to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect. She welcomed me with the greatest affection. Your arrival, my dear cousin, 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 upon 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 by even a worse fate. If she is condemned, I never shall know joy more. But she will not. I am sure she will not. And then I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little William. She is innocent, my Elizabeth, said I, 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 guilt, and that made 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. She wept. Dearest niece. Said my father. 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. End of Section 9 Section 10 of Frankenstein This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley Section 10 Chapter 8 We passed a few sad hours until eleven o'clock when that trial was to commence. My father and the rest of the family being obliged to attend as witnesses, I accompanied them to the court. During the whole of this wretched mockery of justice, I suffered living torture. It was to be decided whether the result of my curiosity and lawless devices would cause the death of two of my fellow beings.  The other far more dreadfully murdered, with every aggravation of infamy that could make the murder memorable in horror. Justine also was a girl of merit and possessed qualities which promised to render her life happy. Now all was to be obliterated in an ignominious grave, and I the cause. A thousand times, rather, would I have confessed myself guilty of the crime ascribed to Justine. But I was absent when it was committed, and such a decoration would have been considered as the ravings of a madman, and would not have excorpated her who suffered through me. The appearance of Justine was calm. She was dressed in mourning, had her countenance, always engaging, was rendered by the salinity of her feelings exquisitely beautiful. Yet she appeared confident in innocence and did not tremble, although gazed on and execrated by thousands, for all the kindness which her beauty might otherwise have excited was obliterated in the minds of the spectators by the imagination of the enormity she was supposed to have committed. She was tranquil, yet her tranquility was evidently constrained, and as her confusion had before been adduced as a proof of her guilt, she worked up her mind to an appearance of courage. When she entered the court, she threw her eyes round it and quickly discovered where we were seated. A tear seemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she quickly recovered herself, and a look of sorrowful affection seemed to attest her utter guiltlessness. The trial began, and after the advocate against her had stated the charge several witnesses were called, several strange facts combined against her, which might have staggered anyone who had not such proof of her innocence as I had. She had been out the whole of the night on which the murder had been committed, and towards morning had been perceived by a market woman not far from the spot where the body of the murdered child had been afterwards found. The woman asked her what she did there, but she looked very strangely and only returned a confused and unintelligible answer. She returned in the house about eight o'clock, and when one inquired where she had passed the night, she replied that she had been looking for the child and demanded earnestly if anything had been heard concerning him. When shown the body, she fell into violent hysterics and kept her bed for several days. The picture was then produced, which the servant had found in her pocket, and when Elizabeth, in a faltering voice, proved that it was the same, which an hour before the child had been missed, she had placed round the neck a murmur of horror and indignation field the court. Justine was called on for her defense. As the trial had proceeded, her countenance had altered. Surprise, horror, and misery were strongly expressed. Sometimes she struggled with her tears, but when she was desired to plead, she collected her powers and spoke in an audible, although variable voice. God knows, she said, how entirely I am innocent, but I do not pretend that my protestations should acquit me. I rest my innocence on a plain and simple explanations of the facts which have been adduced against me, and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my judges to a favourable interpretation where any circumstance appears doubtful or suspicious. She then related that by the permission of Elizabeth she had passed the evening of the night on which the murder had committed at the house of an aunt in Shen, a village situated at about a league from Geneva. On her return, at about nine o'clock, she met a man who asked her if she had seen anything of the child who was lost. She was alarmed by this account and passed several hours in looking for him when the gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain several hours of the night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being unwilling to call up the inhabitants to whom she was well known. Most of the night she spent here watching. Towards morning she believed that she had slept for a few minutes, some steps disturbed her, and she awoke. It was dawn, and she quitted her asylum, that she might again endeavour to find my brother. If she had gone near the spot where his body lay, it was without her knowledge. That she had been bewildered when questioned by the market woman was not surprising, since she had passed a sleepless night and the fate of the poor William was yet uncertain. Concerning the picture, she gave no account. I know, continued the unhappy victim, how heavily and fatally this one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of explaining it, and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left to conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been placed in my pocket. But here also I am 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 affording him for so doing, or if I had, why should he have stolen the jewel to part with it again so soon? 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. Several witnesses were called who had known her for many years, and they spoke well of her. But fear and hatred of the crime of which they supposed her guilty rendered them timorous and unwilling to come forward. Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accursed, when, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address the court. I am, said she, the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or rather his sister, for I was educated by and have lived with his parents ever since and even long before his birth. It may therefore be judged indecent in 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 what I know of her character. I am well acquainted with the accused. I have lived in the same house with her, at one time for five and at another for nearly two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable and benevolent of human creatures.  After which she again lived in my uncle's house, where she was beloved by all the family.  For my own part, I do not hesitate to say that not withstanding all the evidence produced against her, I believe and rely on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for such an action. As to the bobble 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. A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth's simple and powerful appeal, but it was excited by her generous interference and not in favour of poor Justine, on whom the public indignation was turned with renewed violence, charging her with the blackest ingratitude. She herself wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer. My own agitation and anguish was extreme during the whole trial. I believed in her innocence, I knew it. Could the demon who had—I did not for a minute doubt, murdered my brother, also in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent to death and ignominy? I could not sustain the horror of my situation, and when I perceived that the popular voice and the countenances of the judges had already condemned my unhappy victim, I rushed out of the court in agony. The tortures of the accused did not equal mine. She was sustained by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom and would not forgo their hold. I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness. In the morning I went to the court, my lips and throat were parched, I dared not ask the fatal question, but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my visit. The ballots had been thrown, they were all black, and Justine was condemned. I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt. I had before experienced sensations of horror, and I have endeavored to bestow upon them adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the heart-sickening despair that I then endured. The person to whom I addressed myself added that Justine had already confessed her guilt. That evidence, he observed, 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. This was strange and unexpected intelligence. What could it mean? Had my eyes deceived me, and was I really as mad as the whole world would believe me to be if I disclosed the object of my suspicions, I hastened to its own home, and Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result. My cousin, replied I, it is decided as you may have expected. All judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer than that one guilty should escape, but she has confessed. This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness upon Justine's innocence. Alas! said she. 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. Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire to see my cousin. My father wished her not to go, but said that he left it to her own judgment and feelings to decide. Yes. said Elizabeth. I will go, although she is guilty, and you, Victor, shall accompany me. I cannot go alone. The idea of this visit was a torture to me, yet I could not refuse. We entered the gloomy prison chamber, and beheld Justine sitting on some straw at the farther end. Her hands were manacled, and her head rested on her knees. She rose on seeing us enter, and when we were left alone with her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My cousin wept also. Oh, Justine! said she. 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 with my enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer? Her voice was suffocated with Psalms. Rise, my poor girl. Said Elizabeth. 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 the lie. I 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 hellfire in my last moments, if I continued obturate. Dear Lady, I had none to support me, all looked on me as a wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition. What could I do? In an evil hour I subscribed to a lie, and now only am I truly miserable. She paused, weeping, and then continued. I thought with horror, my sweet Lady, that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed aunt had so highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable of a crime which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated. Dear William, dearest blessed child, I soon shall see you again in Heaven, where we shall all be happy, and that consoles me, going as I am to suffer ignominy and death. Oh, Justine, forgive me for having for 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 hearts of your enemies by my tears and prayers.  You, my play-fellow, my companion, my sister perish on the scaffold. No! No, I never could survive so horrible a misfortune.  I do not fear to die, she said. That pang is past. God raises my weakness and gives me courage to endure the worst, I live a sad and bitter world, and if you remember me and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the fate awaiting me. Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to the will of Heaven. During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison-room, where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the awful boundary between life and death, felt not, as I did, such deep and bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth and ground them together, uttering a groan that came from my inmost soul. Justine started. When she saw who it was, she approached me and said, Dear sir, you are very kind to visit me. You, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty. I could not answer. No, Justine. Said Elizabeth. He is more convinced of your innocence than I was, for even when he heard that you had confessed, he did not credit it. I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection of others to such a wretch as I am. It removes more than half my misfortune, and I feel as if I could die in peace, now that my innocence is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin. Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope for consolation. Elizabeth also wept and was unhappy, but hers also was the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish its brightness. Anguish and despair had penetrated into the core of my heart.  We stayed several hours with Justine, and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear herself away.  