This is a digital edition of the Thomas copy was prepared for the Frankenstein Variorum project, initiated to commemorate the 200th anniversary of the first published edition of Frankenstein; or, the
Modern Prometheus in
1818.
Date this document was first produced: 2019-02-19.
This edition of the Thomas copy is part of the Pittsburgh research team’s contribution to the Bicentennial Frankenstein Variorum Project, and is prepared by Elisa Beshero-Bondar of the University of Pittsburgh at Greensburg and Rikk Mulligan of Carnegie Mellon University. We are grateful for consultation from Wendell Piez, David J. Birnbaum, and Raffaele Viglianti, as well as Neil Fraistat and Dave Rettenmaier. This edition’s stages of development are stored and documented in the Pittsburgh_Frankenstein GitHub repository.
This edition was made from our project file of the 1818 edition, to which we added transcriptions of the handwritten annotations and emendations written on the Thomas copy edition. Transcriptions were made by consulting the Thomas Copy at the Morgan Library and checked against their representation in James Rieger’s and Nora Crook’s print critical editions, with a few cases of disagreement, usually in cases where Rieger did not fully note alterations.
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Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?—
THE event on which this fiction is founded has been supposed, by
Dr. Darwin, and some of the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible
occurrence. I shall not be supposed as according the remotest degree of serious faith to
such an imagination; yet, in assuming it as the basis of a work of fancy, I have not
considered myself as merely weaving a series of supernatural terrors. The event on
I have thus endeavoured to preserve the truth of the elementary principles of human nature,
while I have not scrupled to innovate upon their combinations. The Iliad, the tragic poetry of Greece,—Shakespeare, in the Tempest and Midsummer Night’s
Dream,—and most especially Milton, in
The circumstance on which my story rests was suggested in casual conversation. It was
commenced partly as a source of amusement, and partly as an expedient for exercising any
untried resources of mind. Other motives were mingled with these, as the work pro
The weather, however, suddenly became serene; and my two friends left me on a journey among the Alps, and lost, in the magnificent scenes which they present, all memory of their ghostly visions. The following tale is the only one which has been completed.
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 Petersfor ever of eternal light?
These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my letter, and I feel
my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven; for nothing contributes so
much to tranquillize the mind as a steady purpose,—a point on which the soul may fix its
intellectual eye. This expedition has been the favourite dream of my
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,
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
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,
This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia. They fly quickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant, and, in my opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stage-coach. The cold is not excessive, if you are wrapt in furs, a dress which I have already adopted; for there is a great difference between walking the deck and remaining seated motionless for hours, when no exercise prevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins. I have no ambition to lose my life on the post-road between St. Petersburgh and Archangel.
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.
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 keeping; and I greatly need
a friend who would have sense enough not to despise me as romantic, and affection
Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on the wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yet some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in these rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful courage and enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory. He is an Englishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices, unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments of humanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel: finding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assist in my enterprise.
The master is a person of an excellent disposition, and is remarkable in He is, moreover, heroically generous.ropeshroud
But do not suppose that, because I complain a little, or because I can conceive a
consolation for my toils which I
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
Shall I meet you again, after having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape of Africa or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear to look on the reverse of the picture. Continue to write to me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters (though the chance is very doubtful) on some occasions when I need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. Remember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.
Your affectionate brother,
ROBERT WALTON.
July 7th, 17—.
MY DEAR SISTER,
I WRITE a few lines in haste, to say that I am safe, and well
advanced on my voyage. This letter will reach England by a merchant-man now on its
homeward voyage from Archangel; more fortunate than I, who may not see my native land,
perhaps, for many years. I am, however, in good spirits: my menboldand apparentlyw which spreads a roseate tinge over the heavens, & over the sea which reflects it’s splendour.
No incidents have hitherto befallen us, that would make a figure in a letter. One or two
stiffbreaking
Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured, that for my own sake, as well as your’s, I will not
rashly encounter dan
Remember me to all my English friends.
Most affectionately yours,
R.W.
August 5th, 17—.
So strange an accident has happened to us, that I cannot forbear recording it
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
About two o’clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld, stretched out in every direction,
vast and irregular
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
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
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
Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak; and I often feared that his
sufferings had deprived him of understanding. When he had in some measure recovered, I
removed him to my own cabin, and attended on him as much as my duty would permit. I never
saw a more interesting creature: his eyes have generally an expression of wildness, and
even madness; but there are moments when, if any one performs an act of kindness
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
“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.”
Soon after this he inquired, if I thought that the breaking up of the ice had destroyed the other sledge? I replied, that I could not answer with any degree of certainty; for the ice had not broken until near midnight, and the traveller might have arrived at a place of safety before that time; but of this I could not judge.
From this time the stranger seemed very eager to be upon deck, to watch for the sledge
which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him to remain in the cabin, for he is far
too weak to sustain the rawness of the atmosphere. But
I 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
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,
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 unand then he sits by himself, and tries to
overcome all that is sullen or unsocial in his humour. These paroxysms pass from him like
a cloud from before the sun, though his dejection never leaves him.silently silently in the deep. This unobtrusive sorrow excites in me the most painful interest, and he will at times reward my sympathy by throwing aside this veil of mortal woe, and then his ardent looks, his deep toned voice and powerful eloquence entrance me with delight.
“I agree with you,” replied the stranger, “in believing that friendship is not only a
desirable, but a possible acquisition. I once had a friend, the most noble of human
creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge respecting friendship. You have hope, and
the world before you, and have no cause for despair. But I—I have lost
As he said this, his countenance became expressive of a calm settled grief, that touched me to the heart. But he was silent, and presently retired to his cabin.
Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by these wonderful regions, seems still to have the power of elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence: he may suffer misery, and be overwhelmed by disappointments; yet when he has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit, that has a halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.
Will you laugh at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine wan
August 19th, 17—.
Yesterday the stranger said to me, “You may easily perceive, Captain Walton, that I have
suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes. I had determined, once, that the memory of
these evils should die with me; but you have won me to alter my determination. You seek
for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the gratification of
your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine has been. I do not know that the
relation of my misfortunes will be useful to you, yet, if you are inclined,
You may easily conceive that I was much gratified by the offered communication; yet I could not endure that he should renew his grief by a recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness to hear the promised narrative, partly from curiosity, and partly from a strong desire to ameliorate his fate, if it were in my power. I expressed these feelings in my answer.
“I thank you,” he replied, “for
He then told me, that he would commence his narrative the next day when I should be at
leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks. I have resolved every night, when I
am not engaged, to record, as nearly as possible in his own words, what he has related
during the day. If I should be engaged, I will at least make notes. This manuscript will
doubtless afford you the greatest pleasure
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
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 Beau
Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself; and it was ten months before
my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery, he hastened to the house,
which was situated in a mean street, near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and
despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the
wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some
months, and in the mean time he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a mer
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
When my father became a husband and a parent, he found his time so occupied by the
duties of his new situation, that hemany of his public employments, and
devoted himself
My father had a sister, whom he tenderly loved, and who had married early in life an
Italian gentleman. Soon after her marriage, she had accompanied her husband into her
My father did not hesitate, and immediately went to Italy, that he might accompany the
little Elizabeth to her future home. I have often heard my mother say, that she was at
that time the most beautiful child she had ever seen, and shewed s even then of a
gentle and affectionate disposition. These indications, and a desire to bind as closely
as possible the ties of domestic love, determined my mother to consider
From this time Elizabeth Lavenza became my playfellow, and, as we grew older, my
friend. She was docile and good tempered, yet gay and playful as a summer insect.
Although she was lively and animated, her feelings were strong and deep, and her
disposition uncommonly affectionate. No one could better enjoy liberty, yet no one could
submit with more grace than she did to constraint and caprice. Her imagination was
luxuriant, yet her capability of application was great. Her person was the image of her
mind; her hazel eyes, although as lively as a bird’s, possessed an attractive softness.
Her figure was light and airy; and, though capable of enduring great fatigue, she
appeared the most fragile creature in the world. While I admired
Every one adored Elizabeth. If the servants had any request to make, it was always
through her intercession. We were strangers to any species of disunion and dispute; for
although there was a great dissimilitude in our characters, there was an harmony in that
very dissimilitude. I was more calm and philosophical than my companion; yet my temper
was not so yielding. My application was of longer endurance; but it was not so severe
whilst it endured. I delighted in investigating the facts relative to the actual world;
she busied herself in following the aërial creations of the poets. The world was to me a
secret, which I desired to
My brothers were considerably younger than myself; but I had a friend in one of my
schoolfellows, who compensated for this deficiency. Henry Clerval was the son of a
merchant of Geneva, an intimate friend of my father. He was a boy of singular talent and
fancy. I remember, when he was nine years old, he wrote a fairy tale, which was the
delight and amazement of all his companions. His favourite study consisted in books of
chivalry and romance; and when very young, I can remember, that we used to act plays
composed by him out of these favourite books, the principal characters of which were
Orlando, Robin Hood, Amadis, and St. George.
No youth could have passed more
In this description of our domestic circle I include Henry Clerval; for he was constantly with us. He went to school with me, and generally passed the afternoon at our house: for being an only child, and destitute of companions at home, his father was well pleased that he should find associates at our house; and we were never completely happy when Clerval was absent.
