public business. He passed his younger
days perpetually occupied by the affairs of
his country; a variety of circumstances had
prevented his marrying early, nor was it until
the decline of life that he became a husband
and the father of a family.

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

Beaufort had taken effectual measures to
conceal himself; and it was ten months

-1-

There was a considerable difference
between the ages of my parents, but this
circumstance seemed to unite them only
closer in bonds of devoted affection. There
was a sense of justice in my father's upright
mind, which rendered it necessary that he
should approve highly to love strongly.
Perhaps during former years he had
suffered from the late discovered
unworthiness of one beloved, and so was
disposed to set a greater value on tried
worth. There was a show of gratitude and
worship in his attachment to my mother,
differing wholly from the doating fondness
of age, for it was inspired by reverence for
her virtues, and a desire to be the means of,
in some degree, recompensing her for the
sorrows she had endured, but which gave
inexpressible grace to his behaviour to her.
Everything was made to yield to her wishes
and her convenience. He strove to shelter
her, as a fair exotic is sheltered by the
gardener, from every rougher wind, and to
surround her with all that could tend to excite
pleasurable emotion in her soft and
benevolent mind. Her health, and even the
tranquillity of her hitherto constant spirit, had
been shaken by what she had gone through.
During the two years that had elapsed
previous to their marriage my father had
gradually relinquished all his public
functions; and immediately after their union
they sought the pleasant climate of italy, and
the change of scene and interest attendant
on a tour through that land of wonders, as a
restorative for her weakened frame.

From Italy they visted Germany and France.
I, their eldest child, was born in Naples, and
as an infant accompanied them in their
rambles. I remained for several years their
only child. Much as they were attached to
each other, they seemed to draw
inexhaustible stores of affection from a very
mine of love to bestow them upon me. My
mother's tender caresses, and my father's

-2-

four others were dark eyed, hardy little
vagrants; this child was thin, and very fair.
Her hair was the brightest living gold, and,
despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed
to set a crown of distinction on her head.
Her brow was clear and ample, her blue
eyes cloudless, and her lips and the
moulding of her face so expressive of
sensibility and sweetness, that none could
behold her without looking on her as of a
distinct species, a being heaven-sent, and
bearing a celestial stamp in all her features.

The peasant woman, perceiving that my
mother fixed eyes of wonder and
admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly
communicated her history. She was not her
child, but the daughter of a Milanese
nobleman. Her mother was a German, and
had died on giving her birth. The infant had
been placed with these good people to
nurse: they were better off then. They had
not been long married, and their eldest child
was but just born. The father of their charge
was one of those Italians nursed in the
memory of the antique glory of Italy--one
among the _schiavi ognor frementi_, who
exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his
country. He became the victim of its
weakness. Whether he had died, or still
lingered in the dungeons of Austria, was not
known. His property was confiscated, his
child became an orphan and a beggar. She
continued with her foster parents, and
bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a
garden rose among dark-leaved brambles.

When my father returned from Milan, he
found playing with me in the hall of our villa a
child fairer than pictured cherub--a
creature who seemed to shed radiance
from her looks, and whose form and
motions were lighter than the chamois of the
hills. The apparition was soon explained.
With his permission my mother prevailed on
her rustic guardians to yield their charge to

-3-

herself with following the aerial creations of
the poets; and in the majestic and
wondrous scenes which surrounded our
Swiss home--the sublime shapes of the
mountains; the changes of the seasons;
tempest and calm; the silence of winter,
and the life and turbulence of our Alpine
summers--she found ample scope for
admiration and delight. While my companion
contemplated with a serious and satisfied
spirit the magnificent appearances of
things, I delighted in investigating their
causes. The world was to me a secret
which I desired to divine. Curiosity, earnest
research to learn the hidden laws of nature,
gladness akin to rapture, as they were
unfolded to me, are among the earliest
sensations I can remember.

On the birth of a second son, my junior by
seven years, my parents gave up entirely
their wandering life, and fixed themselves in
their native country. We possessed a house
in Geneva, and a _campagne_ on Belrive,
the eastern shore of the lake, at the
distance of rather more than a league from
the city. We resided principally in the latter,
and the lives of my parents were passed in
considerable seclusion. It was my temper to
avoid a crowd, and to attach myself
fervently to a few. I was indifferent,
therefore, to my schoolfellows in general;
but I united myself in the bonds of the
closest friendship to one among them.
Henry Clerval was the son of a merchant of
Geneva. He was a boy of singular talent and
fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and
even danger, for its own sake. He was
deeply read in books of chivalry and
romance. He composed heroic songs, and
began to write many a tale of enchantment
and knightly adventure. He tried to make us
act plays, and to enter into masquerades, in
which the characters were drawn from the
heroes of Roncesvalles, of the Round Table
of King Arthur, and the chivalrous train who

-4-

animate us. She was the living spirit of love
to soften and attract: I might have become
sullen in my study, rough through the ardour
of my nature, but that she was there to
subdue me to a semblance of her own
gentleness. And Clerval--could aught ill
entrench on the noble spirit of Clerval?--yet
he might not have been so perfectly
humane, so thoughtful in his generosity--so
full of kindness and tenderness amidst his
passion for adventurous exploit, had she
not unfolded to him the real loveliness of
beneficence, and made the doing good the
end and aim of his soaring ambition.

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

Natural philosophy is the genius that has
regulated my fate; I desire, therefore, in this
narration, to state those facts which led to
my predilection for that science. When I was
thirteen years of age, we all went on a party
of pleasure to the baths near Thonon: the
inclemency of the weather obliged us to
remain a day confined to the inn. In this
house I chanced to find a volume of the
works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened it with
apathy; the theory which he attempts to
demonstrate, and the wonderful facts which
he relates, soon changed this feeling into
enthusiasm. A new light seemed to dawn

-5-

my boy's apprehensions, as tyros engaged
in the same pursuit.

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

But here were books, and here were men
who had penetrated deeper and knew
more. I took their word for all that they
averred, and I became their disciple. It may
appear strange that such should arise in the
eighteenth century; but while I followed the
routine of education in the schools of
Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self
taught with regard to my favourite studies.
My father was not scientific, and I was left to
struggle with a child's blindness, added to a
student's thirst for knowledge. Under the
guidance of my new preceptors, I entered
with the greatest diligence into the search of
the philosopher's stone and the elixir of life;
but the latter soon obtained my undivided
attention. Wealth was an inferior object; but
what glory would attend the discovery, if I
could banish disease from the human
frame, and render man invulnerable to any
but a violent death!

Nor were these my only visions. The raising
of ghosts or devils was a promise liberally
accorded by my favourite authors, the
fulfilment of which I most eagerly sought;
and if my incantations were always
unsuccessful, I attributed the failure rather to

-6-

or could ever be known. All that had so long
engaged my attention suddenly grew
despicable. By one of those caprices of the
mind, which we are perhaps most subject
to in early youth, I at once gave up my former
occupations; set down natural history and
all its progeny as a deformed and abortive
creation; and entertained the greatest
disdain for a would-be science, which
could never even step within the threshold of
real knowledge. In this mood of mind I
betook myself to the mathematics, and the
branches of study appertaining to that
science, as being built upon secure
foundations, and so worthy of my
consideration.

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

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

Chapter 3

When I had attained the age of seventeen,
my parents resolved that I should become a
student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had
hitherto attended the schools of Geneva;

-7-

not describe the feelings of those whose
dearest ties are rent by that most
irreparable evil; the void that presents itself
to the soul; and the despair that is exhibited
on the countenance. It is so long before the
mind can persuade itself that she, whom we
saw every day, and whose very existence
appeared a part of our own, can have
departed for ever--that the brightness of a
beloved eye can have been extinguished,
and the sound of a voice so familiar, and
dear to the ear, can be hushed, never more
to be heard. These are the reflections of the
first days; but when the lapse of time proves
the reality of the evil, then the actual
bitterness of grief commences. Yet from
whom has not that rude hand rent away
some dear connection? and why should I
describe a sorrow which all have felt, and
must feel? The time at length arrives, when
grief is rather an indulgence than a
necessity; and the smile that plays upon the
lips, although it may be deemed a
sacrilege, is not banished. My mother was
dead, but we had still duties which we ought
to perform; we must continue our course
with the rest, and learn to think ourselves
fortunate, whilst one remains whom the
spoiler has not seized. My departure for
Ingolstadt, which had been deferred by
these events, was now again determined
upon. I obtained from my father a respite of
some weeks. It appeared to me sacrilege
so soon to leave the repose, akin to death,
of the house of mourning, and to rush into
the thick of life. I was new to sorrow, but it
did not the less alarm me. I was unwilling to
quit the sight of those that remained to me;
and, above all, I desired to see my sweet
Elizabeth in some degree consoled.

She indeed veiled her grief, and strove to
act the comforter to us all. She looked
steadily on life, and assumed its duties with
courage and zeal. She devoted herself to
those whom she had been taught to call her

-8-

new countenances. I loved my brothers,
Elizabeth, and Clerval; these were "old
familiar faces;" but I believed myself totally
unfitted for the company of strangers. Such
were my reflections as I commenced my
journey; but as I proceeded my spirits and
hopes rose. I ardently desired the
acquisition of knowledge. I had often, when
at home, thought it hard to remain during my
youth cooped up in one place, and had
longed to enter the world, and take my
station among other human beings. Now my
desires were compiled with, and it would,
indeed, have been folly to repent.

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

The next morning I delivered my letters of
introduction and paid a visit to some of the
principal professors. Chance--or rather the
evil influence, the Angel of Destruction,
which asserted omnipotent sway over me
from the moment I turned my reluctant steps
from my father's door led me first to M.
Krempe, professor of natural philosophy.
He was an uncouth man, but deeply
embued in the secrets of his science. He
asked me several questions concerning my
progress in the different branches of
science appertaining to natural philosophy. I
replied carelessly; and, partly in contempt,
mentioned the names of my alchymists as
the principal authors I had studied. The
professor stared: "Have you," he said,
"really spent your time in studying such
nonsense?"

I replied in the affirmative. "Every minute,"
continued M. Krempe with warmth, "every
instant that you have wasted on those books

-9-

dreams of forgotten alchymists. Besides, I
had a contempt for the uses of modern
natural philosophy. It was very different
when the masters of the science sought
immortality and power; such views,
although futile, were grand: but now the
scene was changed. The ambition of the
inquirer seemed to limit itself to the
annihilation of those visions on which my
interest in science was chiefly founded. I
was required to exchange chimeras of
boundless grandeur for realities of little
worth.

