It
was
eight
o'clock
when
we
landed;
we
walked
for
a
short
time
on
the
shore,
enjoying
the
transitory
light,
and
then
retired
to
the
inn
and
contemplated
the
lovely
scene
of
waters, woods,
and
mountains,
obscured
in
darkness,
yet
still
displaying
their
black
outlines.
The
wind,
which
had fallen
in
the
south,
now
rose
with
great
violence
in
the
west.
The
moon had reached
her
summit
in
the
heavens
and
was
beginning
to
descend;
the
clouds
swept
across
it
swifter
than
the
flight
of
the
vulture
and
dimmed
her
rays,
while
the
lake
reflected
the
scene
of
the
busy
heavens, rendered
still
busier
by
the
restless
waves
that
were
beginning
to
rise. Suddenly a heavy
storm
of
rain
descended. I had been
calm
during
the
day,
but
so
soon
as
night
obscured
the
shapes
of
objects, a
thousand
fears
arose
in
my mind. I
was
anxious
and
watchful,
while
my
right
hand
grasped
a
pistol
which
was
hidden
in
my bosom;
every
sound
terrified me,
but
I resolved
that
I
would
sell
my
life
dearly
and
not
shrink
from
the
conflict
until
my
own
life
or
that
of
my
adversary
was
extinguished.
Elizabeth
observed
my
agitation
for
some
time
in
timid
and
fearful silence,
but
there
was
something
in
my glance
which
communicated
terror
to
her,
and
trembling,
she
asked, "What
is
it
that
agitates
you, my
dear
Victor?
What
is
it
you
fear?" "Oh! Peace, peace, my love," replied I; "this night,
and
all
will
be
safe;
but
this
night
is
dreadful,
very
dreadful." I
passed
an
hour
in
this
state
of
mind,
when
suddenly I
reflected
how
fearful
the
combat
which
I momentarily
expected
would
be
to
my wife,
and
I
earnestly
entreated
her
to
retire, resolving
not
to
join
her
until
I had
obtained
some
knowledge
as
to
the
situation
of
my enemy.
She
left me,
and
I
continued
some
time walking
up
and
down
the
passages
of
the
house
and
inspecting
every
corner
that
might
afford
a
retreat
to
my adversary.
But
I
discovered
no
trace
of
him
and
was
beginning
to
conjecture
that
some
fortunate
chance
had
intervened
to
prevent
the
execution
of
his
menaces
when
suddenly I
heard
a shrill
and
dreadful scream.
It
came
from
the
room
into
which
Elizabeth
had retired.
As
I
heard
it,
the
whole
truth
rushed
into
my mind, my
arms
dropped,
the
motion
of
every
muscle
and
fibre
was
suspended; I
could
feel
the
blood trickling
in
my
veins
and
tingling
in
the
extremities
of
my limbs.
This
state
lasted
but
for
an
instant;
the
scream
was
repeated,
and
I
rushed
into
the
room.
Great
God!
Why
did
I
not
then
expire!
Why
am
I
here
to
relate
the
destruction
of
the
best
hope
and
the
purest
creature
on
earth?
She
was
there,
lifeless
and
inanimate, thrown
across
the
bed,
her
head
hanging
down
and
her
pale
and
distorted
features
half
covered
by
her
hair.
Everywhere
I
turn
I
see
the
same
figure—her
bloodless
arms
and
relaxed
form
flung
by
the
murderer
on
its
bridal
bier.
Could
I
behold
this
and
live? Alas!
Life
is
obstinate
and
clings
closest
where
it
is
most
hated.
For
a
moment
only
did
I
lose
recollection; I
fell
senseless
on
the
ground.
When
I
recovered
I found
myself
surrounded
by
the
people
of
the
inn;
their
countenances expressed a breathless terror,
but
the
horror
of
others
appeared
only
as
a mockery, a shadow
of
the
feelings
that
oppressed me. I
escaped
from
them
to
the
room
where
lay
the
body
of
Elizabeth, my love, my wife,
so
lately
living,
so
dear,
so
worthy.
