My
present
situation
was
one
in
which
all
voluntary
thought
was
swallowed
up
and
lost. I
was
hurried
away
by
fury;
revenge
alone
endowed
me
with
strength
and
composure;
it
moulded
my feelings
and
allowed
me
to
be
calculating
and
calm
at
periods
when
otherwise
delirium
or
death
would
have
been my portion. My
first
resolution
was
to
quit
Geneva
forever; my country, which,
when
I
was
happy
and
beloved,
was
dear
to
me, now,
in
my adversity, became hateful. I provided
myself
with
a
sum
of
money,
together
with
a
few
jewels
which
had
belonged
to
my mother,
and
departed.
And
now
my wanderings began
which
are
to
cease
but
with
life. I
have
traversed
a
vast
portion
of
the
earth
and
have
endured
all
the
hardships
which
travellers
in
deserts
and
barbarous
countries
are
wont
to
meet.
How
I
have
lived
I
hardly
know;
many
times
have
I stretched my failing
limbs
upon
the
sandy
plain
and
prayed
for
death.
But
revenge
kept
me
alive; I
dared
not
die
and
leave
my
adversary
in
being.
When
I
quitted
Geneva
my
first
labour
was
to
gain
some
clue
by
which
I
might
trace
the
steps
of
my
fiendish
enemy.
But
my
plan
was
unsettled,
and
I
wandered
many
hours
round
the
confines
of
the
town, uncertain
what
path
I
should
pursue.
As
night
approached I found
myself
at
the
entrance
of
the
cemetery
where
William, Elizabeth,
and
my father reposed. I
entered
it
and
approached
the
tomb
which
marked
their
graves. Everything
was
silent
except
the
leaves
of
the
trees,
which
were
gently agitated
by
the
wind;
the
night
was
nearly dark,
and
the
scene
would
have
been
solemn
and
affecting
even
to
an
uninterested observer.
The
spirits
of
the
departed
seemed
to
flit
around
and
to
cast a shadow,
which
was
felt
but
not
seen,
around
the
head
of
the
mourner.
The
deep
grief
which
this
scene
had
at
first
excited
quickly
gave
way
to
rage
and
despair.
They
were
dead,
and
I lived;
their
murderer
also
lived,
and
to
destroy
him
I
must
drag
out
my
weary
existence. I knelt
on
the
grass
and
kissed
the
earth
and
with
quivering
lips
exclaimed, "By
the
sacred
earth
on
which
I kneel,
by
the
shades
that
wander
near
me,
by
the
deep
and
eternal
grief
that
I feel, I swear;
and
by
thee, O Night,
and
the
spirits
that
preside
over
thee,
to
pursue
the
daemon
who
caused
this
misery,
until
he
or
I
shall
perish
in
mortal
conflict.
For
this
purpose
I
will
preserve my life;
to
execute
this
dear
revenge
will
I
again
behold
the
sun
and
tread
the
green
herbage
of
earth,
which
otherwise
should
vanish
from
my
eyes
forever.
And
I
call
on
you, spirits
of
the
dead,
and
on
you,
wandering
ministers
of
vengeance,
to
aid
and
conduct
me
in
my work.
Let
the
cursed
and
hellish
monster
drink
deep
of
agony;
let
him
feel
the
despair
that
now
torments
me." I had begun my
adjuration
with
solemnity
and
an
awe
which
almost
assured
me
that
the
shades
of
my
murdered
friends
heard
and
approved
my devotion,
but
the
furies
possessed
me
as
I concluded,
and
rage
choked my utterance. I
was
answered
through
the
stillness
of
night
by
a
loud
and
fiendish
laugh.
It
rang
on
my
ears
long
and
heavily;
the
mountains
re-echoed it,
and
I felt
as
if
all
hell
surrounded
me
with
mockery
and
laughter. Surely
in
that
moment
I
should
have
been possessed
by
frenzy
and
have
destroyed
my
miserable
existence
but
that
my
vow
was
heard
and
that
I
was
reserved
for
vengeance.
The
laughter
died
away,
when
a well-known
and
abhorred
voice, apparently close
to
my ear,
addressed
me
in
an
audible
whisper, "I
am
satisfied,
miserable
wretch!
You
have
determined
to
live,
and
I
am
satisfied." I darted
towards
the
spot
from
which
the
sound
proceeded,
but
the
devil
eluded
my grasp. Suddenly
the
broad
disk
of
the
moon arose
and
shone
full
upon
his
ghastly
and
distorted
shape
as
he
fled
with
more
than
mortal
speed. I
pursued
him,
and
for
many
months
this
has been my task.
Guided
by
a slight clue, I
followed
the
windings
of
the
Rhone,
but
vainly.
The
blue
Mediterranean
appeared,
and
by
a
strange
chance, I
saw
the
fiend
enter
by
night
and
hide
himself
in
a
vessel
bound
for
the
Black
Sea. I
took
my
passage
in
the
same
ship,
but
he
escaped, I
know
not
how. Amidst
the
wilds
of
Tartary
and
Russia, although
he
still
evaded
me, I
have
ever
followed
in
his
track. Sometimes
the
peasants, scared
by
this
horrid
apparition,
informed
me
of
his
path; sometimes
he
himself,
who
feared
that
if
I lost
all
trace
of
him
I
should
despair
and
die, left
some
mark
to
guide
me.
The
snows
descended
on
my head,
and
I
saw
the
print
of
his
huge
step
on
the
white
plain.
To
you
first
entering
on
life,
to
whom
care
is
new
and
agony
unknown,
how
can
you
understand
what
I
have
felt
and
still
feel? Cold, want,
and
fatigue
were
the
least
pains
which
I
was
destined
to
endure; I
was
cursed
by
some
devil
and
carried
about
with
me
my
eternal
hell;
yet
still
a spirit
of
good
followed
and
directed
my
steps
and
when
I
most
murmured
would
suddenly
extricate
me
from
seemingly insurmountable difficulties. Sometimes,
when
nature,
overcome
by
hunger, sank
under
the
exhaustion, a
repast
was
prepared
for
me
in
the
desert
that
restored
and
inspirited me.
The
fare
was, indeed, coarse,
such
as
the
peasants
of
the
country
ate,
but
I
will
not
doubt
that
it
was
set
there
by
the
spirits
that
I had
invoked
to
aid
me. Often,
when
all
was
dry,
the
heavens cloudless,
and
I
was
parched
by
thirst, a slight
cloud
would
bedim
the
sky,
shed
the
few
drops
that
revived
me,
and
vanish. I followed,
when
I could,
the
courses
of
the
rivers;
but
the
daemon generally
avoided
these,
as
it
was
here
that
the
population
of
the
country
chiefly collected.
