Core Classics A bridged for Y oung R eaders

Frankenstein
by M ary S helley
Frankenstaein Cover FINAL.indd 1 8/31/22 10:30 AM
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 Frankenstein
or, the Modern Prometheus
by
Mary Shelley
ii

CORE CLASSICS ®

editor for this volume

Matthew M. Davis

isbn 979-8-88970-996-1
copyright © 2022 core knowledge foundation
all rights reserved

CORE KNOWLEDGE FOUNDATION

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ww w . co r ek no w l edg e. o r g
 TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction 1
Letter One 9
Letter Two 12
Letter Three 14
Letter Four 16
Chapter 1 24
Chapter 2 29
Chapter 3 38
Chapter 4 50
Chapter 5 57
Chapter 6 69
Chapter 7 76
Chapter 8 89
Chapter 9 103
Chapter 10 112
Chapter 11 122
Chapter 12 137
Chapter 13 147
Chapter 14 157
Chapter 15 166
Chapter 16 177
Chapter 17 189
Chapter 18 196
Chapter 19 203
Chapter 20 211
Chapter 21 223
Chapter 22 240
Chapter 23 254
Chapter 24 265
About Author 301
 INTRODUCTION
1831 EDITION
In selecting Frankenstein for publication, my
publisher expressed a wish that I would give some
account of the origin of the story. I am the more
willing to do so, because in this way I shall also
give a general answer to the question, so frequently
asked me—how was it that I, then a young girl, came
to think of, and to expand upon, so very hideous an idea?
It is not surprising that, as the daughter of two
distinguished writers, William Godwin and Mary
Wollstonecraft, I should very early in life have
thought of writing. As a child I scribbled, and my
favorite pastime, in my free time, was to “write
stories.” Writing was a great pleasure to me, but an
even greater pleasure was the formation of “castles
in the air.” I loved to indulge myself in daydreams.
I spent many hours following out trains of thought
and working out imaginary incidents. My dreams
were more fantastic and more agreeable than my
writings. In the latter I was a close imitator—

William Godwin: a radical philosopher and novelist, 1756-1836

Mary Woolstonecraft: an early feminist and political writer,
1759-1797, author of A Vindication of the Rights of Men (1790)
and A Vindication of the Rights of Women (1792).
2 Frankenstein

seeking to do things others had done rather than

putting down the suggestions of my own mind.
What I wrote was intended at least for one other
reader—my childhood companion and friend, but
my dreams were all my own. I accounted for them
to nobody; they were my retreat when annoyed
and my greatest pleasure when free.
I lived mostly in the country as a girl, and
I spent a good deal of time in Scotland. I made
occasional visits to the more picturesque parts, but
my usual residence was on the blank and dreary
northern shores of the Tay, near Dundee. Blank
and dreary I call them now, but they were not so
to me then. They were a shelter for freedom and
the pleasant region where I could connect with the
creatures of my imagination. I wrote then—but
in a most commonplace style. It was beneath the
trees of the grounds belonging to our house, or on
the bleak sides of the woodless mountains nearby,
that my true compositions, the airy flights of my
imagination, were born and fostered. I did not
make myself the heroine of my tales. My own life
seemed too ordinary to make a good story. I did
not think that I would ever experience romantic
worries or wonderful events, but I was not confined
to my own identity, and I could fill the hours with
creations far more interesting to me, at that age,
I ntrodu c tion 3

than my own sensations.

After this my life became busier, and reality
tended to displace fiction. My husband, Percy
Bysshe Shelley, however, was from the first, very
anxious that I should prove myself worthy of my
literary parentage and achieve some fame as a
writer. But for a long time I did nothing. I was
busy travelling and taking care of a family. I did
spend many hours improving my mind by reading
and discussing things with my husband, but I
accomplished very little with my pen.
In the summer of 1816, we visited Switzerland,
where we were neighbors of Lord Byron. At first
we spent many pleasant hours on Lake Geneva,
or wandering on its shores. Lord Byron, who was
writing the third canto of Child Harold’s Pilgrimage,
was the only one among us who put his thoughts
upon paper. We had the pleasure of reading his
verses as he wrote them.
Percy Bysshe Shelley: English Romantic poet, 1792-1822, noted
for his radicalism. Some lines from his poetry are included in
the novel that follows.
Lord Byron: English Romantic poet, 1788-1824, very popular
and quite scandalous – so much so that he was forced to leave
England and lived most of his adult life in Europe.
Child Harold’s Pilgrimage: a mostly autobiographical poem; the
first two cantos (parts) made Byron famous; later cantos added
to his celebrity.
4 Frankenstein

Unfortunately, it turned out to be a wet,

unpleasant summer, and rainstorms often confined
us to the house for several days at a time. Some
volumes of ghost stories fell into our hands. There
was the tale of the Inconstant Lover, who, when he
went to embrace his lover, found himself instead
in the arms of the pale ghost of her whom he had
deserted. There was the tale of the sinful founder
of his race, whose miserable fate it was to give the
kiss of death to all the younger sons of his fated
house, just when they reached the age of promise.
Eternal sorrow sat upon his face as he bent down
and kissed the forehead of the boys, who from that
hour withered like flowers snapped from the stem.
I have not seen these stories since then, but their
events are as fresh in my mind as if I had read them
yesterday.
“We will each write a ghost story,” said Lord
Byron, and his proposal was accepted. There were
four of us. Byron began a tale, a fragment of which
he printed at the end of his poem, Mazeppa. My
husband began a story based on the experiences
of his early life. Our friend John William Polidori
wrote a story about a vampire.

Polidori’s story, The Vampyre, published in 1819, was the first

vampire tale published in England.
I ntrodu c tion 5

I tried to think of a story. I wanted to come up

with a story that would speak to the mysterious
fears of our nature and awaken thrilling horror—
one that would make the reader dread to look round,
one that would curdle the blood and quicken the
beatings of the heart. If I did not accomplish these
things, I felt, my ghost story would be unworthy
of its name. I thought and pondered—but in vain.
For a long time I could think of nothing. Have you
thought of a story? I was asked each morning, and
each morning I was forced to admit that I had not.
Everything must have a beginning, and that
beginning must be linked to something that went
before. Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does
not consist in making something out of nothing, but
in making something out of chaos; the materials
must, in the first place, be offered: Invention
can give form to dark, shapeless substances, but
it cannot bring the substance itself into being.
Invention works by taking hold of a subject and
then developing the ideas suggested by the subject.
My husband and Lord Byron had many long
conversations. I listened to these attentively but
rarely added anything. During one of these, various
philosophical ideas were discussed, especially the
concepts of life and vital energy. The two poets
6 Frankenstein

spoke at length about whether the basic principles

of life might ever be discovered and communicated.
After listening to this conversation, I went to
bed. When I placed my head on my pillow, I did not
sleep, nor could I be said to think. My imagination
took over. I saw a series of images in my mind. These
images were more vivid than any dream. I saw—
with shut eyes, but acute mental vision,—I saw the
pale student kneeling beside the thing he had put
together. I saw the hideous body—first stretched
out, then showing signs of life. That would have to
be be a frightful vision—for any human attempt to
imitate the stupendous work of the Creator of this
world must be a frightful thing. I sensed that the
artist would be terrified; he would rush away from
his terrible handywork, horror-stricken. He would
hope that, left to itself, the slight spark of life which
he had communicated would fade; that this thing,
which had received such imperfect animation,
would sink back down into dead matter; and he
might sleep in the belief that the silence of the
grave would quench forever the brief existence of
the hideous corpse which he had looked upon as
the cradle of life. He sleeps, but he is awakened; he
opens his eyes and what does he see? The horrid
thing stands at his bedside, opening his curtains,
and looking on him with yellow, watery eyes.
I ntrodu c tion 7

