as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within
me.
"I do refuse it," I replied; "and no torture shall ever extort a
consent from me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you
shall never make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like
yourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate the world. Begone! I
have answered you; you may torture me, but I will never consent."
"You are in the wrong," replied the fiend; "and instead of threatening,
I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am
miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my
creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember that, and tell
me why I should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it
murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and
destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when
he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness,
and instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears
of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses
are insurmountable barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the
submission of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot
inspire love, I will cause fear, and chiefly towards you my arch-enemy,
because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I
will work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart,
so that you shall curse the hour of your birth."
A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled
into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold; but presently
he calmed himself and proceeded--
"I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do
not reflect that YOU are the cause of its excess. If any being felt
emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and
a hundredfold; for that one creature's sake I would make peace with the
whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be
realized. What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate; I demand a
creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is
small, but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It
is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that
account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not
be happy, but they will be harmless and free from the misery I now
feel. Oh! My creator, make me happy; let me feel gratitude towards
you for one benefit! Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some
existing thing; do not deny me my request!"
I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences
of my consent, but I felt that there was some justice in his argument.
His tale and the feelings he now expressed proved him to be a creature
of fine sensations, and did I not as his maker owe him all the portion
of happiness that it was in my power to bestow? He saw my change of
feeling and continued,
"If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see
us again; I will go to the vast wilds of South America. My food is not
that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite;
acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. My companion will
be of the same nature as myself and will be content with the same fare.
We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on
man and will ripen our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful
and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the
wantonness of power and cruelty. Pitiless as you have been towards me,
I now see compassion in your eyes; let me seize the favourable moment
and persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire."
"You propose," replied I, "to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell
in those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your only
companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man,
persevere in this exile? You will return and again seek their
kindness, and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions
will be renewed, and you will then have a companion to aid you in the
task of destruction. This may not be; cease to argue the point, for I
cannot consent."
"How inconstant are your feelings! But a moment ago you were moved by
my representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my
complaints? I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you
that made me, that with the companion you bestow I will quit the
neighbourhood of man and dwell, as it may chance, in the most savage of
places. My evil passions will have fled, for I shall meet with
sympathy! My life will flow quietly away, and in my dying moments I
shall not curse my maker."
His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him and
sometimes felt a wish to console him, but when I looked upon him, when
I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened and my
feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to stifle
these sensations; I thought that as I could not sympathize with him, I
had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which
was yet in my power to bestow.
"You swear," I said, "to be harmless; but have you not already shown a
degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust you? May not
even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by affording a
wider scope for your revenge?"
"How is this? I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer. If
I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion;
the love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall
become a thing of whose existence everyone will be ignorant. My vices
are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor, and my virtues will
necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal. I shall feel
the affections of a sensitive being and become linked to the chain of
existence and events from which I am now excluded."
I paused some time to reflect on all he had related and the various
arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues
which he had displayed on the opening of his existence and the
subsequent blight of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which
his protectors had manifested towards him. His power and threats were
not omitted in my calculations; a creature who could exist in the ice
caves of the glaciers and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of
inaccessible precipices was a being possessing faculties it would be
vain to cope with. After a long pause of reflection I concluded that
the justice due both to him and my fellow creatures demanded of me that
I should comply with his request. Turning to him, therefore, I said,
"I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe forever,
and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall
deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile."
"I swear," he cried, "by the sun, and by the blue sky of heaven, and by
the fire of love that burns my heart, that if you grant my prayer,
while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your home
and commence your labours; I shall watch their progress with
unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall
appear."
Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in
my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than
the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the
sea of ice.
His tale had occupied the whole day, and the sun was upon the verge of
the horizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to hasten my descent
towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my
heart was heavy, and my steps slow. The labour of winding among the
little paths of the mountain and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced
perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences
of the day had produced. Night was far advanced when I came to the
halfway resting-place and seated myself beside the fountain. The stars
shone at intervals as the clouds passed from over them; the dark pines
rose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the
ground; it was a scene of wonderful solemnity and stirred strange
thoughts within me. I wept bitterly, and clasping my hands in agony, I
exclaimed, "Oh! Stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock
me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as
nought; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness."
These were wild and miserable thoughts, but I cannot describe to you
how the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me and how I
listened to every blast of wind as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its
way to consume me.
Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; I took no
rest, but returned immediately to Geneva. Even in my own heart I could
give no expression to my sensations--they weighed on me with a
mountain's weight and their excess destroyed my agony beneath them.
Thus I returned home, and entering the house, presented myself to the
family. My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm, but I
answered no question, scarcely did I speak. I felt as if I were placed
under a ban--as if I had no right to claim their sympathies--as if
never more might I enjoy companionship with them. Yet even thus I
loved them to adoration; and to save them, I resolved to dedicate
myself to my most abhorred task. The prospect of such an occupation
made every other circumstance of existence pass before me like a dream,
and that thought only had to me the reality of life.
