 CHAPTER IV I lay on my straw, but I could not sleep. I thought of the occurrences of the day. What chiefly struck me was the gentle manners of these people, and I longed to join them, but dared not. I remembered too well the treatment I had suffered the night before from the barbarous villagers, and resolved, whatever course of conduct I might hear after think it right to pursue, that for the present I would remain quietly in my hovel, watching, and endeavouring to discover the motives which influenced their actions. The cottages arose the next morning before the sun. The young woman arranged the cottage and prepared the food, and the youth departed after the first meal. This day was passed in the same routine as that which preceded it. The young man was constantly employed out of doors, and the girl in various laborious occupations within. The old man, whom I soon perceived to be blind, employed his leisure hours on his instrument or in contemplation. Nothing could exceed the love and respect which the younger cottages exhibited towards their venerable companion. They performed towards him every little office of affection and duty with gentleness, and he rewarded them by his benevolent smiles. They were not entirely happy. The young man and his companion often went apart, and appeared to weep. I saw no cause for their unhappiness, but I was deeply affected by it. If such lovely creatures were miserable, it was less strange that I, an imperfect and solitary being, should be wretched. Yet why were these gentle beings unhappy? They possessed a delightful house, for such it was in my eyes, and every luxury. They had a fire to warm them when chill, and delicious vians when hungry. They were dressed in excellent clothes, and, still more, they enjoyed one another's company and speech, interchanging each day looks of affection and kindness. What did their tears imply? Did they really express pain? I was at first unable to solve these questions, but perpetual attention and time explained to me many appearances which were at first enigmatic. A considerable period elapsed before I discovered one of the causes of the uneasiness of this amiable family. It was poverty, and they suffered that evil in a very distressing degree. The nourishment consisted entirely of the vegetables of their garden, and the milk of one cow, which gave very little during the winter, when its masters could scarcely procure food to support it. They often, I believe, suffered the pangs of hunger very poignantly, especially the two younger cottages, for several times they placed food before the old man, when they reserved none for themselves. This trait of kindness moved me sensibly. I had been accustomed, during the night, to steal a part of their store for my own consumption, but when I found that in doing this I inflicted pain on the cottages, I abstained, and satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and roots which I gathered from a neighbouring wood. I discovered also another means through which I was enabled to assist their labours. I found that the youth spent a great part of each day in collecting wood for the family fire, and, during the night, I often took his tools, the use of which I quickly discovered, and brought home firing sufficient for the consumption of several days. I remember the first time that I did this, the young woman, when she opened the door in the morning, appeared greatly astonished on seeing a great pile of wood on the outside. She uttered some words in a loud voice, and the youth joined her, who also expressed surprise. I observed with pleasure that he did not go to the forest that day, but spent it in repairing the cottage and cultivating the garden. By degrees, I made a discovery of still greater moment. I found that these people possessed a method of communicating their experience and feelings to one another, by articulate I perceived that the words they spoke sometimes produced pleasure or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and countenances of the hearers. This was indeed a godlike science, and I ardently desired to become acquainted with it, but I was baffled in every attempt I made for this purpose. Their pronunciation was quick, and the words they uttered, not having any apparent connection with visible objects, I was unable to discover any clue by which I could unravel a mystery of their reference. By great application, however, and after having remained during the space of several revolutions of the moon in my hovel, I discovered the names that were given to some of the most familiar objects of discourse. I learned and applied the words fire, milk, bread, and wood. I learned also the names of the cottages themselves. The youth and his companion had each of them several names, but the old man had only one, which was father. The girl was called sister, or agatha, and the youth Felix, brother, or son. I cannot describe the delight I felt when I learned the ideas appropriated to each of these sounds, and was able to pronounce them. I distinguished several other words, without being able as yet to understand or apply them, such as good, dearest, unhappy. I spent the winter in this manner. The gentle manners and beauty of the cottages greatly endeared them to me. When they were unhappy, I felt depressed. When they rejoiced, I sympathized in their joys. I saw few human beings beside them, and if any other happened to enter the cottage, their harsh manners and rude gait only enhanced to me the superior accomplishments of my friends. The old man I could perceive often endeavoured to encourage his children, as sometimes I found that he called them, to cast off their melancholy. He would talk in a cheerful accent with an expression of goodness that bestowed pleasure even upon me. Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes filled with tears, which she endeavoured to wipe away unperceived, but I generally found that her countenance and tone were more cheerful after having listened to the exhortations of her father. It was not thus with Felix. He was always the saddest of the group, and, even to my unpracticed senses, he appeared to have suffered more deeply than his friends. But if his countenance was more sorrowful, his voice was more cheerful than that of his sister, especially when he addressed the old man. I could mention innumerable instances which, although slight, marked the dispositions of these amiable cottages. In the midst of poverty and want, Felix carried with pleasure to his sister the first little white flower that peeped out from beneath the snowy ground. Early in the morning, before she had risen, he cleared away the snow that obstructed her path to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and brought the wood from the out-house, where, to his perpetual astonishment, he found his store always replenished by an invisible hand. In the day, I believe, he worked sometimes for a neighbouring farmer, because he often went forth and did not return until dinner, yet brought no wood with him. At other times he worked in the garden, but as there was little to do in the frosty season, he read to the old man and Agatha. This reading had puzzled me extremely at first, but by degrees I discovered that he uttered many of the same sounds when he read as when he talked. I conjectured, therefore, that he found on the papers signs for speech which he understood, and I ardently longed to comprehend these also, but how is that possible when I did not even understand the sounds for which they stood as signs? I improved, however, sensibly in this science, but not sufficiently to follow up any kind of conversation, although I applied my whole mind to the endeavour. For I easily perceived that, although I eagerly longed to discover myself to the cottages, I ought not to make the attempt until I had first become master of their language, which knowledge might enable me to make them overlook the deformity of my figure. For with this also the contrast perpetually presented to my eyes had made me acquainted. I had admired the perfect forms of my cottages, their grace, beauty, and delicate complexions, but how was I terrified when I viewed myself in a transparent pool? At first I started back, unable to believe that it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror, and when I became fully convinced that I was, in reality, the monster that I am, I was filled with the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification. Alas! I did not yet entirely know the fatal effects of this miserable deformity. As the sun became warmer, and the light of day longer, the snow vanished, and I beheld the bare trees and the black earth. From this time Felix was more