| text | |
| "The Project Gutenberg eBook of Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus | |
| This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and | |
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| Title: Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus | |
| Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley | |
| Release date: October 1, 1993 [eBook #84] | |
| Most recently updated: December 2, 2022 | |
| Language: English | |
| Credits: Judith Boss, Christy Phillips, Lynn Hanninen and David Meltzer. HTML version by Al Haines. | |
| " | |
| "Further corrections by Menno de Leeuw. | |
| *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRANKENSTEIN; OR, THE MODERN PROMETHEUS *** | |
| Frankenstein; | |
| or, the Modern Prometheus | |
| by Mary Wollstonecraft (Godwin) Shelley | |
| CONTENTS | |
| Letter 1 | |
| Letter 2 | |
| Letter 3 | |
| Letter 4 | |
| Chapter 1 | |
| Chapter 2 | |
| Chapter 3 | |
| Chapter 4 | |
| Chapter 5 | |
| Chapter 6 | |
| Chapter 7 | |
| Chapter 8 | |
| Chapter 9 | |
| Chapter 10 | |
| Chapter 11 | |
| Chapter 12 | |
| Chapter 13 | |
| Chapter 14 | |
| Chapter 15 | |
| Chapter 16 | |
| Chapter 17 | |
| Chapter 18 | |
| Chapter 19 | |
| Chapter 20 | |
| Chapter 21 | |
| Chapter 22 | |
| Chapter 23 | |
| Chapter 24 | |
| Letter 1 | |
| _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 daydreams 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 | |
| phenomena 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 tranquillise 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’ 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 seafaring 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 theirs 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 stagecoach. The | |
| cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped 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 2 | |
| _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 sympathise 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’ 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 | |
| schoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that my | |
| daydreams 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, or rather, to word my phrase | |
| more characteristically, of advancement in his profession. " | |
| "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. This | |
| circumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, made | |
| me very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best years | |
| spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the | |
| groundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste to | |
| the usual brutality exercised on board ship: I have never believed it to be | |
| necessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindliness | |
| of heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I felt | |
| myself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his services. " | |
| "I heard | |
| of him first in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the | |
| happiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he loved | |
| a young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and 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 is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind | |
| of ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conduct | |
| the more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy which | |
| otherwise he would command. | |
| Yet do not suppose, 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 or if I should come back to you as worn and | |
| woeful as the “Ancient Mariner.” You will smile at my allusion, but I | |
| will disclose a secret. " | |
| "I have often attributed my attachment to, my | |
| passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to that | |
| production of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is something | |
| at work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practically | |
| industrious—painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and | |
| labour—but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a belief | |
| in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out | |
| of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited | |
| regions I am about to explore. | |
| But to return to dearer considerations. 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 for the present to write to | |
| me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters 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 3 | |
| _To Mrs. Saville, England._ | |
| July 7th, 17—. | |
| My dear Sister, | |
| I write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe—and well advanced | |
| on my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchantman 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 springing of a leak 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 | |
| yours, I will not rashly encounter danger. I will be cool, | |
| persevering, and prudent. | |
| But success _shall_ crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I | |
| have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars | |
| themselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. " | |
| "Why not | |
| still proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the | |
| determined heart and resolved will of man? | |
| My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus. But I must | |
| finish. Heaven bless my beloved sister! | |
| R.W. | |
| Letter 4 | |
| _To Mrs. Saville, England._ | |
| August 5th, 17—. | |
| So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear | |
| recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me before | |
| these papers can 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 someone 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 a 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 showed 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 anyone | |
| 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 a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame of the | |
| stranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness 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. | |
| I have promised that someone 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 anyone 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 projects of others. He has frequently | |
| conversed with me on mine, which I have communicated to him without | |
| disguise. He entered attentively into all my arguments in favour of my | |
| eventual success and into every minute detail of the measures I had taken | |
| to secure it. I was easily led by the sympathy which he evinced to use the | |
| language of my heart, to give utterance to the burning ardour of my soul | |
| and to say, with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I would | |
| sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my | |
| enterprise. " | |
| "One man’s life or death were but a small price to pay for | |
| the acquirement of the knowledge which I sought, for the dominion I should | |
| acquire and transmit over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke, a | |
| dark gloom spread over my listener’s countenance. At first I | |
| perceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands before | |
| his eyes, and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears trickle | |
| fast from between his fingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast. I | |
| paused; at length he spoke, in broken accents: “Unhappy man! Do you | |
| share my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught? Hear me; | |
| let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!” | |
| Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity; but the | |
| paroxysm of grief that had seized the stranger overcame his weakened | |
| powers, and many hours of repose and tranquil conversation were | |
| necessary to restore his composure. | |
| " | |
| "Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared to despise | |
| himself for being the slave of passion; and quelling the dark tyranny of | |
| despair, he led me again to converse concerning myself personally. He asked | |
| me the history of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it | |
| awakened various trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a | |
| friend, of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind than | |
| had ever fallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction that a man could | |
| boast of little happiness who did not enjoy this blessing. | |
| “I agree with you,” replied the stranger; “we are | |
| unfashioned creatures, but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than | |
| ourselves—such a friend ought to be—do not lend his aid to | |
| perfectionate our weak and faulty natures. 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 everything 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 seem 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 smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine | |
| wanderer? You would not if you saw him. " | |
| "You have been tutored and | |
| refined by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore | |
| somewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit to | |
| appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man. Sometimes I | |
| have endeavoured to discover what quality it is which he possesses that | |
| elevates him so immeasurably above any other person I ever knew. I | |
| believe it to be an intuitive discernment, a quick but never-failing | |
| power of judgment, a penetration into the causes of things, unequalled | |
| for clearness and precision; add to this a facility of expression and a | |
| voice whose varied intonations are soul-subduing music. | |
| August 19th, 17—. | |
| Yesterday the stranger said to me, “You may easily perceive, Captain | |
| Walton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes. I had | |
| determined at one time 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 disasters will be | |
| useful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing the same | |
| course, exposing yourself to the same dangers which have rendered me | |
| what I am, I imagine that you may deduce an apt moral from my tale, one | |
| that may direct you if you succeed in your undertaking and console you | |
| in case of failure. Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually | |
| deemed marvellous. Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might | |
| fear to encounter your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things | |
| will appear possible in these wild and mysterious regions which would | |
| provoke the laughter of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers | |
| of nature; nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series | |
| internal evidence of the truth of the events of which it is composed.” | |
| You may easily imagine that I was much gratified by the offered | |
| communication, yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by | |
| a recital of 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 imperatively occupied by my duties, 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! Even now, as I commence my | |
| task, his full-toned voice swells in my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me | |
| with all their melancholy sweetness; I see his thin hand raised in | |
| animation, while the lineaments of his face are irradiated by the soul | |
| within. Strange and harrowing must be his story, frightful the storm which | |
| embraced the gallant vessel on its course and wrecked it—thus! | |
| Chapter 1 | |
| I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most | |
| distinguished 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; a variety of circumstances had prevented his | |
| marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a | |
| husband and the father of a family. | |
| 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 bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct | |
| so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in | |
| endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading 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 meantime 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. | |
| There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but | |
| this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted | |
| affection. There was a sense of justice in my father’s upright mind | |
| which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love | |
| strongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the | |
| late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set | |
| a greater value on tried worth. " | |
| "There was a show of gratitude and | |
| worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the | |
| doting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her | |
| virtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing | |
| her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace | |
| to his behaviour to her. Everything was made to yield to her wishes | |
| and her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is | |
| sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her | |
| with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and | |
| benevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto | |
| constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During | |
| the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had | |
| gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after | |
| their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change | |
| of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, | |
| as a restorative for her weakened frame. | |
| " | |
| "From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born | |
| at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. I remained | |
| for several years their only child. Much as they were attached to each | |
| other, they seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very | |
| mine of love to bestow them upon me. My mother’s tender caresses and | |
| my father’s smile of benevolent pleasure while regarding me are my | |
| first recollections. I was their plaything and their idol, and something | |
| better—their child, the innocent and helpless creature bestowed on | |
| them by Heaven, whom to bring up to good, and whose future lot it was in | |
| their hands to direct to happiness or misery, according as they fulfilled | |
| their duties towards me. With this deep consciousness of what they owed | |
| towards the being to which they had given life, added to the active spirit | |
| of tenderness that animated both, it may be imagined that while during | |
| every hour of my infant life I received a lesson of patience, of charity, | |
| and of self-control, I was so guided by a silken cord that all seemed but | |
| one train of enjoyment to me. | |
| " | |
| "For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a | |
| daughter, but I continued their single offspring. When I was about five | |
| years old, while making an excursion beyond the frontiers of Italy, they | |
| passed a week on the shores of the Lake of Como. Their benevolent | |
| disposition often made them enter the cottages of the poor. This, to my | |
| mother, was more than a duty; it was a necessity, a | |
| passion—remembering what she had suffered, and how she had been | |
| relieved—for her to act in her turn the guardian angel to the | |
| afflicted. During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a vale | |
| attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the number | |
| of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in its worst | |
| shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan, my mother, | |
| accompanied by me, visited this abode. " | |
| "She found a peasant and his wife, | |
| hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing a scanty meal to | |
| five hungry babes. Among these there was one which attracted my mother far | |
| above all the rest. She appeared of a different stock. The four others were | |
| dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her | |
| hair was the brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her | |
| clothing, seemed to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was | |
| clear and ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of | |
| her face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold | |
| her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being heaven-sent, | |
| and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features. | |
| The peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and | |
| admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. " | |
| "She was | |
| not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother was a | |
| German and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been placed with | |
| these good people to nurse: they were better off then. They had not been | |
| long married, and their eldest child was but just born. The father of their | |
| charge was one of those Italians nursed in the memory of the antique glory | |
| of Italy—one among the _schiavi ognor frementi,_ who exerted | |
| himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He became the victim of its | |
| weakness. Whether he had died or still lingered in the dungeons of Austria | |
| was not known. His property was confiscated; his child became an orphan and | |
| a beggar. She continued with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude | |
| abode, fairer than a garden rose among dark-leaved brambles. | |
| When my father returned from Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of | |
| our villa a child fairer than pictured cherub—a creature who seemed | |
| to shed radiance from her looks and whose form and motions were lighter | |
| than the chamois of the hills. " | |
| "The apparition was soon explained. With his | |
| permission my mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their | |
| charge to her. They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed | |
| a blessing to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty | |
| and want when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They | |
| consulted their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza | |
| became the inmate of my parents’ house—my more than | |
| sister—the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and | |
| my pleasures. | |
| Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential | |
| attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my | |
| pride and my delight. On the evening previous to her being brought to | |
| my home, my mother had said playfully, “I have a pretty present for my | |
| Victor—tomorrow he shall have it.” And when, on the morrow, she | |
| presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish | |
| seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth | |
| as mine—mine to protect, love, and cherish. " | |
| "All praises bestowed on | |
| her I received as made to a possession of my own. We called each other | |
| familiarly by the name of cousin. No word, no expression could body | |
| forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me—my more than | |
| sister, since till death she was to be mine only. | |
| Chapter 2 | |
| We were brought up together; there was not quite a year difference in | |
| our ages. I need not say that we were strangers to any species of | |
| disunion or dispute. Harmony was the soul of our companionship, and | |
| the diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us | |
| nearer together. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated | |
| disposition; but, with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense | |
| application and was more deeply smitten with the thirst for knowledge. | |
| She busied herself with following the aerial creations of the poets; | |
| and in the majestic and wondrous scenes which surrounded our Swiss | |
| home —the sublime shapes of the mountains, the changes of the seasons, | |
| tempest and calm, the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of | |
| our Alpine summers—she found ample scope for admiration and delight. | |
| " | |
| "While my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the | |
| magnificent appearances of things, I delighted in investigating their | |
| causes. The world was to me a secret which I desired to divine. | |
| Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature, | |
| gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me, are among the | |
| earliest sensations I can remember. | |
| On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave | |
| up entirely their wandering life and fixed themselves in their native | |
| country. We possessed a house in Geneva, and a _campagne_ on Belrive, | |
| the eastern shore of the lake, at the distance of rather more than a | |
| league from the city. We resided principally in the latter, and the | |
| lives of my parents were passed in considerable seclusion. It was my | |
| temper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently to a few. " | |
| "I was | |
| indifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united | |
| myself in the bonds of the closest friendship to one among them. Henry | |
| Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of singular | |
| talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger for | |
| its own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. He | |
| composed heroic songs and began to write many a tale of enchantment and | |
| knightly adventure. He tried to make us act plays and to enter into | |
| masquerades, in which the characters were drawn from the heroes of | |
| Roncesvalles, of the Round Table of King Arthur, and the chivalrous | |
| train who shed their blood to redeem the holy sepulchre from the hands | |
| of the infidels. | |
| No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My | |
| parents were possessed by the very spirit of kindness and indulgence. | |
| " | |
| "We felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to | |
| their caprice, but the agents and creators of all the many delights | |
| which we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families I distinctly | |
| discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted | |
| the development of filial love. | |
| My temper was sometimes violent, and my passions vehement; but by some | |
| law in my temperature they were turned not towards childish pursuits | |
| but to an eager desire to learn, and not to learn all things | |
| indiscriminately. I confess that neither the structure of languages, | |
| nor the code of governments, nor the politics of various states | |
| possessed attractions for me. It was the secrets of heaven and earth | |
| that I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of | |
| things or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man | |
| that occupied me, still my inquiries were directed to the metaphysical, | |
| or in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world. | |
| " | |
| "Meanwhile Clerval occupied himself, so to speak, with the moral | |
| relations of things. The busy stage of life, the virtues of heroes, | |
| and the actions of men were his theme; and his hope and his dream was | |
| to become one among those whose names are recorded in story as the | |
| gallant and adventurous benefactors of our species. The saintly soul | |
| of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home. | |
| Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of | |
| her celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and animate us. She was | |
| the living spirit of love to soften and attract; I might have become | |
| sullen in my study, rough through the ardour of my nature, but that | |
| she was there to subdue me to a semblance of her own gentleness. And | |
| Clerval—could aught ill entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval? Yet | |
| he might not have been so perfectly humane, so thoughtful in his | |
| generosity, so full of kindness and tenderness amidst his passion for | |
| adventurous exploit, had she not unfolded to him the real loveliness of | |
| beneficence and made the doing good the end and aim of his soaring | |
| ambition. | |
| " | |
| "I feel exquisite 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. Besides, | |
| in drawing the picture of my early days, I also 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. 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 have contented my | |
| imagination, warmed as it was, by returning with greater ardour to my | |
| former studies. " | |
| "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 besides myself. I have described myself as always | |
| having been imbued with a fervent longing to penetrate the secrets of | |
| nature. In spite of the intense labour and wonderful discoveries of modern | |
| philosophers, I always came from my studies discontented and unsatisfied. | |
| Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking | |
| up shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. " | |
| "Those of his | |
| successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I was acquainted | |
| appeared even to my boy’s apprehensions as tyros engaged in the same | |
| pursuit. | |
| The untaught peasant beheld the elements around him and was acquainted | |
| with their practical uses. The most learned philosopher knew little | |
| more. He had partially unveiled the face of Nature, but her immortal | |
| lineaments were still a wonder and a mystery. He might dissect, | |
| anatomise, and give names; but, not to speak of a final cause, causes | |
| in their secondary and tertiary grades were utterly unknown to him. I | |
| had gazed upon the fortifications and impediments that seemed to keep | |
| human beings from entering the citadel of nature, and rashly and | |
| ignorantly I had repined. | |
| But here were books, and here were men who had penetrated deeper and knew | |
| more. " | |
| "I took their word for all that they averred, and I became their | |
| disciple. It may appear strange that such should arise in the eighteenth | |
| century; but while I followed the routine of education in the schools of | |
| Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self-taught with regard to my favourite | |
| studies. My father was not scientific, and I was left to struggle with a | |
| child’s blindness, added to a student’s thirst for knowledge. | |
| Under the guidance of my new preceptors I entered with the greatest | |
| diligence into the search of the philosopher’s stone and the elixir | |
| of life; but the latter soon obtained my undivided attention. Wealth was an | |
| inferior object, but what glory would attend the discovery if 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. And thus for a time I was | |
| occupied by exploded systems, mingling, like an unadept, a thousand | |
| contradictory theories and floundering desperately in a very slough of | |
| multifarious knowledge, guided by an ardent imagination and childish | |
| reasoning, till an accident again changed the current of my ideas. | |
| When I was about fifteen years old we had retired to our house near | |
| Belrive, when we witnessed a most violent and terrible thunderstorm. It | |
| advanced 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 ribbons of wood. I never beheld | |
| anything so utterly destroyed. | |
| Before this I was not unacquainted with the more obvious laws of | |
| electricity. On this occasion a man of great research in natural | |
| philosophy was with us, and excited by this catastrophe, he entered on | |
