of another month. In this expedition we did not intend to follow the
great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and the
Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of this tour
about the end of July. I packed up my chemical instruments and the
materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some
obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.
We quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at
Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us
mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of
stately deer were all novelties to us.
From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city our minds
were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted
there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles
I. had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him,
after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of
Parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king and his
companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and
son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they
might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a
dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these
feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of
the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration.
The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost
magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows
of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters,
which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and
domes, embosomed among aged trees.
I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the
memory of the past and the anticipation of the future. I was formed
for peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never
visited my mind, and if I was ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what
is beautiful in nature or the study of what is excellent and sublime in
the productions of man could always interest my heart and communicate
elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has
entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what
I shall soon cease to be--a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity,
pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.
We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs
and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most
animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery
were often prolonged by the successive objects that presented
themselves. We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the
field on which that patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated
from its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas
of liberty and self sacrifice of which these sights were the monuments
and the remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains
and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten
into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my
miserable self.
We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next
place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village
resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but
everything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of
distant white Alps which always attend on the piny mountains of my
native country. We visited the wondrous cave and the little cabinets
of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same
manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name
made me tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit
Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated.
From Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in
Cumberland and Westmorland. I could now almost fancy myself among the
Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the
northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the
rocky streams were all familiar and dear sights to me. Here also we
made some acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into
happiness. The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than
mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found
in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have
imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his
inferiors. "I could pass my life here," said he to me; "and among
these mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine."
But he found that a traveller's life is one that includes much pain
amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are forever on the stretch; and
when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit
that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again
engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.
We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland
and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants when the period
of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached, and we left them
to travel on. For my own part I was not sorry. I had now neglected my
promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the daemon's
disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland and wreak his vengeance
on my relatives. This idea pursued me and tormented me at every moment
from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace. I waited
for my letters with feverish impatience; if they were delayed I was
miserable and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrived and I
saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to
read and ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the fiend
followed me and might expedite my remissness by murdering my companion.
When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for a moment,
but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the fancied rage of
his destroyer. I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the
consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had indeed
drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of crime.
I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might
have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so
well as Oxford, for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing
to him. But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh,
its romantic castle and its environs, the most delightful in the world,
Arthur's Seat, St. Bernard's Well, and the Pentland Hills compensated
him for the change and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But
I was impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.
We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew's, and
along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us.
But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into
their feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and
accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland
alone. "Do you," said I, "enjoy yourself, and let this be our
rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with
my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short
time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more
congenial to your own temper."
Henry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to
remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. "I had rather be with
you," he said, "in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch
people, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear friend, to return,
that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in
your absence."
Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of
Scotland and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the
monster followed me and would discover himself to me when I should have
finished, that he might receive his companion. With this resolution I
traversed the northern highlands and fixed on one of the remotest of
the Orkneys as the scene of my labours. It was a place fitted for such
a work, being hardly more than a rock whose high sides were continually
beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely affording
pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its inhabitants,
which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs gave
tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they
indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured
from the mainland, which was about five miles distant.
On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of
these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two
rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable
penury. The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the
door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some
furniture, and took possession, an incident which would doubtless have
occasioned some surprise had not all the senses of the cottagers been
benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at
and unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes
which I gave, so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations
of men.
In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening,
when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to
listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet. It was a
monotonous yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was
far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills
are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the
plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when
troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively
infant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.
In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but
as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and
irksome to me. Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my
laboratory for several days, and at other times I toiled day and night
in order to complete my work. It was, indeed, a filthy process in
which I was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of
enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my
mind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes
were shut to the horror of my proceedings. But now I went to it in
cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.
Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in
a solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from
the actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I
grew restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my
persecutor. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing
to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much
dreaded to behold. I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow
creatures lest when alone he should come to claim his companion.
In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably
advanced. I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager
hope, which I dared not trust myself to question but which was
intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken
in my bosom.
Chapter 20
I sat one evening in my laboratory; the sun had set, and the moon was
just rising from the sea; I had not sufficient light for my employment,
and I remained idle, in a pause of consideration of whether I should
leave my labour for the night or hasten its conclusion by an
unremitting attention to it. As I sat, a train of reflection occurred
to me which led me to consider the effects of what I was now doing.
