Frankenstein

Chapter 18

Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to
Geneva; and I could not collect the courage to recommence my
work. I feared the vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I
was unable to overcome my repugnance to the task which was
enjoined me. I found that I could not compose a female without
again devoting several months to profound study and laborious
disquisition. I had heard of some discoveries having been made
by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was material
to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father's
consent to visit England for this purpose; but I clung to every
pretence of delay, and shrunk from taking the first step in an
undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less
absolute to me. A change indeed had taken place in me: my
health, which had hitherto declined, was now much restored; and
my spirits, when unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise,
rose proportionably. My father saw this change with pleasure,
and he turned his thoughts towards the best method of
eradicating the remains of my melancholy, which every now and
then would return by fits, and with a devouring blackness
overcast the approaching sunshine. At these moments I took
refuge in the most perfect solitude. I passed whole days on
the lake alone in a little boat, watching the clouds, and
listening to the rippling of the waves, silent and listless.
But the fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to restore me
to some degree of composure; and, on my return, I met the
salutations of my friends with a readier smile and a more
cheerful heart.

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

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

I trembled violently at his exordium, and my father continued--

"I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your
marriage with our dear Elizabeth as the tie of our domestic
comfort, and the stay of my declining years. You were attached
to each other from your earliest infancy; you studied together,
and appeared, in dispositions and tastes, entirely suited to
one another. But so blind is the experience of man that what
I conceived to be the best assistants to my plan may have
entirely destroyed it. You, perhaps, regard her as your
sister, without any wish that she might become your wife.
Nay, you may have met with another whom you may love; and,
considering yourself as bound in honour to Elizabeth, this
struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you appear
to feel."

"My dear father, reassure yourself. I love my cousin tenderly
and sincerely. I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth
does, my warmest admiration and affection. My future hopes and
prospects are entirely bound up in the expectation of our union."

"The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear
Victor, gives me more pleasure than I have for some time
experienced. If you feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy,
however present events may cast a gloom over us. But it is
this gloom, which appears to have taken so strong a hold of
your mind, that I wish to dissipate. Tell me, therefore,
whether you object to an immediate solemnisation of the
marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have
drawn us from that every-day tranquillity befitting my years
and infirmities. You are younger; yet I do not suppose,
possessed as you are of a competent fortune, that an early
marriage would at all interfere with any future plans of honour
and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose, however,
that I wish to dictate happiness to you, or that a delay on
your part would cause me any serious uneasiness. Interpret my
words with candour, and answer me, I conjure you, with
confidence and sincerity."

I listened to my father in silence, and remained for some time
incapable of offering any reply. I revolved rapidly in my mind
a multitude of thoughts, and endeavoured to arrive at some
conclusion. Alas! to me the idea of an immediate union with my
Elizabeth was one of horror and dismay. I was bound by a
solemn promise, which I had not yet fulfilled, and dared not
break; or, if I did, what manifold miseries might not impend
over me and my devoted family! Could I enter into a festival
with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck, and bowing
me to the ground. I must perform my engagement, and let the
monster depart with his mate, before I allowed myself to enjoy
the delight of an union from which I expected peace.

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either
journeying to England, or entering into a long correspondence
with those philosophers of that country, whose knowledge and
discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present
undertaking. The latter method of obtaining the desired
intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory: besides, I had an
insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my
loathsome task in my father's house, while in habits of
familiar intercourse with those I loved. I knew that a
thousand fearful accidents might occur, the slightest of which
would disclose a tale to thrill all connected with me with
horror. I was aware also that I should often lose all
self-command, all capacity of hiding the harrowing sensations
that would possess me during the progress of my unearthly
occupation. I must absent myself from all I loved while thus
employed. Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I
might be restored to my family in peace and happiness.
My promise fulfilled, the monster would depart for ever.
Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some accident might meanwhile
occur to destroy him, and put an end to my slavery for ever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a
wish to visit England; but, concealing the true reasons of this
request, I clothed my desires under a guise which excited no
suspicion, while I urged my desire with an earnestness that
easily induced my father to comply. After so long a period of
an absorbing melancholy, that resembled madness in its
intensity and effects, he was glad to find that I was capable
of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey, and he hoped
that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my
return, have restored me entirely to myself.

