Introduction
Mary Shelley was born in London in 1797 to acknowledged radicals William Godwin and Mary Wollstonecraft. Infamous for her refusal to conform to traditional expectations, Wollstonecraft wrote the early, crucial feminist work, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), arguing for formal education for girls. Both parents would strongly mark Mary’s writing, although she never knew her mother; Wollstonecraft died from an infection eleven days after the birth. However, Mary would read her mother’s works later and became close to her illegitimate half-sister, Fanny Imlay, loved by Godwin as well. Devastated by Wollstonecraft’s death, Godwin attempted to restore her reputation in his book, Memoirs of the Author of ‘A Vindication of the Rights of Woman’ (1798). He achieved the opposite effect, as he detailed Wollstonecraft’s suicide attempts, affairs, and facts about her illegitimate daughter. The account shocked the public, destroying any standing Wollstonecraft retained, her reputation unrestored until the twentieth-century feminist movement (Mellor 1–4).
Always living beyond his means, Godwin, a declared atheist and anarchist, made a scant living as a journalist, political philosopher, and novelist (Mellor 7). His most well-known books, An Enquiry Concerning Political Justice (1793) and Things as They Are; or, The Adventures of Caleb Williams (1794), later served as models for Mary’s depiction of social (in)justice in at least two novels. Godwin attracted a following as a cornerstone of philosophical political revolution. While deeply grieving for his wife, he assumed care of Mary and Fanny. Godwin sought family and financial stability in 1805 by remarrying to Mary Jane Clairmont, whom Mary would find an unsympathetic stepparent (Mellor 12–13). The Godwins bought and lived above a children’s bookshop. Writing as Edward Baldwin, Godwin also published children’s books.
In 1812, letters to Godwin arrived from an admirer named Percy Bysshe Shelley. The family learned that at Eaton College, Shelley’s behavior distinguished him from fellow privileged students. He refused the traditional role of servant to the older boys and was bullied for his lack of interest in games and his high-pitched crying. He moved to University College, Oxford, from which he was expelled in 1811 for publishing the pamphlet The Necessity of Atheism. The University offered reinstatement for repudiation of his blasphemous views, but he refused. On August 28, Shelley eloped with sixteen-year-old Harriet Westbrook. All of this activity estranged Shelley from his father, Sir Timothy Shelley, and theirs would remain a strained relationship (Mellor 18–19).
By 1814, Shelley was an occasional guest in the Godwin home, as were many literary and philosophy luminaries, from whom Mary could learn. Shelley’s wife had given birth to a daughter and was pregnant again, but, by March, Shelley and sixteen-year-old Mary had begun a passionate courtship. First resisting Shelley, Mary eventually found him mesmerizing; he reportedly wooed her as she read at her mother’s grave. In July, they eloped to Europe, leaving Percy’s wife, daughter, and later a son, born a few months later in November (although the boy’s paternity was never assured). Percy and Mary’s elopement and the abandonment of his family caused great scandal. In addition, Claire Clairmont, Mary’s emotional stepsister, accompanied them, also engaging in scandalous behavior. Despite personal beliefs that challenged civic and religious law, Godwin was incensed by Mary’s actions, and he interpreted Shelley’s conduct as a personal betrayal. Although demanding money from Shelley, Godwin refused direct communication with his daughter for years (Mellor 17–22). According to Mary’s journal entries, the social condemnation surprised her, but her father’s rejection proved particularly painful. In February 1815, Mary gave birth to a premature daughter, Clara, who died soon after. By 1815, Shelley had a steady income from his grandfather’s estate, and he sent Harriett an annuity.
As the couple traveled, like her mother, Mary published an 1817 travelogue in which she criticized many fellow travelers. Her History of a Six Weeks’ Tour also contains journal entries and letters to Fanny. Her keen skills of observation while living abroad influenced the international settings of Mary’s future fiction (Mellor 24–26). However, neither she nor Percy “considered her…talent…equal to his” (23).
Despite ongoing personal drama, including involvement with Claire, Percy began writing some of his era’s greatest poems, promoting his reputation as part of the Romantic movement. His personal circle included individuals crucial to practice of the romantic ideal, such George Gordon Byron, Sixth Baron Byron, also a poet and an outcast due to various indiscretions, including rumored sexual relations with a half-sister and separation from his wife. On January 24, 1816, William Shelley was born. That summer, the notorious group moved to Lake Geneva in Switzerland. Claire Clairmont was pregnant with Byron’s child, Allegra. Byron never confessed love for Claire and later separated from her. Mary described Claire’s reaction to the gothic literature the group read as “Jane’s horrors” (Mellor 25–27). A lifelong friendship fraught with challenge, including Claire’s constant presence, developed among Byron, Percy, and Mary (Mellor 33–37).
