Day after day, week after week,
passed away on my return to Geneva;
and I could not collect the courage
to recommence my work. I feared
the vengeance of the disappointed
fiend, yet I was unable to overcome
my repugnance to the task which
was enjoined me. I found that
I could not compose a female
without again devoting several
months to profound study and
laborious disquisition. I had
heard of some discoveries having
been made by an English philosopher,
the knowledge of which was material
to my success, and I sometimes
thought of obtaining my father's
consent to visit England for
this purpose; but I clung to
every pretence of delay, and
shrunk from taking the first
step in an undertaking whose
immediate necessity began to
appear less absolute to me. A
change indeed had taken place
in me: my health, which had hitherto
declined, was now much restored;
and my spirits, when unchecked
by the memory of my unhappy promise,
rose proportionably. My father
saw this change with pleasure,
and he turned his thoughts towards
the best method of eradicating
the remains of my melancholy,
which every now and then would
return by fits, and with a devouring
blackness overcast the approaching
sunshine. At these moments I
took refuge in the most perfect
solitude. I passed whole days
on the lake alone in a little
boat, watching the clouds, and
listening to the rippling of
the waves, silent and listless.
But the fresh air and bright
sun seldom failed to restore
me to some degree of composure;
and, on my return, I met the
salutations of my friends with
a readier smile and a more cheerful
heart.
It was after my return from
one of these rambles, that my
father, calling me aside, thus
addressed me:--
"I am happy
to remark, my dear son, that
you have resumed your
former pleasures, and seem to
be returning to yourself. And
yet you are still unhappy, and
still avoid our society. For
some time I was lost in conjecture
as to the cause of this; but
yesterday an idea struck me,
and if it is well founded, I
conjure you to avow it. Reserve
on such a point would be not
only useless, but draw down treble
misery on us all."
I trembled violently at his
exordium, and my father continued--
"I confess,
my son, that I have always
looked forward to
your marriage with our dear Elizabeth
as the tie of our domestic comfort,
and the stay of my declining
years. You were attached to each
other from your earliest infancy;
you studied together, and appeared,
in dispositions and tastes, entirely
suited to one another. But so
blind is the experience of man
that what I conceived to be the
best assistants to my plan may
have entirely destroyed it. You,
perhaps, regard her as your sister,
without any wish that she might
become your wife. Nay, you may
have met with another whom you
may love; and, considering yourself
as bound in honour to Elizabeth,
this struggle may occasion the
poignant misery which you appear
to feel."
"My dear father,
reassure yourself. I love my
cousin tenderly and
sincerely. I never saw any woman
who excited, as Elizabeth does,
my warmest admiration and affection.
My future hopes and prospects
are entirely bound up in the
expectation of our union."
"The expression
of your sentiments of this
subject, my dear Victor,
gives me more pleasure than I
have for some time experienced.
If you feel thus, we shall assuredly
be happy, however present events
may cast a gloom over us. But
it is this gloom, which appears
to have taken so strong a hold
of your mind, that I wish to
dissipate. Tell me, therefore,
whether you object to an immediate
solemnisation of the marriage.
We have been unfortunate, and
recent events have drawn us from
that every-day tranquillity befitting
my years and infirmities. You
are younger; yet I do not suppose,
possessed as you are of a competent
fortune, that an early marriage
would at all interfere with any
future plans of honour and utility
that you may have formed. Do
not suppose, however, that I
wish to dictate happiness to
you, or that a delay on your
part would cause me any serious
uneasiness. Interpret my words
with candour, and answer me,
I conjure you, with confidence
and sincerity."
I listened to my father in
silence, and remained for some
time incapable of offering any
reply. I revolved rapidly in
my mind a multitude of thoughts,
and endeavoured to arrive at
some conclusion. Alas! to me
the idea of an immediate union
with my Elizabeth was one of
horror and dismay. I was bound
by a solemn promise, which I
had not yet fulfilled, and dared
not break; or, if I did, what
manifold miseries might not impend
over me and my devoted family!
Could I enter into a festival
with this deadly weight yet hanging
round my neck, and bowing me
to the ground. I must perform
my engagement, and let the monster
depart with his mate, before
I allowed myself to enjoy the
delight of an union from which
I expected peace.
I remembered also the necessity
imposed upon me of either journeying
to England, or entering into
a long correspondence with those
philosophers of that country,
whose knowledge and discoveries
were of indispensable use to
me in my present undertaking.
The latter method of obtaining
the desired intelligence was
dilatory and unsatisfactory:
besides, I had an insurmountable
aversion to the idea of engaging
myself in my loathsome task in
my father's house, while in habits
of familiar intercourse with
those I loved. I knew that a
thousand fearful accidents might
occur, the slightest of which
would disclose a tale to thrill
all connected with me with horror.