She
had been
moved
from
the
posture
in
which
I had
first
beheld her,
and
now,
as
she
lay,
her
head
upon
her
arm
and
a handkerchief thrown
across
her
face
and
neck, I
might
have
supposed
her
asleep. I
rushed
towards
her
and
embraced
her
with
ardour,
but
the
deadly
languor
and
coldness
of
the
limbs
told
me
that
what
I
now
held
in
my
arms
had
ceased
to
be
the
Elizabeth
whom
I had
loved
and
cherished.
The
murderous
mark
of
the
fiend's
grasp
was
on
her
neck,
and
the
breath
had
ceased
to
issue
from
her
lips.
While
I
still
hung
over
her
in
the
agony
of
despair, I
happened
to
look
up.
The
windows
of
the
room
had
before
been darkened,
and
I felt a
kind
of
panic
on
seeing
the
pale
yellow
light
of
the
moon
illuminate
the
chamber.
The
shutters had been thrown back,
and
with
a
sensation
of
horror
not
to
be
described, I
saw
at
the
open
window
a
figure
the
most
hideous
and
abhorred. A grin
was
on
the
face
of
the
monster;
he
seemed
to
jeer,
as
with
his
fiendish
finger
he
pointed
towards
the
corpse
of
my wife. I
rushed
towards
the
window,
and
drawing a
pistol
from
my bosom, fired;
but
he
eluded
me, leaped
from
his
station,
and
running
with
the
swiftness
of
lightning, plunged
into
the
lake.
The
report
of
the
pistol
brought a crowd
into
the
room. I pointed
to
the
spot
where
he
had disappeared,
and
we
followed
the
track
with
boats;
nets
were
cast,
but
in
vain.
After
passing
several
hours,
we
returned
hopeless,
most
of
my
companions
believing
it
to
have
been a
form
conjured
up
by
my fancy.
After
having
landed,
they
proceeded
to
search
the
country,
parties
going
in
different
directions
among
the
woods
and
vines. I attempted
to
accompany
them
and
proceeded
a
short
distance
from
the
house,
but
my
head
whirled
round, my
steps
were
like
those
of
a
drunken
man, I
fell
at
last
in
a
state
of
utter
exhaustion; a film covered my eyes,
and
my skin
was
parched
with
the
heat
of
fever.
In
this
state
I
was
carried
back
and
placed
on
a bed,
hardly
conscious
of
what
had happened; my
eyes
wandered
round
the
room
as
if
to
seek
something
that
I had lost.
After
an
interval
I arose,
and
as
if
by
instinct,
crawled
into
the
room
where
the
corpse
of
my beloved lay.
There
were
women
weeping
around; I
hung
over
it
and
joined
my
sad
tears
to
theirs;
all
this
time
no
distinct
idea
presented
itself
to
my mind,
but
my
thoughts
rambled
to
various
subjects,
reflecting
confusedly
on
my misfortunes
and
their
cause. I
was
bewildered,
in
a
cloud
of
wonder
and
horror.
The
death
of
William,
the
execution
of
Justine,
the
murder
of
Clerval,
and
lastly
of
my wife;
even
at
that
moment
I
knew
not
that
my
only
remaining
friends
were
safe
from
the
malignity
of
the
fiend; my father
even
now
might
be
writhing
under
his
grasp,
and
Ernest
might
be
dead
at
his
feet.
This
idea
made
me
shudder
and
recalled
me
to
action. I started
up
and
resolved
to
return
to
Geneva
with
all
possible
speed.
There
were
no
horses
to
be
procured,
and
I
must
return
by
the
lake;
but
the
wind
was
unfavourable,
and
the
rain
fell
in
torrents. However,
it
was
hardly
morning,
and
I
might
reasonably
hope
to
arrive
by
night. I
hired
men
to
row
and
took
an
oar
myself,
for
I had
always
experienced
relief
from
mental
torment
in
bodily exercise.
But
the
overflowing
misery
I
now
felt,
and
the
excess
of
agitation
that
I
endured
rendered
me
incapable
of
any
exertion. I threw
down
the
oar,
and
leaning
my
head
upon
my hands, gave
way
to
every
gloomy
idea
that
arose.
If
I
looked
up, I
saw
scenes
which
were
familiar
to
me
in
my happier time
and
which
I had
contemplated
but
the
day
before
in
the
company
of
her
who
was
now
but
a shadow
and
a recollection.
Tears
streamed
from
my eyes.