Chapter 18
Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva; and
I could not collect the courage to recommence my work. I feared the
vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my
repugnance to the task which was enjoined me. I found that I could not
compose a female without again devoting several months to profound
study and laborious disquisition. I had heard of some discoveries
having been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was
material to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my
father's consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to
every pretence of delay and shrank from taking the first step in an
undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to
me. A change indeed had taken place in me; my health, which had
hitherto declined, was now much restored; and my spirits, when
unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably. My
father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts
towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy,
which every now and then would return by fits, and with a devouring
blackness overcast the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took
refuge in the most perfect solitude. I passed whole days on the lake
alone in a little boat, watching the clouds and listening to the
rippling of the waves, silent and listless. But the fresh air and
bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure, and
on my return I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile
and a more cheerful heart.
It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father,
calling me aside, thus addressed me,
"I am happy to remark, my dear son, that you have resumed your former
pleasures and seem to be returning to yourself. And yet you are still
unhappy and still avoid our society. For some time I was lost in
conjecture as to the cause of this, but yesterday an idea struck me,
and if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it. Reserve on such a
point would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all."
I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued--"I
confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage
with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic comfort and the stay
of my declining years. You were attached to each other from your
earliest infancy; you studied together, and appeared, in dispositions
and tastes, entirely suited to one another. But so blind is the
experience of man that what I conceived to be the best assistants to my
plan may have entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your
sister, without any wish that she might become your wife. Nay, you may
have met with another whom you may love; and considering yourself as
bound in honour to Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant
misery which you appear to feel."
"My dear father, reassure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly and
sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my
warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and prospects are
entirely bound up in the expectation of our union."
"The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear Victor,
gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced. If you
feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy, however present events may cast
a gloom over us. But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so
strong a hold of your mind that I wish to dissipate. Tell me,
therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnization of the
marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us
from that everyday tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities. You
are younger; yet I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent
fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future
plans of honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose,
however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you or that a delay on
your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my words
with candour and answer me, I conjure you, with confidence and
sincerity."
I listened to my father in silence and remained for some time incapable
of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of
thoughts and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion. Alas! To me
the idea of an immediate union with my Elizabeth was one of horror and
dismay. I was bound by a solemn promise which I had not yet fulfilled
and dared not break, or if I did, what manifold miseries might not
impend over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival
with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing me to the
ground? I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with
his mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from
which I expected peace.
I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to
England or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers
of that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable
use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining
the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory; besides, I
had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my
loathsome task in my father's house while in habits of familiar
intercourse with those I loved. I knew that a thousand fearful
accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to
thrill all connected with me with horror. I was aware also that I
should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the
harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my
unearthly occupation. I must absent myself from all I loved while thus
employed. Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be
restored to my family in peace and happiness. My promise fulfilled,
the monster would depart forever. Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some
accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to my
slavery forever.
These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to
visit England, but concealing the true reasons of this request, I
clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I
urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to
comply. After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy that
resembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find
that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey,
and he hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my
return, have restored me entirely to myself.
The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or
at most a year, was the period contemplated. One paternal kind
precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion. Without
previously communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth,
arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasbourg. This interfered
with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task; yet at the
commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could in no way be
an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many
hours of lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might stand between
me and the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone, would he not at times
force his abhorred presence on me to remind me of my task or to
contemplate its progress?
To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union
with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return. My father's
age rendered him extremely averse to delay. For myself, there was one
reward I promised myself from my detested toils--one consolation for my
unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect of that day when,
enfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth and
forget the past in my union with her.
I now made arrangements for my journey, but one feeling haunted me
which filled me with fear and agitation. During my absence I should
leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy and
unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my
departure. But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go, and
would he not accompany me to England? This imagination was dreadful in
itself, but soothing inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends.
I was agonized with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of
this might happen. But through the whole period during which I was the
slave of my creature I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of
the moment; and my present sensations strongly intimated that the fiend
would follow me and exempt my family from the danger of his
machinations.
It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native
country. My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth
therefore acquiesced, but she was filled with disquiet at the idea of
my suffering, away from her, the inroads of misery and grief. It had
been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval--and yet a man
is blind to a thousand minute circumstances which call forth a woman's
sedulous attention. She longed to bid me hasten my return; a thousand
conflicting emotions rendered her mute as she bade me a tearful, silent
farewell.
I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly
knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was passing around.
I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on
it, to order that my chemical instruments should be packed to go with
me. Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful
and majestic scenes, but my eyes were fixed and unobserving. I could
only think of the bourne of my travels and the work which was to occupy
me whilst they endured.
