I saw the scenes which were familiar to me in my happier time, and which
+I had contemplated but the day before in the company of her who was now
+but a shadow and a recollection. Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain
+had ceased for a moment, and I saw the fish play in the waters as they
+had done a few hours before; they had then been observed by Elizabeth.
+Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.
+The sun might shine, or the clouds might lour; but nothing could appear
+to me as it had done the day before. A fiend had snatched from me every
+hope of future happiness: no creature had ever been so miserable as I
+was; so frightful an event is single in the history of man.
+
+But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last
+overwhelming event. Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached
+their _acme_, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know
+that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left desolate. My
+own strength is exhausted; and I must tell, in a few words, what remains
+of my hideous narration.
+
+I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived; but the former sunk
+under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable
+old man! his eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and
+their delight—his niece, his more than daughter, whom he doated on with
+all that affection which a man feels, who, in the decline of life,
+having few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain.
+Cursed, cursed be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs, and
+doomed him to waste in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors
+that were accumulated around him; an apoplectic fit was brought on, and
+in a few days he died in my arms.
+
+What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and
+darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes, indeed,
+I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales with the
+friends of my youth; but awoke, and found myself in a dungeon.
+Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear conception of my
+miseries and situation, and was then released from my prison. For they
+had called me mad; and during many months, as I understood, a solitary
+cell had been my habitation.
+
+But liberty had been a useless gift to me had I not, as I awakened to
+reason, at the same time awakened to revenge. As the memory of past
+misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect on their cause—the
+monster whom I had created, the miserable dæmon whom I had sent abroad
+into the world for my destruction. I was possessed by a maddening rage
+when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed that I might have
+him within my grasp to wreak a great and signal revenge on his cursed
+head.
+
+Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to
+reflect on the best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about a
+month after my release, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town, and
+told him that I had an accusation to make; that I knew the destroyer of
+my family; and that I required him to exert his whole authority for the
+apprehension of the murderer.
+
+The magistrate listened to me with attention and kindness: “Be assured,
+sir,” said he, “no pains or exertions on my part shall be spared to
+discover the villain.”
+
+“I thank you,” replied I; “listen, therefore, to the deposition that I
+have to make. It is indeed a tale so strange, that I should fear you
+would not credit it, were there not something in truth which, however
+wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to be mistaken
+for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood.” My manner, as I thus
+addressed him, was impressive, but calm; I had formed in my own heart a
+resolution to pursue my destroyer to death; and this purpose quieted my
+agony, and provisionally reconciled me to life. I now related my history
+briefly, but with firmness and precision, marking the dates with
+accuracy, and never deviating into invective or exclamation.
+
+The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I
+continued he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes
+shudder with horror, at others a lively surprise, unmingled with
+disbelief, was painted on his countenance.
+
+When I had concluded my narration, I said. “This is the being whom I
+accuse, and for whose detection and punishment I call upon you to exert
+your whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and
+hope that your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of
+those functions on this occasion.”
+
+This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my
+auditor. He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is
+given to a tale of spirits and supernatural events; but when he was
+called upon to act officially in consequence, the whole tide of his
+incredulity returned. He, however, answered mildly, “I would willingly
+afford you every aid in your pursuit; but the creature of whom you
+speak appears to have powers which would put all my exertions to
+defiance. Who can follow an animal which can traverse the sea of ice,
+and inhabit caves and dens, where no man would venture to intrude?
+Besides, some months have elapsed since the commission of his crimes,
+and no one can conjecture to what place he has wandered, or what region
+he may now inhabit.”
+
+“I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit; and if he
+has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois,
+and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts: you do
+not credit my narrative, and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the
+punishment which is his desert.”
+
+As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated;
+“You are mistaken,” said he, “I will exert myself; and if it is in my
+power to seize the monster, be assured that he shall suffer punishment
+proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have yourself
+described to be his properties, that this will prove impracticable, and
+that, while every proper measure is pursued, you should endeavour to
+make up your mind to disappointment.”
+
+“That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My
+revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I
+confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage is
+unspeakable, when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned loose
+upon society, still exists. You refuse my just demand: I have but one
+resource; and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his
+destruction.”
+
+I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a phrenzy
+in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness,
+which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed. But to a Genevan
+magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of
+devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of
+madness. He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child, and
+reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium.
+
+“Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom! Cease;
+you know not what it is you say.”
+
+I broke from the house angry and disturbed, and retired to meditate on
+some other mode of action.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+
+My present situation was one in which all voluntary thought was
+swallowed up and lost. I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone endowed
+me with strength and composure; it modelled my feelings, and allowed me
+to be calculating and calm, at periods when otherwise delirium or death
+would have been my portion.
+
+My first resolution was to quit Geneva for ever; my country, which, when
+I was happy and beloved, was dear to me, now, in my adversity, became
+hateful. I provided myself with a sum of money, together with a few
+jewels which had belonged to my mother, and departed.
+
+And now my wanderings began, which are to cease but with life. I have
+traversed a vast portion of the earth, and have endured all the
+hardships which travellers, in deserts and barbarous countries, are wont
+to meet. How I have lived I hardly know; many times have I stretched my
+failing limbs upon the sandy plain, and prayed for death. But revenge
+kept me alive; I dared not die, and leave my adversary in being.
