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. Every thing 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 dæmon, 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 adjuration 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 dæmon
generally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the
country chiefly collected. In other places human beings were seldom
seen; and I generally subsisted on the wild animals that crossed my
path. I had money with me, and gained the friendship of the villagers by
distributing it; or 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 dæmon, 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. Follow 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 enquired 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 dæmon; 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 dæmon, allow me
the rest I so much desire; or must I die, and he yet live? If I do,
swear to me, Walton, that he shall not escape; that you will seek him,
and satisfy my 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 manes 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, that 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 feeling 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 2d.
My beloved Sister,
I write to you, encompassed by peril, and ignorant whether I am ever
doomed to see again dear England, and the dearer friends that inhabit
it. I 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 fire-sides. 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.
September 12th.
It is past; I am returning to England. I have lost my hopes of utility
and glory;--I have lost my friend. But I will endeavour to detail these
bitter circumstances to you, my dear sister; and, while I am wafted
towards England, and towards you, I will not despond.
September 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 mean time he
told me, that my friend had certainly not many hours to live.
His sentence was pronounced; and I could only grieve, and be patient. I
sat by his bed, watching him; his eyes were closed, and I thought he
slept; but presently he called to me in a feeble voice, and, bidding me
come near, said--"Alas! the strength I relied on is gone; I feel that I
shall soon die, and he, my enemy and persecutor, may still be in being.
Think 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 dæmon; "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 torture 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 ice-raft 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 hadst 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.
LONDON:
Printed by A. & R Spottiswoode,
New-Street-Square.
[Transcriber's Note: Possible printer errors corrected:
Line 2863: "I do no not fear to die" to "I do now not fear to die"
Line 6375: "fulfil the wishes of you parents" to "your parents"]