After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed
many leagues, I arrived at Strasbourg, where I waited two days for
Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the contrast between us! He
was alive to every new scene, joyful when he saw the beauties of the
setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise and recommence a new
day. He pointed out to me the shifting colours of the landscape and
the appearances of the sky. "This is what it is to live," he cried;
"how I enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are
you desponding and sorrowful!" In truth, I was occupied by gloomy
thoughts and neither saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden
sunrise reflected in the Rhine. And you, my friend, would be far more
amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an
eye of feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections. I, a
miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to
enjoyment.
We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasbourg to
Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During this
voyage we passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns.
We stayed a day at Mannheim, and on the fifth from our departure from
Strasbourg, arrived at Mainz. The course of the Rhine below Mainz
becomes much more picturesque. The river descends rapidly and winds
between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw
many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by
black woods, high and inaccessible. This part of the Rhine, indeed,
presents a singularly variegated landscape. In one spot you view
rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with
the dark Rhine rushing beneath; and on the sudden turn of a promontory,
flourishing vineyards with green sloping banks and a meandering river
and populous towns occupy the scene.
We travelled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the
labourers as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed in mind, and
my spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased.
I lay at the bottom of the boat, and as I gazed on the cloudless blue
sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity to which I had long been a
stranger. And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of
Henry? He felt as if he had been transported to fairy-land and enjoyed
a happiness seldom tasted by man. "I have seen," he said, "the most
beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the lakes of Lucerne
and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to
the water, casting black and impenetrable shades, which would cause a
gloomy and mournful appearance were it not for the most verdant islands
that believe the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake
agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of water and
gave you an idea of what the water-spout must be on the great ocean;
and the waves dash with fury the base of the mountain, where the priest
and his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche and where their dying
voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind;
I have seen the mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud; but this
country, Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The mountains
of Switzerland are more majestic and strange, but there is a charm in
the banks of this divine river that I never before saw equalled. Look
at that castle which overhangs yon precipice; and that also on the
island, almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and
now that group of labourers coming from among their vines; and that
village half hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely the spirit
that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man
than those who pile the glacier or retire to the inaccessible peaks of
the mountains of our own country." Clerval! Beloved friend! Even now
it delights me to record your words and to dwell on the praise of which
you are so eminently deserving. He was a being formed in the "very
poetry of nature." His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened
by the sensibility of his heart. His soul overflowed with ardent
affections, and his friendship was of that devoted and wondrous nature
that the world-minded teach us to look for only in the imagination. But
even human sympathies were not sufficient to satisfy his eager mind.
The scenery of external nature, which others regard only with
admiration, he loved with ardour:--
----The sounding cataract
Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to him
An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrow'd from the eye.
[Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey".]
And where does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost
forever? Has this mind, so replete with ideas, imaginations fanciful
and magnificent, which formed a world, whose existence depended on the
life of its creator;--has this mind perished? Does it now only exist
in my memory? No, it is not thus; your form so divinely wrought, and
beaming with beauty, has decayed, but your spirit still visits and
consoles your unhappy friend.
Pardon this gush of sorrow; these ineffectual words are but a slight
tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry, but they soothe my heart,
overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates. I will
proceed with my tale.
Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland; and we resolved
to post the remainder of our way, for the wind was contrary and the
stream of the river was too gentle to aid us. Our journey here lost
the interest arising from beautiful scenery, but we arrived in a few
days at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded by sea to England. It was on a
clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw the
white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new
scene; they were flat but fertile, and almost every town was marked by
the remembrance of some story. We saw Tilbury Fort and remembered the
Spanish Armada, Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwich--places which I had
heard of even in my country.
At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul's towering
above all, and the Tower famed in English history.
Chapter 19
London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several
months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the
intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this
time, but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally
occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the
completion of my promise and quickly availed myself of the letters of
introduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most
distinguished natural philosophers.
If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness,
it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had
come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of
the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest
was so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I
could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of
Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory
peace. But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought back despair to
my heart. I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my
fellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and
Justine, and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled
my soul with anguish.
But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive
and anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of
manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of
instruction and amusement. He was also pursuing an object he had long
had in view. His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had
in his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had
taken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of
European colonization and trade. In Britain only could he further the
execution of his plan. He was forever busy, and the only check to his
enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this
as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures
natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by
any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him,
alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone. I now also
began to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this
was to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling
on the head. Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme
anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips
to quiver, and my heart to palpitate.
After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person
in Scotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned
the beauties of his native country and asked us if those were not
sufficient allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north
as Perth, where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this
invitation, and I, although I abhorred society, wished to view again
mountains and streams and all the wondrous works with which Nature
adorns her chosen dwelling-places. We had arrived in England at the
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