I feel pleasure in dwelling on the recollections of childhood, before misfortune had
tainted my mind, and changed its bright visions of extensive usefulness into gloomy and
narrow reflections upon self. But, in drawing the picture of my early days, I must not
omit to record those events which led, by in
Natural philosophy is the genius that has regulated my fate; I desire therefore, in
this narration, to stateI cannot help remarking here the many
opportunities instructors possess of directing the attention of their pupils to useful
knowledge, which they utterly neglect. My father lookedand 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
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 trea
It may appear very strange, that a disciple of Albertus Magnus should arise in the
eighteenth century; but our family was not scientifical, and I had not attended any of
the lectures given at the schools of Geneva. My dreams were therefore undisturbed by
reality; and I entered with the greatest diligence into the search of the philosopher’s
stone and the elixir of life. But the latter obtained my most undi
Nor were these my only visions. The raising of ghosts or devils was a promise liberally accorded by my favourite authors, the fulfilment of which I most eagerly sought; and if my incantations were always unsuccessful, I attributed the failure rather to my own inexperience and mistake, than to a want of skill or fidelity in my instructors.
The natural phænomena that take place every day before our eyes did not escape my
examinations. Distillation, and the wonderful effects of steam, processes of which my
favourite authors were utterly ignorant, excited my astonishment; but my utmost wonder
was
The ignorance of the early philosophers on these and several other points served to decrease their credit with me: but I could not entirely throw them aside, before some other system should occupy their place in my mind.
When I was about fifteen years old, we had retired to our house near Belrive, when we
witnessed a most violent and terrible thunder-storm. It advanced from behind the
mountains of Jura; and the thunder burst at once with frightful loudness from various
quarters of the heavens. I remained, while the storm lasted, watching its progress with
curiosity and delight. As I stood at the door, on a sudden I beheld a stream of fire
issue from an old and beautiful oak,
The catastrophe of this tree excited my extreme astonishment; and I eagerly inquired of
my father the nature and origin of thunder and lightning. He replied, “Electricity;”
describing at the same time the various effects of that power. He constructed a small
electrical machine, and exhibited a few experiments; he made also a kite, with a wire
and string, which drew down that fluid from the clouds.
This last stroke completed the overthrow
My father expressed a wish that I should attend a course of lectures upon natural
philosophy, to which I cheerfully consented. Some accident prevented my attending these
lectures until the course was nearly finished. The lecture, being therefore one of the
last, was entirely incomprehensible to me. The professor discoursed with the greatest
fluency of potassium and boron, of sulphates and oxyds, terms to which I could affix no
idea; and I became disgusted with the science of natural philosophy, although I still
read
My occupations at this age were principally the mathematics, and most of the branches of study appertaining to that science. I was busily employed in learning languages; Latin was already familiar to me, and I began to read some of the easiest Greek authors without the help of a lexicon. I also perfectly understood English and German. This is the list of my accomplishments at the age of seventeen; and you may conceive that my hours were fully employed in acquiring and maintaining a knowledge of this various literature.
Another task also devolved upon me, when I became the instructor of my brothers. Ernest
was six years younger than myself, and was my principal pu
Such was our domestic circle, from which care and pain seemed for ever banished. My father directed our studies, and my mother partook of our enjoyments. Neither of us possessed the slightest pre-eminence over the other; the voice of command was never heard amongst us; but mutual affection engaged us all to comply with and obey the slightest desire of each other.
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. admirable
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
My journey to Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by these events, was now again
determined upon. I obtained from my father a respite of some weeks. This period was
spent sadly; my mother’s death, and my speedy departure, depressed our spirits; but
Elizabeth endeavoured to renew the spirit of cheerfulness in our little society. Since
the death of her aunt, her mind had acquired new firmness and vigour. She determined to
fulfil her duties with the greatest exactness; and she felt that that most imperious
duty, of rendering her uncle and cousins happy, had devolved upon her. She consoled me,
amused her uncle, instructed my brothers; and I never beheld her so enchanting as at
this time, when she was continually endeavouring to con
The day of my departure at length arrived. I had taken leave of all my friends,
excepting Clerval, who spent the last evening with us. He bitterly lamented that he was
unable to accompany me: but his father could not be persuaded to part with him,
intending that he should become a partner with him in business, in compliance with his
favourite theory, that learning was superfluous in the commerce of ordinary life. Henry
had a refined mind; he had no desire to be idle, and was well pleased to become his
father’s partner, but he believed that a man might be a very good trader, and yet
possess a cultivated understanding.y disgust from the details of ordinary life. His own soul mind was all the possession that he prized, beautiful & majestic thoughts the only wealth he coveted—daring as the eagle and as free, common laws could not be applied to him; and while you gazed on him you felt his soul’s spark was more divine—more truly stolen from Apollo’s sacred fire, than the glimmering ember that animates other men.
We sat late, listening to his complaints, and making many little arrangements for the
future. The next
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;
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.
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
So saying, he stept aside, and wrote down a list of several books treating of natural philosophy, which he desired me to procure, and dismissed me, after mentioning that in the beginning of the following week he intended to commence a course of lectures upon natural philosophy in its general relations, and that M. Waldman, a fellow-professor, would lecture upon chemistry the alternate days that he missed.
I returned home, not disappointed,
Such were my reflections during the
Partly from curiosity, and partly from idleness, I went into the lecturing room, which
M. Waldman entered shortly after. This professor was very unlike his colleague. He
appeared about fifty years of age, but with an aspect expressive of the greatest
benevolence; a few gray hairs covered his temples, but those at the back of his head
were nearly black. His person was short, but remarkably erect; and his
“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
I departed highly pleased with the professor and his lecture, and paid him a visit the
same evening. His manners in private were even more mild and attractive than in public;
for there was a certain dignity in his mien during his lecture, which in his own house
was replaced by the greatest to his statement, which was
deliveredany presumption or affectation; and then added, that his lecture had
removed my prejudices against modern
“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.”
Thus ended a day memorable to me: it decided my future destiny.
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
As I applied so closely, it may be easily conceived that I improved ra
One of the phænomena 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
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,
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
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
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
No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success. Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should first break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve their’s. Pursuing these reflections, I thought, that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.
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
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.
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 a disease that I regretted
the more because I had hitherto en
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
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. puls
The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature.
I had worked hard for
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
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
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:
Continuing thus, I came at length opposite to the inn at which the various diligences
and carriages usually stopped.
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,
“It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left my father, brothers, and Elizabeth.”
“Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from you so seldom. By the bye, I mean to lecture you a little upon their account myself.—But, my dear Frankenstein,” continued he, stopping short, and gazing full in my face, “I did not before remark how very ill you appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for several nights.”
“You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one occupation, that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see: but I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an end, and that I am at length free.”
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 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.
the extent of my disorder.
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
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
“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?
“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.”
CLERVAL then put the following letter into my hands.
“MY DEAR COUSIN,
“I cannot describe to you the uneasiness we have all felt concerning your health. We
cannot help imagining that your friend Clerval conceals the extent of your disorder: for
it is now several months since we have seen your hand-writing; and all this time you
have been obliged to dictate your letters to Henry. Surely, Victor, you must have and this makes us all very wretched, as much so nearly as after the death of your dear mother.conceals attempts to conceal his fears from me; but cheerfulness has flown from our little circle, only to be restored by a certain assuranance that there is no foundation for our anxiety. At one timewasand could hardly be restrained from
undertaking a journey to Ingolstadt. Clerval always writes that you are getting better;
I eagerly hope that you will confirm this intelligence soon in your own hand-writing;
for indeed, indeed, Victor, we are all very miserable on this account. Relieve us from
this fear, and we shall be the happiest creatures in the world. Your father’s health is
now so vigorous, that he appears ten years younger since last winter. Ernest also is so
much improved, that you would hardly know him: he is now nearly sixteen, and has lost
that sickly appearance which he had some years ago; he is grown quite robust and
active.
“And now I must tell you a little story that will please, and perhaps amuse you. Do you
not remember Justine Moritz? Probably you do not; I will relate her history, therefore,
in a few words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom
Justine was the third. This girl had always been the favourite of her father; but,
through a strange perversity, her mother could not endure
“When my dearest aunt died, every one was too much occupied in their own grief to notice poor Justine, who had attended her during her illness with the most anxious affection. Poor Justine was very ill; but other trials were reserved for her.
“One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother, with the exception of her
neglected daughter, was left childless. The conscience of the woman was troubled; she
began to think that the deaths of her favourites was a judgment from heaven to chastise
her partiality. She was a Roman Catholic; and I believe her confessor confirmed
“I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling William. I wish
you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with sweet laughing blue eyes, dark
eye-lashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek,
which are rosy with health. He has already had one or two little wives, but Louisa Biron is his favourite, a pretty little girl of five years of
age.
“Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little gossip concerning the
good people of Geneva. The pretty Miss Mansfield has already
“I have written myself into good spirits, dear cousin; yet I cannot conclude without
again anxiously inquiring concerning your health. Dear Victor, if you are not very ill,
write yourself, and make your father and all
“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
M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in my condition at that time, of almost
insupportable sensitiveness, his harsh blunt encomiums gave me even more pain than the
benevolent approbation of M. Waldman. “D—n the fellow!” cried he; “why, M. Clerval, I
assure you he has outstript us all. Aye, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless
true. A youngster who, but a few years ago, believed Cornelius Agrippa as firmly as the
gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if he is not soon pulled
down, we shall all be out of countenance.—Aye, aye,” continued he, ob
M. Krempe had now commenced an eulogy on himself, which happily turned the conversation from a subject that was so annoying to me.