The
rain
had
ceased
for
a moment,
and
I
saw
the
fish
play
in
the
waters
as
they
had
done
a
few
hours
before;
they
had
then
been
observed
by
Elizabeth.
Nothing
is
so
painful
to
the
human
mind
as
a
great
and
sudden
change.
The
sun
might
shine
or
the
clouds
might
lower,
but
nothing
could
appear
to
me
as
it
had
done
the
day
before. A
fiend
had snatched
from
me
every
hope
of
future
happiness;
no
creature
had
ever
been
so
miserable
as
I was;
so
frightful
an
event
is
single
in
the
history
of
man.
But
why
should
I
dwell
upon
the
incidents
that
followed
this
last
overwhelming
event?
Mine
has been a
tale
of
horrors; I
have
reached
their
acme,
and
what
I
must
now
relate
can
but
be
tedious
to
you.
Know
that,
one
by
one, my
friends
were
snatched away; I
was
left desolate. My
own
strength
is
exhausted,
and
I
must
tell,
in
a
few
words,
what
remains
of
my
hideous
narration. I
arrived
at
Geneva. My father
and
Ernest
yet
lived,
but
the
former
sunk
under
the
tidings
that
I bore. I
see
him
now,
excellent
and
venerable
old
man!
His
eyes
wandered
in
vacancy,
for
they
had lost
their
charm
and
their
delight—his Elizabeth,
his
more
than
daughter,
whom
he
doted
on
with
all
that
affection
which
a
man
feels,
who
in
the
decline
of
life,
having
few
affections,
clings
more
earnestly
to
those
that
remain. Cursed,
cursed
be
the
fiend
that
brought
misery
on
his
grey
hairs
and
doomed
him
to
waste
in
wretchedness!
He
could
not
live
under
the
horrors
that
were
accumulated
around
him;
the
springs
of
existence
suddenly gave way;
he
was
unable
to
rise
from
his
bed,
and
in
a
few
days
he
died
in
my arms.
What
then
became
of
me? I
know
not; I lost sensation,
and
chains
and
darkness
were
the
only
objects
that
pressed
upon
me. Sometimes, indeed, I dreamt
that
I
wandered
in
flowery
meadows
and
pleasant
vales
with
the
friends
of
my youth,
but
I
awoke
and
found
myself
in
a dungeon. Melancholy followed,
but
by
degrees
I
gained
a clear
conception
of
my
miseries
and
situation
and
was
then
released
from
my prison.
For
they
had
called
me
mad,
and
during
many
months,
as
I understood, a
solitary
cell
had been my habitation. Liberty, however, had been a useless
gift
to
me, had I not,
as
I
awakened
to
reason,
at
the
same
time
awakened
to
revenge.
As
the
memory
of
past misfortunes
pressed
upon
me, I began
to
reflect
on
their
cause—the
monster
whom
I had created,
the
miserable
daemon
whom
I had sent
abroad
into
the
world
for
my destruction. I
was
possessed
by
a maddening
rage
when
I
thought
of
him,
and
desired
and
ardently
prayed
that
I
might
have
him
within
my
grasp
to
wreak
a
great
and
signal
revenge
on
his
cursed
head.
Nor
did
my
hate
long
confine
itself
to
useless wishes; I began
to
reflect
on
the
best
means
of
securing him;
and
for
this
purpose,
about
a
month
after
my release, I repaired
to
a criminal
judge
in
the
town
and
told
him
that
I had
an
accusation
to
make,
that
I
knew
the
destroyer
of
my family,
and
that
I required
him
to
exert
his
whole
authority
for
the
apprehension
of
the
murderer.
The
magistrate
listened
to
me
with
attention
and
kindness. "Be assured, sir," said he, "no
pains
or
exertions
on
my
part
shall
be
spared
to
discover
the
villain." "I
thank
you," replied I; "listen, therefore,
to
the
deposition
that
I
have
to
make.
It
is
indeed
a
tale
so
strange
that
I
should
fear
you
would
not
credit
it
were
there
not
something
in
truth
which, however wonderful,
forces
conviction.
