I am by birth Genevese, and my family was one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years, counsellors and cyndics, and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation

The name of the old man was De Lacey. He was descended from a good family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence, respected by his superiors and beloved by his equals.

They had lived in a large and luxurious city called Paris, surrounded by friends and possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect, or taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford.

I walked and, I believe, descended, but I presently found a great alteration in my sensations. Before, dark and opaque bodies had surrounded me, impervious to my touch or sight; but I know found that I could wander at liberty, with no obstacles which I could not either surmount or avoid. The light became more oppressive to me, and the heat wearying me as I walked. I sought a place where I could receive shade. This was the forest near Ingolstadt; and here I lay by the side of a brook resting from my fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger and thirst. This roused me from my nearly dormant state, and I ate some berries which I found hanging on trees or lying on the ground. I slaked my thirst at the brook, and then lying down, was overcome by sleep.

I, their eldest child, was born at Naples, and as an infant accompanied them in their rambles. Much as they were attached to each other, my parents seemed to draw inexhaustible stores of affection from a very mine of love to bestow them upon me.

No human being could have passed a happier childhood than myself. My parents were possessed of the very spirit of kindness and indulgence. We felt that they were not the tyrants to rule our lot according to their caprice, but the creators and agents of all the many delights which we enjoyed. When I mingled with other families I distinctly discerned how peculiarly fortunate my lot was, and gratitude assisted the development of my filial love.

But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses.

For a long time I was their only care. My mother had much desired to have a daughter, but I continued their single offspring.

Elizabeth Lavenza - my more that sister - the beautiful and adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.

I need not say we were strangers to any species of disunion or dispute. Harmony was the soul our companionship. Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential attachment with which we all regarded her became, while I shared it, my pride and my delight. I looked upon Elizabeth as mine - mine to protect, love and cherish. All praises bestowed on her I received as made to a possession of my own. No word, no expression could body forth the kind of relation in which she stood to me - my more than sister, since till death she was to be mine only.

I have a pretty present for my Victor - tomorrow he shall have it.

I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine - mine to protect, love, and cherish.

The father of Safie had been the cause of the De Lacey family’s ruin. He was a Turkish merchant and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some reason I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government.

He was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived from Constantinople to join him.

He was tried and condemned to death. The injustice of his sentence was very flagrant; all of Paris was indignant; and it was judged that his religion and wealth rather than the crime alleged against him had been the cause of his condemnation.

Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens and gave me a sensation of pleasure. I started up and beheld a radiant form rise from among the trees. I gazed with a kind of wonder. It moved slowly, but it enlightened my path, and I again went in search of berries. The only object I could distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with pleasure.

On the birth of a second son, my junior by seven years, my parents gave up entirely their wandering life and fixed themselves in their native country.

Elizabeth had caught scarlet fever; her illness was severe. My mother attended the sickbed; her watchful attentions triumphed over the malignity of the distemper - Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of this impudence were fatal to the preserver. On the third day she sickened; her fever was accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and the looks of her medical attendants prognosticated the worst event. On her deathbed the fortitude and benignity of this best of women did not desert her.

My children, my finest hopes of future happiness were placed on the prospect of your union. This expectation will now be the consolation of your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must supply my place to the younger children. Alas! I regret that I am taken from you; and, happy and beloved as I have been, is it not hard to quit you all? But these are not thoughts befitting me; I will endeavour to resign myself cheerfully to death and will indulge a hope of meeting you in another world.

My temper was sometimes violent and my passions vehement, however, he was a bright child and took naturally to science. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more concentrated disposition; but with all my ardour, I was capable of a more intense application and was more deeply smitten with a thirst for knowledge. While she busied herself with the aerial creations of the poets; and in the majestic and wondrous scenes that surrounded our Swiss home - the sublime shapes of the mountains, the changes of the seasons, tempest and calm, the silence of winter, and the life and turbulence of the Alpine summers - she found ample scope for admiration and delight. While my companion contemplated with a serious and satisfied spirit the magnificent appearance of things, I delighted in investigating their causes.

No distinct ideas occupied my mind; all was confused. I felt light, and hunger, and thirst, and darkness; innumerable sounds rang in my ears, and on all sides various scents saluted me.

Felix had accidentally been present at the trial, his horror and indignation were uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the court. He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him and then looked for the means.

...he found a strongly gated window in an unguarded part of the building which lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Muhammadan, who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the execution of the barbarous sentence.

Felix visited the grate at night and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favor.

When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I should become a student at the University of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended the schools at Geneva, but my father thought it necessary for the completion of my education that I should be made acquainted with other customs than those of my native country.

Every minute, every instant you have wasted on those books is utterly and entirely lost. You have burdened your memory with exploded systems and useless names. Good God! In what desert land have you lived, where no one was kind enough to inform you that these fancies which you greedily imbibed are a thousand years old and as musty as they are ancient? I little expected, in this enlightened and scientific age, to find a disciple of Albert Magnus and Paracelsus. My dear sir, you must begin your studies entirely anew.

It was dark when I awoke; I felt cold also, and half frightened, as it were, instinctively, finding myself so desolate. I was a poor miserable wretch; I knew, and could distinguish, nothing; but feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat down and wept.

Several changes of day and night passed; and the orb of night had greatly lessened, when I began to distinguish my sensations from each other. I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that supplied me with drink and the trees that shaded me with their foliage.

The Turk, amazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle the zeal of the deliverer by promises of reward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with contempt.

Yet when he saw the lovely Safie, who was allowed to visit her father and who by her gestures expressed her lively gratitude, the youth could not help owning to his own mind that the captive possessed a treasure which would fully reward his toil and hazzard.

The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on the heart of Felix and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in his interests by the promise of her hand in marriage so soon as he should be conveyed to a place of safety.

Felix was too delicate to accept this offer, yet he looked forward to the probability of the event as to the consummation of his happiness.