Three years before, I was engaged in the same manner and had created a
fiend whose unparalleled barbarity had desolated my heart and filled it
forever with the bitterest remorse. I was now about to form another
being of whose dispositions I was alike ignorant; she might become ten
thousand times more malignant than her mate and delight, for its own
sake, in murder and wretchedness. He had sworn to quit the
neighbourhood of man and hide himself in deserts, but she had not; and
she, who in all probability was to become a thinking and reasoning
animal, might refuse to comply with a compact made before her creation.
They might even hate each other; the creature who already lived loathed
his own deformity, and might he not conceive a greater abhorrence for
it when it came before his eyes in the female form? She also might
turn with disgust from him to the superior beauty of man; she might
quit him, and he be again alone, exasperated by the fresh provocation
of being deserted by one of his own species. Even if they were to
leave Europe and inhabit the deserts of the new world, yet one of the
first results of those sympathies for which the daemon thirsted would
be children, and a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth
who might make the very existence of the species of man a condition
precarious and full of terror. Had I right, for my own benefit, to
inflict this curse upon everlasting generations? I had before been
moved by the sophisms of the being I had created; I had been struck
senseless by his fiendish threats; but now, for the first time, the
wickedness of my promise burst upon me; I shuddered to think that
future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness had not
hesitated to buy its own peace at the price, perhaps, of the existence
of the whole human race.
I trembled and my heart failed within me, when, on looking up, I saw by
the light of the moon the daemon at the casement. A ghastly grin
wrinkled his lips as he gazed on me, where I sat fulfilling the task
which he had allotted to me. Yes, he had followed me in my travels; he
had loitered in forests, hid himself in caves, or taken refuge in wide
and desert heaths; and he now came to mark my progress and claim the
fulfilment of my promise.
As I looked on him, his countenance expressed the utmost extent of
malice and treachery. I thought with a sensation of madness on my
promise of creating another like to him, and trembling with passion,
tore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged. The wretch saw me
destroy the creature on whose future existence he depended for
happiness, and with a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew.
I left the room, and locking the door, made a solemn vow in my own
heart never to resume my labours; and then, with trembling steps, I
sought my own apartment. I was alone; none were near me to dissipate
the gloom and relieve me from the sickening oppression of the most
terrible reveries.
Several hours passed, and I remained near my window gazing on the sea;
it was almost motionless, for the winds were hushed, and all nature
reposed under the eye of the quiet moon. A few fishing vessels alone
specked the water, and now and then the gentle breeze wafted the sound
of voices as the fishermen called to one another. I felt the silence,
although I was hardly conscious of its extreme profundity, until my ear
was suddenly arrested by the paddling of oars near the shore, and a
person landed close to my house.
In a few minutes after, I heard the creaking of my door, as if some one
endeavoured to open it softly. I trembled from head to foot; I felt a
presentiment of who it was and wished to rouse one of the peasants who
dwelt in a cottage not far from mine; but I was overcome by the
sensation of helplessness, so often felt in frightful dreams, when you
in vain endeavour to fly from an impending danger, and was rooted to
the spot. Presently I heard the sound of footsteps along the passage;
the door opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded appeared.
Shutting the door, he approached me and said in a smothered voice, "You
have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you intend?
Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery; I
left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among
its willow islands and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt
many months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland.
I have endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare
destroy my hopes?"
"Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like
yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness."
"Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself
unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe
yourself miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of
day will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master;
obey!"
"The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is
arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but
they confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in
vice. Shall I, in cool blood, set loose upon the earth a daemon whose
delight is in death and wretchedness? Begone! I am firm, and your
words will only exasperate my rage."
The monster saw my determination in my face and gnashed his teeth in
the impotence of anger. "Shall each man," cried he, "find a wife for
his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had
feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn.
Man! You may hate, but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and
misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish from you your
happiness forever. Are you to be happy while I grovel in the intensity
of my wretchedness? You can blast my other passions, but revenge
remains--revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die, but
first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on
your misery. Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will
watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom.
Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict."
"Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice.
I have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend
beneath words. Leave me; I am inexorable."
"It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your
wedding-night."
I started forward and exclaimed, "Villain! Before you sign my
death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe."
I would have seized him, but he eluded me and quitted the house with
precipitation. In a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot
across the waters with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the
waves.