The origin of Mary Shelley’s first and best-known book, Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus (1818) remains familiar legend. On a rainy evening, after Mary; Percy; Claire; Byron; and Byron’s physician, Polidori, had been reading German ghost stories, Byron challenged everyone to write their own ghost story. After days without inspiration, Mary developed her story of Dr. Victor Frankenstein, his monstrous creation, and the fatal results. Mary’s 1831 preface to a later edition of her novel described the nightmare that inspired Frankenstein:
Literature Review
The plot Dr Frankenstein is a brilliant scientist, who is obsessed with the idea of gaining control over life and death, refusing the limits of contemporary science. He carries out his research alone and unaided until he eventually succeeds in bringing to life a monster he has created out of the organs of dead men. However, even Frankenstein is frightened when he sees the fruit of his insane fantasy. The monster escapes from the laboratory and appears some time later in the Swiss Alps, where he is rejected by all the men that he encounters, not so much for his ugliness as for his clearly non-human features. His need to communicate with others is continually frustrated and anger towards all mankind builds up leading to a tragic climax in his killing of Frankenstein’s best friend, his little brother and his wife. The monster takes refuge at the North Pole knowing that only there, in a place of total desolation he will kill no more. Dr Frankenstein follows him, intending to kill his creation but it is the doctor himself who is mortally wounded by the monster. He accuses Dr Frankenstein and the rest of mankind of lacking all compassion. The story ends with the monster being borne away on an ice raft in the Arctic sea. A more detailed summary An English explorer, Robert Walton, is on an expedition to the North Pole. In letters to his sister Margaret Saville, he keeps his family informed of his situation and tells about the difficult conditions on the ship. One day, when the ship is completely surrounded by ice, a man in bad condition is taken aboard: Victor Frankenstein. As soon as his health allows it, he tells Walton the story of his life. Victor Frankenstein grew up in Geneva, Switzerland as the eldest son of a higher-class family. He was brought up with an orphan, Elizabeth and had two younger brothers. He did not have many friends, Henry Clerval being the only exception. At the age of nineteen, Frankenstein became interested in natural philosophy, electricity, chemistry and mathematics. After the death of his mother, who succumbed to scarlet fever, Frankenstein left for Ingolstadt, Germany, to attend university. There, his interest in natural philosophy quickly became an obsession. He was particularly fascinated with the human frame and the principle of life. After four years of fanatic studying, not keeping in contact with his family, he was able to “bestow animation upon lifeless matter” and created a monster of gigantic proportion from assembled body parts taken from graveyards, slaughterhouses and dissecting rooms. As soon as the creature opened his eyes, however, the beauty of Frankenstein’s dream vanished: it became a horrible creature. He realised he made a mistake in creating this monster and fled from his laboratory. On his return the next day, the monster had disappeared. Victor was consequently bedridden with a nervous fever for the next months, being nursed back to health by his friend, Clerval. On the eve of the return to his parental home, he received a letter saying that his youngest brother had been found murdered. On his way home, Frankenstein saw the dæmon he had created and immediately realised that it was he who was responsible for his brother’s death. Frankenstein decided not to tell his family about the dæmon because they would simply dismiss it as insane. As he arrived home, he was informed that the murderer of his brother had been found. The accused was Justine, a good friend of the family. When Justine was found guilty and was hanged, Frankenstein’s heart was tortured. He could not stay in the house and started wandering in the Alpine valleys. There, Frankenstein was confronted with his creation who told him his life story. After leaving Frankenstein’s laboratory, the monster went to the village where he was insulted and attacked by the frightened villagers. He eventually went to the country and found refuge in a hovel next to small house inhabited by a old, blind man and his two children. By observing the family and by reading their books, the monster learnt how to speak and read. He felt compassion for the family, who had to struggle to get by, and anonymously did chores for them. Longing for some kindness and protection, he decided to meet his hosts. He got into a pleasant conversation with the blind man but his children returned unexpectedly. Horrified by his appearance, they beat him and he fled the house. Completely disillusioned, the monster was filled with rage and decided to find his creator. By chance he met Frankenstein’s younger