employed, and the heart-moving indications of impending famine disappeared. Their food, as I afterwards found, was coarse, but it was wholesome, and they procured a sufficiency of it. Several new kinds of plants sprung up in the garden, which they dressed, and these signs of comfort increased daily as the season advanced. The old man, leaning on his son, walked each day at noon, when it did not rain, as I found it was called when the heavens poured forth its waters. This frequently took place, but a high wind quickly dried the earth, and the season became far more pleasant than it had been. My mode of life in my hovel was uniform. During the morning I attended the motions of the cottages, and when they were dispersed in various occupations I slept. The remainder of the day was spent in observing my friends. When they had retired to rest, if there was any moon, or if the night was starlight, I went into the woods and collected my own food and fuel for the cottage. When I returned, as often as it was necessary I cleared their path of the snow and performed those offices that I had seen done by Felix. I afterwards found that these labours, performed by an invisible hand, greatly astonished them, and once or twice I heard them, on these occasions, utter the words, good spirit, wonderful. But I did not then understand the signification of these terms. My thoughts now became more active, and I longed to discover the motives and feelings of these lovely creatures. I was inquisitive to know why Felix appeared so miserable and Agatha so sad. I thought, foolish wretch, that it might be in my power to restore happiness to these deserving people. When I slept, or was absent, the forms of the venerable blind father, the gentle Agatha, and the excellent Felix, flitted before me. I looked upon them as superior beings, who would be the arbiters of my future destiny. I formed in my imagination a thousand pictures of presenting myself to them, and their reception of me. I imagined that they would be disgusted, until by my gentle demeanour and conciliating words I should first win their favour, and afterwards their love. These thoughts exhilarated me, and led me to apply with fresh ardour to acquiring the art of language. My organs were indeed harsh, but supple, and although my voice was very unlike the soft music of their tones, yet I pronounced such words as I understood with tolerable ease. It was as the ass and the lapdog, yet surely the gentle ass whose intentions were affectionate, although his manners were rude, deserved better treatment than blows and execration. The pleasant showers and genial warmth of spring greatly altered the aspect of the earth. Men who before this change seemed to have been hidden caves dispersed themselves, and were employed in various arts of cultivation. The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and the leaves began to bud forth on the trees. Happy, happy earth! fit habitation for gods, which so short a time before was bleak, damp and unwholesome. My spirits were elevated by the enchanting appearance of nature. The past was blotted from my memory, the present was tranquil, and the future gilded by bright rays of hope and anticipations of joy. CHAPTER V I now hasten to the more moving part of my story. I shall relate events that impressed me with feelings which, from what I had been, have made me what I am. Spring advanced rapidly, the weather became fine, and the sky is cloudless. It surprised me that what before was desert and gloomy should now bloom with the most beautiful flowers and verdure. My senses were gratified and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight and a thousand sights of beauty. It was on one of these days, when my cottages periodically rested from labour, the old man played on his guitar and the children listened to him. I observed the countenance of Felix was melancholy beyond expression. He sighed frequently, and once his father paused in his music, and I conjectured by his manner that he inquired the cause of his son's sorrow. Felix replied in a cheerful accent, and the old man was recommencing his music when someone tapped at the door. It was a lady on horseback, accompanied by a countryman as a guide. The lady was dressed in a dark suit and covered with a thick black veil. Agatha asked a question, to which the stranger only replied by pronouncing, in a sweet accent, the name of Felix. Her voice was musical, but unlike that of either of my friends. On hearing this word, Felix came up hastily to the lady, who, when she saw him, threw up her veil, and I beheld the countenance of angelic beauty and expression. Her hair of a shining raven black and curiously braided, her eyes were dark but gentle, although animated, her features of a regular proportion, and her complexion wondrously fair, each cheek tinged with a lovely pink. Felix seemed ravished with delight when he saw her. Every trait of sorrow vanished from his face, and it instantly expressed a degree of ecstatic joy, of which I could hardly have believed it capable. His eyes sparkled as his cheek flushed with pleasure, and at that moment I thought him as beautiful as the stranger. She appeared affected by different feelings. Wiping a few tears from her lovely eyes, she held out her hand to Felix, who kissed it rapturously, and called her, as well as I could distinguish, his sweet Arabian. She did not appear to understand him, but smiled. He assisted her to dismount, and, dismissing her guide, conducted her into the cottage. Some conversation took place between him and his father, and the young stranger knelt at the old man's feet, and would have kissed his hand, but he raised her, and embraced her affectionately. I soon perceived that, although the stranger uttered articulate sounds, and appeared to have a language of her own, she was neither understood by, nor herself understood, the cottages. They made many signs which I did not comprehend, but I saw that her presence diffused gladness through the cottage, dispelling their sorrow as the sun dissipates the morning mists. Felix seemed particularly happy, and with smiles of delight welcomed his Arabian. Agatha, the ever-gentle Agatha, kissed the hands of the lovely stranger, and, pointing to her brother, made signs which appeared to me to mean that he had been sorrowful until she came. Some hours passed thus, while they, by their countenances, expressed joy, the cause of which I did not comprehend. Presently I found, by the frequent recurrence of some sound which the stranger repeated after them, that she was endeavouring to learn their language, and the idea instantly occurred to me that I should make use of the same instructions to the same end. The stranger learned about twenty words at the first lesson. Most of them, indeed, were those which I had before understood, but I profited by the others. As night came on, Agatha and the Arabian retired early. When they separated, Felix kissed the hand of the stranger, and said, Good night, sweet Safi. He sat up much longer, conversing with his father, and by the frequent repetition of her name I conjectured that their lovely guest was the subject of their conversation. I ardently desired to understand them, and vent every faculty towards that purpose, but found it utterly impossible. The next morning Felix went out to his work, and after the usual occupations of Agatha were finished, the Arabian sat at the feet of the old man, and, taking his guitar, played some airs so entrancingly beautiful that they at once drew tears of sorrow and delight from my eyes. She sang, and her voice flowed in a rich cadence, swelling or dying away, like a nightingale of the woods. When she had finished, she gave the guitar to Agatha, who at first declined it. She played a simple air, and her voice accompanied it in sweet accents, but unlike the wondrous strain of the stranger. The old man appeared enraptured, and said some words which Agatha endeavoured to explain to Safi, and by which she appeared to wish to express that she bestowed on him the greatest delight by her music. The days now passed as peacefully as before, with the sole alteration that joy had taken the place of sadness in the countenances of my friends. Safi was always gay and happy. She and I improved rapidly in the knowledge of language, so that in two months I began to comprehend most of the words uttered by my protectors. In the meanwhile, also, the black ground was covered with herbage, and the green banks interspersed with innumerable flowers, sweet to the scent and the eyes. Stars of pale radiance among the moonlight woods, the sun became warmer, the nights clear and barmy, and my nocturnal rambles were an extreme pleasure to me, although