I cannot live in this world of misery. Justine assumed an air of cheerfulness, while she with difficulty repressed her bitter tears. She embraced Elizabeth and said in a voice of half-suppressed emotion, 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. On the morrow Justine died. Elizabeth's heart-rending eloquence failed to move the judges from their subtle conviction in the criminality of the saintly sufferer. My passionate and indignant appeals were lost upon them, and when I received their cold answers and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning of these men, my purposed avowal died away on my lips. Thus I might proclaim myself a madman, but not revoke the sentence passed upon my wretched victim. She perished on the scaffold as a murderous. From the tortures of my own heart I turned to contemplate the deep and voiceless grief of my Elizabeth. This was also my doing, and my father's woe, and the desolation of that late, so smiling home all was the work of my thrice-accursed hands. Ye weep, unhappy ones, but these are not your last tears. Again shall you raise the funeral wail, and the sound of your lamentations shall again and again be heard.  He bids you weep to shed countless tears, happy beyond his hopes, if thus inexorable fate be satisfied, and if the destruction pause before the piece of the grave have succeeded to your sad torment. Thus spoke my prophetic soul, as torn by remorse, horror, and despair, I beheld those I loved spend vain sorrow upon the graves of William and Justine, the first hapless victims to my unhallowed arts. Nothing is more painful to the human mind than after the feelings have been worked up by a quick succession of events, the dead calmness of inaction and certainty which follows and deprives the soul both of hope and fear. Justine died, she rested, and I was alive. The blood flowed freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and remorse pressed on my heart which nothing could remove. Sleep fled from my eyes. I wandered like an evil spirit, for I had committed deeds of mischief beyond description horrible, and more, much more, I persuaded myself, was yet behind. Yet my heart overflowed with kindness and the love of virtue. I had begun life with benevolent intentions and thirsted for the moment when I should put them in practice and make myself useful to my fellow beings. Now all was blasted. Instead of that serenity of conscience which allowed me to look back upon the past with self-satisfaction and from thence to gather promise of new hopes, I was seized by remorse and the sense of guilt which hurried me away to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe. This state of mind preyed upon my health which I perhaps never entirely recovered from the last shock it had sustained. I shunned the face of man. All sound of joy or complacency was tortured to me. Solitude was my only consolation. Deep, dark, death-like solitude. My father observed with pain the alteration perceptible in my disposition and habits, and endeavored by arguments deduced from the feelings of his serene conscience and guiltless life to inspire me with fortitude and awaken in me the courage to dispel the dark cloud which brooded over me. Do you think, Victor? Said he, that I do not suffer also. No one could love a child more than I loved your brother. Tears came into his eyes as he spoke. But is it 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. This advice, although good, was totally inapplicable to my case. I should have been the first to hide my grief and console my friends if remorse had not mingled its bitterness and terror its alarm with my other sensations. Now I could only answer my father with a look of despair and endeavour to hide myself from his view. About this time we retired to our house at Belle Rive. This change was particularly agreeable to me. The shutting of the gates regularly at ten o'clock, and the impossibility of remaining on the lake after that hour, had rendered our residents within the walls of Geneva very irksome to me. I was now free. Often, after the rest of the family had retired for the night, I took the boat and passed many hours upon the water. Sometimes, with my sail set, I was carried by the wind, and sometimes, after rowing into the middle of the lake, I left the boat to pursue its own course and gave way to my own miserable reflections. I was often tempted, when all was at peace around me, and I the only unquiet thing that wandered restless in a scene so beautiful and heavenly, if I, except some bat or the frogs whose harsh and interrupted croaking was heard only when I approached the shore, often I say I was tempted to plunge into the silent lake, that the waters might close over me and my calamities forever. When I was restrained, when I thought of the heroic and suffering Elizabeth, who I tenderly loved and whose existence was bound up in mine, I thought also of my father and surviving brother, should I by my base desertion leave them exposed and unprotected to the malice of the fiend whom I had let loose among them. At these moments I wept bitterly, and wished that peace would revisit my mind only that I might afford them consolation and happiness. But that could not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had been the author of unalterable evils, and I lived in daily fear, lest the monster whom I had created should perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure feeling that all was not over, and that he would still commit some signal crime which by its enormity should almost if face the recollection of the past. There was always scope for fear, so long as anything I loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be conceived. There was always scope for fear, so long as anything I loved remained behind. My abhorrence of this fiend cannot be conceived. When I thought of him I gnashed my teeth, my eyes became inflamed, and I ardently wished to extinguish that life which I had so thoughtlessly bestowed. When I reflected on his crimes and malice, my hatred and revenge burst all bounds of moderation. I would have made a pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could I when there have precipitated him to their base. I wished to see him again, that I might wreak the utmost extent of abhorrence on his head and avenge the deaths of William and Justine. Our house was the house of mourning. My father's health was deeply shaken by the horror of the recent events. Elizabeth was sad and desponding. She no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations. All pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead. Eternal woe and tears she then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocents so blasted and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. The first of these sorrows which are sent to wean us from the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest smiles. When I reflect, my dear cousin, said she, on the miserable death of Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world in its works as they 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 or imaginary evils. At least they were remote and more familiar to reason than to the imagination. But now misery has come home, and men appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other's blood. Yet I am certainly unjust. Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty, and if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly she would have been the most depraved of human creatures. 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. I listened to this discourse with the extremist agony. I, not indeed, but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my countenance, and kindly taking my hand, said, My dearest friend, you must calm yourself. These events have affected 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? And could not such words from her whom I fondly prized before every other gift of fortune suffice to chase away the fiend that lurked in my heart? Even as she spoke, I drew near to her, as if in terror, lest at that very moment the destroyer had been near to rob me of her. Thus not the tenderness of friendship, nor the beauty of earth nor of heaven, could redeem my soul from woe. The very accents of love were ineffectual. I was encompassed by a cloud which no beneficial influence could penetrate. The wounded deer dragging its fading limbs to some untrodden break, there to gaze upon the arrow which had pierced it and to die, was but a type of me. Sometimes I could cope with the sullen despair that overwhelmed me, but sometimes the whirlwind passions of my soul drove me to seek by bodily exercise and by change of place some relief from my intolerable sensations. It was during an access of this kind that I suddenly left my home, and bending my step towards the near Alpine alleys sought in the magnificence the eternity of such scenes to forget myself and my ephemeral because human sorrows. My wanderings were directed towards the valley of Chamonix. I had visited it frequently during my boy-head. Six years had passed since then. I was a wreck, but not had changed in those savage and enduring scenes. I performed the first part of my journey on horseback. I afterwards hired a mule, as the moor sure-footed and least liable to receive injury on these rugged roads. The weather was fine. It was about the middle of the month of August, nearly two months after the death of Justine, that miserable epic from which I dated all my woe. The weight upon my spirit was sensibly lightened as I plunged yet deeper in the ravine of Arv. The immense mountains and precipices that overhung me on every side, the sound of the river raging among the rocks, and the dashing of the waterfalls around, spoke as a power mighty as omnipotence, and I ceased to fear or to bend before any being less almighty than that which had created and ruled the elements, here displayed in their most terrific guise. Still, as I ascended higher, the valley assumed a more magnificent and astonishing character, ruined castles hanging on the precipices of piney mountains, the impetus Arv, and cottages, every here and there peeping forth from among the trees, formed a scene of singular beauty. But it was augmented and rendered sublime by the mighty Alps, whose white and shining pyramids and domes towered above all, as belonging to another earth, the habitations of another race of beings. I passed the bridge of Perissier, where the ravine which the river forms opened before me, and I began to ascend the mountain that overhangs it. Soon after, I entered the valley of Shamuni. This valley is more wonderful and sublime, but not so beautiful and picturesque as that of Servo, through which I had passed. The high and snowy mountains were its immediate boundaries, but I saw no more ruined castles and fertile fields. Immense glaciers approached the road. I heard the rumbling thunder of the falling avalanche and marked the smoke of its passage. Mont Blanc, the supreme and magnificent Mont Blanc, raised itself from the surrounding Aguille, and its tremendous dome overlooked the valley. A tingling, long lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this journey. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and recognized, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the light-hearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing accents, and maternal nature bad me weep no more. Then again, the kindly influence ceased to act. I found myself fettered again to grief, and indulging in all the misery of reflection. Then I spurred on my animal, striving so to forget the world, my fears, and more than all, myself. Or in a more desperate fashion, I alighted and threw myself on the grass, weighed down by horror and despair. At length, I arrived in the village of Shamuni. Exhaustion succeeded to the extreme fatigue, both of body and of mind, which I had endured. For a short space of time, I remained at the window, watching the pallid lightnings that played above Montblanc, and listening to the rushing of the arve, which pursued its noisy way beneath. The same lolling sounds acted as a lullaby to my two keen sensations. When I placed my heart upon my pillow, sleep crept over me. I felt it as it came, and blessed the giver of oblivion. CHAPTER X I spent the following day roaming through the valley. I stood beside the sources of the arveirons which take their rise in a glacier, that with slow pace is advancing down from the summit of the hills to barricade the valley. The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before me. The icy wall of the glacier overhung me. A few shattered pines were scattered around, and the solemn silence of this glorious presence chamber of imperial nature was broken only by the brawling waves or the fall of some vast fragment, the thunder sound of the avalanche, or the cracking reverberated along the mountains of the accumulated ice, which, through the silent working of immutable laws, was ever an anon rent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in their hands. These sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. They elevated me from all littleness of feeling, and although they did not remove my grief, they subdued and tranquilized it. In some degree also, they diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the last month. I retired to rest at night. My slumbers, as it were, waited on administered to by the assemblance of grand shapes, which I had contemplated during the day. They congregated round me. The unstained, snowy mountaintop, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods and ragged bear ravine, the eagle soaring amidst the clouds. They all gathered round me, and bade me be at peace. Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke? All of soul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every thought. The rain was pouring in torrents, and thick mists hid the summits of the mountains, so that I even sawed not the faces of those mighty friends. Still, I would penetrate their misty veil and seek them in their cloudy retreats. What were rain and storm to me? My mule was brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of Mont-en-ver. I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it. It had then filled me with a sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the soul, and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy. The sight of the awful and majestic in nature had indeed always the effect of solemnizing my mind and causing me to forget the passing cares of life. I determined to go without a guide, for I was well acquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy the solitary grandeur of the scene. The ascent is precipitous, but the path is cut into continual and short windings, which enable you to surmount the perpendicularity of the mountain. It is the scene terrifically desolate. In a thousand spots the traces of the winter avalanche may be perceived, where trees lie broken and strewed on the ground, some entirely destroyed, others bent, leaning upon the jutting rocks of the mountain, or transversely upon other trees. The path, as you ascend higher, is intersected by ravines of snow, down which stones continually roll from above. One of them is particularly dangerous, as the slightest sound, such as even speaking in a loud voice, produces a concussion of air sufficient to draw destruction upon the head of the speaker. The pines are not tall or luxuriant, but they are somber and add an air of severity to the scene. I looked on the valley beneath, vast mists were rising from the rivers which run through it, and curling in thick wreaths around the opposite mountains, whose summits were hid in the uniform clouds, while rain poured from the dark sky and added to the melancholy impression I received from the objects around me. Alas, why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute? It only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free, but now we are moved by every wind that blows, and a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us. We rest, but dream has power to poison sleep. We rise, one wandering thought pollutes the day. We feel, conceive, or reason. Laugh or weep, embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away. It is the same, for, be it joy or sorrow, the path of its departure still is free. Man's yesterday may never be like his morrow. Not may endure but mutability. It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent. For some time, I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. A mist covered both that and the surrounding mountains. Presently, a breeze dissipated the cloud, and I descended upon the glacier. The surface is very uneven, rising like the waves of a troubled sea, descending low, and interspersed by rifts that sink deep. The field of ice is almost a league in width, but I spent nearly two hours in crossing it. The opposite mountain is a bare, perpendicular rock. From the side where I now stood, Monton Verre was exactly opposite, at a distance of a league, and above it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty. I remained in a recess of the rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene. The sea, or rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent mountains, whose aerial summits hung over its recesses. There I see and glittering peaks shown in the sunlight over the clouds. My heart, which was before sorrowful, now swelled with something like joy. I exclaimed, Wondering spirits, if indeed ye wonder, 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. As I said this, I suddenly beheld the figure of a man, at some distance, advancing towards me with superhuman speed. He bounded over the crevices in the ice, among which I had walked with caution. His stature, also, as he approached, seemed to exceed that of man. I was troubled, a mist came over my eyes, and I felt a faintness seize me. But I was quickly restored by the cold gale of the mountains. I perceived, as the shape came nearer, sight tremendous and abhorred, that it was the wretch whom I had created. I trembled with rage and horror, resolving to wait his approach, and then close with him in mortal combat. He approached. His countenance bespoke bitter anguish, combined with disdain and malignity, while its unearthly ugliness rendered it almost too horrible for human eyes. But I scarcely observed this. Rage and hatred had at first deprived me of utterance, and I recovered only to overwhelm him with words expressive of furious detestation and contempt. Devil, I exclaimed, do you dare approach me, and do not you fear the fierce vengeance of my arm raked on your miserable head? Be gone, vile inset, 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, said the demon. 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 desolable by the annihilation of one of us.   Do your duty towards me, and I will do mine towards 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 more of death until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends. Abhorred monster, fiend that thou art!  Ratchet devil, you approach me with your creation. Come on then, that I may extinguish the spark which I so negligently bestowed. My rage was without bounds. I sprang on him, impelled by all the feelings which can arm one being against the existence of another. He easily anointed me, and said, Be calm.  Have I not suffered enough that you seek to increase my misery? Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. Remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself. My height is superior to thine, my joints more supple. 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 witch thou o'est me. O 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 the 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. Be gone! I will not hear you. There can be no community between you and me. We are enemies. Be gone! 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 favourable 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. The desert mountains and dreary glaciers are my refuge. I have wandered here many days. The caves of ice, which I only do not fear, are a dwelling to me, and the only one which man does not grudge. These bleak skies I hail, for they are kinder to me than your fellow beings. If the multitude of mankind knew of my existence, they would do as you do and arm themselves from my destruction. Shall I not then hate them who abhor me? I will keep no terms with my enemies. I am miserable, and they shall share my wretchedness. Yet it is in your power to recompense me and deliver them from an evil which it only remains for you to make so great, that not only you and your family, but thousands of others, shall be swallowed up in the whirlwinds of its rage. Let your compassion be moved and do not disdain me. Listen to my tale. When you have heard that, abandon or commiserate me, as you shall judge that I deserve, but hear me.  Listen to me, Frankenstein.  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 hand. Why do you call to remembrance, I rejoin, circumstances of which I shudder to reflect, that I have been the miserable origin and author? Cursed be the day, abhorred devil, in which you first saw light.  You have made me wretched beyond expression. You have left me no power to consider whether I am just to you or not. Be gone! Relieve me from the sight of your detested form. Thus I relieve thee, my creator. He said, and placed his hated hands before my eyes, which I flung from me with violence. Thus I take from thee a sight which you abhor. Still thou canst listen to me and grant me thy compassion. By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this from you. Hear my tale. It is long and strange, and the temperature of this place is not fitting to your fine sensations. Come to the hut upon the mountain. The sun is yet high in the heavens. Before it descends to hide itself behind your snowy presser pieces and illuminate another world, you will have heard my story and can decide.  As he said this, he led the way across the ice. I followed. My heart was full, and I did not answer him. But as I proceeded, I weighed the various arguments that he had used, and determined at least to listen to his tale. I was partly urged by curiosity, and compassion confirmed my resolution. I had hitherto supposed him to be the murderer of my brother, and I eagerly sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion. For the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator towards his creature were, and that I ought to render him happy before I complained of his wickedness. These motives urged me to comply with his demand. We crossed the ice, therefore, and ascended the opposite rock. The air was cold, and the rain again began to descend. We entered the hut, the fiend with an air of exultation, I with a heavy heart and depressed spirits. But I consented to listen, and seating myself by the fire which my odious companion had lighted, he thus began his tale. It is with considerable difficulty that I remember the original error of my being. All the events of that period appear confused and indistinct. A strange multiplicity of sensations seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, and smelt at the same time, and it was indeed a long time before I learned to distinguish between the operations of my various senses.  Darkness then came over me and troubled me, but hardly had I felt this when, by opening my eyes, as I now suppose, the light poured in upon me again. 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 now found that I could wander on, at liberty, with no obstacles which I could not either so mount or avoid. The light became more and more oppressive to me, and the heat worrying 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 the trees or lying on the ground. I slaped my thirst at the brook, and then lying down was overcome by sleep. 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, helpless, miserable wretch. I knew and could distinguish nothing, but feeling pain invade me on all sides, I sat down and wept. 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 out in search of berries. I was still cold when, under one of the trees, I found a huge cloak with which I covered myself, and sat down upon the ground. 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. The only object that I could distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my eyes on that with pleasure. 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. I was delighted when I first discovered that a pleasant sound which often saluted my ears proceeded from the throats of the little winged animals who had often intercepted the light from my eyes. I began also to observe, with greater accuracy, the forms that surrounded me, and to perceive the boundaries of the radiant roof of light which canopied me. Sometimes I tried to imitate the pleasant songs of the birds, but was unable. Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in my own mode, but the uncouth and inarticulate sounds which broke from me frightened me into silence again. The moon had 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 one herb from another. I found that the sparrow uttered none but harsh notes, whilst oars of the blackbird and thrush were sweet and enticing. One day when I was oppressed by a 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! I examined the materials of the fire, and to my joy found it to be composed of wood. I quickly collected some branches, but they were wet, and would not burn. I was pained at this and sat still watching the operation of the fire. The wet wood which I had placed near the heat dried, and itself became inflamed. I reflected on this, and by touching the various branches I discovered the cause, and busied myself in collecting a great quantity of wood that I might dry it, and have a plentiful supply of fire. When night came on and brought sleep with it, I was in the greatest fear, lest my fire should be extinguished. I covered it carefully with dry wood and leaves, and placed wet branches upon it, and then, spreading my cloak, I lay on the ground and sank into sleep. It was morning when I awoke, and my first care was to visit the fire. I uncovered it, and a gentle breeze quickly fantered into a flame. I observed this also and contrived a fan of branches which roused the embers when they were nearly extinguished. When night came again I found with pleasure that the fire gave light as well as heat, and that the discovery of this element was useful to me in my food, for I found some of the offals that the travellers had left had been roasted, and tasted much more savoury than the berries I gathered from the trees. I tried therefore to dress my food in the same manner, placing it on the live embers. I found that the berries were spoiled by this operation, and the nuts and roots much improved. Food, however, became scarce, and I often spent the whole day searching in vain for a few acorns to assuage the pangs of hunger. When I found this, I resolved to quit the place that I had hitherto inhabited, to seek for one where the few wants I experienced would be more easily satisfied. In this emigration I exceedingly lamented the loss of the fire which I had obtained through accident, and knew not how to reproduce it. I gave several hours to the serious consideration of this difficulty, but I was obliged to relinquish all attempt to supply it, and wrapping myself up in my cloak, 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 covered the ground. It was about seven in the morning, and I longed to obtain food and shelter. At length I perceived a small hut on a rising ground, which had doubtless been built for the convenience of some shepherd. This was a new sight to me, and I examined the structure with great curiosity. Finding the door open, I entered. An old man sat in it near a fire over which he was preparing his breakfast. He turned on hearing a noise, and perceiving me shrieked loudly, and quitting the hut ran across the fields with a speed of which his debilitated form hardly appeared capable. His appearance, different from any I had ever before seen, and his flight somewhat surprised me. But I wasn't chanted 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 diviner retreat as pandemonium appeared to the demons of hell after their sufferings in the lake of fire. I greedily devoured the remnants of the shepherd's breakfast, which consisted of bread, cheese, milk, and wine. The latter, however, I did not like. Then, overcome by fatigue, I lay down among some straw and fell asleep. It was noon when I awoke and allured by the warmth of the sun, which shone brightly on the white ground. I determined to recommence my travels, and, deposing the remains of the peasant's breakfast in a wallet I found, I proceeded across the fields for several hours until at sunset I arrived at a village. 