My present situation was one
in which all voluntary thought
was swallowed up and lost. I
was hurried away by fury; revenge
alone endowed me with strength
and composure; it moulded my
feelings, and allowed me to be
calculating and calm, at periods
when otherwise delirium or death
would have been my portion.
My first resolution was to
quit Geneva for ever; my country,
which, when I was happy and beloved,
was dear to me, now, in my adversity,
became hateful. I provided myself
with a sum of money, together
with a few jewels which had belonged
to my mother, and departed.
And now my wanderings began,
which are to cease but with life.
I have traversed a vast portion
of the earth, and have endured
all the hardships which travellers,
in deserts and barbarous countries,
are wont to meet. How I have
lived I hardly know; many times
have I stretched my failing limbs
upon the sandy plain and prayed
for death. But revenge kept me
alive; I dared not die and leave
my adversary in being.
When I quitted Geneva my first
labour was to gain some clue
by which I might trace the steps
of my fiendish enemy. But my
plan was unsettled; and I wandered
many hours round the confines
of the town, uncertain what path
I should pursue. As night approached,
I found myself at the entrance
of the cemetery where William,
Elizabeth, and my father reposed.
I entered it and approached the
tomb which marked their graves.
Everything was silent, except
the leaves of the trees, which
were gently agitated by the wind;
the night was nearly dark; and
the scene would have been solemn
and affecting even to an uninterested
observer. The spirits of the
departed seemed to flit around
and to cast a shadow, which was
felt but not seen, around the
head of the mourner.
The deep grief
which this scene had at first
excited quickly
gave way to rage and despair.
They were dead, and I lived;
their murderer also lived, and
to destroy him I must drag out
my weary existence. I knelt on
the grass and kissed the earth,
and with quivering lips exclaimed, "By
the sacred earth on which I kneel,
by the shades that wander near
me, by the deep and eternal grief
that I feel, I swear; and by
thee, O Night, and the spirits
that preside over thee, to pursue
the daemon who caused this misery
until he or I shall perish in
mortal conflict. For this purpose
I will preserve my life: to execute
this dear revenge will I again
behold the sun and tread the
green herbage of earth, which
otherwise should vanish from
my eyes for ever. And I call
on you, spirits of the dead;
and on you, wandering ministers
of vengeance, to aid and conduct
me in my work. Let the cursed
and hellish monster drink deep
of agony; let him feel the despair
that now torments me."
I had begun my abjuration with
solemnity and an awe which almost
assured me that the shades of
my murdered friends heard and
approved my devotion; but the
furies possessed me as I concluded,
and rage choked my utterance.
I was answered
through the stillness of night
by a loud
and fiendish laugh. It rung on
my ears long and heavily; the
mountains re-echoed it, and I
felt as if all hell surrounded
me with mockery and laughter.
Surely in that moment I should
have been possessed by frenzy,
and have destroyed my miserable
existence, but that my vow was
heard and that I was reserved
for vengeance. The laughter died
away; when a well-known and abhorred
voice, apparently close to my
ear, addressed me in an audible
whisper--"I am satisfied: miserable
wretch! you have determined to
live, and I am satisfied."
I darted towards the spot from
which the sound proceeded; but
the devil eluded my grasp. Suddenly
the broad disk of the moon arose
and shone full upon his ghastly
and distorted shape as he fled
with more than mortal speed.
I pursued him; and for many
months this has been my task.
Guided by a slight clue I followed
the windings of the Rhone, but
vainly. The blue Mediterranean
appeared; and, by a strange chance,
I saw the fiend enter by night
and hide himself in a vessel
bound for the Black Sea. I took
my passage in the same ship;
but he escaped, I know not how.
Amidst the wilds of Tartary
and Russia, although he still
evaded me, I have ever followed
in his track. Sometimes the peasants,
scared by this horrid apparition,
informed me of his path; sometimes
he himself, who feared that if
I lost all trace of him I should
despair and die, left some mark
to guide me. The snows descended
on my head, and I saw the print
of his huge step on the white
plain. To you first entering
on life, to whom care is new
and agony unknown, how can you
understand what I have felt and
still feel? Cold, want, and fatigue
were the least pains which I
was destined to endure; I was
cursed by some devil, and carried
about with me my eternal hell;
yet still a spirit of good followed
and directed my steps; and, when
I most murmured, would suddenly
extricate me from seemingly insurmountable
difficulties. Sometimes, when
nature, overcome by hunger, sunk
under the exhaustion, a repast
was prepared for me in the desert
that restored and inspirited
me. The fare was, indeed, coarse,
such as the peasants of the country
ate; but I will not doubt that
it was set there by the spirits
that I had invoked to aid me.
Often, when all was dry, the
heavens cloudless, and I was
parched by thirst, a slight cloud
would bedim the sky, shed the
few drops that revived me, and
vanish.
I followed, when I could, the
courses of the rivers; but the
daemon generally avoided these,
as it was here that the population
of the country chiefly collected.