In
other
places
human
beings
were
seldom
seen,
and
I generally
subsisted
on
the
wild animals
that
crossed
my path. I had
money
with
me
and
gained
the
friendship
of
the
villagers
by
distributing
it;
or
I brought
with
me
some
food
that
I had killed, which,
after
taking
a small part, I
always
presented
to
those
who
had provided
me
with
fire
and
utensils
for
cooking. My life,
as
it
passed
thus,
was
indeed
hateful
to
me,
and
it
was
during
sleep
alone
that
I
could
taste
joy. O blessed sleep! Often,
when
most
miserable, I sank
to
repose,
and
my
dreams
lulled
me
even
to
rapture.
The
spirits
that
guarded
me
had provided
these
moments,
or
rather
hours,
of
happiness
that
I
might
retain
strength
to
fulfil my pilgrimage. Deprived
of
this
respite, I
should
have
sunk
under
my hardships.
During
the
day
I
was
sustained
and
inspirited
by
the
hope
of
night,
for
in
sleep
I
saw
my friends, my wife,
and
my beloved country;
again
I
saw
the
benevolent
countenance
of
my father,
heard
the
silver
tones
of
my Elizabeth's voice,
and
beheld Clerval
enjoying
health
and
youth. Often,
when
wearied
by
a toilsome march, I
persuaded
myself
that
I
was
dreaming
until
night
should
come
and
that
I
should
then
enjoy
reality
in
the
arms
of
my
dearest
friends.
What
agonizing
fondness
did
I feel
for
them!
How
did
I
cling
to
their
dear
forms,
as
sometimes
they
haunted
even
my
waking
hours,
and
persuade
myself
that
they
still
lived!
At
such
moments
vengeance,
that
burned
within
me,
died
in
my heart,
and
I
pursued
my
path
towards
the
destruction
of
the
daemon
more
as
a task
enjoined
by
heaven,
as
the
mechanical
impulse
of
some
power
of
which
I
was
unconscious,
than
as
the
ardent
desire
of
my soul.
What
his
feelings
were
whom
I
pursued
I cannot know. Sometimes, indeed,
he
left
marks
in
writing
on
the
barks
of
the
trees
or
cut
in
stone
that
guided
me
and
instigated
my fury. "My
reign
is
not
yet
over"—these
words
were
legible
in
one
of
these
inscriptions—"you live,
and
my power
is
complete.
Follow
me; I
seek
the
everlasting
ices
of
the
north,
where
you
will
feel
the
misery
of
cold
and
frost,
to
which
I
am
impassive.
You
will
find
near
this
place,
if
you
follow
not
too
tardily, a
dead
hare;
eat
and
be
refreshed.
Come
on, my enemy;
we
have
yet
to
wrestle
for
our
lives,
but
many
hard
and
miserable
hours
must
you
endure
until
that
period
shall
arrive."
Scoffing
devil!
Again
do
I
vow
vengeance;
again
do
I
devote
thee,
miserable
fiend,
to
torture
and
death.
Never
will
I
give
up
my
search
until
he
or
I perish;
and
then
with
what
ecstasy
shall
I
join
my
Elizabeth
and
my
departed
friends,
who
even
now
prepare
for
me
the
reward
of
my
tedious
toil
and
horrible
pilgrimage!
As
I
still
pursued
my
journey
to
the
northward,
the
snows
thickened
and
the
cold increased
in
a
degree
almost
too
severe
to
support.
The
peasants
were
shut
up
in
their
hovels,
and
only
a
few
of
the
most
hardy
ventured
forth
to
seize
the
animals
whom
starvation
had forced
from
their
hiding-places
to
seek
for
prey.
The
rivers
were
covered
with
ice,
and
no
fish
could
be
procured;
and
thus
I
was
cut
off
from
my
chief
article
of
maintenance.
The
triumph
of
my
enemy
increased
with
the
difficulty
of
my labours.
One
inscription
that
he
left
was
in
these
words: "Prepare!
Your
toils
only
begin; wrap yourself
in
furs
and
provide
food,
for
we
shall
soon
enter
upon
a
journey
where
your
sufferings
will
satisfy
my everlasting hatred." My
courage
and
perseverance
were
invigorated
by
these
scoffing
words; I resolved
not
to
fail
in
my purpose,
and
calling
on
heaven
to
support me, I
continued
with
unabated
fervour
to
traverse
immense
deserts,
until
the
ocean
appeared
at
a distance
and
formed
the
utmost
boundary
of
the
horizon. Oh!
How
unlike
it
was
to
the
blue
seasons
of
the
south! Covered
with
ice,
it
was
only
to
be
distinguished
from
land
by
its
superior
wildness
and
ruggedness.
The
Greeks
wept
for
joy
when
they
beheld
the
Mediterranean
from
the
hills
of
Asia,
and
hailed
with
rapture
the
boundary
of
their
toils. I
did
not
weep,
but
I knelt
down
and
with
a
full
heart
thanked
my
guiding
spirit
for
conducting
me
in
safety
to
the
place
where
I hoped,
notwithstanding
my adversary's gibe,
to
meet
and
grapple
with
him.
Some
weeks
before
this
period
I had
procured
a
sledge
and
dogs
and
thus
traversed
the
snows
with
inconceivable
speed. I
know
not
whether
the
fiend
possessed
the
same
advantages,
but
I found that,
as
before
I had
daily
lost ground
in
the
pursuit, I
now
gained
on
him,
so
much
so
that
when
I
first
saw
the
ocean
he
was
but
one
day's
journey
in
advance,
and
I
hoped
to
intercept
him
before
he
should
reach
the
beach.
With
new
courage, therefore, I
pressed
on,
and
in
two
days
arrived
at
a wretched
hamlet
on
the
seashore. I
inquired
of
the
inhabitants
concerning
the
fiend
and
gained
accurate
information. A
gigantic
monster,
they
said, had
arrived
the
night
before, armed
with
a
gun
and
many
pistols,
putting
to
flight
the
inhabitants
of
a
solitary
cottage
through
fear
of
his
terrific
appearance.
He
had carried
off
their
store
of
winter
food,
and
placing
it
in
a sledge,
to
draw
which
he
had
seized
on
a
numerous
drove
of
trained
dogs,
he
had
harnessed
them,
and
the
same
night,
to
the
joy
of
the
horror-struck villagers, had
pursued
his
journey
across
the
sea
in
a
direction
that
led
to
no
land;
and
they
conjectured
that
he
must
speedily
be
destroyed
by
the
breaking
of
the
ice
or
frozen
by
the
eternal
frosts.
On
hearing
this
information
I
suffered
a
temporary
access
of
despair.
He
had
escaped
me,
and
I
must
commence
a
destructive
and
almost
endless
journey
across
the
mountainous
ices
of
the
ocean, amidst cold
that
few
of
the
inhabitants
could
long
endure
and
which
I,
the
native
of
a
genial
and
sunny
climate,
could
not
hope
to
survive.