| the explanation of a theory which he had formed on the subject of | |
| electricity and galvanism, which was at once new and astonishing to me. | |
| " | |
| "All that he said threw greatly into the shade Cornelius Agrippa, | |
| Albertus Magnus, and Paracelsus, the lords of my imagination; but by | |
| some fatality the overthrow of these men disinclined me to pursue my | |
| accustomed studies. It seemed to me as if nothing would or could ever | |
| be known. All that had so long engaged my attention suddenly grew | |
| despicable. By one of those caprices of the mind which we are perhaps | |
| most subject to in early youth, I at once gave up my former | |
| occupations, set down natural history and all its progeny as a deformed | |
| and abortive creation, and entertained the greatest disdain for a | |
| would-be science which could never even step within the threshold of | |
| real knowledge. In this mood of mind I betook myself to the | |
| mathematics and the branches of study appertaining to that science as | |
| being built upon secure foundations, and so worthy of my consideration. | |
| " | |
| "Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by such slight ligaments | |
| are we bound to prosperity or ruin. When I look back, it seems to me | |
| as if this almost miraculous change of inclination and will was the | |
| immediate suggestion of the guardian angel of my life—the last effort | |
| made by the spirit of preservation to avert the storm that was even | |
| then hanging in the stars and ready to envelop me. Her victory was | |
| announced by an unusual tranquillity and gladness of soul which | |
| followed the relinquishing of my ancient and latterly tormenting | |
| studies. It was thus that I was to be taught to associate evil with | |
| their prosecution, happiness with their disregard. | |
| It was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual. | |
| Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and | |
| terrible destruction. | |
| " | |
| "Chapter 3 | |
| 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; her illness was severe, and she was | |
| in the greatest danger. During her illness 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 the life of her | |
| favourite was menaced, she could no longer control her anxiety. " | |
| "She | |
| attended her sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity | |
| of the distemper—Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this | |
| imprudence were fatal to her preserver. On the third day my mother | |
| sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the | |
| looks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her | |
| deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women 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 | |
| my younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy | |
| and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are | |
| not thoughts befitting me; I 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 connection? 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 departure for Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events, | |
| was now again determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of | |
| some weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege so soon to leave the repose, | |
| akin to death, of the house of mourning and to rush into the thick of | |
| life. I was new to sorrow, but it did not the less alarm me. I was | |
| unwilling to quit the sight of those that remained to me, and above | |
| all, I desired to see my sweet Elizabeth in some degree consoled. | |
| She indeed veiled her grief and strove to act the comforter to us all. | |
| She looked steadily on life and assumed its duties with courage and | |
| zeal. " | |
| "She devoted herself to those whom she had been taught to call | |
| her uncle and cousins. Never was she so enchanting as at this time, | |
| when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles and spent them upon us. | |
| She forgot even her own regret in her endeavours to make us forget. | |
| The day of my departure at length arrived. Clerval spent the last | |
| evening with us. He had endeavoured to persuade his father to permit | |
| him to accompany me and to become my fellow student, but in vain. His | |
| father was a narrow-minded trader and saw idleness and ruin in the | |
| aspirations and ambition of his son. Henry deeply felt the misfortune | |
| of being debarred from a liberal education. He said little, but when | |
| he spoke I read in his kindling eye and in his animated glance a | |
| restrained but firm resolve not to be chained to the miserable details | |
| of commerce. | |
| " | |
| "We sat late. We could not tear ourselves away from each other nor | |
| persuade ourselves to say the word “Farewell!” It was said, and we | |
| retired under the pretence of seeking repose, each fancying that the | |
| other was deceived; but when at morning’s dawn I descended to the | |
| carriage which was to convey me away, they were all there—my father | |
| again to bless me, Clerval to press my hand once more, my Elizabeth to | |
| renew her entreaties that I would write often and to bestow the last | |
| feminine attentions on her playmate and friend. | |
| 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. Chance—or rather the evil | |
| influence, the Angel of Destruction, which asserted omnipotent sway over me | |
| from the moment I turned my reluctant steps from my father’s | |
| door—led me first to M. Krempe, professor of natural philosophy. He | |
| was an uncouth man, but deeply imbued in the secrets of his science. He | |
| asked me several questions concerning my progress in the different branches | |
| of science appertaining to natural philosophy. I replied carelessly, and | |
| partly in contempt, mentioned the names of my alchemists as the principal | |
| authors I had studied. " | |
| "The professor stared. “Have you,” he | |
| said, “really spent your time in studying such nonsense?” | |
| I replied in the affirmative. “Every minute,” continued M. Krempe with | |
| warmth, “every instant that you have wasted on those books is utterly | |
| and 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 stepped 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 | |
| omitted. | |
| I returned home not disappointed, for I have said that I had long | |
| considered those authors useless whom the professor reprobated; but I | |
| returned not at all the more inclined to recur to these studies in any | |
| shape. M. Krempe was a little squat man with a gruff voice and a | |
| repulsive countenance; the teacher, therefore, did not prepossess me in | |
| favour of his pursuits. In rather a too philosophical and connected a | |
| strain, perhaps, I have given an account of the conclusions I had come | |
| to concerning them in my early years. As a child I had not been | |
| content with the results promised by the modern professors of natural | |
| science. With a confusion of ideas only to be accounted for by my | |
| extreme youth and my want of a guide on such matters, I had retrod the | |
| steps of knowledge along the paths of time and exchanged the | |
| discoveries of recent inquirers for the dreams of forgotten alchemists. | |
| " | |
| "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 of my | |
| residence at Ingolstadt, which were chiefly spent in becoming | |
| acquainted with the localities and the principal residents in my new | |
| abode. But as the ensuing week commenced, I thought of the information | |
| which M. Krempe had given me concerning 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 grey 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 pore over the microscope or | |
| crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate into the recesses | |
| of nature and show 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.” | |
| Such were the professor’s words—rather let me say such the words of | |
| the fate—enounced to destroy me. " | |
| "As he went on I felt as if my soul | |
| were grappling with a palpable enemy; one by one the various keys were | |
| touched which formed the mechanism of my being; chord after chord was | |
| sounded, and soon my mind was filled with one thought, one conception, | |
| one purpose. So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of | |
| Frankenstein—more, far more, will I achieve; treading in the steps | |
| already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and | |
| unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation. | |
| I closed not my eyes that night. My internal being was in a state of | |
| insurrection and turmoil; I felt that order would thence arise, but I | |
| had no power to produce it. By degrees, after the morning’s dawn, | |
| sleep came. I awoke, and my yesternight’s thoughts were as a dream. | |
| There only remained a resolution to return to my ancient studies and to | |
| devote myself to a science for which I believed myself to possess a | |
| natural talent. " | |
| "On the same day I paid M. Waldman a visit. 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. I | |
| gave him pretty nearly the same account of my former pursuits as I had | |
| given to his fellow professor. He heard with attention the 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; I expressed myself in measured | |
| terms, with the modesty and deference due from a youth to his | |
| instructor, without letting escape (inexperience in life would have | |
| made me ashamed) any of the enthusiasm which stimulated my intended | |
| labours. I 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 4 | |
| 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. In a thousand ways | |
| he smoothed for me the path of knowledge and made the most abstruse | |
| inquiries clear and facile to my apprehension. My application was at | |
| first fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength as I proceeded and | |
| soon 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 my progress | |
| was rapid. 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 heartfelt 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 wrapped 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 phenomena 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 churchyard 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 minutiae 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 theirs. 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 realise. 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 showed 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; the fall of a leaf startled me, and I shunned my fellow | |
| creatures as if I had been guilty of a crime. Sometimes I grew alarmed at | |
| the wreck I perceived that I had become; the energy of my purpose alone | |
| sustained me: my labours would soon end, and I believed that exercise and | |
| amusement would then drive away incipient disease; and I promised myself | |
| both of these when my creation should be complete. | |
| Chapter 5 | |
| 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 downstairs. I took refuge in the | |
| courtyard 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 drenched 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 turned round, walks on, | |
| And turns no more his head; | |
| Because he knows a frightful fiend | |
| Doth close behind him tread. | |
| [Coleridge’s “Ancient Mariner.”] | |
| 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 all | |
| necessary knowledge was not comprised in the noble art of book-keeping; | |
| and, indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his constant | |
| answer to my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of 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 by, 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 handwriting. " | |
| "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 6 | |
| Clerval then put the following letter into my hands. It was from my | |
| own Elizabeth: | |
| “My dearest Cousin, | |
| “You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear | |
| kind Henry are not sufficient to reassure me on your account. You are | |
| forbidden to write—to hold a pen; yet one word from you, dear Victor, | |
| is necessary to calm our apprehensions. For a long time I have thought | |
| that each post would bring this line, and my persuasions have | |
| restrained my uncle from undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. " | |
| "I have | |
| prevented his encountering the inconveniences and perhaps dangers of so | |
| long a journey, yet how often have I regretted not being able to | |
| perform it myself! I figure to myself that the task of attending on | |
| your sickbed has devolved on some mercenary old nurse, who could never | |
| guess your wishes nor minister to them with the care and affection of | |
| your poor cousin. Yet that is over now: Clerval writes that indeed | |
| you are getting better. I eagerly hope that you will confirm this | |
| intelligence soon in your own handwriting. | |
| “Get well—and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home and | |
| friends who love you dearly. Your father’s health is vigorous, and he | |
| asks but to see you, but to be assured that you are well; and not a | |
| care will ever cloud his benevolent countenance. How pleased you would | |
| be to remark the improvement of our Ernest! He is now sixteen and full | |
| of activity and spirit. " | |
| "He is desirous to be a true Swiss and to enter | |
| into foreign service, but we cannot part with him, at least until his | |
| elder brother returns to us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of | |
| a military career in a distant country, but Ernest never had your | |
| powers of application. He looks upon study as an odious fetter; his | |
| time is spent in the open air, climbing the hills or rowing on the | |
| lake. I fear that he will become an idler unless we yield the point | |
| and permit him to enter on the profession which he has selected. | |
| “Little alteration, except the growth of our dear children, has taken | |
| place since you left us. The blue lake and snow-clad mountains—they | |
| never change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are | |
| regulated by the same immutable laws. My trifling occupations take up | |
| my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing | |
| none but happy, kind faces around me. " | |
| "Since you left us, but one | |
| change has taken place in our little household. Do you remember on | |
| what occasion Justine Moritz entered our family? 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 our 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. | |
| “Justine, you may remember, was a great favourite of yours; 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 judgement 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 just 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 | |
| expression 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 eyelashes, 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 | |
| lively pretty Frenchwoman, Madame Tavernier. She is a widow, and much | |
| older than Manoir; but she is very much admired, and a favourite with | |
| everybody. | |
| “I have written myself into better spirits, dear cousin; but my anxiety | |
| returns upon me as I conclude. Write, dearest Victor,—one line—one | |
| word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his | |
| kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely | |
| grateful. Adieu! my cousin; take care of yourself; and, I entreat | |
| you, write! | |
| “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 in | |
| 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. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A | |
| youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly | |
| as in the gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if | |
| he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Ay, | |
| ay,” 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 had never sympathised in my tastes for natural science; and his | |
| literary pursuits differed wholly from those which had occupied me. " | |
| "He | |
| came to the university with the design of making himself complete | |
| master of the oriental languages, and thus he should open a field for | |
| the plan of life he had marked out for himself. Resolved to pursue no | |
| inglorious career, he turned his eyes toward the East, as affording | |
| scope for his spirit of enterprise. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit | |
| languages engaged his attention, and I was easily induced to enter on | |
| the same studies. 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. I | |
| did not, like him, attempt a critical knowledge of their dialects, for | |
| I did not contemplate making any other use of them than temporary | |
| amusement. " | |
| "I read merely to understand their meaning, and they well | |
| repaid my labours. 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 a 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 ramble 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 you did 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, loved 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 | |
| ecstasy. 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 sympathised 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 7 | |
| On my return, I found the following letter from my father:— | |
| “My dear Victor, | |
| “You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of | |
| 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 glad 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 my long absent | |
| son? 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 enquired if we had seen | |
| his brother; he said, that he had been playing with him, that William | |
| had run away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him, and | |
| afterwards waited for 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 murder’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 child!’ | |
| “She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty. " | |
| "When she again | |
| lived, it was only to weep and sigh. She told me, that that same | |
| evening William had teased 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 the joy I at first | |
| expressed on receiving new 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 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 say a few words of consolation; | |
| he could only express his heartfelt sympathy. “Poor William!” said he, | |
| “dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had | |
| seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his | |
| untimely loss! To die so miserably; to feel the murderer’s grasp! How | |
| much more a murdered that could destroy radiant innocence! Poor little | |
| fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but | |
| he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever. | |
| A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. " | |
| "He can no longer | |
| be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable | |
| survivors.” | |
| 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 | |
| cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend. | |
| My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed | |
| to console and sympathise 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 no 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 Blanc. 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 at the distance of half a league from the city. " | |
| "The sky | |
| was serene; and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot | |
| where my 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 lightning playing on the summit of Mont | |
| Blanc 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 the 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 tempest, 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 the 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 toward the creation; the appearance of | |
| the works of my own hands at my bedside; its departure. Two years had | |
| now nearly elapsed since the night on which 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. " | |
| "And then 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 in 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 venerable parent! He still remained | |
| to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over the | |
| mantel-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: | |
| “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. You come to us now to share a misery which nothing can | |
| alleviate; yet your presence will, I hope, revive our father, who seems | |
| sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions will induce poor | |
| Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self-accusations.—Poor | |
| William! he was our darling and our pride!” | |
| Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother’s eyes; a sense of mortal | |
| agony crept over my frame. " | |
| "Before, I had only imagined the | |
| wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and | |
| a not less terrible, disaster. I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more | |
| minutely concerning my father, and here I named my cousin. | |
| “She most of all,” said Ernest, “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 saw him too; he | |
| was free last night!” | |
| “I do not know what you mean,” replied my brother, in accents of | |
| wonder, “but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery. 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 suddenly become so capable of so frightful, so appalling a crime?” | |
| “Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is | |
| wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?” | |
| “No one did at first; but several 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 today, and you will | |
| then hear all.” | |
| He then related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William | |
| had been discovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her | |
| bed for several days. During this interval, 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 showed 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 ungratitude 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 today, 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. My tale was not one to | |
| announce publicly; its astounding horror would be looked upon as | |
| madness by the vulgar. Did any one indeed exist, except I, the | |
| creator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, in the | |
| existence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance | |
| which I had let loose upon the world? | |
| We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had altered her since I last | |
| beheld her; it had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of | |
| her childish years. " | |
| "There was the same candour, the same vivacity, but | |
| it was allied to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect. | |
| 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 and generous 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. | |
| " | |
| "“Dearest niece,” said my father, “dry your tears. If she | |
| is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the | |
| activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of | |
| partiality.” | |
| Chapter 8 | |
| We passed a few sad hours until eleven o’clock, when the trial was to | |
| commence. My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend | |
| as witnesses, 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 anyone 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 anything had been heard concerning him. When shown 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 anything 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. Most | |
| of the night she spent here watching; towards morning she believed that | |
| she slept for a few minutes; some steps disturbed her, and she awoke. | |
| It was dawn, and she quitted her asylum, 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.” | |
| A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth’s simple and powerful | |
| appeal, 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 forgo their hold. | |
| I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness. In the morning I went to | |
| the court; my lips and throat were parched. I dared not ask the fatal | |
| question, but I 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.” | |
| This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean? Had | |
| my eyes deceived me? And was I really as mad as the whole world would | |
| believe me to be if I disclosed the object of my suspicions? I | |
| hastened to return home, and 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 goodness? 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 guile, and yet she has | |
| committed a murder.” | |
| Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire 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 farther end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested on | |
| her knees. She rose on seeing us enter, and when we were left alone with | |
| her, she 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, to condemn me as a murderer?” 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, dear girl. Do not fear. I | |
| will proclaim, I will prove your innocence. I will melt the stony | |
| hearts of your enemies by my tears and prayers. You shall not die! | |
| You, my playfellow, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold! | |
| No! No! I never could survive so horrible a misfortune.” | |
| Justine shook her head mournfully. “I do not fear to die,” she said; | |
| “that pang is past. God raises my weakness and gives me courage to | |
| endure the worst. I leave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember | |
| me and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the | |
| fate awaiting me. " | |
| "Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to | |
| the will of heaven!” | |
| 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 awful 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 hers 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 stayed 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.” | |
| And on the morrow Justine died. Elizabeth’s heart-rending eloquence | |
| failed to move the judges from their settled conviction in the | |
| criminality of the saintly sufferer. My passionate and indignant | |
| appeals were lost upon them. " | |
| "And when I received their cold answers | |
| and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed | |
| avowal died away on my lips. Thus I might proclaim myself a madman, | |
| but not revoke the sentence passed upon my wretched victim. She | |
| perished on the scaffold as a murderess! | |
| From the tortures of my own heart, I turned to contemplate the deep and | |
| voiceless grief of my Elizabeth. This also was my doing! And my | |
| father’s woe, and the desolation of that late so smiling home all was | |
| the work of my thrice-accursed hands! Ye weep, unhappy ones, but these | |
| are not your last tears! Again shall you raise the funeral wail, and | |
| the sound of your lamentations shall again and again be heard! | |
| Frankenstein, your son, your kinsman, your early, much-loved friend; he | |
| who would spend each vital drop of blood for your sakes, who has no | |
| thought nor sense of joy except as it is mirrored also in your dear | |
| countenances, who would fill the air with blessings and spend his life | |
| in serving you—he bids you weep, to shed countless tears; happy beyond | |