In other places human beings
were seldom seen; and I generally
subsisted on the wild animals
that crossed my path. I had money
with me, and gained the friendship
of the villagers by distributing
it; or I brought with me some
food that I had killed, which,
after taking a small part, I
always presented to those who
had provided me with fire and
utensils for cooking.
My life, as it passed thus,
was indeed hateful to me, and
it was during sleep alone that
I could taste joy. O blessed
sleep! often, when most miserable,
I sank to repose, and my dreams
lulled me even to rapture. The
spirits that guarded me had provided
these moments, or rather hours,
of happiness, that I might retain
strength to fulfil my pilgrimage.
Deprived of this respite, I should
have sunk under my hardships.
During the day I was sustained
and inspirited by the hope of
night: for in sleep I saw my
friends, my wife, and my beloved
country; again I saw the benevolent
countenance of my father, heard
the silver tones of my Elizabeth's
voice, and beheld Clerval enjoying
health and youth. Often, when
wearied by a toilsome march,
I persuaded myself that I was
dreaming until night should come,
and that I should then enjoy
reality in the arms of my dearest
friends. What agonising fondness
did I feel for them! how did
I cling to their dear forms,
as sometimes they haunted even
my waking hours, and persuade
myself that they still lived!
At such moments vengeance, that
burned within me, died in my
heart, and I pursued my path
towards the destruction of the
daemon more as a task enjoined
by heaven, as the mechanical
impulse of some power of which
I was unconscious, than as the
ardent desire of my soul.
What his feelings
were whom I pursued I cannot
know. Sometimes,
indeed, he left marks in writing
on the barks of the trees, or
cut in stone, that guided me
and instigated my fury. "My reign
is not yet over" (these words
were legible in one of these
inscriptions); "you live, and
my power is complete. Fellow
me; I seek the everlasting ices
of the north, where you will
feel the misery of cold and frost
to which I am impassive. You
will find near this place, if
you follow not too tardily, a
dead hare; eat and be refreshed.
Come on, my enemy; we have yet
to wrestle for our lives; but
many hard and miserable hours
must you endure until that period
shall arrive."
Scoffing devil! Again do I
vow vengeance; again do I devote
thee, miserable fiend, to torture
and death. Never will I give
up my search until he or I perish;
and then with what ecstasy shall
I join my Elizabeth and my departed
friends, who even now prepare
for me the reward of my tedious
toil and horrible pilgrimage!
As I still pursued my journey
to the northward, the snows thickened
and the cold increased in a degree
almost too severe to support.
The peasants were shut up in
their hovels, and only a few
of the most hardy ventured forth
to seize the animals whom starvation
had forced from their hiding
places to seek for prey. The
rivers were covered with ice
and no fish could be procured;
and thus I was cut off from my
chief article of maintenance.
The triumph
of my enemy increased with
the difficulty of my labours.
One inscription that he left
was in these words:--"Prepare!
your toils only begin: wrap yourself
in furs and provide food; for
we shall soon enter upon a journey
where your sufferings will satisfy
my everlasting hatred."
My courage and perseverance
were invigorated by these scoffing
words; I resolved not to fail
in my purpose; and, calling on
Heaven to support me, I continued
with unabated fervour to traverse
immense deserts until the ocean
appeared at a distance and formed
the utmost boundary of the horizon.
Oh! how unlike it was to the
blue seas of the south! Covered
with ice, it was only to be distinguished
from land by its superior wildness
and ruggedness. The Greeks wept
for joy when they beheld the
Mediterranean from the hills
of Asia, and hailed with rapture
the boundary of their toils.
I did not weep; but I knelt down
and, with a full heart, thanked
my guiding spirit for conducting
me in safety to the place where
I hoped, notwithstanding my adversary's
gibe, to meet and grapple with
him.
Some weeks before this period
I had procured a sledge and dogs,
and thus traversed the snows
with inconceivable speed. I know
not whether the fiend possessed
the same advantages; but I found
that, as before I had daily lost
ground in the pursuit, I now
gained on him: so much so that,
when I first saw the ocean, he
was but one day's journey in
advance, and I hoped to intercept
him before he should reach the
beach. With new courage, therefore,
I pressed on, and in two days
arrived at a wretched hamlet
on the sea-shore. I inquired
of the inhabitants concerning
the fiend, and gained accurate
information. A gigantic monster,
they said, had arrived the night
before, armed with a gun and
many pistols, putting to flight
the inhabitants of a solitary
cottage through fear of his terrific
appearance. He had carried off
their store of winter food, and
placing it in a sledge, to draw
which he had seized on a numerous
drove of trained dogs, he had
harnessed them, and the same
night, to the joy of the horror-struck
villagers, had pursued his journey
across the sea in a direction
that led to no land; and they
conjectured that he must speedily
be destroyed by the breaking
of the ice or frozen by the eternal
frosts.
On hearing this information,
I suffered a temporary access
of despair. He had escaped me;
and I must commence a destructive
and almost endless journey across
the mountainous ices of the ocean--amidst
cold that few of the inhabitants
could long endure, and which
I, the native of a genial and
sunny climate, could not hope
to survive. Yet at the idea that
the fiend should live and be
triumphant, my rage and vengeance
returned, and, like a mighty
tide, overwhelmed every other
feeling. After a slight repose,
during which the spirits of the
dead hovered round and instigated
me to toil and revenge, I prepared
for my journey.