The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few
months, or at most a year, was the period contemplated.
One paternal kind precaution he had taken to ensure my having
a companion. Without previously communicating with me, he had,
in concert with Elizabeth, arranged that Clerval should join me
at Strasburgh. This interfered with the solitude I coveted for
the prosecution of my task; yet at the commencement of my
journey the presence of my friend could in no way be an
impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved
many hours of lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might
stand between me and the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone,
would he not at times force his abhorred presence on me, to
remind me of my task, or to contemplate its progress?

To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that
my union with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my
return. My father's age rendered him extremely averse to delay.
For myself, there was one reward I promised myself from
my detested toils--one consolation for my unparalleled
sufferings; it was the prospect of that day when, enfranchised
from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth, and forget
the past in my union with her.

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

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

I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away,
hardly knowing whither I was going, and careless of what was
passing around. I remembered only, and it was with a bitter
anguish that I reflected on it, to order that my chemical
instruments should be packed to go with me. Filled with dreary
imaginations, I passed through many beautiful and majestic
scenes; but my eyes were fixed and unobserving. I could only
think of the bourne of my travels, and the work which was to
occupy me whilst they endured.

After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I
traversed many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh, where I waited
two days for Clerval. He came. Alas, how great was the
contrast between us! He was alive to every new scene; joyful
when he saw the beauties of the setting sun, and more happy
when he beheld it rise, and recommence a new day. He pointed
out to me the shifting colours of the landscape, and the
appearances of the sky. "This is what it is to live," he
cried, "now I enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein,
wherefore are you desponding and sorrowful!" In truth, I was
occupied by gloomy thoughts, and neither saw the descent of the
evening star, nor the golden sunrise reflected in the
Rhine.--And you, my friend, would be far more amused with the
journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of
feeling and delight, than in listening to my reflections.
I, a miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every
avenue to enjoyment.

We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh to
Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London. During
this voyage, we passed many willowy islands, and saw several
beautiful towns. We stayed a day at Manheim, and, on the fifth
from our departure from Strasburgh, arrived at Mayence.
The course of the Rhine below Mayence becomes much more
picturesque. The river descends rapidly, and winds between
hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw
many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices,
surrounded by black woods, high and inaccessible. This part of
the Rhine, indeed, presents a singularly variegated landscape.
In one spot you view rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking
tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhine rushing beneath;
and, on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing
vineyards, with green sloping banks, and a meandering river,
and populous towns occupy the scene.

We travelled at the time of the vintage, and heard the song of
the labourers, as we glided down the stream. Even I, depressed
in mind, and my spirits continually agitated by gloomy
feelings, even I was pleased. I lay at the bottom of the boat,
and, as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to drink in
a tranquillity to which I had long been a stranger. And if
these were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry?
He felt as if he had been transported to Fairyland, and enjoyed
a happiness seldom tasted by man. "I have seen," he said, "the
most beautiful scenes of my own country; I have visited the
lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the snowy mountains descend
almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black and
impenetrable shades, which would cause a gloomy and mournful
appearance, were it not for the most verdant islands that
relieve the eye by their gay appearance; I have seen this lake
agitated by a tempest, when the wind tore up whirlwinds of
water, and gave you an idea of what the waterspout must be on
the great ocean; and the waves dash with fury the base of the
mountain, where the priest and his mistress were overwhelmed by
an avalanche, and where their dying voices are still said to be
heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind; I have seen the
mountains of La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud: but this country,
Victor, pleases me more than all those wonders. The mountains
of Switzerland are more majestic and strange; but there is a
charm in the banks of this divine river, that I never before
saw equalled. Look at that castle which overhangs yon
precipice; and that also on the island, almost concealed
amongst the foliage of those lovely trees; and now that group
of labourers coming from among their vines; and that village
half hid in the recess of the mountain. Oh, surely, the spirit
that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony
with man than those who pile the glacier, or retire to the
inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our own country.
"Clerval! beloved friend! even now it delights me to record
your words, and to dwell on the praise of which you are so
eminently deserving. He was a being formed in the "very poetry
of nature." His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened
by the sensibility of his heart. His soul overflowed with
ardent affections, and his friendship was of that devoted and
wondrous nature that the worldly-minded teach us to look for
only in the imagination. But even human sympathies were not
sufficient to satisfy his eager mind. The scenery of external
nature, which others regard only with admiration, he loved
with ardour:--


"The sounding cataract
Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to him
An appetite; a feeling, and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, or any interest
Unborrow'd from the eye."[1]


[1] Wordsworth's _Tintern Abbey._


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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 19

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