I opened my own eyes in terror. The idea had

taken possession of my mind, and a thrill of fear
ran through me. I wished to exchange the ghastly
image of my imagination for the realities around
me. I see them still: the room, the dark parquet floor,
the closed shutters, with the moonlight struggling
through, and the sense I had that the glassy lake
and white high Alps were out there, beyond the
window. I could not so easily get rid of my hideous
idea; it continued to haunt me. I told myself I must
try to think of something else. I turned my thoughts
back to the ghost story I was trying to write—my
tiresome, unlucky ghost story! Oh! If I could only
create a story that would frighten my reader as I
myself had been frightened that night!
Then the idea came to me all of a sudden. “I
have found it!” I called out. “What terrified me
will terrify others; and I need only describe the
characters who haunted my midnight pillow.” On
the morrow I announced that I had thought of a
story. I began that day with the words, It was on a
dreary night of November, and I presented an outline
of the grim terrors of my waking dream.
At first I thought it would only be a short
story, but my husband urged me to develop the
idea at greater length. He did not provide me with
the ideas for the story, but he did encourage me as
8 Frankenstein

I worked on it.
So now I must bid my hideous offspring go
forth and prosper. I have an affection for it, for it
was the offspring of happy days, when death and
grief were but words, which found no true echo in
my heart. Its several pages speak of many a walk,
many a drive, and many a conversation, when I
was not alone— and my companion was one who,
in this world, I shall never see more. But this is for
myself; my readers have nothing to do with these
associations.
I will add but one word as to the changes I have
made in this edition. They are principally matters
of style. I have changed no portion of the story, nor
introduced any new ideas or circumstances. I have
mended the language here and there, but I have
left the core and substance of the story untouched.
M.W.S.
 LETTER 1

To Mrs. Saville, England.

St. Petersburg, Russia, December 11th, 17—.
Dearest sister,
I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is
to assure you that I am in good health and more
and more confident that I will succeed in my
undertaking.
As I walk the streets of St. Petersburg, I feel
a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks. This
fills me with delight, for I know this breeze has
travelled from the polar regions towards which I
am advancing. It gives me a delicious foretaste of
those icy regions. Inspired by this wind of promise,
my daydreams become more fervent and vivid.
At the pole, Margaret, the sun is always
visible. Its broad disk never disappears—not even
at night. It just skirts the horizon and gives light all
night long. What may not be expected in a country
of eternal light? And what may I not achieve by
fervent: passionate, burning
vivid: realistic, clear, intense
eternal: never-ending (In the summer the sun never quite sets in
the far north.)
10 Frankenstein

sailing there? I may discover the amazing power

that attracts the compass needle! Or perhaps I
shall discover a shorter passage to the East!
I am so curious. I must see this unknown land.
I am not afraid at all. On the contrary, I feel my
heart glow with enthusiasm. As you know, I have
been planning this expedition for many years. As
a boy I read the accounts of famous explorers and
longed to make a voyage to the north. As a young
man I trained my body to withstand hardship by
serving on a whaling ship in the northern seas. I
suffered through cold, famine, thirst, and lack of
sleep. I often worked harder than the other sailors
during the day. Then I spent my nights studying
mathematics, medicine, and other branches of
science likely to be useful to a naval adventurer
like myself.
Now I am about to embark on a long and
difficult voyage. It will demand all my courage and
strength.
In a few weeks I will travel the post-road from

shorter passage: westward-sailing European explorers like

Columbus, Cabot, and Hudson were searching for a more
direct route to the East Indies.
enthusiasm: energetic excitement
famine: life-threatening lack of food
L et te rs 11

St. Petersburg to Archangel. This is the best time

to travel in Russia. The Russians fly quickly over
the snow in their sledges. The gliding motion is
pleasant, and, in my opinion, it is far more pleasant
than traveling in an English stagecoach. The cold
is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs.
I expect to depart for Archangel in two or
three weeks. My plan is to hire a ship there. Then
I will hire some sturdy sailors who have worked
on whalers. I do not intend to sail until June. I
know not when I will return. It will not be for
many months.
Farewell, my dear Margaret.
Your affectionate brother,
Robert Walton

Archangel: Russian port city in the far north

sledges: sleds for traveling on snow and ice
12 Frankenstein

LETTER 2

To Mrs. Saville, England.

Archangel, 28th March, 17—.
Dearest sister,
I have taken another step towards my
enterprise. I have hired a ship and am now
occupied in collecting my sailors. Those whom I
have already engaged appear to be men on whom
I can depend and are certainly possessed of great
courage. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man
of wonderful courage and enterprise. He is an
Englishman I know from my days on the whaling
ships. The master is also a fine fellow. He is a
person of an excellent character and is remarkable
for the mildness of his discipline. This circumstance
made me very desirous to engage him. I dislike
the cruelty employed on many ships. I have never
believed it to be necessary, and when I heard of a
sailor equally noted for his kindliness of heart and
the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew,
I felt myself peculiarly fortunate in being able to
secure his services.

enterprise: project, mission

L et te rs 13

There is one want which I have not been able

to satisfy. I mean the want of a true friend. I have
hired many men, but I have not found a man who
can fully sympathize with me. I have no one near
me, gentle yet courageous, possessed of a cultivated
as well as of a capacious mind, whose tastes are like
my own, to either approve or improve my plans.
Well, it is useless to complain. I am unlikely to find
such a friend here in Archangel, among merchants
and seamen, or upon the icy seas.
Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little,
that I am wavering in my resolutions. I am only
waiting until the weather allows me to sail. The
winter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring
promises well. I am eager to begin my explorations,
eager to sail to “the land of mist and snow.”
Continue for the present to write to me at
every opportunity. I may receive your letters on
some occasions when I need them most to support
my spirits. I love you very tenderly. Remember
me with affection, should you never hear from me
again.

Your affectionate brother,

Robert Walton
capacious: large
14 Frankenstein

LETTER 3

To Mrs. Saville, England.

July 7th, 17—.
My dear sister,
I write a few lines in haste to say that I am
safe—and well advanced on my voyage. This
letter will reach England by a merchant ship on its
homeward voyage from Archangel.
I am in good spirits: my men are bold and
apparently firm of purpose. The floating sheets
of ice that continually pass us do not appear to
worry them. We have already reached a very high
latitude, and the winds blow us speedily towards
those shores which I so desire to reach. Nothing
bad has happened to us so far.
Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured that
for my own sake, as well as yours, I will not rashly
encounter danger. I will be calm and careful—but I
will persevere, and I feel that I will succeed. What can
stop the determined heart and resolved will of man?
I must finish this letter. Heaven bless you!
R.W.
homeward voyage: return trip
Adieu: goodbye (in French)
persevere: stick to the task
L et te rs 15

“The floating sheets of ice that continually pass us do not

appear to worry them.”
16 Frankenstein

LETTER 4

To Mrs. Saville, England.