they were considerably shortened by the late setting and early rising of the sun, for I never ventured abroad during daylight, fearful of meeting with the same treatment I had formerly endured in the first village which I entered. My days were spent in close attention, that I might more speedily master the language, and I may boast that I improved more rapidly than the Arabian, who understood very little, and conversed in broken accents, whilst I comprehended and could imitate almost every word that was spoken. While I improved in speech, I also learned the science of letters as it was taught to the stranger, and this opened before me a wide field for wonder and delight. The book, from which Felix instructed Safi, was Volney's Ruins of Empires. I should not have understood the purport of this book had not Felix in reading it, given very minute explanations. He had chosen this work, he said, because the declamatory style was framed in imitation of the Eastern authors. Through this work I obtained a cursory knowledge of history, and a view of the several empires at present existing in the world. It gave me an insight into the manners, governments, and religions of the different nations of the earth. I heard of the slothful Asiatics, of the stupendous genius and mental activity of the Grecians, of the wars and wonderful virtue of the early Romans, of their subsequent degeneration, of the decline of that mighty empire, of chivalry, Christianity, and kings. I heard of the discovery of the American Hemisphere, and wept with Safi over the hapless fate of its original inhabitants. These wonderful narrations inspired me with strange feelings. Was man, indeed, at once so powerful, so virtuous and magnificent, yet so vicious and base? He appeared at one time a mere scion of the evil principle, and at another, as all that can be conceived of noble and godlike. To be a great and virtuous man appeared the highest honor that can befall a sensitive being. To be base and vicious, as many on record have been, appeared the lowest degradation, a condition more abject than that of the blind mole or harmless worm. For a long time I could not conceive how one man could go forth to murder his fellow, or even why there were laws and governments, but when I heard details of vice and bloodshed, my wonder ceased, and I turned away with disgust and loathing. Every conversation of the cottages now opened to new wonders to me. While I listened to the instructions which Felix bestowed upon the Arabian, the strange system of human society was explained to me. I heard of the division of property, of immense wealth and squalid poverty, of rank, descent, and noble blood. The words induced me to turn towards myself. I learned that the possessions most esteemed by your fellow-creatures were high and unsullied descent, united with riches. A man might be respected with only one of these acquisitions, but without either, he was considered, except in very rare instances, as a vagabond and a slave, doomed to waste his powers for the profit of the chosen few. And what was I? Of my creation and creator I was absolutely ignorant, but I knew that I possessed no money, no friends, no kind of property. I was, besides, endowed with a figure hideously deformed and loathsome. I was not even of the same nature as men. I was more agile than they, and could subsist upon coarser diet. I bore the extremes of heat and cold with less injury to my frame. My stature far exceeded theirs. When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Whilst I then, a monster, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled and whom all men disowned. I cannot describe to you the agony that these reflections inflicted upon me. I tried to dispel them, but saw it only increased with knowledge. Oh, that I had forever remained in my native wood, nor known, nor felt beyond the sensations of hunger, thirst, and heat. Of what a strange nature is knowledge. It clings to the mind when it has once seized on it, like a lichen on the rock. I wished sometimes to shake off all thought and feeling, but I learned that there was but one means to overcome the sensation of pain, and that was death, a state which I feared, yet did not understand. I admired virtue and good feelings, and loved the gentle manners and amiable qualities of my cottages. But I was shut out from intercourse with them, except through means which I obtained by stealth, when I was unseen and unknown, and which rather increased than satisfied the desire I had of becoming one among my fellows. The gentle words of Agatha and the animated smiles of the charming Arabian were not for me. The mild exhortations of the old man and the lively conversation of the loved Felix were not for me. Miserable, unhappy wretch! Other lessons were impressed upon me even more deeply. I heard the difference of sexes, of the birth and growth of children, how the father doted on the smiles of the infant and the lively sallies of the older child, how all the life and cares of the mother were wrapped up in the precious charge, how the mind of youth expanded and gained knowledge, of brother, sister, and all the various relationships which bind one human being to another in mutual bonds. And where were my friends and relations? No father had watched my infant days, no mother had blessed me with smiles and caresses, or if they had, all my past life was now a blot, a blind vacancy in which I distinguished nothing. For my earliest remembrance I had been, as I then was, in height and proportion. I had never yet seen a being resembling me, or who claimed any intercourse with me. What was I? The question again recurred to be answered only with groans. I will soon explain to what these feelings tended, but allow me now to return to the cottages, whose story excited in me such various feelings of indignation, delight, and wonder, but which all terminated in additional love and reverence for my protectors, so I loved, in an innocent, half-painful self-deceit, to call them. CHAPTER VI Some time elapsed before I learned the history of my friends. It was one which could not fail to impress itself deeply on my mind, unfolding as it did a number of circumstances, each interesting and wonderful, to one so utterly inexperienced as I was. The name of the old man was Delacy. He was descended from a good family in France, where he had lived for many years in affluence, respected by his superiors, and beloved by his equals. His son was bred in the service of his country, and Agatha had ranked with ladies of the highest distinction. A few months before my arrival, they had lived in large and luxurious city called Paris, surrounded by friends, and possessed of every enjoyment which virtue, refinement of intellect or taste, accompanied by a moderate fortune, could afford. The father of Safi had been the cause of their ruin. He was a Turkish merchant, and had inhabited Paris for many years, when, for some reason which I could not learn, he became obnoxious to the government. He was seized and cast into prison the very day that Safi arrived from Constantinople to join him. He was tried and condemned to death. The injustice of his sentence was very flagrant, all Paris was indignant, and it was judged that his religion and wealth, rather than the crime alleged against him, had been the cause of his condemnation. Felix had been present at the trial. His horror and indignation were uncontrollable when he heard the decision of the court. He made, at that moment, a solemn vow to deliver him, and then looked around for the means. After many fruitless attempts to gain admittance to the prison, he found a strongly grated window in an unguarded part of the building, which lighted the dungeon of the unfortunate Mohammedan, who, loaded with chains, waited in despair the execution of the barbarous sentence. Felix visited the great at night, and made known to the prisoner his intentions in his favour. The Turk, amazed and delighted, endeavoured to kindle a zeal of his deliverer by promises of reward and wealth. Felix rejected his offers with contempt, yet when he saw the lovely Safi, who was allowed to visit her father, and who by her gestures expressed her lively gratitude, the youth could not help owning to his own mind that the captive possessed a treasure which would fully reward his toil and hazard. The Turk quickly perceived the impression that his daughter had made on the heart of Felix, and endeavoured to secure him more entirely in his interests by the promise of her hand in marriage, so soon as he should be conveyed to a place of safety. Felix was too delicate to accept this offer, yet he looked forward to the probability of the event as the consummation of his