Clerval was no natural philosopher. His imagination was too vivid for the minutæ of
science. Languages were his principal study; and he sought, by acquiring their
elements, to open a field for self-instruction on his return to Geneva. Persian, Arabic,
and Hebrew, gained his attention, after he had made himself perfectly master of Greek
and Latin. For my own part, idleness had ever been irksome to me; and now that I wished
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.
The month of May had already commenced, and I expected the letter daily which was to
fix the date of my departure, when Henry proposed a pedestrian tour in the environs of
Ingolstadt that I might bid a personal farewell to the country I had so long inhabited.
I acceded with pleasure to this proposition: I was fond of exercise, and Clerval had
always been my favourite companion in the rambles of this nature that I had
We passed a fortnight in these perambulations: my health and spirits had long been
restored, and they gained additional strength from the salubrious air I breathed, the
natural incidents of our progress, and the conversation of my friend. Study had before
secluded me from the intercourse of my fellow-creatures, and rendered me unsocial; but
Clerval called forth the better feelings of my heart; he again taught me to love the
aspect of nature, and the cheerful faces of children. Excellent friend! how sincerely
did you love me, and endeavour to elevate my mind, until it was on a level with your
own. A selfish pursuit had cramped and narrowed me, until your gentleness and affection
warmed and opened my senses; I became the same happy creature who,
Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathized in my feelings: he exerted
himself to amuse me, while he expressed the sensations that filled his soul. The
resources of his mind on this occasion were truly astonishing: his conversation was full
of imagination; and very often, in imitation
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.
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
“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
“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
“He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth. She was very earnest to see the corpse. At first I attempted to prevent her; but she persisted, and entering the room where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the victim, and clasping her hands exclaimed, ‘O God! I have murdered my darling infant!’
“She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty. When she again lived, it was
only to weep and sigh. teazedvery valuable miniature that she
possessed of your mother.
“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
“Your affectionate and afflicted father,
ALPHONSE FRANKENSTEIN.
“Geneva, May 12th, 17—.”
Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was surprised to observe the despair that succeeded to the joy I at first expressed on receiving news from my friends. I threw the letter on the table, and covered my face with my hands.
“My dear Frankenstein,” exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me weep with bitterness,
“are you always to be
I motioned to him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the room in the extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune.
“I can offer you no consolation, my friend,” said he; “your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to do?”
“To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses.”
During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to raise my spirits. He did not do this by common
topics of consolation, but by exhibiting the truest sympathy. “Poor William!” said he,
“that dear child; he now sleeps with his angel mother. His friends mourn and weep, but
he is at rest: he does not
Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words impressed themselves on my mind, and I remembered them afterwards in solitude. But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a cabriole, and bade farewell to my friend.
My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed to console
and sympathize with
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
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
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 and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poor William
had been murdered. As I could not pass through the town, I was obliged to cross the lake
in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. During this short voyage I saw the lightnings
playing on the summit of Mont 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. butris horison, mass rising above mass, while the lightning they emitted shewed their shapes and size.
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
While I watched the storm, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with a hasty step.
This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my hands, He was the murderer! I could not doubt
it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the fact. I thought of
pursuing the devil; but it would have been in vain, for another flash discovered him to
me hanging among the rocks of the nearly perpendicular ascent of Mont Salêve, a hill
that bounds Plainpalais on the south. He soon reached the summit, and disappeared.
I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still continued, and the scene
was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. I revolved in my mind the events which I had
until now sought to forget: the whole train of my progress towards the creation; the
appearance of the work of my own hands alive at my bed side; its depar
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 Besides
It was about five in the morning when I entered my father’s house. I told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library to attend their usual hour of rising.
Six years had elapsed, passed as a dream but for one indelible trace, and I stood in
the same place where I had last embraced my father before my departure for Ingolstadt.
Beloved and respectable parent! He still remained to me. I gazed on the picture of my
mother, which stood over the mantlepiece. It was an historical subject, painted at my
father’s desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agoOur father looks so sorrowful:
this dreadful event seems to have revived in his mind his grief on the death of Mamma.
Poor Elizabeth also is quite inconsolable.”
“Do not,” said I, “welcome me thus; try to be more calm, that I may not be absolutely
miserable the moment I enter my father’s house after so long an absence. But, tell me, how does my father support his misfortunes? and how is?”
“She indeed requires consolation; she accused herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her very wretched. But since the murderer has been discovered—”
“The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw.”
“I do not know what you mean; but we were all very unhappy when
“Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?”
“No one did at first; but several circumstances came out, that have almost forced conviction upon us: and her own behaviour has been so confused, as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear, leaves no hope for doubt. But she will be tried to-day, and you will then hear all.”
He related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William had
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.”
“We do also, unfortunately,” replied my father; “for indeed I had rather have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much depravity and ingratitude in one I valued so highly.”
“My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent.”
“If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty. She is to be tried to-day, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted.”
We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had made great alterations in her form since I had last beheld her. Six years before she had been a pretty, good-humoured girl, whom
every one loved and caressed. She was now a woman in stature and expression of
countenance, which was uncommonly lovely. An open and capacious forehead gave
indications of a good understanding, joined to great frankness of disposition. Her eyes
were hazel, and
“She is innocent, my Elizabeth,”
“How kind you are! every one else believes in her guilt, and that made me wretched; for I knew that it was impossible: and to see every one else prejudiced in so deadly a manner, rendered me hopeless and despairing.” She wept.
“Sweet niece,” said my father, “dry your tears. If she is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our judges, and the activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of partiality.”
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 in
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 quickly
The trial began; and after the advocate against her had stated the charge, several
witnesses were called. Several strange facts combined against her, which might have
staggered any one
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
She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed the evening of
the night on which the murder had been committed, at the house of an aunt at Chêne, a
village situated at about a league from Geneva. On her return, at about nine o’clock,
she met a man, who asked her if she had seen any thing of the child who was lost. She
was alarmed by this account, and passed several hours in looking for him, when the gates
of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain several hours
“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
“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 agi
“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
Excellent Elizabeth! A murmur of approbation was heard; but it was excited by her
generous interference, and not in favour of poor Justine, on whom
I passed a night of unmingled wretch
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.”
“My cousin,” replied I, “it is decided as you may have expected; all judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer, than that one guilty should escape. But she has confessed.”
This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness upon Justine’s innocence. “Alas!” said she, “how shall I ever again believe in human benevolence? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray; her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or ill-humour, and yet she has committed a murder.”
Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a wish to see my cousin. My
father wished her not to go; but said, that he left it to her own
We entered the gloomy prison-chamber, and beheld Justine sitting on some straw at the further end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested on her knees. She rose on seeing us enter; and when we were left alone with her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My cousin wept also.
“Oh, Justine!” said she, “why did you rob me of my last consolation. I relied on your innocence; and although I was then very wretched, I was not so miserable as I am now.”
“And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also
“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
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.”
“Dear, sweet Elizabeth, do not weep. You ought to raise me with thoughts of a better life, and elevate me from the petty cares of this world of injustice and strife. Do not you, excellent friend, drive me to despair.”
“I will try to comfort you; but this, I fear, is an evil too deep and poignant to admit
of consolation, for there is no hope. Yet heaven bless thee, my dearest Justine, with
resignation, and a confidence elevated beyond this world. Oh! how I hate its shews and
mockretribution. Hateful name!
When that word is pronounced, I know greater and more horrid punishments are going to be
inflicted than the gloomiest tyrant has ever invented to satiate his utmost revenge. Yet
this is not consolation for you, my Justine, unless indeed that you may glory in
escaping from so miserable a den. Alas! I would I were in peace with my aunt and my
lovely William, escaped from a world which is hateful to me, and the visages of men
which I abhor.”
Justine smiled languidly. “This, dear lady, is despair, and not resignation. I must not
learn the lesson that
During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison-room, where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the dreary boundary between life and death, felt not as I did, such deep and bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth, and ground them together, uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul. Justine started. When she saw who it was, she approached me, and said, “Dear Sir, you are very kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty.”
I could not answer. “No, Justine,” said Elizabeth; “he is more convinced of your
innocence than I was; for
“I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am! It removes more than half my misfortune; and I feel as if I could die in peace, now that my innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin.”
Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed gained the
resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the never-dying worm alive in my
bosom, which allowed of no hope or consolation. Elizabeth also wept, and was unhappy;
but her’s also was the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the
fair moon, for a while hides,
Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty repressed her bitter tears. She embraced Elizabeth, and said, in a voice of half-suppressed emotion, “Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, my beloved and only friend; may heaven in its bounty bless and preserve you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever suffer. Live, and be happy, and make others so.”
As we returned, Elizabeth said, “You
Amiable cousin! such were your thoughts, mild and gentle as your own dear eyes and voice. But I—I was a wretch, and none ever conceived of the misery that I then endured.
Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?—
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
This state of mind preyed upon my health, which had entirely recovered
My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my disposition and habits,
and endeavoured to reason with me on the folly of giving way to immoderate grief.