August 5th, 17—.
My dearest sister,
A strange accident has happened to us. Last
Monday (July 31st) we were nearly surrounded
by ice. It had closed in on us on all sides. The
situation was somewhat dangerous, especially as
we were also surrounded by a very thick fog.
About two o’clock the fog cleared away, and
we saw vast and irregular plains of ice. They
stretched out in every direction and seemed to
have no end. Some of my sailors groaned, and my
own mind began to grow watchful with anxious
thoughts. Then a strange sight suddenly attracted
our attention. We spotted a sledge pulled by dogs.
It passed along the ice to the north, at the distance
of half a mile. It was guided by a being shaped like
a man, but seemingly of gigantic size. We watched
this strange being with our telescopes until he rode
out of sight.
This sighting astonished us. Here we are—
hundreds of miles from any land – and yet there is
some enormous being driving a sledge!
L et te rs 17

Later that day the ice broke and freed our

ship. We decided we would raise our sails in the
morning.
In the morning, as soon as it was light, I went
up on deck and found all the sailors on one side of
the vessel. They seemed to be talking to someone
in the sea. Looking down, I saw a sledge, like that
we had seen before, on a large fragment of ice.
Only one dog remained to pull it, but there was a
human being piloting it. My sailors were trying to
persuade the man to come aboard.
The stranger addressed us in excellent English,
although with a foreign accent. “Before I come on
board your vessel,” he said, “will you tell me where
you are heading?”
I explained that we were on a voyage of
discovery towards the north pole.
Upon hearing this the man appeared satisfied
and agreed to come on board. Good God, Margaret!
What a condition he was in! His limbs were nearly
frozen. His body was dreadfully emaciated by
fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in such
wretched condition. We attempted to carry him
into my cabin, but he fainted. We rubbed him

emaciated: thinned out, made skinny

18 Frankenstein

“Looking down, i saw a sledge . . . on a large fragment of ice.”

L et te rs 19

with brandy and forced him to swallow some. As

soon as he showed signs of life we wrapped him
up in blankets and placed him near the chimney of
the kitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered.
Eventually he ate a little soup, which restored him
wonderfully.
Two days passed before he was able to speak.
When he had in some measure recovered, I spoke
with him. I never met a more interesting creature.
His eyes have an expression of wildness, perhaps
even madness, and yet, if anyone performs an
act of kindness towards him or does him the
most trifling service, his whole face lights up
with a sweetness I never saw equaled. But this
look I rarely see. Generally he is melancholy and
despairing. Sometimes he even grinds his teeth, as
if his troubles are crushing him.
My lieutenant asked him why he had come so
far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle. He frowned
and replied, “To seek one who fled from me.”
“And did the man whom you followed travel in
the same fashion?”
“Yes.”

trifling: small, tiny

melancholy: depressed, discouraged, gloomy
20 Frankenstein

“Then I fancy we have seen him, for the

day before we picked you up we saw some dogs
drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice.”
This aroused the stranger’s attention. He
began asking us questions. Which way had the other
sledge gone? Was it destroyed when the ice broke up?
I told him that I could not answer with certainty.
The ice had not broken up until midnight, and the
traveler might have found his way to some safe
place before it did.
The man wanted to go up on deck to look for
the other sledge, but I persuaded him to remain in
the cabin. I have promised that we will watch out
for the sledge.
The stranger is beginning to recover, and I
have grown fond of him. His constant and deep
grief fills me with pity and concern.
I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret,
that I did not expect to find a friend on the wide
ocean, and yet I have found a man who, before his
spirit was broken by such unhappiness, might have
been a brother of my heart.
I shall continue to keep a journal concerning
this stranger, writing in it now and then if I have
any fresh incidents to record.
L et te rs 21

August 13th, 17—.

My affection for our guest increases every day.
He excites at once my admiration and my pity. How
can I see such a man destroyed by misery without
feeling grief? He is gentle yet wise. His mind is
cultivated, and he speaks with great eloquence.
He has now largely recovered from his illness.
He is continually on the deck, watching for the
sledge that preceded his own. However, he also
finds time to talk with me.
A few days ago I gave him a detailed description
of my plan to explore the pole and achieve great
victories for science. As I spoke, a frown spread
over his face. When I finished, he said, “Unhappy
man! I fear that you share my madness! I fear that
you have drunk from the same intoxicating cup!
Hear my story—let me tell my tale! Then you will
dash the cup from your lips!”
Such words, you may imagine, strongly
excited my curiosity. Unfortunately, the grief that
had seized the stranger left him weakened and he
said no more to me that day.
The next day he asked me about my early
years. I told him about my childhood. I spoke also

cultivated: educated, refined

eloquence: persuasiveness
22 Frankenstein

of my loneliness and my desire of finding a friend. I

expressed my belief that a man could boast of little
happiness who did not enjoy this blessing.
“I agree with you,” he replied. “Without friends
we are unfinished creatures. I once had a friend—
the most noble of human creatures—but he was
taken from me. You at least have hope. You have
the world before you. But I, I have lost everything.
I cannot begin life anew.”
His grief touched me. I longed to hear more,
but he was silent and presently went back to his
cabin.
August 19th, 17—.
Yesterday the stranger said to me, “You may
easily perceive, Captain, that I have suffered great
misfortunes. I had determined at one time that
the memory of these evils should die with me,
but you have convinced me otherwise. You seek
for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did. I hope
that the gratification of your wishes may not be a
serpent to sting you, as mine has been. I do not
know if a description of my disasters will be useful
to you, but I know this: you are pursuing the same

begin . . . anew: start over

misfortunes: accidents
gratification: satisfying
L et te rs 23

course and exposing yourself to the same dangers

that have made me what I am. Perhaps you may be
able to deduce an apt moral from my tale.
I told him I was eager to hear his tale. I said,
also, that I would do whatever I could to improve
his own situation.
“I thank you,” he replied, “for your sympathy.
Unfortunately, it can do me no good. My destiny is
nearly fulfilled. I wait only for one event, and then
I shall rest in peace.”
He then told me that he would begin his
narrative the next day when I happened to be free.
I have resolved to write down what he tells me
every night and will try to record it as nearly as
possible in his own words.

moral: lesson
destiny: fate, certain end
narrative: story
 CHAPTER 1

I
was born and raised in Geneva, where my
father was a distinguished citizen. He was
respected by all who knew him for his
integrity and unfailing attention to public
business. He was so busy with his duties that he did
not become a husband and father until late in life.
As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate
his character, I cannot refrain from relating them.
One of his closest friends was a merchant who fell,
through numerous unfortunate events into poverty.
This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a proud
and unbending disposition. He could not bear to live
in poverty and oblivion in the same country where
he had formerly been distinguished for his rank
and magnificence. He retreated, therefore, with his
daughter, to Lucerne. There he lived, unknown and
in wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort. He was
deeply saddened by his friend’s situation. He went
to seek him out, in hope of persuading him to begin
the world again through his assistance.
refrain: keep myself
unbending: stiff, unwilling to change his mind
oblivion: the condition of being forgotten
C hap te r 1 25