Yet
at
the
idea
that
the
fiend
should
live
and
be
triumphant, my
rage
and
vengeance
returned,
and
like
a
mighty
tide, overwhelmed
every
other
feeling.
After
a slight repose,
during
which
the
spirits
of
the
dead
hovered round
and
instigated
me
to
toil
and
revenge, I
prepared
for
my journey. I
exchanged
my land-sledge
for
one
fashioned
for
the
inequalities
of
the
frozen ocean,
and
purchasing
a plentiful stock
of
provisions, I
departed
from
land. I cannot guess
how
many
days
have
passed
since
then,
but
I
have
endured
misery
which
nothing
but
the
eternal
sentiment
of
a
just
retribution
burning
within
my
heart
could
have
enabled
me
to
support.
Immense
and
rugged
mountains
of
ice
often
barred
up
my passage,
and
I
often
heard
the
thunder
of
the
ground sea,
which
threatened
my destruction.
But
again
the
frost
came
and
made
the
paths
of
the
sea
secure.
By
the
quantity
of
provision
which
I had consumed, I
should
guess
that
I had
passed
three
weeks
in
this
journey;
and
the
continual
protraction
of
hope,
returning
back
upon
the
heart,
often
wrung bitter
drops
of
despondency
and
grief
from
my eyes.
Despair
had
indeed
almost
secured
her
prey,
and
I
should
soon
have
sunk
beneath
this
misery. Once,
after
the
poor
animals
that
conveyed
me
had
with
incredible
toil
gained
the
summit
of
a
sloping
ice
mountain,
and
one,
sinking
under
his
fatigue, died, I viewed
the
expanse
before
me
with
anguish,
when
suddenly my
eye
caught
a dark
speck
upon
the
dusky plain. I strained my sight
to
discover
what
it
could
be
and
uttered
a wild
cry
of
ecstasy
when
I distinguished a
sledge
and
the
distorted
proportions
of
a well-known
form
within. Oh!
With
what
a
burning
gush
did
hope
revisit
my heart!
Warm
tears
filled
my eyes,
which
I hastily wiped away,
that
they
might
not
intercept
the
view I had
of
the
daemon;
but
still
my sight
was
dimmed
by
the
burning
drops, until,
giving
way
to
the
emotions
that
oppressed me, I wept aloud.
But
this
was
not
the
time
for
delay; I disencumbered
the
dogs
of
their
dead
companion, gave
them
a plentiful
portion
of
food,
and
after
an
hour's rest,
which
was
absolutely
necessary,
and
yet
which
was
bitterly irksome
to
me, I
continued
my route.
The
sledge
was
still
visible,
nor
did
I
again
lose
sight
of
it
except
at
the
moments
when
for
a
short
time
some
ice-rock
concealed
it
with
its
intervening
crags. I
indeed
perceptibly
gained
on
it,
and
when,
after
nearly
two
days' journey, I beheld my
enemy
at
no
more
than
a
mile
distant, my
heart
bounded
within
me.
But
now,
when
I
appeared
almost
within
grasp
of
my foe, my
hopes
were
suddenly extinguished,
and
I lost
all
trace
of
him
more
utterly
than
I had
ever
done
before. A ground
sea
was
heard;
the
thunder
of
its
progress,
as
the
waters
rolled
and
swelled
beneath
me, became
every
moment
more
ominous
and
terrific. I
pressed
on,
but
in
vain.
The
wind arose;
the
sea
roared; and,
as
with
the
mighty
shock
of
an
earthquake,
it
split
and
cracked
with
a
tremendous
and
overwhelming
sound.
The
work
was
soon
finished;
in
a
few
minutes
a
tumultuous
sea
rolled
between
me
and
my enemy,
and
I
was
left
drifting
on
a
scattered
piece
of
ice
that
was
continually
lessening
and
thus
preparing
for
me
a
hideous
death.
In
this
manner
many
appalling
hours
passed;
several
of
my dogs died,
and
I
myself
was
about
to
sink
under
the
accumulation
of
distress
when
I
saw
your
vessel
riding
at
anchor
and
holding
forth
to
me
hopes
of
succour
and
life. I had
no
conception
that
vessels
ever
came
so
far
north
and
was
astounded
at
the
sight. I
quickly
destroyed
part
of
my
sledge
to
construct oars,
and
by
these
means
was
enabled,
with
infinite
fatigue,
to
move
my
ice
raft
in
the
direction
of
your
ship. I had determined,
if
you
were
going southwards,
still
to
trust
myself
to
the
mercy
of
the
seas
rather
than
abandon
my purpose. I
hoped
to
induce
you
to
grant
me
a
boat
with
which
I
could
pursue
my enemy.
But
your
direction
was
northwards.
You
took
me
on
board
when
my
vigour
was
exhausted,
and
I
should
soon
have
sunk
under
my multiplied hardships
into
a
death
which
I
still
dread,
for
my task
is
unfulfilled. Oh!
When
will
my
guiding
spirit,
in
conducting
me
to
the
daemon,
allow
me
the
rest
I
so
much
desire;
or
must
I die,
and
he
yet
live?
If
I do,
swear
to
me, Walton,
that
he
shall
not
escape,
that
you
will
seek
him
and
satisfy
my
vengeance
in
his
death.
And
do
I
dare
to
ask
of
you
to
undertake
my pilgrimage,
to
endure
the
hardships
that
I
have
undergone? No; I
am
not
so
selfish. Yet,
when
I
am
dead,
if
he
should
appear,
if
the
ministers
of
vengeance
should
conduct
him
to
you,
swear
that
he
shall
not
live—swear
that
he
shall
not
triumph
over
my accumulated
woes
and
survive
to
add
to
the
list
of
his
dark crimes.
He
is
eloquent
and
persuasive,
and
once
his
words
had
even
power
over
my heart;
but
trust
him
not.
His
soul
is
as
hellish
as
his
form,
full
of
treachery
and
fiend-like malice.
Hear
him
not;
call
on
the
names
of
William, Justine, Clerval, Elizabeth, my father,
and
of
the
wretched Victor,
and
thrust
your
sword
into
his
heart. I
will
hover
near
and
direct
the
steel
aright.
You
have
read
this
strange
and
terrific
story, Margaret;
and
do
you
not
feel
your
blood
congeal
with
horror,
like
that
which
even
now
curdles mine? Sometimes,
seized
with
sudden
agony,
he
could
not
continue
his
tale;
at
others,
his
voice broken,
yet
piercing,
uttered
with
difficulty
the
words
so
replete
with
anguish.
His
fine
and
lovely
eyes
were
now
lighted
up
with
indignation,
now
subdued
to
downcast
sorrow
and
quenched
in
infinite
wretchedness. Sometimes
he
commanded
his
countenance
and
tones
and
related
the
most
horrible
incidents
with
a
tranquil
voice,
suppressing
every
mark
of
agitation; then,
like
a
volcano
bursting
forth,
his
face
would
suddenly
change
to
an
expression
of
the
wildest
rage
as
he
shrieked
out
imprecations
on
his
persecutor.