+
+When I quitted Geneva, my first labour was to gain some clue by which I
+might trace the steps of my fiendish enemy. But my plan was unsettled;
+and I wandered many hours around the confines of the town, uncertain
+what path I should pursue. As night approached, I found myself at the
+entrance of the cemetery where William, Elizabeth, and my father,
+reposed. I entered it, and approached the tomb which marked their
+graves. Every thing was silent, except the leaves of the trees, which
+were gently agitated by the wind; the night was nearly dark; and the
+scene would have been solemn and affecting even to an uninterested
+observer. The spirits of the departed seemed to flit around, and to cast
+a shadow, which was felt but seen not, around the head of the mourner.
+
+The deep grief which this scene had at first excited quickly gave way to
+rage and despair. They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also
+lived, and to destroy him I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on
+the grass, and kissed the earth, and with quivering lips exclaimed, “By
+the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by
+the deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by thee, O Night,
+and by the spirits that preside over thee, I swear to pursue the dæmon,
+who caused this misery, until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict.
+For this purpose I will preserve my life: to execute this dear revenge,
+will I again behold the sun, and tread the green herbage of earth, which
+otherwise should vanish from my eyes for ever. And I call on you,
+spirits of the dead; and on you, wandering ministers of vengeance, to
+aid and conduct me in my work. Let the cursed and hellish monster drink
+deep of agony; let him feel the despair that now torments me.”
+
+I had begun my adjuration with solemnity, and an awe which almost
+assured me that the shades of my murdered friends heard and approved my
+devotion; but the furies possessed me as I concluded, and rage choaked
+my utterance.
+
+I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish
+laugh. It rung on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed it,
+and I felt as if all hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter.
+Surely in that moment I should have been possessed by phrenzy, and have
+destroyed my miserable existence, but that my vow was heard, and that I
+was reserved for vengeance. The laughter died away: when a well-known
+and abhorred voice, apparently close to my ear, addressed me in an
+audible whisper—“I am satisfied: miserable wretch! you have determined
+to live, and I am satisfied.”
+
+I darted towards the spot from which the sound proceeded; but the devil
+eluded my grasp. Suddenly the broad disk of the moon arose, and shone
+full upon his ghastly and distorted shape, as he fled with more than
+mortal speed.
+
+I pursued him; and for many months this has been my task. Guided by a
+slight clue, I followed the windings of the Rhone, but vainly. The blue
+Mediterranean appeared; and, by a strange chance, I saw the fiend enter
+by night, and hide himself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea. I took
+my passage in the same ship; but he escaped, I know not how.
+
+Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still evaded me, I
+have ever followed in his track. Sometimes the peasants, scared by this
+horrid apparition, informed me of his path; sometimes he himself, who
+feared that if I lost all trace I should despair and die, often left
+some mark to guide me. The snows descended on my head, and I saw the
+print of his huge step on the white plain. To you first entering on
+life, to whom care is new, and agony unknown, how can you understand
+what I have felt, and still feel? Cold, want, and fatigue, were the least
+pains which I was destined to endure; I was cursed by some devil, and
+carried about with me my eternal hell; yet still a spirit of good
+followed and directed my steps, and, when I most murmured, would
+suddenly extricate me from seemingly insurmountable difficulties.
+Sometimes, when nature, overcome by hunger, sunk under the exhaustion, a
+repast was prepared for me in the desert, that restored and inspirited
+me. The fare was indeed coarse, such as the peasants of the country ate;
+but I may not doubt that it was set there by the spirits that I had
+invoked to aid me. Often, when all was dry, the heavens cloudless, and I
+was parched by thirst, a slight cloud would bedim the sky, shed the few
+drops that revived me, and vanish.
+
+I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the dæmon
+generally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the
+country chiefly collected. In other places human beings were seldom
+seen; and I generally subsisted on the wild animals that crossed my
+path. I had money with me, and gained the friendship of the villagers by
+distributing it, or bringing with me some food that I had killed, which,
+after taking a small part, I always presented to those who had provided
+me with fire and utensils for cooking.
+
+My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during
+sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep! often, when most
+miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture.
+The spirits that guarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours,
+of happiness, that I might retain strength to fulfil my pilgrimage.
+Deprived of this respite, I should have sunk under my hardships. During
+the day I was sustained and inspirited by the hope of night: for in
+sleep I saw my friends, my wife, and my beloved country; again I saw the
+benevolent countenance of my father, heard the silver tones of my
+Elizabeth’s voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying health and youth. Often,
+when wearied by a toilsome march, I persuaded myself that I was dreaming
+until night should come, and that I should then enjoy reality in the
+arms of my dearest friends. What agonizing fondness did I feel for them!
+how did I cling to their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted even my
+waking hours, and persuade myself that they still lived! At such
+moments vengeance, that burned within me, died in my heart, and I
+pursued my path towards the destruction of the dæmon, more as a task
+enjoined by heaven, as the mechanical impulse of some power of which I
+was unconscious, than as the ardent desire of my soul.