Ten months passed before my father discovered

where he lived. He found his old friend sunk in his
grief, lying in bed, incapable of any activity.
Beaufort’s daughter attended him with great
tenderness, but she saw that their funds were
rapidly decreasing. They had no other prospect of
support, but Caroline Beaufort was brave, and her
courage rose to support them in their adversity. She
took menial jobs and managed to earn enough to
keep the two of them alive.
Unfortunately, her father grew worse. In a
matter of months he died in his daughter’s arms.
Caroline was left an orphan. My father came to
the poor girl like a guardian angel. He determined
to take care of her. He brought her to Geneva and
placed her under the protection of a relative. Two
years after this event Caroline became his wife.
There was a considerable difference between
the ages of my parents, but this circumstance
seemed only to unite them. My father was very
attached to my mother. He tried to shelter her, as
a fair exotic is sheltered by the gardener from the

menial jobs: servant’s jobs

fair exotic: a beautiful, foreign plant
26 Frankenstein

rougher winds. He sought to surround her with all

that could excite pleasurable emotion in her soft
and benevolent mind. Her health, and even the
tranquility of her spirit, had been shaken by what
she had gone through. During the two years before
their marriage my father had gradually given up
all of his public functions. Immediately after their
marriage, the two of them sought the pleasant
climate of Italy. My father hoped that the climate
there would restore my mother’s health.
From Italy they visited Germany and France.
I, their eldest child, was born in Naples, and as
an infant accompanied them in their travels. They
were affectionate parents to me. My mother’s tender
caresses and my father’s smile of benevolent pleasure
while regarding me are my first recollections.
For a long time I was their only care. However,
this changed when I was five years old. My parents
were passing a week on the shores of Lake Como.
Their benevolent disposition often made them enter
the cottages of the poor. This, to my mother, was
more than a duty; it was a necessity, a passion. She
benevolent: kind, generous
tranquility: calmness
C hap te r 1 27

remembered what she had suffered—and how she

had been relieved. She wanted to assist others who
were struggling in life.
One day my mother and I visited the cottage of
a peasant and his wife. These poor people were bent
down by care and labor. They could scarcely feed
their five hungry babes. Among these there was one
which attracted my mother far above all the rest. She
appeared of a different stock. The four others were
dark-eyed, hardy little vagrants. This child was thin
and very fair. Her hair was the brightest gold. Her
blue eyes were cloudless. She seemed a being heaven-
sent, with a celestial stamp on all her features.
The peasant woman, seeing my mother looking
with wonder and admiration on this lovely girl,
eagerly communicated her history. She was not her
own child. She was the daughter of a nobleman
from Milan. Her mother was a German, and she had
died giving birth. The infant had been placed with
these good people to nurse. She had bloomed in
their rude dwelling, fairer than a garden rose among
dark-leaved brambles.
celestial: heavenly
brambles: prickly shrubs
28 Frankenstein

When my father returned from his trip, he

found me playing in the hall of our country home
with this child. My mother got his permission and
convinced the girl’s guardians to let the girl come
and live with us. They were fond of the sweet
orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing to
them, but they could scarcely feed their other
children. They consulted their village priest, and the
result was that Elizabeth Lavenza joined our family.
She became my sister—my more than sister. She
became the beautiful and adored companion of all
my occupations and pleasures.
Everyone loved Elizabeth. I not only loved her
but also looked up to her. On the evening previous
to her being brought to my home, my mother had
said playfully, “I have a present for you, Victor.
Tomorrow you shall have it.” On the next day, 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. We called each other
“cousin,” but she was my beloved sister.
 CHAPTER 2

Elizabeth and I were brought up together.

There was not quite a year difference in our ages.
We lived in perfect harmony and grew closer
over time. Elizabeth was of a calmer and more
concentrated disposition. I was capable of a more
intense application and was more interested in
learning. While she contemplated the magnificent
appearances of things, I delighted in investigating
their causes. The world was to me a secret that I
desired to puzzle out. I was curious. I wanted to
understand the hidden laws of nature.
When I was seven, my parents had another
child. They gave up their wandering life and
settled in their native country. We had a house
in Geneva, and a country place on the eastern
shore of the lake. We resided for the most part
in the latter, in considerable seclusion. As a boy,
I preferred to avoid a crowd. I was indifferent to
my school fellows in general, but I did befriend

harmony: agreement, peacefulness

contemplated: thought deeply, carefully examined
seclusion: isolation; solitude, loneliness
30 Frankenstein

“We lived in perfect harmony and grew closer over time.”

C hap te r 2 31

one of them. His name was Henry Clerval. He

was the son of a merchant in Geneva. He was
a boy of unusual talent and imagination. He
loved enterprise, hardship, and even danger.
He was deeply read in books of chivalry and
romance. He composed heroic songs and wrote
tales of enchantment and knightly adventure.
He recruited us to act in plays and enter into his
performances. The characters in these dramas
were drawn from the heroes of Roncesvalles, the
Round Table of King Arthur, and the Crusades.
No human being could have passed a happier
childhood than myself. My parents were kind
and indulgent. We loved them, and they loved us.
When I mingled with other families, I sensed how
fortunate my lot was and felt grateful towards my
parents.
chivalry: the world of knights and their moral and social code of
behavior
Roncesvalles: The great Christian warrior Roland died fighting at
the battle of Roncesvalles.
King Arthur: a knight, likely mostly mythological, who led Celtic
warriors against Anglo-Saxons in what is now England and
Wales
Crusades: series of wars in which Christians from Europe tried to
take the holy city of Jerusalem back from Muslims
indulgent: relaxed, accepting
lot: fate
32 Frankenstein

My temper was sometimes violent, and my

passions vehement, but by some law of my nature
they were turned not towards childish pursuits but
to an eager desire to learn. I was not particularly
interested in learning languages or government
and political affairs. It was science that fascinated
me. I desired to learn the secrets of heaven and
earth – the outward substance of things and the
inner spirit of nature.
My friend Henry occupied himself with the
moral relations of things. His dream was to
become one of those whose names are recorded in
story as the brave and adventurous benefactors of
our species.
The saintly soul of Elizabeth shone like a
shrine-dedicated lamp in our peaceful home. Her
smile, her soft voice, the sweet glance of her
celestial eyes, were ever there to bless and inspire
us. I might have become depressed in my study,
but I did not, for Elizabeth was there to subdue
me with her own gentleness. And Henry! Could
anything depress the noble spirit of Henry Clerval?
vehement: intensely emotional, strong
benefactors: helpers, improvers
C hap te r 2 33

I take pleasure in dwelling on the recollections

of childhood. It was a time of happiness—before
misfortune had poisoned my mind and changed
its bright visions of usefulness into gloomy and
narrow reflections upon self.
As I have mentioned, science and natural
philosophy were my great loves. When I was
thirteen we took a trip to the natural hot springs
near Thonon. A patch of bad weather forced us
to spend a day in the inn. There I found a volume
of the works of Cornelius Agrippa. I opened the
book without much interest but gradually grew
more enthusiastic. Agrippa seemed to understand
many things. A new light seemed to dawn upon
my mind. Bounding with joy, I communicated
my discovery to my father. My father glanced
at the title page of my book and said, “Cornelius
Agrippa! My dear Victor, do not waste your time
upon this. It is trash.”
Looking back on that day, I do wish my father
had given a different answer. If he had taken a
few minutes to explain that the notions of Agrippa
Cornelius Agrippa: Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa (1486-1535),
author of books on the occult.
bounding: leaping, excited
34 Frankenstein

had been entirely disproved by modern science,

I would have thrown the book aside. It is even
possible that the train of my ideas would never
have received the fatal push that eventually led to
my ruin. But the quick glance my father had taken
of my volume led me to think that he was not very
well acquainted with its contents, and I continued
to read with the greatest enthusiasm.
When I returned home my first care was to
obtain all of the works of Cornelius Agrippa on
occult philosophy. Later I acquired volumes by
Paracelsus and Albertus Magnus as well. I read
and studied the wild fancies of these writers with
delight. They appeared to me treasures known to
few besides myself. Here were books, and men,
who knew more than I did. I believed everything
they told me and I became a disciple.
It may appear strange that these philosophers

