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