I exchanged my land-sledge
for one fashioned for the inequalities
of the Frozen Ocean; and purchasing
a plentiful stock of provisions,
I departed from land.
I cannot guess how many days
have passed since then; but I
have endured misery which nothing
but the eternal sentiment of
a just retribution burning within
my heart could have enabled me
to support. Immense and rugged
mountains of ice often barred
up my passage, and I often heard
the thunder of the ground sea
which threatened my destruction.
But again the frost came and
made the paths of the sea secure.
By the quantity of provision
which I had consumed, I should
guess that I had passed three
weeks in this journey; and the
continual protraction of hope,
returning back upon the heart,
often wrung bitter drops of despondency
and grief from my eyes. Despair
had indeed almost secured her
prey, and I should soon have
sunk beneath this misery. Once,
after the poor animals that conveyed
me had with incredible toil gained
the summit of a sloping ice mountain,
and one, sinking under his fatigue,
died, I viewed the expanse before
me with anguish, when suddenly
my eye caught a dark speck upon
the dusky plain. I strained my
sight to discover what it could
be, and uttered a wild cry of
ecstasy when I distinguished
a sledge and the distorted proportions
of a well known form within.
Oh! with what a burning gush
did hope revisit my heart! warm
tears filled my eyes, which I
hastily wiped away that they
might not intercept the view
I had of the daemon; but still
my sight was dimmed by the burning
drops until, giving way to the
emotions that oppressed me, I
wept aloud.
But this was not the time for
delay: I disencumbered the dogs
of their dead companion, gave
them a plentiful portion of food;
and, after an hour's rest, which
was absolutely necessary, and
yet which was bitterly irksome
to me, I continued my route.
The sledge was still visible;
nor did I again lose sight of
it except at the moments when
for a short time some ice-rock
concealed it with its intervening
crags. I indeed perceptibly gained
on it; and when, after nearly
two days' journey, I beheld my
enemy at no more than a mile
distant, my heart bounded within
me.
But now, when I appeared almost
within grasp of my foe, my hopes
were suddenly extinguished, and
I lost all trace of him more
utterly than I had ever done
before. A ground sea was heard;
the thunder of its progress,
as the waters rolled and swelled
beneath me, became every moment
more ominous and terrific. I
pressed on, but in vain. The
wind arose; the sea roared; and,
as with the mighty shock of an
earthquake, it split and cracked
with a tremendous and overwhelming
sound. The work was soon finished:
in a few minutes a tumultuous
sea rolled between me and my
enemy, and I was left drifting
on a scattered piece of ice,
that was continually lessening,
and thus preparing for me a hideous
death.
In this manner many appalling
hours passed; several of my dogs
died; and I myself was about
to sink under the accumulation
of distress when I saw your vessel
riding at anchor, and holding
forth to me hopes of succour
and life. I had no conception
that vessels ever came so far
north, and was astounded at the
sight. I quickly destroyed part
of my sledge to construct oars;
and by these means was enabled,
with infinite fatigue, to move
my ice-raft in the direction
of your ship. I had determined,
if you were going southward,
still to trust myself to the
mercy of the seas rather than
abandon my purpose. I hoped to
induce you to grant me a boat
with which I could pursue my
enemy. But your direction was
northward. You took me on board
when my vigour was exhausted,
and I should soon have sunk under
my multiplied hardships into
a death which I still dread--for
my task is unfulfilled.
Oh! when will my guiding spirit,
in conducting me to the daemon,
allow me the rest I so much desire;
or must I die and he yet live?
If I do, swear to me, Walton,
that he shall not escape; that
you will seek him and satisfy
my vengeance in his death. And
do I dare to ask of you to undertake
my pilgrimage, to endure the
hardships that I have undergone?
No; I am not so selfish. Yet,
when I am dead, if he should
appear; if the ministers of vengeance
should conduct him to you, swear
that he shall not live--swear
that he shall not triumph over
my accumulated woes, and survive
to add to the list of his dark
crimes. He is eloquent and persuasive;
and once his words had even power
over my heart: but trust him
not. His soul is as hellish as
his form, full of treachery and
fiendlike malice. Hear him not;
call on the names of William,
Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth,
my father, and of the wretched
Victor, and thrust your sword
into his heart. I will hover
near and direct the steel aright.
WALTON, _in continuation_ _August
26th, 17--._
You have read this strange
and terrific story, Margaret;
and do you not feel your blood
congeal with horror like that
which even now curdles mine?
Sometimes, seized with sudden
agony, he could not continue
his tale; at others, his voice
broken, yet piercing, uttered
with difficulty the words so
replete with anguish. His fine
and lovely eyes were now lighted
up with indignation, now subdued
to downcast sorrow, and quenched
in infinite wretchedness. Sometimes
he commanded his countenance
and tones, and related the most
horrible incidents with a tranquil
voice, suppressing every mark
of agitation; then, like a volcano
bursting forth, his face would
suddenly change to an expression
of the wildest rage, as he shrieked
out imprecations on his persecutor.