+
+What his feelings were whom I pursued, I cannot know. Sometimes, indeed,
+he left marks in writing on the barks of the trees, or cut in stone,
+that guided me, and instigated my fury. “My reign is not yet over,”
+(these words were legible in one of these inscriptions); “you live, and
+my power is complete. Follow me; I seek the everlasting ices of the
+north, where you will feel the misery of cold and frost, to which I am
+impassive. You will find near this place, if you follow not too tardily,
+a dead hare; eat, and be refreshed. Come on, my enemy; we have yet to
+wrestle for our lives; but many hard and miserable hours must you
+endure, until that period shall arrive.”
+
+Scoffing devil! Again do I vow vengeance; again do I devote thee,
+miserable fiend, to torture and death. Never will I omit my search,
+until he or I perish; and then with what ecstacy shall I join my
+Elizabeth, and those who even now prepare for me the reward of my
+tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage.
+
+As I still pursued my journey to the northward, the snows thickened, and
+the cold increased in a degree almost too severe to support. The
+peasants were shut up in their hovels, and only a few of the most hardy
+ventured forth to seize the animals whom starvation had forced from
+their hiding places to seek for prey. The rivers were covered with ice,
+and no fish could be procured; and thus I was cut off from my chief
+article of maintenance.
+
+The triumph of my enemy increased with the difficulty of my labours. One
+inscription that he left was in these words: “Prepare! your toils only
+begin: wrap yourself in furs, and provide food, for we shall soon enter
+upon a journey where your sufferings will satisfy my everlasting
+hatred.”
+
+My courage and perseverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; I
+resolved not to fail in my purpose; and, calling on heaven to support
+me, I continued with unabated fervour to traverse immense deserts, until
+the ocean appeared at a distance, and formed the utmost boundary of the
+horizon. Oh! how unlike it was to the blue seas of the south! Covered
+with ice, it was only to be distinguished from land by its superior
+wildness and ruggedness. The Greeks wept for joy when they beheld the
+Mediterranean from the hills of Asia, and hailed with rapture the
+boundary of their toils. I did not weep; but I knelt down, and, with a
+full heart, thanked my guiding spirit for conducting me in safety to the
+place where I hoped, notwithstanding my adversary’s gibe, to meet and
+grapple with him.
+
+Some weeks before this period I had procured a sledge and dogs, and thus
+traversed the snows with inconceivable speed. I know not whether the
+fiend possessed the same advantages; but I found that, as before I had
+daily lost ground in the pursuit, I now gained on him; so much so, that
+when I first saw the ocean, he was but one day’s journey in advance, and
+I hoped to intercept him before he should reach the beach. With new
+courage, therefore, I pressed on, and in two days arrived at a wretched
+hamlet on the seashore. I inquired of the inhabitants concerning the
+fiend, and gained accurate information. A gigantic monster, they said,
+had arrived the night before, armed with a gun and many pistols; putting
+to flight the inhabitants of a solitary cottage, through fear of his
+terrific appearance. He had carried off their store of winter food, and,
+placing it in a sledge, to draw which he had seized on a numerous drove
+of trained dogs, he had harnessed them, and the same night, to the joy
+of the horror-struck villagers, had pursued his journey across the sea
+in a direction that led to no land; and they conjectured that he must
+speedily be destroyed by the breaking of the ice, or frozen by the
+eternal frosts.
+
+On hearing this information, I suffered a temporary access of despair.
+He had escaped me; and I must commence a destructive and almost endless
+journey across the mountainous ices of the ocean,—amidst cold that few
+of the inhabitants could long endure, and which I, the native of a
+genial and sunny climate, could not hope to survive. Yet at the idea
+that the fiend should live and be triumphant, my rage and vengeance
+returned, and, like a mighty tide, overwhelmed every other feeling.
+After a slight repose, during which the spirits of the dead hovered
+round, and instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for my
+journey.
+
+I exchanged my land sledge for one fashioned for the inequalities of the
+frozen ocean; and, purchasing a plentiful stock of provisions, I
+departed from land.
+
+I cannot guess how many days have passed since then; but I have endured
+misery, which nothing but the eternal sentiment of a just retribution
+burning within my heart could have enabled me to support. Immense and
+rugged mountains of ice often barred up my passage, and I often heard
+the thunder of the ground sea, which threatened my destruction. But
+again the frost came, and made the paths of the sea secure.
+
+By the quantity of provision which I had consumed I should guess that I
+had passed three weeks in this journey; and the continual protraction of
+hope, returning back upon the heart, often wrung bitter drops of
+despondency and grief from my eyes. Despair had indeed almost secured
+her prey, and I should soon have sunk beneath this misery; when once,
+after the poor animals that carried me had with incredible toil gained
+the summit of a sloping ice mountain, and one sinking under his fatigue
+died, I viewed the expanse before me with anguish, when suddenly my eye
+caught a dark speck upon the dusky plain. I strained my sight to
+discover what it could be, and uttered a wild cry of ecstacy when I
+distinguished a sledge, and the distorted proportions of a well-known
+form within. Oh! with what a burning gush did hope revisit my heart!
+warm tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away, that they might
+not intercept the view I had of the dæmon; but still my sight was dimmed
+by the burning drops, until, giving way to the emotions that oppressed
+me, I wept aloud.
