It
was
on
a
dreary
night
of
November
that
I beheld
the
accomplishment
of
my toils.
With
an
anxiety
that
almost
amounted
to
agony, I
collected
the
instruments
of
life
around
me,
that
I
might
infuse
a spark
of
being
into
the
lifeless
thing
that
lay
at
my feet.
It
was
already
one
in
the
morning;
the
rain
pattered
dismally
against
the
panes,
and
my
candle
was
nearly burnt out, when,
by
the
glimmer
of
the
half-extinguished light, I
saw
the
dull
yellow
eye
of
the
creature
open;
it
breathed
hard,
and
a
convulsive
motion
agitated
its
limbs.
How
can
I
describe
my
emotions
at
this
catastrophe,
or
how
delineate
the
wretch
whom
with
such
infinite
pains
and
care
I had
endeavoured
to
form?
His
limbs
were
in
proportion,
and
I had
selected
his
features
as
beautiful. Beautiful!
Great
God!
His
yellow
skin
scarcely
covered
the
work
of
muscles
and
arteries
beneath;
his
hair
was
of
a lustrous black,
and
flowing;
his
teeth
of
a pearly whiteness;
but
these
luxuriances
only
formed
a
more
horrid
contrast
with
his
watery
eyes,
that
seemed
almost
of
the
same
colour
as
the
dun-white
sockets
in
which
they
were
set,
his
shrivelled
complexion
and
straight
black
lips.
The
different
accidents
of
life
are
not
so
changeable
as
the
feelings
of
human
nature. I had
worked
hard
for
nearly
two
years,
for
the
sole
purpose
of
infusing
life
into
an
inanimate
body.
For
this
I had deprived
myself
of
rest
and
health. I had
desired
it
with
an
ardour
that
far
exceeded
moderation;
but
now
that
I had finished,
the
beauty
of
the
dream
vanished,
and
breathless
horror
and
disgust
filled
my heart.
Unable
to
endure
the
aspect
of
the
being I had created, I
rushed
out
of
the
room
and
continued
a
long
time
traversing
my bed-chamber,
unable
to
compose
my
mind
to
sleep.
At
length
lassitude
succeeded
to
the
tumult
I had
before
endured,
and
I threw
myself
on
the
bed
in
my clothes,
endeavouring
to
seek
a
few
moments
of
forgetfulness.
But
it
was
in
vain; I slept, indeed,
but
I
was
disturbed
by
the
wildest dreams. I
thought
I
saw
Elizabeth,
in
the
bloom
of
health, walking
in
the
streets
of
Ingolstadt.
Delighted
and
surprised, I
embraced
her,
but
as
I
imprinted
the
first
kiss
on
her
lips,
they
became
livid
with
the
hue
of
death;
her
features
appeared
to
change,
and
I
thought
that
I
held
the
corpse
of
my
dead
mother
in
my arms; a
shroud
enveloped
her
form,
and
I
saw
the
grave-worms
crawling
in
the
folds
of
the
flannel. I started
from
my
sleep
with
horror; a cold
dew
covered my forehead, my teeth chattered,
and
every
limb
became convulsed; when,
by
the
dim
and
yellow
light
of
the
moon,
as
it
forced
its
way
through
the
window
shutters, I beheld
the
wretch—the
miserable
monster
whom
I had created.
He
held
up
the
curtain
of
the
bed;
and
his
eyes,
if
eyes
they
may
be
called,
were
fixed
on
me.
His
jaws
opened,
and
he
muttered
some
inarticulate
sounds,
while
a grin wrinkled
his
cheeks.
He
might
have
spoken,
but
I
did
not
hear;
one
hand
was
stretched out, seemingly
to
detain
me,
but
I
escaped
and
rushed
downstairs. I
took
refuge
in
the
courtyard
belonging
to
the
house
which
I inhabited,
where
I
remained
during
the
rest
of
the
night, walking
up
and
down
in
the
greatest agitation,
listening
attentively, catching
and
fearing
each
sound
as
if
it
were
to
announce
the
approach
of
the
demoniacal
corpse
to
which
I had
so
miserably
given
life. Oh!
No
mortal
could
support
the
horror
of
that
countenance. A
mummy
again
endued
with
animation
could
not
be
so
hideous
as
that
wretch. I had gazed
on
him
while
unfinished;
he
was
ugly
then,
but
when
those
muscles
and
joints
were
rendered
capable
of
motion,
it
became a
thing
such
as
even
Dante
could
not
have
conceived. I
passed
the
night
wretchedly. Sometimes my
pulse
beat
so
quickly
and
hardly
that
I felt
the
palpitation
of
every
artery;
at
others, I nearly sank
to
the
ground
through
languor
and
extreme
weakness.
Mingled
with
this
horror, I felt
the
bitterness
of
disappointment;
dreams
that
had been my
food
and
pleasant
rest
for
so
long
a space
were
now
become
a
hell
to
me;
and
the
change
was
so
rapid,
the
overthrow
so
complete! Morning,
dismal
and
wet,
at
length
dawned
and
discovered
to
my
sleepless
and
aching
eyes
the
church
of
Ingolstadt,
its
white
steeple
and
clock,
which
indicated
the
sixth
hour.