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. One of the best of these I entered, but I had hardly placed my foot within the door before the children shrieked and some 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 appearance after the palaces I had behilled 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 an agreeable asylum from the snow and rain. Here then I retreated and lay down happy to have found a shelter, however miserable, from the inclemancy of the season, and still more from the barbarity of man. As soon as morning dawned I crept from my kennel that I might view the adjacent cottage and discover if I could remain in the habitation I had found. It was situated against the back of the cottage and surrounded on the sides which were exposed by a pig-sty and a clear pool of water. One part was open and by that I had crept in, but now I covered every crevice by which I might be perceived with stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I might move them on occasion to pass out. All the light I enjoyed came through the sty, and that was sufficient for me. Having thus arranged my dwelling and carpeted it with clean straw, I retired, for I saw the figure of a man at a distance, and I remembered too well my treatment the night before to trust myself in his power. I had first, however, provided for my sustenance for that day by a loaf of coarse bread which I perloined, and a cup with which I could drink more conveniently than from my hand of the pure water which flowed by my retreat. The floor was a little raised so that it was kept perfectly dry, and by its vicinity to the chimney of the cottage it was tolerably warm. Being thus provided, I resolved to reside in this hobble, until something should occur which might alter my determination. It was indeed a paradise compared to the bleak forest my former residence, the rain-dropping branches and dank earth.  When I heard a step, and looking through a small chink, I beheld a young creature with a pale on her head, passing before my hobble. The girl was young, and of gentle demeanor, unlike what I have since found cottages and farmhouse servants to be. Yet she was meanly dressed, a coarse blue petticoat and a linen jacket being her only garb. Her fair hair was plattered, but not adorned. She looked patient yet sad. I lost sight of her, and in about a quarter of an hour she returned bearing the pale, which was now partly filled with milk. As she walked along seemingly incommodated by the burden, a young man met her whose countenance expressed a deeper despondence. Uttering a few sounds with an air of melancholy, he took the pale from her head, and bore it to the cottage himself. She followed, and they disappeared. Presently I saw the young man again with some tools in his hand, crossed the field behind the cottage, and the girl was also busy sometimes in the house, and sometimes in the yard. On examining my dwelling I found that one of the windows of the cottage had formally occupied a part of it, but the panes had been filled up with wood. In one of these was a small and almost imperceptible chink through which the eye could just penetrate. Through this crevice a small room was visible, whitewashed and clean but very bare of furniture.  The young girl was occupied in arranging the cottage, but presently she took something out of a drawer which employed her hands, and she sat down beside the old man who, taking up an instrument, began to play, and to produce sounds sweeter than the voice of the thrush or the nightingale. It was a lovely sight, even to me poor wretch you had never beheld ought beautiful before. The silver hair and benevolent countenance of the aged cottageer won my reverence, while the gentle man is of the girl enticed, my love. He played a sweet mournful air which I perceived drew tears from the eyes of his amiable companion, of which the old man took no notice, until she sobbed audibly. He then pronounced a few sounds, and the fair creature leaving her work nailed at his feet. He raised her and smiled with such kindness and affection that I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature. They were a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I had never before experienced, either from hunger or cold, warmth or food. And I withdrew from the window, unable to bear these emotions.  The girl met him at the door, helped to relieve him of his burden, and, taking some of the fuel into the cottage, placed it on the fire. Then she and the youth went apart into a nook of the cottage, and he showed her a large loaf and a piece of cheese. She seemed pleased, and went into the garden for some roots and plants which she placed in water, and then upon the fire. She afterwards continued her work, whilst the young man went into the garden, and appeared busily employed in digging and pulling up roots. After he had been employed thus about an hour, the young woman joined him, and they entered the cottage together. 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. The meal was quickly dispatched. The young woman was again occupied in arranging the cottage. The old man walked before the cottage in the sun for a few minutes, leaning on the arm of the youth. Nothing could exceed in beauty the contrast between these two excellent creatures. One was old, with silver hairs and accountants beaming with benevolence and love. The younger was slight and graceful in his figure, and his features were moulded with the finest symmetry. Yet his eyes and attitude expressed the utmost sadness and despondency. The old man returned to the cottage, and the youth, with tools different from those he had used in the morning, directed his steps across the fields. Night quickly shut in, but, to my extreme wonder, I found that the cottages had a means of prolonging light by the use of tapers, and was delighted to find that the setting of the sun did not put an end to the pleasure I experienced in watching my human neighbours. In the evening the young girl and her companion were employed in various occupations which I did not understand, and the old man again took up the instrument which produced the divine sounds that had enchanted me in the morning. So soon as he had finished the youth began, not to play, but to utter sounds that were monotonous, and neither resembling the harmony of the old man's instrument nor the songs of the birds. I since found that he read aloud, but at that time I knew nothing of the science of words or letters. The family, after having been thus occupied for a short time, extinguished their lights and retired, as I conjectured, to rest. CHAPTER XII I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences of the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these people, and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well the treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous villages, and resolved whatever course of conduct I might hear after think it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in my hovel, watching and endeavouring to discover the motives which influenced their actions. The cottages arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman arranged the cottage and prepared the food, and the youth departed after the first meal. This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various laborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument, or in contemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the younger cottages exhibited towards their venerable companion. They performed towards him every little office of affection and duty with gentleness, and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles. They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often went apart and appeared to weep. 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 beings 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 vians when hungry. They were dressed in excellent clothes, and still more. They enjoyed one another's company and speech into changing each day looks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they really express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions, but perpetual attention and time explained to me many appearances which were at first enigmatic. 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. Their nourishment consisted entirely of the vegetables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, which gave very little during the winter when its masters could scarcely procure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottages, for several times they placed food before the old man when they reserved none for themselves. This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed during the night to steal a part of their store for my own consumption, but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottages, I abstained and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and roots which I gathered from a neighbouring wood. 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 as tools the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home firing sufficient for the consumption of several days. I remember the first time that I did this. The young woman, when she opened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a great pile of wood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud voice, and the youth joined her who also expressed surprised. I observed with pleasure that he did not go to the forest that day, but spent it in repairing the cottage and cultivating the garden. By degrees I made a discovery of 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 countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it, but I was baffled in every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation was quick, and the words they uttered not having any apparent connection with visible objects, I was unable to discover any clue by which I could unravel the mystery of their reference. By great application, however, and after having remained during the space of several revolutions of the moon in my hovel, I discovered the names that were given to some of the most familiar objects of discourse. I learned and applied the words fire, milk, bread, and wood. I learned also the names of the cottages themselves. The youth and his companion had each of them several names, but the old man had only one which was father. The girl was called sister or Agatha, and the youth Felix, brother or son. I cannot describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideas appropriated to each of these sounds and was able to pronounce them. I distinguished several other words without being able as yet to understand or reply them, such as good, dearest, unhappy. I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle manners and beauty of the cottages greatly endeared them to me. When they were unhappy, I felt depressed. When they rejoiced, I sympathized in their joys. I saw few human beings besides them, and if any other happened to enter the cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the superior accomplishments of my friends. The old man, I could perceive, often endeavored to encourage his children, as sometimes I found that he called them, to cast off their melancholy. He would talk in a cheerful accent with an expression of goodness that bestowed pleasure even upon me. Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled with tears, which she endeavored to wipe away and perceived. But I generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after having listened to the exhortations of her father. It was not thus with Felix. He was always the saddest of the group, and even to my unpracticed senses he appeared to have suffered more deeply than his friends. But if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more cheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed the old man. I could mention innumerable instances which, although slight, mark the dispositions of these amiable cottages. In the midst of poverty and want Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little white flower that peeped out from beneath the snowy ground. Early in the morning, before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that obstructed her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and brought the wood from the outhouse where, to his perpetual astonishment, he found his store always replenished by an invisible hand. In the day I believe he worked sometimes for a neighbouring farmer, because he often went forth and did not return until dinner, yet brought no wood with him. At other times he worked in the garden, but as there was little to do in the frosty season he read to the old man and Agatha. This reading had puzzled me extremely at first, but by degrees I discovered that he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when he talked. I conjectured therefore that he found on the paper signs for speech which he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend these also, but how was that possible when I did not even understand the sounds for which they stood as signs? I improved, however, sensibly in this science, but not sufficiently to follow up any kind of conversation, although I applied my whole mind to the endeavour, for I easily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to the cottages, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first become master of their language, which knowledge might enable me to make them overlook the deformity of my figure, for with this also the contrast perpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted. I had admired the perfect forms of my cottages, their grace, beauty, and delicate complexions, but how was I terrified when I viewed myself in a transparent pool? At first I stared back, unable to believe that it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror, and when I became fully convinced that I was in reality the monster that I am, I was filled with the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification. Alas, I did not yet entirely know the fatal effects of this miserable deformity. As the sun became warmer and the light of day longer the snow vanished and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth. From this time Felix was more employed, and the heart-moving indications of impending famine disappeared. Their food, as I afterwards found, was coarse but it was wholesome, and they procured a sufficiency of it. Several new kinds of plants sprang up in the garden, which they dressed, and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season advanced. The old man leaning on his son walked each day at noon when it did not rain, as I found it was cold when the heavens poured forth its waters. This frequently took place, but a high wind quickly dried the earth and the season became far more pleasant than it had been. My mode of life in my hovel was uniform. During the mornings I attended the motions of the cottages and when they were dispersed in various occupations I slept. The remainder of the day was spent in observing my friends. When they had retired to rest, if there was any moon or the night was starlight, I went into the woods and collected my own food and fuel for the cottage. When I returned, as often as it was necessary, I cleared their path from the snow and performed those offices that I had seen done by Felix. I afterwards found that these labours performed by an invisible hand greatly astonished them, and once or twice I heard them on these occasions utter the words Good Spirit, Wonderful, but I did not then understand the signification of these terms. My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to discover the motives and feelings of these lovely creatures. I was inquisitive to know why Felix appeared so miserable and Agatha so sad. I thought, foolish wretch, that it might be in my power to restore happiness to these deserving people. When I slept or was absent the forms of the venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha and the excellent Felix flitted before me. I looked upon them as superior beings who would be the arbiters of my future destiny. I formed in my imagination a thousand pictures of presenting myself to them and their reception of me. I imagined that they would be disgusted until, by my gentle demeanour and conciliating words, I should first win their favour and afterwards their love. These thoughts exhilarated me and led me to apply with fresh ardour to the acquiring the art of language. My organs were indeed harsh but supple, and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease.  The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the aspect of the earth. Men who before this change seemed to have been hidden caves disperse themselves, and were employed in various arts of cultivation. The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves began to bud forth on the trees. Happy, happy earth, fit habitation for gods which, so short a time before, was bleak, damp, and unwholesome. My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of nature, the past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, and the future gilded by bright rays of hope and anticipations of joy. I now hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall relate events that impressed me with feelings which, from what I had been, have made me what I am. Spring advanced rapidly, the weather became fine and the skies cloudless. It surprised me that what before was desert and gloomy should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight and a thousand sights of beauty. It was on one of these days, when my cottages periodically rested from labor, the old man played on his guitar and the children listened to him, that I observed the countenance of Felix was melancholy beyond expression. He sighed frequently, and once his father paused in his music, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired the cause of his son's sorrow. Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and the old man was recommencing his music when someone tapped at the door. It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a countryman as a guide. The lady was dressed in a dark suit and covered with a thick black veil. Agatha asked a question to which the stranger only replied by pronouncing in a sweet accent the name of Felix. Her voice was musical but unlike that of either of my friends. On hearing this word Felix came up hastily to the lady, who, when she saw him, threw up her veil, and I beheld a countenance of angelic beauty and expression, her hair of a shining raven black, and curiously braided. Her eyes were dark but gentle although animated, her features of a regular proportion, and her complexion wondrously fair each cheek tinged with a lovely pink. Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her. Every trait of sorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of ecstatic joy of which I could hardly have believed it capable. His eyes sparkled as his cheek flushed with pleasure, and at that moment I thought him as beautiful as the stranger. She appeared affected by different feelings. Wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she healed out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously and called her, as well as I could distinguish, his sweet derabian. She did not appear to understand him but smiled. He assisted her to dismount and dismissing her guide conducted her into the cottage. Some conversation took place between him and his father, and the young stranger knelt at the old man's feet, and would have kissed his hand, but he raised her and embraced her affectionately. I soon received that although the stranger uttered articulate sounds and appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood by nor herself understood the cottages. They made many signs which I did not comprehend, but I saw that her presence diffused gladness through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the morning mists. Felix seemed peculiarly happy and with smiles of delight welcomed his Arabian. Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed the hands of the lovely stranger, and, pointing to her brother, made signs which appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she came. Some hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances, expressed joy, the cause of which I did not comprehend. Presently I found, by the frequent recurrence of some sound which the stranger repeated after them, that she was endeavouring to learn their language, and the idea instantly occurred to me that I should make use of the same instructions to the same end. The stranger learned about twenty words at the first lesson. Most of them, indeed, were those which I had before understood, but I profited by the others. As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired early. When they separated, Felix kissed the hand of the stranger and said, Good night, sweet safety. He sat up much longer, conversing with his father, and by the frequent repetition of her name I conjectured that their lovely guest was the subject of their conversation. I ardently desired to understand them and bent every faculty towards that purpose, but found it utterly impossible. The next morning Felix went out to his work, and after the usual occupations of Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the old man, and, taking his guitar, played some airs so entrancingly beautiful, that they at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my eyes. She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling or dying away like a nightingale of the woods. When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first declined it. She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in sweet accents, but unlike the wondrous strain of the stranger. The old man appeared and raptured and said some words which Agatha endeavored to explain to Safie, and by which she appeared to wish to express that she bestowed on him the greatest delight by her music. The days now passed as peaceably as before, with the sole alteration that joy had taken place of sadness in the countenances of my friends. Safie was always gay and happy. She and I improved rapidly in the knowledge of language, so that in two months I began to comprehend most of the words uttered by my protectors. In the meanwhile also the black ground was covered with herbage, and the green banks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the scent and the eyes, stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods. The sun became warmer, the nights clear and barmy, and my nocturnal rambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they were considerably shortened by the late setting and early rising of the sun, for I never ventured abroad during daylight fearful of meeting with the same treatment I had formally endured in the first village which I entered. My days were spent in close attention that I might more speedily master the language, and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than the Arabian, who understood very little and conversed in broken accents, while I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that was spoken. While I improved in speech I also learned the science of letters as it was taught to the stranger, and this opened before me a wide field for wonder and delight. The book from which Felix instructed Saphie was Volnae's Ruins of Empires. I should not have understood the purport of this book had not Felix in reading it, given very minute explanations. He had chosen this work, he said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation of the Eastern authors. Through this work I obtained a cursory knowledge of history and a view of the several empires at present existing in the world. It gave me an insight into the manners, governments, and religions of the different nations of the earth. I heard of the slothful Asiatics of the stupendous genius and mental activity of the Grecians, of the wars and wonderful virtue of the early Romans, of their subsequent degenerating, of the decline of that mighty empire, of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard of the discovery of the American Hemisphere and wept with Saphie over the hapless fate of its original inhabitants. These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings. Was man indeed at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so vicious and base? He appeared at one time a mess, chion of the evil principle, and at another as all that can be conceived of noble and godlike. To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honor that can befall a sensitive being. To be base and vicious, as many on record have been, appear the lowest degradation, a condition more abject than that of a blind mole or harmless worm. For a long time I could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even why there were laws and governments. But when I heard details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased, and I turned away with disgust and loathing. Every conversation of the cottages now opened new wonders to me. While I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the Arabian, the strange system of human society was explained to me. I heard of the division of property, of immense wealth and squalid poverty, of rank, descent, and noble blood. The words induced me to turn towards myself. I learned that the possessions most esteemed by your fellow creatures were high and unsullied, descent, united with riches. A man might be respected with only one of these advantages, but without either he was considered, except in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to waste his powers for the profits of the chosen few. And what was I? Of my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property. I was besides, endued with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome. I was not even of the same nature as man. I was more agile than they and could subsist upon coarser diet. I bore the extremes of heat bent cold with less injury to my frame. My stature of fire exceeds theirs. When I looked around I saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster, a blot upon the earth from which all men fled and whom all men disowned? I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted upon me. I tried to dispel them, but sorrow only increased with knowledge. Oh, that I had forever remained in my native wood, nor known nor felt beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst and heat, of what a strange nature is knowledge. It clings to the mind when it has once seized on it like a lichen on the rock. I wished sometimes to shake off all thought and feeling, but I learned that there was but one means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death, a state which I feared, yet did not understand. I admired virtue and good feelings and loved the gentle manners and amiable qualities of my cottages. But I was shut out from intercourse with them, except through means which I obtained by stealth when I was unseen and unknown, and which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of becoming one among my fellows. The gentle words of Agatha and the animated smiles of the charming Arabian were not for me. The mild exhortations of the old man and the lively conversation of the loved Felix were not for me. Miserable, unhappy wretch. Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply. I heard of the differences of sexes and the birth and growth of children, how the father doted on the smiles of the infant and the lively cellies of the older child, how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapped up in the precious charge, how the mind of youth expanded and gained knowledge of brother, sister, and all the various relationships which bind one human being to another in mutual bonds. But where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses, or if they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I distinguished nothing. For my earliest remembrance I had been as I then was in height and proportion. I had never yet seen a being resembling me, or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I? The question again recurred, to be answered only with groans. I will soon explain to what these feelings tended, but allow me now to return to the cottages whose story excited in me such various feelings of indignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated in additional love and reverence for my protectors, for so I loved in an innocent half-painful self-deceit to call them. CHAPTER XIV Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding as it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful to one so utterly inexperienced as I was. The name of the old man was Delacy. 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. His son was bred in the service of his country, and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the highest distinction. A few months before my arrival 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. The father of Safi had been the cause of their ruin. He was a Turkish merchant, and had inhabited Paris for many years when, for some reason which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safi arrived from Constantinople to join him. He was tried and condemned to death. The injustice of his sentence was very flagrant, all 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. 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 around for the means. After many fruitless attempts to gain admittance to the prison he found a strongly grated window in an unguarded part of the building which lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Mohammedan who, loaded with chains, waited and despair the execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix visited the great at night and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed and delighted, endeavored to kindle the zeal of his deliverer by promises of reward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with contempt. Yet, when he saw the lovely Safi 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 hazard. The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on the heart of Felix and endeavored 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. During the ensuing days, while the 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 found means to express her thoughts in the language 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 towards her parent and at the same time she gently deplored her own fate. I have copies of these letters, for I found means during my residence in the hovel to procure the implements of writing, and the letters were often in the hands of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart, I will give them to you. They will prove the truth of my tale. But at present, as the sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat the substance of them to you. Safi related that her 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 Safi who married her. The young girl spoke in high and enthusiastic terms of 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. This lady died, but her lessons were indelibly impressed on the mind of Safi, who sickened at the prospect of again 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. The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed, but on the night previous to it he quitted his prison and before morning was distant 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 pretense of a journey, and concealed himself with his daughter in an obscure part of Paris. Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyon and across Monsigny to Légon, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions. Safi 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 society of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest affection. They conferred with one another through the means of an interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks, and Safi sang to him the divine airs of her native country. The Turk allowed the centimacy to take place and encouraged the hopes of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far 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 be no longer necessary, and secretly to take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans were facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris. The government of France were 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 Delacy 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. The idea was torture to him. He quickly arranged with the Turk that if the latter should find a favorable opportunity for escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safi should remain as a border at a convent at Leggorn. And then, quitting the lovely Arabian, he hastened to Paris and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the law, hoping to free Delacy 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 a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany where I discovered them. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk for whom he and his family 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, as he said, in some plan of future maintenance. Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix and rendered him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could have endured poverty, and while this distress had been the mead of his virtue he gloried in it. But the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss of his beloved Sefi were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable. The arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul. When news reached Legón 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 Sefi 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 Legón 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 Legón. When alone, Sefi resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it would become her to pursue in this emergency. Her residence in Turkey was a porrant to her. Her religion and her feelings were alike averse to it. By some papers of her father which fell into her hands, she learned 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 Legón, but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for Germany. She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage of Delacy when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Sefi nursed her with the most devoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the Arabian was left alone, unaquainted 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 Sefi should arrive in safety at the cottage of her lover. CHAPTER XV Such was the history of my beloved cottages. It impressed me deeply. I learned from the views of social life which it developed to admire their virtues and to deprecate the vices of mankind. As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities were called forth and displayed. But in giving an account of the progress of my intellect, I must not admit a circumstance which occurred in the beginning of the month of August of the same year. One night, during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood where I collected my own food and brought home firing for my protectors, I found on the ground a leaven portmanteau containing several articles of dress and some books. I eagerly seized the prize and returned with it to my hovel. Fortunately, the books were written in the language, the elements of which I had acquired at the cottage. They consisted of Paradise Lost, a volume of Plutarch's Lives, and the Sorrows of Verterre. The possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight. I now continually studied and exercised my mind upon these histories whilst my friends were employed in their ordinary occupations. I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They produced in me an infinity of new images and feelings that sometimes raised me to ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In the Sorrows of Verterre, besides the interest of its simple and affecting story, so many opinions are canvassed and so many lights thrown upon what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects that I found in it a never-ending source of speculation and astonishment. The gentle and domestic manners it described combined with lofty sentiments and feelings which had for their object something out of self, accorded well with my experience among my protectors and with the wants which were forever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Verterre himself a more divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined. His character contained no pretension, but it sank deep. The disquisitions upon death and suicide were calculated to fill me with wonder. I did not pretend to enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards the opinions of the hero whose extinction I wept without precisely understanding it. As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and conditions. I found myself similar, yet at the same time strangely unlike to the beings concerning whom I read and whose conversation I was a listener. I sympathized with and partly understood them, but I was unformed in mind. I was dependent on none and related to none. The path of my departure was free, and there was none to lament my annihilation. My person was hideous and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Whence did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them. The volume of Plutarch's lives, which I possessed, contained the histories of the first founders of the ancient republics. This book had a far different effect upon me from the sorrows of Werther. I learned from Werther's imagination's despondency and gloom, but Plutarch taught me high thoughts. He elevated me above the wretched sphere of my own reflections to admire and love the heroes of past ages. Many things I read surpassed my understanding and experience. I had a very confused knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers, and boundless seas. But I was perfectly unacquainted with towns and large assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the only school in which I had studied human nature, but this book developed new and mightier scenes of action. I read of men concerned in public affairs, governing or massacring their species. I felt the greatest ardour for virtue rise within me, and apparence for vice, as far as I understood the signification of these terms relative as they were, as I applied them, to pleasure and pain alone. Induced by these feelings, I was, of course, led to admire peaceable law-givers, Numa, Solon, and Lycurgus in preference to Romulus and Thesius. The patriarchal lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a firm hold on my mind. Perhaps if my first introduction to humanity had been made by a young soldier burning for glory and slaughter, I should have been imbued with different sensations. But paradise lost, excited, different, and far deeper emotions. I read it as I had read the other volumes, which had fallen into my hands, as a true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the picture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of exciting.  Like Adam I was apparently united by no link to any other being in existence. But his state was far different from mine and every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect creature, happy and prosperous, guarded by the special care of his creator. He was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from beings of a superior nature, but I was wretched helpless and alone. Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for often like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, a bitter gall of envy rose within me. Another circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon after my arrival in the hovel, I discovered some papers in the pocket of the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. At first I had neglected them, but now that I was able to decipher the characters in which they were written, I began to study them with diligence. It was your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress of your work. This history was mingled with accounts of domestic occurrences. You doubtless recollect these papers. Here they are. Everything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed origin. The whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances which produced it is set in view. The minutest description of my odious and loathsome person is given in language which painted your own horrors and rendered mine indelible. I sickened, as I read. Hateful day when I received life, I exclaimed in agony. A cursed 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 very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and abhorred. These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude. But when I contemplated the virtues of the cottages, their amiable and benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should become acquainted with my admiration of their virtues they would compassion at me and overlook my personal deformity. Could they turn from their door one, however monstrous, who solicited their companion and friendship? I resolved at least not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate. I postponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance attached to its success inspired me with a dread, lest I should fail. Besides, I found that my understanding improved so much with every day's experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few more months should have added to my sagacity. Several changes in the meantime took place in the cottage. The presence of Safi diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and I also found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in their labours by servants. They did not appear rich, but they were contented and happy. Their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledge only discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I cherished hope it is true, but it vanished when I behilled my person reflected in water, or my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail image, and that inconstant shade. I endeavoured to crush these fears and to fortify myself for the trial which, in a few months, I resolved to undergo, and sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of paradise, and dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my feelings, and cheering my gloom, their angelic countenances breathed smiles of consolation. But it was all a dream. No eve soothed my sorrows, nor shared my thoughts. I was alone. I remembered Adam's supplication to his Creator. But where was mine? He had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him. Autumn passed thus. I saw, with surprise and grief, the leaves decay and fall, and nature again assumed the barren and bleak appearance it had worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did not heed the bleakness of the weather. I was better fitted by my confirmation for the endurance of cold and heat. But my chief delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay apparel of summer. When those deserted me, I turned with more attention towards the cottages. Their happiness was not decreased by the absence of summer. They loved and sympathised with one another, and their joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the casualties that took place around them. The more I saw of them, the greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness. My heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures. To see their sweet looks, directed towards me with affection, was the utmost limit of my ambition. I dared not think that they would turn them from me with disdain and horror. The poor that stopped at their door were never driven away. I asked it is true for greater treasures than a little food or rest. I required kindness and sympathy, but I did not believe myself utterly unworthy of it. The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken place since I awoke into life. My attention at this time was solely directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my protectors. I revolved many projects. But that on which I finally fixed was to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone. I had sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my person was the chief object of horror with those who had formally beheld me. My voice, though harsh, had nothing terrible in it. I thought, therefore, that if, in the absence of his children, I could gain the goodwill and mediation of the old Delacy, I might by his means be tolerated by my younger protectors. One day when the sun shone on the red leaves that screwed the ground and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Sefi, Agatha, and Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man at his own desire was left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed, he took up his guitar, and played several mournful but sweet heirs, more sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before. At first his countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but as he continued, thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded. Had length laying aside the instrument, he sat absorbed in reflection. My heart beat quick. This was the hour and moment of trial which would decide my hopes or realise my fears. The servants were gone to a neighbouring fair. All was silent in and around the cottage. It was an excellent opportunity. Yet when I proceeded to execute my plan, my limbs failed me and I sank to the ground. Again I arose and exerting all the firmness of which I was master, removed the planks which I had placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat. The fresh air revived me, and with renewed determination I approached the door of their cottage. I knocked. Who is there? said the old man. Come in. I entered. Pardon this intrusion, said I. 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, said the Lacey, 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. I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew that every minute was precious to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence the interview, when the old man addressed me. By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countrymen. 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 favour I have some hopes. Are they Germans? No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an unfortunate and deserted creature. I look around, and I have no relation or friend upon the 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 an outcast in the world forever. Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but the hearts of men, when unprejudiced by any 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 testable monster. That is indeed unfortunate, but if you are really blameless, cannot you deceive 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. Where do these friends reside? Near this spot. The old man paused and then continued, If you will unreservedly confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may 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 the society and sympathy of your fellow creatures. Heaven forbid! Even if you were really criminal, for that can only drive you to desperation and not instigate you to virtue. I also am unfortunate. I and my family have been condemned, although innocent. Judge therefore if I do not feel for 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 be forever grateful, and your present humanity assures me of success with those friends whom I am on the point of meeting. May I know the names and residence of those friends? I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision which was to rob me of or bestow happiness on me forever. I struggled vainly for firmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my remaining strength. I sank on the chair and sobbed aloud. At that moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment to lose, but seizing the hand of the old man I cried, 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. Great God! exclaimed the old man. Who are you? At that instant the cottage door was opened and Felix, Sefi and Agatha entered. Who can describe their horror and consternation on beholding me? Agatha fainted, and Sefi, unable to attend to her friend, rushed out of the cottage. Felix darted forward, and with supernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung. In a transport of fury he dashed me to the ground, and struck me violently with a stick. I could have torn him limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope. But my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness, and I refrained. I saw him on the point of repeating his blow when, overcome by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general tumult escaped unperceived to my hovel. CHAPTER XVI Cursed, cursed creator! Why did I live? Why in that instant did I not extinguish the spark of existence which you had so wantedly bestowed? I know not. Despair had not yet taken possession of me. My feelings were those of rage and revenge. I could, with pleasure, have destroyed the cottage and its inhabitants, and have glutted myself with their shrieks and misery. When night came I quitted my retreat and wandered in the wood, and now no longer restrained by the fear of discovery I gave vent to my anguish in fearful howlings. I was like a wild beast that had broken the toils, destroying the objects that obstructed me and ranging through the wood with a stag-like swiftness.  The cold stars shone in mockery, and the bare trees waved their branches above me. Now and then the sweet voice of a bird burst forth amidst the universal stillness. All, save I, were at rest or in enjoyment. I, like the archfiend, bore a hell within me, and, finding myself unsympathised with, wished to tear up the trees, spread havoc and destruction around me, and then to have sat down and enjoyed the ruin. But this was a luxury of sensation that could not endure. I became fatigued with excess of bodily exertion and sank on the damp grass in the sick impotence of despair. There was none among the myriads of men that existed who would pity or assist me, and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No. From that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and more than all, against him who had formed me and sent me forth to this insupportable misery. The sun rose. I heard the voices of men and knew that it was impossible to return to my retreat during that day. Accordingly I hid myself in some thick underwood, determining to devote the ensuing hours to reflection on my situation. The pleasant sunshine and the pure air of day restored me to some degree of tranquillity. And, when I considered what had passed at the cottage, I could not help believing that I had been too hasty in my conclusions. I had certainly acted imprudently. It was apparent that my conversation had interested the father in my behalf, and I was a fool in having exposed my person to the horror of his children. I ought to have familiarised the old Delacy to me, and by degrees to have discovered myself to the rest of his family when they should have been prepared for my approach. But I did not believe my errors to be irretrievable, and after much consideration I resolved to return to the cottage, seek the old man, and by my representations win him to my party. These thoughts calmed me, and in the afternoon I sank into a profound sleep. But the fever of my blood did not allow me to be visited by peaceful dreams. The horrible scene of the preceding day was forever acting before my eyes. The females were flying, and the enraged Felix tearing me from his father's feet. I awoke exhausted, and finding that it was already night, I crept forth from my hiding place and went in search of food. When my hunger was appeased I directed my steps towards the well-known path that conducted to the cottage. All there was at peace. I crept into my hovel and remained in silent expectation of the accustomed hour when the family arose. That hour passed. The sun mounted high in the heavens, but the cottages did not appear. I trembled violently, apprehending some dreadful misfortune. The inside of the cottage was dark, and I heard no motion. I cannot describe the agony of this suspense. Presently two countrymen passed by, but pausing near the cottage they entered into conversation using violent gesticulations. But I did not understand what they said as they spoke the language of the country which differed from that of my protectors. Soon after, however, Felix approached with another man. I was surprised, as I knew that he had not quitted the cottage that morning, and waited anxiously to discover from his discourse the meaning of these unusual appearances. "'Do you consider?' said his companion to him. "'That you'll be obliged to pay three months' rent, until you lose your produce of your garden. I do not wish to take any unfair advantage, and I beg therefore that you will take some days to consider for your determination.' "'It is utterly useless,' replied Felix. "'We can never again inhabit your cottage. The life of my father is in the greatest danger, owing to the dreadful circumstances 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.' Felix trembled violently as he said this. He and his companion entered the cottage, in which they remained for a few minutes, and then departed. I never saw any of the family of Delacy more.  