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
At these moments I wept bitterly,
Our house was the house of mourning. My father’s health was deeply shaken by the horror
of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and desponding; she no longer took delight in
her ordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal
woe and tears she then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence so
blasted and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature, who in earlier youth
wandered with me on the banks of the lake, and talked with ecstacy of our future
prospects. She
“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she, “on the miserable death of Justine Moritz,
I no longer see the world and its works as they before appeared to me. Before, I looked
upon the accounts of vice and injustice, that I read in books or heard from others, as
tales of ancient days, or imaginary evils; at least they were remote, and more familiar
to reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men appear to me as
monsters thirsting for each other’s blood. Yet I am certainly unjust. Every body
believed that poor girl to be guilty; and if she could have committed the crime for
which she suffered, assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human creatures.
For the sake of a few jewels,
I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I, not in deed, but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my countenance, and kindly taking my hand said, “My dearest cousin, you must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance, that makes me tremble. Be calm, my dear Victor; I would sacrifice my life to your peace. We surely shall be happy: quiet in our native country, and not mingling in the world, what can disturb our tranquillity?”
She shed tears as she said this, distrusting the very solace that she gave; but at the
same time she smiled, that
We passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the ravine, which the river forms, opened
before us, and we began to ascend the mountain that overhangs it. Soon after we entered
the valley of Chamounix. This valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful
aiguilles, and its tremendous dome overlooked the valley.
During this journey, I sometimes joined Elizabeth, and exerted myself to point out to
her the various beauties of the scene. I often suffered my mule to lag behind, and
indulged in the misery of reflection. At other times I spurred on the animal before my
companions, that I might forget them, the world, and, more than all, myself. When at
We retired early to our apartments, but not to sleep; at least I did not. I remained many hours at the window, watching the pallid lightning that played above Mont Blanc, and listening to the rushing of the Arve, which ran below my window.
THE next day, contrary to the prognostications of our
guides, was fine, although clouded. We visited the source of the Arveiron, and rode
about the valley until evening. These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the
greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. They elevated me from all
littleness of feeling; and although they did not remove my grief, they subdued and
tranquillized it. In some degree, also, they diverted my mind from the thoughts over
which it had My father was pleased, and
Elizabeth overjoyed. “My dear cousin,” said she, “you see what happiness you diffuse
when you are happy; do not relapse again!”gave added a tingling sensation of fear, while the blood danced along my veins—my eyes sparkled and my limbs even trembled beneath the influence of unaccustomed emotion.
The following morning the rain poured down in torrents, and thick mists hid the summits
of the mountains. I rose early, but felt unusually melancholy. The rain depressed me; my
old feelings recurred, and I was miserable. I knew how disappointed my father would be
at this sudden change, and I wished to avoid him until I had recovered myself so far as
to be enabled to conceal those feelings that overpowered me. I knew that they would
remain that day at the inn;
The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short windings, which
enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the
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
“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
“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.
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
“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
“Why do you call to my remembrance circumstances of which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author? Cursed be the day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw light! Cursed (although I curse myself) be the hands that formed you! You have made me wretched beyond expression. You have left me no power to consider whether I am just to you, or not. Begone! relieve me from the sight of your detested form.”
“Thus I relieve thee, my creator,” he said, and placed his hated hands before my eyes,
which I flung from me with violence; “thus I take from thee a sight which you abhor.
Still thou canst listen to me, and grant me thy compassion. By the virtues that I
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
“IT is with considerable difficulty that I remember the
original æra of my being: all the events of that period appear confused and indistinct.
A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, and smelt, at
the same time; and it was, indeed, a long time before I learned to distinguish between
the operations of my various senses. By degrees, I remember, a stronger light pressed
upon my nerves, so that I was obliged to shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me, and
troubled me; but
“It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half-frightened as it were instinctively, finding myself so desolate. Before I had quitted your apartment, on a sensation of cold, I had covered myself with some clothes; but these were insufficient to secure me from the dews of night. I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch; I knew, and could distinguish, nothing; but, feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat down and wept.
“Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens, and gave me a sensation of pleasure. I
started up, and beheld a radiant form rise from among the trees. I gazed with a kind of
wonder. It moved slowly, but it enlightened my path; and I again went out in search of
berries. I was still cold, when under
“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
“The moon had disappeared from the night, and again, with a lessened form, shewed
itself, while I still remained in the forest. My sensations had, by this time, become
distinct, and my mind received every day additional ideas. My eyes became accustomed to
the light, and to perceive objects in their right forms; I distinguished the insect from
the herb, and, by de
“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
“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
“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
“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 cuI layand
“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 at
“Here then I retreated, and lay down, happy to have found a shelter, however miserable,
from the inclemency
“As soon as morning dawned, I crept from my kennel, that I might view the adjacent
cottage, and discover if I could remain in the habitation I had found. It was situated
against the back of the cottage, and surrounded on the sides which were exposed by a
pig-stye and a clear pool
“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
“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
“On examining my dwelling, I found that one of the windows of the cottage had formerly
occupied a part of it, but the panes had been filled up with wood. In one of these was a
small and almost imperceptible chink, through which the eye could just penetrate.
Through this crevice, a small room was visible, white-washed and clean, but very bare of
furniture. In one corner, near a small fire, sat an old man, leaning his head on his
hands in a disconsolate attitude. The young girl was occupied in arranging the cottage;
but presently she took something out of a drawer, which employed her hands, and she sat
down beside the old man, who, taking up an instrument, began
“Soon after this the young man returned, bearing on his shoulders a load of wood. The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of his burden, and, taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on the fire; then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage, and he shewed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese. She seemed pleased, and went into the garden for some roots and plants, which she placed in water, and then upon the fire. She afterwards continued her work, whilst the young man went into the garden, and appeared busily employed in digging and pulling up roots. After he had been employed thus about an hour, the young woman joined him, and they entered the cottage together.
“The old man had, in the mean time,
“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.
“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 unhappy
and they suffered that evil in a very distressing degree.p apparent, since their delicate frame made them subject to a thousand wants of the existence of
“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,
“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 repair
“By degrees I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that these people
possessed a method of communicating their experience and feelings to one another by
articulate sounds. I perceived that the words they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or
pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a
godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it. But I was baffled
in every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation was quick; and the words
they uttered, not having any apparent connexion with visible objects, I was unable to
discover any clue by which I could unravel the mystery of their reference. By great
application, however, and after having refire, 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
“I could mention innumerable instances, which, although slight, marked the dispositions
of these amiable cottagers. In the midst of poverty and want, Felix carried with
pleasure to his sister the first little white flower that peeped out from beneath the
snowy ground. Early in the morning before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that
obstructed her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and brought the wood
from the out-house, where, to his perpetual astonishment, he found his store always
reple
“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
“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 sen
“As the sun became warmer, and the light of day longer, the snow vanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth. From this time Felix was more employed; and the heart-moving indications of impending famine disappeared. Their food, as I afterwards found, was coarse, but it was wholesome; and they procured a sufficiency of it. Several new kinds of plants sprung up in the garden, which they dressed; and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season advanced.
“The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did not rain, as I
found it was called when the heavens poured forth its waters.
“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 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
“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
cheer
“I NOW hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall
relate events that impressed me with feelings which, from what I was, have made me what
I am.
“Spring advanced rapidly; the weather became fine, and the skies cloudless. It surprised me, that what before was desert and gloomy should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight, and a thousand sights of beauty.
“It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a countryman as a guide. The lady was
dressed in a dark suit, and covered with a thick black veil. Agatha asked a question; to
which the stranger only replied by pronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix.
Her voice was musical, but unlike that of
“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,
“I soon perceived, that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds, and appeared
to have a language of her own, she was neither understood by, or herself understood, the
cottagers. They made many signs which I did not comprehend; but I saw that her presence
diffused gladness through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the
morning mists. Felix seemed
“As night came on, Agatha and the
“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.
“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
“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
“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—
“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
“Every conversation of the cottagers now opened new wonders to me. While I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the Arabian, the strange system of human society was explained to me. I heard of the division of property, of immense wealth and squalid poverty; of rank, descent, and noble blood.
“The words induced me to turn towards myself. I learned that the possessions most
esteemed by your fellow-creatures were, high and unsullied descent united with riches. A
man might be respected with only one of these acquisitions; but without either he was
considered, except in very rare instances,
“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,
“Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply. I heard of the difference of sexes; of the birth and growth of children; how the father doated on the smiles of the infant, and the lively sallies of the older child; how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapt up in the precious charge; how the mind of youth expanded and gained knowledge; of brother, sister, and all the various relationships which bind one human being to another in mutual bonds.
“But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no
mother had blessed me
“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).
“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 ser
“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
“Felix had been present at the trial; his horror and indignation were uncontrollable,
when he heard the decision of the court. He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to
deliver him, and then looked around for the means. After many fruitless attempts to gain
admittance to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an unguarded part of the
building, which lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Mahometan; who, loaded with
chains, waited in despair the execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix visited the
grate at night, and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk,
amazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his deliverer by promises of
reward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with contempt; yet
“The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on the heart of Felix, and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in his interests by the promise of her hand in marriage, so soon as he should be conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to accept this offer; yet he looked forward to the probability of that event as to that 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
“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
“The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed; but, on the night previous to it, he had quitted prison, and before morning was distant many leagues from Paris. Felix had procured passports in the name of his father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his plan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house, under the pretence of a journey, and concealed himself, with his daughter, in an obscure part of Paris.
“Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons, and across Mont Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.
“Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his depar
“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
“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
lat
“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
“Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix, and rendered him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could have endured poverty, and when this distress had been the meed of his virtue, he would have gloried in it: but the ingratitude of the Turk, and the loss of his beloved Safie, were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable. The arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul.
“When the news reached Leghorn, that Felix was deprived of his wealth and rank, the
merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her
“When alone, Safie resolved in her
“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
“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.
“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.
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
“As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and condition. I
found myself similar, yet at the same time strangely unlike the beings concerning whom I
read, and to whose conversation I was a listener. I sympathized with, and partly
understood them, but I was unformed in mind; I was dependent on none and related to
none. ‘The path of my departure was free;’ and there was none to lament my annihilation.
My person was hideous, and
“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
“But Paradise Lost excited different and far deeper emotions. I
read it, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as a true
history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe, that the picture of an omnipotent God
warring with his creatures was capable of exciting. I often referred the several
situations, as their similarity struck me, to my own. Like Adam, I was created
apparently united by no link to any other being in existence; but his state was far
different from mine in every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a
perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the especial care of his Creator; he
was allowed to converse with, and acquire knowledge from beings of a superior nature:
but I was wretched,
“Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon after my arrival
in the hovel, I discovered some papers in the pocket of the dress which I had taken from
your laboratory. At first I had neglected them; but now that I was able to decypher the
characters in which they were written, I began to study them with diligence. It was your
journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely described in these
papers every step you took in the progress of your work; this history was mingled with
accounts of domestic occurrences. You, doubtless, recollect these papers. Here they are.
Every
“These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude;
“I endeavoured to crush these fears, and to fortify myself for the trial which
“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
“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.
“My heart beat quick; this was the hour and moment of trial, which would decide my
hopes, or realize my fears. The servants were gone to a neighbouring fair. All was
silent in and around the cottage: it was an excellent oppor
“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 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.’
“I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew that every minute was precious to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence the interview; when the old man addressed me—
“‘By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman;—are you French?’
“‘No; but I was educated by a French family, and understand that language only. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends, whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.’
“‘Are these Germans?’
“‘No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an unfortunate and deserted
creature; I look around, and I have no relation or friend
“‘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.’
“‘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
“‘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
“‘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.
“‘Great God!’ exclaimed the old man, ‘who are you?’
“At that instant the cottage door
“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
“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
“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.
“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,
“When my hunger was appeased, I directed my steps towards the well-known path that conducted to the cottage. All there was at peace. I crept into my hovel, and remained in silent expectation of the accustomed hour when the family arose. That hour past, the sun mounted high in the heavens, but the cottagers did not appear. I trembled violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune. The inside of the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion; I cannot describe the agony of this suspence.
“Presently two countrymen passed by; but, pausing near the cottage, they entered into
conversation, using violent
“‘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
“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 controul them; but, allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I bent
my mind towards injury and
“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 avelanche,
and produced
“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
“But how was I to direct myself? I knew that I must travel in a south-westerly
direction to reach my destination; but the sun was my only guide. I did not know the
names of the towns that I was to pass through, nor could I ask information from a single
human
“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
“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
“I continued to wind among the paths of the wood, until I came to its boundary, which
was skirted by a deep and rapid river, into which many of the trees bent their branches,
now budding with the fresh spring. Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to
pursue, when I heard the sound of voices, that induced me to conceal myself under the
shade of a cypress. I was scarcely hid, when a young girl came running towards the spot
where I was concealed, laughing as if she ran from some one in sport. She continued her
course along the precipitous sides of the river, when suddenly her foot slipt, and she
fell into the rapid stream. I rushed from my hiding place, and, with extreme labour from
the force of the current, saved her, and dragged her
“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
“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.
“But my toils now drew near a close; and, two months from this time, I reached the environs of Geneva.
“It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to a hiding-place among the fields that surround it, to meditate in what manner I should apply to you. I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger, and far too unhappy to enjoy the gentle breezes of evening, or the prospect of the sun setting behind the stupendous mountains of Jura.
“At this time a slight sleep relieved
“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.’
“‘Boy, you will never see your father again; you must come with me.’
“‘Hideous monster! let me go; My papa is a Syndic—he is M. Frankenstein—he would punish you. You dare not keep me.’
“‘Frankenstein! you belong then to my enemy—to him towards whom I have sworn eternal revenge; you shall be my first victim.’
“The child still struggled, and loaded me with epithets which carried despair to my heart: I grasped his throat to silence him, and in a moment he lay dead at my feet.
“I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hell
“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.
“While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had committed the
murder, and was seeking a more secluded hiding-place, when I perceived a woman passing
near me. She was young, not indeed so beautiful as her whose portrait I held, but of an
agreeable aspect, and blooming in the loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought,
is one of those whose smiles are bestowed on all but me; she shall not escape: thanks to
the lessons of Felix, and the sanguinary laws of man, I have learned how to work
mischief. I approached her unperceived, and placed
“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.”
THE being finished speaking, and fixed his looks upon me in
expectation of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my ideas
sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He continued—
“You must create a female for me, with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do; and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse.”
The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had
“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
“I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me; for you do not reflect that
you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I
should return them an hundred and an hundred fold; for that one creature’s sake, I would
make peace with the whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be
realized. What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of another
sex, but as hideous as myself: the gratification is small, but it is all that I can
receive, and it shall content me. It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the
world; but on that account we shall be
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
“You propose,” replied I, “to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell in those wilds
where the beasts of the
“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
His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him, and sometimes felt a wish to console him; but when I looked upon him, when I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened, and my feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to stifle these sensations; I thought, that as I could not sympathize with him, I had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which was yet in my power to bestow.
“You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not already shewn a degree of malice
that should reasonably make me distrust you? May not even this be a feint that will
increase
“How is this? I thought I had moved your compassion, and yet you still refuse to bestow on me the only benefit that can soften my heart, and render me harmless. If I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion; the love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall become a thing, of whose existence every one will be ignorant. My vices are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor; and my virtues will necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive being, and become linked to the chain of existence and events, from which I am now excluded.”
I paused some time to reflect on all he had related, and the various argu
“I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever, and every other
place in the neighbourhood
“I swear,” he cried, “by the sun, and by the blue sky of heaven, that if you grant my prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your home, and commence your labours: I shall watch their progress with unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall appear.”
Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost him among the undulations of the sea of ice.
His tale had occupied the whole day; and the sun was upon the verge of the horizon when
he departed. I knew
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
Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; but my presence, so haggard and strange, hardly calmed the fears of my family, who had waited the whole night in anxious expectation of my return.
The following day we returned to Geneva. The intention of my father in coming had been
to divert my mind, and to restore me to my lost tranquillity; but the medicine had been
fatal. And, unable to account for the excess of
For myself, I was passive in all their arrangements; and the gentle affection of my beloved Elizabeth was inadequate to draw me from the depth of my despair. The promise I had made to the dæmon weighed upon my mind, like Dante’s iron cowl on the heads of the hellish hypocrites. All pleasures of earth and sky passed before me like a dream, and that thought only had to me the reality of life. Can you wonder, that sometimes a kind of insanity possessed me, or that I saw continually about me a multitude of filthy animals inflicting on me incessant torture, that often extorted screams and bitter groans?
Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me man? Did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?—
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 labo
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
I trembled violently at this exordium, and my father continued—
“I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage with your cousin
as the tie of our domestic comfort, and the stay of my declining years. You were
attached to each other from your earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared,
in dispositions and tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the
experience of man, that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have
entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your sister, without any wish that
she might become your wife. Nay, you may have met with another whom you may love; and,
considering yourself as bound in honour to your cousin, this struggle
“My dear father, re-assure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and prospects are entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.”
“The expression of your sentiments on this subject, my dear Victor, gives me more
pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you feel thus, we shall assuredly be
happy, however present events may cast a gloom over us. But it is this gloom, which
appears to have taken so strong a hold of your mind, that I wish to dissipate. Tell me,
therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnization of the marriage. We have
been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us from
I listened to my father in silence, and remained for some time incapable of offering
any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of thoughts, and endeavoured to
arrive at some conclusion. Alas! to me the idea of an immediate union with my cousin was
one of horror and dismay. I was bound before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of an union from which I expected peace.
I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to England, or
entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers of that country, whose
knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present undertaking. The
latter method of obtaining the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory:
besides, any variation was
These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to visit England; but, concealing the true reasons of this request, I clothed my desires under the guise of wishing to travel and see the world before I sat down for life within the walls of my native town.
I urged my entreaty with earnestness, and my father was easily induced to comply; for a
more indulgent and
My father pleased himself with the reflection, that my union with Elizabeth should take
place immediately on my return to Geneva. “These two years,” said he, “will pass
swiftly, and it will be the last delay that will oppose itself to your happiness. And, indeed, I earnestly desire that period to arrive, when we shall all be united, and
neither hopes or fears arise to disturb our domestic calm.”