All was again silent, but his words rang in my ears. I burned with
rage to pursue the murderer of my peace and precipitate him into the
ocean. I walked up and down my room hastily and perturbed, while my
imagination conjured up a thousand images to torment and sting me. Why
had I not followed him and closed with him in mortal strife? But I had
suffered him to depart, and he had directed his course towards the
mainland. I shuddered to think who might be the next victim sacrificed
to his insatiate revenge. And then I thought again of his words--"I
WILL BE WITH YOU ON YOUR WEDDING-NIGHT." That, then, was the period
fixed for the fulfilment of my destiny. In that hour I should die and
at once satisfy and extinguish his malice. The prospect did not move
me to fear; yet when I thought of my beloved Elizabeth, of her tears
and endless sorrow, when she should find her lover so barbarously
snatched from her, tears, the first I had shed for many months,
streamed from my eyes, and I resolved not to fall before my enemy
without a bitter struggle.
The night passed away, and the sun rose from the ocean; my feelings
became calmer, if it may be called calmness when the violence of rage
sinks into the depths of despair. I left the house, the horrid scene
of the last night's contention, and walked on the beach of the sea,
which I almost regarded as an insuperable barrier between me and my
fellow creatures; nay, a wish that such should prove the fact stole
across me.
I desired that I might pass my life on that barren rock, wearily, it is
true, but uninterrupted by any sudden shock of misery. If I returned,
it was to be sacrificed or to see those whom I most loved die under the
grasp of a daemon whom I had myself created.
I walked about the isle like a restless spectre, separated from all it
loved and miserable in the separation. When it became noon, and the
sun rose higher, I lay down on the grass and was overpowered by a deep
sleep. I had been awake the whole of the preceding night, my nerves
were agitated, and my eyes inflamed by watching and misery. The sleep
into which I now sank refreshed me; and when I awoke, I again felt as
if I belonged to a race of human beings like myself, and I began to
reflect upon what had passed with greater composure; yet still the
words of the fiend rang in my ears like a death-knell; they appeared
like a dream, yet distinct and oppressive as a reality.
The sun had far descended, and I still sat on the shore, satisfying my
appetite, which had become ravenous, with an oaten cake, when I saw a
fishing-boat land close to me, and one of the men brought me a packet;
it contained letters from Geneva, and one from Clerval entreating me to
join him. He said that he was wearing away his time fruitlessly where
he was, that letters from the friends he had formed in London desired
his return to complete the negotiation they had entered into for his
Indian enterprise. He could not any longer delay his departure; but as
his journey to London might be followed, even sooner than he now
conjectured, by his longer voyage, he entreated me to bestow as much of
my society on him as I could spare. He besought me, therefore, to
leave my solitary isle and to meet him at Perth, that we might proceed
southwards together. This letter in a degree recalled me to life, and
I determined to quit my island at the expiration of two days. Yet,
before I departed, there was a task to perform, on which I shuddered to
reflect; I must pack up my chemical instruments, and for that purpose I
must enter the room which had been the scene of my odious work, and I
must handle those utensils the sight of which was sickening to me. The
next morning, at daybreak, I summoned sufficient courage and unlocked
the door of my laboratory. The remains of the half-finished creature,
whom I had destroyed, lay scattered on the floor, and I almost felt as
if I had mangled the living flesh of a human being. I paused to
collect myself and then entered the chamber. With trembling hand I
conveyed the instruments out of the room, but I reflected that I ought
not to leave the relics of my work to excite the horror and suspicion
of the peasants; and I accordingly put them into a basket, with a great
quantity of stones, and laying them up, determined to throw them into
the sea that very night; and in the meantime I sat upon the beach,
employed in cleaning and arranging my chemical apparatus.
Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place
in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the daemon. I had
before regarded my promise with a gloomy despair as a thing that, with
whatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but I now felt as if a film
had been taken from before my eyes and that I for the first time saw
clearly. The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur
to me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not
reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it. I had resolved in
my own mind that to create another like the fiend I had first made
would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness, and I
banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different
conclusion.