| his hopes, if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if the destruction | |
| pause before the peace of the grave have succeeded to your sad torments! | |
| Thus spoke my prophetic soul, as, torn by remorse, horror, and despair, | |
| I beheld those I loved spend vain sorrow upon the graves of William and | |
| Justine, the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts. | |
| " | |
| "Chapter 9 | |
| Nothing is more painful to the human mind than, after the feelings have | |
| 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 perhaps never | |
| 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, deathlike solitude. | |
| My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my disposition | |
| and habits and endeavoured by arguments deduced from the feelings of his | |
| serene conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with fortitude and | |
| awaken in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which brooded over me. | |
| “Do you think, Victor,” said he, “that I do not suffer | |
| also? No one could love a child more than 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, and terror its alarm, 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 anything 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 abhorrence 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 ecstasy of our | |
| future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from | |
| the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest | |
| smiles. | |
| “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. Everybody 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. But 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 friend, 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. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions. Remember the | |
| friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost | |
| the power of rendering you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are | |
| true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native | |
| country, we may reap every tranquil blessing—what can disturb our | |
| peace?” | |
| And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every | |
| other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my | |
| heart? Even as she spoke I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at | |
| that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her. | |
| " | |
| "Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth, nor of | |
| heaven, could redeem my soul from woe; the very accents of love were | |
| ineffectual. I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial | |
| influence could penetrate. The wounded deer dragging its fainting | |
| limbs to some untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow which had | |
| pierced it, and to die, was but a type of me. | |
| Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, but | |
| sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek, by bodily | |
| exercise and by change of place, some relief from my intolerable | |
| sensations. It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left | |
| my home, and bending my steps towards the near Alpine valleys, sought | |
| in the magnificence, the eternity of such scenes, to forget myself and | |
| my ephemeral, because human, sorrows. " | |
| "My wanderings were directed | |
| towards the valley of Chamounix. I had visited it frequently during my | |
| boyhood. Six years had passed since then: _I_ was a wreck, but nought | |
| had changed in those savage and enduring scenes. | |
| I performed the first part of my journey on horseback. I afterwards | |
| hired a mule, as the more sure-footed and least liable to receive | |
| injury on these rugged roads. The weather was fine; it was about the | |
| middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of | |
| Justine, that miserable epoch from which I dated all my woe. The | |
| weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in | |
| the ravine of Arve. The immense mountains and precipices that overhung | |
| me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and | |
| the dashing of the waterfalls around spoke of a power mighty as | |
| Omnipotence—and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less | |
| almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here | |
| displayed in their most terrific guise. " | |
| "Still, as I ascended 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. | |
| I passed the bridge of Pélissier, where the ravine, which the river | |
| forms, opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that | |
| overhangs it. Soon after, I entered the valley of Chamounix. This | |
| valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and | |
| picturesque as that of Servox, through which I had just passed. " | |
| "The | |
| high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries, but I saw no | |
| more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached | |
| the road; I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche and | |
| marked the smoke of its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme and | |
| magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding _aiguilles_, | |
| and its tremendous _dôme_ overlooked the valley. | |
| A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this | |
| journey. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and | |
| recognised, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the | |
| lighthearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing | |
| accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more. Then again the | |
| kindly influence ceased to act—I found myself fettered again to grief | |
| and indulging in all the misery of reflection. " | |
| "Then I spurred on my | |
| animal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all, | |
| myself—or, in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on | |
| the grass, weighed down by horror and despair. | |
| At length I arrived at the village of Chamounix. Exhaustion succeeded | |
| to the extreme fatigue both of body and of mind which I had endured. | |
| For a short space of time I remained at the window watching the pallid | |
| lightnings that played above Mont Blanc and listening to the rushing of | |
| the Arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath. The same lulling sounds | |
| acted as a lullaby to my too keen sensations; when I placed my head | |
| upon my pillow, sleep crept over me; I felt it as it came and blessed | |
| the giver of oblivion. | |
| Chapter 10 | |
| I spent the following day roaming through the valley. I stood beside | |
| the sources of the Arveiron, which take their rise in a glacier, that | |
| with slow pace is advancing down from the summit of the hills to | |
| barricade the valley. " | |
| "The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before | |
| me; the icy wall of the glacier overhung me; a few shattered pines were | |
| scattered around; and the solemn silence of this glorious | |
| presence-chamber of imperial Nature was broken only by the brawling | |
| waves or the fall of some vast fragment, the thunder sound of the | |
| avalanche or the cracking, reverberated along the mountains, of the | |
| accumulated ice, which, through the silent working of immutable laws, | |
| was ever and anon rent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in | |
| their hands. 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 tranquillised it. In some degree, also, they | |
| diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the | |
| last month. " | |
| "I retired to rest at night; my slumbers, as it were, | |
| waited on and ministered to by the assemblance of grand shapes which I | |
| had contemplated during the day. They congregated round me; the | |
| unstained snowy mountain-top, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods, | |
| and ragged bare ravine, the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds—they all | |
| gathered round me and bade me be at peace. | |
| Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke? All of | |
| soul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every | |
| thought. The rain was pouring in torrents, and thick mists hid the | |
| summits of the mountains, so that I even saw not the faces of those | |
| mighty friends. Still I would penetrate their misty veil and seek them | |
| in their cloudy retreats. What were rain and storm to me? My mule was | |
| brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of | |
| Montanvert. " | |
| "I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous | |
| and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it. | |
| It had then filled me with a sublime ecstasy 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 solemnising my mind and causing me to forget the passing | |
| cares of life. I determined to go without a guide, 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 Blanc, 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 aerial 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; rage 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. Everywhere 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 | |
| are, 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,” I rejoined, “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 your 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 11 | |
| “It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original era 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. [The moon] 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 rang 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, showed 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 sank | |
| 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 reproduce 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 | |
| sty and a clear pool of water. " | |
| "One part was open, and by that I had | |
| crept in; but now I covered every crevice by which I might 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 sty, 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 farmhouse 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, whitewashed 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 overpowering 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 showed 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 meantime, 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 nor 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 12 | |
| “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, which 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 connection 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 sympathised in their joys. I saw | |
| few human beings besides 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 group, 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 outhouse, 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 sprang 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 13 | |
| “I now hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall relate | |
| events that impressed me with feelings which, from what I had been, | |
| have made me what I am. | |
| “Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine and the skies | |
| cloudless. 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—that I observed 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 someone tapped at the door. | |
| “It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a country-man 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 nor 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 some 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 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 degenerating—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 advantages, but without either he was considered, | |
| except in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to | |
| waste his powers for the profits 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, | |
| endued 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 theirs. 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 nor 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, and the birth and growth of children, how the | |
| father doted on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the | |
| older child, how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapped 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 14 | |
| “Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was | |
| one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding | |
| as it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful to | |
| one so utterly inexperienced as I was. | |
| “The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good | |
| family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence, | |
| respected by his superiors and beloved by his equals. " | |
| "His son was bred | |
| in the service of his country, and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the | |
| highest distinction. A few months before my arrival they had lived in | |
| a large and luxurious city called Paris, surrounded by friends and | |
| possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or | |
| taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford. | |
| “The father of Safie had been the cause of their ruin. He was a | |
| Turkish merchant and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some | |
| reason which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. | |
| He was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from | |
| Constantinople to join him. He was tried and condemned to death. The | |
| injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all Paris was indignant; | |
| and it was judged that his religion and wealth rather than the crime | |
| alleged against him had been the cause of his condemnation. | |
| " | |
| "“Felix had accidentally been present at the trial; his horror and | |
| indignation were uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the | |
| court. He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him and then | |
| looked around for the means. After many fruitless attempts to gain | |
| admittance to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an | |
| unguarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeon of the | |
| unfortunate Muhammadan, who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the | |
| execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix visited the grate at night | |
| and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk, | |
| amazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer | |
| by promises of reward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with | |
| contempt, yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who was allowed to visit | |
| her father and who by her gestures expressed her lively gratitude, the | |
| youth could not help owning to his own mind that the captive possessed | |
| a treasure which would fully reward his toil and hazard. | |
| " | |
| "“The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made | |
| on the heart of Felix and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in | |
| his interests by the promise of her hand in marriage so soon as he | |
| should be conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to | |
| accept this offer, yet he looked forward to the probability of the | |
| event as to the consummation of his happiness. | |
| “During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for | |
| the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several | |
| letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to | |
| express her thoughts in the language of her lover by the aid of an old | |
| man, a servant of her father who understood French. She thanked him in | |
| the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her parent, and | |
| at the same time 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 Muhammad. " | |
| "This lady died, but her lessons were indelibly | |
| impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of again | |
| returning to Asia and being immured within the walls of a harem, | |
| allowed only to occupy herself with infantile amusements, ill-suited to | |
| the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble | |
| emulation for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian and | |
| remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in | |
| society was enchanting to her. | |
| “The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed, but on the night | |
| previous to it he quitted his prison and before morning was distant | |
| many leagues from Paris. Felix had procured passports in the name of | |
| his father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his | |
| plan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under | |
| the pretence of a journey and concealed himself, with his daughter, in | |
| an obscure part of Paris. | |
| " | |
| "“Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons and across Mont | |
| Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable | |
| opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions. | |
| “Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his | |
| departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she | |
| should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in | |
| expectation of that event; and in the meantime he enjoyed the society | |
| of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest | |
| affection. They conversed with one another through the means of an | |
| interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie | |
| sang to him the divine airs of her native country. | |
| “The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place and encouraged the hopes | |
| of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other | |
| plans. " | |
| "He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a | |
| Christian, but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear | |
| 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 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 ruin, | |
| became a traitor to good feeling and honour and had quitted Italy with | |
| his daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money to aid him, | |
| as he said, in some plan of future maintenance. | |
| “Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix and rendered | |
| him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could | |
| have endured poverty, and while this distress had been the meed of his | |
| virtue, he gloried in it; but the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss | |
| of his beloved Safie were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable. The | |
| arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul. | |
| “When the news reached Leghorn that Felix was deprived of his wealth | |
| and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her | |
| lover, but to prepare to return to her native country. " | |
| "The generous | |
| nature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to | |
| expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his | |
| tyrannical mandate. | |
| “A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter’s apartment and told | |
| her hastily that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn | |
| had been divulged and that he should speedily be delivered up to the | |
| French government; he had consequently hired a vessel to convey him to | |
| Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours. He | |
| intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential | |
| servant, to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his | |
| property, which had not yet arrived at Leghorn. | |
| “When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it | |
| would become her to pursue in this emergency. " | |
| "A residence in Turkey | |
| was abhorrent to her; her religion and her feelings were alike averse | |
| to it. By some papers of her father which fell into her hands she | |
| heard of the exile of her lover and learnt the name of the spot where | |
| he then resided. She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her | |
| determination. Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her and a | |
| sum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn, | |
| but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for | |
| Germany. | |
| “She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage | |
| of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safie nursed her | |
| with the most devoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the | |
| Arabian was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country | |
| and utterly ignorant of the customs of the world. " | |
| "She fell, however, | |
| into good hands. The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for | |
| which they were bound, and after her death the woman of the house in | |
| which they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at | |
| the cottage of her lover.” | |
| Chapter 15 | |
| “Such was the history of my beloved cottagers. It impressed me deeply. | |
| I learned, from the views of social life which it developed, to admire | |
| their virtues and to deprecate the vices of mankind. | |
| “As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and | |
| generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to | |
| become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities | |
| were called forth and displayed. But in giving an account of the | |
| progress of my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred | |
| in the beginning of the month of August of the same year. | |
| " | |
| "“One night during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood where I | |
| collected my own food and brought home firing for my protectors, I found on | |
| the ground a leathern portmanteau containing several articles of dress and | |
| some books. I eagerly seized the prize and returned with it to my hovel. | |
| Fortunately the books were written in the language, the elements of which I | |
| had acquired at the cottage; they consisted of _Paradise Lost_, a volume | |
| of _Plutarch’s Lives_, and the _Sorrows of Werter_. The | |
| possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight; I now continually | |
| studied and exercised my mind upon these histories, whilst my friends were | |
| employed in their ordinary occupations. | |
| “I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They produced | |
| in me an infinity of new images and feelings, that sometimes raised me | |
| to ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. " | |
| "In | |
| the _Sorrows of Werter_, besides the interest of its simple and affecting | |
| story, so many opinions are canvassed and so many lights thrown upon | |
| what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects that I found in it a | |
| never-ending source of speculation and astonishment. The gentle and | |
| domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and | |
| feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded | |
| well with my experience among my protectors and with the wants which | |
| were for ever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Werter himself a | |
| more divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined; his character | |
| contained no pretension, but it sank deep. The disquisitions upon | |
| death and suicide were calculated to fill me with wonder. I did not | |
| pretend to enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards | |
| the opinions of the hero, whose extinction I wept, without precisely | |
| understanding it. | |
| " | |
| "“As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and | |
| condition. I found myself similar yet at the same time strangely | |
| unlike to the beings concerning whom I read and to whose conversation I | |
| was a listener. I sympathised with and partly understood them, but I | |
| was unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to none. | |
| ‘The path of my departure was free,’ and there was none to lament my | |
| annihilation. My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did | |
| this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my | |
| destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to | |
| solve them. | |
| “The volume of _Plutarch’s Lives_ which I possessed contained the | |
| histories of the first founders of the ancient republics. This book | |
| had a far different effect upon me from the _Sorrows of Werter_. " | |
| "I | |
| learned from Werter’s imaginations despondency and gloom, but Plutarch | |
| taught me high thoughts; he elevated me above the wretched sphere of my | |
| own reflections, to admire and love the heroes of past ages. Many | |
| things I read surpassed my understanding and experience. I had a very | |
| confused knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers, | |
| and boundless seas. But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns and | |
| large assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the | |
| only school in which I had studied human nature, but this book | |
| developed new and mightier scenes of action. I read of men concerned | |
| in public affairs, governing or massacring their species. I felt the | |
| greatest ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as | |
| far as I understood the signification of those terms, relative as they | |
| were, as I applied them, to pleasure and pain alone. " | |
| "Induced by these | |
| feelings, I was of course led to admire peaceable lawgivers, Numa, | |
| Solon, and Lycurgus, in preference to Romulus and Theseus. The | |
| patriarchal lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a | |
| firm hold on my mind; perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had | |
| been made by a young soldier, burning for glory and slaughter, I should | |
| have been imbued with different sensations. | |
| “But _Paradise Lost_ excited different and far deeper emotions. I read | |
| it, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as | |
| a true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the | |
| picture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of | |
| exciting. I often referred the several situations, as their similarity | |
| struck me, to my own. Like Adam, I was apparently united by no link to | |
| any other being in existence; but his state was far different from mine | |
| in every other respect. " | |
| "He had come forth from the hands of God a | |
| perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of | |
| his Creator; he was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from | |
| beings of a superior nature, but I was wretched, helpless, and alone. | |
| Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for | |
| often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter | |
| gall of envy rose within me. | |
| “Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon | |
| after my arrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of | |
| the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. At first I had | |
| neglected them, but now that I was able to decipher the characters in | |
| which they were written, I began to study them with diligence. It was | |
| your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. " | |
| "You | |
| minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress | |
| of your work; this history was mingled with accounts of domestic | |
| occurrences. You doubtless recollect these papers. Here they are. | |
| Everything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed | |
| origin; the whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances | |
| which produced it is set in view; the minutest description of my odious | |