His
tale
is
connected
and
told
with
an
appearance
of
the
simplest
truth,
yet
I
own
to
you
that
the
letters
of
Felix
and
Safie,
which
he
showed
me,
and
the
apparition
of
the
monster
seen
from
our
ship, brought
to
me
a
greater
conviction
of
the
truth
of
his
narrative
than
his
asseverations, however
earnest
and
connected.
Such
a
monster
has, then, really existence! I cannot
doubt
it,
yet
I
am
lost
in
surprise
and
admiration. Sometimes I
endeavoured
to
gain
from
Frankenstein
the
particulars
of
his
creature's formation,
but
on
this
point
he
was
impenetrable. "Are
you
mad, my friend?" said he. "Or
whither
does
your
senseless
curiosity
lead you?
Would
you
also
create
for
yourself
and
the
world
a demoniacal enemy? Peace, peace!
Learn
my
miseries
and
do
not
seek
to
increase
your
own."
Frankenstein
discovered
that
I
made
notes
concerning
his
history;
he
asked
to
see
them
and
then
himself
corrected
and
augmented
them
in
many
places,
but
principally
in
giving
the
life
and
spirit
to
the
conversations
he
held
with
his
enemy. "Since
you
have
preserved my narration," said he, "I
would
not
that
a
mutilated
one
should
go
down
to
posterity."
Thus
has a
week
passed
away,
while
I
have
listened
to
the
strangest
tale
that
ever
imagination
formed. My
thoughts
and
every
feeling
of
my soul
have
been
drunk
up
by
the
interest
for
my
guest
which
this
tale
and
his
own
elevated
and
gentle
manners
have
created. I
wish
to
soothe
him,
yet
can
I
counsel
one
so
infinitely miserable,
so
destitute
of
every
hope
of
consolation,
to
live? Oh, no!
The
only
joy
that
he
can
now
know
will
be
when
he
composes
his
shattered
spirit
to
peace
and
death.
Yet
he
enjoys
one
comfort,
the
offspring
of
solitude
and
delirium;
he
believes
that
when
in
dreams
he
holds
converse
with
his
friends
and
derives
from
that
communion
consolation
for
his
miseries
or
excitements
to
his
vengeance,
that
they
are
not
the
creations
of
his
fancy,
but
the
beings
themselves
who
visit
him
from
the
regions
of
a
remote
world.
This
faith
gives
a
solemnity
to
his
reveries
that
render
them
to
me
almost
as
imposing
and
interesting
as
truth.
Our
conversations
are
not
always
confined
to
his
own
history
and
misfortunes.
On
every
point
of
general
literature
he
displays unbounded
knowledge
and
a
quick
and
piercing apprehension.
His
eloquence
is
forcible
and
touching;
nor
can
I
hear
him,
when
he
relates
a
pathetic
incident
or
endeavours
to
move
the
passions
of
pity
or
love,
without
tears.
What
a
glorious
creature
must
he
have
been
in
the
days
of
his
prosperity,
when
he
is
thus
noble
and
godlike
in
ruin!
He
seems
to
feel
his
own
worth
and
the
greatness
of
his
fall. "When younger," said he, "I
believed
myself
destined
for
some
great
enterprise. My feelings
are
profound,
but
I possessed a
coolness
of
judgment
that
fitted
me
for
illustrious
achievements.
This
sentiment
of
the
worth
of
my
nature
supported
me
when
others
would
have
been oppressed,
for
I deemed
it
criminal
to
throw
away
in
useless
grief
those
talents
that
might
be
useful
to
my
fellow
creatures.
When
I
reflected
on
the
work
I had completed,
no
less
a
one
than
the
creation
of
a
sensitive
and
rational
animal, I
could
not
rank
myself
with
the
herd
of
common
projectors.
But
this
thought,
which
supported
me
in
the
commencement
of
my career,
now
serves
only
to
plunge
me
lower
in
the
dust.
All
my
speculations
and
hopes
are
as
nothing,
and
like
the
archangel
who
aspired
to
omnipotence, I
am
chained
in
an
eternal
hell. My
imagination
was
vivid,
yet
my powers
of
analysis
and
application
were
intense;
by
the
union
of
these
qualities
I
conceived
the
idea
and
executed
the
creation
of
a man.
Even
now
I cannot
recollect
without
passion
my reveries
while
the
work
was
incomplete. I trod
heaven
in
my thoughts,
now
exulting
in
my powers,
now
burning
with
the
idea
of
their
effects.
From
my
infancy
I
was
imbued
with
high
hopes
and
a lofty ambition;
but
how
am
I sunk! Oh! My friend,
if
you
had known
me
as
I
once
was,
you
would
not
recognize
me
in
this
state
of
degradation. Despondency rarely
visited
my heart; a high
destiny
seemed
to
bear
me
on,
until
I fell, never,
never
again
to
rise."
Must
I
then
lose
this
admirable
being? I
have
longed
for
a friend; I
have
sought
one
who
would
sympathize
with
and
love
me. Behold,
on
these
desert
seas
I
have
found
such
a one,
but
I
fear
I
have
gained
him
only
to
know
his
value
and
lose
him. I
would
reconcile
him
to
life,
but
he
repulses
the
idea. "I
thank
you, Walton,"
he
said, "for
your
kind
intentions
towards
so
miserable
a wretch;
but
when
you
speak
of
new
ties
and
fresh
affections,
think
you
that
any
can
replace
those
who
are
gone?
Can
any
man
be
to
me
as
Clerval was,
or
any
woman
another
Elizabeth?
Even
where
the
affections
are
not
strongly
moved
by
any
superior
excellence,
the
companions
of
our
childhood
always
possess
a
certain
power
over
our
minds
which
hardly
any
later
friend
can
obtain.
They
know
our
infantine dispositions, which, however
they
may
be
afterwards modified,
are
never
eradicated;
and
they
can
judge
of
our
actions
with
more
certain
conclusions
as
to
the
integrity
of
our
motives. A
sister
or
a
brother
can
never, unless
indeed
such
symptoms
have
been shown early, suspect
the
other
of
fraud
or
false
dealing,
when
another
friend, however
strongly
he
may
be
attached, may,
in
spite
of
himself,
be
contemplated
with
suspicion.
But
I
enjoyed
friends,
dear
not
only
through
habit
and
association,
but
from
their
own
merits;
and
wherever I am,
the
soothing voice
of
my
Elizabeth
and
the
conversation
of
Clerval
will
be
ever
whispered
in
my ear.
They
are
dead,
and
but
one
feeling
in
such
a
solitude
can
persuade
me
to
preserve my life.
If
I
were
engaged
in
any
high
undertaking
or
design,
fraught
with
extensive
utility
to
my
fellow
creatures,
then
could
I
live
to
fulfil it.
