Frankenstein's Bride (36 page)

“The child still struggled and loaded me with epithets which carried despair to my heart; I grasped his throat to silence
him, and in a moment he lay dead at my feet.

“I gazed on my victim, and my heart swelled with exultation and hellish triumph; clapping my hands, I exclaimed, ‘I too can
create desolation; my enemy is not invulnerable; this death will carry despair to him, and a thousand other miseries shall
torment and destroy him.'

“As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his breast. I took it; it was a portrait of a most lovely
woman. In spite of my malignity, it softened and attracted me. For a few moments I gazed with delight on her dark eyes, fringed
by deep lashes, and her lovely lips; but presently my rage returned; I remembered that I was forever deprived of the delights
that such beautiful creatures could bestow and that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in regarding me, have changed
that air of divine benignity to one expressive of disgust and affright.

“Can you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage? I only wonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations
in exclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind and perish in the attempt to destroy them.

“While I was overcome by these feelings, I left the spot where I had committed the murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place,
I entered a barn which had appeared to me to be empty. A woman was sleeping on some straw; she was young, not indeed so beautiful
as her whose portrait I held, but of an agreeable aspect and blooming in the loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought,
is one of those whose joy-imparting smiles are bestowed on all but me. And then I bent over her and whispered, ‘Awake, fairest,
thy lover is near—he who would give his life but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes; my beloved, awake!'

“The sleeper stirred; a thrill of terror ran through me. Should she indeed awake, and see me, and curse me, and denounce the
murderer? Thus would she assuredly act if her darkened eyes opened and she beheld me. The thought was madness; it stirred
the fiend within me—not I, but she, shall suffer; the murder I have committed because I am forever robbed of all that she
could give me, she shall atone. The crime had its source in her; be hers the punishment! Thanks to the lessons of Felix and
the sanguinary laws of man, I had learned now to work mischief. I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in one of
the folds of her dress. She moved again, and I fled.

“For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place, sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to
quit the world and its miseries forever. At length I wandered towards these mountains, and have ranged through their immense
recesses, consumed by a burning passion which you alone can gratify. We may not part until you have promised to comply with
my requisition. I am alone and miserable; man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would
not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species and have the same defects. This being you must create.”

C H A PT E R 1 7

THE BEING FINISHED SPEAKING and fixed his looks upon me in the expectation of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and
unable to arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He continued, “You must create a
female for me with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do, and
I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to concede.”

The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had died away while he narrated his peaceful life among
the cottagers, and as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within me.

“I do refuse it,” I replied; “and no torture shall ever extort a consent from me. You may render me the most miserable of
men, but you shall never make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like yourself, whose joint wickedness might desolate
the world. Begone! I have answered you; you may torture me, but I will never consent.”

“You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend; “and instead of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because
I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph; remember
that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me? You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into
one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him
live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude
at his acceptance. But that cannot be; the human senses are insurmountable barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the
submission of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear, and chiefly towards
you my arch-enemy, because my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care; I will work at your destruction, nor
finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of your birth.”

A fiendish rage animated him as he said this; his face was wrinkled into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold;
but presently he calmed himself and proceeded—

“I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do not reflect that you are the cause of its excess. If
any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundredfold; for that one creature's
sake I would make peace with the whole kind! But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realized. What I ask of you
is reasonable and moderate; I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself; the gratification is small, but
it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on
that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless and free from
the misery I now feel. Oh! My creator, make me happy; let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit! Let me see that I
excite the sympathy of some existing thing; do not deny me my request!”

I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences of my consent, but I felt that there was some justice
in his argument. His tale and the feelings he now expressed proved him to be a creature of fine sensations, and did I not
as his maker owe him all the portion of happiness that it was in my power to bestow? He saw my change of feeling and continued,
“If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see us again; I will go to the vast wilds of South America.
My food is not that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite; acorns and berries afford me sufficient
nourishment. My companion will be of the same nature as myself and will be content with the same fare. We shall make our bed
of dried leaves; the sun will shine on us as on man and will ripen our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful and
human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the wantonness of power and cruelty. Pitiless as you have been towards
me, I now see compassion in your eyes; let me seize the favorable moment and persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire.”