Between two and three in the morning the moon rose; and I then, putting
my basket aboard a little skiff, sailed out about four miles from the
shore. The scene was perfectly solitary; a few boats were returning
towards land, but I sailed away from them. I felt as if I was about
the commission of a dreadful crime and avoided with shuddering anxiety
any encounter with my fellow creatures. At one time the moon, which
had before been clear, was suddenly overspread by a thick cloud, and I
took advantage of the moment of darkness and cast my basket into the
sea; I listened to the gurgling sound as it sank and then sailed away
from the spot. The sky became clouded, but the air was pure, although
chilled by the northeast breeze that was then rising. But it refreshed
me and filled me with such agreeable sensations that I resolved to
prolong my stay on the water, and fixing the rudder in a direct
position, stretched myself at the bottom of the boat. Clouds hid the
moon, everything was obscure, and I heard only the sound of the boat as
its keel cut through the waves; the murmur lulled me, and in a short
time I slept soundly. I do not know how long I remained in this
situation, but when I awoke I found that the sun had already mounted
considerably. The wind was high, and the waves continually threatened
the safety of my little skiff. I found that the wind was northeast and
must have driven me far from the coast from which I had embarked. I
endeavoured to change my course but quickly found that if I again made
the attempt the boat would be instantly filled with water. Thus
situated, my only resource was to drive before the wind. I confess
that I felt a few sensations of terror. I had no compass with me and
was so slenderly acquainted with the geography of this part of the
world that the sun was of little benefit to me. I might be driven into
the wide Atlantic and feel all the tortures of starvation or be
swallowed up in the immeasurable waters that roared and buffeted around
me. I had already been out many hours and felt the torment of a
burning thirst, a prelude to my other sufferings. I looked on the
heavens, which were covered by clouds that flew before the wind, only
to be replaced by others; I looked upon the sea; it was to be my grave.
"Fiend," I exclaimed, "your task is already fulfilled!" I thought of
Elizabeth, of my father, and of Clerval--all left behind, on whom the
monster might satisfy his sanguinary and merciless passions. This idea
plunged me into a reverie so despairing and frightful that even now,
when the scene is on the point of closing before me forever, I shudder
to reflect on it.
Some hours passed thus; but by degrees, as the sun declined towards the
horizon, the wind died away into a gentle breeze and the sea became
free from breakers. But these gave place to a heavy swell; I felt sick
and hardly able to hold the rudder, when suddenly I saw a line of high
land towards the south.
Almost spent, as I was, by fatigue and the dreadful suspense I endured
for several hours, this sudden certainty of life rushed like a flood of
warm joy to my heart, and tears gushed from my eyes.
How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we
have of life even in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail
with a part of my dress and eagerly steered my course towards the land.
It had a wild and rocky appearance, but as I approached nearer I easily
perceived the traces of cultivation. I saw vessels near the shore and
found myself suddenly transported back to the neighbourhood of
civilized man. I carefully traced the windings of the land and hailed
a steeple which I at length saw issuing from behind a small promontory.
As I was in a state of extreme debility, I resolved to sail directly
towards the town, as a place where I could most easily procure
nourishment. Fortunately I had money with me.
As I turned the promontory I perceived a small neat town and a good
harbour, which I entered, my heart bounding with joy at my unexpected
escape.
As I was occupied in fixing the boat and arranging the sails, several
people crowded towards the spot. They seemed much surprised at my
appearance, but instead of offering me any assistance, whispered
together with gestures that at any other time might have produced in me
a slight sensation of alarm. As it was, I merely remarked that they
spoke English, and I therefore addressed them in that language. "My
good friends," said I, "will you be so kind as to tell me the name of
this town and inform me where I am?"
"You will know that soon enough," replied a man with a hoarse voice.
"Maybe you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste,
but you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you."
I was exceedingly surprised on receiving so rude an answer from a
stranger, and I was also disconcerted on perceiving the frowning and
angry countenances of his companions. "Why do you answer me so
roughly?" I replied. "Surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to
receive strangers so inhospitably."
"I do not know," said the man, "what the custom of the English may be,
but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains." While this strange
dialogue continued, I perceived the crowd rapidly increase. Their
faces expressed a mixture of curiosity and anger, which annoyed and in
some degree alarmed me.
I inquired the way to the inn, but no one replied. I then moved
forward, and a murmuring sound arose from the crowd as they followed
and surrounded me, when an ill-looking man approaching tapped me on the
shoulder and said, "Come, sir, you must follow me to Mr. Kirwin's to
give an account of yourself."
"Who is Mr. Kirwin? Why am I to give an account of myself? Is not
this a free country?"
"Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate,
and you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was
found murdered here last night."
This answer startled me, but I presently recovered myself. I was
innocent; that could easily be proved; accordingly I followed my
conductor in silence and was led to one of the best houses in the town.