But
such
is
not
my destiny; I
must
pursue
and
destroy
the
being
to
whom
I gave existence;
then
my
lot
on
earth
will
be
fulfilled
and
I
may
die." I
write
to
you, encompassed
by
peril
and
ignorant
whether
I
am
ever
doomed
to
see
again
dear
England
and
the
dearer
friends
that
inhabit
it. I
am
surrounded
by
mountains
of
ice
which
admit
of
no
escape
and
threaten
every
moment
to
crush my vessel.
The
brave
fellows
whom
I
have
persuaded
to
be
my
companions
look
towards
me
for
aid,
but
I
have
none
to
bestow.
There
is
something
terribly appalling
in
our
situation,
yet
my
courage
and
hopes
do
not
desert
me.
Yet
it
is
terrible
to
reflect
that
the
lives
of
all
these
men
are
endangered
through
me.
If
we
are
lost, my
mad
schemes
are
the
cause.
And
what, Margaret,
will
be
the
state
of
your
mind?
You
will
not
hear
of
my destruction,
and
you
will
anxiously
await
my return.
Years
will
pass,
and
you
will
have
visitings
of
despair
and
yet
be
tortured
by
hope. Oh! My beloved sister,
the
sickening failing
of
your
heart-felt
expectations
is,
in
prospect,
more
terrible
to
me
than
my
own
death.
But
you
have
a husband
and
lovely
children;
you
may
be
happy.
Heaven
bless
you
and
make
you
so! My unfortunate
guest
regards
me
with
the
tenderest
compassion.
He
endeavours
to
fill
me
with
hope
and
talks
as
if
life
were
a
possession
which
he
valued.
He
reminds
me
how
often
the
same
accidents
have
happened
to
other
navigators
who
have
attempted
this
sea,
and
in
spite
of
myself,
he
fills
me
with
cheerful auguries.
Even
the
sailors
feel
the
power
of
his
eloquence;
when
he
speaks,
they
no
longer
despair;
he
rouses
their
energies,
and
while
they
hear
his
voice
they
believe
these
vast
mountains
of
ice
are
mole-hills
which
will
vanish
before
the
resolutions
of
man.
These
feelings
are
transitory;
each
day
of
expectation
delayed
fills
them
with
fear,
and
I
almost
dread
a mutiny
caused
by
this
despair.
September
5th A
scene
has
just
passed
of
such
uncommon
interest
that, although
it
is
highly
probable
that
these
papers
may
never
reach you,
yet
I cannot
forbear
recording
it.
We
are
still
surrounded
by
mountains
of
ice,
still
in
imminent
danger
of
being crushed
in
their
conflict.
The
cold
is
excessive,
and
many
of
my unfortunate
comrades
have
already
found a
grave
amidst
this
scene
of
desolation.
Frankenstein
has
daily
declined
in
health; a
feverish
fire
still
glimmers
in
his
eyes,
but
he
is
exhausted,
and
when
suddenly
roused
to
any
exertion,
he
speedily sinks
again
into
apparent
lifelessness. I
mentioned
in
my
last
letter
the
fears
I
entertained
of
a mutiny.
This
morning,
as
I sat
watching
the
wan
countenance
of
my friend—his
eyes
half
closed
and
his
limbs
hanging listlessly—I
was
roused
by
half
a
dozen
of
the
sailors,
who
demanded
admission
into
the
cabin.
They
entered,
and
their
leader
addressed
me.
He
told
me
that
he
and
his
companions
had been chosen
by
the
other
sailors
to
come
in
deputation
to
me
to
make
me
a requisition which,
in
justice, I
could
not
refuse.
We
were
immured
in
ice
and
should
probably
never
escape,
but
they
feared
that
if,
as
was
possible,
the
ice
should
dissipate
and
a
free
passage
be
opened, I
should
be
rash
enough
to
continue
my
voyage
and
lead
them
into
fresh
dangers,
after
they
might
happily
have
surmounted
this.
They
insisted, therefore,
that
I
should
engage
with
a
solemn
promise
that
if
the
vessel
should
be
freed
I
would
instantly
direct
my
course
southwards.
This
speech
troubled me. I had
not
despaired,
nor
had I
yet
conceived
the
idea
of
returning
if
set
free.
Yet
could
I,
in
justice,
or
even
in
possibility,
refuse
this
demand? I
hesitated
before
I answered,
when
Frankenstein,
who
had
at
first
been silent,
and
indeed
appeared
hardly
to
have
force
enough
to
attend,
now
roused
himself;
his
eyes
sparkled,
and
his
cheeks flushed
with
momentary
vigour.
Turning
towards
the
men,
he
said, "What
do
you
mean?
What
do
you
demand
of
your
captain?
Are
you, then,
so
easily
turned
from
your
design?
Did
you
not
call
this
a
glorious
expedition? "And
wherefore
was
it
glorious?
Not
because
the
way
was
smooth
and
placid
as
a
southern
sea,
but
because
it
was
full
of
dangers
and
terror,
because
at
every
new
incident
your
fortitude
was
to
be
called
forth
and
your
courage
exhibited,
because
danger
and
death
surrounded
it,
and
these
you
were
to
brave
and
overcome.
For
this
was
it
a glorious,
for
this
was
it
an
honourable
undertaking.
You
were
hereafter
to
be
hailed
as
the
benefactors
of
your
species,
your
names
adored
as
belonging
to
brave
men
who
encountered
death
for
honour
and
the
benefit
of
mankind.
And
now, behold,
with
the
first
imagination
of
danger, or,
if
you
will,
the
first
mighty
and
terrific
trial
of
your
courage,
you
shrink
away
and
are
content
to
be
handed
down
as
men
who
had
not
strength
enough
to
endure
cold
and
peril;
and
so,
poor
souls,
they
were
chilly
and
returned
to
their
warm
firesides. Why,
that
requires
not
this
preparation;
ye
need
not
have
come
thus
far
and
dragged
your
captain
to
the
shame
of
a defeat merely
to
prove
yourselves cowards. Oh!
Be
men,
or
be
more
than
men.
Be
steady
to
your
purposes
and
firm
as
a rock.
This
ice
is
not
made
of
such
stuff
as
your
hearts
may
be;
it
is
mutable
and
cannot
withstand
you
if
you
say
that
it
shall
not.
Do
not
return
to
your
families
with
the
stigma
of
disgrace
marked
on
your
brows.
Return
as
heroes
who
have
fought
and
conquered
and
who
know
not
what
it
is
to
turn
their
backs
on
the
foe."
He
spoke
this
with
a voice
so
modulated
to
the
different
feelings expressed
in
his
speech,
with
an
eye
so
full
of
lofty
design
and
heroism,
that
can
you
wonder
that
these
men
were
moved?
