From 8798eafd4cc4b32c590a40c276c09b830c5d62da Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: seivarya Date: Sat, 20 Jun 2026 18:25:02 +0530 Subject: [refactor]: restructured the project --- .clang-format | 4 + .gitattributes | 1 + .gitignore | 67 + FAFR | Bin 51576 -> 0 bytes Main.cpp | 338 --- Makefile | 5 + README.md | 9 +- fuck | 7553 ------------------------------------------------------ include/reader.h | 72 + src/main.cpp | 71 + src/reader.cpp | 142 + testfile | 7553 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 12 files changed, 7919 insertions(+), 7896 deletions(-) create mode 100644 .clang-format create mode 100644 .gitattributes create mode 100644 .gitignore delete mode 100755 FAFR delete mode 100644 Main.cpp create mode 100644 Makefile delete mode 100644 fuck create mode 100644 include/reader.h create mode 100644 src/main.cpp create mode 100644 src/reader.cpp create mode 100644 testfile diff --git a/.clang-format b/.clang-format new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9fa6cda --- /dev/null +++ b/.clang-format @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +BasedOnStyle: LLVM +IndentWidth: 8 +TabWidth: 8 +UseTab: Never diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6313b56 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +* text=auto eol=lf diff --git a/.gitignore b/.gitignore new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a2ec94 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitignore @@ -0,0 +1,67 @@ +# Prerequisites +*.d + +# clangd files +compile_commands.json + +# misc +.vscode/ + + +# build/ cache files +build +run_tests +.cache + +# Object files +*.o +*.ko +*.obj +*.elf + +# Linker output +*.ilk +*.map +*.exp + +# Precompiled Headers +*.gch +*.pch + +# Libraries +*.lib +*.a +*.la +*.lo + +# Shared objects (inc. Windows DLLs) +*.dll +*.so +*.so.* +*.dylib + +# Executables +*.exe +*.out +*.app +*.i*86 +*.x86_64 +*.hex + +# Debug files +*.dSYM/ +*.su +*.idb +*.pdb + +# Kernel Module Compile Results +*.mod* +*.cmd +.tmp_versions/ +modules.order +Module.symvers +Mkfile.old +dkms.conf + +# debug information files +*.dwo diff --git a/FAFR b/FAFR deleted file mode 100755 index 9f85c77..0000000 Binary files a/FAFR and /dev/null differ diff --git a/Main.cpp b/Main.cpp deleted file mode 100644 index 53e6cf0..0000000 --- a/Main.cpp +++ /dev/null @@ -1,338 +0,0 @@ -// ==================== -// The purpose of this project is to -// make a reader so that I can read -// novels even faster than my already -// amazing speed.(200k words/day) to (300k words/day) -// -// Rsearch objective: -// Terminal: RSVP (Rapid Serial Visual Presentation) -// -// Project Name: fastAsFKReader(FAFK) -// Author : Aakarsh Kashyap -// [ 2026-06-17 ] -// ==================== - -// Steps -// -// 1. Get to the raw mode -// 2. Get cursor to center of the terminal -// 3. Parse the whole file into the memory and save it into a vector -// of strings. -// 4. Figure out the central letter of the string -// 5. Print that word with the central letter coloured -// 6. We will take a timer args which will make word rendering fast or slow but -// it's fine for now -// 7. The size of the word is smt dependent on user terminal zoomin we will not -// try to render bigger font or anything -// 8. End of the program. - -/* Include */ -#include -#include -#include -#include -#include -#include -#include -#include -#include -#include -#include - -/* Define */ -#define CTRL_KEY(k) ((k) & 0x1f) - - -/** data **/ - -using editorConfig_t = struct