+
+But this was not the time for delay; I disencumbered the dogs of their
+dead companion, gave them a plentiful portion of food; and, after an
+hour’s rest, which was absolutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly
+irksome to me, I continued my route. The sledge was still visible; nor
+did I again lose sight of it, except at the moments when for a short
+time some ice rock concealed it with its intervening crags. I indeed
+perceptibly gained on it; and when, after nearly two days’ journey, I
+beheld my enemy at no more than a mile distant, my heart bounded within
+me.
+
+But now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my enemy, my hopes were
+suddenly extinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I
+had ever done before. A ground sea was heard; the thunder of its
+progress, as the waters rolled and swelled beneath me, became every
+moment more ominous and terrific. I pressed on, but in vain. The wind
+arose; the sea roared; and, as with the mighty shock of an earthquake,
+it split, and cracked with a tremendous and overwhelming sound. The work
+was soon finished: in a few minutes a tumultuous sea rolled between me
+and my enemy, and I was left drifting on a scattered piece of ice, that
+was continually lessening, and thus preparing for me a hideous death.
+
+In this manner many appalling hours passed; several of my dogs died; and
+I myself was about to sink under the accumulation of distress, when I
+saw your vessel riding at anchor, and holding forth to me hopes of
+succour and life. I had no conception that vessels ever came so far
+north, and was astounded at the sight. I quickly destroyed part of my
+sledge to construct oars; and by these means was enabled, with infinite
+fatigue, to move my ice-raft in the direction of your ship. I had
+determined, if you were going southward, still to trust myself to the
+mercy of the seas, rather than abandon my purpose. I hoped to induce you
+to grant me a boat with which I could still pursue my enemy. But your
+direction was northward. You took me on board when my vigour was
+exhausted, and I should soon have sunk under my multiplied hardships
+into a death, which I still dread,—for my task is unfulfilled.
+
+Oh! when will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the dæmon, allow me
+the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live? If I do,
+swear to me, Walton, that he shall not escape; that you will seek him,
+and satisfy my vengeance in his death. Yet, do I dare ask you to
+undertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I have undergone?
+No; I am not so selfish. Yet, when I am dead, if he should appear; if
+the ministers of vengeance should conduct him to you, swear that he
+shall not live—swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated
+woes, and live to make another such a wretch as I am. He is eloquent
+and persuasive; and once his words had even power over my heart: but
+trust him not. His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery and
+fiend-like malice. Hear him not; call on the manes of William, Justine,
+Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched Victor, and thrust
+your sword into his heart. I will hover near, and direct the steel
+aright.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+WALTON, _in continuation_.
+
+August 26th, 17—.
+
+You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not
+feel your blood congealed with horror, like that which even now curdles
+mine? Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his
+tale; at others, his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with difficulty
+the words so replete with agony. His fine and lovely eyes were now
+lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast sorrow, and
+quenched in infinite wretchedness. Sometimes he commanded his
+countenance and tones, and related the most horrible incidents with a
+tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a
+volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression
+of the wildest rage, as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor.
+
+His tale is connected, and told with an appearance of the simplest
+truth; yet I own to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he
+shewed me, and the apparition of the monster, seen from our ship,
+brought to me a greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than
+his asseverations, however earnest and connected. Such a monster has
+then really existence; I cannot doubt it; yet I am lost in surprise and
+admiration. Sometimes I endeavoured to gain from Frankenstein the
+particulars of his creature’s formation; but on this point he was
+impenetrable.
+
+“Are you mad, my friend?” said he, “or whither does your senseless
+curiosity lead you? Would you also create for yourself and the world a
+demoniacal enemy? Or to what do your questions tend? Peace, peace! learn
+my miseries, and do not seek to increase your own.”
+
+Frankenstein discovered that I made notes concerning his history: he
+asked to see them, and then himself corrected and augmented them in many
+places; but principally in giving the life and spirit to the
+conversations he held with his enemy. “Since you have preserved my
+narration,” said he, “I would not that a mutilated one should go down to
+posterity.”
+
+Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest tale
+that ever imagination formed. My thoughts, and every feeling of my soul,
+have been drunk up by the interest for my guest, which this tale, and
+his own elevated and gentle manners have created. I wish to soothe him;
+yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so destitute of every
+hope of consolation, to live? Oh, no! the only joy that he can now know
+will be when he composes his shattered feelings to peace and death. Yet
+he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and delirium: he
+believes, that, when in dreams he holds converse with his friends, and
+derives from that communion consolation for his miseries, or excitements
+to his vengeance, that they are not the creations of his fancy, but the
+real beings who visit him from the regions of a remote world. This faith
+gives a solemnity to his reveries that render them to me almost as
+imposing and interesting as truth.
+
+Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and
+misfortunes. On every point of general literature he displays unbounded
+knowledge, and a quick and piercing apprehension. His eloquence is
+forcible and touching; nor can I hear him, when he relates a pathetic
+incident, or endeavours to move the passions of pity or love, without
+tears. What a glorious creature must he have been in the days of his
+prosperity, when he is thus noble and godlike in ruin. He seems to feel
+his own worth, and the greatness of his fall.