They
looked
at
one
another
and
were
unable
to
reply. I spoke; I
told
them
to
retire
and
consider
of
what
had been said,
that
I
would
not
lead
them
farther
north
if
they
strenuously
desired
the
contrary,
but
that
I
hoped
that,
with
reflection,
their
courage
would
return.
They
retired
and
I
turned
towards
my friend,
but
he
was
sunk
in
languor
and
almost
deprived
of
life.
How
all
this
will
terminate, I
know
not,
but
I had
rather
die
than
return
shamefully, my
purpose
unfulfilled.
Yet
I
fear
such
will
be
my fate;
the
men, unsupported
by
ideas
of
glory
and
honour,
can
never
willingly
continue
to
endure
their
present
hardships.
September
7th
The
die
is
cast; I
have
consented
to
return
if
we
are
not
destroyed.
Thus
are
my
hopes
blasted
by
cowardice
and
indecision; I
come
back
ignorant
and
disappointed.
It
requires
more
philosophy
than
I
possess
to
bear
this
injustice
with
patience.
September
12th
It
is
past; I
am
returning
to
England. I
have
lost my
hopes
of
utility
and
glory; I
have
lost my friend.
But
I
will
endeavour
to
detail
these
bitter circumstances
to
you, my
dear
sister;
and
while
I
am
wafted
towards
England
and
towards
you, I
will
not
despond.
September
9th,
the
ice
began
to
move,
and
roarings
like
thunder
were
heard
at
a distance
as
the
islands
split
and
cracked
in
every
direction.
We
were
in
the
most
imminent
peril,
but
as
we
could
only
remain
passive, my
chief
attention
was
occupied
by
my unfortunate
guest
whose
illness increased
in
such
a
degree
that
he
was
entirely
confined
to
his
bed.
The
ice
cracked
behind
us
and
was
driven
with
force
towards
the
north; a breeze sprang
from
the
west,
and
on
the
11th
the
passage
towards
the
south
became perfectly free.
When
the
sailors
saw
this
and
that
their
return
to
their
native
country
was
apparently assured, a shout
of
tumultuous
joy
broke
from
them,
loud
and
long-continued. Frankenstein,
who
was
dozing,
awoke
and
asked
the
cause
of
the
tumult. "They shout," I said, "because
they
will
soon
return
to
England." "Do you, then, really return?" "Alas! Yes; I cannot
withstand
their
demands. I cannot lead
them
unwillingly
to
danger,
and
I
must
return." "Do so,
if
you
will;
but
I
will
not.
You
may
give
up
your
purpose,
but
mine
is
assigned
to
me
by
heaven,
and
I
dare
not. I
am
weak,
but
surely
the
spirits
who
assist my
vengeance
will
endow
me
with
sufficient
strength."
Saying
this,
he
endeavoured
to
spring
from
the
bed,
but
the
exertion
was
too
great
for
him;
he
fell
back
and
fainted.
It
was
long
before
he
was
restored,
and
I
often
thought
that
life
was
entirely extinct.
At
length
he
opened
his
eyes;
he
breathed
with
difficulty
and
was
unable
to
speak.
The
surgeon
gave
him
a
composing
draught
and
ordered
us
to
leave
him
undisturbed.
In
the
meantime
he
told
me
that
my
friend
had certainly
not
many
hours
to
live.
His
sentence
was
pronounced,
and
I
could
only
grieve
and
be
patient. I sat
by
his
bed,
watching
him;
his
eyes
were
closed,
and
I
thought
he
slept;
but
presently
he
called
to
me
in
a
feeble
voice,
and
bidding
me
come
near, said, "Alas!
The
strength
I relied
on
is
gone; I feel
that
I
shall
soon
die,
and
he, my
enemy
and
persecutor,
may
still
be
in
being.
Think
not, Walton,
that
in
the
last
moments
of
my
existence
I feel
that
burning
hatred
and
ardent
desire
of
revenge
I
once
expressed;
but
I feel
myself
justified
in
desiring
the
death
of
my adversary.
During
these
last
days
I
have
been occupied
in
examining
my past conduct;
nor
do
I find
it
blamable.
In
a fit
of
enthusiastic
madness I
created
a
rational
creature
and
was
bound
towards
him
to
assure,
as
far
as
was
in
my power,
his
happiness
and
well-being. "This
was
my duty,
but
there
was
another
still
paramount
to
that. My
duties
towards
the
beings
of
my
own
species
had
greater
claims
to
my
attention
because
they
included
a
greater
proportion
of
happiness
or
misery. Urged
by
this
view, I refused,
and
I
did
right
in
refusing,
to
create
a
companion
for
the
first
creature.
He
showed
unparalleled
malignity
and
selfishness
in
evil;
he
destroyed
my friends;
he
devoted
to
destruction
beings
who
possessed
exquisite
sensations, happiness,
and
wisdom;
nor
do
I
know
where
this
thirst
for
vengeance
may
end.
Miserable
himself
that
he
may
render
no
other
wretched,
he
ought
to
die.
The
task
of
his
destruction
was
mine,
but
I
have
failed.
When
actuated
by
selfish
and
vicious
motives, I
asked
you
to
undertake
my unfinished work,
and
I
renew
this
request
now,
when
I
am
only
induced
by
reason
and
virtue. "Yet I cannot
ask
you
to
renounce
your
country
and
friends
to
fulfil
this
task;
and
now
that
you
are
returning
to
England,
you
will
have
little
chance
of
meeting
with
him.
But
the
consideration
of
these
points,
and
the
well
balancing
of
what
you
may
esteem
your
duties, I
leave
to
you; my
judgment
and
ideas
are
already
disturbed
by
the
near
approach
of
death. I
dare
not
ask
you
to
do
what
I
think
right,
for
I
may
still
be
misled
by
passion. "That
he
should
live
to
be
an
instrument
of
mischief
disturbs
me;
in
other
respects,
this
hour,
when
I momentarily
expect
my release,
is
the
only
happy
one
which
I
have
enjoyed
for
several
years.
The
forms
of
the
beloved
dead
flit
before
me,
and
I hasten
to
their
arms. Farewell, Walton!
Seek
happiness
in
tranquillity
and
avoid
ambition,
even
if
it
be
only
the
apparently
innocent
one
of
distinguishing
yourself
in
science
and
discoveries.
Yet
why
do
I
say
this? I
have
myself
been blasted
in
these
hopes,
yet
another
may
succeed."
His
voice became fainter
as
he
spoke,
and
at
length, exhausted
by
his
effort,
he
sank
into
silence.
About
half
an
hour
afterwards
he
attempted
again
to
speak
but
was
unable;
he
pressed
my
hand
feebly,
and
his
eyes
closed forever,
while
the
irradiation
of
a
gentle
smile
passed
away
from
his
lips. Margaret,
what
comment
can
I
make
on
the
untimely
extinction
of
this
glorious
spirit?