His tale is connected, and
told with an appearance of the
simplest truth; yet I own to
you that the letters of Felix
and Safie, which he showed me,
and the apparition of the monster
seen from our ship, brought to
me a greater conviction of the
truth of his narrative than his
asseverations, however earnest
and connected. Such a monster
has then really existence! I
cannot doubt it; yet I am lost
in surprise and admiration. Sometimes
I endeavoured to gain from Frankenstein
the particulars of his creature's
formation: but on this point
he was impenetrable.
"Are you mad, my friend?" said
he; "or whither does your senseless
curiosity lead you? Would you
also create for yourself and
the world a demoniacal enemy?
Peace, peace! learn my miseries,
and do not seek to increase your
own."
Frankenstein
discovered that I made notes
concerning his history:
he asked to see them, and then
himself corrected and augmented
them in many places; but principally
in giving the life and spirit
to the conversations he held
with his enemy. "Since you have
preserved my narration," said
he, "I would not that a mutilated
one should go down to posterity."
Thus has a week passed away,
while I have listened to the
strangest tale that ever imagination
formed. My thoughts, and every
feeling of my soul, have been
drunk up by the interest for
my guest, which this tale, and
his own elevated and gentle manners,
have created. I wish to soothe
him; yet can I counsel one so
infinitely miserable, so destitute
of every hope of consolation,
to live? Oh, no! the only joy
that he can now know will be
when he composes his shattered
spirit to peace and death. Yet
he enjoys one comfort, the offspring
of solitude and delirium: he
believes that, when in dreams
he holds converse with his friends
and derives from that communion
consolation for his miseries
or excitements to his vengeance,
they are not the creations of
his fancy, but the beings themselves
who visit him from the regions
of a remote world. This faith
gives a solemnity to his reveries
that render them to me almost
as imposing and interesting as
truth.
Our conversations are not always
confined to his own history and
misfortunes. On every point of
general literature he displays
unbounded knowledge and a quick
and piercing apprehension. His
eloquence is forcible and touching;
nor can I hear him, when he relates
a pathetic incident, or endeavours
to move the passions of pity
or love, without tears. What
a glorious creature must he have
been in the days of his prosperity
when he is thus noble and godlike
in ruin! He seems to feel his
own worth and the greatness of
his fall.
"When younger," said he, "I
believed myself destined for
some great enterprise. My feelings
are profound; but I possessed
a coolness of judgment that fitted
me for illustrious achievements.
This sentiment of the worth of
my nature supported me when others
would have been oppressed; for
I deemed it criminal to throw
away in useless grief those talents
that might be useful to my fellow-creatures.
When I reflected on the work
I had completed, no less a one
than the creation of a sensitive
and rational animal, I could
not rank myself with the herd
of common projectors. But this
thought, which supported me in
the commencement of my career,
now serves only to plunge me
lower in the dust. All my speculations
and hopes are as nothing; and,
like the archangel who aspired
to omnipotence, I am chained
in an eternal hell. My imagination
was vivid, yet my powers of analysis
and application were intense;
by the union of these qualities
I conceived the idea and executed
the creation of a man. Even now
I cannot recollect without passion
my reveries while the work was
incomplete. I trod heaven in
my thoughts, now exulting in
my powers, now burning with the
idea of their effects. From my
infancy I was imbued with high
hopes and a lofty ambition; but
how am I sunk! Oh! my friend,
if you had known me as I once
was you would not recognise me
in this state of degradation.
Despondency rarely visited my
heart; a high destiny seemed
to bear me on until I fell, never,
never again to rise.
"Must I then
lose this admirable being?
I have longed for a friend;
I have sought one who would sympathise
with and love me. Behold, on
these desert seas I have found
such a one; but I fear I have
gained him only to know his value
and lose him. I would reconcile
him to life, but he repulses
the idea.
"I thank you, Walton," he said, "for
your kind intentions towards
so miserable a wretch; but when
you speak of new ties and fresh
affections, think you that any
can replace those who are gone?
Can any man be to me as Clerval
was; or any woman another Elizabeth?
Even, where the affections are
not strongly moved by any superior
excellence, the companions of
our childhood always possess
a certain power over our minds
which hardly any later friend
can obtain. They know our infantine
dispositions, which, however
they may be afterwards modified,
are never eradicated; and they
can judge of our actions with
more certain conclusions as to
the integrity of our motives.
A sister or a brother can never,
unless indeed such symptoms have
been shown early, suspect the
other of fraud or false dealing,
when another friend, however
strongly he may be attached,
may, in spite of himself, be
contemplated with suspicion.