“I am content,” I replied, “with
I now made arrangements for my journey; but one feeling haunted me, which filled me
with fear and agitation. During my absence I should leave my friends unconscious of the
existence of their enemy, and unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be
by my departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go; and would he not
accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in itself, but soothing, inasmuch
as it supposed the safety of my friends. I was agonized with the idea of the pos
It was in the latter end of August that I departed, to pass two years of exile. Elizabeth approved of the reasons of my departure, and only regretted that she had not the same opportunities of enlarging her experience, and cultivating her understanding. She wept, however, as she bade me farewell, and entreated me to return happy and tranquil. “We all,” said she, “depend upon you; and if you are miserable, what must be our feelings?”
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
We had agreed to descend the Rhine
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
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.*”
him like a passion: the tall rock,
And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost forever? Has this
mind so replete with
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
At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul’s towering above all, and the Tower famed in English history.
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
But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive, and an
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
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
I enjoyed this scene; and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the memory of the
past, and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for peaceful happiness. During my
youthful days discontent never visited my mind; and if I was ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what is beautiful in nature, or the study of
what is excellent and sublime in the productions of man, could always interest my heart,
and communicate elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered
my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit, what I shall soon cease to
be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others, and abhorrent to
myself.
We left Oxford with regret, and pronext place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this
village resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but every thing is on
a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of distant white Alps, which always
attend on the piny mountains of my native country. We visited the wondrous cave, and the
little cabinets of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same
manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name made me tremble,
when pronounced by Henry; and I hastened to quit Matlock, with which that terrible scene
was thus associated.
From Derby still journeying northward, we passed two months in Cumberland and
Westmoreland. I could now almost fancy myself among the
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 be
We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland, and conceived
an affection for some of the inhabitants, when the period of our appointment with our
Scotch friend approached, and we left them to travel on. For my own part I was not
sorry. I had now neglected my promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the
dæmon’s disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland, and wreak his vengeance on my
relatives. This idea pursued me, and tormented me at every moment from which I might
otherwise have snatched repose and peace. I waited for my letters with feverish im
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
We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrews, and along the banks
of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. But I was in no mood to laugh and
talk with strangers, or enter into their feelings or plans with the good humour expected
from a guest; and accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland
alone. “Do
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
With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands, and fixed on one of the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene labours. It was a place fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock, whose high sides were continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured from the main land, which was about five miles distant.
On the whole island there were but
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
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
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,
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.
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
Even if they were to leave Europe, and inhabit the deserts of the new world, yet one of
the first results of those sympathies for which the dæmon thirsted would be children,
and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth, who might make the very
existence of the species of man a condition precarious and full of terror. Had I a
right, for my own benefit, to inflict this curse upon everlasting generations? I had
before been moved by the sophisms of the being I had created; I had been struck
senseless by his fiendish threats: but now, for the first time, the wickedness of my
promise burst upon me; I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me as their
pest, whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own peace at
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
I left the room, and, locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own heart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I sought my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate the gloom, and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most terrible reveries.
Several hours past, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea; it was almost
motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature reposed under the eye of the quiet
moon. A few fishing vessels alone specked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze
wafted the sound of voices, as the fishermen called to one another. I felt the silence,
although I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity,
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 s hills 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
“The hour of my weakness is past, and the period of your power is arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but they confirm me in a resolution of not creating you a companion in vice. Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a dæmon, whose delight is in death and wretchedness. Begone! I am firm, and your words will only exasperate my rage.”
The monster saw my determination in my face, and gnashed his teeth in the impotence of
anger. “Shall each man,” cried he, “find a wife for his bosom, and each beast have his
mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation
and scorn. Man, you may hate; but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and
“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 would have seized him; but he eluded me, and quitted the house with precipitation: in a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot across the waters with an arrowy swiftness, and was soon lost amidst the waves.
All was again silent; but his words rung in my ears. I burned with rage to pursue the
murderer of my peace, and precipitate him into the ocean. I walked up and down my room
hastily and perturbed, while my imagination conjured up a thousand images to torment and
sting me. Why had I not followed him, and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had
suffered him to depart, and he had directed his course towards the main land. I shudI 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
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,
The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my appetite, which
had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a fishing-boat land close to me, and
one of the men brought me a packet; it contained letters from Geneva, and one from
Clerval, entreating me to join him. He said that nearly a year had elapsed since we had
quitted Switzerland, and France was yet unvisited. He en
Yet, before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered to reflect: I
must pack my chemical instruments; and for that purpose I must enter the room which had
been the scene of my odious work, and I must handle those utensils, the sight of which
was sickening to me. The next morning, at day-break, I summoned sufficient courage, and
unlocked the door of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished creature, whom I
had destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as if I had man
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
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
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
How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life
even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail with a part of my dress, and
eagerly steered my course towards the land. It had a wild and rocky appearance; but, as
I approached nearer, I easily perceived the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near
the shore, and found myself suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood of civilized
man. I eagerly traced the windings of the land, and hailed a steeple which I at length
saw
As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several people crowded
towards the spot. They seemed very much surprised at my appearance; but, instead of
offering me any assistance, whispered together with gestures that at any other time
might have produced in me a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that
they spoke English; and I therefore addressed them in that language: “My good friends,”
said I, “will you be so
“You will know that soon enough,” replied a man with a gruff voice. “May be you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste; but you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you.”
I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a stranger; and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and angry countenances of his companions. “Why do you answer me so roughly?” I replied: “surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to receive strangers so inhospitably.”
“I do not know,” said the man, “what the custom of the English may be; but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains.”
While this strange dialogue continued,
“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
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.
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 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 ac
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
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
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 human frame could no longer support the agonizing suffering that I endured, and I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions.
A fever succeeded to this. I lay for two months on the point of death: my ravings, as I
afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the murderer
Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not sink into
forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming children, the only hopes of
their doating parents: how many brides and youthful lovers have been one day in the
bloom of health and hope, and the next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of
what materials was
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.
“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,
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 sup
These were my first reflections; but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had shewn me
extreme kindness. He had caused the best room in the prison to be prepared for me
(wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who had provided a physician and a nurse.
It is true, he seldom came to see me; for, although he ardently desired to relieve the
sufferings of every human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and
miserable ravings of a murderer. He came, therefore, some
One day, when I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my eyes half open, and my cheeks livid like those in death, I was overcome by gloom and misery, and often reflected I had better seek death than remain miserably pent up only to be let loose in a world replete with wretchedness. At one time I considered whether I should not declare myself guilty, and suffer the penalty of the law, less innocent than poor Justine had been. Such were my thoughts, when the door of my apartment was opened, and Mr. Kirwin entered. His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to mine, and addressed me in French—
“I fear that this place is very shock
“I thank you; but all that you mention is nothing to me: on the whole earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.”
“I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I hope, soon quit this melancholy abode; for, doubtless, evidence can easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge.”
“That is my least concern: I am, by a course of strange events, become the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and have been, can death be any evil to me?”
“Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonizing than the strange chances that
have lately occurrenowned for its hospitality; seized immediately,
and charged with murder. The first sight that was presented to your eyes was the body of
your friend, murdered in so unaccountable a manner, and placed, as it were, by some
fiend across your path.”
As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on this retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at the knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me. I suppose some astonishment was exhibited in my countenance; for Mr. Kirwin hastened to say—
“It was not until a day or two after your illness that I thought of examining your
dress, that I might discover some trace by which I could send to your relations an
account of your misfortune
“This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event: tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am now to lament.”
“Your family is perfectly well,” said Mr. Kirwin, with gentleness; “and some one, a friend, is come to visit you.”
I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it instantly darted
into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my misery, and taunt me with the
death of Clerval, as
“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
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
The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too great to be endured in my weak state; I shed tears.
“Alas! yes, my father,” replied I; “some destiny of the most horrible kind hangs over me, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I should have died on the coffin of Henry.”
We were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the precarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that could insure tranquillity. Mr. Kirwin came in, and insisted that my strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion. But the appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I gradually recovered my health.
The season of the assizes approached. I had already been three months in prison; and
although I was still weak, and in continual danger of a relapse, I was obliged to travel
nearly a hundred miles to the county-town, where the court was held. Mr. Kirwin charged
himself with every care of collecting witnesses, and arranging my defence. I was spared
the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was not brought before the
court that decides on life and death. The grand jury rejected the bill, on its being
proved that I was on
My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a cri
My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection. He talked of maladie du pays, to see once more the blue lake
and rapid Rhone, that had been so dear to me in early childhood: but my general state of
feeling was a torpor, in which a prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene
in nature; and these fits were seldom interrupted, but by paroxysms of anguish and
despair. At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the existence I loathed;
and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance to restrain me from committing some
dreadful act of violence.
I remember, as I quitted the prison,
My father easily acceded to my desire; and, after having taken leave of Mr. Kirwin, we hastened to Dublin. I felt as if I was relieved from a heavy weight, when the packet sailed with a fair wind from Ireland, and I had quitted for ever the country which had been to me the scene of so much misery.