What
can
I
say
that
will
enable
you
to
understand
the
depth
of
my sorrow?
All
that
I
should
express
would
be
inadequate
and
feeble. My
tears
flow; my
mind
is
overshadowed
by
a
cloud
of
disappointment.
But
I
journey
towards
England,
and
I
may
there
find consolation. I
am
interrupted.
What
do
these
sounds
portend?
It
is
midnight;
the
breeze blows fairly,
and
the
watch
on
deck
scarcely
stir.
Again
there
is
a
sound
as
of
a
human
voice,
but
hoarser;
it
comes
from
the
cabin
where
the
remains
of
Frankenstein
still
lie. I
must
arise
and
examine.
Good
night, my sister.
Great
God!
what
a
scene
has
just
taken place! I
am
yet
dizzy
with
the
remembrance
of
it. I
hardly
know
whether
I
shall
have
the
power
to
detail
it;
yet
the
tale
which
I
have
recorded
would
be
incomplete
without
this
final
and
wonderful
catastrophe. I
entered
the
cabin
where
lay
the
remains
of
my ill-fated
and
admirable
friend.
Over
him
hung
a
form
which
I cannot find
words
to
describe—gigantic
in
stature,
yet
uncouth
and
distorted
in
its
proportions.
As
he
hung
over
the
coffin,
his
face
was
concealed
by
long
locks
of
ragged
hair;
but
one
vast
hand
was
extended,
in
colour
and
apparent
texture
like
that
of
a mummy.
When
he
heard
the
sound
of
my approach,
he
ceased
to
utter
exclamations
of
grief
and
horror
and
sprung
towards
the
window.
Never
did
I
behold
a
vision
so
horrible
as
his
face,
of
such
loathsome
yet
appalling hideousness. I
shut
my
eyes
involuntarily
and
endeavoured
to
recollect
what
were
my
duties
with
regard
to
this
destroyer. I
called
on
him
to
stay.
He
paused,
looking
on
me
with
wonder,
and
again
turning
towards
the
lifeless
form
of
his
creator,
he
seemed
to
forget
my presence,
and
every
feature
and
gesture
seemed
instigated
by
the
wildest
rage
of
some
uncontrollable passion. "That
is
also
my victim!"
he
exclaimed. "In
his
murder
my
crimes
are
consummated;
the
miserable
series
of
my being
is
wound
to
its
close! Oh, Frankenstein!
Generous
and
self-devoted being!
What
does
it
avail
that
I
now
ask
thee
to
pardon
me? I,
who
irretrievably
destroyed
thee
by
destroying
all
thou
lovedst. Alas!
He
is
cold,
he
cannot
answer
me."
His
voice
seemed
suffocated,
and
my
first
impulses,
which
had
suggested
to
me
the
duty
of
obeying
the
dying
request
of
my
friend
in
destroying
his
enemy,
were
now
suspended
by
a
mixture
of
curiosity
and
compassion. I approached
this
tremendous
being; I
dared
not
again
raise
my
eyes
to
his
face,
there
was
something
so
scaring
and
unearthly
in
his
ugliness. I attempted
to
speak,
but
the
words
died
away
on
my lips.
The
monster
continued
to
utter
wild
and
incoherent self-reproaches.
At
length
I
gathered
resolution
to
address
him
in
a
pause
of
the
tempest
of
his
passion. "Your repentance," I said, "is
now
superfluous.
If
you
had
listened
to
the
voice
of
conscience
and
heeded
the
stings
of
remorse
before
you
had urged
your
diabolical
vengeance
to
this
extremity,
Frankenstein
would
yet
have
lived." "And
do
you
dream?" said
the
daemon. "Do
you
think
that
I
was
then
dead
to
agony
and
remorse? He,"
he
continued, pointing
to
the
corpse, "he
suffered
not
in
the
consummation
of
the
deed. Oh!
Not
the
ten-thousandth
portion
of
the
anguish
that
was
mine
during
the
lingering
detail
of
its
execution. A
frightful
selfishness hurried
me
on,
while
my
heart
was
poisoned
with
remorse.
Think
you
that
the
groans
of
Clerval
were
music
to
my ears? My
heart
was
fashioned
to
be
susceptible
of
love
and
sympathy,
and
when
wrenched
by
misery
to
vice
and
hatred,
it
did
not
endure
the
violence
of
the
change
without
torture
such
as
you
cannot
even
imagine. "After
the
murder
of
Clerval I
returned
to
Switzerland, heart-broken
and
overcome. I pitied Frankenstein; my
pity
amounted
to
horror; I
abhorred
myself.
But
when
I
discovered
that
he,
the
author
at
once
of
my
existence
and
of
its
unspeakable torments,
dared
to
hope
for
happiness,
that
while
he
accumulated wretchedness
and
despair
upon
me
he
sought
his
own
enjoyment
in
feelings
and
passions
from
the
indulgence
of
which
I
was
forever barred,
then
impotent
envy
and
bitter
indignation
filled
me
with
an
insatiable
thirst
for
vengeance. I
recollected
my
threat
and
resolved
that
it
should
be
accomplished. I
knew
that
I
was
preparing
for
myself
a
deadly
torture,
but
I
was
the
slave,
not
the
master,
of
an
impulse
which
I
detested
yet
could
not
disobey.
Yet
when
she
died! Nay,
then
I
was
not
miserable. I had cast
off
all
feeling, subdued
all
anguish,
to
riot
in
the
excess
of
my despair.
Evil
thenceforth became my good. Urged
thus
far, I had
no
choice
but
to
adapt
my
nature
to
an
element
which
I had
willingly
chosen.
The
completion
of
my demoniacal
design
became
an
insatiable
passion.
And
now
it
is
ended;
there
is
my
last
victim!" I
was
at
first
touched
by
the
expressions
of
his
misery; yet,
when
I
called
to
mind
what
Frankenstein
had said
of
his
powers
of
eloquence
and
persuasion,
and
when
I
again
cast my
eyes
on
the
lifeless
form
of
my friend,
indignation
was
rekindled
within
me. "Wretch!" I said. "It
is
well
that
you
come
here
to
whine
over
the
desolation
that
you
have
made.
You
throw a
torch
into
a
pile
of
buildings,
and
when
they
are
consumed,
you
sit
among
the
ruins
and
lament
the
fall.
Hypocritical
fiend!
If
he
whom
you
mourn
still
lived,
still
would
he
be
the
object,
again
would
he
become
the
prey,
of
your
accursed vengeance.
It
is
not
pity
that
you
feel;
you
lament
only
because
the
victim
of
your
malignity
is
withdrawn
from
your
power." "Oh,
it
is
not
thus—not thus," interrupted
the
being. "Yet
such
must
be
the
impression
conveyed
to
you
by
what
appears
to
be
the
purport
of
my actions.
Yet
I
seek
not
a
fellow
feeling
in
my misery.
