Frankenstein

Chapter 24

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

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