The world is to me a secret which I desired to divine. Curiosity, earnest research to learn the hidden laws of nature, gladness akin to rapture, as they were unfolded to me were among the earliest sensations I can remember.

The ancient teachers of science promised impossibilities and performed nothing. The modern masters promise very little; they know metals cannot be transmuted and that the elixir of life is a chimera. But these philosophers, whose hands seem to dabble in dirt, and their eyes pore over the microscope or crucible, have indeed performed miracles. They penetrate the recesses of nature and show how it works in her hiding places. They ascend into the heavens; they have discovered how the blood circulates, and the nature of the air we breathe. The have acquired new and almost unlimited powers; they can command the thunders of heaven, mimic the earthquake, and even mock the world with its own shadows.

The moon disappeared from the night and again, with a lessened form, showed itself, while I still remained in the forest. My sensations had by this time become distinct, and my mind received every day additional ideas. My eyes became accustomed to the light and to perceive objects in their right forms; I distinguished the insect from the herb, and by degrees, on herb from another. I found that the sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst the blackbird and thrush were sweet and enticing.

During the ensuing days, while preparations were going forward for the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several letters that he received from this lovely girl...

Who had found means to express her thoughts in the laguage of her lover by the aid of an old man, a servant of her father who understood French.

She thanked him in the most ardent terms for his intended services toward her parent, and at the same time she gently deplored her own fate.

Sir Isaac Newton is said to have avowed that he felt like a child picking up shells beside the great and unexplored ocean of truth. Those of his successors in each branch of natural philosophy with whom I am acquainted appear even to my boy’s apprehensions as tyros engaged in the same pursuit.

These were men to whose indefatigable zeal modern philosophers were indebted for most of the foundations of their knowledge. They had left to us, as an easier task, to give names and arrange in connected classifications the facts which they in a great degree had been the instruments of bringing to light. The labors of men of genius, however erroneously directed, scarcely ever fail in ultimately turning to the solid advantage of mankind.

Food, however became scarce, and I often spent the whole day searching in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of humger. When I found this, I resolved to quit the place I hitherto inhabitaed, to seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be more easily satisfied. I struck across the wood towards the setting sun. I passed three days in these rambles and at length discovered the open country. A great fall of snow had taken place the night before, and the fields were of one uniform white; the appearance was disconsolate, and I found my feet chilled by the cold damp substance that convered the ground.

I am happy to have gained a disciple; and if your application equals your ability, I have no doubt of your success. Chemistry is the branch of natural philosophy in which the greatest improvements have been and may be made; it is on that account that I have made it my particular study; but at the same time, I have not neglected the other branches of science. A man would make a sorry chemist if he attended to that department of human knowledge alone. If your wish is to become really a man of science and not merely a petty experimentalist, I should advise you to apply to every branch of natural philosophy, including mathematics.

It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and shelter; at length I percieved a small hut, on a rising ground, which had doubtless been built for the convenience of some shephard. This was a new sight for me, and I examined the structure with great curiosity. Finding the door open, I entered. I was enchanted by the appearance of the hut; here the snow and rain could not penetrate; the ground was dry; and it presented to me then as exquisite and divine a retreat as Pandemonium appeared to the demons of hell after their sufferings in the lake of fire.

Life and death appeared to me ideal bounds, which I should break through, and pour a torrent of light into our dark world. A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. I thought that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption. I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of death succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and the brain.

One day, when I was oppressed by the cold, I found a fire which had been left by some wandering beggars, and was overcome with delight at the warmth I experienced from it. In my joy I thrust my hand into the live embers, but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain. How strange, I thought, that the same cause should produce such opposite effects! When height came on and brought sleep with it, I was in the greatest fear lest my fire should be extinguished. It was morning when I awoke and my first care was to visit the fire. When night came again I found with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as heat.

Safie’s mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a slave by the Turks; recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of the father of Safie, who married her.

The young girl spoke in high and enthusiastic terms about her mother, who born in freedom, spurned the bondage to which she was now reduced.

She instructed her daughter in the tenets of her religion and taught her to aspire to higher powers of intellect and an independence of spirit forbidden to the female followers of Muhammad.

The lady died, but her lessons were indelibly impressed on the mind of Safie, who sickened at the prospect of returning to Asia and being immured within the walls of a harem.

Allowed only to occupy herself with infantile amusements, ill-suited to the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble emulation for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian and remaining in a country where women were allowed to take a rank in society was enchanting to her.

It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I may infuse

the spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was

already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the

panes, my candle was nearly burnt out.

Remember, I am not recording the vision of a madman. The sun does not more certainly shine in the heavens than that which I now affirm is true. Some miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of discovery were distinct and probable. After days and nights of incredible labor and fatigue, I succeeded in discovering the cause of generation and life; nay, more, I became myself capable of bestowing animation upon lifeless matter.

You expect to be informed of the secret of which I am acquainted? That cannot be. I will not lead you on, unguarded and ardent as I then was, to your destruction and infallible misery. Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.

It was noon when I awoke, allured by the warmth of the sun, which shone brightly on the white ground, I determined to recommence my travels; I proceeded across the fields for several hours, until at sunset I arrived at a vilage. How miraculous did this appear! The huts, the neater cottages, and stately houses engaged my admiration by turns. The vegetables in the gardens, the milk and cheese that I saw placed at the windows of some of the cottages, allured my appetite.

The different accidents of life are not so changeable as the feelings of human nature. I had worked hard for many nearly two years, for the sole purpose of of infusing life into an inanimate body. For this I had deprived myself of rest and health. I had desired it with an ardour that far exceeded moderation; but now that I had finished, the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of room and continued a long time traversing my bed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep.

One of the best of these I entered, but I had hardly placed my foot within the door before the children shrieked, and one of the women fainted.