| and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own | |
| horrors and rendered mine indelible. I sickened as I read. ‘Hateful | |
| day when I received life!’ I exclaimed in agony. ‘Accursed creator! | |
| Why did you form a monster so hideous that even _you_ turned from me in | |
| disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own | |
| image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the | |
| very resemblance. " | |
| "Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire | |
| and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.’ | |
| “These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude; | |
| but when I contemplated the virtues of the cottagers, their amiable and | |
| benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should | |
| become acquainted with my admiration of their virtues they would | |
| compassionate me and overlook my personal deformity. Could they turn | |
| from their door one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion | |
| and friendship? I resolved, at least, not to despair, but in every way | |
| to fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate. I | |
| postponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance | |
| attached to its success inspired me with a dread lest I should fail. | |
| Besides, I found that my understanding improved so much with every | |
| day’s experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking | |
| until a few more months should have added to my sagacity. | |
| " | |
| "“Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cottage. The | |
| presence of Safie diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and I also | |
| found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha | |
| spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in | |
| their labours by servants. They did not appear rich, but they were | |
| contented and happy; their feelings were serene and peaceful, while | |
| mine became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledge only | |
| discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I | |
| cherished hope, it is true, but it vanished when I beheld my person | |
| reflected in water or my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail | |
| image and that inconstant shade. | |
| “I endeavoured to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial | |
| which in a few months I resolved to undergo; and sometimes I allowed my | |
| thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise, and | |
| dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my | |
| feelings and cheering my gloom; their angelic countenances breathed | |
| smiles of consolation. " | |
| "But it was all a dream; no Eve soothed my | |
| sorrows nor shared my thoughts; I was alone. I remembered Adam’s | |
| supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, | |
| and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him. | |
| “Autumn passed thus. I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay | |
| and fall, and nature again assume the barren and bleak appearance it | |
| had worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did | |
| not heed the bleakness of the weather; I was better fitted by my | |
| conformation for the endurance of cold than heat. But my chief | |
| delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay | |
| apparel of summer; when those deserted me, I turned with more attention | |
| towards the cottagers. Their happiness was not decreased by the | |
| absence of summer. They loved and sympathised with one another; and | |
| their joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the | |
| casualties that took place around them. " | |
| "The more I saw of them, the | |
| greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness; my | |
| heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures; to see | |
| their sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost | |
| limit of my ambition. I dared not think that they would turn them from | |
| me with disdain and horror. The poor that stopped at their door were | |
| never driven away. I asked, it is true, for greater treasures than a | |
| little food or rest: I required kindness and sympathy; but I did not | |
| believe myself utterly unworthy of it. | |
| “The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken | |
| place since I awoke into life. My attention at this time was solely | |
| directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my | |
| protectors. I revolved many projects, but that on which I finally | |
| fixed was to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone. | |
| " | |
| "I had sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my | |
| person was the chief object of horror with those who had formerly | |
| beheld me. My voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it; I | |
| thought, therefore, that if in the absence of his children I could gain | |
| the good will and mediation of the old De Lacey, I might by his means | |
| be tolerated by my younger protectors. | |
| “One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground | |
| and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safie, Agatha, | |
| and Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own | |
| desire, was left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed, | |
| he took up his guitar and played several mournful but sweet airs, more | |
| sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before. At first his | |
| countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but as he continued, | |
| thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded; at length, laying aside the | |
| instrument, he sat absorbed in reflection. | |
| " | |
| "“My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which | |
| would decide my hopes or realise my fears. The servants were gone to a | |
| neighbouring fair. All was silent in and around the cottage; it was an | |
| excellent opportunity; yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my | |
| limbs failed me and I sank to the ground. Again I rose, and exerting | |
| all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had | |
| placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat. The fresh air revived | |
| me, and with renewed determination I approached the door of their | |
| cottage. | |
| “I knocked. ‘Who is there?’ said the old man. ‘Come in.’ | |
| “I entered. ‘Pardon this intrusion,’ said I; ‘I am | |
| a traveller in want of a little rest; you would greatly oblige me if you | |
| would allow me to remain a few minutes before the fire.’ | |
| “‘Enter,’ said De Lacey, ‘and I will try in what | |
| manner I can to relieve your wants; but, unfortunately, my children are | |
| from home, and as I am blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to | |
| procure food for you.’ | |
| “‘Do not trouble yourself, my kind host; I have food; it is | |
| warmth and rest only that I need.’ | |
| “I sat down, and a silence ensued. " | |
| "I knew that every minute was | |
| precious to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence | |
| the interview, when the old man addressed me. | |
| ‘By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman; are you | |
| French?’ | |
| “‘No; but I was educated by a French family and understand that | |
| language only. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends, | |
| whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.’ | |
| “‘Are they Germans?’ | |
| “‘No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an | |
| unfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and I have no relation | |
| or friend upon earth. These amiable people to whom I go have never | |
| seen me and know little of me. I am full of fears, for if I fail | |
| there, I am an outcast in the world for ever.’ | |
| “‘Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but | |
| the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are | |
| full of brotherly love and charity. " | |
| "Rely, therefore, on your hopes; | |
| and if these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.’ | |
| “‘They are kind—they are the most excellent creatures in the world; | |
| but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me. I have good | |
| dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless and in some degree | |
| beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they | |
| ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable | |
| monster.’ | |
| “‘That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot | |
| you undeceive them?’ | |
| “‘I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I | |
| feel so many overwhelming terrors. I tenderly love these friends; I | |
| have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily | |
| kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and | |
| it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.’ | |
| “‘Where do these friends reside?’ | |
| “‘Near this spot.’ | |
| “The old man paused and then continued, ‘If you will unreservedly | |
| confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in | |
| undeceiving them. " | |
| "I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but | |
| there is something in your words which persuades me that you are | |
| sincere. I am poor and an exile, but it will afford me true pleasure | |
| to be in any way serviceable to a human creature.’ | |
| “‘Excellent man! I thank you and accept your generous offer. You | |
| raise me from the dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your aid, | |
| I shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your fellow | |
| creatures.’ | |
| “‘Heaven forbid! Even if you were really criminal, for that can only | |
| drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I also am | |
| unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned, although innocent; | |
| judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes.’ | |
| “‘How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? From your lips | |
| first have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall | |
| be for ever grateful; and your present humanity assures me of success | |
| with those friends whom I am on the point of meeting.’ | |
| “‘May I know the names and residence of those friends?’ | |
| “I paused. " | |
| "This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to | |
| rob me of or bestow happiness on me 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 sank 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 16 | |
| “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 unsympathised with, wished to tear up the trees, spread | |
| havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed | |
| the ruin. | |
| “But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure; I became | |
| fatigued with excess of bodily exertion and sank on the damp grass in | |
| the sick impotence of despair. " | |
| "There was none among the myriads of men | |
| that existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness | |
| towards my enemies? No; from that moment I declared everlasting war | |
| against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me | |
| and sent me forth to this insupportable misery. | |
| “The sun rose; I heard the voices of men and knew that it was | |
| impossible to return to my retreat during that day. Accordingly I hid | |
| myself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours | |
| to reflection on my situation. | |
| “The pleasant sunshine and the pure air of day restored me to some | |
| degree of tranquillity; and when I considered what had passed at the | |
| cottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my | |
| conclusions. I had certainly acted imprudently. It was apparent that | |
| my conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and I was a | |
| fool in having exposed my person to the horror of his children. " | |
| "I | |
| ought to have familiarised the old De Lacey to me, and by degrees to | |
| have discovered myself to the rest of his family, when they should have | |
| been prepared for my approach. But I did not believe my errors to be | |
| irretrievable, and after much consideration I resolved to return to the | |
| cottage, seek the old man, and by my representations win him to my | |
| party. | |
| “These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound | |
| sleep; but the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by | |
| peaceful dreams. The horrible scene of the preceding day was 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 passed, the sun | |
| mounted high in the heavens, but the cottagers did not appear. I | |
| trembled violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune. The inside | |
| of the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion; I cannot describe the | |
| agony of this suspense. | |
| “Presently two countrymen passed by, but pausing near the cottage, they | |
| entered into conversation, using violent gesticulations; but I did not | |
| understand what they said, as they spoke the language of the country, | |
| which differed from that of my protectors. Soon after, however, Felix | |
| approached with another man; I was surprised, as I knew that he had not | |
| quitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover from | |
| his discourse the meaning of these unusual appearances. | |
| " | |
| "“‘Do you consider,’ said his companion to him, | |
| ‘that you will be obliged to pay three months’ rent and to lose | |
| the produce of your garden? I do not wish to take any unfair advantage, and | |
| I beg therefore that you will take some days to consider of your | |
| determination.’ | |
| “‘It is utterly useless,’ replied Felix; ‘we can | |
| never again inhabit your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest | |
| danger, owing to the dreadful circumstance that I have related. My wife and | |
| my sister will never recover from their horror. I entreat you not to reason | |
| with me any more. Take possession of your tenement and let me fly from this | |
| place.’ | |
| “Felix trembled violently as he said this. He and his companion | |
| entered the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then | |
| departed. I never saw any of the family of De Lacey more. | |
| " | |
| "“I continued for the remainder of the day in my hovel in a state of | |
| utter and stupid despair. My protectors had departed and had broken | |
| the only link that held me to the world. For the first time the | |
| feelings of revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to | |
| control them, but allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I | |
| bent my mind towards injury and death. When I thought of my friends, | |
| of the mild voice of De Lacey, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the | |
| exquisite beauty of the Arabian, these thoughts vanished and a gush of | |
| tears somewhat soothed me. But again when I reflected that they had | |
| spurned and deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger, and unable to | |
| injure anything human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects. As | |
| night advanced, I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage, | |
| and after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden, | |
| I waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my | |
| operations. | |
| " | |
| "“As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose from the woods and quickly | |
| dispersed the clouds that had loitered in the heavens; the blast tore | |
| along like a mighty avalanche and produced a kind of insanity in my | |
| spirits that burst all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted the | |
| dry branch of a tree and danced with fury around the devoted cottage, | |
| my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon | |
| nearly touched. A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my | |
| brand; it sank, 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 | |
| southwesterly 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 | |
| someone in sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides | |
| of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, 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 sank to the ground, and my | |
| injurer, with increased swiftness, escaped into the wood. | |
| “This was then the reward of my benevolence! I had saved a human being | |
| from destruction, and as a recompense I now writhed under the miserable | |
| pain of a wound which shattered the flesh and bone. The feelings of | |
| kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments | |
| before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by | |
| pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind. But the | |
| agony of my wound overcame me; my pulses paused, and I fainted. | |
| “For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to | |
| cure the wound which I had received. " | |
| "The ball had entered my shoulder, | |
| and I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through; at any | |
| rate I had no means of extracting it. My sufferings were augmented | |
| also by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their | |
| infliction. My daily vows rose for revenge—a deep and deadly revenge, | |
| such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had | |
| endured. | |
| “After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey. The | |
| labours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or | |
| gentle breezes of spring; all joy was but a mockery which insulted my | |
| desolate state and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for | |
| the enjoyment of pleasure. | |
| “But my toils now drew near a close, and in two months from this time I | |
| reached the environs of Geneva. | |
| “It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among | |
| the fields that surround it to meditate in what manner I should apply | |
| to you. " | |
| "I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger and far too unhappy to | |
| enjoy the gentle breezes of evening or the prospect of the sun setting | |
| behind the stupendous mountains of Jura. | |
| “At this time a slight sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection, | |
| which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child, who came | |
| running into the recess I had chosen, with all the sportiveness of | |
| infancy. Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me that this | |
| little creature was unprejudiced and had lived too short a time to have | |
| imbibed a horror of deformity. If, therefore, I could seize him and | |
| educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in | |
| this peopled earth. | |
| “Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed and drew him | |
| towards me. As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before | |
| his eyes and uttered a shrill scream; I drew his hand forcibly from his | |
| face and said, ‘Child, what is the meaning of this? I do not intend to | |
| hurt you; listen to me.’ | |
| “He struggled violently. " | |
| "‘Let me go,’ he cried; | |
| ‘monster! Ugly wretch! You wish to eat me and tear me to pieces. You | |
| are an ogre. Let me go, or I will tell my papa.’ | |
| “‘Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.’ | |
| “‘Hideous monster! Let me go. My papa is a syndic—he is M. | |
| Frankenstein—he will punish you. You dare not keep me.’ | |
| “‘Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy—to him towards whom I have | |
| sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.’ | |
| “The child still struggled and loaded me with epithets which carried | |
| despair to my heart; I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a | |
| moment he lay dead at my feet. | |
| “I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish | |
| triumph; clapping my hands, I exclaimed, ‘I too can create desolation; | |
| my enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and | |
| a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him.’ | |
| “As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his | |
| breast. " | |
| "I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely woman. In spite | |
| of 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 seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I | |
| entered a barn which had appeared to me to be empty. " | |
| "A woman was | |
| sleeping on some straw; she was young, not indeed so beautiful as her | |
| whose portrait I held, but of an agreeable aspect and blooming in the | |
| loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one of those whose | |
| joy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but me. And then I bent over | |
| her and whispered, ‘Awake, fairest, thy lover is near—he who would | |
| give his life but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes; my | |
| beloved, awake!’ | |
| “The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran through me. Should she | |
| indeed awake, and see me, and curse me, and denounce the murderer? Thus | |
| would she assuredly act if her darkened eyes opened and she beheld me. | |
| The thought was madness; it stirred the fiend within me—not I, but | |
| she, shall suffer; the murder I have committed because I am for ever | |
| robbed of all that she could give me, she shall atone. " | |
| "The crime had | |
| its source in her; be hers the punishment! Thanks to the lessons of | |
| Felix and the sanguinary laws of man, I had learned now to work | |
| mischief. I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in one of | |
| the folds of her dress. She moved again, and I fled. | |
| “For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place, | |
| sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world and | |
| its miseries 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 17 | |
| The being finished speaking and fixed his looks upon me in the | |
| expectation of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to | |
| arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his | |
| proposition. He continued, | |
| “You must create a female for me with whom I can live in the | |
| interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone | |
| can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to | |
| concede.” | |
| The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had | |
| died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottagers, and | |
| as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within | |
| me. | |
| “I do refuse it,” I replied; “and no torture shall ever extort a | |
| consent from me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you | |
| shall never make me base in my own eyes. " | |
| "Shall I create another like | |
| yourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate the world. Begone! I | |
| have answered you; you may torture me, but I will never consent.” | |
| “You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and instead | |
| of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I | |
| am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, | |
| would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell me why I | |
| should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you | |
| could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the | |
| work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him | |
| live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would | |
| bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. | |
| " | |
| "But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our | |
| union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will | |
| revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and | |
| chiefly towards you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear | |
| inextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I will work at your destruction, nor | |
| finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of | |
| your birth.” | |
| A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled | |
| into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently | |
| he calmed himself and proceeded— | |
| “I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do | |
| not reflect that _you_ are the cause of its excess. If any being felt | |
| emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a | |
| hundredfold; for that one creature’s sake I would make peace with the | |
| whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realised. | |
| " | |
| "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 sympathise with him, I | |
| had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which | |
| was yet in my power to bestow. | |
| “You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not | |
| already shown a degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust | |
| you? May not even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by | |
| affording a wider scope for your revenge?” | |
| “How is this? I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer. If | |
| I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion; | |
| the love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall | |
| become a thing of whose existence everyone will be ignorant. My vices | |
| are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor, and my virtues will | |
| necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal. " | |
| "I shall feel | |
| the affections of a sensitive being and become linked to the chain of | |
| existence and events from which I am now excluded.” | |
| I paused some time to reflect on all he had related and the various | |
| arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues which | |
| he had displayed on the opening of his existence and the subsequent blight | |
| of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which his protectors had | |
| manifested towards him. His power and threats were not omitted in my | |
| calculations; a creature who could exist in the ice-caves of the glaciers | |
| and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of inaccessible precipices | |
| was a being possessing faculties it would be vain to cope with. After a | |
| long pause of reflection I concluded that the justice due both to him and | |
| my fellow creatures demanded of me that I should comply with his request. | |
| " | |
| "Turning to him, therefore, I said, | |
| “I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever, | |
| and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall | |
| deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile.” | |
| “I swear,” he cried, “by the sun, and by the blue sky of | |
| heaven, and by the fire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my | |
| prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your | |
| home and commence your labours; I shall watch their progress with | |
| unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall | |
| appear.” | |
| Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in | |
| my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than | |
| the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the | |
| sea of ice. | |
| " | |
| "His tale had occupied the whole day, and the sun was upon the verge of | |
| the horizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to hasten my descent | |
| towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my | |
| heart was heavy, and my steps slow. The labour of winding among the | |
| little paths of the mountain 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 | |
| halfway 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; I took no | |
| rest, but returned immediately to Geneva. Even in my own heart I could | |
| give no expression to my sensations—they weighed on me with a | |