occult: secret; magical

Paracelsus: Swiss physician and alchemist, lived c. 1490-1541; an
alchemist was someone who believed that he could magically
change one thing into something else, such as metal into gold
Albertus Magnus: German philosopher and scientist, lived
c.1200-1280
disciple: a devoted follower
C hap te r 2 35

of the occult should find an avid reader in the

eighteenth century, but I can account for it. While
I followed the routine of education in the schools
of Geneva, I was, to a great degree, self-taught.
My father was not scientific, and I was left to
struggle with a child’s blindness, added to a thirst
for knowledge. Under the guidance of Agrippa and
Paracelsus, I entered with the greatest diligence
into the search of the philosopher’s stone and the
elixir of life. The latter, however, soon attracted
my undivided attention. Wealth seemed to me
an inferior object. I thought only of the glory
that would attend the discovery if I could banish
disease from the human body and render man
invulnerable to any but a violent death!
Thus for a time I was occupied by disproved
ideas, mingling a thousand contradictory theories
and floundering desperately in a swamp of

avid: eager, enthusiastic

diligence: hard work
philosopher’s stone: something that some people in the Middle
Ages believed could turn any metal into gold
elixir of life: a magic potion that allows one to live forever
banish: drive away
invulnerable: totally protected, safe
floundering: struggling, thrashing around
36 Frankenstein

disconnected knowledge. I was guided by an

ardent imagination and childish reasoning, till an
accident again changed the current of my ideas.
When I was fifteen, I witnessed a violent and
terrible thunderstorm. It advanced from behind
the mountains, and the thunder burst with frightful
loudness from the heavens. I watched the storm’s
progress with curiosity and delight. As I stood at
the door, all of a sudden I beheld a stream of fire
shooting out of an old oak tree that stood about
twenty yards from our house. As soon as the
dazzling light vanished, the oak had disappeared.
Nothing remained but a blasted stump. When
we visited it the next morning, we found the tree
had shattered in an unusual manner. It had not
been splintered by the shock. It had been entirely
reduced to thin ribbons of wood. I had never seen
anything so completely destroyed.
On this occasion a man who had some
knowledge of electricity was staying with us. He
was excited by this catastrophe and he began
to tell us about the science of electricity. This
was new and astonishing to me. I quickly forgot
blasted: destroyed (by lightning)
C hap te r 2 37

about Cornelius Agrippa, Albertus Magnus, and

Paracelsus. I began to study electricity and also
mathematics.
It is strange how our lives unfold. Tiny strings
may lead us to success or ruin. When I look back,
it seems to me this almost miraculous change of
inclination was the immediate suggestion of the
guardian angel of my life. It seems that this was
the last effort made by that spirit of preservation to
avoid the storm that was ready to envelop me. This
kindly force was guiding me away from my occult
studies. It was a strong effort of the spirit of good,
but it didn’t work. Destiny was too powerful and
her immutable laws had decreed my complete and
terrible destruction.

envelop: surround
occult studies: studies of magic and the supernatural
immutable: not able to be changed
 CHAPTER 3

W
hen I reached the age of
seventeen my parents decided
that I should go to the university
in Ingolstadt. I had hitherto
attended the schools of Geneva, but my father
thought it necessary that I should be made
acquainted with other customs than those of my
native country. My departure was therefore fixed
at an early date, but before the day could arrive,
the first misfortune of my life occurred—an omen,
as it were, of my future misery.
Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever. Her
illness was severe, and she was in the greatest
danger. During her illness my mother was urged
not to sit by Elizabeth’s bed. She had at first agreed,
but when she heard that the life of her favorite was
in danger, she could no longer control her anxiety.
She attended Elizabeth on her sickbed. Her
watchful attentions triumphed over the disease—
Elizabeth was saved, but the consequences of
Ingolstadt: city in southern Germany
scarlet fever: highly contagious and often deadly disease
C hap te r 3 39

this risky behavior were fatal to her preserver. On

the third day my mother sickened. Her fever was
accompanied by the most alarming symptoms, and
the looks of her medical attendants led us to fear
for the worst.
On her deathbed the strength and goodness of
my mother did not desert her. She joined the hands
of Elizabeth and myself. “My children,” she said,
“my firmest hopes of future happiness were placed
on the possibility of a union of the two of you in
matrimony. This expectation will now be a comfort
to your father. Elizabeth, my love, you must act in
my place and take care of my younger children.
Alas! I regret that I am taken from you! I will try
to resign myself cheerfully to death and will hope
to meet you in another world.”
She died calmly, and her face expressed
affection even in death. I need not describe the
feelings of those whose dearest ties are broken
by that most irreparable evil, the emptiness that
presents itself to the soul, and the despair that is
exhibited on the face. At first the mind refuses to
accept the new reality. It is impossible to accept
irreparable: lasting; permanent
40 Frankenstein

that a person whom we saw every day and whose

very existence appeared a part of our own can have
departed for ever. It is impossible to believe that
the brightness of a beloved eye can be extinguished
and the sound of a voice so familiar and dear to the
ear can be hushed, never more to be heard. These
are the reflections of the first days of grief. When
the passing of time proves the reality of the evil,
though, then the bitterness of grief begins.
Elizabeth veiled her grief and tried to comfort
the rest of us. She took up her new duties with
courage and dedication. She devoted herself to
those whom she had been taught to call her uncle
and cousins. Never was she so charming as at this
time, when she recalled the sunshine of her smiles
and spent them upon us.
I delayed my departure for the university. It
appeared to me sacrilege to leave so soon—to leave
the house of mourning and rush into the thick of
life. I was unwilling to leave those who remained to
me. Eventually, however, my father insisted that I
depart.
extinguished: put out, as in putting out a fire
sacrilege: sin
C hap te r 3 41

Henry Clerval spent the last evening with me.

He had tried to persuade his father to permit him
to accompany me and to become my fellow student,
but in vain. His father was a narrow-minded trader
and saw idleness and ruin in the aspirations and
ambition of his son. Henry felt the misfortune of
being kept from a liberal education. He said little,
but when he spoke I read in his eye and in his
glance a firm determination not to be chained to the
miserable details of business.
We stayed up late that night. Neither of
us wanted to say the word “Farewell!” At last,
however, the word was said.
In the morning I got into the carriage which
was to carry me away. They were all there—my
father again to bless me, Henry to press my hand
once more, my Elizabeth to renew her requests that
I would write often.
In the carriage I indulged in the most melancholy
reflections. I, who had ever been surrounded by
amiable companions, was now utterly alone. In
the university I would have to make new friends
and be my own protector. I loved my brothers and
42 Frankenstein

Elizabeth and Henry. These were “old familiar

faces,” but I believed myself totally unfit for the
company of strangers. However, as I went on, my
spirits and hopes rose. I was eager to learn—and
now I had an opportunity.
The next morning I arrived. I delivered my
letters of introduction and paid a visit to some of
the principal professors. Chance—or rather the
evil influence, the angel of destruction, which
asserted all-powerful control over me from the
moment I turned my reluctant steps from my
father’s door—led me first to Dr. Krempe. He was
a professor of natural philosophy—an awkward
man, but deeply read in the secrets of his science.
He asked me several questions concerning my
progress in the different branches of science related
to natural philosophy. I mentioned the names of my
alchemists as the principal authors I had studied.
The professor stared.
“Have you really spent your time in studying
such nonsense?” he asked.
natural philosophy: the physical sciences, such as physics or
chemistry
alchemist: someone who believed that he could magically change
one thing into something else, such as metal into gold
C hap te r 3 43

I replied in the affirmative.