But I enjoyed friends, dear not
only through habit and association,
but from their own merits; and
wherever I am the soothing voice
of my Elizabeth and the conversation
of Clerval will be ever whispered
in my ear. They are dead, and
but one feeing in such a solitude
can persuade me to preserve my
life. If I were engaged in any
high undertaking or design, fraught
with extensive utility to my
fellow-creatures, then could
I live to fulfil it. But such
is not my destiny; I must pursue
and destroy the being to whom
I gave existence; then my lot
on earth will be fulfilled, and
I may die."
_September 2nd._
MY BELOVED SISTER,--I write
to you encompassed by peril and
ignorant whether I am ever doomed
to see again dear England, and
the dearer friends that inhabit
it. I am surrounded by mountains
of ice which admit of no escape
and threaten every moment to
crush my vessel. The brave fellows
whom I have persuaded to be my
companions look towards me for
aid; but I have none to bestow.
There is something terribly appalling
in our situation, yet my courage
and hopes do not desert me. Yet
it is terrible to reflect that
the lives of all these men are
endangered through me. If we
are lost, my mad schemes are
the cause.
And what, Margaret, will be
the state of your mind? You will
not hear of my destruction, and
you will anxiously await my return.
Years will pass, and you will
have visitings of despair, and
yet be tortured by hope. Oh!
my beloved sister, the sickening
failing of your heart felt expectations
is, in prospect, more terrible
to me than my own death. But
you have a husband and lovely
children; you may be happy: Heaven
bless you and make you so!
My unfortunate guest regards
me with the tenderest compassion.
He endeavours to fill me with
hope; and talks as if life were
a possession which he valued.
He reminds me how often the same
accidents have happened to other
navigators who have attempted
this sea, and, in spite of myself,
he fills me with cheerful auguries.
Even the sailors feel the power
of his eloquence: when he speaks
they no longer despair; he rouses
their energies and, while they
hear his voice, they believe
these vast mountains of ice are
mole-hills which will vanish
before the resolutions of man.
These feelings are transitory;
each day of expectation delayed
fills them with fear, and I almost
dread a mutiny caused by this
despair.
_September 5th._
A scene has just passed of
such uncommon interest that although
it is highly probable that these
papers may never reach you, yet
I cannot forbear recording it.
We are still surrounded by
mountains of ice, still in imminent
danger of being crushed in their
conflict. The cold is excessive,
and many of my unfortunate comrades
have already found a grave amidst
this scene of desolation. Frankenstein
has daily declined in health:
a feverish fire still glimmers
in his eyes; but he is exhausted,
and when suddenly roused to any
exertion he speedily sinks again
into apparent lifelessness.
I mentioned in my last letter
the fears I entertained of a
mutiny. This morning, as I sat
watching the wan countenance
of my friend--his eyes half closed,
and his limbs hanging listlessly--I
was roused by half a dozen of
the sailors who demanded admission
into the cabin. They entered,
and their leader addressed me.
He told me that he and his companions
had been chosen by the other
sailors to come in deputation
to me, to make me a requisition
which, in justice, I could not
refuse. We were immured in ice
and should probably never escape;
but they feared that if, as was
possible, the ice should dissipate,
and a free passage be opened,
I should be rash enough to continue
my voyage and lead them into
fresh dangers after they might
happily have surmounted this.
They insisted, therefore, that
I should engage with a solemn
promise that if the vessel should
be freed I would instantly direct
my course southward.
This speech troubled me. I
had not despaired; nor had I
yet conceived the idea of returning
if set free. Yet could I, in
justice, or even in possibility,
refuse this demand? I hesitated
before I answered; when Frankenstein,
who had at first been silent,
and, indeed, appeared hardly
to have force enough to attend,
now roused himself; his eyes
sparkled, and his cheeks flushed
with momentary vigour. Turning
towards the men he said--
"What do you
mean? What do you demand of
your captain? Are
you then so easily turned from
your design? Did you not call
this a glorious expedition? And
wherefore was it glorious? Not
because the way was smooth and
placid as a southern sea, but
because it was full of dangers
and terror; because at every
new incident your fortitude was
to be called forth and your courage
exhibited; because danger and
death surrounded it, and these
you were to brave and overcome.
For this was it a glorious, for
this was it an honourable undertaking.
You were hereafter to be hailed
as the benefactors of your species;
your names adored as belonging
to brave men who encountered
death for honour and the benefit
of mankind. And now, behold,
with the first imagination of
danger, or, if you will, the
first mighty and terrific trial
of your courage, you shrink away,
and are content to be handed
down as men who had not strength
enough to endure cold and peril;
and so, poor souls, they were
chilly and returned to their
warm firesides. Why that requires
not this preparation; ye need
not have come thus far, and dragged
your captain to the shame of
a defeat, merely to prove yourselves
cowards. Oh! be men, or be more
than men. Be steady to your purposes
and firm as a rock. This ice
is not made of such stuff as
your hearts may be; it is mutable
and cannot withstand you if you
say that it shall not. Do not
return to your families with
the stigma of disgrace marked
on your brows. Return as heroes
who have fought and conquered,
and who know not what it is to
turn their backs on the foe."