I was ready to sink from fatigue and hunger, but being surrounded by a
crowd, I thought it politic to rouse all my strength, that no physical
debility might be construed into apprehension or conscious guilt.
Little did I then expect the calamity that was in a few moments to
overwhelm me and extinguish in horror and despair all fear of ignominy
or death. I must pause here, for it requires all my fortitude to recall
the memory of the frightful events which I am about to relate, in
proper detail, to my recollection.
Chapter 21
I was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate, an old
benevolent man with calm and mild manners. He looked upon me, however,
with some degree of severity, and then, turning towards my conductors,
he asked who appeared as witnesses on this occasion.
About half a dozen men came forward; and, one being selected by the
magistrate, he deposed that he had been out fishing the night before
with his son and brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent, when, about ten
o'clock, they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and they
accordingly put in for port. It was a very dark night, as the moon had
not yet risen; they did not land at the harbour, but, as they had been
accustomed, at a creek about two miles below. He walked on first,
carrying a part of the fishing tackle, and his companions followed him
at some distance.
As he was proceeding along the sands, he struck his foot against
something and fell at his length on the ground. His companions came up
to assist him, and by the light of their lantern they found that he had
fallen on the body of a man, who was to all appearance dead. Their
first supposition was that it was the corpse of some person who had
been drowned and was thrown on shore by the waves, but on examination
they found that the clothes were not wet and even that the body was not
then cold. They instantly carried it to the cottage of an old woman
near the spot and endeavoured, but in vain, to restore it to life. It
appeared to be a handsome young man, about five and twenty years of
age. He had apparently been strangled, for there was no sign of any
violence except the black mark of fingers on his neck.
The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me, but
when the mark of the fingers was mentioned I remembered the murder of
my brother and felt myself extremely agitated; my limbs trembled, and a
mist came over my eyes, which obliged me to lean on a chair for
support. The magistrate observed me with a keen eye and of course drew
an unfavourable augury from my manner.
The son confirmed his father's account, but when Daniel Nugent was
called he swore positively that just before the fall of his companion,
he saw a boat, with a single man in it, at a short distance from the
shore; and as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars, it was
the same boat in which I had just landed. A woman deposed that she
lived near the beach and was standing at the door of her cottage,
waiting for the return of the fishermen, about an hour before she heard
of the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat with only one man in
it push off from that part of the shore where the corpse was afterwards
found.
Another woman confirmed the account of the fishermen having brought the
body into her house; it was not cold. They put it into a bed and
rubbed it, and Daniel went to the town for an apothecary, but life was
quite gone.
Several other men were examined concerning my landing, and they agreed
that, with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it
was very probable that I had beaten about for many hours and had been
obliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed.
Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body
from another place, and it was likely that as I did not appear to know
the shore, I might have put into the harbour ignorant of the distance
of the town of ---- from the place where I had deposited the corpse.
Mr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken
into the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be
observed what effect the sight of it would produce upon me. This idea
was probably suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when
the mode of the murder had been described. I was accordingly
conducted, by the magistrate and several other persons, to the inn. I
could not help being struck by the strange coincidences that had taken
place during this eventful night; but, knowing that I had been
conversing with several persons in the island I had inhabited about the
time that the body had been found, I was perfectly tranquil as to the
consequences of the affair. I entered the room where the corpse lay
and was led up to the coffin. How can I describe my sensations on
beholding it? I feel yet parched with horror, nor can I reflect on
that terrible moment without shuddering and agony. The examination,
the presence of the magistrate and witnesses, passed like a dream from
my memory when I saw the lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched
before me. I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on the body, I
exclaimed, "Have my murderous machinations deprived you also, my
dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already destroyed; other victims
await their destiny; but you, Clerval, my friend, my benefactor--"
The human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured, and
I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions. A fever succeeded
to this. I lay for two months on the point of death; my ravings, as I
afterwards heard, were frightful; I called myself the murderer of
William, of Justine, and of Clerval. Sometimes I entreated my
attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fiend by whom I was
tormented; and at others I felt the fingers of the monster already
grasping my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror.
Fortunately, as I spoke my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone understood
me; but my gestures and bitter cries were sufficient to affright the
other witnesses. Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was
before, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches
away many blooming children, the only hopes of their doting parents;
how many brides and youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of
health and hope, and the next a prey for worms and the decay of the
tomb! Of what materials was I made that I could thus resist so many
shocks, which, like the turning of the wheel, continually renewed the
torture?