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

Partly from curiosity, and partly from
idleness, I went into the lecturing room,
which M. Waldman entered shortly after.
This professor was very unlike his
colleague. He appeared about fifty years of
age, but with an aspect expressive of the
greatest benevolence; a few grey hairs
covered his temples, but those at the back
of his head were nearly black. His person
was short, but remarkably erect; and his
voice the sweetest I had ever heard. He
began his lecture by a recapitulation of the
history of chemistry, and the various
improvements made by different men of
learning, pronouncing with fervour the
names of the most distinguished
discoverers. He then took a cursory view of

-10-

but I had no power to produce it. By
degrees, after the morning's dawn, sleep
came. I awoke, and my yesternight's
thoughts were as a dream. There only
remained a resolution to return to my
ancient studies, and to devote myself to a
science for which I believed myself to
possess a natural talent. On the same day, I
paid M. Waldman a visit. His manners in
private were even more mild and attractive
than in public; for there was a certain dignity
in his mien during his lecture, which in his
own house was replaced by the greatest
affability and kindness. I gave him pretty
nearly the same account of my former
pursuits as I had given to his fellow-
professor. He heard with attention the little
narration concerning my studies, and
smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa
and Paracelsus, but without the contempt
that M. Krempe had exhibited. He said, that
"these were men to whose indefatigable
zeal modern philosophers were indebted
for most of the foundations of their
knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier
task, to give new names, and arrange in
connected classifications, the facts which
they in a great degree had been the
instruments of bringing to light. The labours
of men of genius, however erroneously
directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimately
turning to the solid advantage of mankind." I
listened to his statement, which was
delivered without any presumption or
affectation; and then added, that his lecture
had removed my prejudices against
modern chemists; I expressed myself in
measured terms, with the modesty and
deference due from a youth to his instructor,
without letting escape (inexperience in life
would have made me ashamed) any of the
enthusiasm which stimulated my intended
labours. I requested his advice concerning
the books I ought to procure.

"I am happy," said M. Waldman, "to have

-11-

gentleness was never tinged by
dogmatism; and his instructions were given
with an air of frankness and good nature
that banished every idea of pedantry. In a
thousand ways he smoothed for me the
path of knowledge, and made the most
abstruse inquiries clear and facile to my
apprehension. My application was at first
fluctuating and uncertain; it gained strength
as I proceeded, and soon became so
ardent and eager that the stars often
disappeared in the light of morning whilst I
was yet engaged in my laboratory.

As I applied so closely, it may be easily
conceived that my progress was rapid. My
ardour was indeed the astonishment of the
students, and my proficiency that of the
masters. Professor Krempe often asked
me, with a sly smile, how Cornelius Agrippa
went on? whilst M. Waldman expressed the
most heartfelt exultation in my progress.
Two years passed in this manner, during
which I paid no visit to Geneva, but was
engaged, heart and soul, in the pursuit of
some discoveries, which I hoped to make.
None but those who have experienced them
can conceive of the enticements of science.
In other studies you go as far as others have
gone before you, and there is nothing more
to know; but in a scientific pursuit there is
continual food for discovery and wonder. A
mind of moderate capacity, which closely
pursues one study, must infallibly arrive at
great proficiency in that study; and I, who
continuity sought the attainment of one
object of pursuit, and was solely wrapt up in
this, improved so rapidly that, at the end of
two years, I made some discoveries in the
improvement of some chemical instruments
which procured me great esteem and
admiration at the university. When I had
arrived at this point, and had become as
well acquainted with the theory and practice
of natural philosophy as depended on the
lessons of any of the professors at

-12-

was degraded and wasted; I beheld the
corruption of death succeed to the blooming
cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited
the wonders of the eye and brain. I paused,
examining and analysing all the minutia of
causation, as exemplified in the change
from life to death, and death to life, until
from the midst of this darkness a sudden
light broke in upon me--a light so brilliant
and wondrous, yet so simple, that while I
became dizzy with the immensity of the
prospect which it illustrated, I was
surprised, that among so many men of
genius who had directed their inquiries
towards the same science, that I alone
should be reserved to discover so
astonishing a secret.

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

The astonishment which I had at first
experienced on this discovery soon gave
place to delight and rapture. After so much
time spent in painful labour, to arrive at once
at the summit of my desires was the most
gratifying consummation of my toils. But this
discovery was so great and overwhelming
that all the steps by which I had been
progressively led to it were obliterated, and
I beheld only the result. What had been the
study and desires 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

-13-

considered the improvement which every
day takes place in science and mechanics, I
was encouraged to hope my present
attempts would at least lay the foundations
of future success. Nor could I consider the
magnitude and complexity of my plan as any
argument of its impracticability. It was with
these feelings that I began the creation of a
human being. As the minuteness of the
parts formed a great hinderance to my
speed, I resolved, contrary to my first
intention, to make the being of a gigantic
stature; that is to say, about eight feet in
height, and proportionably large. After
having formed this determination, and
having spent some months in successfully
collecting and arranging my materials, I
began.

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

These thoughts supported my spirits, while I
pursued my undertaking with unremitting
ardour. My cheek had grown pale with
study, and my person had become
emaciated with confinement. Sometimes,
on the very brink of certainty, I failed; yet still
I clung to the hope which the next day or the
next hour might realise. One secret which I
alone possessed was the hope to which I

-14-

know that while you are pleased with
yourself, you will think of us with affection,
and we shall hear regularly from you. You
must pardon me if I regard any interruption
in your correspondence as a proof that your
other duties are equally neglected."

I knew well, therefore, what would be my
father's feelings; but I could not tear my
thoughts from my employment, loathsome
in itself, but which had taken an irresistible
hold of my imagination. I wished, as it were,
to procrastinate all that related to my
feelings of affection until the great object,
which swallowed up every habit of my
nature, should be completed.

I then thought that my father would be unjust
if he ascribed my neglect to vice, or
faultiness on my part; but I am now
convinced that he was justified in
conceiving that I should not be altogether
free from blame. A human being in
perfection ought always to preserve a calm
and peaceful mind, and never to allow
passion or a transitory desire to disturb his
tranquillity. I do not think that the pursuit of
knowledge is an exception to this rule. If the
study to which you apply yourself has a
tendency to weaken your affections, and to
destroy your taste for those simple
pleasures in which no alloy can possibly
mix, then that study is certainly unlawful, that
is to say, not befitting the human mind. If this
rule were always observed; if no man
allowed any pursuit whatsoever to interfere
with the tranquillity of his domestic
affections, Greece had not been enslaved;
Caesar would have spared his country;
America would have been discovered more
gradually; and the empires of Mexico and
Peru had not been destroyed.

But I forget that I am moralising in the most
interesting part of my tale; and your looks
remind me to proceed.

-15-

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

The different accidents of life are not so
changeable as the feelings of human
nature. I had worked hard for nearly two
years, for the sole purpose of infusing life
into an inanimate body. For this I had
deprived myself of rest and health. I had
desired it with an ardour that far exceeded
moderation; but now that I had finished, the
beauty of the dream vanished, and
breathless horror and disgust filled my
heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the
being I had created, I rushed out of the
room, and continued a long time traversing
my bedchamber, unable to compose my
mind to sleep. At length lassitude
succeeded to the tumult I had before
endured; and I threw myself on the bed in
my clothes, endeavouring to seek a few
moments of forgetfulness. But it was in vain:
I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the
wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, in
the bloom of health, walking in the streets of
Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I
embraced her; but as I imprinted the first
kiss on her lips, they became livid with the
hue of death; her features appeared to
change, and I thought that I held the corpse
of my dead mother in my arms; a shroud
enveloped her form, and I saw the grave-
worms crawling in the folds of the flannel. I

-16-

and discovered to my sleepless and aching
eyes the church of Ingolstadt, its white
steeple and clock, which indicated the sixth
hour. The porter opened the gates of the
court, which had that night been my asylum,
and I issued into the streets, pacing them
with quick steps, as if I sought to avoid the
wretch whom I feared every turning of the
street would present to my view. I did not
dare return to the apartment which I
inhabited, but felt impelled to hurry on,
although drenched by the rain which poured
from a black and comfortless sky.

I continued walking in this manner for some
time, endeavouring, by bodily exercise, to
ease the load that weighed upon my mind. I
traversed the streets, without any clear
conception of where I was, or what I was
doing. My heart palpitated in the sickness of
fear; and I hurried on with irregular steps,
not daring to look about me:

"Like one who, on a lonely road, Doth walk
in fear and dread, And, having once turned
round, walks on, And turns no more his
head; Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread."[1]

[1] Coleridge's _Ancient Mariner._

Continuing thus, I came at length opposite
to the inn at which the various diligences
and carriages usually stopped. Here I
paused, I knew not why; but I remained
some minutes with my eyes fixed on a
coach that was coming towards me from
the other end of the street. As it drew
nearer, I observed that it was the Swiss
diligence: it stopped just where I was
standing, and, on the door being opened, I
perceived Henry Clerval, who, on seeing
me, instantly sprung out. "My dear
Frankenstein," exclaimed he, "how glad I
am to see you! how fortunate that you
should be here at the very moment of my

-17-

have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as
you see: but I hope, I sincerely hope, that all
these employments are now at an end, and
that I am at length free."

I trembled excessively; I could not endure to
think of, and far less to allude to, the
occurrences of the preceding night. I
walked with a quick pace, and we soon
arrived at my college. I then reflected, and
the thought made me shiver, that the
creature whom I had left in my apartment
might still be there, alive, and walking
about. I dreaded to bchold this monster; but I
feared still more that Henry should see him.
Entreating him, therefore, to remain a few
minutes at the bottom of the stairs, I darted
up towards my own room. My hand was
already on the lock of the door before I
recollected myself. I then paused; and a
cold shivering came over me. I threw the
door forcibly open, as children are
accustomed to do when they expect a
spectre to stand in waiting for them on the
other side; but nothing appeared. I stepped
fearfully in: the apartment was empty; and
my bedroom was also freed from its
hideous guest. I could hardly believe that so
great a good fortune could have befallen
me; but when I became assured that my
enemy had indeed fled, I clapped my hands
for joy, and ran down to Clerval.

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

-18-

be the wanderings of my disturbed
imagination; but the pertinacity with which I
continually recurred to the same subject,
persuaded him that my disorder indeed
owed its origin to some uncommon and
terrible event.

By very slow degrees, and with frequent
relapses that alarmed and grieved my
friend, I recovered. I remember the first time
I became capable of observing outward
objects with any kind of pleasure, I
perceived that the fallen leaves had
disappeared, and that the young buds were
shooting forth from the trees that shaded my
window. It was a divine spring; and the
season contributed greatly to my
convalescence. I felt also sentiments of joy
and affection revive in my bosom; my gloom
disappeared, and in a short time I became
as cheerful as before I was attacked by the
fatal passion.

"Dearest Clerval," exclaimed I, "how kind,
how very good you are to me. This whole
winter, instead of being spent in study, as
you promised yourself, has been consumed
in my sick room. How shall I ever repay you?
I feel the greatest remorse for the
disappointment of which I have been the
occasion; but you will forgive me."