It was midnight. My father slept in I remembered shuddering at the mad enthusiasm
that hurried me on to the crea
Ever since my recovery from the fever I had been in the custom of taking every night a
small quantity of laudanum; for it was by means of this drug only that I was enabled to
gain the rest necessary for the preservation of life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfortunes, I now took a double dose, and soon slept profoundly. But sleep
did not afford me respite from thought and misery; my dreams presented a thousand
objects that scared me. Towards morning I was possessed by a kind of night-mare; I felt
the fiend’s grasp in my neck, and could not free myself from it; groans and cries rung
in my ears. My father, who was
WE had resolved not to go to London, but to cross the
country to Portsmouth, and thence to embark for Havre. I preferred this plan principally
because I dreaded to see again those places in which I had enjoyed a few moments of
tranquillity with my beloved Clerval. I thought with horror of seeing again those
persons whom we had been accustomed to visit together, and who might make inquiries
concerning an event, the very remembrance of which made me again feel the pang I endured
As for my father, his desires and exertions were bounded to the again seeing me
restored to health and peace of mind. His tenderness and attentions were unremitting; my
grief and gloom was obstinate, but he would not despair. Sometimes he thought that I
felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he
endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.
“Alas! my father,” said I, “how little do you know me. Human beings, their feelings and
passions, would indeed be degraded, if such a wretch as I felt pride. Justine, poor
unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I, and she suffered the same charge; she died for
it; and I am the cause of this—I murdered her. William, Justine,
My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same assertion; when I
thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an explanation, and at others he
appeared to consider it as caused by delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of
this kind had presented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved
in my convalescence. I avoided explanation, and maintained a continual silence
concerning the wretch I had created. I had a feeling that I should be supposed mad, and
this for ever chained my tongue, when I would have given the whole world to have
confided the fatal secret.
Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression of unbounded wonder, “What do you
mean, Victor?
“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.” ful subject that I dared not explain?—In truth, it was insanity, not of the understanding but of the heart, which produced a state of recklesscaused me always to think of one thing, of onethat thus there would at times escape to my lips, as a half stifled groansigh may; though else unseen & unheard, just moves the flame that surrounds the marty at the stake. But though he sigh, he will not recant, & though I, more weak, gave vent to my pent up thoughts in words such as these, yet I shrunk unalterably from any thing that should reveal the existence of my enemy.
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,
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 Montavert and the
sea of ice.
We arrived at Havre on the 8th of May, and instantly proceeded to Paris, where my father had some business which detained us a few weeks. In this city, I received the following letter from Elizabeth:—
“To VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN.
“MY DEAREST FRIEND,
“It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may hope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much you must have suffered! I expect to see you looking even more ill than when you quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed most miserably, tortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in your countenance, and to find that your heart is not totally devoid of comfort and tranquillity.
“Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable a year ago,
even perhaps augmented by
“Explanation! you may possibly say; what can Elizabeth have to explain? If you really say this, my questions are answered, and I have no more to do than to sign myself your affectionate cousin. But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread, and yet be pleased with this explanation; and, in a probability of this being the case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence, I have often wished to express to you, but have never had the courage to begin.
“You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan of
“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 honour, all
hope of that love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself. I, who have
so
“Do not let this letter disturb you; do not answer it to-morrow, or the next day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain. My uncle will send me news of your health; and if I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness.
“ELIZABETH LAVENZA.
“Geneva, May 18th, 17—.”
This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten, the threat I will be with you
on your wedding-night!” Such was my sentence, and on that night would the dæmon
employ every art to destroy me, and tear me from the glimpse of happiness which promised
partly to console my sufferings. On that night he had determined to consummate his
crimes by my death. Well, be it so; a deadly struggle would then assuredly take place,
in which if he was victorious, I should be at peace, and his power over me be at an end.
If he were vanquished, I should be a free man. Alas! what freedom? such as the peasant
enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his cottage burnt, his lands
laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless, pennyless, and alone, but free. Such
would be my liberty, except that in my Elizabeth I possessed a treasure; alas! balanced
Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and re-read her letter, and some softened feelings
stole into my heart, and dared to whisper paradisaical dreams of love and joy; but the
apple was already eaten, and the angel’s arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I
would die to make her happy. If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable;
yet, again, I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My destruction might
indeed arrive a few months sooner; but if my torturer should suspect that I postponed
it, influenced by his menaces, he would surely find other, and perhaps more dreadful
means of revenge. He had vowed to be with me on my wedding-night,
yet he did not consider that threat as binding him to peace in
In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and affectionate. “I
fear, my beloved girl,” I said, “little happiness remains for us on earth; yet all that
I may one day enjoy is concentered in you. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I
consecrate my life, and my endeavours for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a
dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with horror, and then, far
from being
In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth’s letter, we returned to Geneva. My cousin welcomed me with warm affection; yet tears were in her eyes, as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a change in her also. She was thinner, and had lost much of that heavenly vivacity that had before charmed me; but her gentleness, and soft looks of compassion, made her a more fit companion for one blasted and miserable as I was.
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
Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage with my cousin. I remained silent.
“Have you, then, some other attachment?”
“None on earth. I love Elizabeth, and look forward to our union with delight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.”
“My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us; but let us only
cling closer to what remains, and transfer our love for those whom we have lost to those
who yet live. Our circle will be small, but bound close by the ties of affection and
mutual misfortune. And when time shall have softened your despair, new
Such were the lessons ofI 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
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
Preparations were made for the event; congratulatory visits were received; and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I could, in my own heart the anxiety that preyed there, and entered with seeming earnestness into the plans of my father, although they might only serve as the decorations of my tragedy. A house was purchased for us near Cologny, by which we should enjoy the pleasures of the country, and yet be so near Geneva as to see my father every day; who would still reside within the walls, for the benefit of Ernest, that he might follow his studies at the schools.
tranquillity
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
After the ceremony was performed, a large party assembled at my father’s; but it was
agreed that Elizabeth and I should pass the afternoon and night at Evian,and return to
Cologny the next morning. As the day was fair, and the wind favourable, we resolved to
go by water.
Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the feeling of happiness.
We passed rapidly along: the sun was hot, but we were sheltered from its rays by a kind
of canopy, while we enjoyed the beauty of the scene,
Why Then gazing on the beloved face of Elizabeth on her graceful form and languid eyes, of with instead of feeling the exultation of a—lover—a husband—in a sudden gush of tears blinded my sight, & as I turned away to hide the involuntary emotion fast drops fell
“Be happy, my dear Victor,” replied Elizabeth; “there is, I hope,
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
The sun sunk lower in the heavens; we passed the river Drance, and observed its path through the chasms of the higher, and the glens of the lower hills. The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached the amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary. The spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it, and the range of mountain above mountain by which it was overhung.
The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity, sunk at sunset to
a light breeze; the soft air just ruffled the water, and caused a pleasant motion among
the trees as we approached the shore, from which it wafted the most delightful scent of
flowers and hay. The sun sunk be
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,but aAgain as I entered the iron gates of the demesne, an unres unexplainable feeling bade me hold—yet Elizabeth I hastily walked on, and passing my arm round her prayed with a feeling of bitter tenderness, that she might never suffer ill. Thus we entered the ar mansion—and still not speaking, for both our hearts were too full, we went to a balcony that overhung the lake
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
I had been calm during the day; but so soon as night obscured the shapes of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind. I was anxious and watchful, while my right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in my bosom; every sound terrified me; but I resolved that I would sell my life dearly, and not relax the impending conflict until my own life, or that of my adversary, were extinguished.
Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful silence; at length she said, “What is it that agitates you, my dear Victor? What is it you fear?”
“Oh! peace, peace, my love,” re
I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how dreadful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife, and I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her until I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.
She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages of the house,
and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to my adversary. But I
discovered no trace of him, and was beginning to conjecture that some fortunate chance
had intervened to prevent the execution of his menaces; when suddenly I heard a shrill
and dreadful scream. It came from the room into which Elizabeth
Great God! why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the destruction of the
best hope, and the purest creature of earth. She was there, lifeless and inanimate,
thrown across the bed, her head hanging down, and her pale and distorted features half
covered by her hair. Every where I turn I see the same figure—her bloodless arms and
relaxed form flung by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this, and live?
Alas! life is obstinate, and clings closest where it
When I recovered, I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn
While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look up. The windows
of the room had before been darkened; and I felt a kind of panic on seeing the pale
yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber. The shutters had been thrown back; and,
with a sensation of horror not to be described, I saw at the open window a figure the
most hideous and abhorred. A grin was on the face of the monster; he seemed to jeer, as
with his fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards the
window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom, shot
At length I remembered that my father would anxiously expect the return
There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but the wind was
unfavourable, and
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
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
But liberty had been a useless gift to me had I not, as I awakened to reason, at the
same time awakened to revenge. As the memory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I
began to reflect on their cause—the monster whom I had created, the miserable dæmon
whom I had sent abroad into the world for my destruction. I was possessed by a maddening
rage when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed that I might have him
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
The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I continued he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes shudder with horror, at others a lively surprise, unmingled with disbelief, was painted on his countenance.
When I had concluded my narration, I said, “This is the being whom I accuse, and for whose detection and punishment I call upon you to exert your whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those functions on this occasion.”
This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my auditor. He had
heard my story with that half kind of belief that is given to a tale of spirits and
supernatural events; but when he was called upon to act officially in consequence, the
whole tide of his incredulity returned. He, however, answered mildly, “I would willingly
afford you every aid in your pursuit; but the creature of whom you speak appears to have
powers which would put all my exertions to defiance.
“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
“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.”
“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.
MY present situation was one in which all voluntary thought
was swallowed up and lost. I was hurried away by fury; revenge alone endowed me with
strength and composure; it modelled my feelings, and allowed me to be calculating and
calm, at periods when otherwise delirium or death would have been my portion.