brother in the forest. As soon as he discovered that the boy “belongs to the enemy” he choked him. He also placed a portrait in the lap of a sleeping young girl, Justine, thereby incriminating her with his crime. The dæmon’s only request from Frankenstein was that he should create another being: a female to accompany him. If Frankenstein complied, he and his bride would stay away from other people and keep to themselves in the wild. Frankenstein saw some justice in the monster’s arguments and also felt that he had a duty towards his fellow-man, so he agreed to the dæmon’s request. Victor left for England to finish his work accompanied by his friend Clerval, promising to marry Elizabeth on his return. When the work on his second creation was advanced, he started to question his promise. He was afraid that they might hate each other, or that they might produce a whole race of these creatures. When the monster visited to check on the progress, Frankenstein destroyed his work. The monster swore revenge and promised to be with him on his wedding night. The following day a body was found and Frankenstein was accused of murder. He was taken to the body, which he identified as Henry Clerval. He was eventually cleared of all charges and returned to Geneva in a very bad condition. Frankenstein married Elizabeth after promising her to tell her his horrifying secret the following day. Remembering the monster’s threat, Frankenstein was convinced that he would be killed that night. The monster, however, killed Elizabeth instead. Frankenstein lost another family member as his father died after hearing the news about Elizabeth’s death. Frankenstein had now lost every sensation except for revenge. He followed the monster everywhere, which eventually led him to the Arctic region, where he was taken aboard Walton’s ship. After telling Walton his story, Victor asks him to kill the monster if he dies before he can do it himself. The ship has in the meantime been freed from the ice and, pressured by his crew, Walton has decided to abandon his trip and return home. Victor’s health eventually deteriorates and he dies. Just after his death, Walton finds the monster hanging over Victor’s body. The dæmon speaks of his sufferings. Because of all the murders he has committed, he now hates himself. Since his creator is dead, he decides it is time that he too will rest in death. After stating that he will build a funeral pile for himself, he leaves the ship and disappears on his ice-raft in the darkness.
Part 1: Walton’s Opening Letters
The novel opens with Robert Walton’s letters to his sister Margaret Saville. Walton is a sea captain and a failed poet. He is traveling to the North Pole in pursuit of glory and has high hopes for geographical and scientific discoveries. On his journey, he spots what looks like a giant rushing by on a sledge; soon after, his ship passes an emaciated and frozen man floating on a slice of ice. The crew rescues the stranger, who reveals himself to be Victor Frankenstein. Walton is impressed with his wisdom and cultivation; they talk and Walton states that he would sacrifice his own life for the sake of a greater good, and for lasting glory. Frankenstein then launches into his own story as a warning of the dangers of such a life philosophy.
Part 2: Frankenstein’s Story
Frankenstein begins his tale with his happy upbringing in Geneva. His mother, Caroline Beaufort, is the daughter of a merchant and marries the older, reputable Alphonse Frankenstein. She is graceful and affectionate, and young Frankenstein has a wonderful childhood. He loves reading about the secrets of heaven and earth—natural philosophy, alchemy and the philosopher’s stone. He seeks glory and wishes to uncover the mystery of life. His close childhood friend, Henry Clerval, is his opposite; Clerval is curious about the moral relations of things, and is fascinated by tales of virtue and chivalry.
Frankenstein’s parents adopt Elizabeth Lavenza, an orphaned child of Milanese nobility. Frankenstein and Elizabeth call each other cousin and are brought up together under the care of Justine Moritz, another orphan who serves as their nanny. Frankenstein praises Elizabeth much as he does his mother, describing her as saintly, and admiring her grace and beauty.
Frankenstein’s mother dies of scarlet fever before he leaves for the University of Ingolstadt. In a state of heavy grief, he throws himself into his studies. He learns about chemistry and modern scientific theories. Eventually he discovers the cause of life—and he becomes capable of animating matter. He works in a feverish excitement to build a being in the likeness of a man, but proportionally larger. His dreams of beauty and fame are crushed when his finished creation is, in fact, monstrous and completely repulsive. Disgusted with what he has created, Frankenstein runs out of his house and happens upon Clerval, who has come to the University as a fellow student. They return to Frankenstein’s place, but the creature has escaped. Utterly overwhelmed, Victor falls into an intense sickness. Clerval nurses him back to health.