editorConfig -{ - int screenrows; - int screencols; - struct termios org_termios{}; - -}; - -editorConfig_t e; - -/** terminal **/ -void Die(const char *s) -{ - write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[2J", 4); - write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[H", 3); - - perror(s); - exit(1); -} - -void DisableRawMode() -{ - if (tcsetattr(STDIN_FILENO, TCSAFLUSH, &e.org_termios) == -1) { Die("tcsetattr") ; -} -} - -void EnableRawMode() -{ - if(tcgetattr(STDIN_FILENO, &e.org_termios) == -1) { Die("tcgetattr"); -} - // At exit(program exits) runs the function - atexit(DisableRawMode); - - struct termios raw = e.org_termios; - - - // Iflags are for input flags - // XON is used to control and disable C-s and C-q they are used for software flow control - // CR for carriage return NL for new line - raw.c_iflag &= ~(IXON | ICRNL | BRKINT | INPCK | ISTRIP); - - // turning off the post processing of output - raw.c_oflag &= ~(OPOST); - - raw.c_cflag |= (CS8); - // lflags is for mislaneous things - // ISIG flag disable SIGINT C-c and SIGSTP C-z - // ECHO flag disable return output to screen as we type sudo uses this - // ICANON is used to turn off the canonical/cooked mode so we can process per byte instead of per line - // IEXTEN is used to diable C-v - raw.c_lflag &= ~(ECHO | ICANON | IEXTEN |ISIG); - - - // c_cc is a control character array; - // vmin sets the number of bytes needed before read can return - raw.c_cc[VMIN] = 0; - // Sets max time before read returns - raw.c_cc[VTIME] = 1; - - // TCSAFLUSH is used to flus all the things after thsi func call - if (tcsetattr(STDIN_FILENO, TCSAFLUSH, &raw) == -1) { Die("tcsetattr") ; -} -} - -char EditorReadKey() -{ - int nread; - char c; - while ((nread = read(STDIN_FILENO, &c, 1)) != 1) - { - if(nread == -1 && errno != EAGAIN) { Die("read"); -} - } - return c; -} - -int GetCursorPosition(int *rows, int *cols) -{ - char buf[32]; - unsigned int i = 0; - // n cmd gives the device info 6 as args give us the cursor pos - if (write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[6n", 4) != 4) { - return -1; -} - while (i < sizeof(buf) - 1) - { - if (read(STDIN_FILENO, &buf[i], 1) != 1) { - break; -} - if (buf[i] == 'R') { - break; -} - i++; - } - buf[i] = '\0'; - - if (buf[0] != '\x1b' || buf[1] != '[') { - return -1; -} - if (sscanf(&buf[2], "%d;%d", rows, cols) != 2) { - return -1; -} - - return 0; -} - - -int GetWindowSize(int *rows, int *cols) -{ - struct winsize ws; - - // TIOCGWINSZ stads for terminal ioctl get window size - // returns -1 on error can even return row and cols as zero so we check both - if (ioctl(STDOUT_FILENO, TIOCGWINSZ, &ws) == -1 || ws.ws_col == 0) - { - if (write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[999C\x1b[999B", 12) != 12) { - return -1; -} - return GetCursorPosition(rows, cols); - } - - *cols = ws.ws_col; - *rows = ws.ws_row; - return 0; - -} - -/* append buffer */ - -class AppendBuf -{ -private: - char *m_b{nullptr}; - uint32_t m_len{0}; - -public: - AppendBuf() {} - - ~AppendBuf() = default; - - void Append(const char *s, int len) - { - char *num = (char*)realloc(m_b, m_len + len); - - if (num == nullptr) { - return; -} - memcpy(&num[m_len], s, len); - m_b = num; - m_len += len; - } - - static AppendBuf &Instance() - { - static AppendBuf obj; - return obj; - } - void Remove() - { - free(m_b); - m_b = nullptr; - m_len = 0; - } - void WriteOut() - { - write(STDOUT_FILENO, m_b, m_len); - } -}; - -/* output */ - - -void EditorRefreshScreen() -{ - // escape sequence starts with escape character \x1b is 27byte followed by [ - // is a escape sequence - // Then we specify the command and it's args. args are given before the - // command - // J corresponds to clearning the screen. 