My first resolution was to quit Geneva for ever; my country, which, when I was happy
and beloved, was dear to me, now, in my adversity, became hateful. I provided myself
with
And now my wanderings began, which are to cease but with life. I have traversed a vast portion of the earth, and have endured all the hardships which travellers, in deserts and barbarous countries, are wont to meet. How I have lived I hardly know; many times have I stretched my failing limbs upon the sandy plain, and prayed for death. But revenge kept me alive; I dared not die, and leave my adversary in being.
When I quitted Geneva, my first labour was to gain some clue by which I might trace the
steps of my fiendish enemy. But my plan was unsettled; and I wandered many hours around
the confines of the town, uncertain what path I should pursue. As night
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
quiver
I had begun my adjuration with solemnity, and an awe which almost
I was answered through the stillness of night by a loud and fiendish laugh. It rung on my ears long and heavily; the mountains re-echoed it, and I felt as if all hell surrounded me with mockery and laughter. Surely in that moment I should have been possessed by phrenzy, and have destroyed my miserable existence, but that my vow was heard, and that I was reserved for vengeance. The laughter died away; when a well-known and abhorred voice, apparently close to my ear, addressed me in an audible whisper—“I am satisfied: miserable wretch! you have determined to live, and I am satisfied.”
I 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
I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the dæmon generally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the country chiefly collected. In other places human beings were seldom seen; and I generally subsisted on the wild animals that crossed my path. I had money with me, and gained the friendship of the villagers by distributing it, or bringing with me some food that I had killed, which, after taking a small part, I always presented to those who had provided me with fire and utensils for cooking.
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
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
Scoffing devil! Again do I vow vengeance; again do I devote thee, miserable fiend, to torture and death. Never will I omit my search, until he or I perish; and then with what ecstacy shall I join my Elizabeth, and those who even now prepare for me the reward of my tedious toil and horrible pilgrimage.
As I still pursued my journey to the northward, the snows thickened, and the cold
increased in a degree almost too severe to support. The peasants
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
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
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 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,
But this was not the time for delay; I disencumbered the dogs of their dead companion, gave them a plentiful portion of food; and, after an hour’s rest, which was absolutely necessary, and yet which was bitterly irksome to me, I continued my route. The sledge was still visible; nor did I again lose sight of it, except at the moments when for a short time some ice rock concealed it with its intervening crags. I indeed perceptibly gained on it; and when, after nearly two days’ journey, I beheld my enemy at no more than a mile distant, my heart bounded within me.
But now, when I appeared almost within grasp of my enemy, my hopes were suddenly
extinguished, and I lost all trace of him more utterly than I had ever done before. A
ground sea
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
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
August 26th, 17—.
YOU have read this strange and terrific story, Margaret; and do
you not feel your blood congealed with horror, like that which even now curdles mine?
Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, he could not continue his tale; at others, his voice
broken, yet piercing, uttered with difficulty the words so replete with agony. His fine
and lovely eyes were now lighted up with indignation, now subdued to downcast sorrow, and
quenched in infinite wretchedness. Sometimes he commanded his countenance and tones, and
related the most horrible incidents with a tranquil voice, suppressing every mark of
agitation; then, like a volcano bursting
His tale is connected, and told with an appearance of the simplest truth; yet I own to you that the letters of Felix and Safie, which he shewed me, and the apparition of the monster, seen from our ship, brought to me a greater conviction of the truth of his narrative than his asseverations, however earnest and connected. Such a monster has then really existence; I cannot doubt it; yet I am lost in surprise and admiration. Sometimes I endeavoured to gain from Frankenstein the particulars of his creature’s formation; but on this point he was impenetrable.
“Are you mad, my friend?” said he, “or whither does your senseless curio
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
Our conversations are not always confined to his own history and mis
“When younger,” said he, “I felt as if I were destined for some great enterprise. My
feelings are profound; but I possessed a coolness of judgment that fitted me for
illustrious achievements. This sentiment of the worth of my nature supported me, when
others would have been oppressed; for I deemed it criminal to throw away in useless
Must I then lose this admirable being? I have longed for a friend; I have sought one who would sympathize with and love me. Behold, on these desert seas I have found such a one; but, I fear, I have gained him only to know his value, and lose him. I would reconcile him to life, but he repulses the idea.
“I thank you, Walton,” he said, “for your kind intentions towards so miserable a wretch;
but when you speak of new ties, and fresh affections,
September 2d.
MY BELOVED SISTER,
I write to you, encompassed by peril, and ignorant whether I am ever doomed to see again
dear England, and the dearer friends that inhabit it. I
Yet what, Margaret, will be the state of your mind? You will not hear of my destruction,
and you will anxiously await my return. Years will pass, and you will have visitings of
despair, and yet be tortured by hope. Oh! my beloved sister, the sickening failings of
your heart-felt expectations are, in prospect, more terrible to me than my own death. But
you have a
My unfortunate guest regards me with the tenderest compassion. He endeavours to fill me with hope; and talks as if life were a possession which he valued. He reminds me how often the same accidents have happened to other navigators, who have attempted this sea, and, in spite of myself, he fills me with cheerful auguries. Even the sailors feel the power of his eloquence: when he speaks, they no longer despair; he rouses their energies, and, while they hear his voice, they believe these vast mountains of ice are mole-hills, which will vanish before the resolutions of man. These feelings are transitory; each day’s expectation delayed fills them with fear, and I almost dread a mutiny caused by this despair.
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
This speech troubled me. I had
“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
He spoke this with a voice so modulated to the different feelings expressed in his
speech, with an eye so full of lofty design and heroism, that can you wonder that these
men were moved. They looked at one another, and were unable to reply. I spoke; I told them
to retire, and consider of what had been said: that I would not lead them further north,
if they strenuously desired the contrary; but that I hoped
They retired, and I turned towards my friend; but he was sunk in languor, and almost deprived of life.
How all this will terminate, I know not; but I had rather die, than return shamefully,—my purpose unfulfilled. Yet I fear such will be my fate; the men, unsupported by ideas of glory and honour, can never willingly continue to endure their present hardships.
September 7th.
The die is cast; I have consented to return, if we are not destroyed. Thus are my hopes blasted by cowardice and indecision; I come back ignorant and disappointed. It requires more philosophy than I possess, to bear this injustice with patience.
September 12th.
It is past; I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility and glory;—I have lost my friend. But I will endeavour to detail these bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and, while I am wafted towards England, and towards you, I will not despond.
September 19th,
“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
It was long before he was restored; and I often thought that life was entirely extinct. At length he opened his eyes, but he breathed with difficulty, and was unable to speak. The surgeon gave him a composing draught, and ordered us to leave him undisturbed. In the mean time he told me, that my friend had certainly not many hours to live.
His sentence was pronounced; and I could only grieve, and be patient. I sat by his bed
watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he slept; but presently he called to me
in a feeble voice, and, bidding me come near, said—“Alas! the strength I relied on is
gone; I feel that I shall soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in
being. Think
“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 judg
“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
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
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 ap
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
His voice seemed suffocated; and my first impulses, which had suggested to me the duty of
obeying the dying request of my friend, in destroying his enemy, were now suspended by a
mixture of curiosity and compassion. I approached this tremendous being; I dared not again
raise my looks upon his face, there was something so scaring and unearthly in his
ugliness. I attempted to speak, but the words died away on my lips. The monster continued
to utter wild and incoherent self-reproaches. At length I gathered resolution to address
him, in a pause of the tempest of his passion: “Your repentance,” I said, “is now
superfluous. If you had listened to the voice of con
“And do you dream?” said the dæmon; “do you think that I was then dead to agony and remorse?—He,” he continued, pointing to the corpse, “he suffered not more in the consummation of the deed;—oh! not the ten-thousandth portion of the anguish that was mine during the lingering detail of its execution. A frightful selfishness hurried me on, while my heart was poisoned with remorse. Think ye that the groans of Clerval were music to my ears? My heart was fashioned to be susceptible of love and sympathy; and, when wrenched by misery to vice and hatred, it did not endure the violence of the change without torture such as you cannot even imagine.
I was at first touched by the expressions of his misery; yet, when I called to mind what
Frankenstein had said of his powers of eloquence and persuasion, and when I again cast my
eyes on the lifeless form of my friend, indignation was re-kindled within me. “Wretch!” I
said, “it is well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you have made. You
throw a torch into a pile of buildings; and when they are consumed you sit among the
ruins, and lament the fall. Hypo
“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 sym
“You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my crimes and his
misfortunes. But, in the detail which he gave you of them, he could not sum up the hours
and months of misery which I endured, wasting in impotent passions. For whilst I destroyed
his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires. They were for ever ardent and craving; still
I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no injustice in this? Am
I to be thought the only criminal, when all human kind sinned against me? Why do you not
hate Felix, who drove his friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the
rustic who sought to
“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
“Fear not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work is nearly complete.
Neither your’s nor any man’s death is needed to consummate the series of my being, and
accomplish that which must be done; but it requires my own. Do not think that I shall be
slow to perform this sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice-raft which brought me
hither, and shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall collect my
funeral pile, and consume to ashes this miserable frame, that its remains may afford no
light to any curious and unhallowed wretch, who would create such another as I have been.
I shall
“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
He sprung from the cabin-window, as he said this, upon the ice-raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves, and lost in darkness and distance.
THE END.