The whole village was roused; some fled, some attacked me, until, grievously bruised by stones and many other kinds of missile weapons, I escaped to the open country and fearfully took refuge in a low hovel, quite bare and making a wretched appearnce after the palaces I beheld in the village. This hovel, however, joined a cottage of a neat and pleasant appearance, but after my late dearly bought experience, I dared not enter it.

My place of refuge was constructed of wood, but so low that I could with difficulty sit upright in it. No wood, however, was placed on the earth, which formed the floor, but it was dry; and although the wind entered it by innumerable chinks, I found it agreeable asylum from the snow and rain.

Here then, I retreated and lay down happy to have shelter, however miserable, from the inclemency of the season, and still more from the barbarity of man.

My dear Frankenstein, how glad I am to see you! How fortunate that you should be here at the very moment of my alighting!

It was my temper to avoid a crowd and to attach myself fervently with a few. I was indifferent, therefore, to my school-fellows in general; but I united myself in the bonds of closest friendship with one among them.

Henry Clerval was the son of a merchant of Geneva. He was a boy of singular talent and fancy. He loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger for its own sake. He was deeply read in books of chivalry and romance. Could aught ill entrench the spirit of Clerval?

The day for the execution was fixed, but the night previous to it the Turk quitted his prison and before morning was many leagues from Paris.

Felix had procured passports in the name of his father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his plan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house under the pretence of a journey and concealed himself, with his daughter, in an obscure part of Paris.

Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyons and across Mont Cenis to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait for a favorable opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions.

Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hovel until something should occur which might alter my determination. It was indeed paradise compared to the bleak forest, my former residence, the rain-dropping branches, and the dank earth. I heard a step, and looking through a small chink, I beheld a young creature, with a pail on her head, passing before my hovel.

The silver hair and benevolent countenance of the aged cottager won my reverence.

Soon after this the young man returned. The old man had, in the meantime, been pensive, but on the appearance of his companions he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down to eat.

You may easily believe how great was the difficulty to persuade my father that all necessary knowledge was not comprised in the noble art of bookkeeping; and, indeed, I believe I left him incredulous to the last, for his constant answer to my unwearied entreaties was the same as that of the Dutch schoolmaster in The Vicar of Wakefield: ‘I have made ten thousand florins a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek’. But his affection for me at length overcame his dislike of learning, and he has permitted me to undertake a voyage of discovery to the land of knowledge.

It gives me the greatest delight to see you; but tell me how you left my father, brother, and Elizabeth.

Very well, and very happy, only a little uneasy that they hear from you so seldom. By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon their account myself. But my dear Frankenstein, I did not before remark how very ill you appear; so thin and pale; you look as if you had been watching for several nights.

You have guessed right; I have lately been so deeply engaged in one occupation that I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see; but I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an end and that I am at length free.

My dear Victor, what for God’s sake, is the matter? Do not laugh in that matter. How ill you are! What is the cause of this?

Safie resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she should be united to his deliverer; and Felix remained with them in expectation of that event; and in the meantime he enjoyed the company of the Arabian...

who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest affection. They conversed with one another through means of an interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks; and Safie sang to him the divine airs of her native country.

They were not entirely happy. Yet I saw no cause for their unhappiness, but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched. Yet why were these gentle being unhappy? They possessed a delightful house - for such it was in my eyes - and every luxury; they had a fire to warm them when chill and delicious viands when hungry; and, still more, they enjoyed one another’s company and speech, interchanging each day looks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they really express pain?

Dearest Clerval, how kind, how very good you are to me. This whole winter, instead of being spent in study, as you promised yourself, has been consumed in my sick room. How shall I ever repay you? I feel the greatest remorse for the disappointment of which I have been the occasion, but you will forgive me.

You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself, but get well as fast as you can; and since you appear in such good spirits, I may speak to you on one subject, may I not?

Compose yourself. I will not mention it if it agitates you; but your father and sister would be very happy if the received a letter from you in your own handwriting. They hardly know how ill you have been and are uneasy at your long silence.

Is that all, my dear Henry? How could you suppose that my first thought would not fly towards those dear, dear friends whom I love and are so deserving of my love?

If this is your present temper, my friend, you will perhaps be glad to see a letter that has been lying here some days for you; it is from your sister I believe.

Dear, dear Elizabeth! I will write instantly and relieve them from the anxiety they must feel.

A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of the uneasiness of this amiable family; it was poverty, and they suffered that evil in a very distressing degree. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottagers, for several times they placed food before the old man when they reserved none for themselves.

The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place and encouraged the hopes of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he formed other plans. He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a Christian, but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear lukewarm, for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they inhabited.

He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled to prolong the deceit until it might no longer be necessary, and secretly take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans were facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris.

You have been ill, very ill. Get well - and return to us.

Father’s health is vigorous, and he asks but to see you, but to be assured you are well.

Little alteration, except for the growth of our dear children, has taken place since you left us. The blue lake and the snow-clad mountains - they never change; and I think our placid home and our contented hearts are regulated by the same immutable laws.

I must also say a few words to you of the little darling William.

I wish you could see him; he is very tall of his age, with sweet laughing blue eyes, dark eyelashes and curling hair.

When he smiles two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy with health.

He has already one or two little wives, but Louisa Biron is his favorite, a pretty little girl of five years of age.

You may remember, was a great favorite of yours; and I recollect you once remarked that if you were in an ill humor, one glance from Justine could dissipate it, for the same reason that Ariosto gives concerning the beauty of Angelica - she looked so frank-hearted and happy.

My trifling occupations take up my time and amuse me, and I am rewarded for any exertions by seeing none but happy, kind faces around me.

Now, dear Victor, I dare say you wish to be indulged in a little gossip concerning the good people of Geneva.

Write, dearest Victor - one line - one word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely grateful.

Adieu! Take care of yourself, and, I entreat you, write!

By degrees I made a discovery of a still greater moment. I found that these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and feelings to one another by articulate sounds. I perceived that the words they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and the countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it.