| mountain’s weight and their excess destroyed my agony beneath them. | |
| Thus I returned home, and entering the house, presented myself to the | |
| family. My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm, but I | |
| answered no question, scarcely did I speak. I felt as if I were placed | |
| under a ban—as if I had no right to claim their sympathies—as if | |
| never more might I enjoy companionship with them. Yet even thus I | |
| loved them to adoration; and to save them, I resolved to dedicate | |
| myself to my most abhorred task. The prospect of such an occupation | |
| made every other circumstance of existence pass before me like a dream, | |
| and that thought only had to me the reality of life. | |
| " | |
| "Chapter 18 | |
| 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 shrank from taking the first step in an | |
| undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to | |
| me. A change indeed had taken place in me; my health, which had | |
| hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when | |
| unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably. " | |
| "My | |
| father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts | |
| towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy, | |
| which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring | |
| blackness overcast the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took | |
| refuge in the most perfect solitude. I passed whole days on the lake | |
| alone in a little boat, watching the clouds and listening to the | |
| rippling of the waves, silent and listless. But the fresh air and | |
| bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure, and | |
| on my return I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile | |
| and a more cheerful heart. | |
| It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father, | |
| calling me aside, thus addressed me, | |
| “I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former | |
| pleasures and seem to be returning to yourself. " | |
| "And yet you are still | |
| unhappy and still avoid our society. For some time I was lost in | |
| conjecture as to the cause of this, but yesterday an idea struck me, | |
| and if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it. Reserve on such a | |
| point would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all.” | |
| I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued— | |
| “I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your | |
| marriage with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort and the | |
| stay of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your | |
| earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions and | |
| tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the experience of | |
| man that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have | |
| entirely destroyed it. " | |
| "You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without any | |
| wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met with another | |
| whom you may love; and considering yourself as bound in honour to | |
| Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you appear | |
| to feel.” | |
| “My dear father, reassure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and | |
| sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my | |
| warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and prospects are | |
| entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.” | |
| “The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear Victor, | |
| gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you | |
| feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast | |
| a gloom over us. But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so | |
| strong a hold of your mind that I wish to dissipate. " | |
| "Tell me, | |
| therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnisation of the | |
| marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us | |
| from that everyday tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You | |
| are younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent | |
| fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future | |
| plans of honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose, | |
| however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you or that a delay on | |
| your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words | |
| with candour and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and | |
| sincerity.” | |
| I listened to my father in silence and remained for some time incapable | |
| of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of | |
| thoughts and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. " | |
| "Alas! To me | |
| the idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and | |
| dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise which I had not yet fulfilled | |
| and dared not break, or if I did, what manifold miseries might not | |
| impend over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival | |
| with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing me to the | |
| ground? I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with | |
| his mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from | |
| which I expected peace. | |
| I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to | |
| England or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers | |
| of that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable | |
| use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining | |
| the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory; besides, I | |
| had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my | |
| loathsome task in my father’s house while in habits of familiar | |
| intercourse with those I loved. " | |
| "I knew that a thousand fearful | |
| accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to | |
| thrill all connected with me with horror. I was aware also that I | |
| should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the | |
| harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my | |
| unearthly occupation. I must absent myself from all I loved while thus | |
| employed. Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be | |
| restored to my family in peace and happiness. My promise fulfilled, | |
| the monster would depart for ever. Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some | |
| accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to my | |
| slavery for ever. | |
| These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to | |
| visit England, but concealing the true reasons of this request, I | |
| clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I | |
| urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to | |
| comply. " | |
| "After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy that | |
| resembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find | |
| that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey, | |
| and he hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my | |
| return, have restored me entirely to myself. | |
| The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or | |
| at most a year, was the period contemplated. One paternal kind | |
| precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion. Without | |
| previously communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth, | |
| arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasburgh. This interfered | |
| with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task; yet at the | |
| commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be | |
| an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many | |
| hours of lonely, maddening reflection. " | |
| "Nay, Henry might stand between | |
| me and the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone, would he not at times | |
| force his abhorred presence on me to remind me of my task or to | |
| contemplate its progress? | |
| To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union | |
| with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return. My father’s | |
| age rendered him extremely averse to delay. For myself, there was one | |
| reward I promised myself from my detested toils—one consolation for my | |
| unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect of that day when, | |
| enfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth and | |
| forget the past in my union with her. | |
| I now made arrangements for my journey, but one feeling haunted me | |
| which filled me with fear and agitation. During my absence I should | |
| leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy and | |
| unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my | |
| departure. " | |
| "But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go, and | |
| would he not accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in | |
| itself, but soothing inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends. | |
| I was agonised with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of | |
| this might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the | |
| slave of my creature I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of | |
| the moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend | |
| would follow me and exempt my family from the danger of his | |
| machinations. | |
| It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native | |
| country. My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth | |
| therefore acquiesced, but she was filled with disquiet at the idea of | |
| my suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief. " | |
| "It had | |
| been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval—and yet a man | |
| is blind to a thousand minute circumstances which call forth a woman’s | |
| sedulous attention. She longed to bid me hasten my return; a thousand | |
| conflicting emotions rendered her mute as she bade me a tearful, silent | |
| farewell. | |
| I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly | |
| knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around. | |
| I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on | |
| it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with | |
| me. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful | |
| and majestic scenes, but my eyes were fixed and unobserving. I could | |
| only think of the bourne of my travels and the work which was to occupy | |
| me whilst they endured. | |
| " | |
| "After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed | |
| many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited two days for | |
| Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He | |
| was alive to every new scene, joyful when he saw the beauties of the | |
| setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise and recommence a new | |
| day. He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape and | |
| the appearances of the sky. “This is what it is to live,” he cried; | |
| “now I enjoy existence! But you, 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 | |
| sunrise reflected in the Rhine. And you, my friend, would be far more | |
| amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an | |
| eye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections. " | |
| "I, a | |
| miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to | |
| enjoyment. | |
| We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to | |
| Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During this | |
| voyage we passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns. | |
| We stayed a day at Mannheim, and on the fifth from our departure from | |
| Strasburgh, arrived at Mainz. The course of the Rhine below Mainz | |
| 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 | |
| Unborrow’d from the eye. | |
| [Wordsworth’s “Tintern Abbey”.] | |
| 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 19 | |
| London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several | |
| months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the | |
| intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this | |
| time, but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally | |
| occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the | |
| completion of my promise and quickly availed myself of the letters of | |
| introduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most | |
| distinguished natural philosophers. | |
| If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness, | |
| it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. " | |
| "But a blight had | |
| come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of | |
| the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest | |
| was so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I | |
| could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of | |
| Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory | |
| peace. But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought back despair to | |
| my heart. I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my | |
| fellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and | |
| Justine, and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled | |
| my soul with anguish. | |
| But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive | |
| and anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of | |
| manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of | |
| instruction and amusement. " | |
| "He was also pursuing an object he had long | |
| had in view. His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had | |
| in his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had | |
| taken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of | |
| European colonization and trade. In Britain only could he further the | |
| execution of his plan. He was for ever busy, and the only check to his | |
| enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this | |
| as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures | |
| natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by | |
| any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him, | |
| alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone. I now also | |
| began to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this | |
| was to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling | |
| on the head. " | |
| "Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme | |
| anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips | |
| to quiver, and my heart to palpitate. | |
| After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person in | |
| Scotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned the | |
| beauties of his native country and asked us if those were not sufficient | |
| allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth, | |
| where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation, and I, | |
| although I abhorred society, wished to view again mountains and streams and | |
| all the wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen dwelling-places. | |
| We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now | |
| February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the | |
| north at the expiration of another month. " | |
| "In this expedition we did not | |
| intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford, | |
| Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of | |
| this tour about the end of July. I packed up my chemical instruments and | |
| the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some | |
| obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland. | |
| We quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at | |
| Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us | |
| mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of | |
| stately deer were all novelties to us. | |
| From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds | |
| were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted | |
| there more than a century and a half before. " | |
| "It was here that Charles | |
| I. had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him, | |
| after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of | |
| Parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king and his | |
| companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and | |
| son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they | |
| might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a | |
| dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these | |
| feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of | |
| the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. | |
| The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost | |
| magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows | |
| of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters, | |
| which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and | |
| domes, embosomed among aged trees. | |
| " | |
| "I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the | |
| memory of the past and the anticipation of the future. I was formed | |
| for peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never | |
| visited my mind, and if I was ever overcome by _ennui_, the sight of what | |
| is beautiful in nature or the study of what is excellent and sublime in | |
| the productions of man could always interest my heart and communicate | |
| elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has | |
| entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what | |
| I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, | |
| pitiable to others and intolerable to myself. | |
| We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs | |
| and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most | |
| animating epoch of English history. " | |
| "Our little voyages of discovery | |
| were often prolonged by the successive objects that presented | |
| themselves. We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the | |
| field on which that patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated | |
| from its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas | |
| of liberty and self-sacrifice of which these sights were the monuments | |
| and the remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains | |
| and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten | |
| into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my | |
| miserable self. | |
| We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next | |
| place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village | |
| resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but | |
| everything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of | |
| distant white Alps which always attend on the piny mountains of my | |
| native country. " | |
| "We visited the wondrous cave and the little cabinets | |
| of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same | |
| manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name | |
| made me tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit | |
| Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated. | |
| From Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in | |
| Cumberland and Westmorland. 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 Westmorland | |
| 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. Andrew’s, and | |
| along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. | |
| But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into | |
| their feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and | |
| accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland | |
| alone. " | |
| "“Do you,” said I, “enjoy yourself, and let this be our | |
| rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with | |
| my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short | |
| time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more | |
| congenial to your own temper.” | |
| Henry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to | |
| remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. “I had rather be with | |
| you,” he said, “in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch | |
| people, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear friend, to return, | |
| that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in | |
| your absence.” | |
| Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of | |
| Scotland and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the | |
| monster followed me and would discover himself 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 of my labours. It was a place | |
| fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock whose high sides were | |
| continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely | |
| affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its | |
| inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs | |
| gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they | |
| indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured from | |
| the mainland, which was about five miles distant. | |
| On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of | |
| these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two | |
| rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable | |
| penury. " | |
| "The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the | |
| door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some | |
| furniture, and took possession, an incident which would doubtless have | |
| occasioned some surprise had not all the senses of the cottagers been | |
| benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at | |
| and unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes | |
| which I gave, so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations | |
| of men. | |
| In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening, | |
| when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to | |
| listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet. It was a | |
| monotonous yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was | |
| far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. " | |
| "Its hills | |
| are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the | |
| plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when | |
| troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively | |
| infant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean. | |
| In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but | |
| as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and | |
| irksome to me. Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my | |
| laboratory for several days, and at other times I toiled day and night | |
| in order to complete my work. It was, indeed, a filthy process in | |
| which I was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of | |
| enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my | |
| mind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes | |
| were shut to the horror of my proceedings. " | |
| "But now I went to it in | |
| cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands. | |
| Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in | |
| a solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from | |
| the actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I | |
| grew restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my | |
| persecutor. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing | |
| to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much | |
| dreaded to behold. I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow | |
| creatures lest when alone he should come to claim his companion. | |
| In the 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 20 | |
| 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 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 passed, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea; | |
| it was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature | |
| reposed under the eye of the quiet moon. " | |
| "A few fishing vessels alone | |
| specked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound | |
| of voices as the fishermen called to one another. I felt the silence, | |
| although I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity, until my ear | |
| was suddenly arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a | |
| person landed close to my house. | |
| In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one | |
| endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt a | |
| presentiment of who it was and wished to rouse one of the peasants who | |
| dwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the sensation | |
| of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you in vain | |
| endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to the spot. | |
| Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage; the door | |
| opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared. " | |
| "Shutting the door, he | |
| approached me and said in a smothered voice, | |
| “You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you | |
| intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery; | |
| I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among | |
| its willow islands and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt many | |
| months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland. I have | |
| endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare destroy my | |
| hopes?” | |
| “Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like | |
| yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness.” | |
| “Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself | |
| unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe | |
| yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of | |
| day will be hateful to you. " | |
| "You are my creator, but I am your master; | |
| obey!” | |
| “The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is | |
| arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but | |
| they confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in | |
| vice. Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a 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 rang 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 mainland. 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 sank 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 rang in my ears like a death-knell; they appeared | |
| like a dream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality. | |
| " | |
| "The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my | |
| appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a | |
| fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet; | |
| it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval entreating me to | |
| join him. He said that he was wearing away his time fruitlessly where | |
| he was, that letters from the friends he had formed in London desired | |
| his return to complete the negotiation they had entered into for his | |
| Indian enterprise. He could not any longer delay his departure; but as | |
| his journey to London might be followed, even sooner than he now | |
| conjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated me to bestow as much of | |
| my society on him as I could spare. He besought me, therefore, to | |
| leave my solitary isle and to meet him at Perth, that we might proceed | |
| southwards together. " | |
| "This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and | |
| I determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days. | |
| Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered | |
| to reflect; I must pack up my chemical instruments, and for that purpose I | |
| must enter the room which had been the scene of my odious work, and I must | |
| handle those utensils the sight of which was sickening to me. The next | |
| morning, at daybreak, I summoned sufficient courage and unlocked the door | |
| of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished creature, whom I had | |
| destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as if I had | |
| mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused to collect myself and | |
| then entered the chamber. With trembling hand I conveyed the instruments | |
| out of the room, but I reflected that I ought not to leave the relics of my | |
| work to excite the horror and suspicion of the peasants; and I accordingly | |
| put them into a basket, with a great quantity of stones, and laying them | |
| up, determined to throw them into the sea that very night; and in the | |
| meantime I sat upon the beach, employed in cleaning and arranging my | |
| chemical apparatus. | |
| " | |
| "Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place | |
| in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the 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 sank and then sailed away from the spot. The sky became clouded, but | |
| the air was pure, although chilled by the northeast breeze that was then | |
| rising. But it refreshed me and filled me with such agreeable sensations | |
| that I resolved to prolong my stay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a | |
| direct position, stretched myself at the bottom of the boat. " | |
| "Clouds hid the | |
| moon, everything was obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat as its | |
| keel cut through the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short time I | |
| slept soundly. | |
| I do not know how long I remained in this situation, but when I awoke I | |
| found that the sun had already mounted considerably. The wind was high, and | |
| the waves continually threatened the safety of my little skiff. I found | |
| that the wind was northeast and must have driven me far from the coast from | |
| which I had embarked. I endeavoured to change my course but quickly found | |
| that if I again made the attempt the boat would be instantly filled with | |
| water. Thus situated, my only resource was to drive before the wind. I | |
| confess that I felt a few sensations of terror. I had no compass with me | |
| and was so slenderly acquainted with the geography of this part of the | |
| world that the sun was of little benefit to me. " | |
| "I might be driven into the | |
| wide Atlantic and feel all the tortures of starvation or be swallowed up in | |
| the immeasurable waters that roared and buffeted around me. I had already | |
| been out many hours and felt the torment of a burning thirst, a prelude to | |
| my other sufferings. I looked on the heavens, which were covered by clouds | |
| that flew before the wind, only to be replaced by others; I looked upon the | |
| sea; it was to be my grave. “Fiend,” I exclaimed, “your | |
| task is already fulfilled!” I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and | |
| of Clerval—all left behind, on whom the monster might satisfy his | |
| sanguinary and merciless passions. This idea plunged me into a 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 civilised man. I | |
| carefully traced the windings of the land and hailed a steeple which I at | |
| length saw issuing from behind a small promontory. " | |
| "As I was in a state of | |
| extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly towards the town, as a place | |
| where I could most easily procure nourishment. Fortunately I had money with | |
| me. As I turned the promontory I perceived a small neat town and a good | |
| harbour, which I entered, my heart bounding with joy at my unexpected | |
| escape. | |
| As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several | |
| people crowded towards the spot. They seemed much surprised at my | |
| appearance, but instead of offering me any assistance, whispered | |
| together with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me | |
| a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they | |
| spoke English, and I therefore addressed them in that language. “My | |
| good friends,” said I, “will you be so kind as to tell me the name of | |
| this town and inform me where I am?” | |
| “You will know that soon enough,” replied a man with a hoarse voice. | |
| " | |
| "“Maybe 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?” | |
| “Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate, | |
| and you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was | |
| found murdered here last night.” | |
| This answer startled me, but I presently recovered myself. I was innocent; | |
| that could easily be proved; accordingly I followed my conductor in silence | |
| and was led to one of the best houses in the town. I was ready to sink from | |
| fatigue and hunger, but being surrounded by a crowd, I thought it politic | |
| to rouse all my strength, that no physical debility might be construed into | |
| apprehension or conscious guilt. Little did I then expect the calamity that | |
| was in a few moments to overwhelm me and extinguish in horror and despair | |
| all fear of ignominy or death. | |
| " | |
| "I must pause here, for it requires all my fortitude to recall the memory of | |
| the frightful events which I am about to relate, in proper detail, to my | |
| recollection. | |
| Chapter 21 | |
| I was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old | |
| benevolent man with calm and mild manners. He looked upon me, however, | |
| with some degree of severity, and then, turning towards my conductors, | |
| he asked who appeared as witnesses on this occasion. | |
| About half a dozen men came forward; and, one being selected by the | |
| magistrate, he deposed that he had been out fishing the night before with | |
| his son and brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten o’clock, | |
| they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and they accordingly put in | |
| for port. It was a very dark night, as the moon had not yet risen; they did | |
| not land at the harbour, but, as they had been accustomed, at a creek about | |
| two miles below. " | |
| "He walked on first, carrying a part of the fishing tackle, | |
| and his companions followed him at some distance. As he was proceeding | |
| along the sands, he struck his foot against something and fell at his | |
| length on the ground. His companions came up to assist him, and by the | |
| light of their lantern they found that he had fallen on the body of a man, | |
| who was to all appearance dead. Their first supposition was that it was the | |
| corpse of some person who had been drowned and was thrown on shore by the | |
| waves, but on examination they found that the clothes were not wet and even | |
| that the body was not then cold. They instantly carried it to the cottage | |
| of an old woman near the spot and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it | |
| to life. It appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty | |
| years of age. " | |
| "He had apparently been strangled, for there was no sign of | |
| any violence except the black mark of fingers on his neck. | |
| The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me, but | |
| when the mark of the fingers was mentioned I remembered the murder of | |
| my brother and felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a | |
| mist came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for | |
| support. The magistrate observed me with a keen eye and of course drew | |
| an unfavourable augury from my manner. | |
| The son confirmed his father’s account, but when Daniel Nugent was | |
| called he swore positively that just before the fall of his companion, he | |
| saw a boat, with a single man in it, at a short distance from the shore; | |
| and as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars, it was the same | |
| boat in which I had just landed. | |
| " | |
| "A woman deposed that she lived near the beach and was standing at the door | |
| of her cottage, waiting for the return of the fishermen, about an hour | |
| before she heard of the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat with | |
| only one man in it push off from that part of the shore where the corpse | |
| was afterwards found. | |
| Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the | |
| body into her house; it was not cold. They put it into a bed and | |
| rubbed it, and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was | |
| quite gone. | |
| Several other men were examined concerning my landing, and they agreed | |
| that, with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it | |
| was very probable that I had beaten about for many hours and had been | |
| obliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed. | |
| " | |
| "Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body | |
| from another place, and it was likely that as I did not appear to know | |
| the shore, I might have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance | |
| of the town of —— from the place where I had deposited the corpse. | |
| Mr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken into | |
| the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be observed what | |
| effect the sight of it would produce upon me. This idea was probably | |
| suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when the mode of the | |
| murder had been described. I was accordingly conducted, by the magistrate | |
| and several other persons, to the inn. I could not help being struck by the | |
| strange coincidences that had taken place during this eventful night; but, | |
| knowing that I had been conversing with several persons in the island I had | |
| inhabited about the time that the body had been found, I was perfectly | |
| tranquil as to the consequences of the affair. | |
| " | |
| "I entered the room where the corpse lay and was led up to the coffin. How | |
| can I describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched with | |
| horror, nor can I reflect on that terrible moment without shuddering and | |
| agony. The examination, the presence of the magistrate and witnesses, | |
| passed like a dream from my memory when I saw the lifeless form of Henry | |
| Clerval stretched before me. I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on | |
| the body, I exclaimed, “Have my murderous machinations deprived you | |
| also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already destroyed; other | |
| victims await their destiny; but you, Clerval, my friend, my | |
| benefactor—” | |
| The human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured, and | |
| I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions. | |
| A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death; my | |
| ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the | |
| murderer of William, of Justine, and of Clerval. " | |
| "Sometimes I entreated my | |
| attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was | |
| tormented; and at others I felt the fingers of the monster already grasping | |
| my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror. Fortunately, as I spoke | |
| my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood me; but my gestures and | |
| bitter cries were sufficient to affright the other witnesses. | |
| Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not | |
| sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming | |
| children, the only hopes of their doting 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 characterise | |
| that class. The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of | |
| persons accustomed to see without sympathising in sights of misery. Her | |
| tone expressed her entire indifference; she addressed me in English, | |
| and the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings. | |
| " | |
| "“Are you better now, sir?” said she. | |
| I replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, “I believe I am; | |
| but if it be all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am | |
| still alive to feel this misery and horror.” | |
| “For that matter,” replied the old woman, “if you mean about the | |
| gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you | |
| were dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you! However, that’s none | |
| of my business; I am sent to nurse you and get you well; I do my duty | |
| with a safe conscience; it were well if everybody did the same.” | |
| I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a | |
| speech to a person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt | |
| languid and unable to reflect on all that had passed. The whole series | |
| of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it | |
| were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force | |
| of reality. | |
| " | |
| "As the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew | |
| feverish; a darkness pressed around me; no one was near me who soothed | |
| me with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported me. The | |
| physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared | |
| them for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first, and the | |
| expression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the | |
| second. Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the | |
| hangman who would gain his fee? | |
| These were my first reflections, but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had | |
| shown me extreme kindness. He had caused the best room in the prison | |
| to be prepared for me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who | |
| had provided a physician and a nurse. It is true, he seldom came to | |
| see me, for although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of | |
| every human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and | |
| miserable ravings of a murderer. " | |
| "He came, therefore, sometimes to see | |
| that I was not neglected, but his visits were short and with long | |
| intervals. | |
| One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my eyes | |
| half open and my cheeks livid like those in death. I was overcome by gloom | |
| and misery and often reflected I had better seek death than desire to | |
| remain in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness. At one time I | |
| considered whether I should not declare myself guilty and suffer the | |
| penalty of the law, less innocent than poor Justine had been. Such were my | |
| thoughts when the door of my apartment was opened and Mr. Kirwin entered. | |
| His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to | |
| mine and addressed me in French, | |
| “I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do anything to | |
| make you more comfortable?” | |
| “I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me; on the whole | |
| earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.” | |
| “I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to | |
| one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. " | |
| "But you will, I | |
| hope, soon quit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can | |
| easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge.” | |
| “That is my least concern; I am, by a course of strange events, become | |
| the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and | |
| have been, can death be any evil to me?” | |
| “Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonising than the | |
| strange chances that have lately occurred. You were thrown, by some | |
| surprising accident, on this shore, renowned 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, | |
| “Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that were on | |
| your person were brought me, and I examined them that I might discover some | |
| trace by which I could send to your relations an account of your misfortune | |
| and illness. I found several letters, and, among others, one which I | |
| discovered from its commencement to be from your father. I instantly wrote | |
| to Geneva; nearly two months have elapsed since the departure of my letter. | |
| But you are ill; even now you tremble; you are unfit for agitation of any | |
| kind.” | |
| “This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event; | |
| tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am | |
| now to lament?” | |
| “Your family is perfectly well,” said Mr. " | |
| "Kirwin with | |
| gentleness; “and someone, 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 ensure tranquillity. Mr. Kirwin came in and insisted that my | |
| strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion. But the | |
| appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I | |
| gradually recovered my health. | |
| As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black | |
| melancholy that nothing could dissipate. " | |
| "The image of Clerval was | |
| 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 country | |
| town where the court was held. " | |
| "Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every | |
| care of collecting witnesses and arranging my defence. I was spared | |
| the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was not | |
| brought before the court that decides on life and death. The grand | |
| jury rejected the bill, on its being proved that I was on the Orkney | |
| Islands at the hour the body of my friend was found; and a fortnight | |
| after my removal I was liberated from prison. | |
| My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a | |
| criminal charge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh | |
| atmosphere and permitted to return to my native country. I did not | |
| participate in these feelings, for to me the walls of a dungeon or a | |
| palace were alike hateful. The cup of life was poisoned 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. | |
| Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally | |
| triumphed over my selfish despair. It was necessary that I should | |
| return without delay to Geneva, there to watch over the lives of those | |
| I so fondly loved and to lie in wait for the murderer, that if any | |
| chance led me to the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to | |
| blast me by his presence, I might, with unfailing aim, put an end to | |
| the existence of the monstrous image which I had endued with the | |
| mockery of a soul still more monstrous. My father still desired to | |
| delay our departure, fearful that I could not sustain the fatigues of a | |
| journey, for I was a shattered wreck—the shadow of a human being. " | |
| "My | |
| strength was gone. I was a mere skeleton, and fever night and day | |
| preyed upon my wasted frame. | |
| Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude and impatience, | |
| my father thought it best to yield. We took our passage on board a vessel | |
| bound for Havre-de-Grace and sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores. | |
| It was midnight. I lay on the deck looking at the stars and listening to | |
| the dashing of the waves. I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my | |
| sight, and my pulse beat with a feverish joy when I reflected that I should | |
| soon see Geneva. The past appeared to me in the light of a frightful dream; | |
| yet the vessel in which I was, the wind that blew me from the detested | |
| shore of Ireland, and the sea which surrounded me, told me too forcibly | |
| that I was deceived by no vision and that Clerval, my friend and dearest | |
| companion, had fallen a victim to me and the monster of my creation. " | |
| "I | |
| repassed, in my memory, my whole life; my quiet happiness while residing | |
| with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my departure for | |
| Ingolstadt. I remembered, shuddering, the mad enthusiasm that hurried me on | |
| to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I called to mind the night in | |
| which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the train of thought; a | |
| thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept bitterly. | |
| Ever since my recovery from the fever, I had been in the custom of taking | |
| every night a small quantity of laudanum, for it was by means of this drug | |
| only that I was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the preservation of | |
| life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfortunes, I now | |
| swallowed double my usual quantity and soon slept profoundly. But sleep did | |
| not afford me respite from thought and misery; my dreams presented a | |
| thousand objects that scared me. " | |
| "Towards morning I was possessed by a kind | |
| of nightmare; I felt the fiend’s grasp in my neck and could not free | |
| myself from it; groans and cries rang in my ears. My father, who was | |
| watching over me, perceiving my restlessness, awoke me; the dashing waves | |
| were around, the cloudy sky above, the fiend was not here: a sense of | |
| security, a feeling that a truce was established between the present hour | |
| and the irresistible, disastrous future imparted to me a kind of calm | |
| forgetfulness, of which the human mind is by its structure peculiarly | |
| susceptible. | |
| Chapter 22 | |
| The voyage came to an end. We landed, and proceeded to Paris. I soon | |
| found that I had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I | |
| could continue my journey. My father’s care and attentions were | |
| indefatigable, but he did not know the origin of my sufferings and | |
| sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill. " | |
| "He wished me to | |
| seek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, not | |
| abhorred! They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt | |
| attracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an | |
| angelic nature and celestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right | |
| to share their intercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them whose | |
| joy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans. How they | |
| would, each and all, abhor me and hunt me from the world, did they know | |
| my unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me! | |
| My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by | |
| various arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I | |
| felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of | |
| murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride. | |
| " | |
| "“Alas! My father,” said I, “how little do you know me. | |
| Human beings, their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such | |
| a wretch as I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent | |
| as I, and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause | |
| of this—I murdered her. William, Justine, and Henry—they all | |
| died by my hands.” | |
| My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same | |
| assertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an | |
| explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring of | |
| delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had presented | |
| itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my | |
| convalescence. I avoided explanation and maintained a continual silence | |
| concerning the wretch I had created. " | |
| "I had a persuasion that I should be | |
| supposed mad, and this in itself would for ever have chained my tongue. But, | |
| besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill my | |
| hearer with consternation and make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of | |
| his breast. I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for sympathy and was | |
| silent when I would have given the world to have confided the fatal secret. | |
| Yet, still, words like those I have recorded would burst uncontrollably | |
| from me. I could offer no explanation of them, but their truth in part | |
| relieved the burden of my mysterious woe. | |
| Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded wonder, | |
| “My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I entreat | |
| you never to make such an assertion again.” | |
| “I am not mad,” I cried energetically; “the sun and the heavens, who | |
| have viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth. " | |
| "I am the | |
| assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations. | |
| A thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have | |
| saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not | |
| sacrifice the whole human race.” | |
| The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were | |
| deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and | |
| endeavoured to alter the course of 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. | |
| A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I received the | |
| following letter from Elizabeth: | |
| “My dear Friend, | |
| “It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle | |
| dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may | |
| hope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much you | |
| must have suffered! I expect to see you looking even more ill than | |
| when you quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed most miserably, | |
| tortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in | |
| your countenance and to find that your heart is not totally void of | |
| comfort and tranquillity. | |
| " | |
| "“Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable | |
| a year ago, even perhaps augmented by time. I would not disturb you at | |
| this period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you, but a | |
| conversation that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders | |
| some explanation necessary before we meet. | |
| Explanation! You may possibly say, What can Elizabeth have to explain? If | |
| you really say this, my questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied. | |
| But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet | |
| be pleased with this explanation; and in a probability of this being the | |
| case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence, I | |
| have often wished to express to you but have never had the courage to begin. | |
| “You well know, Victor, that our union 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 | |
| connection 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 friend, 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 cruellest | |
| misfortunes, you may stifle, by the word _honour_, all hope of that | |
| love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself. I, who | |
| have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries | |
| tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes. Ah! Victor, be assured | |
| that your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be | |
| made miserable by this supposition. Be happy, my friend; and if you | |
| obey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth | |
| will have the power to interrupt my tranquillity. | |
| " | |
| "“Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer tomorrow, or the | |
| next day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain. My uncle | |
| will send me news of your health, and if I see but one smile on your | |
| lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I | |
| shall need no other happiness. | |
| “Elizabeth Lavenza. | |
| “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 were | |