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

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

"Compose yourself," said Clerval, who
observed my change of colour, "I will not
mention it, if it agitates you; but your father
and cousin would be very happy if they

-19-

happy, cheerful home, and friends who love
you dearly. Your father's health is vigorous,
and he asks but to see you--but to be
assured that you are well; and not a care will
ever cloud his benevolent countenance.
How pleased you would be to remark the
improvement of our Ernest! He is now
sixteen, and full of activity and spirit. He is
desirous to be a true Swiss, and to enter
into foreign service; but we cannot part with
him, at least until his elder brother return to
us. My uncle is not pleased with the idea of
a military career in a distant country; but
Ernest never had your powers of
application. He looks upon study as an
odious fetter;--his time is spent in the open
air, climbing the hills or rowing on the lake. I
fear that he will become an idler, unless we
yield the point, and permit him to enter on
the profession which he has selected.

"Little alteration, except the growth of our
dear children, has taken place since you left
us. The blue lake, and snow-clad
mountains, they never change;--and I think
our placid home and our contented hearts
are related by the same immutable laws. My
trifling occupations take up my time and
amuse me, and I am rewarded for any
exertions by seeing none but happy, kind
faces around me. Since you left us, but one
change has taken place in our little
household. Do you remember on what
occasion Justine Moritz entered our family?
Probably you do not; I will relate her history,
therefore, in a few words. Madame Moritz,
her mother, was a widow with four children,
of whom Justine was the third. This girl had
always been the favourite of her father; but,
through a strange perversity, her mother
could not endure her, and after the death of
M. Moritz, treated her very ill. My aunt
observed this; and, when Justine was
twelve years of age, prevailed on her
mother to allow her to live at our house. The
republican institutions of our country have

-20-

"One by one, her brothers and sister died;
and her mother, with the exception of her
neglected daughter, was left childless. The
conscience of the woman was troubled;
she began to think that the deaths of her
favourites was a judgment from heaven to
chastise her partiality. She was a Roman
Catholic; and I believe her confessor
confirmed the idea which she had
conceived. Accordingly, a few months after
your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine was
called home by her repentant mother. Poor
girl! she wept when she quitted our house;
she was much altered since the death of my
aunt; grief had given softness and a winning
mildness to her manners, which had before
been remarkable for vivacity. Nor was her
residence at her mother's house of a nature
to restore her gaiety. The poor woman was
very vacillating in her repentance. She
sometimes begged Justine to forgive her
unkindness, but much oftener accused her
of having caused the deaths of her brothers
and sister. Perpetual fretting at length threw
Madame Moritz into a decline, which at first
increased her irritability, but she is now at
peace for ever. She died on the first
approach of cold weather, at the beginning
of this last winter. Justine has returned to us;
and I assure you I love her tenderly. She is
very clever and gentle, and extremely pretty;
as I mentioned before, her mien and her
expressions continually remind me of my
dear aunt.

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

-21-

beginning of my misfortunes, I had
conceived a violent antipathy even to the
name of natural philosophy. When I was
otherwise quite restored to health, the sight
of a chemical instrument would renew all the
agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw
this, and had removed all my apparatus
from my view. He had also changed my
apartment; for he perceived that I had
acquired a dislike for the room which had
previously been my laboratory. But these
cares of Clerval were made of no avail
when I visited the professors. M. Waldman
inflicted torture when he praised, with
kindness and warmth, the astonishing
progress I had made in the sciences. He
soon perceived that I disliked the subject;
but not guessing the real cause, he
attributed my feelings to modesty, and
changed the subject from my improvement,
to the science itself, with a desire, as I
evidently saw, of drawing me out. What
could I do? He meant to please, and he
tormented me. I felt as if he had placed
carefully, one by one, in my view those
instruments which were to be afterwards
used in putting me to a slow and cruel death.
I writhed under his words, yet dared not
exhibit the pain I felt. Clerval, whose eyes
and feelings were always quick in
discerning the sensations of others,
declined the subject, alleging, in excuse,
his total ignorance; and the conversation
took a more general turn. I thanked my
friend from my heart, but I did not speak. I
saw plainly that he was surprised, but he
never attempted to draw my secret from
me; and although I loved him with a mixture
of affection and reverence that knew no
bounds, yet I could never persuade myself
to confide to him that event which was so
often present to my recollection, but which I
feared the detail to another would only
impress more deeply.

M. Krempe was not equally docile; and in

-22-

not contemplate making any other use of
them than temporary amusement. I read
merely to understand their meaning, and
they well repaid my labours. Their
melancholy is soothing, and their joy
elevating, to a degree I never experienced
in studying the authors of any other country.
When you read their writings, life appears to
consist in a warm sun and a garden of
roses--in the smiles and frowns of a fair
enemy, and the fire that consumes your own
heart. How different from the manly and
heroical poetry of Greece and Rome!

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

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

We passed a fortnight in these
perambulations: my health and spirits had

-23-

every one we met appeared gay and happy.
My own spirits were high, and I bounded
along with feelings of unbridled joy and
hilarity.

Chapter 7

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

"MY DEAR VICTOR,--You have probably
waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date
of your return to us; and I was at first
tempted to write only a few lines, merely
mentioning the day on which I should expect
you. But that would be a cruel kindness, and
I dare not do it. What would be your surprise,
my son, when you expected a happy and
glad welcome, to behold, on the contrary,
tears and wretchedness? And how, Victor,
can I relate our misfortune? Absence cannot
have rendered you callous to our joys and
griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on my long
absent Son? I wish to prepare you for the
woeful news, but I know it is impossible;
even now your eye skims over the page, to
seek the words which are to convey to you
the horrible tidings.

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

"I will not attempt to console you; but will
simply relate the circumstances of the
transaction.

"Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and
your two brothers, went to walk in
Plainpalais. The evening was warm and
serene, and we prolonged our walk farther
than usual. It was already dusk before we
thought of returning; and then we
discovered that William and Ernest, who
had gone on before, were not to be found.

-24-

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

"Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of
vengeance against the assassin, but with
feelings of peace and gentleness, that will
heal, instead of festering, the wounds of our
minds. Enter the house of mourning, my
friend, but with kindness and affection for
those who love you, and not with hatred for
your enemies.--Your affectionate and
afflicted father, ALPHONSE
FRANKENSTEIN. "GENEVA, _May 12th, 17-
-._"

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

"My dear Frankenstein," exclaimed Henry,
when he perceived me weep with
bitterness, "are you always to be unhappy?
My dear friend, what has happened?"

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

"I can offer you no consolation, my friend,"
said he; "your disaster is irreparable. What
do you intend to do?"

"To go instantly to Geneva: come with me,

-25-

unable to define them.

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

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

I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself
tedious by dwelling on these preliminary
circumstances; but they were days of
comparative happiness, and I think of them
with pleasure. My country, my beloved
country! who but a native can tell the delight I
took in again beholding thy streams, thy
mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely
lake!

Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear
again overcame me. Night also closed
around; and when I could hardly see the
dark mountains, I felt still more gloomily. The
picture appeared a vast and dim scene of
evil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was
destined to become the most wretched of
human beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and
failed only in one single circumstance, that
in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I
did not conceive the hundredth part of the
anguish I was destined to endure.

It was completely dark when I arrived in the

-26-

words, I perceived in the gloom a figure
which stole from behind a clump of trees
near me; I stood fixed, gazing intently: I
could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning
illuminated the object, and discovered its
shape plainly to me; its gigantic stature, and
the deformity of its aspect, more hideous
than belongs to humanity, instantly informed
me that it was the wretch, the filthy daemon,
to whom I had given life. What did he there?
Could he be (I shuddered at the conception)
the murderer of my brother? No sooner did
that idea cross my imagination, than I
became convinced of its truth; my teeth
chattered, and I was forced to lean against
a tree for support. The figure passed me
quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in
human shape could have destroyed that fair
child. _He_ was the murderer! I could not
doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was
an irresistible proof of the fact. I thought of
pursuing the devil; but it would have been in
vain, for another flash discovered him to me
hanging among the rocks of the nearly
perpendicular ascent of Mont Saleve, 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 bedside; its
departure. Two years had now nearly
elapsed since the night on which he first
received life; and was this his first crime?
Alas! I had turned loose into the world a
depraved wretch, whose delight was in
carnage and misery; had he not murdered
my brother?

No one can conceive the anguish I suffered

-27-

same place where I had last embraced my
father before my departure for Ingolstadt.
Beloved and venerable parent! He still
remained to me. I gazed on the picture of my
mother, which stood over the mantel-piece.
It was an historical subject, painted at my
father's desire, and represented Caroline
Beaufort in an agony of despair, kneeling
by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb
was rustic, and her cheek pale; but there
was an air of dignity and beauty, that hardly
permitted the sentiment of pity. Below this
picture was a miniature of William; and my
tears flowed when I looked upon it. While I
was thus engaged, Ernest entered: he had
heard me arrive, and hastened to welcome
me. He expressed a sorrowful delight to
see me: "Welcome, my dearest Victor," said
he. "Ah! I wish you had come three months
ago, and then you would have found us all
joyous and delighted! You come to us now
to share a misery which nothing can
alleviate; yet your presence will, I hope,
revive our father, who seems sinking under
his misfortune; and your persuasions will
induce poor Elizabeth to cease her vain and
tormenting self-accusations.--Poor
William! he was our darling and our pride!"

Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother's
eyes; a sense of mortal agony crept over my
frame. Before, I had only imagined the
wretchedness of my desolated home; the
reality came on me as a new, and a not less
terrible, disaster. I tried to calm Ernest; I
inquired more minutely concerning my
father and her I named my cousin.

"She most of all," said Ernest, "requires
consolation; she accused herself of having
caused the death of my brother, and that
made her very wretched. But since the
murderer has been discovered--"

"The murderer discovered! Good God! how
can that be? who could attempt to pursue

-28-

This was a strange tale, but it did not shake
my faith; and I replied earnestly, "You are all
mistaken; I know the murderer. Justine,
poor, good Justine, is innocent."

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

"We do also, unfortunately," replied my
father; "for indeed I had rather have been for
ever ignorant than have discovered so much
depravity and ingratitude in one I valued so
highly."

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

"If she is, God forbid that she should suffer
as guilty. She is to be tried to-day, and I
hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be
acquitted."

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

We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time

-29-

whole of this wretched mockery of justice I
suffered living torture. It was to be decided,
whether the result of my curiosity and
lawless devices would cause the death of
two of my fellow-beings: one a smiling
babe, full of innocence and joy; the other far
more dreadfully murdered, with every
aggravation of infamy that could make the
murder memorable in horror. Justine also
was a girl of merit, and possessed qualities
which promised to render her life happy:
now all was to be obliterated in an
ignominious grave; and I the cause! A
thousand times rather would I have
confessed myself guilty of the crime
ascribed to Justine; but I was absent when it
was committed, and such a declaration
would have been considered as the ravings
of a madman, and would not have
exculpated her who suffered through me.