happiness. During the ensuing days, while the preparations were going forward for the escape of the merchant, the zeal of Felix was warmed by several letters that he received from this lovely girl, who found means to express her thoughts in the language of her lover, by the aid of an old man, a servant of her father's, who understood French. She thanked him in the most ardent terms for his intended services towards her father, and at the same time deeply deplored her own fate. I have copies of these letters, for I found means, during my residence in the hovel, to procure the implements of writing, and the letters were often in the hands of Felix or Agatha. Before I depart I will give them to you, they will prove the truth of my tale. But at present, as the sun is already far declined, I shall only have time to repeat the substance of them to you. Safi related that her mother was a Christian Arab, seized and made a slave by the Turks. Recommended by her beauty, she had won the heart of the father of Safi who married her. The young girl spoke in high and enthusiastic terms of her mother, who, born in freedom, burned the bondage to which she was now adduced. She instructed her daughter in the tenets of her religion, and taught her to aspire to higher powers of intellect and an independence of spirit forbidden to the female followers of Muhammad. This lady died, but her lessons were indelibly impressed on the mind of Safi, who, sickened at the prospect of again returning to Asia, and being amured within the walls of Haareem, allowed only to occupy herself with purile amusements, ill-suited to the temper of her soul, now accustomed to grand ideas and a noble emulation for virtue. The prospect of marrying a Christian, and remaining in a country where women were allowed to take rank in society, was enchanting to her. The day for the execution of the Turk was fixed, but on the night previous to it he had quitted prison, and before morning was distant many leagues from Paris. Felix had procured passports in the name of his father, sister, and himself. He had previously communicated his plan to the former, who aided the deceit by quitting his house under the pretense of a journey, and concealed himself with his daughter in an obscure part of Paris. Felix conducted the fugitives through France to Lyon, and across Mount Senni to Leghorn, where the merchant had decided to wait a favourable opportunity of passing into some part of the Turkish dominions. Safi resolved to remain with her father until the moment of his departure, before which time the Turk renewed his promise that she should be united to his deliverer, and Felix remained with them in expectation of that event, and in the meantime he enjoyed the society of the Arabian, who exhibited towards him the simplest and tenderest affection. They conversed with one another through the means of an interpreter, and sometimes with the interpretation of looks, and Safi sang to him the divine airs of her native country. The Turk allowed this intimacy to take place, and encouraged the hopes of the youthful lovers, while in his heart he had formed far other plans. He loathed the idea that his daughter should be united to a Christian, but he feared the resentment of Felix if he should appear lukewarm, for he knew that he was still in the power of his deliverer, if he should choose to betray him to the Italian state which they inhabited. He revolved a thousand plans by which he should be enabled to prolong the deceit until it might no longer be necessary, and secretly to take his daughter with him when he departed. His plans were facilitated by the news which arrived from Paris. The government of France were greatly enraged at the escape of their victim, and spared no pains to detect and punish his deliverer. The plot of Felix was quickly discovered, and Delacy and Agatha were thrown into prison. The news reached Felix and roused him from his dream of pleasure. His blind and aged father and his gentle sister lay in a noisome dungeon, while he enjoyed the free air and the society of her whom he loved. This idea was tortured to him. He quickly arranged with the Turk that if the latter should find a favourable opportunity for escape before Felix could return to Italy, Safi should remain as a border at a convent at Leghorn, and then, quitting the lovely Arabian, he hastened to Paris and delivered himself up to the vengeance of the law, hoping to free Delacy and Agatha by this proceeding. He did not succeed. They remained confined for five months before the trial took place, the result of which deprived them of their fortune and condemned them to a perpetual exile from their native country. They found a miserable asylum in the cottage in Germany where I discovered them. Felix soon learned that the treacherous Turk, for whom he and his family endured such unheard of oppression, on discovering that his deliverer was thus reduced to poverty and impotence, became a traitor to good feeling and honour, and had quitted Italy with his daughter, seemingly sending Felix a pittance of money, to aid him, as he said, in some plan of future maintenance. Such were the events that preyed on the heart of Felix, and rendered him, when I first saw him, the most miserable of his family. He could have endured poverty, and when this distress had been the mead of his virtue he would have gloried in it, but the ingratitude of the Turk and the loss of his beloved Safi were misfortunes more bitter and irreparable. The arrival of the Arabian now infused new life into his soul. When the news reached Leghorn that Felix was deprived of his wealth and rank, the merchant commanded his daughter to think no more of her lover, but to prepare to return to her native country. The generous nature of Safi was outraged by this command. She attempted to apostolate with her father, but he left her angrily, reiterating his tyrannical mandate. A few days after, the Turk entered his daughter's apartment, and told her hastily that he had reason to believe that his residence at Leghorn had been divulged, and that he should speedily be delivered up to the French government. He had consequently hired a vessel to convey him to Constantinople, for which city he should sail in a few hours. He intended to leave his daughter under the care of a confidential servant, to follow at her leisure, with the greater part of his property, which had not yet arrived at Leghorn. When alone, Safi resolved in her own mind the plan of conduct that it would become her to pursue in this emergency. A residence in Turkey was abhorrent to her. Her religion and her feelings were alike adverse to it. By some papers of her father, which fell into her hands, she heard of the exile of her lover, and learnt the name of the spot where he then resided. She hesitated some time, but at length she formed her determination. Taking with her some jewels that belonged to her, and a sum of money, she quitted Italy with an attendant, a native of Leghorn, but who understood the common language of Turkey, and departed for Germany. She arrived in safety at a town about twenty leagues from the cottage of Deleysi, when her attendant fell dangerously ill. Safi nursed her with the most devoted affection, but the poor girl died, and the Arabian was left alone, unacquainted with the language of the country, and utterly ignorant of the customs of the world. She fell, however, into good hands. The Italian had mentioned the name of the spot for which they were bound, and, after her death, the woman of the house in which they had lived, took care that Safi should arrive in safety at the cottage of her lover. CHAPTER VII Such was the history of my beloved cottages. It impressed me deeply. I learned from the views of social life which it developed, to admire their virtues, and to deprecate the vices of mankind. As yet I looked upon crime as a distant evil, benevolence and generosity were ever present before me, inciting within me a desire to become an actor in the busy scene where so many admirable qualities were called forth and displayed. But, in giving an account of the progress of my intellect, I must not omit a circumstance which occurred in the beginning of the month of August of the same year. One night, during my accustomed visit to the neighbouring wood, where I collected my own food and brought home firing for my protectors, I found on the ground a leather portmanteau containing several articles of dress and some books. I eagerly seized the prize and returned with it to my hovel. Fortunately the books were written in the language the elements of which I had acquired at the cottage. They consisted of Paradise Lost, a volume of Plutarch's Lives, and the Sorrows of Werther. The