“What a waste!” said Dr. Krempe, “Every
instant that you have wasted on those books is
utterly and entirely lost. You have overloaded your
memory with useless theories and names. How is
it that no one was kind enough to inform you that
these fancies which you have studied are a thousand
years old and as musty as they are ancient? I little
expected, in this enlightened and scientific age, to
find a disciple of Albertus Magnus and Paracelsus.
My dear sir, you must begin your studies entirely
anew.”
He wrote down a list of several books. Before
dismissing me, he told me he was about to begin
a course of lectures upon natural philosophy. He
mentioned that Dr. Waldman, another professor at
the university, would lecture upon chemistry on the
days that he himself did not lecture.
I was not disappointed, for I had outgrown my
fascination with the authors he criticized. At the
same time, I felt no desire to study natural philosophy
of the sort Dr. Krempe was recommending.

replied in the affirmative: said yes

44 Frankenstein

The great alchemists and philosophers of the occult

had sought immortality and power. They had
wonderful visions of what might be accomplished,
even if their methods were flawed. But now the
scene was changed. The modern authorities in
natural philosophy seemed happy to destroy the
visions of the old masters—the visions on which
my interest in science was chiefly founded. I would
be required to exchange fantasies of boundless
greatness for realities of little worth.
After a few days passed, I thought of the
information which Dr. Krempe had given me
concerning the lectures. Although I had no
interested in hearing that little self-important fellow
deliver sentences out of a pulpit, I recollected what
he had said of Dr. Waldman.
Partly from curiosity and partly from not
having anything else to do, I went to the first lecture.
Dr. Waldman entered shortly after I arrived.
This professor was very unlike his colleague. He
appeared about fifty years of age, but with an
appearance of the greatest benevolence. A few grey

pulpit: a raised space for speaking in a lecture hall or church

C hap te r 3 45

hairs covered his temples, but those at the back of

his head were nearly black. He was short but stood
remarkably erect, and his voice the sweetest I had
ever heard. He began his lecture by reviewing the
history of chemistry. He described the various
improvements made by different men of learning.
Then he presented a brief view of the present state
of the science and explained many of the elementary
terms of chemistry. He concluded with a panegyric
upon modern chemistry, the terms of which I shall
never forget:
“The ancient teachers of this science,” said he,
“promised impossibilities and performed nothing.
The modern masters promise very little. They
know that metals cannot be transmuted and that
the elixir of life is an impossible dream. But these
philosophers, whose hands seem only made to dabble
in dirt, and their eyes to pore over the microscope
or crucible, have indeed performed miracles.

panegyric: speech in praise of a person or thing

transmuted: changed from one substance into another; alchemists
dreamed of transmuting lead into gold.
dabble: do a little work
crucible: a pot in which substances are heated
46 Frankenstein

“He was short but stood remarkably erect, and his voice
the sweetest I had ever heard.”

They penetrate the hidden places of nature and

show how she works. They rise up into the heavens.
They have discovered how the blood circulates.
They can tell us about the nature of the air we
breathe. They have acquired new and almost
circulates: moves around in a circle; William Harvey discovered the
circulation of blood in 1628.
C hap te r 3 47

unlimited powers. They can command the thunders

of heaven, imitate the earthquake, and even mock
the invisible world with its own shadows.”
Such were the professor’s words—and I was
swept away by them. I was fascinated. My mind
was filled with one thought, one conception, one
purpose. Ah, Frankenstein, I said to myself, so much has
been done, but there is more work to done – and you are the
man to do it! You, Victor Frankenstein, will be the pioneer.
You will explore unknown powers! You will unfold to the
world the deepest mysteries of creation!
I did not sleep that night. The next day I paid
Dr. Waldman a visit. His manners in private were
even more mild and attractive than in public. There
was a certain dignity in his manner during his
lecture which in his own house was replaced by
the greatest friendliness and kindness. I gave him
the account of my former pursuits as I had given
to his fellow professor. He listened with attention
and smiled at the names of Cornelius Agrippa and
Paracelsus, but without the contempt that Dr.
Krempe had exhibited. He said that “these were
pioneer: first settler in new territories
contempt: disgust, dismissiveness
48 Frankenstein

men to whom modern philosophers were indebted

for the foundations of their knowledge. They had
left to us, as an easier task, to give new names
and arrange in connected classifications the facts
which they had been the instruments of bringing to
light. The labors of men of genius, even if wrongly
directed, almost always lead to some benefit for
mankind.”
I listened to his statement, which was delivered
without any presumption or affectation. I told
him that his lecture had removed my prejudices
against modern chemists and that I was eager to
begin my studies in the field. I requested his advice
concerning the books I ought to obtain.
“I will give you my recommendations,” he said.
“Chemistry is the branch of natural philosophy
in which the greatest improvements have been.
However, it will not do to pay no attention to the
other branches of science. A man would make but a
very sorry chemist if he attended to that department
of human knowledge alone. If your wish is to
become really a man of science and not merely a
dabbler, I would advise you to study every branch
C hap te r 3 49

of natural philosophy, including mathematics.”

He then took me into his laboratory and
explained to me the uses of his various pieces of
equipment. He told me which ones I ought to get
for myself and promised to let me use some of his
once I had made some progress in my studies. He
also gave me the list of books which I had requested,
and I took my leave.
Thus ended a day memorable to me. It was a
day that decided my future destiny!
 CHAPTER 4

F
rom that day on, natural philosophy,
and particularly chemistry, occupied
almost all of my attention. I read with
energy those works, so full of genius
and discrimination, which modern inquirers have
written on these subjects. I attended lectures and
cultivated the acquaintance of the men of science
of the university. I found even in Dr. Krempe a
great deal of sound sense and real information,
combined, it is true, with a repulsive appearance
and unpleasant manners, but not on that account
the less valuable. In Mr. Waldman I found a true
friend. He was always friendly and never closed
minded. His instructions were given with an air
of frankness and good nature. In a thousand ways
he smoothed for me the path of knowledge and
made even the most complicated inquiries clear.
I was a slow student at first. However, I gained
strength as I proceeded. After a while, I became
so eager that the stars often disappeared in the
light of morning while I was still working in my
laboratory.
C hap te r 4 51

I worked hard and made rapid progress. My

passion astonished my fellow students, and my
skill impressed the masters. Two years passed
in this manner, during which I paid no visit to
Geneva, but was engaged, heart and soul, in the
pursuit of some discoveries that I hoped to make.
In other studies you go as far as others have gone
before you, and that is it. There is nothing more to
know. In science, though, there is always room for
more discoveries. I improved so rapidly that at the
end of two years I made some discoveries in the
improvement of some chemical instruments, which
brought me great admiration at the university.
One subject that especially attracted my
attention was the structure and nature of the
human body. How are bodies endowed with life?
And where does the force that gives us life come
from? These were bold questions, and they were
viewed as great mysteries. But chemistry was
solving many mysteries, and I thought it might
allow me to solve these as well.
I decided to focus my studies on living things
and the human body. I had also to learn about the
endowed: filled, gifted
52 Frankenstein

natural decay and corruption of the human body.