My protectors had departed, and had broken the only link that healed me to the world. For the first time the feelings of revenge and hatred filled my bosom, and I did not strive to control them, but allowing myself to be borne away by the stream, I bent my mind towards injury and death. When I thought of my friends, of the mild voice of Delacy, the gentle eyes of Agatha, and the exquisite beauty of the Arabian, his thoughts vanished, and a gush of tears somewhat soothed me. But again when I reflected that they had spurned and deserted me, anger returned, a rage of anger, and unable to injure anything human, I turned my fury towards inanimate objects. As night advanced I placed a variety of combustibles around the cottage, and after having destroyed every vestige of cultivation in the garden, I waited with forced impatience until the moon had sunk to commence my operations. As the night advanced a fierce wind arose from the woods, and quickly dispersed the clouds that had loited in the heavens, the blast tore along like a mighty avalanche, and produced a kind of insanity in my spirits that burst all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted the dry branch of a tree, and danced with fury around the devoted cottage, my eyes still fixed on the western horizon, the edge of which the moon nearly touched. A part of its orb was at length hid, and I waved my brand. It sank, and with a loud scream, I fired the straw and heath and bushes which I had collected. The wind fanned the fire, and the cottage was quickly enveloped by the flames which clung to it, and licked it with their forked and destroying tongues. As soon as I was convinced that no assistance could save any part of the habitation, I quitted the scene and sought for refuge in the woods, and now the world before me wither should I bend my steps. I resolved to fly far from the scene of my misfortunes, but to me, hated and despised, every country must be equally horrible. At length the thought of you crossed my mind. I learned from your papers that you were my father, my creator, and in whom could I apply with more fitness than to him who had given me life. Among the lessons that Felix had bestowed upon Sefi, geography had not been admitted. I had learned from these the relative situations of the different countries of the earth. You had mentioned Geneva as the name of your native town, and towards this place I resolved to proceed. But how was I to direct myself? I knew that I must travel in a south-westerly direction to reach my destination, but the sun was my only guide. I did not know the names of the towns that I was to pass through, nor could I ask information from a single human being, but I did not despair. From you only could I hope for succor, although towards you I felt no sentiment but that of hatred. I'm feeling heartless creator. You had endowed me with perceptions and passions, and then cast me abroad an object for the scorn and horror of mankind. But on you only had I any claim for pity and redress, and from you I determined to seek that justice which I vainly attempted to gain from any other being that wore the human form. My travels were long, and the sufferings I endured intense. It was late in autumn when I quitted the district where I had so long resided. I travelled only at night, fearful of encountering the visage of a human being. Nature decayed around me, and the sun became heedless. Rain and snow poured around me. Mighty rivers were frozen. The surface of the earth was hard, and chill, and bare, and I found no shelter. Oh earth! How often did I imprecate curses on the cause of my being? The mildness of my nature had fled, and all within me was turned to gall and bitterness. The nearer I approached your habitation the more deeply did I feel the spirit of revenge and kindled in my heart. Snow fell, and the waters were hardened, but I rested not. A few incidents now and then directed me, and I possessed a map of the country, but I often wandered wide from my path. The agony of my feelings allowed me no respite. No incident occurred from which my rage and misery could not extract its food. But a circumstance that happened when I arrived on the confines of Switzerland, when the sun had recovered its warmth and the earth again began to look green, confirmed that in a special manner the bitterness and horror of my feelings. I generally rested during the day and travelled only when I was secured by night from the view of man. One morning, however, finding that my path lay through a deep wood, I ventured to continue my journey after the sun had risen. The day which was one of the first of spring cheered even me by the loveliness of its sunshine and the barminess of the air. I felt emotions of gentleness and pleasure that had long appeared dead revive within me. Half surprised by the novelty of these sensations, I allowed myself to be born away by them and, forgetting my solitude and deformity, dared to be happy. Soft tears again bedued my cheeks, and I even raised my humid eyes with thankfulness towards the blessed sun which bestowed such joy upon me. I continued to wind among the paths of the wood until I came to its boundary, which was skirted by a deep and rapid river into which many of the trees bent their branches, now budding with the fresh spring. Here I paused, not exactly knowing what path to pursue, when I heard the sound of voices that induced me to conceal myself under the shade of a cypress. I was scarcely hid when a young girl came running towards the spot where I was concealed, laughing as if she ran from someone in sport. She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped and she fell into the rapid stream. I rushed from my hiding place and with extreme labour from the force of the current saved her and dragged her to shore. She was senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore animation when I was suddenly interrupted by the approach of a rustic, who was probably the person from whom she had playfully fled. On seeing me he darted towards me and tearing a girl from my arms hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily. I hardly knew why, but when the man saw me draw near he aimed a gun which he carried at my body and fired. I sank to the ground and my injurer with increased swiftness escaped into the wood. This then was the reward of my benevolence. I had saved a human being from distraction, and as a recompense I now writhed under the miserable pain of a wound which shattered the flesh and bone. The feelings of kindness and gentleness which I had entertained but a few moments before gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth, inflamed by pain, I vowed eternal hatred and vengeance to all mankind. But the agony of my wound overcame me. My pulses paused, and I fainted. For some weeks I led a miserable life in the woods, endeavouring to cure the wound which I had received. The ball had entered my shoulder, and I knew not whether it had remained there or passed through. At any rate I had no means of extracting it. My sufferings were augmented also by the oppressive sense of the injustice and ingratitude of their infliction. My daily vows rose for revenge, a deep and deadly revenge, such as would alone compensate for the outrages and anguish I had endured. After some weeks my wound healed, and I continued my journey. The labours I endured were no longer to be alleviated by the bright sun or gentle breezes of spring. All joy was but a mockery which insulted my desolate state, and made me feel more painfully that I was not made for the enjoyment of pleasure. But my toils now drew near a close, and in two months from this time I reached the environs of Geneva. It was evening when I arrived and I retired to a hiding-place among the fields that surrounded it to meditate in what manner I should apply to you. I was oppressed by fatigue and hunger, and far too unhappy to enjoy the gentle breezes of evening or the prospect of the sun setting behind the stupendous mountains of Jura. At this time a light sleep relieved me from the pain of reflection, which was disturbed by the approach of a beautiful child who came running into the recess I had chosen with all the sportiveness of infancy. Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me that this little creature was unprejudiced and had lived too short a time to have imbibed a horror of deformity. If therefore I could seize him and educate him as my companion and friend, I should not be so desolate in this people-earth. Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as he passed and drew him towards me. As soon as he beheld my form, he placed his hands before his eyes and uttered a shrill scream. I drew his hand forcibly from his face and said, Child, what is the meaning of this? I do not intend to hurt you. Listen to me. He struggled violently. Let me go! he cried.   Let me go or I will tell my papa. Boy, you will never see your father again. You must come with me. Hideous monster, let me go. My papa is a syndic. He is M. Frankenstein. He will punish you. You dare not keep me. Frankenstein! You belong then to my enemy. To him towards whom I have sworn eternal revenge, you shall be my first victim. The child still struggled and loaded me with epithets. Which carried despair to my heart. I grasped his throat to silence him. And in a moment he lay dead at my feet. I gazed on my victim. And my heart swelled with exultation and hellish triumph. Clapping my hands, I exclaimed, I too can create desolation. My enemy is not invulnerable. This death will carry despair to him. And a thousand other miseries shall torment and destroy him. As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw something glittering on his breast. I took it. It was a portrait of a most lovely woman. In spite of my malignity it softened and attracted me. For a few moments I gazed with delight on her dark eyes, fringed by deep lashes, and her lovely lips. But presently my rage returned. I remembered that I was forever deprived of the delights that such beautiful creatures could bestow, and that she whose resemblance I contemplated would, in regarding me, have changed that air of divine benignity to one expressive of disgust and a fright. And you wonder that such thoughts transported me with rage? I only wonder that at that moment, instead of venting my sensations and exclamations and agony, I did not rush among mankind and perish in the attempt to destroy them. While I was overcome by these feelings I left the spot where I had committed the murder, and seeking a more secluded hiding-place, I entered a barn which had appeared, to me, to be empty. A woman was sleeping on some straw. She was young, not indeed so beautiful as her whose portrait I healed, but of an agreeable aspect and blooming in the loveliness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one of those whose joy in parting smiles are bestowed on all but me. And then I bent over her and whispered, Awake, fairest! Thy lover is near. He who would give his life, but to obtain one look of affection from thine eyes, my beloved, awake! a sleeper stirred. A thrill of terror ran through me. Should she indeed awake and see me and curse me and denounce the murderer? Thus would she assuredly act if her darkened eyes opened, and she beheld me. The thought was madness. It stirred the fiend within me. Not I, but she shall suffer. The murder I have committed because I am forever robbed of all that she could give me, she shall atone. The crime had its source in her. Be hers the punishment. Thanks to the lessons of Felix and the sanguinary laws of man, I had learned now to work mischief. I bent over her and placed the portrait securely in one of the folds of her dress. She moved again, and I fled. For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place, sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world in its miseries forever. At length I wandered towards these mountains, and have ranged through their immense recesses consumed by a burning passion which you alone can gratify. We may not part, until you have promised to comply with my requisition. I am alone and miserable. Man will not associate with me. But one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species, and have the same defects. This being you must create. CHAPTER 17 The being finished speaking and fixed his looks upon me in the expectation of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He continued, CHAPTER 18 The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had died away while he narrated his peaceful life among the carnages. And as he said this I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within me. I do refuse it, I replied, and no torture shall ever extort a consent from me.  Shall I create another like yourself whose joint wickedness might desolate the world? Be gone! I have answered you. You may torture me, but I will never consent. You are in the wrong, replied the Fiend, and instead of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph. Remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me. You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot be. The human senses are insurmountable barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries. If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear and chiefly towards you, my arch-enemy, because, my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred? Have a care. I will work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you shall curse the hour of your birth. A fiendish rage animated him as he said this.  But presently he count himself and proceeded. I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do not reflect that you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, I should return them a hundred and a hundred fold. For that one creature's sake I would make peace with the whole kind. But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realized. What I ask of you is reasonable and moderate. I demand a creature of another sex but as hideous as myself. The gratification is small, but it is all that I can receive and it shall content me. It is true, we shall be monsters cut off from all the world, but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but th