Frankenstein

“Cursed, cursed cre­ator! Why did I live? Why, in that instant, did I not extin­guish the spark of exis­tence which you had so wan­ton­ly 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. Oh! What a mis­er­able night I passed! 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 arch-fiend, 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 De Lacey 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 for ever 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 cot­tagers 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 will be oblig­ed to pay three months’ rent and to lose the 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 of 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 cir­cum­stance 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 De Lacey more. 

“I con­tin­ued for the remain­der of the day in my hov­el in a state of utter and stu­pid despair. My pro­tec­tors had depart­ed and had bro­ken the only link that held 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 De Lacey, the gen­tle eyes of Agatha, and the exquis­ite beau­ty of the Ara­bi­an, these 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 loi­tered 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, with the world before me, whith­er 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 to whom could I apply with more fit­ness than to him who had giv­en me life? Among the lessons that Felix had bestowed upon Safie, geog­ra­phy had not been omit­ted; 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 south­west­er­ly 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 suc­cour, although towards you I felt no sen­ti­ment but that of hatred. Unfeel­ing, 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 heat­less; 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 to your habi­ta­tion, the more deeply did I feel the spir­it of revenge enkin­dled 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 in an espe­cial 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 balmi­ness 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 borne away by them, and for­get­ting my soli­tude and defor­mi­ty, dared to be hap­py. Soft tears again bedewed 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 the 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 was then the reward of my benev­o­lence! I had saved a human being from destruc­tion, 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 sur­round 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 slight 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 peo­pled 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; ‘mon­ster! Ugly wretch! You wish to eat me and tear me to pieces. You are an ogre. 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 for ever 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 affright. 

“Can you won­der that such thoughts trans­port­ed me with rage? I only won­der that at that moment, instead of vent­ing my sen­sa­tions in 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 held, but of an agree­able aspect and bloom­ing in the love­li­ness of youth and health. Here, I thought, is one of those whose joy-impart­ing 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!’ 

“The 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 for ever 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 and its mis­eries for ever. 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.”