But I was doomed to live and in two months found myself as awaking from
a dream, in a prison, stretched on a wretched bed, surrounded by
jailers, turnkeys, bolts, and all the miserable apparatus of a dungeon.
It was morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understanding; I had
forgotten the particulars of what had happened and only felt as if some
great misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me; but when I looked around
and saw the barred windows and the squalidness of the room in which I
was, all flashed across my memory and I groaned bitterly.
This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside
me. She was a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her
countenance expressed all those bad qualities which often characterize
that class. The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of
persons accustomed to see without sympathizing in sights of misery. Her
tone expressed her entire indifference; she addressed me in English,
and the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings.
"Are you better now, sir?" said she.
I replied in the same language, with a feeble voice, "I believe I am;
but if it be all true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am
still alive to feel this misery and horror."
"For that matter," replied the old woman, "if you mean about the
gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you
were dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you! However, that's none
of my business; I am sent to nurse you and get you well; I do my duty
with a safe conscience; it were well if everybody did the same."
I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a
speech to a person just saved, on the very edge of death; but I felt
languid and unable to reflect on all that had passed. The whole series
of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it
were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force
of reality.
As the images that floated before me became more distinct, I grew
feverish; a darkness pressed around me; no one was near me who soothed
me with the gentle voice of love; no dear hand supported me. The
physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared
them for me; but utter carelessness was visible in the first, and the
expression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the
second. Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the
hangman who would gain his fee?
These were my first reflections, but I soon learned that Mr. Kirwin had
shown me extreme kindness. He had caused the best room in the prison
to be prepared for me (wretched indeed was the best); and it was he who
had provided a physician and a nurse. It is true, he seldom came to
see me, for although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of
every human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and
miserable ravings of a murderer. He came, therefore, sometimes to see
that I was not neglected, but his visits were short and with long
intervals. One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in
a chair, my eyes half open and my cheeks livid like those in death. I
was overcome by gloom and misery and often reflected I had better seek
death than desire to remain in a world which to me was replete with
wretchedness. At one time I considered whether I should not declare
myself guilty and suffer the penalty of the law, less innocent than
poor Justine had been. Such were my thoughts when the door of my
apartment was opened and Mr. Kirwin entered. His countenance expressed
sympathy and compassion; he drew a chair close to mine and addressed me
in French, "I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do
anything to make you more comfortable?"
"I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me; on the whole
earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving."
"I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to
one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I
hope, soon quit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can
easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge."
"That is my least concern; I am, by a course of strange events, become
the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and
have been, can death be any evil to me?"
"Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonizing than the
strange chances that have lately occurred. You were thrown, by some
surprising accident, on this shore, renowned for its hospitality,
seized immediately, and charged with murder. The first sight that was
presented to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so
unaccountable a manner and placed, as it were, by some fiend across
your path."
As Mr. Kirwin said this, notwithstanding the agitation I endured on
this retrospect of my sufferings, I also felt considerable surprise at
the knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me. I suppose some
astonishment was exhibited in my countenance, for Mr. Kirwin hastened
to say, "Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that
were on your person were brought me, and I examined them that I might
discover some trace by which I could send to your relations an account
of your misfortune and illness. I found several letters, and, among
others, one which I discovered from its commencement to be from your
father. I instantly wrote to Geneva; nearly two months have elapsed
since the departure of my letter. But you are ill; even now you
tremble; you are unfit for agitation of any kind."
"This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event;
tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am
now to lament?"
"Your family is perfectly well," said Mr. Kirwin with gentleness; "and
someone, a friend, is come to visit you."
I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it
instantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my
misery and taunt me with the death of Clerval, as a new incitement for
me to comply with his hellish desires. I put my hand before my eyes,
and cried out in agony, "Oh! Take him away! I cannot see him; for
God's sake, do not let him enter!"
Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance. He could not help
regarding my exclamation as a presumption of my guilt and said in
rather a severe tone, "I should have thought, young man, that the
presence of your father would have been welcome instead of inspiring
such violent repugnance."
"My father!" cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed
from anguish to pleasure. "Is my father indeed come? How kind, how
very kind! But where is he, why does he not hasten to me?"
My change of manner surprised and pleased the magistrate; perhaps he
thought that my former exclamation was a momentary return of delirium,
and now he instantly resumed his former benevolence. He rose and
quitted the room with my nurse, and in a moment my father entered it.