The government of France was greatly enraged at the escape of their victim and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer. The plot of Felix was quickly discovered, and De Lacey and Agatha were thrown into prison.

The news reached Felix and roused him from his dream of pleasure. His blind and aged father and his gentle sister lay in a noisome dungeon while he enjoyed the free air and the society of her whom he loved. This idea was torture to him. He quickly arranged with the Turk that if he should find...

...favourable opportunity for escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safie should remain as a boarder at a convent in Leghorn.

Damn the fellow! Why, Mr. Clerval, I assure you he has outstripped us all. Ay, stare if you please; but it is nevertheless true. A youngster who, but a few years ago, believed in Cornelius Agrippa as firmly as in the Gospel, has now set himself at the head of the university; and if he is not soon pulled down, we shall all be out of countenance.

Ay, ay, Mr. Frankenstein is modest, an excellent quality in a young man. Young men should be diffident of themselves, you know Mr. Clerval; I was myself when young, but that wears out in a very short time.

Hateful day when I received life! Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image, but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred.

And then, quitting the lovely Arabian, he hastened to Paris and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the law, hoping to free De Lacey and Agatha by this proceeding.

He did not succeed. They remained confined for five months before the trial took place, the result of which deprived them of their fortune and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country.

They found miserable asylum in a cottage in Germany. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for whom he and his family had endured such unheard-of oppression, on discovering that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and ruin, became a traitor to good feeling and honour and had quitted Italy with his daughter, insultingly sending Felix a pittance of money to aid him.

I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist their labours. I found that the youth spent a great part of each day in collecting wood for the family fire, and during the night I often took his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home firing sufficient for the consumption of several days.

William is dead! That sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed my heart, who was so gentle and yet so gay! Victor, he is murdered. (pause) I will not attempt to console you...

He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible on my countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth. She was very earnest to see the corpse. At first I attempted to prevent her, but she persisted.

Come dearest Victor, you alone can console Elizabeth. She weeps continually and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of her death; her words pierce my heart. We are all unhappy, but will not that be additional motive for you, my son, to return and be our comforter? Your dear mother! Alas, Victor! I now say, thank God she did not live to witness the cruel misfortune of her youngest darling!

Come Victor; not with brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin, but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of festering, the wounds of our minds. Enter the house of mourning, my friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not with hatred for your enemies.

My dear Frankenstein, are you always to be unhappy? My dear friend, what has happened?

I can offer you no consolation, my friend, your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to do?

Poor William! Dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty but must weep over his untimely loss! To die so miserably, to feel the murderer’s grasp! How much more a murderer, that could destroy such radiant innocence! Poor little fellow! One only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but he is at rest. The pang is over, his suffering are at an end forever. A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. He can no longer be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable survivors.

Dear mountains! My own beautiful lake! How do you welcome your wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and placid. Is this to prognosticate peace or to mock at my unhappiness?

Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix and rendered him the most miserable of his family.

He could have endured poverty, and while this distress had been the meed of his virtue, he gloried in it.

But the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss of his beloved Safie were misfortunes more bitter anbd irreparable.

Pardon this intrusions. I am a traveller in want of a little rest, you would greatly oblige me if you would allow me to remain a few minutes before the fire.

Enter and I will try in what manner I can to relieve your wants, but unfortunately, my children are from home, and as I am blind, I am afraid I shall find it difficult to procure food for you.

Do not trouble yourself, my kind host, I have food; It is warmth and rest only that I need.

By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countryman; are you French?

No, but I was educated by a French family and understand that language only. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends, whom I sincerely love, and of whose favor I have some hopes.

No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an unfortunate and deserted creature, I look around and have no relation or friend upon earth. These amiable people to whom I go have never seen me and no little of me. I am full of fears, for if I fail there, I am outcast in the world forever.

Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by obvious self-interest, are full of brotherly love and charity. Rely, therefore, on your hopes, and if these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.

They are kind, they are the most excellent creatures in the world, but, unfortunately, they are prejudiced against me. I have good dispositions; my life has been hitherto harmless and in some degree beneficial; but a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable monster.

That is indeed unfortunate; but if you are really blameless, cannot you undeceive them?

I am about to undertake that task; and it is on that account that I feel so many overwhelming terrors. I tenderly love these friends; I have, unknown to them, been for many months in the habits of daily kindness towards them; but they believe that I wish to injure them, and it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome.

If you will unreservedly confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps will be of use in undeceiving them. I am blind and cannot judge of your countenance, but there is something in your words which persuades me that you are sincere. I am poor and an exile, but it will afford me true pleasure to be in any way serviceable to a human creature.

Excellent man! I thank you and accept your generous offer. You raise me from the dust by this kindness, and I trust that, by your aid, I shall not be driven from this society and sympathy of your fellow creatures.

Heaven forbid! Even if you were really a criminal, for that can only drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I am also unfortunate; I and my family have been condemned although innocent; judge therefore, if I do not feel your misfortunes.

How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? From your lips first have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me; I shall forever be grateful, and your present humanity assure me of success with those friends I am on the point of meeting.

Now is the time! Save and protect me! You and your family are the friends whom I seek. Do not you desert me in the hour of trial!

She most of all requires consolation; she accused herself of having caused the death of your brother, and that has made her very wretched. But since the murderer has been discovered -

The murderer discovered! Good God! How can that be? Who could attempt to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the winds or confine the mountain stream with a straw. I saw him too; he was free last night!

I do not know what you mean, but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery. No one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be convinced, not withstanding all the evidence. Indeed, who would credit that Justine Moritz, who was so amicable and fond of the family, could suddenly become capable of so frightful, so appalling a crime?

Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is wrongfully; everyone knows that; no one believes it, surely?

No one did at first, but several circumstances came out that have almost forced conviction upon us; and her own behaviour has been so confused as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear, leaves no hope for doubt. But she will be tried today, and you will hear then all.