+
+“When younger,” said he, “I felt as if I were destined for some great
+enterprise. My feelings are profound; but I possessed a coolness of
+judgment that fitted me for illustrious achievements. This sentiment of
+the worth of my nature supported me, when others would have been
+oppressed; for I deemed it criminal to throw away in useless grief those
+talents that might be useful to my fellow-creatures. When I reflected on
+the work I had completed, no less a one than the creation of a
+sensitive and rational animal, I could not rank myself with the herd of
+common projectors. But this feeling, which supported me in the
+commencement of my career, now serves only to plunge me lower in the
+dust. All my speculations and hopes are as nothing; and, like the
+archangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am chained in an eternal hell.
+My imagination was vivid, yet my powers of analysis and application were
+intense; by the union of these qualities I conceived the idea, and
+executed the creation of a man. Even now I cannot recollect, without
+passion, my reveries while the work was incomplete. I trod heaven in my
+thoughts, now exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea of their
+effects. From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty
+ambition; but how am I sunk! Oh! my friend, if you had known me as I
+once was, you would not recognize me in this state of degradation.
+Despondency rarely visited my heart; a high destiny seemed to bear me
+on, until I fell, never, never again to rise.”
+
+Must I then lose this admirable being? I have longed for a friend; I
+have sought one who would sympathize with and love me. Behold, on these
+desert seas I have found such a one; but, I fear, I have gained him only
+to know his value, and lose him. I would reconcile him to life, but he
+repulses the idea.
+
+“I thank you, Walton,” he said, “for your kind intentions towards so
+miserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties, and fresh
+affections, think you that any can replace those who are gone? Can any
+man be to me as Clerval was; or any woman another Elizabeth? Even where
+the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence, the
+companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our
+minds, which hardly any later friend can obtain. They know our infantine
+dispositions, which, however they may be afterwards modified, are never
+eradicated; and they can judge of our actions with more certain
+conclusions as to the integrity of our motives. A sister or a brother
+can never, unless indeed such symptoms have been shewn early, suspect
+the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend, however
+strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be invaded with
+suspicion. But I enjoyed friends, dear not only through habit and
+association, but from their own merits; and, wherever I am, the soothing
+voice of my Elizabeth, and the conversation of Clerval, will be ever
+whispered in my ear. They are dead; and but one feeling in such a
+solitude can persuade me to preserve my life. If I were engaged in any
+high undertaking or design, fraught with extensive utility to my
+fellow-creatures, then could I live to fulfil it. But such is not my
+destiny; I must pursue and destroy the being to whom I gave existence;
+then my lot on earth will be fulfilled, and I may die.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+September 2d.
+
+MY BELOVED SISTER,
+
+I write to you, encompassed by peril, and ignorant whether I am ever
+doomed to see again dear England, and the dearer friends that inhabit
+it. I am surrounded by mountains of ice, which admit of no escape, and
+threaten every moment to crush my vessel. The brave fellows, whom I have
+persuaded to be my companions, look towards me for aid; but I have none
+to bestow. There is something terribly appalling in our situation, yet
+my courage and hopes do not desert me. We may survive; and if we do not,
+I will repeat the lessons of my Seneca, and die with a good heart.
+
+Yet what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind? You will not hear of
+my destruction, and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass,
+and you will have visitings of despair, and yet be tortured by hope. Oh!
+my beloved sister, the sickening failings of your heart-felt
+expectations are, in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death.
+But you have a husband, and lovely children; you may be happy: heaven
+bless you, and make you so!
+
+My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion. He
+endeavours to fill me with hope; and talks as if life were a possession
+which he valued. He reminds me how often the same accidents have
+happened to other navigators, who have attempted this sea, and, in spite
+of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries. Even the sailors feel the
+power of his eloquence: when he speaks, they no longer despair: he
+rouses their energies, and, while they hear his voice, they believe
+these vast mountains of ice are mole-hills, which will vanish before the
+resolutions of man. These feelings are transitory; each day’s
+expectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny
+caused by this despair.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+September 5th.
+
+A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest, that although it is
+highly probable that these papers may never reach you, yet I cannot
+forbear recording it.
+
+We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger of
+being crushed in their conflict. The cold is excessive, and many of my
+unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of
+desolation. Frankenstein has daily declined in health: a feverish fire
+still glimmers in his eyes; but he is exhausted, and, when suddenly
+roused to any exertion, he speedily sinks again into apparent
+lifelessness.
+
+I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny. This
+morning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend—his eyes
+half closed, and his limbs hanging listlessly,—I was roused by half a
+dozen of the sailors, who desired admission into the cabin. They
+entered; and their leader addressed me. He told me that he and his
+companions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in deputation to
+me, to make me a demand, which, in justice, I could not refuse. We were
+immured in ice, and should probably never escape; but they feared that
+if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate, and a free passage be
+opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage, and lead them
+into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted this. They
+desired, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn promise, that if
+the vessel should be freed, I would instantly direct my coarse
+southward.