Nothing, at this moment, could have given me greater pleasure than the
arrival of my father. I stretched out my hand to him and cried, "Are
you, then, safe--and Elizabeth--and Ernest?" My father calmed me with
assurances of their welfare and endeavoured, by dwelling on these
subjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my desponding spirits;
but he soon felt that a prison cannot be the abode of cheerfulness.
"What a place is this that you inhabit, my son!" said he, looking
mournfully at the barred windows and wretched appearance of the room.
"You travelled to seek happiness, but a fatality seems to pursue you.
And poor Clerval--"
The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too
great to be endured in my weak state; I shed tears. "Alas! Yes, my
father," replied I; "some destiny of the most horrible kind hangs over
me, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I should have died on the
coffin of Henry."
We were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the
precarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that
could ensure tranquillity. Mr. Kirwin came in and insisted that my
strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion. But the
appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I
gradually recovered my health.
As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black
melancholy that nothing could dissipate. The image of Clerval was
forever before me, ghastly and murdered. More than once the agitation
into which these reflections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous
relapse. Alas! Why did they preserve so miserable and detested a
life? It was surely that I might fulfil my destiny, which is now
drawing to a close. Soon, oh, very soon, will death extinguish these
throbbings and relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears
me to the dust; and, in executing the award of justice, I shall also
sink to rest. Then the appearance of death was distant, although the
wish was ever present to my thoughts; and I often sat for hours
motionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that
might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins.
The season of the assizes approached. I had already been three months
in prison, and although I was still weak and in continual danger of a
relapse, I was obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the country
town where the court was held. Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every
care of collecting witnesses and arranging my defence. I was spared
the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal, as the case was not
brought before the court that decides on life and death. The grand
jury rejected the bill, on its being proved that I was on the Orkney
Islands at the hour the body of my friend was found; and a fortnight
after my removal I was liberated from prison.
My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a
criminal charge, that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh
atmosphere and permitted to return to my native country. I did not
participate in these feelings, for to me the walls of a dungeon or a
palace were alike hateful. The cup of life was poisoned forever, and
although the sun shone upon me, as upon the happy and gay of heart, I
saw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by
no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me. Sometimes
they were the expressive eyes of Henry, languishing in death, the dark
orbs nearly covered by the lids and the long black lashes that fringed
them; sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of the monster, as I
first saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt.
My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection. He talked
of Geneva, which I should soon visit, of Elizabeth and Ernest; but
these words only drew deep groans from me. Sometimes, indeed, I felt a
wish for happiness and thought with melancholy delight of my beloved
cousin or longed, with a devouring maladie du pays, to see once more
the blue lake and rapid Rhone, that had been so dear to me in early
childhood; but my general state of feeling was a torpor in which a
prison was as welcome a residence as the divinest scene in nature; and
these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and
despair. At these moments I often endeavoured to put an end to the
existence I loathed, and it required unceasing attendance and vigilance
to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence.
Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally
triumphed over my selfish despair. It was necessary that I should
return without delay to Geneva, there to watch over the lives of those
I so fondly loved and to lie in wait for the murderer, that if any
chance led me to the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to
blast me by his presence, I might, with unfailing aim, put an end to
the existence of the monstrous image which I had endued with the
mockery of a soul still more monstrous. My father still desired to
delay our departure, fearful that I could not sustain the fatigues of a
journey, for I was a shattered wreck--the shadow of a human being. My
strength was gone. I was a mere skeleton, and fever night and day
preyed upon my wasted frame. Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland
with such inquietude and impatience, my father thought it best to
yield. We took our passage on board a vessel bound for Havre-de-Grace
and sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores. It was midnight. I
lay on the deck looking at the stars and listening to the dashing of
the waves. I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my sight, and
my pulse beat with a feverish joy when I reflected that I should soon
see Geneva. The past appeared to me in the light of a frightful dream;
yet the vessel in which I was, the wind that blew me from the detested
shore of Ireland, and the sea which surrounded me told me too forcibly
that I was deceived by no vision and that Clerval, my friend and
dearest companion, had fallen a victim to me and the monster of my
creation. I repassed, in my memory, my whole life--my quiet happiness
while residing with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother, and my
departure for Ingolstadt. I remembered, shuddering, the mad enthusiasm
that hurried me on to the creation of my hideous enemy, and I called to
mind the night in which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the
train of thought; a thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept
bitterly. Ever since my recovery from the fever I had been in the
custom of taking every night a small quantity of laudanum, for it was
by means of this drug only that I was enabled to gain the rest
necessary for the preservation of life. Oppressed by the recollection
of my various misfortunes, I now swallowed double my usual quantity and
soon slept profoundly. But sleep did not afford me respite from
thought and misery; my dreams presented a thousand objects that scared
me. Towards morning I was possessed by a kind of nightmare; I felt the
fiend's grasp in my neck and could not free myself from it; groans and
cries rang in my ears. My father, who was watching over me, perceiving
my restlessness, awoke me; the dashing waves were around, the cloudy
sky above, the fiend was not here: a sense of security, a feeling that
a truce was established between the present hour and the irresistible,
disastrous future imparted to me a kind of calm forgetfulness, of which
the human mind is by its structure peculiarly susceptible.