You are all mistaken; I know the murderer. Justine, poor, good Justine, is innocent.

We do also, unfortunately, for I had rather have been forever ignorant than have discovered so much depravity and ingratitude in one I valued so highly.

If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty. She is to be tried today and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted.

Your arrival fills me with hope. You perhaps will find some means to justify my poor guiltless Justine. Alas! Who is safe, if she be convicted of crime? I rely on her innocence as certainly as I do my own. Our misfortune is doubly hard to us; we have not only lost that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely love, is to be torn away to a worse fate. If she is condemned, I never shall now joy more. But she will not; and I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little William.

She is innocent, my Elizabeth and that shall be proved; fear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance of her acquittal.

How kind and generous you are! Everyone else believes in her guilty, and that makes me wretched, for I knew that it was impossible; and to see everyone else prejudiced in so deadly a manner rendered me hopeless and despairing.

Dearest, dry your tears. If she is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of partiality.

When news reached Leghorn that Felix was deprived of his wealth and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her lover, but to prepare to return to her native country.

The generous nature of Safie was outraged by this command; she attempted to expostulate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his tyrannical mandate

A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter’s apartment and told her hastily that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn had been divulged and that he should speedily be delivered up to the French government.

He had consequently hired a vessel to convey him to Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours.

He intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential servant, to follow at her leisure with the greater part of his property, which had not yet arrived at Leghorn.

Do you consider that you will be obligated to pay three months’ rent and lose the produce of your garden? I do not wish to take any unfair advantage, and I beg you therefore that you will take some days to consider your determination.

It is utterly useless. We can never again inhabit your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest danger owing to the dreadful circumstance that I have related. My wife and my sister will never recover from their horror. I entreat you not to reason with me any more. Take possession of your tenement and let me fly from this place.

I am the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or rather his sister.

I do not pretend that my protestations should acquit me; I rest my innocence on a plain and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced against me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my judges to a favorable interpretation where any circumstance appears doubtful or suspicious.

It may be judged indecent of me to come forward on this occasion, but when I see a fellow creature about to perish through the cowardice of her pretended friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say I know of her character.

I know how heavily and fatally this one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of explaining it; and when I expressed my utter ignorance I am only left to conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it may have been placed in my pocket. But here I am also checked. I believe that I have no enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to destroy me wantonly. Did the murderer place it there? I know of no opportunity afforded him for so doing; or if he had, why should he have stolen the jewel, to part with it again so soon?

For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that, notwithstanding all the evidence against her, I believe and rely on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for such an action; as to the bauble on which the chief proof rests, if she had earnestly desired it, I should have willingly given it to her, so much do I esteem and value her.

I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for hope. I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my character, and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed guilt, I must be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on my innocence.

I have lived in the same house with her, at one time for five and at another time for nearly two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable and benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame Frankenstein, in her last illness, in a manner that excited the admiration of all who knew her.

That evidence was hardly required in so glaring a case, but I am glad of it; and, indeed, none of our judges like to condemn a criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so decisive.

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!

When alone, Safie resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct it would become her to pursue in this emergency. A residency in Turkey was abhorrent to her; her religion and her feelings were likewise averse to it.

By some papers of her father which fell into her hands she heard of the exile of her lover and learnt the name of the spot where he then resided. She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her determination.

Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her and a sum of money she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn, but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for Germany.

It is decided as you may have expected; all judges had rather ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty should escape. But she has confessed.

Alas! How shall I ever again believe in human goodness? Justine whom I loved and esteemed as my sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray? Her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and yet she has committed a murder.

Yes? I will go, although she is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany me; I cannot go alone.

Oh, Justine! Why did you rob me of my last consolation? I relied on your innocence, and although I was then very wretched, I was not so miserable as I am now.

And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also join my enemies to crush me, to condemn me a s a murderer?

Rise my poor girl. Why do you kneel, if you are innocent? I am not one of your enemies; I believed you guiltless, notwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you had yourself declared your guilt. That report, you say, is false; and be assured, dear Justine, that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a moment, but your own confession.

I did confess, but I confessed a lie. O confessed that I might obtain absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than all my other sins. The God of heaven forgive me! Ever since I was condemned, my confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced, until I almost began to think that I was the monster that he said I was. He threatened excommunication and hell fire in my last moments if I continued to obdurate.

Oh, Justine! Forgive me for having one moment distrusted you. Why did you confess? But do not mourn, dear girl. Do not fear. I will proclaim, I will prove your innocence. I will melt the stony heart of your enemies by my tears and prayers. You shall not die! You, my playfellow, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold! No! No! I could never survive so horrible a misfortune.

I do not fear to die. That pang is past. God raises my weakness and gives me courage to endure the worst. I leave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember me as one of the unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the fate awaiting me. Learn from me dear lady, to submit in patience to the will of heaven.

Dear sir, you are very kind to visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?

No, Justine, he is more convinced of your innocence than I was, for eve when he heard that you had confessed, he did not credit it.

I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel sincerest gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am! I removes more than half of my misfortune, and I feel I could die in peace now that my innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your brother.

I wish that I were to die with you; I cannot live in this world of misery.

Farewell, sweet lady, dearest Elizabeth, my beloved and only friend; may heaven in its bounty, bless and preserve you; may this be the last misfortune that you will ever suffer! Live, and be happy, and make others so.

Child, what is the meaning of this? I do not intend to harm you; listen to me.

Monster! Ugly wretch! You wish to eat me and tear me to pieces. You are an ogre. Let me go; or I will tell my papa.

She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage of De Lacey, when her attendant fell dangerously ill.

Safie nursed her with the most devoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the Arabian was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country and utterly ignorant of the customs of the world.

She fell, however, into good hands. The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for which they were bound, and after her death the woman of the house in which they had lived took care that Safie should arrive in safety at the cottage of her lover.