The appearance of Justine was calm. She
was dressed in mourning; and her
countenance, always engaging, was
rendered, by the solemnity of her feelings,
exquisitely beautiful. Yet she appeared
confident in innocence, and did not tremble,
although gated on and execrated by
thousands; for all the kindness which her
beauty might otherwise have excited, was
obliterated in the minds of the spectators by
the imagination of the enormity she was
supposed to have committed. She was
tranquil, yet her tranquillity was evidently
constrained; and as her confusion had
before been adduced as a proof of her
guilt, she worked up her mind to an
appearance of courage. When she entered
the court, she threw her eyes round it, and
quickly discovered where we were seated.
A tear seemed to dim her eye when she
saw us; but she quickly recovered herself,
and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to
attest her utter guiltlessness.

The trial began; and, after the advocate

-30-

where any circumstance appears doubtful
or suspicious."

She then related that, by the permission of
Elizabeth, she had passed the evening of
the night on which the murder had been
committed at the house of an aunt at Chene,
a village situated at about a league from
Geneva. On her return, at about nine
o'clock, she met a man, who asked her if
she had seen anything of the child who was
lost. She was alarmed by this account, and
passed several hours in looking for him,
when the gates of Geneva were shut, and
she was forced to remain several hours of
the night in a barn belonging to a cottage,
being unwilling to call up the inhabitants, to
whom she was well known. Most of the
night she spent here watching; towards
morning she believed that she slept for a
few minutes; some steps disturbed her,
and she awoke. It was dawn, and she
quitted her asylum, that she might again
endeavour to find my brother. If she had
gone near the spot where his body lay, it
was without her knowledge. That she had
been bewildered when questioned by the
market-woman was not surprising, since
she had passed a sleepless night, and the
fate of poor William was yet uncertain.
Concerning the picture she could give no
account.

"I know," continued the unhappy victim,
"how heavily and fatally this one
circumstance weighs against me, but I have
no power of explaining it; and when I have
expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left
to conjecture concerning the probabilities
by which it might have been placed in my
pocket. But here also I am checked. I
believe that I have no enemy on earth, and
none surely would have been so wicked as
to destroy me wantonly. Did the murderer
place it there? I know of no opportunity
afforded him for so doing; or, if I had, why

-31-

which she again lived in my uncle's house,
where she was beloved by all the family.
She was warmly attached to the child who is
now dead, and acted towards him like a
most affectionate mother. For my own part,
I do not hesitate to say, that,
notwithstanding all the evidence produced
against her, I believe and rely on her perfect
innocence. She had no temptation for such
an action: as to the bauble on which the
chief proof rests, if she had earnestly
desired it, I should have willingly given it to
her; so much do I esteem and value her."

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

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

-32-

accompany me: I cannot go alone." The
idea of this visit was torture to me, yet I
could not refuse.

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

"Oh, Justine!" said she, "why did you rob me
of my last consolation? I relied on your
innocence; and although I was then very
wretched, I was not so miserable as I am
now."

"And do you also believe that I am so very,
very wicked? Do you also join with my
enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a
murderer?" Her voice was suffocated with
sobs.

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

"I did confess; but I confessed a lie. I
confessed, that I might obtain absolution;
but now that falsehood lies heavier at my
heart than all my other sins. The God of
heaven forgive me! Ever since I was
condemned, my confessor has besieged
me; he threatened and menaced, until I
almost began to think that I was the monster
that he said I was. He threatened
excommunication and hell fire in my last
moments, if I continued obdurate. Dear

-33-

gnashed my teeth, and ground them
together, uttering a groan that came from
my inmost soul. Justine started. When she
saw who it was, she approached me, and
said, "Dear sir, you are very kind to visit me;
you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?"

I could not answer. "No, Justine," said
Elizabeth; "he is more convinced of your
innocence than I was; for even when he
heard that you had confessed, he did not
credit it."

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

Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort
others and herself. She indeed gained the
resignation she desired. But I, the true
murderer, felt the never-dying worm alive in
my bosom, which allowed of no hope or
consolation. Elizabeth also wept, and was
unhappy; but her's also was the misery of
innocence, which, like a cloud that passes
over the fair moon, for a while hides but
cannot tarnish its brightness. Anguish and
despair had penetrated into the core of my
heart; I bore a hell within me, which nothing
could extinguish. We stayed several hours
with Justine; and it was with great difficulty
that Elizabeth could tear herself away. "I
wish," cried she, "that I were to die with you;
I cannot live in this world of misery."

Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness,
while she with difficulty repressed her bitter
tears. She embraced Elizabeth, and said,
in a voice of half-suppressed emotion,
"Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth,
my beloved and only friend; may Heaven, in

-34-

hapless victims to my unhallowed arts.

Chapter 9

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

This state of mind preyed upon my health,
which had perhaps never entirely recovered
from the first shock it had sustained. I
shunned the face of man; all sound of joy or
complacency was torture to me; solitude
was my only consolation--deep, dark,
deathlike solitude.

My father observed with pain the alteration
perceptible in my disposition and habits,
and endeavoured by arguments deduced
from the feelings of his serene conscience
and guiltless life, to inspire me with
fortitude, and awaken in me the courage to

-35-

the waters might close over me and my
calamities for ever. But I was restrained,
when I thought of the heroic and suffering
Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved, and
whose existence was bound up in mine. I
thought also of my father and surviving
brother: should I by my base desertion leave
them exposed and unprotected to the
malice of the fiend whom I had let loose
among them?

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

Our house was the house of mourning. My
father's health was deeply shaken by the
horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was
sad and desponding; she no longer took
delight in her ordinary occupations; all
pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward

-36-

world free, and perhaps respected. But
even if I were condemned to suffer on the
scaffold for the same crimes, I would not
change places with such a wretch."

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

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

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

Sometimes I could cope with the sullen
despair that overwhelmed me: but

-37-

another earth, the habitations of another
race of beings.

I passed the bridge of Pelissier, where the
ravine, which the river forms, opened
before me, and I began to ascend the
mountain that overhangs it. Soon after I
entered the valley of Chamounix. This valley
is more wonderful and sublime, but not so
beautiful and picturesque, as that of
Servox, through which I had just passed.
The high and snowy mountains were its
immediate boundaries; but I saw no more
ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense
glaciers approached the road; I heard the
rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche,
and marked the smoke of its passage. Mont
Blanc, the supreme and magnificent Mont
Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding
_aiguilles_, and its tremendous _dome_
overlooked the valley.

A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often
came across me during this journey. Some
turn in the road, some new object suddenly
perceived and recognised, reminded me of
days gone by, and were associated with the
light-hearted gaiety of boyhood. The very
winds whispered in soothing accents, and
maternal nature bade me weep no more.
Then again the kindly influence ceased to
act--I found myself fettered again to grief,
and indulging in all the misery of reflection.
Then I spurred on my animal, striving so to
forget the world, my fears, and, more than
all, myself--or, in a more desperate
fashion, I alighted, and threw myself on the
grass, weighed down by horror and
despair.

At length I arrived at the village of
Chamounix. Exhaustion succeeded to the
extreme fatigue both of body and of mind
which I had endured. For a short space of
time I remained at the window, watching the
pallid lightnings that played above Mont

-38-

Where had they fled when the next morning I
awoke? All of soul-inspiriting fled with
sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every
thought. The rain was pouring in torrents,
and thick mists hid the summits of the
mountains, so that I even saw not the faces
of those mighty friends. Still I would
penetrate their misty veil, and seek them in
their cloudy retreats. What were rain and
storm to me? My mule was brought to the
door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit
of Montanvert. I remembered the effect that
the view of the tremendous and ever-
moving glacier had produced upon my mind
when I first saw it. It had then filled me with a
sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the soul,
and allowed it to soar from the obscure
world to light and joy. The sight of the awful
and majestic in nature had indeed always
the effect of solemnising my mind, and
causing me to forget the passing cares of
life. I determined to go without a guide, for I
was well acquainted with the path, and the
presence of another would destroy the
solitary grandeur of the scene.

The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut
into continual and short windings, which
enable you to surmount the perpendicularity
of the mountain. It is a scene terrifically
desolate. In a thousand spots the traces of
the winter avalanche may be perceived,
where trees lie broken and strewed on the
ground; some entirely destroyed, others
bent, leaning upon the jutting rocks of the
mountain, or transversely upon other trees.
The path, as you ascend higher, is
intersected by ravines of snow, down which
stones continually roll from above; one of
them is particularly dangerous, as the
slightest sound, such as even speaking in a
loud voice, produces a concussion of air
sufficient to draw destruction upon the head
of the speaker. The pines are not tall or
luxuriant, but they are sombre, and add an
air of severity to the scene. I looked on the

-39-

its dependent mountains, whose aerial
summits hung over its recesses. Their icy
and glittering peaks shone in the sunlight
over the clouds. My heart, which was before
sorrowful, now swelled with something like
joy; I exclaimed "Wandering spirits, if
indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your
narrow beds, allow me this faint happiness,
or take me, as your companion, away from
the joys of life."

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

"Devil," I exclaimed, "do you dare approach
me? and do not you fear the fierce
vengeance of my arm wreaked on your
miserable head? Begone, vile insect! or
rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust!
and, oh! that I could, with the extinction of
your miserable existence, restore those
victims whom you have so diabolically
murdered!"

-40-

angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no
misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from
which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was
benevolent and good; misery made me a
fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be
virtuous."

"Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no
community between you and me; we are
enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength
in a fight, in which one must fall."

"How can I move thee? Will no entreaties
cause thee to turn a favourable eye upon thy
creature, who implores thy goodness and
compassion? Believe me, Frankenstein: I
was benevolent; my soul glowed with love
and humanity: but am I not alone, miserably
alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what
hope can I gather from your fellow-
creatures, who owe me nothing? they spurn
and hate me. The desert mountains and
dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have
wandered here many days; the caves of
ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling
to me, and the only one which man does not
grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they are
kinder to me than your fellow-beings. If the
multitude of mankind knew of my existence,
they would do as you do, and arm
themselves for my destruction. Shall I not
then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no
terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and
they shall share my wretchedness. Yet it is in
your power to recompense me, and deliver
them from an evil which it only remains for
you to make so great that not only you and
your family, but thousands of others, shall
be swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its
rage. Let your compassion be moved, and
do not disdain me. Listen to my tale: when
you have heard that, abandon or
commiserate me, as you shall judge that I
deserve. But hear me. The guilty are
allowed, by human laws, bloody as they
are, to speak in their own defence before

-41-

tale. I was partly urged by curiosity, and
compassion confirmed my resolution. I had
hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of
my brother, and I eagerly sought a
confirmation or denial of this opinion. For
the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a
creator towards his creature were, and that I
ought to render him happy before I
complained of his wickedness. These
motives urged me to comply with his
demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and
ascended the opposite rock. The air was
cold, and the rain again began to descend:
we entered the hut, the fiend with an air of
exultation, I with a heavy heart and
depressed spirits. But I consented to listen;
and, seating myself by the fire which my
odious companion had lighted, he thus
began his tale.