2 args means all the screena 1 for - // before the cursor and 0(default) - // for after the cursor to EOS - AppendBuf::Instance().Append("\x1b[2J", 4); - // H for cursor pos control takes two args rowXcol. 12;4H args are seperated by ';' - char tuff[32]; memset(tuff, 0, sizeof(tuff)); - snprintf(tuff, sizeof(tuff), "\x1b[%d;%dH", e.screenrows / 2, e.screencols / 2); - AppendBuf::Instance().Append(tuff, strlen(tuff)); - AppendBuf::Instance().WriteOut(); - AppendBuf::Instance().Remove(); -} - -/* input */ - -void EditorProcessKeyProcess() -{ - char c = EditorReadKey(); - - switch (c) - { - case CTRL_KEY('q'): - write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[2J", 4); - write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[H", 3); - exit(0); - break; - } -} - -/* Utils */ -size_t Split(const std::string &txt, std::vector &strs, char ch) { - size_t pos = txt.find( ch ); - size_t initaiPos = 0; - // strs.clear(); - - while( pos != std::string::npos) { - strs.push_back(txt.substr(initaiPos, pos - initaiPos)); - initaiPos = pos+1; - - pos = txt.find(ch, initaiPos); - } - strs.push_back( txt.substr(initaiPos)); - - return strs.size(); -} - -/** Init **/ - -void InitEditor() -{ - if (GetWindowSize(&e.screenrows, &e.screencols) == -1) { - Die("getWindowSize"); -} - -} - -int main(int argc, char *argv[]) -{ - EnableRawMode(); - InitEditor(); - if (argc < 2) { - Die("no file provided"); -} - - int speed{250000}; - if (argc == 3) { - speed = std::stoi(argv[2]); -} - FILE *f = fopen(argv[1], "r"); - if (f == nullptr) { Die("fopen"); -} - - fseek(f, 0, SEEK_END); - long size = ftell(f); - rewind(f); - - std::string content(size, '\0'); - fread(content.data(), 1, size, f); - fclose(f); - std::vector lund; - Split(content, lund, ' '); - - while (1) - { - for (std::string &k : lund) - { - EditorRefreshScreen(); - int mid = k.size() / 2; - - write(STDOUT_FILENO, k.substr(0, mid).c_str(), mid); - - write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[31m", 5); - write(STDOUT_FILENO, k.substr(mid, 1).c_str(), 1); - write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[m", 3); - - int remaining = k.size() - mid - 1; - write(STDOUT_FILENO, k.substr(mid + 1, remaining).c_str(), remaining); - - usleep(speed); - } - EditorProcessKeyProcess(); - } - return 0; -} - -/* CONCLUSION */ -// Experiment have failed. I do not see any particular increase int my -// reading speed, infact it has become difficult to -// keep previous context in mind -// There must be something else going on in that reel -// I will try to ask about it from sei or shashy maybe there is a -// better way -// -// [ 2026-06-17 ] diff --git a/Makefile b/Makefile new file mode 100644 index 0000000..218d1b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/Makefile @@ -0,0 +1,5 @@ +run: + g++ src/reader.cpp src/main.cpp -o run -Isrc -Iinclude + +clean: + rm -rf .cache run diff --git a/README.md b/README.md index 4afac36..eb91a7c 100644 --- a/README.md +++ b/README.md @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -# FAFR +# reader.cpp Terminal: RSVP (Rapid Serial Visual Presentation) @@ -6,13 +6,12 @@ Terminal: RSVP (Rapid Serial Visual Presentation) How to compile ``` -g++ Main.cpp -o main +make ``` -How to use - +How to use: ``` -main +./run ``` ## // Licence diff --git a/fuck b/fuck deleted file mode 100644 index 8d6dd99..0000000 --- a/fuck +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7553 +0,0 @@ -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. 