possession of these treasures gave me extreme delight. I now continually studied and exercised my mind upon these histories, while my friends were employed in their ordinary occupations. I can hardly describe to you the effect of these books. They produced in me an infinity of new images and feelings that sometimes raised me to ecstasy, but more frequently sunk me into the lowest dejection. In the Sorrows of Werther, besides the interest of its simple and affecting story, so many opinions are canvassed, and so many lights thrown upon what had hitherto been to me obscure subjects, that I found in it a never-ending source of speculation and astonishment. The gentle and domestic manners it described, combined with lofty sentiments and feelings, which had for their object something out of self, accorded well with my experience among my protectors, and with the wants which were forever alive in my own bosom. But I thought Werther himself a more divine being than I had ever beheld or imagined. His character contained no pretension, but it sunk deep. The disquisitions upon death and suicide were calculated to fill me with wonder. I did not pretend to enter into the merits of the case, yet I inclined towards the opinions of the hero whose extinction I wept without precisely understanding it. As I read, however, I applied much personally to my own feelings and condition. I found myself similar, yet at the same time strangely unlike to the beings concerning whom I read and to whose conversation I was a listener. I sympathised with, and partly understood them, but I was unformed in mind. I was dependent on none, and related to none. The path of my departure was free, and there was none to lament my annihilation. My person was hideous, and my stature gigantic. What did this mean? Who was I? What was I? Since did I come? What was my destination? These questions continually recurred, but I was unable to solve them. The volume of Plutarch's lives which I possessed contained the histories of the first founders of the ancient republics. This book had a far different effect upon me from the sorrows of Werther. I learned from Werther's imaginations, despondency and gloom, but Plutarch taught me high thoughts. He elevated me above the wretched sphere of my own reflections to admire and love the heroes of past ages. Many things I read surpassed my understanding and experience. I had a very confused knowledge of kingdoms, wide extents of country, mighty rivers and boundless seas, but I was perfectly unacquainted with towns and larger assemblages of men. The cottage of my protectors had been the only school in which I had studied human nature, but this book developed new and mightier scenes of action. I read of men concerned in public affairs, governing or massacring their species. I felt the greatest ardour for virtue rise within me, and abhorrence for vice, as far as I understood the signification of those terms relative as they were, as I applied them, to pleasure and pain alone. Induced by these feelings I was of course led to admire peaceable law-givers, Numa, Solon and Lysergis, in preference to Romulus and Theseus. The patriarchal lives of my protectors caused these impressions to take a firm hold on my mind. Perhaps, if my first introduction to humanity had been made by a young soldier burning for glory and slaughter, I should have been imbued with different sensations. But Paradise lost excited different and far deeper emotions. I read it, as I had read the other volumes which had fallen into my hands, as a true history. It moved every feeling of wonder and awe that the picture of an omnipotent God warring with his creatures was capable of exciting. I often referred to the several situations as their similarity struck me to my own. Like Adam I was apparently united by no link to any other being in existence, but his state was far different from mine in every other respect. He had come forth from the hands of God a perfect creature, happy and prosperous, united by the especial care of his creator. He was allowed to converse with and acquire knowledge from beings of a superior nature. But I was wretched, helpless and alone. Many times I considered Satan as the fitter emblem of my condition, for often, like him, when I viewed the bliss of my protectors, the bitter gall of envy rose within me. Other circumstance strengthened and confirmed these feelings. Soon after my arrival in the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of the dress which I had taken from your laboratory. At first I had neglected them, but now that I was able to decipher the characters in which they were written I began to study them with diligence. It was your journal of the four months that preceded my creation. You minutely described in these papers every step you took in the progress of your work. This history was mingled with accounts of domestic occurrences. You, doubtless, recollect these papers. Here they are. Everything is related in them which bears reference to my accursed origin. The whole detail of that series of disgusting circumstances which produced it is set in view. The minutest description of my odious and loathsome person is given, in language which painted your own horrors, and rendered mine indelible. I sickened as I read. Hateful day when I received life, I exclaimed in agony. Cursed creator, why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and deluring after his own image, but my form is a filthy type of yours more horrid from its very resemblance. Satan had his companions, fellow devils, to admire and encourage him, but I am solitary and detested. These were the reflections of my hours of despondency and solitude. But when I contemplated the virtues of the cottages, their amiable and benevolent dispositions, I persuaded myself that when they should become acquainted with my admiration of their virtues, they would be compassionate and overlook my personal deformity. Could they turn from their door one, however monstrous, who solicited their compassion and friendship? I resolved, at least not to despair, but in every way to fit myself for an interview with them which would decide my fate. I postponed this attempt for some months longer, for the importance attached to its success inspired me with the dread lest I should fail. Besides, I found that my understanding improved so much with every day's experience that I was unwilling to commence this undertaking until a few more months should have added to my wisdom. Several changes, in the meantime, took place in the cottage. The presence of Safi diffused happiness among its inhabitants, and I also found that a greater degree of plenty reigned there. Felix and Agatha spent more time in amusement and conversation, and were assisted in their labours by servants. They did not appear rich, but they were contented and happy, their feelings were serene and peaceful, while mine became every day more tumultuous. Increase of knowledge only discovered to me more clearly what a wretched outcast I was. I cherished hope, it is true, but it vanished when I beheld my person reflected in water, or my shadow in the moonshine, even as that frail image and that inconstant shade. I endeavoured to crush these fears, and fortify myself for the trial which in a few months I resolved to undergo, and sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked by reason, to ramble in the fields of paradise, and dared to fancy amiable and lovely creatures sympathising with my feelings and cheering my gloom, their angelic countenances breathed smiles of consolation. But it was all a dream. No eave soothed my sorrows or shared my thoughts. I was alone. I remembered Adam's supplication to his creator, but where was mine? He had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my heart I cursed him. Autumn passed thus. I saw with surprise and grief the leaves decay and fall, and nature again assumed the barren and bleak appearance it had worn when I first beheld the woods and the lovely moon. Yet I did not heed the bleakness of the weather. I was better fitted by my confirmation for the endurance of cold than heat. But my chief delights were the sight of the flowers, the birds, and all the gay apparel of summer. When those deserted me I turned with more attention towards the cottages. Their happiness was not decreased by the absence of summer. They loved and sympathised with one another, and their joys, depending on each other, were not interrupted by the casualties that took place around them. The more I saw of them, the greater became my desire to claim their protection and kindness. My heart yearned to be known and loved by these amiable creatures. To see their sweet looks directed