He spoke this with a voice
so modulated to the different
feelings expressed in his speech,
with an eye so full of lofty
design and heroism, that can
you wonder that these men were
moved? They looked at one another
and were unable to reply. I spoke;
I told them to retire and consider
of what had been said: that I
would not lead them farther north
if they strenuously desired the
contrary; but that I hoped that,
with reflection, their courage
would return.
They retired, and I turned
towards my friend; but he was
sunk in languor and almost deprived
of life.
How all this will terminate
I know not; but I had rather
die than return shamefully--my
purpose unfulfilled. Yet I fear
such will be my fate; the men,
unsupported by ideas of glory
and honour, can never willingly
continue to endure their present
hardships.
_September 7th._
The die is cast; I have consented
to return if we are not destroyed.
Thus are my hopes blasted by
cowardice and indecision; I come
back ignorant and disappointed.
It requires more philosophy than
I possess to bear this injustice
with patience.
_Septmber 12th._
It is past; I am returning
to England. I have lost my hopes
of utility and glory;--I have
lost my friend. But I will endeavour
to detail these bitter circumstances
to you, my dear sister; and while
I am wafted towards England,
and towards you, I will not despond.
September 9th,
the ice began to move, and
roarings like thunder
were heard at a distance as the
islands split and cracked in
every direction. We were in the
most imminent peril; but, as
we could only remain passive,
my chief attention was occupied
by my unfortunate guest, whose
illness increased in such a degree
that he was entirely confined
to his bed. The ice cracked behind
us, and was driven with force
towards the north; a breeze sprung
from the west, and on the 11th
the passage towards the south
became perfectly free. When the
sailors saw this, and that their
return to their native country
was apparently assured, a shout
of tumultuous joy broke from
them, loud and long-continued.
Frankenstein, who was dozing,
awoke and asked the cause of
the tumult. "They shout," I said, "because
they will soon return to England."
"Do you then
really return?"
"Alas! yes;
I cannot withstand their demands.
I cannot lead
them unwillingly to danger, and
I must return."
"Do so, if you will; but I
will not. You may give up your
purpose, but mine is assigned
to me by Heaven, and I dare not.
I am weak; but surely the spirits
who assist my vengeance will
endow me with sufficient strength." Saying
this, he endeavoured to spring
from the bed, but the exertion
was too great for him; he fell
back and fainted.
It was long before he was restored;
and I often thought that life
was entirely extinct. At length
he opened his eyes; he breathed
with difficulty, and was unable
to speak. The surgeon gave him
a composing draught and ordered
us to leave him undisturbed.
In the meantime he told me that
my friend had certainly not many
hours to live.
His sentence
was pronounced, and I could
only grieve and be
patient. I sat by his bed watching
him; his eyes were closed, and
I thought he slept; but presently
he called to me in a feeble voice,
and, bidding me come near, said--"Alas!
the strength I relied on is gone;
I feel that I shall soon die,
and he, my enemy and persecutor,
may still be in being. Think
not, Walton, that in the last
moments of my existence I feel
that burning hatred and ardent
desire of revenge I once expressed;
but I feel myself justified in
desiring the death of my adversary.
During these last days I have
been occupied in examining my
past conduct; nor do I find it
blamable. In a fit of enthusiastic
madness I created a rational
creature, and was bound towards
him, to assure, as far as was
in my power, his happiness and
well-being. This was my duty;
but there was another still paramount
to that. My duties towards the
beings of my own species had
greater claims to my attention,
because they included a greater
proportion of happiness or misery.
Urged by this view, I refused,
and I did right in refusing,
to create a companion for the
first creature. He showed unparalleled
malignity and selfishness, in
evil: he destroyed my friends;
he devoted to destruction beings
who possessed exquisite sensations,
happiness, and wisdom; nor do
I know where this thirst for
vengeance may end. Miserable
himself, that he may render no
other wretched he ought to die.
The task of his destruction was
mine, but I have failed. When
actuated by selfish and vicious
motives I asked you to undertake
my unfinished work; and I renew
this request now when I am only
induced by reason and virtue.
"Yet I cannot
ask you to renounce your country
and friends to fulfil
this task; and now that you are
returning to England you will
have little chance of meeting
with him. But the consideration
of these points, and the well
balancing of what you may esteem
your duties, I leave to you;
my judgment and ideas are already
disturbed by the near approach
of death. I dare not ask you
to do what I think right, for
I may still be misled by passion.
"That he should
live to be an instrument of
mischief disturbs
me; in other respects, this hour,
when I momentarily expect my
release, is the only happy one
which I have enjoyed for several
years. The forms of the beloved
dead flit before me and I hasten
to their arms. Farewell, Walton!
Seek happiness in tranquillity
and avoid ambition, even if it
be only the apparently innocent
one of distinguishing yourself
in science and discoveries. Yet
why do I say this? I have myself
been blasted in these hopes,
yet another may succeed."
His voice became fainter as
he spoke; and at length, exhausted
by his effort, he sunk into silence.
About half an hour afterwards
he attempted again to speak,
but was unable; he pressed my
hand feebly, and his eyes closed
for ever, while the irradiation
of a gentle smile passed away
from his lips.