Do you think, Victor, that I do not suffer also? No one could love a child more than I loved your brother, but it is not a duty to the survivors that we should refrain from augmenting their unhappiness by an appearance of immoderate grief? It is also a duty owed to yourself, for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or enjoyment, or even the discharge of daily usefulness, without which no man is fit for society.

When I reflect on the miserable death of Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as the before appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and injustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient days of imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to reason than to the imagination; but now the misery has come home, and men appear to me as monster thirsting for each other’s blood. Yet I am certainly unjust. Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty, as if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human creature. For the sake of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend, a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if it had been her own! I could not consent to the death of any human being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to remain in the society of men. But she was innocent. I know, I feel, she was innocent; you are of the same opinion and that confirms me. Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth,. who can assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were walking on the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding and endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine were assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free, and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to suffer on the scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a wretch.

My dear friend, you must calm yourself. These events have effected me, God knows how deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me tremble. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions. Remember the friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost the power of rendering you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are true to each other, here in this land of peace and beauty, your native country, we may reap every tranquil blessing - what can disturb our peace?

Wandering spirits, if indeed ye wander, and do not rest in your narrow beds, allow me this faint happiness, or take me, as your companion, away from the joys of life.

Devil, do you dare approach me? And do not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone, vile insect! Or rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust! And, oh! That I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore those victims whom you have so diabolically murdered!

I expected this reception. All men hate the wretched; how then, must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purpose to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine toward you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satisfied with the blood of your remaining friends.

Abhorred monster! Fiend that thou art! The tortures of hell are too mild a vengeance for thy crimes. Wretched devil! You will reproach me with your creation; come one, then, that I may extinguish the spark I so negligently bestowed.

Be calm! I entreat you to hear me before you give vent to your hatred on my devoted head. Have I not suffered enough, that you seek to increase my misery? Life, although it may be only an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. But I will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to thee. I am thy creature, and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather a fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.

Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you and me; we are enemies. Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in which one must fall.

How can I move thee? Will no entreaties cause thee to turn a favorable eye upon thy creature, who implores thy goodness and compassion? Believe me, Frankenstein, I was benevolent; my soul glowed with love and humanity; but am I not alone, miserably alone? You, my creator, abhor me; what hope can I gather from your fellow creatures, who owe me nothing? They spurn and hate me. Yet it is in your power to recompense me. Let your compassion be moved, and do not disdain me. Listen to my tales; when you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear me. The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody as they are, to speak in their defense before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder, and yet you would with a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature. Oh praise the eternal justice of man! Yet I ask you not to spare me; listen to me, and then, if you can, and if you will, destroy the work of your hands.

Why do you call to my remembrance circumstances of which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author? Cursed - although I curse myself - be the hands that formed you! You have made me wretched beyond expression. You have left me no power to consider whether I am just or not. Begone! Relieve me of the sight of your detested form.

Thus I relieve thee, my creator. Thus I take from thee a sight which you abhor. Still thou canst listen to me and grant me thy compassion. By virtues that I once possessed I demand this from you. Hear my tale; it is long and strange, and before the sun descends to hide itself behind your snowy precipices and illuminate another world, you will have heard my story and can decide. On you it rests, whether I quit forever the neighborhood of man and lead a harmless life, or become the author of your own speedy ruin.

Cursed creator! Why did I live? Why in that instant, did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantonly bestowed?

I am 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 must you create.

You must create a female for me with whom I can live in interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This alone you can do, and I demand it of you as a right which you must not refuse to concede.

I do refuse it and no torture shall ever exhort a consent from me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you shall not 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 and instead of threatening, I am consent to reason with you. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? 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. I will revenge my injuries; if I cannot inspire love I will cause fear.

I intend 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 hundred fold. 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 that 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!

You propose 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, preserve 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.

I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me, that the companion you bestow and 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.

You swear 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 revenge?

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 consent to your demand, and 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, by the sun, and by the blue sky of heaven, and by the fire of love that burns in 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 shall I appear.

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 naught; but if not, depart, depart and leave me in the darkness.

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 conjecture you to avow it. Reserve on such a point would be not only useless, but draw down treble misery on us all.

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 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 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 woman you may love; and considering yourself 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 sister 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 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 honour and utility that you may have formed. Do not suppose, however, that I wish to dictate happiness t 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.

This is what it is to live, now I enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding and sorrowful!

I have seen the most beautiful scenes in 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 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 mighty 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 the 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.

I could pass my life here and among these mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine.

Do you enjoy yourself, and let this be our rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more congenial to your own temper.

I had rather be with you in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch people, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear friend, to return, that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in your absence.

You have destroyed the work which you began; what is it you intend? Do you dare to break your promise? I have endured toil and misery; I left Switzerland with you; I crept along the shores of the Rhine, among its willow islands and over the summits of its hills. I have dwelt many months in the heaths of England and among the deserts of Scotland. I have endured incalculable fatigue, and cold, and hunger; do you dare destroy my hopes?

Begone! I do break my promise; never will I create another like yourself, equal in deformity and wickedness.

Slave, I before reasoned with you, but you have proved yourself unworthy of my condescension. Remember that I have power; you believe yourself to be miserable, but I can make you so wretched that the light of day will be hateful to you. You are my creator, but I am your master; obey!

The hour of my irresolution is past, and the period of your power is arrived. Your threats cannot move me to do an act of wickedness; but they confirm me in a determination of not creating you a companion in vice. Shall I, in cold blood, set loose upon the earth a demon whose delight is in death and wretchedness? Begone! I am firm, and your words will only exasperate my rage.

Shall each man find a wife for his bosom, and each beast have his mate, and I be alone? I had feelings of affection, and they were requited by detestation and scorn. Man! You may hate, but beware! Your hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the bolt will fall which must ravish you your happiness forever. Are you to be happy while I grovel in the intensity of my wretchedness? You can blast my other passions, but revenge remains - revenge, henceforth dearer than light or food! I may die, but first you, my tyrant and tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your misery. Beware for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict.