Chapter 11

"It is with considerable difficulty that I
remember the original era of my being: all
the events of that period appear confused
and indistinct. A strange multiplicity of
sensations seized me, and I saw, felt,
heard, and smelt, at the same time; and it
was, indeed, a long time before I learned to
distinguish between the operations of my
various senses. By degrees, I remember, a
stronger light pressed upon my nerves, so
that I was obliged to shut my eyes.
Darkness then came over me, and troubled
me; but hardly had I felt this, when, by
opening my eyes, as I now suppose, the
light poured in upon me again. I walked,
and, I believe, descended; but I presently
found a great alteration in my sensations.
Before, dark and opaque bodies had
surrounded me, impervious to my touch or
sight; but I now found that I could wander on
at liberty, with no obstacles which I could not
either surmount or avoid. The light became
more and more oppressive to me; and, the
heat wearying me as I walked, I sought a

-42-

clear stream that supplied me with drink,
and the trees that shaded me with their
foliage. I was delighted when I first
discovered that a pleasant sound, which
often saluted my ears, proceeded from the
throats of the little winged animals who had
often intercepted the light from my eyes. I
began also to observe, with greater
accuracy, the forms that surrrounded me,
and to perceive the boundaries of the
radiant roof of light which canopied me.
Sometimes I tried to imitate the pleasant
songs of the birds, but was unable.
Sometimes I wished to express my
sensations in my own mode, but the uncouth
and inarticulate sounds which broke from
me frightened me into silence again.

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

"One day, when I was oppressed by cold, I
found a fire which had been left by some
wandering beggars, and was overcome
with delight at the warmth I experienced
from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live
embers, but quickly drew it out again with a
cry of pain. How strange, I thought, that the
same cause should produce such opposite
effects! I examined the materials of the fire,
and to my joy found it to be composed of
wood. I quickly collected some branches;
but they were wet, and would not burn. I was
pained at this, and sat still watching the
operation of the fire. The wet wood which I

-43-

supply it; and, wrapping myself up in my
cloak, I struck across the wood towards the
setting sun. I passed three days in these
rambles, and at length discovered the open
country. A great fall of snow had taken place
the night before, and the fields were of one
uniform white; the appearance was
disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by
the cold damp substance that covered the
ground.

"It was about seven in the morning, and I
longed to obtain food and shelter; at length I
perceived a small hut, on a rising ground,
which had doubtless been built for the
convenience of some shepherd. This was a
new sight to me; and I examined the
structure with great curiosity. Finding the
door open, I entered. An old man sat in it,
near a fire, over which he was preparing his
breakfast. He turned on hearing a noise;
and, perceiving me, shrieked loudly, and,
quitting the hut, ran across the fields with a
speed of which his debilitated form hardly
appeared capable. His appearance,
different from any I had ever before seen,
and his flight, somewhat surprised me. But I
was enchanted by the appearance of the
hut: here the snow and rain could not
penetrate; the ground was dry; and it
presented to me then as exquisite and
divine a retreat as Pandaemonium
appeared to the daemons of hell after their
sufferings in the lake of fire. I greedily
devoured the remnants of the shepherd's
breakfast, which consisted of bread,
cheese, milk, and wine; the latter, however,
I did not like. Then, overcome by fatigue, I
lay down among some straw, and fell
asleep.

"It was noon when I awoke; and, allured by
the warmth of the sun, which shone brightly
on the white ground, I determined to
recommence my travels; and, depositing
the remains of the peasant's breakfast in a

-44-

wood, yet in such a manner that I might
move them on occasion to pass out: all the
light I enjoyed came through the sty, and
that was sufficient for me.

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

"Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in
this hovel until something should occur
which might alter my determination. It was
indeed a paradise compared to the bleak
forest, my former residence, the rain-
dropping branches, and dank earth. I ate my
breakfast with pleasure, and was about to
remove a plank to procure myself a little
water, when I heard a step, and looking
through a small chink, I beheld a young
creature, with a pail on her head, passing
before my hovel. The girl was young, and of
gentle demeanour, unlike what I have since
found cottagers and farm-house servants
to be. Yet she was meanly dressed, a
coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket
being her only garb; her fair hair was
plaited, but not adorned: she looked
patient, yet sad. I lost sight of her; and in
about a quarter of an hour she returned,
bearing the pail, which was now partly filled
with milk. As she walked along, seemingly
incommoded by the burden, a young man
met her, whose countenance expressed a
deeper despondence. Uttering a few
sounds with an air of melancholy, he took

-45-

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

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

"Night quickly shut in; but, to my extreme
wonder, I found that the cottagers had a
means of prolonging light by the use of
tapers, and was delighted to find that the
setting of the sun did not put an end to the

-46-

his instrument or in contemplation. Nothing
could exceed the love and respect which the
younger cottagers exhibited towards their
venerable companion. They performed
towards him every little office of affection
and duty with gentleness; and he rewarded
them by his benevolent smiles.

"They were not entirely happy. The young
man and his companion often went apart,
and appeared to weep. I saw no cause for
their unhappiness; but I was deeply
affected by it. If such lovely creatures were
miserable, it was less strange that I, an
imperfect and solitary being, should be
wretched. Yet why were these gentle being
unhappy? They possessed a delightful
house (for such it was in my eyes) and every
luxury; they had a fire to warm them when
chill, and delicious viands when hungry; they
were dressed in excellent clothes; and, still
more, they enjoyed one another's company
and speech, interchanging each day looks
of affection and kindness. What did their
tears imply? Did they really express pain? I
was at first unable to solve these questions;
but perpetual attention and time explained
to me many appearances which were at
first enigmatic.

"A considerable period elapsed before I
discovered one of the causes of the
uneasiness of this amiable family: it was
poverty; and they suffered that evil in a very
distressing degree. Their nourishment
consisted entirely of the vegetables of their
garden, and the milk of one cow, which
gave very little during the winter, when its
masters could scarcely procure food to
support it. They often, I believe, suffered the
pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially
the two younger cottagers; for several times
they placed food before the old man when
they reserved none for themselves.

"This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I

-47-

of several revolutions of the moon in my
hovel, I discovered the names that were
given to some of the most familiar objects
of discourse; I learned and applied the
words, _fire, milk, bread_, and _wood_. I
learned also the names of the cottagers
themselves. The youth and his companion
had each of them several names, but the old
man had only one, which was _father_. The
girl was called _sister_, or _Agatha_; and the
youth _Felix, brother_, or _son_. I cannot
describe the delight I felt when I learned the
ideas appropriated to each of these
sounds, and was able to pronounce them. I
distinguished several other words, without
being able as yet to understand or apply
them; such as _good, dearest, unhappy._

"I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle
manners and beauty of the cottagers greatly
endeared them to me: when they were
unhappy, I felt depressed; when they
rejoiced, I sympathised in their joys. I saw
few human beings beside them; and if any
other happened to enter the cottage, their
harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced
to me the superior accomplishments of my
friends. The old man, I could perceive, often
endeavoured to encourage his children, as
sometimes I found that he called them, to
cast off their melancholy. He would talk in a
cheerful accent, with an expression of
goodness that bestowed pleasure even
upon me. Agatha listened with respect, her
eyes sometimes filled with tears, which she
endeavoured to wipe away unperceived;
but I generally found that her countenance
and tone were more cheerful after having
listened to the exhortations of her father. It
was not thus with Felix. He was always the
saddest of the group; and, even to my
unpractised senses, he appeared to have
suffered more deeply than his friends. But if
his countenance was more sorrowful, his
voice was more cheerful than that of his
sister, especially when he addressed the

-48-

"I had admired the perfect forms of my
cottagers--their grace, beauty, and
delicate complexions: but how was I
terrified when I viewed myself in a
transparent pool! At first I started back,
unable to believe that it was indeed I who
was reflected in the mirror; and when I
became fully convinced that I was in reality
the monster that I am, I was filled with the
bitterest sensations of despondence and
mortification. Alas! I did not yet entirely
know the fatal effects of this miserable
deformity.

"As the sun became warmer, and the light of
day longer, the snow vanished, and I beheld
the bare trees and the black earth. From this
time Felix was more employed; and the
heart-moving indications of impending
famine disappeared. Their food, as I
afterwards found, was coarse, but it was
wholesome; and they procured a
sufficiency of it. Several new kinds of plants
sprung up in the garden, which they
dressed; and these signs of comfort
increased daily as the season advanced.

"The old man, leaning on his son, walked
each day at noon, when it did not rain, as I
found it was called when the heavens
poured forth its waters. This frequently took
place; but a high wind quickly dried the
earth, and the season became far more
pleasant than it had been.

"My mode of life in my hovel was uniform.
During the morning, I attended the motions
of the cottagers; and when they were
dispersed in various occupations I slept: the
remainder of the day was spent in
observing my friends. When they had retired
to rest, if there was any moon, or the night
was star-light, I went into the woods, and
collected my own food and fuel for the
cottage. When I returned, as often as it was
necessary, I cleared their path from the

-49-

dispersed themselves, and were employed
in various arts of cultivation. The birds sang
in more cheerful notes, and the leaves
began to bud forth on the trees. Happy,
happy earth! fit habitation for gods, which,
so short a time before, was bleak, damp,
and unwholesome. My spirits were elevated
by the enchanting appearance of nature; the
past was blotted from my memory, the
present was tranquil, and the future gilded
by bright rays of hope and anticipations of
joy."

Chapter 13

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

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

"It was on one of these days, when my
cottagers periodically rested from labour--
the old man played on his guitar, and the
children listened to him--that I observed the
countenance of Felix was melancholy
beyond expression; he sighed frequently;
and once his father paused in his music,
and I conjectured by his manner that he
inquired the cause of his son's sorrow. Felix
replied in a cheerful accent, and the old man
was recommencing his music when some
one tapped at the door.

"It was a lady on horseback, accompanied
by a countryman as a guide. The lady was
dressed in a dark suit, and covered with a
thick black veil. Agatha asked a question; to

-50-

smiles of delight welcomed his Arabian.
Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed the
hands of the lovely stranger; and, pointing to
her brother, made signs which appeared to
me to mean that he had been sorrowful until
she came. Some hours passed thus, while
they, by their countenances, expressed joy,
the cause of which I did not comprehend.
Presently I found, by the frequent recurrence
of some sound which the stranger repeated
after them, that she was endeavouring to
learn their language; and the idea instantly
occurred to me that I should make use of the
same instructions to the same end. The
stranger learned about twenty words at the
first lesson, most of them, indeed, were
those which I had before understood, but I
profited by the others.