I spent many days and many nights in vaults and
charnel-houses. I studied the change from life to
death, and death to life, until from the midst of
this darkness a sudden light broke in upon me.
It was a light so brilliant and wondrous, yet so
simple, that I was surprised that, among so many
men of genius who had directed their inquiries
towards the same science, I alone should discover
so astonishing a secret.
Remember, I am not recording the visions of a
madman. It is not more certain that the sun shines
in the sky than that which I now say is true. Some
miracle might have produced it, yet the stages of
the discovery were distinct and probable. After
days and nights of incredible labor and exhaustion,
I succeeded in discovering the cause of life. Nay,
more! I developed the ability to bestow life upon
lifeless matter!
At first I was astonished. Soon, however,
astonishment gave way to delight. After so much
work, it was gratifying to achieve success. But this
discovery was so great and overwhelming that all
charnel-houses: places where bones of the dead are placed
C hap te r 4 53

the steps by which I had been progressively led to it

were forgotten and I saw only the result. What had
been the study and desire of the wisest men since
the creation of the world was now within my grasp.
I see by your eagerness and the wonder and
hope which your eyes express, my friend, that
you expect to be informed of the secret which
I now know. But, no! That cannot be. Listen
patiently to my story. When I have finished, you
will understand why I choose not to speak of that
subject. I will not lead you on. I would not have
you make the same mistakes I made. I would have
you learn from my example: I would have you
learn how dangerous knowledge can be.
When I found so astonishing a power placed
within my hands, I hesitated a long time, unsure
how I should use it. I could give life, but to create
a body, with all the fibers, muscles, and veins,
still remained a work of great difficulty and labor.
I doubted at first whether I should attempt the
creation of a being like myself, or one of simpler
organization. However, I was too excited by my
first success to give up the quest. I knew I would
probably fail many times, but I reminded myself
54 Frankenstein

that science and mechanics continue to advance,

in spite of countless failures.
So I began to work on creating a human
being. Since it is tricky to work with small parts,
I decided to create a being of gigantic stature,
about eight feet in height. I spent several months
collecting and arranging my materials.
How can I make you understand the feelings
which drove me to continue?, Life and death
seemed to me imaginary boundaries, which I
could break through and pour a great flood of
light into our dark world. A new species would
bless me as its creator and source. No father could
claim the thanks of his child so completely as I
should deserve theirs. Pursuing these reflections,
I thought that, if I could bestow life upon lifeless
matter, I might someday learn to renew life, even
after death had left the body to decay!
These thoughts supported my spirits, while
I pursued the project with constant passion. My
cheeks grew pale with study, and I lost weight.
Sometimes I failed. Yet still I pressed on. Sometimes
the work was gruesome. I collected bones and
gruesome: horrible
C hap te r 4 55

body parts from charnel-houses, dissecting rooms,

and slaughter-houses. I disturbed, with unholy
fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human
body. In a room at the top of the house I kept my
workshop of filthy creation.
I worked all summer. It was a most beautiful
season, but I saw little of it—or of my friends. I
wrote to my family only rarely.
I see now that I was very much to blame for
ignoring my family. The pursuit of knowledge
is a noble activity, but it does not release a man
from his other duties in life. If the study to which
you apply yourself has a tendency to weaken
your affections for others, then that study is
certainly unhealthy—and perhaps even immoral.
No man should allow himself any pursuit that
might interfere with the tranquility of his family
life. If this rule had been steadily observed, Greece
would not have been enslaved, Cæsar would have
spared his country, America would have been
discovered more gradually, and the empires of

dissecting rooms: rooms where dead bodies are cut up and

studied by doctors and scientists
56 Frankenstein

Mexico and Peru would not have been destroyed.

But I digress.
Winter, spring, and summer passed away, but
I did not watch the blossoms or the expanding
leaves—sights which had always delighted me. I
was too deeply involved in my work. The leaves of
that year had withered before my work drew near
to a close. However, by then, every day showed
me more plainly how well I was succeeding.

digress: drift away from what I planned to talk about

 CHAPTER 5

O
n a gloomy night in November
I completed my work. I was so
nervous that night it was painful.
I collected the instruments of life
around me, that I might infuse a spark of being
into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was
already one in the morning. The rain pattered
dismally against the panes, and my candle was
nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the
half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow
eye of the creature open. It breathed hard, and a
convulsive motion agitated its limbs.
How can I describe my emotions? And how
can I describe the creature whom with such infinite
pains and care I had formed? His limbs were in
proportion, and I had selected his features in the
hope that he would be beautiful. Beautiful! Great
God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the muscles
and arteries beneath. His hair was long and black.
His teeth were pearly in their whiteness. And yet
infuse: put into, insert into
convulsive: jerky, thrashing, spastic
58 Frankenstein

these traits only formed a more horrible contrast

with his watery eyes. His eyes were almost the
same color as the white sockets in which they
were set. His complexion was shriveled. and his
lips were straight and black.
I had worked hard for nearly two years, for
the sole purpose of infusing life into a lifeless body.
For this I had deprived myself of rest and health.
I had desired it with a passion that far exceeded
moderation. Now that I had finished, however,
the beauty of the dream vanished. Horror and
disgust filled my heart. I could not bear to look at
the being I had created. I rushed out of the room.
For a long time, I walked back and forth in
my bedroom, tormented with thoughts. I was
exhausted and needed to sleep, but I found I could
not. At last I did fall asleep, but I was disturbed
by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth,
in the bloom of health, walking in the streets of
Ingolstadt. Delighted and surprised, I embraced
her, but as I imprinted a kiss on her lips, they
turned pale. Her features changed too, and I
thought that I held the corpse of my dead mother in
tormented: tortured
C hap te r 5 59

“On a gloomy night in November I completed my work.”

60 Frankenstein

my arms! A shroud enveloped her form, and I saw

grave-worms crawling in the folds of the flannel.
I started from my sleep with horror! A cold dew
covered my forehead. My teeth chattered, and my
limbs convulsed. Then, by the yellow light of the
moon, I beheld the wretch—the miserable monster
I had created. He lifted the curtain of the bed, and
his eyes, if eyes they may be called, were fixed
on me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some
inarticulate sounds. A grin wrinkled his cheeks.
He might have spoken, but I did not hear. He
stretched out one hand, seemingly to hold me, but
I escaped and rushed downstairs. I took refuge in
the courtyard, where I spent the rest of the night.
I walked back and forth in the greatest agitation,
listening attentively, fearing each sound might
announce the approach of the horrible, demon-like
corpse to which I had given life.
Oh, the face of that creature! No human
being could look on it without horror! I had gazed
shroud: burial cloth
convulsed: moved in a jerky or spastic way
inarticulate: clumsy, hard to understand
took refuge: fled to a safe or private place
agitation: excitement, disturbance
C hap te r 5 61

on him while unfinished. He was ugly then, but

when those muscles and joints were at last put
into motion, he became a thing such as even Dante
could not have conceived.
I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes
my pulse beat so quickly that I felt it beating in
every artery. I felt weak. I was tormented by
the bitterness of disappointment. My dream had
turned to a nightmare.
Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned.
The clock of the church of Ingolstadt indicated
that it was six o’clock. I went out into the streets
and walked with quick steps, hoping to avoid the
wretched creature. I did not dare return to my
room. I hurried on, drenched by the rain which
poured from a black and comfortless sky.
I continued walking in this manner for some
time, trying to relieve my mind through bodily
exercise. I walked around without any clear idea
of where I was or what I was doing. I was sick
with fear, and I hurried on with irregular steps,
not daring to look about me:
Dante: Italian poet who wrote a famous poem describing the
many horrors of Hell.
62 Frankenstein

Like one who, on a lonely road,

Doth walk in fear and dread,
And, having once turned round, walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread*.