Frankenstein eventually decides to travel home to Geneva once he recovers. He receives a letter from his father, which relays the tragedy that his younger brother, William, was murdered. Frankenstein and Henry return home, and upon reaching Geneva, Frankenstein goes for a walk to see for himself the place where William was killed. On his walk, he spies the gigantic creature in the distance. He realizes that the creature is responsible for the murder, but he is unable to prove his theory. Justine, who was framed by the monster, is convicted and hanged. Frankenstein is heartbroken. He turns to nature for isolation and perspective, and to forget his human problems. Out in the wilderness, the monster seeks him out to talk.
Part 3: The Creature’s Tale
The creature takes over the novel’s narrative and tells Frankenstein his life story. Soon after his birth, he realizes that all people are terrified of him and hateful towards him solely because of his appearance. Chased away by villagers throwing stones, he runs to the wilderness where he can hide from civilization. He finds a place to call home close by a cottage. A family of peasants lives there peacefully. The creature observes them daily and grows very fond of them. His empathy for humankind expands and he longs to join them. When they are sad, he is sad, and when they are happy, he is happy. He learns to speak through observation, and calls them by their names: Mr. De Lacey, his son Felix, his daughter Agatha, and Safie, Felix’s love and the daughter of a ruined Turkish merchant.
The creature teaches himself to read. With literature, he displays a human consciousness, facing the existential questions of who and what he is. He discovers his ugliness, and manages to disturb himself deeply when he spies his own reflection in a pool of water. But the monster still wants to make his presence known to the De Lacey family. He talks with the blind father until the other peasants come home and are terrified. They drive the creature away; he then journeys to Frankenstein’s home, and happens upon William in the wood. He wishes to befriend the boy, believing his youth would make him less prejudiced, but William is just as disgusted and fearful as anyone else. In a rage the monster strangles him and frames Justine for the murder.
After completing his story, the creature asks Frankenstein to create a female companion with similar deformities. The creature has come to terms with the fact that he won’t be able to have any relationships with humans. He believes his malicious acts are a result of his isolation and rejection. He gives Frankenstein an ultimatum: the master will either deliver a creature companion or all he holds dear will be destroyed.
Part 4: Frankenstein’s Conclusion
Frankenstein again picks up the narrative. He and Elizabeth make their mutual love known. Frankenstein then travels to England with Henry, so that he can finish his engagement with the monster away from his family and friends before he marries Elizabeth. They travel together for some time, and then separate in Scotland; Frankenstein begins his work there. He believes the creature is stalking him and is plagued by what he promised to do, as he is convinced that creating a female creature would lead to a “race of devils.” Ultimately, he fails to deliver his promise, despite the creature confronting him. The creature threatens that he will be with Frankenstein on his wedding night, but Frankenstein will not create another monster.
He journeys on to Ireland and is immediately imprisoned. The creature has strangled Clerval, and Frankenstein is believed to be the suspect. In jail, he becomes deathly ill for several months. His father comes to his rescue, and when the grand jury validates the proof that Frankenstein was on the Orkney Islands when Clerval was killed, he is liberated. He and his father travel home. He marries Elizabeth and prepares to battle the creature, remembering the monster’s threat. But while he is readying himself, the monster strangles Elizabeth to death. The creature escapes into the night, and shortly afterwards, Frankenstein’s father dies as well. Frankenstein is devastated, and he vows to find the creature and destroy him. He follows the monster up to the North Pole, where he comes across Walton’s expedition, and thus rejoins his narrative to the present.
Part 5: Walton’s Concluding Letters
Captain Walton ends the story as he began it. Walton’s ship is trapped in the ice, resulting in the deaths of some of his crewmen. He fears mutiny; many want him to turn southward as soon as the ship is free. He debates whether or not to forge ahead or turn back. Frankenstein urges him to move forward with his journey and tells him that glory comes at the price of sacrifice. Walton ultimately turns the ship around to return home, and Frankenstein passes away. The monster then appears to find his creator dead. He tells Walton of his plan to go as far north as possible and die so that the whole sordid affair can finally end.
Significance of Study
Elizabeth’s death in Frankenstein is one of the most significant moments that heavily affects Victor’s development. She was an orphan child accepted by the family. The scientist later falls in love with Elizabeth, and they decide to strengthen their bonds through marriage. It shall be noted that she was a critical source of information throughout the story because she sent letters to Victor. During their honeymoon, the couple resides in a room where they express their affections towards each other. When Victor decides to leave the room for some time, she remains alone. At this moment, the monster enters the scene and finds the victim. He strangles the young lady to death. Later, Victor describes: “The murderous mark of the fiend’s grasp was on her neck, and the breath had ceased to issue from her lips.” In other words, the monster squeezed her neck tight, which led to suffocation. It becomes a turning point for Victor. He gets furious at his creation because his love for Elizabeth is irreplaceable.