"As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian
retired early. When they separated, Felix
kissed the hand of the stranger, and said,
`Good night, sweet Safie.' He sat up much
longer, conversing with his father; and, by
the frequent repetition of her name, I
conjectured that their lovely guest was the
subject of their conversation. I ardently
desired to understand them, and bent every
faculty towards that purpose, but found it
utterly impossible.

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

"When she had finished, she gave the guitar
to Agatha, who at first declined it. She
played a simple air, and her voice
accompanied it in sweet accents, but unlike
the wondrous strain of the stranger. The old

-51-

book, had not Felix, in reading it, given very
minute explanations. He had chosen this
work, he said, because the declamatory
style was framed in imitation of the eastern
authors. Through this work I obtained a
cursory knowledge of history, and a view of
the several empires at present existing in
the world; it gave me an insight into the
manners, governments, and religions of the
different nations of the earth. I heard of the
slothful Asiatics; of the stupendous genius
and mental activity of the Grecians; of the
wars and wonderful virtue of the early
Romans--of their subsequent
degenerating--of the decline of that mighty
empire; of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I
heard of the discovery of the American
hemisphere, and wept with Safie over the
hapless fate of its original inhabitants.

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

"Every conversation of the cottagers now
opened new wonders to me. While I listened
to the instructions which Felix bestowed
upon the Arabian, the strange system of
human society was explained to me. I heard
of the division of property, of immense

-52-

cottagers; but I was shut out from
intercourse with them, except through
means which I obtained by stealth, when I
was unseen and unknown, and which rather
increased than satisfied the desire I had of
becoming one among my fellows. The
gentle words of Agatha, and the animated
smiles of the charming Arabian, were not
for me. The mild exhortations of the old
man, and the lively conversation of the loved
Felix, were not for me. Miserable, unhappy
wretch!

"Other lessons were impressed upon me
even more deeply. I heard of the difference
of sexes; and the birth and growth of
children; how the father 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 wrapped up in the precious
charge; how the mind of youth expanded
and gained knowledge; of brother, sister,
and all the various relationships which bind
one human being to another in mutual
bonds.

"But where were my friends and relations?
No father had watched my infant days, no
mother had blessed me with smiles and
caresses; or if they had, all my past life was
now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I
distinguished nothing. From my earliest
remembrance I had been as I then was in
height and proportion. I had never yet seen a
being resembling me, or who claimed any
intercourse with me. What was I? The
question again recurred, to be answered
only with groans.

"I will soon explain to what these feelings
tended; but allow me now to return to the
cottagers, whose story excited in me such
various feelings of indignation, delight, and
wonder, but which all terminated in
additional love and reverence for my
protectors (for so I loved, in an innocent, half

-53-

around for the means. After many fruitless
attempts to gain admittance to the prison,
he found a strongly grated window in an
unguarded part of the building which lighted
the dungeon of the unfortunate Mahometan;
who, loaded with chains, waited in despair
the execution of the barbarous sentence.
Felix visited the grate at night, and made
known to the prisoner his intentions in his
favour. The Turk, amazed and delighted,
endeavoured to kindle the zeal of his
deliverer by promises of reward and wealth.
Felix rejected his offers with contempt; yet
when he saw the lovely Safie, who was
allowed to visit her father, and who, by her
gestures, expressed her lively gratitude, the
youth could not help owning to his own mind
that the captive possessed a treasure which
would fully reward his toil and hazard.

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

"During the ensuing days, while the
preparations were going forward for the
escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix
was warmed by several letters that he
received from this lovely girl, who found
means to express her thoughts in the
language of her lover by the aid of an old
man, a servant of her father, who
understood French. She thanked him in the
most ardent terms for his intended services
towards her parent; and at the same time
she gently deplored her own fate.

"I have copies of these letters; for I found
means, during my residence in the hovel, to
procure the implements of writing; and the

-54-

France to Lyons, and across Mont Cenis to
Leghorn, where the merchant had decided
to wait a favourable opportunity of passing
into some part of the Turkish dominions.

"Safie resolved to remain with her father
until the moment of his departure, before
which time the Turk renewed his promise
that she should be united to his deliverer;
and Felix remained with them in expectation
of that event; and in the meantime he
enjoyed the society of the Arabian, who
exhibited towards him the simplest and
tenderest affection. They conversed with
one another through the means of an
interpreter, and sometimes with the
interpretation of looks; and Safie sang to
him the divine airs of her native country.

"The Turk allowed this intimacy to take
place, and encouraged the hopes of the
youthful lovers, while in his heart he had
formed far other plans. He loathed the idea
that his daughter should be united to a
Christian; but he feared the resentment of
Felix, if he should appear lukewarm; for he
knew that he was still in the power of his
deliverer, if he should choose to betray him
to the italian state which they inhabited. He
revolved a thousand plans by which he
should be enabled to prolong the deceit until
it might be no longer necessary, and
secretly to take his daughter with him when
he departed. His plans were facilitated by
the news which arrived from Paris.

"The government of France were greatly
enraged at the escape of their victim, and
spared no pains to detect and punish his
deliverer. The plot of Felix was quickly
discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha
were thrown into prison. The news reached
Felix, and roused him from his dream of
pleasure. His blind and aged father, and his
gentle sister, lay in a noisome dungeon,
while he enjoyed the free air and the society

-55-

of Safie was outraged by this command;
she attempted to expostulate with her
father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his
tyrannical mandate.

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

"When alone, Safie resolved in her own
mind the plan of conduct that it would
become her to pursue in this emergency. A
residence in Turkey was abhorrent to her;
her religion and her feelings were alike
adverse to it. By some papers of her father,
which fell into her hands, she heard of the
exile of her lover, and learnt the name of the
spot where he then resided. She hesitated
some time, but at length she formed her
determination. Taking with her some jewels
that belonged to her, and a sum of money,
she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native
of Leghorn, but who understood the
common language of Turkey, and departed
for Germany.

"She arrived in safety at a town about twenty
leagues from the cottage of De Lacey,
when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safie
nursed her with the most devoted affection;
but the poor girl died, and the Arabian was
left alone, unacquainted with the language
of the country, and utterly ignorant of the
customs of the world. She fell, however,
into good hands. The Italian had mentioned
the name of the spot for which they were

-56-

frequently sunk me into the lowest
dejection. In the _Sorrows of Werter_,
besides the interest of its simple and
affecting story, so many opinions are
canvassed, and so many lights thrown upon
what had hitherto been to me obscure
subjects, that I found in it a never-ending
source of speculation and astonishment.
The gentle and domestic manners it
described, combined with lofty sentiments
and feelings, which had for their object
something out of self, accorded well with
my experience among my protectors, and
with the wants which were for ever alive in
my own bosom. But I thought Werter himself
a more divine being than I had ever beheld
or imagined; his character contained no
pretension, but it sunk deep. The
disquisitions upon death and suicide were
calculated to fill me with wonder. I did not
pretend to enter into the merits of the case,
yet I inclined towards the opinions of the
hero, whose extinction I wept, without
precisely understanding it.

"As I read, however, I applied much
personally to my own feelings and
condition. I found myself similar, yet at the
same time strangely unlike to the beings
concerning whom I read, and to whose
conversation I was a listener. I sympathised
with, and partly understood them, but I was
unformed in mind; I was dependent on none
and related to none. `The path of my
departure was free;' and there was none to
lament my annihilation. My person was
hideous and my stature gigantic. What did
this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence
did I come? What was my destination?
These questions continually recurred, but I
was unable to solve them.

"The volume of _Plutarch's Lives_, which I
possessed, contained the histories of the
first founders of the ancient republics. This
book had a far different effect upon me

-57-

respect. He had come forth from the hands
of God a perfect creature, happy and
prosperous, guarded by the especial care
of his Creator; he was allowed to converse
with, and acquire knowledge from, beings
of a superior nature: but I was wretched,
helpless, and alone. Many times I
considered Satan as the fitter emblem of
my condition; for often, like him, when I
viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter
gall of envy rose within me.

"Another circumstance strengthened and
confirmed these feelings. Soon after my
arrival in the hovel, I discovered some
papers in the pocket of the dress which I
had taken from your laboratory. At first I had
neglected them; but now that I was able to
decipher the characters in which they were
written, I began to study them with diligence.
It was your journal of the four months that
preceded my creation. You minutely
described in these papers every step you
took in the progress of your work; this
history was mingled with accounts of
domestic occurrences. You, doubtless,
recollect these papers. Here they are.
Everything is related in them which bears
reference to my accursed origin; the whole
detail of that series of disgusting
circumstances which produced it is set in
view; the minutest description of my odious
and loathsome person is given, in language
which painted your own horrors and
rendered mine indelible. I sickened as I
read. `Hateful day when I received life!' I
exclaimed in agony. `Accursed creator! Why
did you form a monster so hideous that even
_you_ turned from me in disgust? God, in
pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after
his own image; but my form is a filthy type of
yours, more horrid even from the very
resemblance. Satan had his companions,
fellow-devils, to admire and encourage
him; but I am solitary and abhorred.'

-58-

unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields
of Paradise, and dared to fancy amiable
and lovely creatures sympathising with my
feelings, and cheering my gloom; their
angelic countenances breathed smiles of
consolation. But it was all a dream; no Eve
soothed my sorrows, nor shared my
thoughts; I was alone. I remembered
Adam's supplication to his Creator. But
where was mine? He had abandoned me:
and, in the bitterness of my heart, I cursed
him.

"Autumn passed thus. I saw, with surprise
and grief, the leaves decay and fall, and
nature again assume the barren and bleak
appearance it had worn when I first beheld
the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did not
heed the bleakness of the weather; I was
better fitted by my conformation for the
endurance of cold than heat. But my chief
delights were the sight of the flowers, the
birds, and all the gay apparel of summer;
when those deserted me, I turned with more
attention towards the cottagers. Their
happiness was not decreased by the
absence of summer. They loved, and
sympathised with one another; and their
joys, depending on each other, were not
interrupted by the casualties that took place
around them. The more I saw of them, the
greater became my desire to claim their
protection and kindness; my heart yearned
to be known and loved by these amiable
creatures: to see their sweet looks directed
towards me with affection was the utmost
limit of my ambition. I dared not think that
they would turn them from me with disdain
and horror. The poor that stopped at their
door were never driven away. I asked, it is
true, for greater treasures than a little food
or rest: I required kindness and sympathy;
but I did not believe myself utterly unworthy
of it.

"The winter advanced, and an entire

-59-

renewed determination, I approached the
door of their cottage.

"I knocked. `Who is there?' said the old man-
-`Come in.'

"I entered; `Pardon this intrusion,' said I: `I
am a traveller in want of a little rest; you
would greatly oblige me if you would allow
me to remain a few minutes before the fire.'

"`Enter,' said De Lacey; `and I will try in
what manner I can relieve your wants; but,
unfortunately, my children are from home,
and, as I am blind, I am afraid I shall find it
difficult to procure food for you.'