I was aware also that I should
often lose all self-command,
all capacity of hiding the harrowing
sensations that would possess
me during the progress of my
unearthly occupation. I must
absent myself from all I loved
while thus employed. Once commenced,
it would quickly be achieved,
and I might be restored to my
family in peace and happiness.
My promise fulfilled, the monster
would depart for ever. Or (so
my fond fancy imaged) some accident
might meanwhile occur to destroy
him, and put an end to my slavery
for ever.
These feelings dictated my
answer to my father. I expressed
a wish to visit England; but,
concealing the true reasons of
this request, I clothed my desires
under a guise which excited no
suspicion, while I urged my desire
with an earnestness that easily
induced my father to comply.
After so long a period of an
absorbing melancholy, that resembled
madness in its intensity and
effects, he was glad to find
that I was capable of taking
pleasure in the idea of such
a journey, and he hoped that
change of scene and varied amusement
would, before my return, have
restored me entirely to myself.
The duration of my absence
was left to my own choice; a
few months, or at most a year,
was the period contemplated.
One paternal kind precaution
he had taken to ensure my having
a companion. Without previously
communicating with me, he had,
in concert with Elizabeth, arranged
that Clerval should join me at
Strasburgh. This interfered with
the solitude I coveted for the
prosecution of my task; yet at
the commencement of my journey
the presence of my friend could
in no way be an impediment, and
truly I rejoiced that thus I
should be saved many hours of
lonely, maddening reflection.
Nay, Henry might stand between
me and the intrusion of my foe.
If I were alone, would he not
at times force his abhorred presence
on me, to remind me of my task,
or to contemplate its progress?
To England, therefore, I was
bound, and it was understood
that my union with Elizabeth
should take place immediately
on my return. My father's age
rendered him extremely averse
to delay. For myself, there was
one reward I promised myself
from my detested toils--one consolation
for my unparalleled sufferings;
it was the prospect of that day
when, enfranchised from my miserable
slavery, I might claim Elizabeth,
and forget the past in my union
with her.
I now made arrangements for
my journey; but one feeling haunted
me, which filled me with fear
and agitation. During my absence
I should leave my friends unconscious
of the existence of their enemy,
and unprotected from his attacks,
exasperated as he might be by
my departure. But he had promised
to follow me wherever I might
go; and would he not accompany
me to England? This imagination
was dreadful in itself, but soothing,
inasmuch as it supposed the safety
of my friends. I was agonised
with the idea of the possibility
that the reverse of this might
happen. But through the whole
period during which I was the
slave of my creature, I allowed
myself to be governed by the
impulses of the moment; and my
present sensations strongly intimated
that the fiend would follow me,
and exempt my family from the
danger of his machinations.
It was in the latter end of
September that I again quitted
my native country. My journey
had been my own suggestion, and
Elizabeth, therefore, acquiesced:
but she was filled with disquiet
at the idea of my suffering,
away from her, the inroads of
misery and grief. It had been
her care which provided me a
companion in Clerval--and yet
a man is blind to a thousand
minute circumstances, which call
forth a woman's sedulous attention.
She longed to bid me hasten my
return,--a thousand conflicting
emotions rendered her mute as
she bade me a tearful silent
farewell.
I threw myself into the carriage
that was to convey me away, hardly
knowing whither I was going,
and careless of what was passing
around. I remembered only, and
it was with a bitter anguish
that I reflected on it, to order
that my chemical instruments
should be packed to go with me.
Filled with dreary imaginations,
I passed through many beautiful
and majestic scenes; but my eyes
were fixed and unobserving. I
could only think of the bourne
of my travels, and the work which
was to occupy me whilst they
endured.
After some
days spent in listless indolence,
during which I traversed
many leagues, I arrived at Strasburgh,
where I waited two days for Clerval.
He came. Alas, how great was
the contrast between us! He was
alive to every new scene; joyful
when he saw the beauties of the
setting sun, and more happy when
he beheld it rise, and recommence
a new day. He pointed out to
me the shifting colours of the
landscape, and the appearances
of the sky. "This is what it
is to live," he cried, "now I
enjoy existence! But you, my
dear Frankenstein, wherefore
are you desponding and sorrowful!" In
truth, I was occupied by gloomy
thoughts, and neither saw the
descent of the evening star,
nor the golden sunrise reflected
in the Rhine.--And you, my friend,
would be far more amused with
the journal of Clerval, who observed
the scenery with an eye of feeling
and delight, than in listening
to my reflections. I, a miserable
wretch, haunted by a curse that
shut up every avenue to enjoyment.
We had agreed to descend the
Rhine in a boat from Strasburgh
to Rotterdam, whence we might
take shipping for London. During
this voyage, we passed many willowy
islands, and saw several beautiful
towns. We stayed a day at Manheim,
and, on the fifth from our departure
from Strasburgh, arrived at Mayence.