Devil, cease; and do not poison the air with these sounds of malice. I have declared my resolution to you, and I am no coward to bend beneath words. Leave me; I am inexorable.

It is well. I go; but remember, I shall be with you on your wedding-night.

Villain! Before you sign my death-warrant, be sure that you are yourself safe.

Nothing could be more complete than the alteration that had taken place in my feelings since the night of the appearance of the demon. I had before regarded my promise with a gloomy despair as a thing that, with whatever consequences, must be fulfilled; but now I felt as if a film had been taken from my eyes and that I for the first time saw clearly. The idea of renewing my labours did not for one instant occur to me; the threat I had heard weighed on my thoughts, but I did not reflect that a voluntary act of mine could avert it. I had resolved in my own mind that to create another like the fiend I had first made would be an act of the basest and most atrocious selfishness, and I banished from my mind every thought that could lead to a different conclusion.

My good friends, will you be so kind as to tell me the name of this town and inform me where I am?

You will know that soon enough. Maybe you are come to a place that will not prove much to your taste, but you will not be consulted as to your quarters, I promise you.

Why do you answer me so roughly? Surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to receive strangers so inhospitably.

I do not know what the custom of the English may be, but it is the custom of the Irish to hate villains.

Come, sir, you must follow me to Mr. Kirwin’s to give an account of yourself.

Who is Mr. Kirwin? Why am I to give an account of myself? Is not this a free country?

Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr. Kirwin is a magistrate, and you are to give an account of the death of a gentleman who was found murdered here last night.

Mr. Kirwin, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken into the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be observed what effect the sight of it would produce upon me.

Have my murderous machinations deprived you also, my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already destroyed; other victims await their destiny; but you, Clerval, my friend, my benefactor -

I believe I am, but if it all be true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am alive to feel this misery and horror.

For that matter, if you mean about the gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you were dead, for I fancy it will go hard for you! However, that’s none of my business; I am sent to nurse you and get you well; I do my duty with a safe conscience; it were well if everybody did the same.

I would not disturb you at this period, when so many misfortunes weigh upon you, but a conversation that I had renders some explanation necessary before we meet.

You well know, Victor, that our union had been the favourite plan of our parents since our infancy. We were told this when young, and taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take place. We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I believe, dear and valued friends as we grew older.

But as brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each other without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our case?

Tell me, dearest Victor. Answer me, I conjure you, by our mutual happiness, with simple truth - Do you not love another?

You have travelled; you have spent several years of your life at Ingolstadt; and I confess to you my friend, that when I saw you last autumn so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every creature, I could not hep supposing that you might regret our connection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfill the wishes of our parents.

I confess to you, my friend, that I love you and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant friend and companion.

I fear, my beloved girl, little happiness remains for us on earth; yet all that I may one day enjoy is centered in you. Chase away your idle fears; to you alone do I consecrate my life and my endeavours for contentment.

But it is your happiness I desire as as well as my own when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally miserable unless it were the dictate of your own free choice. Be happy, my friend. And if I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness.

I have one secret, Elizabeth, a dreadful one; when revealed to you, it will chill your frame with horror, and then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place, for, my sweet sister, there must be perfect confidence between us.

But until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply.

I fear that this place is very shocking to you; can I do anything to make you more comfortable?

I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me; on the whole earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving.

I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but little relief to one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, È hope, soon quit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can easily be brought to free you from the criminal charge.

That is my least concern; I am, by a course of strange events, become the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and have been, can death be any evil to me?

Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonizing than the strange chances that have lately occurred. You were thrown, by some surprising accident, on this shore, renowned for its hospitality, seized immediately, and charged with murder. The first sight that was presented to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so unaccountable a manner and placed, as it were, by some fiend across your path.

Immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that were on your person were brought to me, and I examined them that I might discover some trace by which I could send your relations an account of your misfortune and illness. I found several letters, and, among others, one which I discovered to be from your father. I instantly wrote to Geneva; nearly two months have elapsed since the departure of my letter. But you are ill; even now you tremble; you are unfit for agitation of any kind.

This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event; tell me what new scene of death has been acted, and whose murder I am now to lament?

Your family is perfectly well, and someone, a friend, is come to visit you.

Oh! Take him away! I cannot see him; for God’s sake, do not let him enter!

I should have thought, young man, that the presence of your father would have been welcome instead of inspiring such violent repugnance.

My father! Is my father indeed come? How kind, how very kind! But where is he, why does he not hasten to me?

Are you, then safe - and Elizabeth?

What a place this is that you inhabit, my son! You travelled to seek happiness, but a fatality seems to pursue you. And poor Clerval -

Alas! Yes, my father, some destiny of the most horrible kind hangs over me, and I must live to fulfill it, or surely I should have died on the coffin of Henry.

After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland, heart-broken and overcome. I pitied Frankenstein; my pity amounted to horror; I abhorred myself.

My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by various arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I truly felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride.

Alas! My father, how little do you know me. Human beings, their feelings and passions, would indeed be degraded if such a wretch as I felt pride. Justine, poor, unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I, and she suffered the same charge; she dies for it; and I am the cause of this - I murdered her. William, Justine, Henry - they all died by my hands.

My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I entreat you never to make such an assertion again.

I am not mad. The sun and the heavens, who have viewed my operations can bear witness of my truth. I am the assassin of those most innocent victims; they died by my machinations. A thousand time would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have saved their lives; but I could not, my father, indeed I could not sacrifice the whole human race.

Soon after my arrival my father spoke of my immediate marriage with Elizabeth. I remained silent.

None on earth. I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with delight. Let the day therefore be fixed; and on it I will consecrate myself, in life or death, to the happiness of my sister.