"`Do not trouble yourself, my kind host, I
have food; it is warmth and rest only that I
need.'

"I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew
that every minute was precious to me, yet I
remained irresolute in what manner to
commence the interview; when the old man
addressed me

"`By your language, stranger, I suppose you
are my countryman;--are you French?'

"`No; but I was educated by a French family,
and understand that language only. I am
now going to claim the protection of some
friends, whom I sincerely love, and of
whose favour I have some hopes.'

"`Are they Germans?'

"`No, they are French. But let us change the
subject. I am an unfortunate and deserted
creature; I look around, and I have no
relation or friend upon earth. These amiable
people to whom I go have never seen me,
and know little of me. I am full of fears; for if I
fail there, I am an outcast in the world for
ever.'

-60-

"`Excellent man! I thank you, and accept
your generous offer. You raise me from the
dust by this kindness; and I trust that, by your
aid, I shall not be driven from the society and
sympathy of your fellow-creatures.'

"`Heaven forbid! even if you were really
criminal; for that can only drive you to
desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I
also am unfortunate; I and my family have
been condemned, although innocent:
judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your
misfortunes.'

"`How can I thank you, my best and only
benefactor? From your lips first have I heard
the voice of kindness directed towards me;
I shall be for ever grateful; and your present
humanity assures me of success with those
friends whom I am on the point of meeting.'

"`May I know the names and residence of
those friends?'

"I paused. This, I thought, was the moment
of decision, which was to rob me of, or
bestow happiness on me for ever. I
struggled vainly for firmness sufficient to
answer him, but the effort destroyed all my
remaining strength; I sank on the chair, and
sobbed aloud. At that moment I heard the
steps of my younger protectors. I had not a
moment to lose; but, seizing the hand of the
old man, I cried, `Now is the time!--save
and protect me! You and your family are the
friends whom I seek. Do not you desert me
in the hour of trial!'

"Great God!' exclaimed the old man, `who
are you?'

"At that instant the cottage door was
opened, and Felix, Safie, and Agatha
entered. Who can describe their horror and
consternation on beholding me? Agatha
fainted; and Safie, unable to attend to her

-61-

"But this was a luxury of sensation that could
not endure; I became fatigued with excess
of bodily exertion, and sank on the damp
grass in the sick impotence of despair.
There was none among the myriads of men
that existed who would pity or assist me;
and should I feel kindness towards my
enemies? No: from that moment I declared
everlasting war against the species, and,
more than all, against him who had formed
me, and sent me forth to this insupportable
misery.

"The sun rose; I heard the voices of men,
and knew that it was impossible to return to
my retreat during that day. Accordingly I hid
myself in some thick underwood,
determining to devote the ensuing hours to
reflection on my situation.

"The pleasant sunshine, and the pure air of
day, restored me to some degree of
tranquillity; and when I considered what had
passed at the cottage, I could not help
believing that I had been too hasty in my
conclusions. I had certainly acted
imprudently. It was apparent that my
conversation had interested the father in my
behalf, and I was a fool in having exposed
my person to the horror of his children. I
ought to have familiarised the old De Lacey
to me, and by degrees to have discovered
myself to the rest of his family, when they
should have been prepared for my
approach. But I did not believe my errors to
be irretrievable; and, after much
consideration, I resolved to return to the
cottage, seek the old man, and by my
representations win him to my party.

"These thoughts calmed me, and in the
afternoon I sank into a profound sleep; but
the fever of my blood did not allow me to be
visited by peaceful dreams. The horrible
scene of the preceding day was for ever
acting before my eyes; the females were

-62-

reason with me any more. Take possession
of your tenement, and let me fly from this
place.'

"Felix trembled violently as he said this. He
and his companion entered the cottage, in
which they remained for a few minutes, and
then departed. I never saw any of the family
of De Lacey more.

"I continued for the remainder of the day in
my hovel in a state of utter and stupid
despair. My protectors had departed, and
had broken the only link that held me to the
world. For the first time the feelings of
revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I
did not strive to control them; but, allowing
myself to be borne away by the stream, I
bent my mind towards injury and death.
When I thought of my friends, of the mild
voice of De Lacey, the gentle eyes of
Agatha, and the exquisite beauty of the
Arabian, these thoughts vanished, and a
gush of tears somewhat soothed me. But
again, when I reflected that they had
spurned and deserted me, anger returned,
a rage of anger; and, unable to injure
anything human, I turned my fury towards
inanimate objects. As night advanced, I
placed a variety of combustibles around the
cottage; and, after having destroyed every
vestige of cultivation in the garden, I waited
with forced impatience until the moon had
sunk to commence my operations.

"As the night advanced, a fierce wind arose
from the woods, and quickly dispersed the
clouds that had loitered in the heavens: the
blast tore along like a mighty avalanche,
and produced a kind of insanity in my spirits
that burst all bounds of reason and
reflection. I lighted the dry branch of a tree,
and danced with fury around the devoted
cottage, my eyes still fixed on the western
horizon, the edge of which the moon nearly
touched. A part of its orb was at length hid,

-63-

vainly attempted to gain from any other
being that wore the human form.

"My travels were long, and the sufferings I
endured intense. It was late in autumn when
I quitted the district where I had so long
resided. I travelled only at night, fearful of
encountering the visage of a human being.
Nature decayed around me, and the sun
became heatless; rain and snow poured
around me; mighty rivers were frozen; the
surface of the earth was hard, and chill, and
bare, and I found no shelter. Oh, earth! how
often did I imprecate curses on the cause of
my being! The mildness of my nature had
fled, and all within me was turned to gall and
bitterness. The nearer I approached to your
habitation, the more deeply did I feel the
spirit of revenge enkindled in my heart.
Snow fell, and the waters were hardened;
but I rested not. A few incidents now and
then directed me, and I possessed a map of
the country; but I often wandered wide from
my path. The agony of my feelings allowed
me no respite: no incident occurred from
which my rage and misery could not extract
its food; but a circumstance that happened
when I arrived on the confines of
Switzerland, when the sun had recovered
its warmth, and the earth again began to
look green, confirmed in an especial
manner the bitterness and horror of my
feelings.

"I generally rested during the day, and
travelled only when I was secured by night
from the view of man. One morning,
however, finding that my path lay through a
deep wood, I ventured to continue my
journey after the sun had risen; the day,
which was one of the first of spring,
cheered even me by the loveliness of its
sunshine and the balminess of the air. I felt
emotions of gentleness and pleasure, that
had long appeared dead, revive within me.
Half surprised by the novelty of these

-64-

The feelings of kindness and gentleness
which I had entertained but a few moments
before gave place to hellish rage and
gnashing of teeth. Inflamed by pain, I vowed
eternal hatred and vengeance to all
mankind. But the agony of my wound
overcame me; my pulses paused, and I
fainted.

"For some weeks I led a miserable life in the
woods, endeavouring to cure the wound
which I had received. The ball had entered
my shoulder, and I knew not whether it had
remained there or passed through; at any
rate I had no means of extracting it. My
sufferings were augmented also by the
oppressive sense of the injustice and
ingratitude of their infliction. My daily vows
rose for revenge--a deep and deadly
revenge, such as would alone compensate
for the outrages and anguish I had endured.

"After some weeks my wound healed, and I
continued my journey. The labours I
endured were no longer to be alleviated by
the bright sun or gentle breezes of spring; all
joy was but a mockery, which insulted my
desolate state, and made me feel more
painfully that I was not made for the
enjoyment of pleasure.

"But my toils now drew near a close; and in
two months from this time I reached the
environs of Geneva.

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

"At this time a slight sleep relieved me from
the pain of reflection, which was disturbed

-65-

thousand other miseries shall torment and
destroy him.'

"As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw
something glittering on his breast. I took it; it
was a portrait of a most lovely woman. In
spite of my malignity, it softened and
attracted me. For a few moments I gazed
with delight on her dark eyes, fringed by
deep lashes, and her lovely lips; but
presently my rage returned: I remembered
that I was for ever deprived of the delights
that such beautiful creatures could bestow;
and that she whose resemblance I
contemplated would, in regarding me, have
changed that air of divine benignity to one
expressive of disgust and affright.

"Can you wonder that such thoughts
transported me with rage? I only wonder
that at that moment, instead of venting my
sensations in exclamations and agony, I did
not rush among mankind and perish in the
attempt to destroy them.

"While I was overcome by these feelings, I
left the spot where I had committed the
murder, and seeking a more secluded
hiding-place, I entered a barn which had
appeared to me to be empty. A woman was
sleeping on some straw; she was young:
not indeed so beautiful as her whose
portrait I held; but of an agreeable aspect,
and blooming in the loveliness of youth and
health. Here, I thought, is one of those
whose joy-imparting smiles are bestowed
on all but me. And then I bent over her, and
whispered, `Awake, fairest, thy lover is
near--he who would give his life but to
obtain one look of affection from thine eyes:
my beloved, awake!'

"The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran
through me. Should she indeed awake, and
see me, and curse me, and denounce the
murderer? Thus would she assuredly act, if

-66-

The latter part of his tale had kindled anew
in me the anger that had died away while he
narrated his peaceful life among the
cottagers, and, as he said this, I could no
longer suppress the rage that burned within
me.

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

"You are in the wrong," replied the fiend;
"and, instead of threatening, I am content to
reason with you. I am malicious because I
am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated
by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear
me to pieces, and triumph; remember that,
and tell me why I should pity man more than
he pities me? You would not call it murder if
you could precipitate me into one of those
ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the work of
your own hands. Shall I respect man when
he contemns me? Let him live with me in the
interchange of kindness; and, instead of
injury, I would bestow every benefit upon
him with tears of gratitude at his
acceptance. But that cannot be; the human
senses are insurmountable barriers to our
union. Yet mine shall not be the submission
of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries:
if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear; and
chiefly towards you my arch-enemy,
because my creator, do I swear
inextinguishable hatred. Have a care: I will
work at your destruction, nor finish until I
desolate your heart, so that you shall curse
the hour of your birth."

A fiendish rage animated him as he said
this; his face was wrinkled into contortions
too horrible for human eyes to behold; but

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present to you is peaceful and human, and
you must feel that you could deny it only in
the wantonness of power and cruelty.
Pitiless as you have been towards me, I
now see compassion in your eyes; let me
seize the favourable moment, and
persuade you to promise what I so ardently
desire."

"You propose," replied I, "to fly from the
habitations of man, to dwell in those wilds
where the beasts of the field will be your
only companions. How can you, who long
for the love and sympathy of man,
persevere in this exile? You will return, and
again seek their kindness, and you will
meet with their detestation; your evil
passions will be renewed, and you will then
have a companion to aid you in the task of
destruction. This may not be: cease to
argue the point, for I cannot consent."

"How inconstant are your feelings! but a
moment ago you were moved by my
representations, and why do you again
harden yourself to my complaints? I swear
to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by
you that made me, that, with the companion
you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of
man, and dwell as it may chance in the most
savage of places. My evil passions will have
fled, for I shall meet with sympathy! my life
will flow quietly away, and, in my dying
moments, I shall not curse my maker."