“You propose,” replied I, “to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell in those wilds where the beasts of the field will
be your only companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man, persevere in this exile? You will return
and again seek their kindness, and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be renewed, and you will
then have a companion to aid you in the task of destruction. This may not be; cease to argue the point, for I cannot consent.”

“How inconstant are your feelings! But a moment ago you were moved by my representations, and why do you again harden yourself
to my complaints? I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me, that with the companion you bestow
I will quit the neighborhood of man and dwell, as it may chance, in the most savage of places. My evil passions will have
fled, for I shall meet with sympathy! My life will flow quietly away, and in my dying moments I shall not curse my maker.”

His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him and sometimes felt a wish to console him, but when I looked upon
him, when I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened and my feelings were altered to those of horror and
hatred. I tried to stifle these sensations; I thought that as I could not sympathize with him, I had no right to withhold
from him the small portion of happiness which was yet in my power to bestow.

“You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not already shown a degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust
you? May not even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by affording a wider scope for your revenge?”

“How is this? I must not be trifled with, and I demand an answer. If I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must
be my portion; the love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall become a thing of whose existence everyone
will be ignorant. My vices are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor, and my virtues will necessarily arise when
I live in communion with an equal. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive being and become linked to the chain of existence
and events from which I am now excluded.”

I paused some time to reflect on all he had related and the various arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise
of virtues which he had displayed on the opening of his existence and the subsequent blight of all kindly feeling by the loathing
and scorn which his protectors had manifested towards him. His power and threats were not omitted in my calculations; a creature
who could exist in the ice caves of the glaciers and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of inaccessible precipices
was a being possessing faculties it would be vain to cope with. After a long pause of reflection I concluded that the justice
due both to him and my fellow creatures demanded of me that I should comply with his request. Turning to him, therefore, I
said, “I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe forever, and every other place in the neighborhood of
man, as soon as I shall deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile.”

“I swear,” he cried, “by the sun, and by the blue sky of heaven, and by the fire of love that burns my heart, that if you
grant my prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your home and commence your labors; I shall watch
their progress with unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are ready I shall appear.”

Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with
greater speed than the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the sea of ice.

His tale had occupied the whole day, and the sun was upon the verge of the horizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to
hasten my descent towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my heart was heavy, and my steps slow.
The labor of winding among the little paths of the mountain and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced perplexed me, occupied
as I was by the emotions which the occurrences of the day had produced. Night was far advanced when I came to the halfway
resting-place and seated myself beside the fountain. The stars shone at intervals as the clouds passed from over them; the
dark pines rose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the ground; it was a scene of wonderful solemnity
and stirred strange thoughts within me. I wept bitterly, and clasping my hands in agony, I exclaimed, “Oh! Stars and clouds
and winds, ye are all about to mock me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as nought; but if
not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.”

These were wild and miserable thoughts, but I cannot describe to you how the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me
and how I listened to every blast of wind as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its way to consume me.

Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; I took no rest, but returned immediately to Geneva. Even in my
own heart I could give no expression to my sensations—they weighed on me with a mountain's weight and their excess destroyed
my agony beneath them. Thus I returned home, and entering the house, presented myself to the family. My haggard and wild appearance
awoke intense alarm, but I answered no question, scarcely did I speak. I felt as if I were placed under a ban—as if I had
no right to claim their sympathies—as if never more might I enjoy companionship with them. Yet even thus I loved them to adoration;
and to save them, I resolved to dedicate myself to my most abhorred task. The prospect of such an occupation made every other
circumstance of existence pass before me like a dream, and that thought only had to me the reality of life.

C H A PT E R 1 8

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 shrank 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 proportionately. 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 honor 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 solemnization of the marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us from that everyday tranquility
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 honor 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 candor 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 endeavored 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 a 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 forever. Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some accident might meanwhile
occur to destroy him and put an end to my slavery forever.

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 Strasbourg. 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 agonized 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 borne 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 Strasbourg, 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 colors of the landscape and the appearances of the sky. “This is what it is to live,” he cried; “how 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 Strasbourg 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 Mannheim, and on the fifth
from our departure from Strasbourg, arrived at Mainz. The course of the Rhine below Mainz 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 traveled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the laborers 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 tranquility 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 fairy-land 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 believe 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 water-spout
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 equaled. 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 laborers 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 world-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 ardor:

The sounding cataract
Haunted him like a passion: the tall rock,

The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colors 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.