FRANKENSTEIN
PART 9
Chapter 17
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 favourable 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 neighbourhood 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 neighbourhood 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
labours; 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 labour 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.
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 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 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
solemnization of the marriage. We have been unfortunate, and recent events have
drawn us from that everyday 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 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 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 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 colours 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
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 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
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 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 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.
[Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey".]
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.
[Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey".]
And where
does he now exist? Is this gentle and lovely being lost forever? 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 this 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.
To be continued