+
+This speech troubled me. I had not despaired; nor had I yet conceived
+the idea of returning, if set free. Yet could I, in justice, or even in
+possibility, refuse this demand? I hesitated before I answered; when
+Frankenstein, who had at first been silent, and, indeed, appeared hardly
+to have force enough to attend, now roused himself; his eyes sparkled,
+and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour. Turning towards the men,
+he said—
+
+“What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you then so
+easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious
+expedition? and wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was
+smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers
+and terror; because, at every new incident, your fortitude was to be
+called forth, and your courage exhibited; because danger and death
+surrounded, and these dangers you were to brave and overcome. For this
+was it a glorious, for this was it an honourable undertaking. You were
+hereafter to be hailed as the benefactors of your species; your name
+adored, as belonging to brave men who encountered death for honour and
+the benefit of mankind. And now, behold, with the first imagination of
+danger, or, if you will, the first mighty and terrific trial of your
+courage, you shrink away, and are content to be handed down as men who
+had not strength enough to endure cold and peril; and so, poor souls,
+they were chilly, and returned to their warm fire-sides. Why, that
+requires not this preparation; ye need not have come thus far, and
+dragged your captain to the shame of a defeat, merely to prove
+yourselves cowards. Oh! be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your
+purposes, and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your
+hearts might be; it is mutable, cannot withstand you, if you say that it
+shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace
+marked on your brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered,
+and who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe.”
+
+He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings
+expressed in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and
+heroism, that can you wonder that these men were moved. They looked at
+one another, and were unable to reply. I spoke; I told them to retire,
+and consider of what had been said: that I would not lead them further
+north, if they strenuously desired the contrary; but that I hoped that,
+with reflection, their courage would return.
+
+They retired, and I turned towards my friend; but he was sunk in
+languor, and almost deprived of life.
+
+How all this will terminate, I know not; but I had rather die, than
+return shamefully,—my purpose unfulfilled. Yet I fear such will be my
+fate; the men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never
+willingly continue to endure their present hardships.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+September 7th.
+
+The die is cast; I have consented to return, if we are not destroyed.
+Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back
+ignorant and disappointed. It requires more philosophy than I possess,
+to bear this injustice with patience.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+September 12th.
+
+It is past; I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility
+and glory;—I have lost my friend. But I will endeavour to detail these
+bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and, while I am wafted
+towards England, and towards you, I will not despond.
+
+September 19th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were
+heard at a distance, as the islands split and cracked in every
+direction. We were in the most imminent peril; but, as we could only
+remain passive, my chief attention was occupied by my unfortunate guest,
+whose illness increased in such a degree, that he was entirely confined
+to his bed. The ice cracked behind us, and was driven with force towards
+the north; a breeze sprung from the west, and on the 11th the passage
+towards the south became perfectly free. When the sailors saw this, and
+that their return to their native country was apparently assured, a
+shout of tumultuous joy broke from them, loud and long-continued.
+Frankenstein, who was dozing, awoke, and asked the cause of the tumult.
+“They shout,” I said, “because they will soon return to England.”
+
+“Do you then really return?”
+
+“Alas! yes; I cannot withstand their demands. I cannot lead them
+unwillingly to danger, and I must return.”
+
+“Do so, if you will; but I will not. You may give up your purpose; but
+mine is assigned to me by heaven, and I dare not. I am weak; but surely
+the spirits who assist my vengeance will endow me with sufficient
+strength.” Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the bed, but the
+exertion was too great for him; he fell back, and fainted.
+
+It was long before he was restored; and I often thought that life was
+entirely extinct. At length he opened his eyes, but he breathed with
+difficulty, and was unable to speak. The surgeon gave him a composing
+draught, and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the mean time he
+told me, that my friend had certainly not many hours to live.
+
+His sentence was pronounced; and I could only grieve, and be patient. I
+sat by his bed watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he
+slept; but presently he called to me in a feeble voice, and, bidding me
+come near, said—“Alas! the strength I relied on is gone; I feel that I
+shall soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in being.
+Think not, Walton, that in the last moments of my existence I feel that
+burning hatred, and ardent desire of revenge, I once expressed, but I
+feel myself justified in desiring the death of my adversary. During
+these last days I have been occupied in examining my past conduct; nor
+do I find it blameable. In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a
+rational creature, and was bound towards him, to assure, as far as was
+in my power, his happiness and well-being. This was my duty; but there
+was another still paramount to that. My duties towards my
+fellow-creatures had greater claims to my attention, because they
+included a greater proportion of happiness or misery. Urged by this
+view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, to create a companion for
+the first creature. He shewed unparalleled malignity and selfishness, in
+evil: he destroyed my friends; he devoted to destruction beings who
+possessed exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom; nor do I know
+where this thirst for vengeance may end. Miserable himself, that he may
+render no other wretched, he ought to die. The task of his destruction
+was mine, but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious
+motives, I asked you to undertake my unfinished work; and I renew this
+request now, when I am only induced by reason and virtue.
+
+“Yet I cannot ask you to renounce your country and friends, to fulfil
+this task; and now, that you are returning to England, you will have
+little chance of meeting with him. But the consideration of these
+points, and the well-balancing of what you may esteem your duties, I
+leave to you; my judgment and ideas are already disturbed by the near
+approach of death. I dare not ask you to do what I think right, for I
+may still be misled by passion.
+
+“That he should live to be an instrument of mischief disturbs me; in
+other respects this hour, when I momentarily expect my release, is the
+only happy one which I have enjoyed for several years. The forms of the
+beloved dead flit before me, and I hasten to their arms. Farewell,
+Walton! Seek happiness in tranquillity, and avoid ambition, even if it
+be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in
+science and discoveries. Yet why do I say this? I have myself been
+blasted in these hopes, yet another may succeed.”