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

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"I swear," he cried, "by the sun, and by the
blue sky of Heaven, and by the fire of love
that burns my heart, that if you grant my
prayer, while they exist you shall never
behold me again. Depart to your home, and
commence your labours: I shall watch their
progress with unutterable anxiety; and fear
not but that when you are ready I shall
appear."

Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful,
perhaps, of any change in my sentiments. I
saw him descend the mountain with greater
speed than the flight of an eagle, and
quickly lost among the undulations of the
sea of ice.

His tale had occupied the whole day; and
the sun was upon the verge of the horizon
when he departed. I knew that I ought to
hasten my descent towards the valley, as I
should soon be encompassed in darkness;
but my heart was heavy, and my steps slow.
The labour of winding among the little paths
of the mountains, and fixing my feet firmly
as I advanced, perplexed me, occupied as I
was by the emotions which the occurrences
of the day had produced. Night was far
advanced when I came to the half-way
resting-place, and seated myself beside
the fountain. The stars shone at intervals, as
the clouds passed from over them; the dark
pines rose before me, and every here and
there a broken tree lay on the ground: it was
a scene of wonderful solemnity, and stirred
strange thoughts within me. I wept bitterly;
and clasping my hands in agony, I
exclaimed, "Oh! stars, and clouds, and
winds, ye are all about to mock me: if ye
really pity me, crush sensation and memory;
let me become as nought; but if not, depart,
depart, and leave me in darkness."

These were wild and miserable thoughts;
but I cannot describe to you how the eternal
twinkling of the stars weighed upon me, and

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undertaking whose immediate necessity
began to appear less absolute to me. A
change indeed had taken place in me: my
health, which had hitherto declined, was
now much restored; and my spirits, when
unchecked by the memory of my unhappy
promise, rose proportionably. My father
saw this change with pleasure, and he
turned his thoughts towards the best
method of eradicating the remains of my
melancholy, which every now and then
would return by fits, and with a devouring
blackness overcast the approaching
sunshine. At these moments I took refuge in
the most perfect solitude. I passed whole
days on the lake alone in a little boat,
watching the clouds, and listening to the
rippling of the waves, silent and listless. But
the fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to
restore me to some degree of composure;
and, on my return, I met the salutations of my
friends with a readier smile and a more
cheerful heart.

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

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

I trembled violently at his exordium, and my
father continued

"I confess, my son, that I have always
looked forward to your marriage with our
dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic
comfort, and the stay of my declining years.

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with confidence and sincerity."

I listened to my father in silence, and
remained for some time incapable of
offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my
mind a multitude of thoughts, and
endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion.
Alas! to me the idea of an immediate union
with my Elizabeth was one of horror and
dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise,
which I had not yet fulfilled, and dared not
break; or, if I did, what manifold miseries
might not impend over me and my devoted
family! Could I enter into a festival with this
deadly weight yet hanging round my neck,
and bowing me to the ground. I must
perform my engagement, and let the
monster depart with his mate, before I
allowed myself to enjoy the delight of 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, I had an
insurmountable aversion to the idea of
engaging myself in my loathsome task in my
father's house, while in habits of familiar
intercourse with those I loved. I knew that a
thousand fearful accidents might occur, the
slightest of which would disclose a tale to
thrill all connected with me with horror. I was
aware also that I should often lose all self-
command, all capacity of hiding the
harrowing sensations that would possess
me during the progress of my unearthly
occupation. I must absent myself from all I
loved while thus employed. Once
commenced, it would quickly be achieved,
and I might be restored to my family in
peace and happiness. My promise fulfilled,

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extremely averse to delay. For myself, there
was one reward I promised myself from my
detested toils--one consolation for my
unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect
of that day when, enfranchised from my
miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth,
and forget the past in my union with her.

I now made arrangements for my journey;
but one feeling haunted me, which filled me
with fear and agitation. During my absence I
should leave my friends unconscious of the
existence of their enemy, and unprotected
from his attacks, exasperated as he might
be by my departure. But he had promised to
follow me wherever I might go; and would
he not accompany me to England? This
imagination was dreadful in itself, but
soothing, inasmuch as it supposed the
safety of my friends. I was agonised with
the idea of the possibility that the reverse of
this might happen. But through the whole
period during which I was the slave of my
creature, I allowed myself to be governed by
the impulses of the moment; and my
present sensations strongly intimated that
the fiend would follow me, and exempt my
family from the danger of his machinations.

It was in the latter end of September that I
again quitted my native country. My journey
had been my own suggestion, and
Elizabeth, therefore, acquiesced: but she
was filled with disquiet at the idea of my
suffering, away from her, the inroads of
misery and grief. It had been her care which
provided me a companion in Clerval--and
yet a man is blind to a thousand minute
circumstances, which call forth a woman's
sedulous attention. She longed to bid me
hasten my return,--a thousand conflicting
emotions rendered her mute as she bade
me a tearful silent farewell.

I threw myself into the carriage that was to
convey me away, hardly knowing whither I

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much more picturesque. The river descends
rapidly, and winds between hills, not high,
but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw
many ruined castles standing on the edges
of precipices, surrounded by black woods,
high and inaccessible. This part of the
Rhine, indeed, presents a singularly
variegated landscape. In one spot you view
rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking
tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhine
rushing beneath; and, on the sudden turn of
a promontory, flourishing vineyards, with
green sloping banks, and a meandering
river, and populous towns occupy the
scene.

We travelled at the time of the vintage, and
heard the song of the labourers, as we
glided down the stream. Even I, depressed
in mind, and my spirits continually agitated
by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased. I lay
at the bottom of the boat, and, as I gazed on
the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to drink in
a tranquillity to which I had long been a
stranger. And if these were my sensations,
who can describe those of Henry? He felt
as if he had been transported to Fairyland,
and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by
man. "I have seen," he said, "the most
beautiful scenes of my own country; I have
visited the lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where
the snowy mountains descend almost
perpendicularly to the water, casting black
and impenetrable shades, which would
cause a gloomy and mournful appearance,
were it not for the most verdant islands that
relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I
have seen this lake agitated by a tempest,
when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water,
and gave you an idea of what the
waterspout must be on the great ocean; and
the waves dash with fury the base of the
mountain, where the priest and his mistress
were overwhelmed by an avalanche, and
where their dying voices are still said to be
heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I

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mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations
fanciful and magnificent, which formed a
world, whose existence depended on the
life of its creator;--has the mind perished?
Does it now only exist in my memory? No, it
is not thus; your form so divinely wrought,
and beaming with beauty, has decayed, but
your spirit still visits and consoles your
unhappy friend.

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

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

Our journey here lost the interest arising
from beautiful scenery; but we arrived in a
few days at Rotterdam, whence we
proceeded by sea to England. It was on a
clear morning, in the latter days of
December, that I first saw the white cliffs of
Britain. The banks of the Thames presented
a new scene; they were flat, but fertile, and
almost every town was marked by the
remembrance of some story. We saw
Tilbury Fort, and remembered the Spanish
armada; Gravesend, Woolwich, and
Greenwich, places which I had heard of
even in my country.

At length we saw the numerous steeples of
London, St. Paul's towering above all, and
the Tower famed in English history.

Chapter 19

London was our present point of rest; we
determined to remain several months in this

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and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this as
much as possible, that I might not debar him
from the pleasures natural to one who was
entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed
by any care or bitter recollection. I often
refused to accompany him, alleging another
engagement, that I might remain alone. I
now also began to collect the materials
necessary for my new creation, and this
was to me like the torture of single drops of
water continually falling on the head. Every
thought that was devoted to it was an
extreme anguish, and every word that I
spoke in allusion to it caused my lips to
quiver, and my heart to palpitate.

After passing some months in London, we
received a letter from a person in Scotland,
who had formerly been our visitor at
Geneva. He mentioned the beauties of his
native country, and asked us if those were
not sufficient allurements to induce us to
prolong our journey as far north as Perth,
where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired
to accept this invitation; and I, although I
abhorred society, wished to view again
mountains and streams, and all the
wondrous works with which Nature adorns
her chosen dwelling-places.

We had arrived in England at the beginning
of October, and it was now February. We
accordingly determined to commence our
journey towards the north at the expiration
of another month. In this expedition we did
not intend to follow the great road to
Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford,
Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes,
resolving to arrive at the completion of this
tour about the end of July. I packed up my
chemical instruments, and the materials I
had collected, resolving to finish my labours
in some obscure nook in the northern
highlands of Scotland.

We quitted London on the 27th of March, and

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entered my soul; and I felt then that I should
survive to exhibit, what I shall soon cease to
be--a miserable spectacle of wrecked
humanity, pitiable to others, and intolerable
to myself.

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

We left Oxford with regret, and proceeded
to Matlock, which was our next place of rest.
The country in the neighbourhood of this
village resembled, to a greater degree, the
scenery of Switzerland; but everything is on
a lower scale, and the green hills want the
crown of distant white Alps, which always
attend on the piny mountains of my native
country. We visited the wondrous cave, and
the little cabinets of natural history, where
the curiosities are disposed in the same
manner as in the collections at Servox and
Chamounix. The latter name made me
tremble when pronounced by Henry; and I
hastened to quit Matlock, with which that
terrible scene was thus associated.

From Derby, still journeying northward, we
passed two months in Cumberland and

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fears; and when they arrived, and I saw the
superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I
hardly dared to read and ascertain my fate.
Sometimes I thought that the fiend followed
me, and might expedite my remissness by
murdering my companion. When these
thoughts possessed me, I would not quit
Henry for a moment, but followed him us his
shadow, to protect him from the fancied
rage of his destroyer. I felt as if I had
committed some great crime, the
consciousness of which haunted me. I was
guiltless, but I had indeed drawn down a
horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as
that of crime.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and
mind; and yet that city might have interested
the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not
like it so well as Oxford: for the antiquity of
the latter city was more pleasing to him. But
the beauty and regularity of the new town of
Edinburgh, its romantic castle, and its
environs, the most delightful in the world,
Arthur's Seat, St. Bernard's Well, and the
Pentland Hills, conpensated him for the
change, and filled him with cheerfulness
and admiration. But I was impatient to arrive
at the termination of my journey.

We left Edinburgh in a week, passing
through Coupar, St. Andrew's, and along
the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our
friend expected us. But I was in no mood to
laugh and talk with strangers, or enter into
their feelings or plans with the good humour
expected from a guest; and accordingly I
told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of
Scotland alone. "Do you," said I, "enjoy
yourself, and let this be our rendezvous. I
may be absent a month or two; but do not
interfere with my motions, I entreat you:
leave me to peace and solitude for a short
time; and when I return, I hope it will be with
a lighter heart, more congenial to your own
temper."

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