towards me with affection was the utmost limit of my ambition. I dared not think that they would turn them from me with disdain and horror. The poor that stopped at their door were never driven away. I asked, it is true, for greater treasures than a little food or rest. I required kindness and sympathy, but I did not believe myself utterly unworthy of it. The winter advanced, and an entire revolution of the seasons had taken place since I awoke into life. My attention, at this time, was solely directed towards my plan of introducing myself into the cottage of my protectors. I revolved many projects, but that on which I finally fixed was to enter the dwelling when the blind old man should be alone. I had sagacity enough to discover that the unnatural hideousness of my person was the chief object of horror with those who had formally beheld me. My voice, although harsh, had nothing terrible in it. I thought, therefore, that if, in the absence of his children, I could gain the goodwill and mediation of the old Delacy, I might, by his means, be tolerated by my younger protectors. One day, when the sun shone on the red leaves that strewed the ground and diffused cheerfulness, although it denied warmth, Safi, Agatha, and Felix departed on a long country walk, and the old man, at his own leisure, was left alone in the cottage. When his children had departed, he took up his guitar, and played several mournful but sweet airs, more sweet and mournful than I had ever heard him play before. At first his countenance was illuminated with pleasure, but as he continued, thoughtfulness and sadness succeeded. At length, laying aside the instrument, he sat, absorbed in reflection. My heart beat quick. This was the hour and moment of trial which would decide my hopes or realise my fears. The servants were gone to a neighbouring fair. All was silent in and around the cottage. It was an excellent opportunity. Yet, when I proceeded to execute my plan, my limbs failed me and I sank to the ground. Again I rose, and exerting all the firmness of which I was master, moved the planks which I had placed before my hovel to conceal my retreat. The fresh air revived me, and with renewed determination I approached the door of their cottage. I knocked. "'Who is there?' said the old man. "'Come in.'" I entered. "'Pardon this intrusion,' said I. "'I am a traveller in want of a little rest. You would greatly oblige me if you would allow me to remain a few minutes before the fire. "'Enter,' said De Lacey, and I will try to relieve your wants, but unfortunately my children are from home, and as I am blind I am afraid I shall find it difficult to procure food for you. Do not trouble yourself, my kind host. I have food. It is warmth and rest only that I need.' I sat down, and a silence ensued. I knew that every minute was precious to me, yet I remained irresolute in what manner to commence the interview, when the old man addressed me. "'By your language, stranger, I suppose you are my countrymen. Are you French?' "'No, but I was educated by a French family, and understand that language only. I am now going to claim the protection of some friends, whom I sincerely love, and of whose favour I have some hopes.' "'Are they Germans?' "'No, they are French. But let us change the subject. I am an unfortunate and deserted creature. I look around, and I have no relation or friend upon earth. These amiable people to whom I go have never seen me, and no little of me. I am full of fears, for if I fail there, I am an outcast in the world for ever.' "'Do not despair. To be friendless is indeed to be unfortunate, but the hearts of men, and unprejudiced by any obvious self-interest, are full of brotherly love and charity. Rely therefore on your hopes, and if these friends are good and amiable, do not despair.' "'They are kind. They are the most excellent creatures in the world, but unfortunately they are prejudiced against me. I have good dispositions. My life has been hitherto harmless, and in some degree beneficial. But a fatal prejudice clouds their eyes, and where they ought to see a feeling and kind friend, they behold only a detestable monster. That is indeed unfortunate, but if you are really blameless, can you not undercede them? I am about to undertake that task, and it is on that account that I feel so many overwhelming terrors. I dearly love these friends. I have unknown to them been for many months in the habits of daily kindness towards them, but they believe that I wish to injure them, and it is that prejudice which I wish to overcome." Where do these friends reside? Near this spot. The old man paused, and then continued, "'If you will unreservedly confide to me the particulars of your tale, I perhaps may be of use in underceiving them. I am blind, and cannot judge of your countenance, but there is something in your words which persuades me that you are sincere. I am poor, and an exile, but it will afford me true pleasure to be in any way serviceable to a human creature. Excellent man! I thank you and accept your generous offer. You raise me from the dust by this kindness, and I trust that, by your aid, I shall not be driven from the society and sympathy of your fellow-creatures." Heaven forbid! Even if you were really criminal, for that can only drive you to desperation, and not instigate you to virtue. I also am unfortunate. I and my family have been condemned, although innocent. Judge, therefore, if I do not feel for your misfortunes. How can I thank you, my best and only benefactor? From your lips first have I heard the voice of kindness directed towards me. I shall be for ever grateful, and your present humanity assures me of success with those friends whom I am on the point of meeting. May I know the names and residents of those friends. I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of decision, which was to rob me of, or bestow happiness on me, for ever. I struggled vainly for firmness sufficient to answer him, but the effort destroyed all my remaining strength. I sank on the chair, and sobbed aloud. At that moment I heard the steps of my younger protectors. I had not a moment to lose, but seizing the hand of the old man, I cried. Now is the time. Save and protect me. You and your family are the friends whom I seek. Do not you desert me in the hour of trial." Great God! exclaimed the old man. Who are you? At that instant the cottage door was opened, and Felix, Safi, and Agatha entered. Who can describe their horror and consternation on beholding me? Agatha fainted, and Safi, unable to attend to her friend, rushed out of the cottage. Felix darted forward, and with supernatural force tore me from his father, to whose knees I clung. In a transport of fury he dashed me to the ground and struck me violently with a stick. I could have torn him limb from limb, as a lion rends the antelope. But my heart sunk within me, as with bitter sickness, and I refrained. I saw him on the point of repeating his blow. When overcome by pain and anguish, I quitted the cottage, and in the general tumult escaped, unperceived, to my hovel. 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 gutted 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 archfiend, 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 older 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 forever 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 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 Delacy 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 Delacy, 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 sunk, 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, wither 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 Safi, 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 southwesternly 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 succor, 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 I knew 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 implicate 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 a revenge incindled 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 a special 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 barmyness 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 born 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 for my arms hastened towards the deeper parts of the wood. I followed speedily, hardly knew why, but when the man saw me draw near he aimed a gun which he carried at my body and fired. I sunk 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 inflection. 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 nearer close, and 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 surrounded, 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 Monsieur Frankenstein. He would punish you. You dare not keep me. Frankenstein, you belong then to my enemy. To him towards 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 impregnable. 