Margaret, what comment can
I make on the untimely extinction
of this glorious spirit? What
can I say that will enable you
to understand the depth of my
sorrow? All that I should express
would be inadequate and feeble.
My tears flow; my mind is overshadowed
by a cloud of disappointment.
But I journey towards England,
and I may there find consolation.
I am interrupted. What do these
sounds portend? It is midnight;
the breeze blows fairly, and
the watch on deck scarcely stir.
Again; there is a sound as of
a human voice, but hoarser; it
comes from the cabin where the
remains of Frankenstein still
lie. I must arise and examine.
Good night, my sister.
Great God! what a scene has
just taken place! I am yet dizzy
with the remembrance of it. I
hardly know whether I shall have
the power to detail it; yet the
tale which I have recorded would
be incomplete without this final
and wonderful catastrophe.
I entered the cabin where lay
the remains of my ill-fated and
admirable friend. Over him hung
a form which I cannot find words
to describe; gigantic in stature,
yet uncouth and distorted in
its proportions. As he hung over
the coffin his face was concealed
by long locks of ragged hair;
but one vast hand was extended,
in colour and apparent texture
like that of a mummy. When he
heard the sound of my approach
he ceased to utter exclamations
of grief and horror and sprung
towards the window. Never did
I behold a vision so horrible
as his face, of such loathsome
yet appalling hideousness. I
shut my eyes involuntarily and
endeavoured to recollect what
were my duties with regard to
this destroyer. I called on him
to stay.
He paused, looking on me with
wonder; and, again turning towards
the lifeless form of his creator,
he seemed to forget my presence,
and every feature and gesture
seemed instigated by the wildest
rage of some uncontrollable passion.
"That is also my victim!" he
exclaimed: "in his murder my
crimes are consummated; the miserable
series of my being is wound to
its close! Oh, Frankenstein!
generous and self-devoted being!
what does it avail that I now
ask thee to pardon me? I, who
irretrievably destroyed thee
by destroying all thou lovedst.
Alas! he is cold, he cannot answer
me."
His voice seemed
suffocated; and my first impulses,
which
had suggested to me the duty
of obeying the dying request
of my friend, in destroying his
enemy, were now suspended by
a mixture of curiosity and compassion.
I approached this tremendous
being; I dared not again raise
my eyes to his face, there was
something so scaring and unearthly
in his ugliness. I attempted
to speak, but the words died
away on my lips. The monster
continued to utter wild and incoherent
self-reproaches. At length I
gathered resolution to address
him in a pause of the tempest
of his passion: "Your repentance," I
said, "is now superfluous. If
you had listened to the voice
of conscience, and heeded the
stings of remorse, before you
had urged your diabolical vengeance
to this extremity, Frankenstein
would yet have lived.
"And do you dream?" said the
damon; "do you think that I was
then dead to agony and remorse?--He," he
continued, pointing to the corpse, "he
suffered not in the consummation
of the deed--oh! not the ten-thousandth
portion of the anguish that was
mine during the lingering detail
of its execution. A frightful
selfishness hurried me on, while
my heart was poisoned with remorse.
Think you that the groans of
Clerval were music to my ears?
My heart was fashioned to be
susceptible of love and sympathy;
and when wrenched by misery to
vice and hatred it did not endure
the violence of the change without
tone such as you cannot even
imagine.
"After the
murder of Clerval I returned
to Switzerland heart-broken
and overcome. I pitied Frankenstein;
my pity amounted to horror: I
abhorred myself. But when I discovered
that he, the author at once of
my existence and of its unspeakable
torments, dared to hope for happiness;
that while he accumulated wretchedness
and despair upon me he sought
his own enjoyment in feelings
and passions from the indulgence
of which I was for ever barred,
then impotent envy and bitter
indignation filled me with an
insatiable thirst for vengeance.
I recollected my threat and resolved
that it should be accomplished.
I knew that I was preparing for
myself a deadly torture; but
I was the slave, not the master,
of an impulse which I detested,
yet could not disobey. Yet when
she died!--nay, then I was not
miserable. I had cast off all
feeling, subdued all anguish,
to riot in the excess of my despair.
Evil thenceforth became my good.
Urged thus far, I had no choice
but to adapt my nature to an
element which I had willingly
chosen. The completion of my
demoniacal design became an insatiable
passion. And now it is ended;
there is my last victim!"
I was at first
touched by the expressions
of his misery; yet,
when I called to mind what Frankenstein
had said of his powers of eloquence
and persuasion, and when I again
cast my eyes on the lifeless
form of my friend, indignation
was rekindled within me. "Wretch!" I
said, "it is well that you come
here to whine over the desolation
that you have made. You throw
a torch into a pile of buildings;
and when they are consumed you
sit among the ruins and lament
the fall. Hypocritical fiend!
if he whom you mourn still lived,
still would he be the object,
again would he become the prey,
of your accursed vengeance. It
is not pity that you feel; you
lament only because the victim
of your malignity is withdrawn
from your power."