No
sympathy
may
I
ever
find.
When
I
first
sought
it,
it
was
the
love
of
virtue,
the
feelings
of
happiness
and
affection
with
which
my
whole
being overflowed,
that
I
wished
to
be
participated.
But
now
that
virtue
has
become
to
me
a shadow,
and
that
happiness
and
affection
are
turned
into
bitter
and
loathing despair,
in
what
should
I
seek
for
sympathy? I
am
content
to
suffer
alone
while
my sufferings
shall
endure;
when
I die, I
am
well
satisfied
that
abhorrence
and
opprobrium
should
load my memory.
Once
my fancy
was
soothed
with
dreams
of
virtue,
of
fame,
and
of
enjoyment.
Once
I falsely
hoped
to
meet
with
beings who,
pardoning
my
outward
form,
would
love
me
for
the
excellent
qualities
which
I
was
capable
of
unfolding. I
was
nourished
with
high
thoughts
of
honour
and
devotion.
But
now
crime
has
degraded
me
beneath
the
meanest
animal.
No
guilt,
no
mischief,
no
malignity,
no
misery,
can
be
found
comparable
to
mine.
When
I
run
over
the
frightful
catalogue
of
my sins, I cannot
believe
that
I
am
the
same
creature
whose
thoughts
were
once
filled
with
sublime
and
transcendent
visions
of
the
beauty
and
the
majesty
of
goodness.
But
it
is
even
so;
the
fallen
angel
becomes
a
malignant
devil.
Yet
even
that
enemy
of
God
and
man
had
friends
and
associates
in
his
desolation; I
am
alone. "You,
who
call
Frankenstein
your
friend,
seem
to
have
a
knowledge
of
my
crimes
and
his
misfortunes.
But
in
the
detail
which
he
gave
you
of
them
he
could
not
sum
up
the
hours
and
months
of
misery
which
I
endured
wasting
in
impotent
passions.
For
while
I
destroyed
his
hopes, I
did
not
satisfy
my
own
desires.
They
were
forever
ardent
and
craving;
still
I
desired
love
and
fellowship,
and
I
was
still
spurned.
Was
there
no
injustice
in
this?
Am
I
to
be
thought
the
only
criminal,
when
all
humankind
sinned
against me?
Why
do
you
not
hate
Felix,
who
drove
his
friend
from
his
door
with
contumely?
Why
do
you
not
execrate
the
rustic
who
sought
to
destroy
the
saviour
of
his
child? Nay,
these
are
virtuous
and
immaculate
beings! I,
the
miserable
and
the
abandoned,
am
an
abortion,
to
be
spurned
at,
and
kicked,
and
trampled on.
Even
now
my blood
boils
at
the
recollection
of
this
injustice. "But
it
is
true
that
I
am
a wretch. I
have
murdered
the
lovely
and
the
helpless; I
have
strangled
the
innocent
as
they
slept
and
grasped
to
death
his
throat
who
never
injured
me
or
any
other
living
thing. I
have
devoted my creator,
the
select
specimen
of
all
that
is
worthy
of
love
and
admiration
among
men,
to
misery; I
have
pursued
him
even
to
that
irremediable
ruin. "There
he
lies,
white
and
cold
in
death.
You
hate
me,
but
your
abhorrence cannot equal
that
with
which
I
regard
myself. I
look
on
the
hands
which
executed
the
deed; I
think
on
the
heart
in
which
the
imagination
of
it
was
conceived
and
long
for
the
moment
when
these
hands
will
meet my eyes,
when
that
imagination
will
haunt
my
thoughts
no
more. "Fear
not
that
I
shall
be
the
instrument
of
future
mischief. My
work
is
nearly complete.
Neither
yours
nor
any
man's
death
is
needed
to
consummate
the
series
of
my being
and
accomplish
that
which
must
be
done,
but
it
requires
my own.
Do
not
think
that
I
shall
be
slow
to
perform
this
sacrifice. I
shall
quit
your
vessel
on
the
ice
raft
which
brought
me
thither
and
shall
seek
the
most
northern
extremity
of
the
globe; I
shall
collect
my funeral
pile
and
consume
to
ashes
this
miserable
frame,
that
its
remains
may
afford
no
light
to
any
curious
and
unhallowed
wretch
who
would
create
such
another
as
I
have
been. I
shall
die. I
shall
no
longer
feel
the
agonies
which
now
consume
me
or
be
the
prey
of
feelings unsatisfied,
yet
unquenched.
He
is
dead
who
called
me
into
being;
and
when
I
shall
be
no
more,
the
very
remembrance
of
us
both
will
speedily vanish. I
shall
no
longer
see
the
sun
or
stars
or
feel
the
winds
play
on
my cheeks. "Light, feeling,
and
sense
will
pass away;
and
in
this
condition
must
I find my happiness.
Some
years
ago,
when
the
images
which
this
world
affords
first
opened
upon
me,
when
I felt
the
cheering
warmth
of
summer
and
heard
the
rustling
of
the
leaves
and
the
warbling
of
the
birds,
and
these
were
all
to
me, I
should
have
wept
to
die;
now
it
is
my
only
consolation.
Polluted
by
crimes
and
torn
by
the
bitterest remorse,
where
can
I find
rest
but
in
death? "Farewell! I
leave
you,
and
in
you
the
last
of
humankind
whom
these
eyes
will
ever
behold. Farewell, Frankenstein!
If
thou
wert
yet
alive
and
yet
cherished
a
desire
of
revenge
against me,
it
would
be
better
satiated
in
my
life
than
in
my destruction.
But
it
was
not
so;
thou
didst
seek
my extinction,
that
I
might
not
cause
greater
wretchedness;
and
if
yet,
in
some
mode
unknown
to
me,
thou
hadst
not
ceased
to
think
and
feel,
thou
wouldst
not
desire
against
me
a
vengeance
greater
than
that
which
I feel. Blasted
as
thou
wert, my
agony
was
still
superior
to
thine,
for
the
bitter
sting
of
remorse
will
not
cease
to
rankle
in
my
wounds
until
death
shall
close
them
forever. "But soon,"
he
cried
with
sad
and
solemn
enthusiasm, "I
shall
die,
and
what
I
now
feel
be
no
longer
felt.
Soon
these
burning
miseries
will
be
extinct. I
shall
ascend
my funeral
pile
triumphantly
and
exult
in
the
agony
of
the
torturing flames.
The
light
of
that
conflagration
will
fade
away; my
ashes
will
be
swept
into
the
sea
by
the
winds. My spirit
will
sleep
in
peace,
or
if
it
thinks,
it
will
not
surely
think
thus. Farewell."
He
sprang
from
the
cabin
window
as
he
said this,
upon
the
ice
raft
which
lay
close
to
the
vessel.
He
was
soon
borne
away
by
the
waves
and
lost
in
darkness
and
distance.