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 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 forever 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 was seeking a more secluded hiding-place, when I perceived a woman passing near me. 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 smiles are bestowed on all but me. She shall not escape. Thanks to the lessons of Felix and the sanguinary laws of man, I have learned how to work mischief. I approached her unperceived, and placed the portrait securely in one of the folds of her dress. For some days I haunted the spot where these scenes had taken place, sometimes wishing to see you, sometimes resolved to quit the world in its miseries forever. 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. The being finished speaking, and fixed his looks upon me in expectation of a reply. But I was bewildered, perplexed, and unable to arrange my ideas sufficiently to understand the full extent of his proposition. He continued, You must create a female for me, with whom I can live in the interchange of those sympathies necessary for my being. This you alone can do, and I demand it of you, as a right which you must not refuse to concede. The latter part of his tale had kindled anew in me the anger that had died away, while he narrated his peaceful life among the cottages, and as he said this, I could no longer suppress the rage that burned within me. I do refuse it, I replied, and no torture shall ever extort a consent from me. You may render me the most miserable of men, but you shall never make me base in my own eyes. Shall I create another like yourself whose joint wickedness might desolate the world? Be gone! I have answered you, you may torture me, but I will never consent. You are in the wrong," replied the fiend, and instead of threatening, I am content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable. Am I not shunned and hated by all mankind? You, my creator, would tear me to pieces and triumph. Remember that, and tell me why I should pity man more than he pities me. You would not call it murder if you could precipitate me into one of those ice-rifts, and destroy my frame, the work of your own hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me? Let him live with me in the interchange of kindness, and instead of injury I would bestow every benefit upon him with tears of gratitude at his acceptance. But that cannot be. The human senses are insurmountable barriers to our union. Yet mine shall not be the submission of abject slavery. I will revenge my injuries. If I cannot inspire love I will cause fear, and chiefly towards you, my arch-enemy, because, my creator, do I swear inextinguishable hatred. Have a care. I will work at your destruction, nor finish until I desolate your heart, so that you curse the hour of your birth. A fiendish rage animated him as he said this. His face was wrinkled into contortions too horrible for human eyes to behold, but presently he calmed himself and proceeded. I intended to reason. This passion is detrimental to me, for you do not reflect that you are the cause of its excess. If any being felt emotions of benevolence towards me, should return them a hundred and a hundredfold, for that one creature's sake I would make peace with the whole kind. But I now indulge in dreams of bliss that cannot be realized. What I ask of is reasonable and moderate. I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous as myself. The gratification is small, but it is all that I can receive, and it shall content me. It is true we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world, but on that account we shall be more attached to one another. Our lives will not be happy, but they will be harmless, and free from the misery I now feel. Oh, my creator, make me happy! Let me feel gratitude towards you for one benefit. Let me see that I excite the sympathy of some existing thing. Do not deny me my request. I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of the possible consequences of my consent, but I felt that there was some justice in his argument. His tale, and the feelings he now expressed, proved him to be a creature of fine sensations, and did I not, as his maker, owe him all the portion of happiness that it was in my power to bestow? He saw my change of feeling and continued. If you consent, neither you nor any other human being shall ever see us again. I will go to the vast wilds of South America. My food is not that of man. I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to glut my appetite. Acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. My companion will be of the same nature as myself, and will be content with the same fare. We shall make our bed of dried leaves. The sun will shine on us, as on man, and will ripen our food. The picture I present to you is peaceful and human, and you must feel that you could deny it only in the wantonness of power and cruelty. Pityless as you have been towards me, I now see compassion in your eyes. Let me seize the favourable moment, and persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire. You propose, replied I, to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell in those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your only companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man, persevere in this exile? You will return, and again seek their kindness, and you will meet with their detestation. Your evil passions will be renewed, and you will then have a companion to aid you in the task of destruction. This may not be. Cease to argue the point, for I cannot consent. How inconstant are your feelings! But a moment ago you were moved by my representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my complaints? I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me, that with the companion you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of man, and dwell as it may chance in the most savage of places. My evil passions will have fled, for I shall meet with sympathy. My life will flow quietly away, and in my dying moments I shall not curse my maker. His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionate him, and sometimes felt a wish to console him, but when I looked upon him, when I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened, and my feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to stifle these sensations. I thought that, as I could not sympathise with him, I had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which was yet in my power to bestow. You swear, I said, to be harmless, but have you not already shown a degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust you? May not even this be a faint that will increase your triumph by affording a wider scope for your revenge. How is this? I thought I had moved your compassion, and yet you still refuse to bestow on me the only benefit that can soften my heart and render me harmless. If I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice must be my portion. The love of another will destroy the cause of my crimes, and I shall become a thing of whose existence everyone will be ignorant. My vices are the children of a forced solitude that I bore, and my virtues will necessarily arise when I live in communion with an equal. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive being, and become linked to the chain of existence and events from which I am now excluded. I paused some time to reflect on all he had related, and the various arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues which he had displayed on the opening of his existence, and the subsequent blight of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which his protectors had manifested towards him. His power and threats were not omitted in my calculations. A creature who could exist in the ice-caves of the glaciers, and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of inaccessible precipices, was a being possessing faculties it would be vain to cope with. After a long pause of reflection I concluded that the justice due both to him and my fellow creatures demanded of me that I should comply with his request. Turning to him, therefore, I said, I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever, and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile. I swear, he cried, by the sun and by the blue sky of heaven, that if you grant my prayer, while there exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your home and commence your labours. I shall watch their progress with unutterable anxiety, and fear not but that when you are ready I shall appear. Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost among the undulations of the sea of ice. His tail had occupied the whole day, and the sun was upon the verge of the horizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to hasten my descent towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness, but my heart was heavy, and my steps slow. The labour of winding among the little paths of the mountains, and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced, perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences of the day had produced. Night was far advanced when I came to the half-way resting-place, and seated myself beside the fountain. The stars shone at intervals, as the clouds passed from over them, the dark pines rose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the ground. It was a scene of wonderful solemnity, and stirred strange thoughts within me. I wept bitterly, and clasping my hands in agony, I exclaimed, O stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock me, if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory, let me become as nought, but if not, depart, leave me in darkness. These were wild and miserable thoughts, but I cannot describe to you how the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me, and how I listened to every blast of wind as if it were a dull, ugly syrup on its way to consume me. Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Shamuni, but my presence, so haggard and strange, hardly calmed the fears of my family, who had waited the whole night in anxious expectation of my return. The following day we returned to Geneva. The intention of my father in coming had been to divert my mind, and to restore me to my lost tranquillity, but the medicine had been fatal. And, unable to account for the excess of misery I appeared to suffer, he hastened to return home, hoping the quiet and monotony of a domestic life would, by degrees, alleviate my sufferings from whatsoever cause they might spring. For myself I was passive in all their arrangements, and the gentle affection of my beloved Elizabeth was inadequate to draw me from the depth of my despair. The promise I had made to the demon weighed upon my mind, like Dante's iron cowl on the heads of the hellish hypocrites. All pleasures of earth and sky passed before me like a dream, and that thought only had to me the reality of life. Can you wonder, that sometimes a kind of insanity possessed me, or that I saw continually about me, a multitude of filthy animals inflicting on me incessant torture that often extorted screams and bitter groans? End of Volume 2 Section 22 of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Volume 3 Chapter 1 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 pretense of delay, and could not resolve to interrupt my returning tranquility. My health, which had hitherto declined, was now very 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 readyer 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 not only be useless, but draw down treble misery on us all. I trembled violently at this exordium, and my father continued. I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage with your cousin, 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 assistance 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 honor to your cousin, 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 on 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 honor 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 endeavored to arrive at some conclusion. Alas! to me the idea of an immediate union with my cousin 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 around 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, any variation was agreeable to me, and I was delighted with the idea of spending a year or two in change of scene and variety of occupation, in absence from my family, during which period some event might happen which would restore me to them in peace and happiness, my promise might be fulfilled, and the monster have departed, or some accident might occur to destroy him and put an end to my slavery for ever. 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 the guise of wishing to travel and see the world before I sat down for life within the walls of my native town. I urged my entreaty with earnestness, and my father was easily induced to comply for a more indulgent and less dictatorial parent did not exist upon earth. Our plan was soon arranged. I should travel to Strasbourg, where Clairville would join me. Some short time would be spent in the towns of Holland, and our principal stay would be in England. We should return by France, and it was agreed that the tour should occupy the space of two years. My father pleased himself with a reflection that my union with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return to Geneva. These two years, said he, will pass swiftly, and it will be the last delay that will oppose itself to your happiness. And indeed, I earnestly desire that period to arrive, when we shall all be united, and neither hopes nor fears to disturb our domestic calm. I am content, I replied, with your arrangement. By that time we shall both have become wiser, and I hope happier than we at present are. I sighed, but my father kindly forebored to question me further concerning the cause of my dejection. He hoped that new scenes and the amusement of travelling would restore my tranquillity. 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 in as much as it supposed to the safety of my friends. I was agonised 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 August that I again quitted my native country to pass two years of exile. Elizabeth approved of the reasons of my departure, and only regretted that she had not the same opportunities of enlarging her experience and cultivating her understanding. She wept, however, as she bade me farewell, and entreated me to return happy and tranquil. We all, said she, depend upon you, and if you are miserable, what must be our feelings? 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, for I resolved to fulfil my promise while abroad, and return if possible a free man. 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 born 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. "'Now I enjoy existence. But you, 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 rine. 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 to listen to my reflections. I, a miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment. We had agreed to descend the rine 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 a fifth from our departure from Strasbourg arrived at Mayance. The course of the rine below Mayance 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 rine, indeed, presents a singularly variegated landscape. In one spot you view rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with the dark rine 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 tranquility 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 Fairyland, 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 Urie, 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 relieve the eye by their gay appearance. I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest when the winds tore up whirlwinds of water, and gave you an idea of what the waterspout must be on the great oceans, and the waves dashed 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 Lavalé and the Pé de Vaud, but this country-victour 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 equaled. Look at that castle which overhangs on precipice, and that also on the island almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees, and now that group of labourers coming home from among their vines, and that village half-hidden 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 a 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 was 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 worldly-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. The sounding cataract haunted him like a passion, the tall rock, the mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood. Their colours and their forms were then to him an appetite, a feeling and a love that had no need of a remota charm, by thought supplied, or any interest unburrowed from the eye. 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 the 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 October, 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, Graves End, Woolwich and Greenwich, places which I had heard of even in my country.