"Oh, it is not thus--not thus," interrupted
the being; "yet such must be
the impression conveyed to you
by what appears to be the purport
of my actions. Yet I seek not
a fellow-feeling in my misery.
No sympathy may I ever find.
When I first sought it, it was
the love of virtue, the feelings
of happiness and affection with
which my whole being overflowed,
that I wished to be participated.
But now that virtue has become
to me a shadow and that happiness
and affection are turned into
bitter and loathing despair,
in what should I seek for sympathy?
I am content to suffer alone
while my sufferings shall endure:
when I die, I am well satisfied
that abhorrence and opprobrium
should load my memory. Once my
fancy was soothed with dreams
of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment.
Once I falsely hoped to meet
with beings who, pardoning my
outward form, would love me for
the excellent qualities which
I was capable of unfolding. I
was nourished with high thoughts
of honour and devotion. But now
crime has degraded me beneath
the meanest animal. No guilt,
no mischief, no malignity, no
misery, can be found comparable
to mine. When I run over the
frightful catalogue of my sins,
I cannot believe that I am the
same creature whose thoughts
were once filled with sublime
and transcendent visions of the
beauty and the majesty of goodness.
But it is even so; the fallen
angel becomes a malignant devil.
Yet even that enemy of God and
man had friends and associates
in his desolation; I am alone.
"You, who call
Frankenstein your friend, seem
to have a knowledge
of my crimes and his misfortunes.
But in the detail which he gave
you of them he could not sum
up the hours and months of misery
which I endured, wasting in impotent
passions. For while I destroyed
his hopes, I did not satisfy
my own desires. They were for
ever ardent and craving; still
I desired love and fellowship,
and I was still spurned. Was
there no injustice in this? Am
I to be thought the only criminal
when all human kind sinned against
me? Why do you not hate Felix
who drove his friend from his
door with contumely? Why do you
not execrate the rustic who sought
to destroy the saviour of his
child? Nay, these are virtuous
and immaculate beings! I, the
miserable and the abandoned,
am an abortion, to be spurned
at, and kicked, and trampled
on. Even now my blood boils at
the recollection of this injustice.
"But it is
true that I am a wretch. I
have murdered the lovely
and the helpless; I have strangled
the innocent as they slept, and
grasped to death his throat who
never injured me or any other
living thing. I have devoted
my creator, the select specimen
of all that is worthy of love
and admiration among men, to
misery; I have pursued him even
to that irremediable ruin. There
he lies, white and cold in death.
You hate me; but your abhorrence
cannot equal that with which
I regard myself. I look on the
hands which executed the deed;
I think on the heart in which
the imagination of it was conceived,
and long for the moment when
these hands will meet my eyes,
when that imagination will haunt
my thoughts no more.
"Fear not that
I shall be the instrument of
future mischief.
My work is nearly complete. Neither
yours nor any man's death is
needed to consummate the series
of my being, and accomplish that
which must be done; but it requires
my own. Do not think that I shall
be slow to perform this sacrifice.
I shall quit your vessel on the
iceraft which brought me thither,
and shall seek the most northern
extremity of the globe; I shall
collect my funeral pile and consume
to ashes this miserable frame,
that its remains may afford no
light to any curious and unhallowed
wretch who would create such
another as I have been. I shall
die. I shall no longer feel the
agonies which now consume me,
or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied,
yet unquenched. He is dead who
called me into being; and when
I shall be no more the very remembrance
of us both will speedily vanish.
I shall no longer see the sun
or stars, or feel the winds play
on my cheeks. Light, feeling,
and sense will pass away; and
in this condition must I find
my happiness. Some years ago,
when the images which this world
affords first opened upon me,
when I felt the cheering warmth
of summer, and heard the rustling
of the leaves and the warbling
of the birds, and these were
all to me, I should have wept
to die; now it is my only consolation.
Polluted by crimes, and torn
by the bitterest remorse, where
can I find rest but in death?
"Farewell!
I leave you, and in you the
last of human kind
whom these eyes will ever behold.
Farewell, Frankenstein! If thou
wert yet alive, and yet cherished
a desire of revenge against me,
it would be better satiated in
my life than in my destruction.
But it was not so; thou didst
seek my extinction that I might
not cause greater wretchedness;
and if yet, in some mode unknown
to me, thou hast not ceased to
think and feel, thou wouldst
not desire against me a vengeance
greater than that which I feel.
Blasted as thou wert, my agony
was still superior to thine;
for the bitter sting of remorse
will not cease to rankle in my
wounds until death shall close
them for ever.
"But soon," he cried, with
sad and solemn enthusiasm, "I
shall die, and what I now feel
be no longer felt. Soon these
burning miseries will be extinct.
I shall ascend my funeral pile
triumphantly, and exult in the
agony of the torturing flames.
The light of that conflagration
will fade away; my ashes will
be swept into the sea by the
winds. My spirit will sleep in
peace; or if it thinks, it will
not surely think thus. Farewell."
He sprung from the cabin-window,
as he said this, upon the ice-raft
which lay close to the vessel.
He was soon borne away by the
waves and lost in darkness and
distance.
THE
END |