My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us, but let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love for those whom we have lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be small but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly deprived.

I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful countenance, agreed with my father that if she would consent, the ceremony should take place in ten days, and thus put, as I imagined, the seal to my fate.

But when I discovered that he, the author at once of my existence and 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 forever barred, then impotent envy and bitter indignation filled me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance. I knew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I knew I was the slave, not the master, of an impulse I detested yet could not disobey.

As the period for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice or a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed my feelings by an appearance of hilarity that brought smiles and joy to the countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever-watchful and nicer eye of Elizabeth.

Preparations were made for the event, congratulatory visits were received, and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up, as well as I could, in my own heart the anxiety that preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness into the plans of my father, although they might serve only as decorations of my tragedy.

She looked forward to our union with placid contentment, not unmingled with a little fear, which past misfortunes had impressed, that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness might soon dissipate into an airy dream and leave no trace but deep and everlasting regret.

Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the feeling of happiness.

You are sorrowful, my love. Ah! If you knew what I have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would endeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this one day at least permits me to enjoy.

Be happy, my dear Victor. There is, I hope, nothing to distress you; and be assured if a lively joy is not painted in my face, my heart is contented. Something whispers to me not to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us, but I will not listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move along and how the clouds, which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise above the dome of Mount Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more interesting. Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in the clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at the bottom. What a divine day! How happy and serene all nature appears!

In the meantime I took every precaution to defend my person in case the fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a dagger constantly about me and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice, and by these means gained a greater degree of tranquility. Indeed as the period approached, the threat appeared more as a delusion, not to be regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, while the happiness I hoped for in my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty as the day fixed for its solemnization drew nearer and I heard it continually spoken of as an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent.

Oh! Peace, peace, my love. This night and all will be safe; but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.

Be assured sir, no pains or exhortations on my part shall be spared to discover the villain.

I thank you. Listen, therefore, to the deposition that I have to make. Is is indeed a tale so strange that I should fear you would not credit it were there not something in truth which, however wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to be mistaken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood.

This is the being I accuse and for whose seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those functions on this occasion.

I would willingly afford you every aid in your pursuit, but the creature of whom you speak appears to have powers that would put all my exhortations to defiance. Who can follow an animal which can traverse the sea of ice and inhabit caves and dens where no man would venture to endure? Besides, some months have elapsed since the commission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to what place he has wandered or what region he may now inhabit.

I do not doubt he hovers near the spot which I inhabit, and if he has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts; you do not credit my narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the punishment which is his desert.

You are mistaken. I will exert myself, and if it is in my power to seize the monster, be assured that he shall suffer punishment proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have yourself described to be his properties, that this will prove to be impractable; and thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should make up your mind to disappointment.

That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned loose upon society still exists. You refuse my just demand; I have but one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his destruction.

Man, how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say.

Great God! Why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the destruction of the best hope and the purest creature on earth? She was there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair. Everywhere I turn I see the same figure - her bloodless arms and relaxed form flung on its bridal bier. Could I behold this and live? Alas! Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated. For a moment only did I lose recollection; I fell senseless on the ground.

Yet when she died! Nay, then I was not miserable. I had cast off all feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in 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.

When I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn; their countenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of others appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me.

I attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the house, but my head whirled around, my steps were like those of a drunken man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever. In this state I was carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had happened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that I had lost. We followed the track with boats; nets were cast, but in vain. After passing several hours, we returned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a form conjured up by my fancy. For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation.

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 feeling of happiness and affection with which my whole being overflowed, that I wish to be participated. But now virtue has become to me a shadow, and the happiness and affection are turned into bitter and loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy?

Since you have preserved my narration, I would not want a mutilated one should go down to prosperity. But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last overwhelming event? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached their acme, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. My own strength is exhausted, and I must tell, in a few words, what remains of my hideous narration.

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, or fame, 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.

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.

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 demon who caused this misery, until he or I shall perish in mortal conflict. For this purpose I will preserve my life; to execute dear revenge will I again behold the sun and tread the green herbage of earth, which otherwise should vanish from my eyes forever. 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 am satisfied, miserable wretch! You have determined to live, and I am satisfied.

I pursued him, and for many months this has been my task. Guided by a slight clue, I followed the winding of the Rhome, but vainly. Sometimes, he himself, who feared that if I lost all trace of him I should despair and die, left some mark to guide me.

I followed, when I could, the courses of the rivers; but the demon generally avoided these, as it was here that the population of the country cheifly collected.

My reign is not yet over. You live, and my power is complete. Follow 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.

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 perserverance were invigorated by these scoffing words; I resolved not to fail in my purpose. Oh! How unlike it was to the blue seasons of the south! Covered with ice, it was only to be distinguished from land by its superior wildness and ruggedness.

Oh! When will my guiding spirit, in conducting me to the demon, 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 add 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 hellish as his form, full of treachery and fiendlike malice. Hear him not; call on the names of William, Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth, and of wretched Victor, and thrust your sword into his heart. I will hover near and direct the steel aright.

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. 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.

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; not 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. 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 tranquility 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.

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 just be inadequate and feeble. My tears flow; my mind is overshadowed by a cloud of disappointment.

That is also my victim. 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 irrevocably destroyed thee by destroying all thou lovedst. Alas! He is cold, he cannot answer me.

Your repentance 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? Do you think that I was then dead to agony and remorse? He, he had 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. And now it is ended; there is my last victim!

Wretch! 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. 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 forever 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 humankind 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, kicked and trampled on. Even now my blood boils at the recollection of this injustice.

Fear not that I shall be the instrument of further 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 needs be done, but it requires my own. Do not think that I shall be slow to perform this sacrifice. 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 happiness. 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 humankind whom my 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 hadst 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 my wounds until death shall close them forever. But soon I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. My spirit will sleep in peace, or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. Farewell.