+
+His voice became fainter as he spoke; and at length, exhausted by his
+effort, he sunk into silence. About half an hour afterwards he attempted
+again to speak, but was unable; he pressed my hand feebly, and his eyes
+closed for ever, while the irradiation of a gentle smile passed away
+from his lips.
+
+Margaret, what comment can I make on the untimely extinction of this
+glorious spirit? What can I say, that will enable you to understand the
+depth of my sorrow? All that I should express would be inadequate and
+feeble. My tears flow; my mind is overshadowed by a cloud of
+disappointment. But I journey towards England, and I may there find
+consolation.
+
+I am interrupted. What do these sounds portend? It is midnight; the
+breeze blows fairly, and the watch on deck scarcely stir. Again; there
+is a sound as of a human voice, but hoarser; it comes from the cabin
+where the remains of Frankenstein still lie. I must arise, and examine.
+Good night, my sister.
+
+Great God! what a scene has just taken place! I am yet dizzy with the
+remembrance of it. I hardly know whether I shall have the power to
+detail it; yet the tale which I have recorded would be incomplete
+without this final and wonderful catastrophe.
+
+I entered the cabin, where lay the remains of my ill-fated and admirable
+friend. Over him hung a form which I cannot find words to describe;
+gigantic in stature, yet uncouth and distorted in its proportions. As he
+hung over the coffin, his face was concealed by long locks of ragged
+hair; but one vast hand was extended, in colour and apparent texture
+like that of a mummy. When he heard the sound of my approach, he ceased
+to utter exclamations of grief and horror, and sprung towards the
+window. Never did I behold a vision so horrible as his face, of such
+loathsome, yet appalling hideousness. I shut my eyes involuntarily, and
+endeavoured to recollect what were my duties with regard to this
+destroyer. I called on him to stay.
+
+He paused, looking on me with wonder; and, again turning towards the
+lifeless form of his creator, he seemed to forget my presence, and every
+feature and gesture seemed instigated by the wildest rage of some
+uncontrollable passion.
+
+“That is also my victim!” he exclaimed; “in his murder my crimes are
+consummated; the miserable series of my being is wound to its close! Oh,
+Frankenstein! generous and self-devoted being! what does it avail that I
+now ask thee to pardon me? I, who irretrievably destroyed thee by
+destroying all thou lovedst. Alas! he is cold; he may not answer me.”
+
+His voice seemed suffocated; and my first impulses, which had suggested
+to me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend, in destroying
+his enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion.
+I approached this tremendous being; I dared not again raise my looks
+upon his face, there was something so scaring and unearthly in his
+ugliness. I attempted to speak, but the words died away on my lips. The
+monster continued to utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At
+length I gathered resolution to address him, in a pause of the tempest
+of his passion: “Your repentance,” I said, “is now superfluous. If you
+had listened to the voice of conscience, and heeded the stings of
+remorse, before you had urged your diabolical vengeance to this
+extremity, Frankenstein would yet have lived.”
+
+“And do you dream?” said the dæmon; “do you think that I was then dead
+to agony and remorse?—He,” he continued, pointing to the corpse, “he
+suffered not more in the consummation of the deed;—oh! not the
+ten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine during the lingering
+detail of its execution. A frightful selfishness hurried me on, while
+my heart was poisoned with remorse. Think ye that the groans of Clerval
+were music to my ears? My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love
+and sympathy; and, when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred, it did
+not endure the violence of the change without torture such as you cannot
+even imagine.
+
+“After the murder of Clerval, I returned to Switzerland, heart-broken
+and overcome. I pitied Frankenstein; my pity amounted to horror: I
+abhorred myself. But when I discovered that he, the author at once of my
+existence and of its unspeakable torments, dared to hope for happiness;
+that while he accumulated wretchedness and despair upon me, he sought
+his own enjoyment in feelings and passions from the indulgence of which
+I was for ever barred, then impotent envy and bitter indignation filled
+me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance. I recollected my threat, and
+resolved that it should be accomplished. I knew that I was preparing for
+myself a deadly torture; but I was the slave, not the master of an
+impulse, which I detested, yet could not disobey. Yet when she
+died!—nay, then I was not miserable. I had cast off all feeling,
+subdued all anguish to riot in the excess of my despair. Evil
+thenceforth became my good. Urged thus far, I had no choice but to adapt
+my nature to an element which I had willingly chosen. The completion of
+my demoniacal design became an insatiable passion. And now it is ended;
+there is my last victim!”
+
+I was at first touched by the expressions of his misery; yet when I
+called to mind what Frankenstein had said of his powers of eloquence and
+persuasion, and when I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my
+friend, indignation was re-kindled within me. “Wretch!” I said, “it is
+well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you have made.
+You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and when they are consumed
+you sit among the ruins, and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend! if he
+whom you mourn still lived, still would he be the object, again would he
+become the prey of your accursed vengeance. It is not pity that you
+feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn
+from your power.”
+
+“Oh, it is not thus—not thus,” interrupted the being; “yet such must be
+the impression conveyed to you by what appears to be the purport of my
+actions. Yet I seek not a fellow-feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I
+ever find. When I first sought it, it was the love of virtue, the
+feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being
+overflowed, that I wished to be participated. But now, that virtue has
+become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into
+bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am
+content to suffer alone, while my sufferings shall endure: when I die, I
+am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory.
+Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of
+enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings, who, pardoning my
+outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was
+capable of bringing forth. I was nourished with high thoughts of honour
+and devotion. But now vice has degraded me beneath the meanest animal.
+No crime, no mischief, no malignity, no misery, can be found comparable
+to mine. When I call over the frightful catalogue of my deeds, I cannot
+believe that I am he whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and
+transcendant visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it
+is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that
+enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I am
+quite alone.
+
+“You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my
+crimes and his misfortunes. But, in the detail which he gave you of
+them, he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I
+endured, wasting in impotent passions. For whilst I destroyed his hopes,
+I did not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving;
+still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there
+no injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all
+human kind sinned against me? Why do you not hate Felix, who drove his
+friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic
+who sought to destroy the saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous
+and immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an
+abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my
+blood boils at the recollection of this injustice.
+
+“But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and the
+helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept, and grasped to
+death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have
+devoted my creator, the select specimen of all that is worthy of love
+and admiration among men, to misery; I have pursued him even to that
+irremediable ruin. There he lies, white and cold in death. You hate me;
+but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard myself. I look
+on the hands which executed the deed; I think on the heart in which the
+imagination of it was conceived, and long for the moment when they will
+meet my eyes, when it will haunt my thoughts, no more.
+
+“Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work is
+nearly complete. Neither your’s nor any man’s death is needed to
+consummate the series of my being, and accomplish that which must be
+done; but it requires my own. Do not think that I shall be slow to
+perform this sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice-raft which
+brought me hither, and shall seek the most northern extremity of the
+globe; I shall collect my funeral pile, and consume to ashes this
+miserable frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious and
+unhallowed wretch, who would create such another as I have been. I shall
+die. I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me, or be the
+prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet unquenched. He is dead who called me
+into being; and when I shall be no more, the very remembrance of us both
+will speedily vanish. I shall no longer see the sun or stars, or feel
+the winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense, will pass away;
+and in this condition must I find my happiness. Some years ago, when the
+images which this world affords first opened upon me, when I felt the
+cheering warmth of summer, and heard the rustling of the leaves and the
+chirping of the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept to
+die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by crimes, and torn by the
+bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death?
+
+“Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last of human kind whom these
+eyes will ever behold. Farewell, Frankenstein! If thou wert yet alive,
+and yet cherished a desire of revenge against me, it would be better
+satiated in my life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou
+didst seek my extinction, that I might not cause greater wretchedness;
+and if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hast not yet ceased to
+think and feel, thou desirest not my life for my own misery. Blasted as
+thou wert, my agony was still superior to thine; for the bitter sting of
+remorse may not cease to rankle in my wounds until death shall close
+them for ever.
+
+“But soon,” he cried, with sad and solemn enthusiasm, “I shall die, and
+what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be
+extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly, and exult in the
+agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade
+away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit will
+sleep in peace; or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus.
+Farewell.”
+
+He sprung from the cabin-window, as he said this, upon the ice-raft
+which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves, and
+lost in darkness and distance.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANKENSTEIN; OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS ***
+
+
+    
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
+be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
+law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
+so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
+States without permission and without paying copyright
+royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
+of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
+Gutenberg™ 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 following
+the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
+of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
+copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
+easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
+of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
+Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
+do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
+by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
+license, 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 free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
+Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
+Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
+www.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 to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
+destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
+possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
+Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
+by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
+or 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 be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
+agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
+electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
+Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
+of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
+works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
+States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
+United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
+claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
+displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
+all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
+that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
+free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
+works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
+Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
+comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
+same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
+you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
+in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
+check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
+agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
+distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
+other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
+representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
+country 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 other
+immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
+prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
+on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
+phrase “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 is
+derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
+contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
+copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
+the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
+redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
+Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
+either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
+obtain 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 posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
+additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
+will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
+posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
+beginning 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 this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
+
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg™ License.
+
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
+any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
+to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
+other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
+version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
+(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
+to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
+of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
+Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
+full 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™ works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
+provided that:
+
+    • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+        the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
+        you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
+        to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
+        agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
+        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
+        within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
+        legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
+        payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
+        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
+        Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
+        Literary Archive Foundation.”
+    
+    • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+        you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+        does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
+        License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
+        copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
+        all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
+        works.
+    
+    • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
+        any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+        electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
+        receipt of the work.
+    
+    • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+        distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
+    
+
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
+Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
+are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
+from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
+the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
+forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
+Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
+electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
+contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
+or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
+other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
+cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
+of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
+with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
+with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
+lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
+or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
+opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
+the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
+without further opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
+OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
+damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
+violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
+agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
+limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
+unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
+remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
+accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
+production, 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 of
+the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
+or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
+additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
+Defect you cause.
+
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
+
+Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
+computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
+exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
+from people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
+generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
+Sections 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-profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
+U.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 up
+to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
+and 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 widespread
+public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
+DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
+visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
+donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
+
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
+Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
+freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
+distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
+volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
+the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
+necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
+edition.
+
+Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
+facility: www.gutenberg.org.
+
+This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.