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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. diff --git a/include/reader.h b/include/reader.h new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b61e6c --- /dev/null +++ b/include/reader.h @@ -0,0 +1,72 @@ +/* reader.h */ + +#define CTRL_KEY(k) ((k) & 0x1f) + +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include +#include + + +using editor_cfg = struct editor_cfg { + int screenrows; + int screencols; + termios termios_inst {}; +}; + +class append_buffer { + private: + char *m_b{nullptr}; + uint32_t m_len{0}; + public: + append_buffer() {} + ~append_buffer() = default; + + void append(const char *s, int len) { + char *n = (char *)realloc(m_b, m_len + len); + + if (n == nullptr) + return; + memcpy(&n[m_len], s, len); + m_b = n; + m_len += len; + } + + static append_buffer &instance() { + static append_buffer obj; + return obj; + } + + void remove() { + free(m_b); + m_b = nullptr; + m_len = 0; + } + + void write_output() { + write(STDOUT_FILENO, m_b, m_len); + } +}; + +void init_editor(editor_cfg *cfg); +void die(const char *s); +void disable_raw(editor_cfg *cfg); +void enable_raw(editor_cfg *cfg); +void editor_refresh_scrn(editor_cfg *cfg); + +char editor_readkey(); + +int get_cursor_pos(int *rows, int *cols); +int get_window_size(int *rows, int *cols); +int is_number(char *strnum); + +size_t split(const std::string &txt, std::vector &strings, char ch); + + diff --git a/src/main.cpp b/src/main.cpp new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0c60cb --- /dev/null +++ b/src/main.cpp @@ -0,0 +1,71 @@ +#include "reader.h" + +int main(int argc, char *argv[]) { + try { + editor_cfg *cfg = (editor_cfg *)malloc(sizeof(editor_cfg)); + if (cfg == nullptr) { + die("[err]: malloc failed\n"); + } + + enable_raw(cfg); + init_editor(cfg); + + int speed { 250000 }; + + if (argc < 2) + die("[err]: no file provided!\n"); + + if (argc > 3) + die("[err]: too many arguments!\n"); + + if (argc == 3) { + if (!is_number(argv[2])) + die("[err]: invalid speed interval provided!\n"); + speed = std::stoi(argv[2]); + } + + FILE *fp = fopen(argv[1], "r"); + + if (fp == nullptr) + die("[err]: fopen failed\n"); + + fseek(fp, 0, SEEK_END); + long size = ftell(fp); + rewind(fp); + + std::string content(size, '\0'); + fread(content.data(), 1, size, fp); + + fclose(fp); + + std::vector data; + split(content, data, ' '); + + while(1) { + for (std::string &k: data) { + if (k.empty()) continue; + editor_refresh_scrn(cfg); + int mid = k.size() / 2; + + write(STDOUT_FILENO, k.substr(0, mid).c_str(), mid); + write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[31m", 5); + write(STDOUT_FILENO, k.substr(mid, 1).c_str(), 1); + write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[m", 3); + + int remaining = k.size() - mid - 1; + + write(STDOUT_FILENO, k.substr(mid + 1, remaining).c_str(), remaining); + usleep(speed); + } + } + + free(cfg); + + } catch (const std::exception &e) { + die(e.what()); + } catch (...) { + die("[err]: Unknown exception occurred\n"); + } + + return 0; +} /* main.cpp */ diff --git a/src/reader.cpp b/src/reader.cpp new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd293db --- /dev/null +++ b/src/reader.cpp @@ -0,0 +1,142 @@ +#include "reader.h" +#include + +void die(const char *s) { + write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[2J", 4); + write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[H", 3); + + perror(s); + fprintf(stderr, "[exit]: die(s) invoked, exiting..