The course of the Rhine below
Mayence becomes much more picturesque.
The river descends rapidly, and
winds between hills, not high,
but steep, and of beautiful forms.
We saw many ruined castles standing
on the edges of precipices, surrounded
by black woods, high and inaccessible.
This part of the Rhine, indeed,
presents a singularly variegated
landscape. In one spot you view
rugged hills, ruined castles
overlooking tremendous precipices,
with the dark Rhine rushing beneath;
and, on the sudden turn of a
promontory, flourishing vineyards,
with green sloping banks, and
a meandering river, and populous
towns occupy the scene.
We travelled
at the time of the vintage,
and heard the song
of the labourers, as we glided
down the stream. Even I, depressed
in mind, and my spirits continually
agitated by gloomy feelings,
even I was pleased. I lay at
the bottom of the boat, and,
as I gazed on the cloudless blue
sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquillity
to which I had long been a stranger.
And if these were my sensations,
who can describe those of Henry?
He felt as if he had been transported
to Fairyland, and enjoyed a happiness
seldom tasted by man. "I have
seen," he said, "the most beautiful
scenes of my own country; I have
visited the lakes of Lucerne
and Uri, where the snowy mountains
descend almost perpendicularly
to the water, casting black and
impenetrable shades, which would
cause a gloomy and mournful appearance,
were it not for the most verdant
islands that relieve the eye
by their gay appearance; I have
seen this lake agitated by a
tempest, when the wind tore up
whirlwinds of water, and gave
you an idea of what the waterspout
must be on the great ocean; and
the waves dash with fury the
base of the mountain, where the
priest and his mistress were
overwhelmed by an avalanche,
and where their dying voices
are still said to be heard amid
the pauses of the nightly wind;
I have seen the mountains of
La Valais, and the Pays de Vaud:
but this country, Victor, pleases
me more than all those wonders.
The mountains of Switzerland
are more majestic and strange;
but there is a charm in the banks
of this divine river, that I
never before saw equalled. Look
at that castle which overhangs
yon precipice; and that also
on the island, almost concealed
amongst the foliage of those
lovely trees; and now that group
of labourers coming from among
their vines; and that village
half hid in the recess of the
mountain. Oh, surely, the spirit
that inhabits and guards this
place has a soul more in harmony
with man than those who pile
the glacier, or retire to the
inaccessible peaks of the mountains
of our own country. "Clerval!
beloved friend! even now it delights
me to record your words, and
to dwell on the praise of which
you are so eminently deserving.
He was a being formed in the "very
poetry of nature." His wild and
enthusiastic imagination was
chastened by the sensibility
of his heart. His soul overflowed
with ardent affections, and his
friendship was of that devoted
and wondrous nature that the
worldly-minded teach us to look
for only in the imagination.
But even human sympathies were
not sufficient to satisfy his
eager mind. The scenery of external
nature, which others regard only
with admiration, he loved with
ardour:--
"The sounding cataract Haunted
him like a passion: the tall
rock, The mountain, and the deep
and gloomy wood, Their colours
and their forms, were then to
him An appetite; a feeling, and
a love, That had no need of a
remoter charm, By thought supplied,
or any interest Unborrow'd from
the eye."[1]
[1] Wordsworth's _Tintern Abbey._
And where does he now exist?
Is this gentle and lovely being
lost for ever? Has this mind,
so replete with ideas, imaginations
fanciful and magnificent, which
formed a world, whose existence
depended on the life of its creator;--has
the mind perished? Does it now
only exist in my memory? No,
it is not thus; your form so
divinely wrought, and beaming
with beauty, has decayed, but
your spirit still visits and
consoles your unhappy friend.
Pardon this gush of sorrow;
these ineffectual words are but
a slight tribute to the unexampled
worth of Henry, but they soothe
my heart, overflowing with the
anguish which his remembrance
creates. I will proceed with
my tale.
Beyond Cologne we descended
to the plains of Holland; and
we resolved to post the remainder
of our way; for the wind was
contrary, and the stream of the
river was too gentle to aid us.
Our journey here lost the interest
arising from beautiful scenery;
but we arrived in a few days
at Rotterdam, whence we proceeded
by sea to England. It was on
a clear morning, in the latter
days of December, that I first
saw the white cliffs of Britain.
The banks of the Thames presented
a new scene; they were flat,
but fertile, and almost every
town was marked by the remembrance
of some story. We saw Tilbury
Fort, and remembered the Spanish
armada; Gravesend, Woolwich,
and Greenwich, places which I
had heard of even in my country.
At length we saw the numerous
steeples of London, St. Paul's
towering above all, and the Tower
famed in English history. |