The
porter
opened
the
gates
of
the
court,
which
had
that
night
been my asylum,
and
I
issued
into
the
streets, pacing
them
with
quick
steps,
as
if
I
sought
to
avoid
the
wretch
whom
I
feared
every
turning
of
the
street
would
present
to
my view. I
did
not
dare
return
to
the
apartment
which
I inhabited,
but
felt
impelled
to
hurry on, although
drenched
by
the
rain
which
poured
from
a
black
and
comfortless sky. I
continued
walking
in
this
manner
for
some
time,
endeavouring
by
bodily
exercise
to
ease
the
load
that
weighed
upon
my mind. I
traversed
the
streets
without
any
clear
conception
of
where
I
was
or
what
I
was
doing. My
heart
palpitated
in
the
sickness
of
fear,
and
I hurried
on
with
irregular steps,
not
daring
to
look
about
me:
Continuing
thus, I came
at
length
opposite
to
the
inn
at
which
the
various
diligences
and
carriages
usually stopped.
Here
I paused, I
knew
not
why;
but
I
remained
some
minutes
with
my
eyes
fixed
on
a coach
that
was
coming
towards
me
from
the
other
end
of
the
street.
As
it
drew
nearer
I
observed
that
it
was
the
Swiss
diligence;
it
stopped
just
where
I
was
standing,
and
on
the
door
being opened, I
perceived
Henry
Clerval, who,
on
seeing
me, instantly sprung out. "My
dear
Frankenstein,"
exclaimed
he, "how
glad
I
am
to
see
you!
How
fortunate
that
you
should
be
here
at
the
very
moment
of
my alighting!"
Nothing
could
equal my
delight
on
seeing
Clerval;
his
presence
brought
back
to
my
thoughts
my father, Elizabeth,
and
all
those
scenes
of
home
so
dear
to
my recollection. I
grasped
his
hand,
and
in
a
moment
forgot my
horror
and
misfortune; I felt suddenly,
and
for
the
first
time
during
many
months,
calm
and
serene
joy. I
welcomed
my friend, therefore,
in
the
most
cordial
manner,
and
we
walked
towards
my college. Clerval
continued
talking
for
some
time
about
our
mutual
friends
and
his
own
good
fortune
in
being permitted
to
come
to
Ingolstadt. "You
may
easily believe," said he, "how
great
was
the
difficulty
to
persuade
my father
that
all
necessary
knowledge
was
not
comprised
in
the
noble
art
of
book-keeping; and, indeed, I
believe
I left
him
incredulous
to
the
last,
for
his
constant
answer
to
my
unwearied
entreaties
was
the
same
as
that
of
the
Dutch
schoolmaster
in
The
Vicar
of
Wakefield: 'I
have
ten
thousand
florins
a
year
without
Greek, I
eat
heartily
without
Greek.'
But
his
affection
for
me
at
length
overcame
his
dislike
of
learning,
and
he
has permitted
me
to
undertake
a
voyage
of
discovery
to
the
land
of
knowledge." "It
gives
me
the
greatest
delight
to
see
you;
but
tell
me
how
you
left my father, brothers,
and
Elizabeth." "Very well,
and
very
happy,
only
a
little
uneasy
that
they
hear
from
you
so
seldom.
By
the
by, I
mean
to
lecture
you
a
little
upon
their
account
myself. But, my
dear
Frankenstein,"
continued
he, stopping
short
and
gazing
full
in
my face, "I
did
not
before
remark
how
very
ill
you
appear;
so
thin
and
pale;
you
look
as
if
you
had been
watching
for
several
nights." "You
have
guessed right; I
have
lately
been
so
deeply
engaged
in
one
occupation
that
I
have
not
allowed
myself
sufficient
rest,
as
you
see;
but
I hope, I sincerely hope,
that
all
these
employments
are
now
at
an
end
and
that
I
am
at
length
free." I
trembled
excessively; I
could
not
endure
to
think
of,
and
far
less
to
allude
to,
the
occurrences
of
the
preceding
night. I walked
with
a
quick
pace,
and
we
soon
arrived
at
my college. I
then
reflected,
and
the
thought
made
me
shiver,
that
the
creature
whom
I had left
in
my
apartment
might
still
be
there,
alive
and
walking about. I
dreaded
to
behold
this
monster,
but
I
feared
still
more
that
Henry
should
see
him.
Entreating
him, therefore,
to
remain
a
few
minutes
at
the
bottom
of
the
stairs, I darted
up
towards
my
own
room. My
hand
was
already
on
the
lock
of
the
door
before
I
recollected
myself. I
then
paused,
and
a cold
shivering
came
over
me. I threw
the
door
forcibly open,
as
children
are
accustomed
to
do
when
they
expect
a
spectre
to
stand
in
waiting
for
them
on
the
other
side;
but
nothing
appeared. I
stepped
fearfully in:
the
apartment
was
empty,
and
my bedroom
was
also
freed
from
its
hideous
guest. I
could
hardly
believe
that
so
great
a
good
fortune
could
have
befallen
me,
but
when
I became assured
that
my
enemy
had
indeed
fled, I clapped my
hands
for
joy
and
ran
down
to
Clerval.