| victorious I should be at peace and his power over me be at an end. " | |
| "If he | |
| were vanquished, I should be a free man. Alas! What freedom? Such as the | |
| peasant enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his | |
| cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless, | |
| penniless, and alone, but free. Such would be my liberty except that in my | |
| Elizabeth I possessed a treasure, alas, balanced by those horrors of | |
| remorse and guilt which would pursue me until death. | |
| Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and reread her letter, and some | |
| softened feelings stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisiacal | |
| dreams of love and joy; but the apple was already eaten, and the | |
| angel’s arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make | |
| her happy. If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable; yet, | |
| again, I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. " | |
| "My | |
| destruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner, but if my torturer | |
| should suspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would | |
| surely find other and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had vowed | |
| _to be with me on my wedding-night_, yet he did not consider that | |
| threat as binding him to peace in the meantime, for as if to show me that | |
| he was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately | |
| after the enunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if my | |
| immediate union with my cousin would conduce either to hers or my | |
| father’s happiness, my adversary’s designs against my life | |
| should not retard it a single hour. | |
| In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and | |
| affectionate. “I fear, my beloved girl,” I said, “little happiness | |
| remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centred in | |
| you. " | |
| "Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life | |
| and my endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a | |
| dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with | |
| horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only | |
| wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of | |
| misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place, | |
| for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But | |
| until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most | |
| earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply.” | |
| In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth’s letter we returned | |
| to Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, yet tears were | |
| in her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. " | |
| "I saw a | |
| change in her also. She was thinner and had lost much of that heavenly | |
| vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness and soft looks of | |
| compassion made her a more fit companion for one blasted and miserable as I | |
| was. | |
| The tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought madness | |
| with it, and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed | |
| me; sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage, sometimes low and | |
| despondent. I neither spoke nor looked at anyone, but sat motionless, | |
| bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me. | |
| Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits; her gentle voice | |
| would soothe me when transported by passion and inspire me with human | |
| feelings when sunk in torpor. She wept with me and for me. When reason | |
| returned, she would remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with | |
| resignation. " | |
| "Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the | |
| guilty there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is | |
| otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief. | |
| Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage with | |
| Elizabeth. I remained silent. | |
| “Have you, then, some other attachment?” | |
| “None on earth. I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with | |
| delight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate | |
| myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.” | |
| “My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen | |
| us, but let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love | |
| for those whom we have lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be | |
| small but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. | |
| " | |
| "And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of | |
| care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly | |
| deprived.” | |
| Such were the lessons of my father. But to me the remembrance of the | |
| threat returned; nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had | |
| yet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as | |
| invincible, and that when he had pronounced the words “_I shall be with | |
| you on your wedding-night_,” I should regard the threatened fate as | |
| unavoidable. But death was no evil to me if the loss of Elizabeth were | |
| balanced with it, and I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful | |
| countenance, agreed with my father that if my cousin would consent, the | |
| ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined, | |
| the seal to my fate. | |
| Great God! If for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish | |
| intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself | |
| for ever from my native country and wandered a friendless outcast over | |
| the earth than 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 had prepared only my own death, I | |
| hastened that of a far dearer victim. | |
| As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice or | |
| a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed my | |
| feelings by an appearance of hilarity that brought smiles and joy to the | |
| countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful and nicer | |
| eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placid contentment, | |
| not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortunes had impressed, | |
| that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness might soon dissipate | |
| into an airy dream and leave no trace but deep and everlasting regret. | |
| Preparations were made for the event, congratulatory visits were received, | |
| and all wore a smiling appearance. " | |
| "I shut up, as well as I could, in my own | |
| heart the anxiety that preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness | |
| into the plans of my father, although they might only serve as the | |
| decorations of my tragedy. Through my father’s exertions a part of | |
| the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored to her by the Austrian | |
| government. A small possession on the shores of Como belonged to her. It | |
| was agreed that, immediately after our union, we should proceed to Villa | |
| Lavenza and spend our first days of happiness beside the beautiful lake | |
| near which it stood. | |
| In the meantime I took every precaution to defend my person in case the | |
| fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a dagger | |
| constantly about me and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice, and | |
| by these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity. " | |
| "Indeed, as the | |
| period approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be | |
| regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for | |
| in my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty as the day fixed | |
| for its solemnisation drew nearer and I heard it continually spoken of | |
| as an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent. | |
| Elizabeth seemed happy; my tranquil demeanour contributed greatly to | |
| calm her mind. But on the day that was to 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 on the following day. My father was in the | |
| meantime overjoyed, and, in the bustle of preparation, only recognised in | |
| the melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride. | |
| " | |
| "After the ceremony was performed a large party assembled at my | |
| father’s, but it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commence our | |
| journey by water, sleeping that night at Evian and continuing our | |
| voyage on the following day. The day was fair, the wind favourable; | |
| all smiled on our nuptial embarkation. | |
| Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the | |
| feeling of happiness. We passed rapidly along; the sun was hot, but we | |
| were sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy while we enjoyed the | |
| beauty of the scene, sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw | |
| Mont Salêve, the pleasant banks of Montalègre, and at a distance, | |
| surmounting all, the beautiful Mont Blanc, and the assemblage of snowy | |
| mountains that in vain endeavour to emulate her; sometimes coasting the | |
| opposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura opposing its dark side to the | |
| ambition that would quit its native country, and an almost | |
| insurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it. | |
| " | |
| "I took the hand of Elizabeth. “You are sorrowful, my love. Ah! If | |
| you knew what I have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would | |
| endeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this | |
| one day at least permits me to enjoy.” | |
| “Be happy, my dear Victor,” replied Elizabeth; “there is, I hope, | |
| nothing to distress you; and be assured that if a lively joy is not | |
| painted in my face, my heart is contented. Something whispers to me | |
| not to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us, but I | |
| will not listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move | |
| along and how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise | |
| above the dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more | |
| interesting. Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in | |
| the clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at | |
| the bottom. " | |
| "What a divine day! How happy and serene all nature | |
| appears!” | |
| Thus Elizabeth endeavoured to divert her thoughts and mine from all | |
| reflection upon melancholy subjects. But her temper was fluctuating; | |
| joy for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place | |
| to distraction and reverie. | |
| The sun sank 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, | |
| sank 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 sank 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 23 | |
| It was eight o’clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the | |
| shore, enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn and | |
| contemplated 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 shrink from the conflict until my own life or that | |
| of my adversary was extinguished. | |
| Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful silence, | |
| but there was something in my glance which communicated terror to her, and | |
| trembling, she asked, “What is it that agitates you, my dear Victor? | |
| What is it you fear?” | |
| “Oh! Peace, peace, my love,” replied I; “this night, and | |
| all will be safe; but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.” | |
| I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how | |
| fearful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife, | |
| and I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her | |
| until I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy. | |
| " | |
| "She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages | |
| of the house and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to | |
| my adversary. But I discovered no trace of him and was beginning to | |
| conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the | |
| execution of his menaces when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful | |
| scream. It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired. As I | |
| heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the | |
| motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood | |
| trickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This | |
| state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed | |
| into the room. | |
| Great God! Why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the | |
| destruction of the best hope and the purest creature on earth? She was | |
| there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down | |
| and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair. " | |
| "Everywhere I | |
| turn I see the same figure—her bloodless arms and relaxed form flung | |
| by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this and live? Alas! | |
| Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated. For a moment | |
| only did I lose recollection; I fell senseless on the ground. | |
| When I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn; their | |
| countenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of others | |
| appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me. I | |
| escaped from them to the room where lay the body of Elizabeth, my love, my | |
| wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy. She had been moved from the | |
| posture in which I had first beheld her, and now, as she lay, her head upon | |
| her arm and a handkerchief thrown across her face and neck, I might have | |
| supposed her asleep. " | |
| "I rushed towards her and embraced her with ardour, but | |
| the deadly languor and coldness of the limbs told me that what I now held | |
| in my arms had ceased to be the Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished. | |
| The murderous mark of the fiend’s grasp was on her neck, and the | |
| breath had ceased to issue from her lips. | |
| While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look up. | |
| The windows of the room had before been darkened, and I felt a kind of | |
| panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber. | |
| The shutters had been thrown back, and with a sensation of horror not to be | |
| described, I saw at the open window a figure the most hideous and abhorred. | |
| A grin was on the face of the monster; he seemed to jeer, as with his | |
| fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my wife. " | |
| "I rushed towards | |
| the window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me, | |
| leaped from his station, and running with the swiftness of lightning, | |
| plunged into the lake. | |
| The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to | |
| the spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with | |
| boats; nets were cast, but in vain. After passing several hours, we | |
| returned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a | |
| form conjured up by my fancy. After having landed, they proceeded to | |
| search the country, parties going in different directions among the | |
| woods and vines. | |
| I attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the | |
| house, but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken | |
| man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my | |
| eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever. " | |
| "In this state I | |
| was carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had | |
| happened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that | |
| I had lost. | |
| After an interval I arose, and as if by instinct, crawled into the room | |
| where the corpse of my beloved lay. There were women weeping around; I | |
| hung over it and joined my sad tears to theirs; all this time no | |
| distinct idea presented itself to my mind, but my thoughts rambled to | |
| various subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes and their | |
| cause. I was bewildered, in a cloud of wonder and horror. The death | |
| of William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly | |
| of my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining | |
| friends were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now | |
| might be writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his | |
| feet. " | |
| "This idea made me shudder and recalled me to action. I started | |
| up and resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed. | |
| There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but the | |
| wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents. However, it was | |
| hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired men | |
| to row and took an oar myself, for I had always experienced relief from | |
| mental torment in bodily exercise. But the overflowing misery I now felt, | |
| and the excess of agitation that I endured rendered me incapable of any | |
| exertion. I threw down the oar, and leaning my head upon my hands, gave way | |
| to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up, I saw scenes which were | |
| familiar to me in my happier time and which I had contemplated but the day | |
| before in the company of her who was now but a shadow and a recollection. | |
| " | |
| "Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain had ceased for a moment, and I saw | |
| the fish play in the waters as they had done a few hours before; they had | |
| then been observed by Elizabeth. Nothing is so painful to the human mind as | |
| a great and sudden change. The sun might shine or the clouds might lower, | |
| but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before. A fiend had | |
| snatched from me every hope of future happiness; no creature had ever been | |
| so miserable as I was; so frightful an event is single in the history of | |
| man. | |
| But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last | |
| overwhelming event? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached their | |
| _acme_, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know | |
| that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left desolate. " | |
| "My | |
| own strength is exhausted, and I must tell, in a few words, what remains of | |
| my hideous narration. | |
| I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived, but the former sunk | |
| under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable old | |
| man! His eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their | |
| delight—his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doted on with | |
| all that affection which a man feels, who in the decline of life, having | |
| few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed | |
| be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs and doomed him to waste | |
| in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors that were accumulated | |
| around him; the springs of existence suddenly gave way; he was unable to | |
| rise from his bed, and in a few days he died in my arms. | |
| " | |
| "What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and | |
| darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes, | |
| indeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales | |
| with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and found myself in a | |
| dungeon. Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear | |
| conception of my miseries and situation and was then released from my | |
| prison. For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I | |
| understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation. | |
| Liberty, however, had been 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 for an interval reconciled me to life. I now related | |
| my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the dates with | |
| accuracy and never deviating into 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 seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your | |
| whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that | |
| your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those | |
| functions on this occasion.” | |
| This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my own | |
| auditor. He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is given | |
| to a tale of spirits and supernatural events; but when he was called upon | |
| to act officially in consequence, the whole tide of his incredulity | |
| returned. He, however, answered mildly, “I would willingly afford you | |
| every aid in your pursuit, but the creature of whom you speak appears to | |
| have powers which would put all my exertions to defiance. " | |
| "Who can follow an | |
| animal which can traverse the sea of ice and inhabit caves and dens where | |
| no man would venture to intrude? Besides, some months have elapsed since | |
| the commission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to what place he | |
| has wandered or what region he may now inhabit.” | |
| “I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit, and if | |
| he has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois | |
| and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts; you do not | |
| credit my narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the | |
| punishment which is his desert.” | |
| As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated. | |
| “You are mistaken,” said he. “I will exert myself, 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 thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should | |
| make up your mind to disappointment.” | |
| “That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My | |
| revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I | |
| confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage | |
| is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned | |
| loose upon society, still exists. You refuse my just demand; I have | |
| but one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to | |
| his destruction.” | |
| I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy | |
| in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness | |
| which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed. " | |
| "But to a Genevan | |
| magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of | |
| devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of | |
| madness. He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child and | |
| reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium. | |
| “Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of | |
| wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say.” | |
| I broke from the house angry and disturbed and retired to meditate on | |
| some other mode of action. | |
| Chapter 24 | |
| My present situation was one in which all voluntary thought was | |
| swallowed up and lost. I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone | |
| endowed me with strength and composure; it moulded my feelings and | |
| allowed me to be calculating and calm at periods when otherwise | |
| delirium or death would have been my portion. | |
| My first resolution was to quit Geneva 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 round the confines of the town, uncertain | |
| what path I should pursue. As night approached I found myself at the | |
| entrance of the cemetery where William, Elizabeth, and my father | |
| reposed. " | |
| "I entered it and approached the tomb which marked their | |
| graves. Everything was silent except the leaves of the trees, which | |
| were gently agitated by the wind; the night was nearly dark, and the | |
| scene would have been solemn and affecting even to an uninterested | |
| observer. The spirits of the departed seemed to flit around and to | |
| cast a shadow, which was felt but not seen, around the head of the | |
| mourner. | |
| The deep grief which this scene had at first excited quickly gave way to | |
| rage and despair. They were dead, and I lived; their murderer also lived, | |
| and to destroy him I must drag out my weary existence. I knelt on the grass | |
| and kissed the earth and with quivering lips exclaimed, “By the | |
| sacred earth on which I kneel, by the shades that wander near me, by the | |
| deep and eternal grief that I feel, I swear; and by thee, O Night, and the | |
| spirits that preside over thee, to pursue the 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 choked my utterance. | |
| I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish | |
| laugh. It rang on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed | |
| it, and I felt as if all hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter. | |
| " | |
| "Surely in that moment I should have been possessed by frenzy and have | |
| destroyed my miserable existence but that my vow was heard and that I | |
| was reserved for vengeance. The laughter died away, when a well-known | |
| and abhorred voice, apparently close to my ear, addressed me in an | |
| audible whisper, “I am satisfied, miserable wretch! You have | |
| determined to live, and I am satisfied.” | |
| I darted towards the spot from which the sound proceeded, but the devil | |
| eluded my grasp. Suddenly the broad disk of the moon arose and shone | |
| full upon his ghastly and distorted shape as he fled with more than | |
| mortal speed. | |
| I pursued him, and for many months this has been my task. Guided by a | |
| slight clue, I followed the windings of the Rhone, but vainly. The | |
| blue Mediterranean appeared, and by a strange chance, I saw the fiend | |
| enter by night and hide himself in a vessel bound for the Black Sea. " | |
| "I | |
| took my passage in the same ship, but he escaped, I know not how. | |
| Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still evaded me, I | |
| have ever followed in his track. Sometimes the peasants, scared by | |
| this horrid apparition, informed me of his path; sometimes he himself, | |
| who feared that if I lost all trace of him I should despair and die, | |
| left some mark to guide me. The snows descended on my head, and I saw | |
| the print of his huge step on the white plain. To you first entering | |
| on life, to whom care is new and agony unknown, how can you understand | |
| what I have felt and still feel? Cold, want, and fatigue were the | |
| least pains which I was destined to endure; I was cursed by some devil | |
| and carried about with me my eternal hell; yet still a spirit of good | |
| followed and directed my steps and when I most murmured would suddenly | |
| extricate me from seemingly insurmountable difficulties. " | |
| "Sometimes, | |
| when nature, overcome by hunger, sank under the exhaustion, a repast | |
| was prepared for me in the desert that restored and inspirited me. The | |
| fare was, indeed, coarse, such as the peasants of the country ate, but | |
| I will not doubt that it was set there by the spirits that I had | |
| invoked to aid me. Often, when all was dry, the heavens cloudless, and | |
| I was parched by thirst, a slight cloud would bedim the sky, shed the | |
| few drops that revived me, and vanish. | |
| I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the 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 I brought with me some food that I had killed, | |
| which, after taking a small part, I always presented to those who had | |
| provided me with fire and utensils for cooking. | |
| " | |
| "My life, as it passed thus, was indeed hateful to me, and it was during | |
| sleep alone that I could taste joy. O blessed sleep! Often, when most | |
| miserable, I sank to repose, and my dreams lulled me even to rapture. The | |
| spirits that guarded me had provided these moments, or rather hours, of | |