Chapter 22
The voyage came to an end. We landed, and proceeded to Paris. I soon
found that I had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I
could continue my journey. My father's care and attentions were
indefatigable, but he did not know the origin of my sufferings and
sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill. He wished me to
seek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, not
abhorred! They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt
attracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an
angelic nature and celestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right
to share their intercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them whose
joy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans. How they
would, each and all, abhor me and hunt me from the world did they know
my unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me!
My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by
various arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I
felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of
murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.
"Alas! My father," said I, "how little do you know me. Human beings,
their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such a wretch
as I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I,
and she suffered the same charge; she died for it; and I am the cause
of this--I murdered her. William, Justine, and Henry--they all died by
my hands."
My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same
assertion; when I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an
explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring
of delirium, and that, during my illness, some idea of this kind had
presented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I
preserved in my convalescence.
I avoided explanation and maintained a continual silence concerning the
wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that I should be supposed
mad, and this in itself would forever have chained my tongue. But,
besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill
my hearer with consternation and make fear and unnatural horror the
inmates of his breast. I checked, therefore, my impatient thirst for
sympathy and was silent when I would have given the world to have
confided the fatal secret. Yet, still, words like those I have
recorded would burst uncontrollably from me. I could offer no
explanation of them, but their truth in part relieved the burden of my
mysterious woe. Upon this occasion my father said, with an expression
of unbounded wonder, "My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My
dear son, I entreat you never to make such an assertion again."
"I am not mad," I cried energetically; "the sun and the heavens, who
have viewed my operations, can bear witness of my truth. I am the
assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations.
A thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have
saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not
sacrifice the whole human race."
The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were
deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and
endeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts. He wished as much as
possible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in
Ireland and never alluded to them or suffered me to speak of my
misfortunes.
As time passed away I became more calm; misery had her dwelling in my
heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own
crimes; sufficient for me was the consciousness of them. By the utmost
self-violence I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness, which
sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world, and my manners
were calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey
to the sea of ice. A few days before we left Paris on our way to
Switzerland, I received the following letter from Elizabeth:
"My dear Friend,
"It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle
dated at Paris; you are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may
hope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much you
must have suffered! I expect to see you looking even more ill than
when you quitted Geneva. This winter has been passed most miserably,
tortured as I have been by anxious suspense; yet I hope to see peace in
your countenance and to find that your heart is not totally void of
comfort and tranquillity.
"Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable
a year ago, even perhaps augmented by time. I would not disturb you at
this period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you, but a
conversation that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders
some explanation necessary before we meet. Explanation! You may
possibly say, What can Elizabeth have to explain? If you really say
this, my questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied. But you
are distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet be
pleased with this explanation; and in a probability of this being the
case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what, during your absence,
I have often wished to express to you but have never had the courage to
begin.
"You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan of
your parents ever since our infancy. We were told this when young, and
taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take
place. We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I
believe, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But
as brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each
other without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our
case? Tell me, dearest Victor. Answer me, I conjure you by our mutual
happiness, with simple truth--Do you not love another?
"You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at
Ingolstadt; and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last
autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every
creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our
connection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of
your parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations.
But this is false reasoning. I confess to you, my friend, that I love
you and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant
friend and companion. But it is your happiness I desire as well as my
own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally
miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Even now
I weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruellest
misfortunes, you may stifle, by the word 'honour,' all hope of that
love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself. I, who
have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries
tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes. Ah! Victor, be assured
that your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be
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