We
ascended
into
my room,
and
the
servant
presently brought breakfast;
but
I
was
unable
to
contain
myself.
It
was
not
joy
only
that
possessed me; I felt my flesh tingle
with
excess
of
sensitiveness,
and
my
pulse
beat rapidly. I
was
unable
to
remain
for
a single
instant
in
the
same
place; I jumped
over
the
chairs, clapped my hands,
and
laughed aloud. Clerval
at
first
attributed
my unusual spirits
to
joy
on
his
arrival,
but
when
he
observed
me
more
attentively,
he
saw
a wildness
in
my
eyes
for
which
he
could
not
account,
and
my loud, unrestrained,
heartless
laughter
frightened
and
astonished
him. "My
dear
Victor," cried he, "what,
for
God's sake,
is
the
matter?
Do
not
laugh
in
that
manner.
How
ill
you
are!
What
is
the
cause
of
all
this?" "Do
not
ask
me," cried I,
putting
my
hands
before
my eyes,
for
I
thought
I
saw
the
dreaded
spectre
glide
into
the
room; "HE
can
tell. Oh, save me! Save me!" I
imagined
that
the
monster
seized
me; I struggled furiously
and
fell
down
in
a fit.
Poor
Clerval!
What
must
have
been
his
feelings? A meeting,
which
he
anticipated
with
such
joy,
so
strangely
turned
to
bitterness.
But
I
was
not
the
witness
of
his
grief,
for
I
was
lifeless
and
did
not
recover
my senses
for
a long,
long
time.
This
was
the
commencement
of
a
nervous
fever
which
confined
me
for
several
months.
During
all
that
time
Henry
was
my
only
nurse. I afterwards learned that, knowing my father's advanced
age
and
unfitness
for
so
long
a journey,
and
how
wretched my
sickness
would
make
Elizabeth,
he
spared
them
this
grief
by
concealing
the
extent
of
my disorder.
He
knew
that
I
could
not
have
a
more
kind
and
attentive
nurse
than
himself; and,
firm
in
the
hope
he
felt
of
my recovery,
he
did
not
doubt
that,
instead
of
doing harm,
he
performed
the
kindest
action
that
he
could
towards
them.
But
I
was
in
reality
very
ill,
and
surely
nothing
but
the
unbounded
and
unremitting
attentions
of
my
friend
could
have
restored
me
to
life.
The
form
of
the
monster
on
whom
I had bestowed
existence
was
forever
before
my eyes,
and
I raved
incessantly
concerning him. Doubtless my
words
surprised Henry;
he
at
first
believed
them
to
be
the
wanderings
of
my disturbed imagination,
but
the
pertinacity
with
which
I
continually
recurred
to
the
same
subject
persuaded
him
that
my disorder
indeed
owed
its
origin
to
some
uncommon
and
terrible
event.
By
very
slow
degrees,
and
with
frequent
relapses
that
alarmed
and
grieved
my friend, I recovered. I
remember
the
first
time I became
capable
of
observing
outward
objects
with
any
kind
of
pleasure, I
perceived
that
the
fallen
leaves
had
disappeared
and
that
the
young
buds
were
shooting
forth
from
the
trees
that
shaded my window.
It
was
a
divine
spring,
and
the
season
contributed
greatly
to
my convalescence. I felt
also
sentiments
of
joy
and
affection
revive
in
my bosom; my
gloom
disappeared,
and
in
a
short
time I became
as
cheerful
as
before
I
was
attacked
by
the
fatal
passion. "Dearest Clerval,"
exclaimed
I, "how kind,
how
very
good
you
are
to
me.
This
whole
winter,
instead
of
being spent
in
study,
as
you
promised
yourself, has been
consumed
in
my
sick
room.
How
shall
I
ever
repay
you? I feel
the
greatest
remorse
for
the
disappointment
of
which
I
have
been
the
occasion,
but
you
will
forgive
me." "You
will
repay
me
entirely
if
you
do
not
discompose yourself,
but
get
well
as
fast
as
you
can;
and
since
you
appear
in
such
good
spirits, I
may
speak
to
you
on
one
subject,
may
I not?" I trembled.
One
subject!
What
could
it
be?
Could
he
allude
to
an
object
on
whom
I
dared
not
even
think? "Compose yourself," said Clerval,
who
observed
my
change
of
colour, "I
will
not
mention
it
if
it
agitates
you;
but
your
father
and
cousin
would
be
very
happy
if
they
received a
letter
from
you
in
your
own
handwriting.
They
hardly
know
how
ill
you
have
been
and
are
uneasy
at
your
long
silence." "Is
that
all, my
dear
Henry?
How
could
you
suppose
that
my
first
thought
would
not
fly
towards
those
dear,
dear
friends
whom
I
love
and
who
are
so
deserving
of
my love?" "If
this
is
your
present
temper, my friend,
you
will
perhaps
be
glad
to
see
a
letter
that
has been lying
here
some
days
for
you;
it
is
from
your
cousin, I believe."