\n"); + exit(1); +} + +static editor_cfg *g_cfg = nullptr; + +void disable_raw_atexit() { + if (g_cfg) { + tcsetattr(STDIN_FILENO, TCSAFLUSH, &(g_cfg->termios_inst)); + } +} + +void handle_signal(int sig) { + disable_raw_atexit(); + _exit(128 + sig); +} + +void disable_raw(editor_cfg *cfg) { + if (tcsetattr(STDIN_FILENO, TCSAFLUSH, &(cfg->termios_inst))) + die("tcsetattr"); +} + +void enable_raw(editor_cfg *cfg) { + if (tcgetattr(STDIN_FILENO, &(cfg->termios_inst)) == -1) + die("tcgetattr"); + + g_cfg = cfg; + + std::atexit(disable_raw_atexit); + + std::signal(SIGINT, handle_signal); + std::signal(SIGTERM, handle_signal); + std::signal(SIGQUIT, handle_signal); + + struct termios raw = cfg->termios_inst; + raw.c_iflag &= ~(IXON | ICRNL | BRKINT | INPCK | ISTRIP); + raw.c_oflag &= ~(OPOST); + raw.c_lflag &= + ~(ECHO | ICANON | IEXTEN); // disables several keybinds in terminal + + raw.c_cc[VMIN] = 0; + raw.c_cc[VTIME] = 1; + + if (tcsetattr(STDIN_FILENO, TCSAFLUSH, &raw) == -1) + die("tcsetattr"); +} + +char editor_readkey() { + int nread; + char c; + + while ((nread = read(STDIN_FILENO, &c, 1)) != 1) { + if (nread == -1 && errno != EAGAIN) + die("read"); + } + return c; +} + +int get_cursor_pos(int *rows, int *cols) { + char buff[32]; + unsigned int i = 0; + + if (write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[6n", 4) != 4) { + return -1; + } + while (i < sizeof(buff) - 1) { + if (read(STDIN_FILENO, &buff[i], 1) != 1) + break; + if (buff[i] == 'R') + break; + i++; + } + buff[i] = '\0'; + + if (buff[0] != '\x1b' || buff[1] != '[') + return -1; + if (sscanf(&buff[2], "%d;%d", rows, cols) != 2) + return -1; + return 0; +} + +int get_window_size(int *rows, int *cols) { + struct winsize w_size; + + if (ioctl(STDOUT_FILENO, TIOCGWINSZ, &w_size) == -1 || + w_size.ws_col == 0) { + if (write(STDOUT_FILENO, "\x1b[999C\x1b[999B", 12) != 12) + return -1; + return get_cursor_pos(rows, cols); + } + + *rows = w_size.ws_row; + *cols = w_size.ws_col; + + return 0; +} + +void editor_refresh_scrn(editor_cfg *cfg) { + append_buffer::instance().append("\x1b[2J", 4); + char buff[32]; + memset(buff, 0, sizeof(buff)); + + snprintf(buff, sizeof(buff), "\x1b[%d;%dH", cfg->screenrows / 2, cfg->screencols / 2); + + append_buffer::instance().append(buff, strlen(buff)); + append_buffer::instance().write_output(); + append_buffer::instance().remove(); +} + +size_t split(const std::string &txt, std::vector &strings, char ch) { + size_t pos = txt.find(ch); + size_t initial_pos = 0; + + while (pos != std::string::npos) { + strings.push_back(txt.substr(initial_pos, pos - initial_pos)); + initial_pos = pos + 1; + pos = txt.find(ch, initial_pos); + } + + strings.push_back(txt.substr(initial_pos)); + return strings.size(); +} + +void init_editor(editor_cfg *cfg) { + if (get_window_size(&(cfg->screenrows), &(cfg->screencols)) == -1) + die("get_window_size"); +} + +int is_number(char *strnum) { + std::string str = strnum; + std::string::const_iterator it = str.begin(); + while (it != str.end() && std::isdigit(*it)) ++it; + return !str.empty() && it == str.end(); +} diff --git a/testfile b/testfile new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d6dd99 --- /dev/null +++ b/testfile @@ -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. 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