The
story
is
too
connected
to
be
mistaken
for
a dream,
and
I
have
no
motive
for
falsehood." My
manner
as
I
thus
addressed
him
was
impressive
but
calm; I had
formed
in
my
own
heart
a
resolution
to
pursue
my
destroyer
to
death,
and
this
purpose
quieted
my
agony
and
for
an
interval
reconciled
me
to
life. I
now
related my
history
briefly
but
with
firmness
and
precision,
marking
the
dates
with
accuracy
and
never
deviating
into
invective
or
exclamation.
The
magistrate
appeared
at
first
perfectly incredulous,
but
as
I
continued
he
became
more
attentive
and
interested; I
saw
him
sometimes shudder
with
horror;
at
others
a
lively
surprise, unmingled
with
disbelief,
was
painted
on
his
countenance.
When
I had
concluded
my
narration
I said, "This
is
the
being
whom
I
accuse
and
for
whose
seizure
and
punishment
I
call
upon
you
to
exert
your
whole
power.
It
is
your
duty
as
a magistrate,
and
I
believe
and
hope
that
your
feelings
as
a
man
will
not
revolt
from
the
execution
of
those
functions
on
this
occasion."
This
address
caused
a
considerable
change
in
the
physiognomy
of
my
own
auditor.
He
had
heard
my
story
with
that
half
kind
of
belief
that
is
given
to
a
tale
of
spirits
and
supernatural events;
but
when
he
was
called
upon
to
act
officially
in
consequence,
the
whole
tide
of
his
incredulity
returned. He, however,
answered
mildly, "I
would
willingly
afford
you
every
aid
in
your
pursuit,
but
the
creature
of
whom
you
speak
appears
to
have
powers
which
would
put
all
my exertions
to
defiance.
Who
can
follow
an
animal
which
can
traverse
the
sea
of
ice
and
inhabit
caves
and
dens
where
no
man
would
venture
to
intrude? Besides,
some
months
have
elapsed
since
the
commission
of
his
crimes,
and
no
one
can
conjecture
to
what
place
he
has
wandered
or
what
region
he
may
now
inhabit." "I
do
not
doubt
that
he
hovers
near
the
spot
which
I inhabit,
and
if
he
has
indeed
taken
refuge
in
the
Alps,
he
may
be
hunted
like
the
chamois
and
destroyed
as
a
beast
of
prey.
But
I
perceive
your
thoughts;
you
do
not
credit
my
narrative
and
do
not
intend
to
pursue
my
enemy
with
the
punishment
which
is
his
desert."
As
I spoke,
rage
sparkled
in
my eyes;
the
magistrate
was
intimidated. "You
are
mistaken," said he. "I
will
exert
myself,
and
if
it
is
in
my power
to
seize
the
monster,
be
assured
that
he
shall
suffer
punishment
proportionate
to
his
crimes.
But
I fear,
from
what
you
have
yourself
described
to
be
his
properties,
that
this
will
prove
impracticable;
and
thus,
while
every
proper
measure
is
pursued,
you
should
make
up
your
mind
to
disappointment." "That cannot be;
but
all
that
I
can
say
will
be
of
little
avail. My
revenge
is
of
no
moment
to
you; yet,
while
I
allow
it
to
be
a vice, I
confess
that
it
is
the
devouring
and
only
passion
of
my soul. My
rage
is
unspeakable
when
I
reflect
that
the
murderer,
whom
I
have
turned
loose
upon
society,
still
exists.
You
refuse
my
just
demand; I
have
but
one
resource,
and
I
devote
myself,
either
in
my
life
or
death,
to
his
destruction." I
trembled
with
excess
of
agitation
as
I said this;
there
was
a frenzy
in
my manner,
and
something, I
doubt
not,
of
that
haughty
fierceness
which
the
martyrs
of
old
are
said
to
have
possessed.
But
to
a Genevan magistrate,
whose
mind
was
occupied
by
far
other
ideas
than
those
of
devotion
and
heroism,
this
elevation
of
mind
had
much
the
appearance
of
madness.
He
endeavoured
to
soothe
me
as
a
nurse
does
a
child
and
reverted
to
my
tale
as
the
effects
of
delirium. "Man," I cried, "how
ignorant
art
thou
in
thy
pride
of
wisdom! Cease;
you
know
not
what
it
is
you
say." I
broke
from
the
house
angry
and
disturbed
and
retired
to
meditate
on
some
other
mode
of
action.