Elizabeth Lavenza
The orphaned daughter of an Italian aristocrat who had fallen into poverty, Elizabeth was adopted at the age of four into the Frankenstein family. Her lifelong connection to Victor seems to have been assumed from the beginning. But what is that connection, truly? And who is the real Elizabeth Lavenza?
‘I have a pretty present for my Victor–tomorrow he shall have it.’ And when, on the morrow, she presented Elizabeth to me as her promised gift, I, with childish seriousness, interpreted her words literally and looked upon Elizabeth as mine–mine to protect, love, and cherish.’
Victor is promised his ‘present’ by his mother on the night before Elizabeth joins the Frankenstein family, but the possessiveness that Victor demonstrates from the beginning is common and expected.
Women in late 18th century Europe had few legal rights: they could not vote or own property, had few rights in marriage and even fewer in divorce, and were extremely limited in regard to education and employment. They were, for all intents and purposes, the possessions of the men in their lives.
The premise of the femme couvert, or ‘covered woman’, guided most gender relationships at this time. The patriarch, or male head of the household, was to provide for, protect, and ‘cover’ the women in his life, especially his wives and daughters.
Elizabeth seems to fit this mold perfectly. She comes into Victor’s household poor and vulnerable, in need of healing and protection. She enables the Frankenstein family to demonstrate their moral virtue (not to mention their economic superiority in taking in the now-destitute daughter of an aristocrat).
Elizabeth becomes for Victor the means to demonstrate his own status as future patriarch. He learns through his relationship with Elizabeth how to take care of his own femme couvert.
‘The saintly soul of Elizabeth shone like a shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home. Her sympathy was ours; her smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of her celestial eyes were ever there to bless and animate us. She was the living spirit of love to soften and attract.’
In the 18th and 19th centuries the separate spheres theory held that each gender has a unique and God-given domain: the man’s sphere was the public sphere of work, politics, and money-making; the woman’s sphere was the private sphere of the home, of caring for her husband and children.
Elizabeth here is already fulfilling such a role: though as yet unmarried and childless, she is nevertheless the moral center of the Frankenstein home and of Victor’s life. Her loving influence, selflessness, and nurturing spirit form the spiritual heart of the Frankenstein family. She is as angelic as the gender norms, or gender roles and requirements, of her era demand.
Chapter 23 : Literature Sample
It was eight o’clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the shore, enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn and contemplated the lovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured in darkness, yet still displaying their black outlines.
The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence in the west. The moon had reached her summit in the heavens and was beginning to descend; the clouds swept across it swifter than the flight of the vulture and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the scene of the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves that were beginning to rise. Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended.
I had been calm during the day, but so soon as night obscured the shapes of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind. I was anxious and watchful, while my right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in my bosom; every sound terrified me, but I resolved that I would sell my life dearly and not shrink from the conflict until my own life or that of my adversary was extinguished.
Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful silence, but there was something in my glance which communicated terror to her, and trembling, she asked, “What is it that agitates you, my dear Victor? What is it you fear?”
“Oh! Peace, peace, my love,” replied I; “this night, and all will be safe; but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.”
I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how fearful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife, and I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her until I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.
She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages of the house and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to my adversary. But I discovered no trace of him and was beginning to conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the execution of his menaces when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful scream. It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired. As I heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood trickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed into the room.
Great God! Why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the destruction of the best hope and the purest creature on earth? She was there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair. Everywhere I turn I see the same figure—her bloodless arms and relaxed form flung by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this and live? Alas! Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated. For a moment only did I lose recollection; I fell senseless on the ground.
When I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn; their countenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of others appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me. I escaped from them to the room where lay the body of Elizabeth, my love, my wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy. She had been moved from the posture in which I had first beheld her, and now, as she lay, her head upon her arm and a handkerchief thrown across her face and neck, I might have supposed her asleep. I rushed towards her and embraced her with ardour, but the deadly languor and coldness of the limbs told me that what I now held in my arms had ceased to be the Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished. The murderous mark of the fiend’s grasp was on her neck, and the breath had ceased to issue from her lips.
While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look up. The windows of the room had before been darkened, and I felt a kind of panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber. The shutters had been thrown back, and with a sensation of horror not to be described, I saw at the open window a figure the most hideous and abhorred. A grin was on the face of the monster; he seemed to jeer, as with his fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards the window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me, leaped from his station, and running with the swiftness of lightning, plunged into the lake.