| happiness that I might retain strength to 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 agonising fondness did I feel for them! How did I cling to | |
| their dear forms, as sometimes they haunted even my waking hours, and | |
| persuade myself that they still lived! At such moments vengeance, that | |
| burned within me, died in my heart, and I pursued my path towards the | |
| destruction of the 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 give up my search | |
| until he or I perish; and then with what ecstasy shall I join my | |
| Elizabeth and my departed friends, who even now prepare for me the | |
| reward of my tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage! | |
| As I still pursued my journey to the northward, the snows thickened and the | |
| cold increased in a degree almost too severe to support. The peasants were | |
| shut up in their hovels, and only a few of the most hardy ventured forth to | |
| seize the animals whom starvation had forced from their hiding-places to | |
| seek for prey. " | |
| "The rivers were covered with ice, and no fish could be | |
| procured; and thus I was cut off from my chief article of maintenance. | |
| The triumph of my enemy increased with the difficulty of my labours. One | |
| inscription that he left was in these words: “Prepare! Your toils | |
| only begin; wrap yourself in furs and provide food, for we shall soon enter | |
| upon a journey where your sufferings will satisfy my everlasting | |
| hatred.” | |
| My courage and perseverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; I | |
| resolved not to fail in my purpose, and calling on Heaven to support | |
| me, I continued with unabated fervour to traverse immense deserts, | |
| until the ocean appeared at a distance and formed the utmost boundary | |
| of the horizon. Oh! How unlike it was to the blue seasons 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. Once, after | |
| the poor animals that conveyed me had with incredible toil gained the | |
| summit of a sloping ice mountain, and one, sinking under his fatigue, | |
| died, I viewed the expanse before me with anguish, when suddenly my eye | |
| caught a dark speck upon the dusky plain. I strained my sight to | |
| discover what it could be and uttered a wild cry of ecstasy when I | |
| distinguished a sledge and the distorted proportions of a well-known | |
| form within. Oh! With what a burning gush did hope revisit my heart! | |
| Warm tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away, that they might | |
| not intercept the view I had of the 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 foe, my hopes were | |
| suddenly extinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I had | |
| ever done before. A ground sea was heard; the thunder of its progress, as | |
| the waters rolled and swelled beneath me, became every moment more ominous | |
| and terrific. " | |
| "I pressed on, but in vain. The wind arose; the sea roared; | |
| and, as with the mighty shock of an earthquake, it split and cracked with a | |
| tremendous and overwhelming sound. The work was soon finished; in a few | |
| minutes a tumultuous sea rolled between me and my enemy, and I was left | |
| drifting on a scattered piece of ice that was continually lessening and | |
| thus preparing for me a hideous death. | |
| In this manner many appalling hours passed; several of my dogs died, and I | |
| myself was about to sink under the accumulation of distress when I saw your | |
| vessel riding at anchor and holding forth to me hopes of succour and life. | |
| I had no conception that vessels ever came so far north and was 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 southwards, | |
| still to trust myself to the mercy of the seas rather than abandon my | |
| purpose. I hoped to induce you to grant me a boat with which I could pursue | |
| my enemy. But your direction was northwards. You took me on board when my | |
| vigour was exhausted, and I should soon have sunk under my multiplied | |
| hardships into a death which 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. And do I dare to ask of you to | |
| undertake my pilgrimage, to endure the hardships that I have undergone? | |
| No; I am not so selfish. Yet, when I am dead, if he should appear, if | |
| the ministers of vengeance should conduct him to you, swear that he | |
| shall not live—swear that he shall not triumph over my accumulated | |
| woes and survive to add to the list of his dark crimes. " | |
| "He is eloquent | |
| and persuasive, and once his words had even power over my heart; but | |
| trust him not. His soul is as hellish as his form, full of treachery | |
| and fiend-like malice. Hear him not; call on the names of William, | |
| Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth, my father, and of the wretched Victor, and | |
| thrust your sword into his heart. I will hover near and direct the | |
| steel aright. | |
| Walton, _in continuation._ | |
| August 26th, 17—. | |
| You have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do you not | |
| feel your blood congeal with horror, like that which even now curdles | |
| mine? Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his | |
| tale; at others, his voice broken, yet piercing, uttered with | |
| difficulty the words so replete with anguish. His fine and lovely eyes | |
| were now lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast sorrow | |
| and quenched in infinite wretchedness. " | |
| "Sometimes he commanded his | |
| countenance and tones and related the most horrible incidents with a | |
| tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of agitation; then, like a | |
| volcano bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to an expression | |
| of the wildest rage as he shrieked out imprecations on his persecutor. | |
| His tale is connected and told with an appearance of the simplest truth, | |
| yet I own to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he showed me, | |
| and the apparition of the monster seen from our ship, brought to me a | |
| greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than his asseverations, | |
| however earnest and connected. Such a monster has, then, really existence! | |
| I cannot doubt it, yet I am lost in surprise and admiration. Sometimes I | |
| endeavoured to gain from Frankenstein the particulars of his | |
| creature’s formation, but on this point he was impenetrable. | |
| " | |
| "“Are you mad, my friend?” said he. “Or whither does your | |
| senseless curiosity lead you? Would you also create for yourself and the | |
| world a demoniacal enemy? Peace, peace! Learn my miseries and do not seek | |
| to increase your own.” | |
| Frankenstein discovered that I made notes concerning his history; he asked | |
| to see them and then himself corrected and augmented them in many places, | |
| but principally in giving the life and spirit to the conversations he held | |
| with his enemy. “Since you have preserved my narration,” said | |
| he, “I would not that a mutilated one should go down to | |
| posterity.” | |
| Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest | |
| tale that ever imagination formed. My thoughts and every feeling of my | |
| soul have been drunk up by the interest for my guest which this tale | |
| and his own elevated and gentle manners have created. " | |
| "I wish to soothe | |
| him, yet can I counsel one so infinitely miserable, so destitute of | |
| every hope of consolation, to live? Oh, no! The only joy that he can | |
| now know will be when he composes his shattered spirit to peace and | |
| death. Yet he enjoys one comfort, the offspring of solitude and | |
| delirium; he believes that when in dreams he holds converse with his | |
| friends and derives from that communion consolation for his miseries or | |
| excitements to his vengeance, that they are not the creations of his | |
| fancy, but the beings themselves who visit him from the regions of a | |
| remote world. This faith gives a solemnity to his reveries that render | |
| them to me almost as imposing and interesting as truth. | |
| Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and | |
| misfortunes. On every point of general literature he displays | |
| unbounded knowledge and a quick and piercing apprehension. " | |
| "His | |
| eloquence is forcible and touching; nor can I 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 believed myself destined for | |
| some great enterprise. My feelings are profound, but I possessed a coolness | |
| of judgment that fitted me for illustrious achievements. This sentiment of | |
| the worth of my nature supported me when others would have been oppressed, | |
| for I deemed it criminal to throw away in useless grief those talents that | |
| might be useful to my fellow creatures. When I reflected on the work I had | |
| completed, no less a one than the creation of a sensitive and rational | |
| animal, I could not rank myself with the herd of common projectors. " | |
| "But | |
| this thought, which supported me in the commencement of my career, now | |
| serves only to plunge me lower in the dust. All my speculations and hopes | |
| are as nothing, and like the archangel who aspired to omnipotence, I am | |
| chained in an eternal hell. My imagination was vivid, yet my powers of | |
| analysis and application were intense; by the union of these qualities I | |
| conceived the idea and executed the creation of a man. Even now I cannot | |
| recollect without passion my reveries while the work was incomplete. I trod | |
| heaven in my thoughts, now exulting in my powers, now burning with the idea | |
| of their effects. From my infancy I was imbued with high hopes and a lofty | |
| ambition; but how am I sunk! Oh! My friend, if you had known me as I once | |
| was, you would not recognise me in this state of degradation. Despondency | |
| rarely visited my heart; a high destiny seemed to bear me on, until I fell, | |
| never, never again to rise.” | |
| Must I then lose this admirable being? I have longed for a friend; I have | |
| sought one who would sympathise with and love me. " | |
| "Behold, on these desert | |
| seas I have found such a one, but I fear I have gained him only to know his | |
| value and lose him. I would reconcile him to life, but he repulses the idea. | |
| “I thank you, Walton,” he said, “for your kind intentions towards so | |
| miserable a wretch; but when you speak of new ties and fresh | |
| affections, think you that any can replace those who are gone? Can any | |
| man be to me as Clerval was, or any woman another Elizabeth? Even | |
| where the affections are not strongly moved by any superior excellence, | |
| the companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our | |
| minds which hardly any later friend can obtain. They know our | |
| 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 shown early, | |
| suspect the other of fraud or false dealing, when another friend, | |
| however strongly he may be attached, may, in spite of himself, be | |
| contemplated with suspicion. But I enjoyed friends, dear not only | |
| through habit and association, but from their own merits; and wherever | |
| I am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth and the conversation of | |
| Clerval will be ever whispered in my ear. They are dead, and but one | |
| feeling in such a solitude can persuade me to preserve my life. If I | |
| were engaged in any high undertaking or design, fraught with extensive | |
| utility to my fellow creatures, then could I live to 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.” | |
| My beloved Sister, | |
| September 2d. | |
| " | |
| "I write to you, encompassed by peril and ignorant whether I am ever | |
| doomed to see again dear England and the dearer friends that inhabit | |
| it. I am surrounded by mountains of ice which admit of no escape and | |
| threaten every moment to crush my vessel. The brave fellows whom I | |
| have persuaded to be my companions look towards me for aid, but I have | |
| none to bestow. There is something terribly appalling in our | |
| situation, yet my courage and hopes do not desert me. Yet it is | |
| terrible to reflect that the lives of all these men are endangered | |
| through me. If we are lost, my mad schemes are the cause. | |
| And what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind? You will not hear of my | |
| destruction, and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass, and | |
| you will have visitings of despair and yet be tortured by hope. " | |
| "Oh! My | |
| beloved sister, the sickening failing of your heart-felt expectations is, | |
| in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death. But you have a husband | |
| and lovely children; you may be happy. Heaven bless you and make you so! | |
| My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion. He | |
| endeavours to fill me with hope and talks as if life were a possession | |
| which he valued. He reminds me how often the same accidents have | |
| happened to other navigators who have attempted this sea, and in spite | |
| of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries. Even the sailors feel | |
| the power of his eloquence; when he speaks, they no longer despair; he | |
| rouses their energies, and while they hear his voice they believe these | |
| vast mountains of ice are mole-hills which will vanish before the | |
| resolutions of man. These feelings are transitory; each day of | |
| expectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny | |
| caused by this despair. | |
| " | |
| "September 5th. | |
| A scene has just passed of such uncommon interest that, although it is | |
| highly probable that these papers may never reach you, yet I cannot | |
| forbear recording it. | |
| We are still surrounded by mountains of ice, still in imminent danger | |
| of being crushed in their conflict. The cold is excessive, and many of | |
| my unfortunate comrades have already found a grave amidst this scene of | |
| desolation. Frankenstein has daily declined in health; a feverish fire | |
| still glimmers in his eyes, but he is exhausted, and when suddenly | |
| roused to any exertion, he speedily sinks again into apparent | |
| lifelessness. | |
| I mentioned in my last letter the fears I entertained of a mutiny. | |
| This morning, as I sat watching the wan countenance of my friend—his | |
| eyes half closed and his limbs hanging listlessly—I was roused by half | |
| a dozen of the sailors, who demanded admission into the cabin. " | |
| "They | |
| entered, and their leader addressed me. He told me that he and his | |
| companions had been chosen by the other sailors to come in deputation | |
| to me to make me a requisition which, in justice, I could not refuse. | |
| We were immured in ice and should probably never escape, but they | |
| feared that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate and a free | |
| passage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage and | |
| lead them into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted | |
| this. They insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn | |
| promise that if the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my | |
| course southwards. | |
| This speech troubled me. I had not despaired, nor had I yet conceived | |
| the idea of returning if set free. Yet could I, in justice, or even in | |
| possibility, refuse this demand? I hesitated before I answered, when | |
| Frankenstein, who had at first been silent, and indeed appeared hardly | |
| to have force enough to attend, now roused himself; his eyes sparkled, | |
| and his cheeks flushed with momentary vigour. " | |
| "Turning towards the men, | |
| he said, | |
| “What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you, then, | |
| so easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious | |
| expedition? “And wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was | |
| smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and | |
| terror, because at every new incident your fortitude was to be called forth | |
| and your courage exhibited, because danger and death surrounded it, and | |
| these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this | |
| was it an honourable undertaking. You were hereafter to be hailed as the | |
| benefactors of your species, your names adored as belonging to brave men | |
| who encountered death for honour and the benefit of mankind. And now, | |
| behold, with the first imagination of danger, or, if you will, the first | |
| mighty and terrific trial of your courage, you shrink away and are content | |
| to be handed down as men who had not strength enough to endure cold and | |
| peril; and so, poor souls, they were chilly and returned to their warm | |
| firesides. " | |
| "Why, that requires not this preparation; ye need not have come | |
| thus far and dragged your captain to the shame of a defeat merely to prove | |
| yourselves cowards. Oh! Be men, or be more than men. Be steady to your | |
| purposes and firm as a rock. This ice is not made of such stuff as your | |
| hearts may be; it is mutable and cannot withstand you if you say that it | |
| shall not. Do not return to your families with the stigma of disgrace | |
| marked on your brows. Return as heroes who have fought and conquered and | |
| who know not what it is to turn their backs on the foe.” | |
| He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings expressed | |
| in his speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and heroism, that can | |
| you wonder that these men were moved? They looked at one another and were | |
| unable to reply. I spoke; I told them to retire and consider of what had | |
| been said, that I would not lead them farther north if they strenuously | |
| desired the contrary, but that I hoped that, with reflection, their courage | |
| would return. | |
| " | |
| "They retired and I turned towards my friend, but he was sunk in languor and | |
| almost deprived of life. | |
| How all this will terminate, I know not, but I had rather die than | |
| return shamefully, my purpose unfulfilled. Yet I fear such will be my | |
| fate; the men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never | |
| willingly continue to endure their present hardships. | |
| September 7th. | |
| The die is cast; I have consented to return if we are not destroyed. | |
| Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back | |
| ignorant and disappointed. It requires more philosophy than I possess | |
| to bear this injustice with patience. | |
| September 12th. | |
| It is past; I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility | |
| and glory; I have lost my friend. But I will endeavour to detail these | |
| bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and while I am wafted | |
| towards England and towards you, I will not despond. | |
| " | |
| "September 9th, the ice began to move, and roarings like thunder were heard | |
| at a distance as the islands split and cracked in every direction. We were | |
| in the most imminent peril, but as we could only remain passive, my chief | |
| attention was occupied by 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 sprang from | |
| the west, and on the 11th the passage towards the south became perfectly | |
| free. When the sailors saw this and that their return to their native | |
| country was apparently assured, a shout of tumultuous joy broke from them, | |
| loud and long-continued. Frankenstein, who was dozing, awoke and asked the | |
| cause of the tumult. “They shout,” I said, “because they | |
| will soon return to England.” | |
| “Do you, then, really return?” | |
| “Alas! Yes; I cannot withstand their demands. " | |
| "I cannot lead them | |
| unwillingly to danger, and I must return.” | |
| “Do so, if you will; but I will not. You may give up your purpose, but | |
| mine is assigned to me by Heaven, and I dare not. I am weak, but | |
| surely the spirits who assist my vengeance will endow me with | |
| sufficient strength.” Saying this, he endeavoured to spring from the | |
| bed, but the exertion was too great for him; he fell back and fainted. | |
| It was long before he was restored, and I often thought that life was | |
| entirely extinct. At length he opened his eyes; he breathed with | |
| difficulty and was unable to speak. The surgeon gave him a composing | |
| draught and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the meantime he | |
| told me that my friend had 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 blamable. | |
| In a fit of enthusiastic madness I created a rational creature and was | |
| bound towards him to assure, as far as was in my power, his happiness and | |
| well-being. This was my duty, but there was another still paramount to | |
| that. " | |
| "My duties towards the beings of my own species had greater claims to | |
| my attention because they included a greater proportion of happiness or | |
| misery. Urged by this view, I refused, and I did right in refusing, to | |
| create a companion for the first creature. He showed unparalleled malignity | |
| and selfishness in evil; he destroyed my friends; he devoted to destruction | |
| beings who possessed exquisite sensations, happiness, and wisdom; nor do I | |
| know where this thirst for vengeance may end. Miserable himself that he may | |
| render no other wretched, he ought to die. The task of his destruction was | |
| mine, but I have failed. When actuated by selfish and vicious motives, I | |
| asked you to undertake my unfinished work, and I renew this request now, | |
| when I am only induced by reason and virtue. | |
| “Yet I cannot ask you to renounce your country and friends to 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 sank 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 cannot answer | |
| me.” | |
| His voice seemed suffocated, and my first impulses, which had suggested to | |
| me the duty of obeying the dying request of my friend in destroying his | |
| enemy, were now suspended by a mixture of curiosity and compassion. " | |
| "I | |
| approached this tremendous being; I dared not again raise my eyes to his | |
| face, there was something so scaring and unearthly in his ugliness. I | |
| attempted to speak, but the words died away on my lips. The monster | |
| continued to utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At length I | |
| gathered resolution to address him in a pause of the tempest of his passion. | |
| “Your repentance,” I said, “is now superfluous. If you | |
| had listened to the voice of conscience and heeded the stings of remorse | |
| before you had urged your diabolical vengeance to this extremity, | |
| Frankenstein would yet have lived.” | |
| “And do you dream?” said the dæmon. “Do you think that I was then | |
| dead to agony and remorse? He,” he continued, pointing to the corpse, | |
| “he suffered not in the consummation of the deed. Oh! Not the | |
| ten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine during the | |
| lingering detail of its execution. " | |
| "A frightful selfishness hurried me | |
| on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse. Think you that the | |
| groans of Clerval were music to my ears? My heart was fashioned to be | |
| susceptible of love and sympathy, and when wrenched by misery to vice | |
| and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without | |
| torture such as you cannot even imagine. | |
| “After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland, 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 rekindled within me. " | |
| "“Wretch!” I said. | |
| “It is well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you | |
| have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and when they are | |
| consumed, you sit among the ruins and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend! | |
| If he whom you mourn still lived, still would he be the object, again would | |
| he become the prey, of your accursed vengeance. It is not pity that you | |
| feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn | |
| from your power.” | |
| “Oh, it 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 unfolding. I was | |
| nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has | |
| degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, no | |
| malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the | |
| frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same | |
| creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent | |
| visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. " | |
| "But it is even so; the | |
| fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man | |
| had friends and associates in his desolation; I am alone. | |
| “You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my | |
| crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them | |
| he could not sum up the hours and months of misery which I endured | |
| wasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did | |
| not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still | |
| I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no | |
| injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all | |
| humankind 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 these hands | |
| will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts no more. | |
| “Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. " | |
| "My work | |
| is nearly complete. Neither yours nor any man’s death is needed to | |
| consummate the series of my being and accomplish that which must be done, | |
| but it requires my own. Do not think that I shall be slow to perform this | |
| sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice raft which brought me | |
| thither and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall | |
| collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its | |
| remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch who would | |
| create such another as I have been. I shall die. I shall no longer feel the | |
| agonies which now consume me or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet | |
| unquenched. He is dead who called me into being; and when I shall be no | |
| more, the very remembrance of us both will speedily vanish. I shall no | |
| longer see the sun or stars or feel the winds play on my cheeks. " | |
| "Light, | |
| feeling, and sense will pass away; and in this condition must I find my | |
| happiness. Some years ago, when the images which this world affords first | |
| opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer and heard the | |
| rustling of the leaves and the warbling of the birds, and these were all to | |
| me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by | |
| crimes and torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in | |
| death? | |
| “Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last of humankind whom these | |
| eyes 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 hadst not ceased to think | |
| and feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than | |
| that which I feel. " | |
| "Blasted as thou wert, my agony was still superior to | |
| thine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my | |
| wounds until death shall close them for ever. | |
| “But soon,” he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, “I | |
| shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning | |
| miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and | |
| exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration | |
| will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds. My spirit | |
| will sleep in peace, or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. | |
| Farewell.” | |
| He sprang 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. | |
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