The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to the spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with boats; nets were cast, but in vain. After passing several hours, we returned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a form conjured up by my fancy. After having landed, they proceeded to search the country, parties going in different directions among the woods and vines.
I attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the house, but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever. In this state I was carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had happened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that I had lost.
After an interval I arose, and as if by instinct, crawled into the room where the corpse of my beloved lay. There were women weeping around; I hung over it and joined my sad tears to theirs; all this time no distinct idea presented itself to my mind, but my thoughts rambled to various subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes and their cause. I was bewildered, in a cloud of wonder and horror. The death of William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly of my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining friends were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now might be writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his feet. This idea made me shudder and recalled me to action. I started up and resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed.
There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but the wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents. However, it was hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired men to row and took an oar myself, for I had always experienced relief from mental torment in bodily exercise. But the overflowing misery I now felt, and the excess of agitation that I endured rendered me incapable of any exertion. I threw down the oar, and leaning my head upon my hands, gave way to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up, I saw scenes which were familiar to me in my happier time and which I had contemplated but the day before in the company of her who was now but a shadow and a recollection. Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain had ceased for a moment, and I saw the fish play in the waters as they had done a few hours before; they had then been observed by Elizabeth. Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change. The sun might shine or the clouds might lower, but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before. A fiend had snatched from me every hope of future happiness; no creature had ever been so miserable as I was; so frightful an event is single in the history of man.
But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last overwhelming event? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached their acme, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left desolate. My own strength is exhausted, and I must tell, in a few words, what remains of my hideous narration.
I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived, but the former sunk under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable old man! His eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their delight—his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doted on with all that affection which a man feels, who in the decline of life, having few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs and doomed him to waste in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors that were accumulated around him; the springs of existence suddenly gave way; he was unable to rise from his bed, and in a few days he died in my arms.
What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes, indeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and found myself in a dungeon. Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear conception of my miseries and situation and was then released from my prison. For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation.
Liberty, however, had been a useless gift to me, had I not, as I awakened to reason, at the same time awakened to revenge. As the memory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect on their cause—the monster whom I had created, the miserable dæmon whom I had sent abroad into the world for my destruction. I was possessed by a maddening rage when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed that I might have him within my grasp to wreak a great and signal revenge on his cursed head.
Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to reflect on the best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about a month after my release, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town and told him that I had an accusation to make, that I knew the destroyer of my family, and that I required him to exert his whole authority for the apprehension of the murderer.
The magistrate listened to me with attention and kindness. “Be assured, sir,” said he, “no pains or exertions on my part shall be spared to discover the villain.”
“I thank you,” replied I; “listen, therefore, to the deposition that I have to make. It is indeed a tale so strange that I should fear you would not credit it were there not something in truth which, however wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to be mistaken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood.” My manner as I thus addressed him was impressive but calm; I had formed in my own heart a resolution to pursue my destroyer to death, and this purpose quieted my agony and for an interval reconciled me to life. I now related my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the dates with accuracy and never deviating into invective or exclamation.
The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I continued he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes shudder with horror; at others a lively surprise, unmingled with disbelief, was painted on his countenance.
When I had concluded my narration, I said, “This is the being whom I accuse and for whose seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those functions on this occasion.”
This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my own auditor. He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is given to a tale of spirits and supernatural events; but when he was called upon to act officially in consequence, the whole tide of his incredulity returned. He, however, answered mildly, “I would willingly afford you every aid in your pursuit, but the creature of whom you speak appears to have powers which would put all my exertions to defiance. Who can follow an animal which can traverse the sea of ice and inhabit caves and dens where no man would venture to intrude? Besides, some months have elapsed since the commission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to what place he has wandered or what region he may now inhabit.”
“I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit, and if he has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts; you do not credit my narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the punishment which is his desert.”
As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated. “You are mistaken,” said he. “I will exert myself, and if it is in my power to seize the monster, be assured that he shall suffer punishment proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have yourself described to be his properties, that this will prove impracticable; and thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should make up your mind to disappointment.”
“That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned loose upon society, still exists. You refuse my just demand; I have but one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to his destruction.”
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I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed. But to a Genevan magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of madness. He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child and reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium.
“Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say.”
I broke from the house angry and disturbed and retired to meditate on some other mode of action.