I came at length to an inn where carriages

often stopped. Here I paused, I knew not why,
but I remained standing with my eyes fixed on a
carriage that was coming towards me. It stopped
just where I was standing, and as the door opened,
I saw Henry Clerval.
On seeing me, my old friend sprang out. “My
dear Frankenstein!” he exclaimed. “How glad I
am to see you! How fortunate it is that you should
be here at the very moment of my arrival!”
Nothing could equal my delight on seeing
my old friend. His presence brought back many
pleasant thoughts. I thought of my father, and
Elizabeth, and of home. I grasped Henry’s hand,
and forgot my horror and misfortune. I felt
fiend: devil, evil spirit
* A quotation from “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” by Samuel
Taylor Coleridge.
C hap te r 5 63

suddenly, and for the first time during many

months, calm and peaceful. I welcomed my friend
in the most friendly manner, and we walked
towards the university.
Henry talked for some time about our friends
and his own good fortune in being permitted to
come to Ingolstadt. “It was not easy to persuade
my father,” he said. “Although he has allowed
me to make the visit, he still insists that there is
nothing useful to be learned in a university. But
his affection for me at length overcame his dislike
of learning, and he has permitted me to undertake
a voyage of discovery to the land of knowledge.”
“It gives me the greatest delight to see you.
But tell me how you left my father, my brothers,
and Elizabeth.”
“Very well, and very happy. Only they are
a little uneasy that they hear from you so rarely.
By the by, I mean to lecture you a little upon
their account myself. But, my dear Frankenstein,”
continued he, stopping short and gazing full in my
face, “I did not before remark how unhealthy you
look. You are thin and pale. You look as if you
have been up all night studying for several nights.”
64 Frankenstein

“You have guessed right. I have lately been

so deeply engaged in one project that I have not
allowed myself sufficient rest. I hope, however,
that that all these activities are now at an end and
that I am at length free.”
I trembled as I said this. I could not bear to
think of what had happened the previous night.
We walked on and soon arrived at the university.
I then thought of the creature I had left in my
apartment, and the thought made me shiver. He
might still be there, alive and walking about. I was
afraid to see this monster again. However, I feared
still more that Henry should see him. I asked him,
therefore, to remain for a few minutes at the bottom
of the stairs. I then went quickly up to my room. I
threw the door forcibly open, as children do when
they expect a ghost may be waiting for them on the
other side. However, nothing appeared. I stepped
in. The apartment was empty, and my bedroom
was also freed from its hideous guest. I could
hardly believe my good luck. Once I was I sure
that the creature had indeed fled, I clapped my
hands for joy and ran down to see Henry.
We went up to my room, and the servant
C hap te r 5 65

brought us breakfast. I was very excited. My

pulse beat rapidly. I was unable to sit in one place.
I clapped my hands and laughed aloud. At first
Henry thought I was excited about his arrival.
However, after observing me more attentively, he
saw a wildness in my eyes for which he could not
account. My loud, unrestrained, heartless laughter
frightened and astonished him.
“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what in the world
is the matter? Why do you laugh in that manner?
Are you ill? What is the cause of all this?”
“Don’t ask me,” I cried, putting my hands
before my eyes, for I thought I saw the dreaded
specter gliding into the room. I imagined that the
monster had seized me. I struggled furiously and
fell down in a fit.
Poor Henry! What must have been his
feelings? A meeting, which he anticipated with
such joy, so strangely turned to bitterness. But I
was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless
and did not recover my senses for a long, long
time.

specter: ghost
66 Frankenstein

This was the beginning of a nervous fever

that kept me in bed for several months. During all
that time Henry was my only nurse. I afterwards
learned that, knowing my father’s advanced age
and unfitness for so long a journey, and how
wretched my sickness would make Elizabeth, he
spared them this grief by concealing the extent
of my disorder. He was confident that I would
recover, but I was in reality very ill. The form of the
monster that I had created was constantly before
my eyes, and, in my feverish dreams, I spoke of the
creature frequently. My words surprised Henry.
He at first believed them to be the wanderings of
my disturbed imagination, but the stubbornness
with which I continually returned to the same
subject persuaded him that my disorder indeed
owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible
event.
By very slow degrees, and with frequent
relapses that alarmed and grieved my friend, I
recovered. I remember the first time I was able to
observe outward objects with any kind of pleasure:
disorder: sickness
relapses: falls back into sickness
C hap te r 5 67

I perceived that the fallen leaves had disappeared

and that the young buds were shooting forth
from the trees that shaded my window. It was a
divine spring, and the season contributed greatly
to my convalescence. Feelings of joy and affection
returned. My gloom disappeared, and in a short
time I became as cheerful as before I was attacked
by the fatal passion.
“Dearest Henry,” I exclaimed, “how kind,
how very good you have been to me! This whole
winter, instead of being spent in study, as you
promised yourself, has been consumed in my sick
room. How shall I ever repay you?
“You will repay me entirely if you do not upset
yourself, but get well as fast as you can. However,
since you are in such good spirits, I wonder if I
might speak to you on one particular subject.”
I trembled. One subject! What could it be?
Could he be referring to the creature, of whom I
dared not even think?
“Compose yourself,” said Henry, observing my
change of color, “I will not mention it if it upsets
you; but your father and cousin would be very
convalescence: recovery from illness
68 Frankenstein

happy if they received a letter from you in your

own handwriting. They hardly know how ill you
have been and are uneasy at your long silence.”
“Is that all, my dear Henry? Of course! Of
course I will write to them!”
“If this is your present temper, my friend,
you will perhaps be glad to see a letter that has
been lying here some days for you. It is from your
cousin, I believe.”
 CHAPTER 6

H
enry then put the following
letter into my hands. It was from
Elizabeth:
“My dearest Cousin,
“You have been ill, very ill, and even the
constant letters of dear kind Henry have not been
enough to reassure me on your account. I am told
that you are forbidden to write. But we need to
hear from you, dear Victor, to calm our fears. For
a long time I have thought that each post would
bring a letter from you. And yet we have heard
nothing! Henry writes that you are getting better.
I hope that you will confirm this soon in your own
handwriting.
“Get well—and return to us. You will find a
happy, cheerful home and friends who love you
dearly. Your father’s health is strong, and he is
eager to see you. How pleased you would be to
see Ernest! He is now sixteen and full of activity
and spirit.
“Little has changed since you left us. The blue
republican: of or relating to a republic (a government without a king)
70 Frankenstein

lake and snow-clad mountains—they never change,

and I think our peaceful home and our contented
hearts are regulated by the same unchanging
laws. My trifling occupations take up my time
and amuse me, and I am rewarded by seeing none
but happy, kind faces around me. Since you left
us, only one change has taken place in our little
household. Do you remember on what occasion
Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you
do not. I will therefore relate her history in a few
words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow
with four children, of whom Justine was the third.
This girl had always been the favorite of her father,
but for some reason, her mother could not stand
her, and after the death of Mr. Moritz, she treated
her very poorly. My aunt observed this, and when
Justine was twelve years of age, convinced her
mother to let her to live at our house.
“The republican institutions of our country
have produced simpler and happier manners than
those which prevail in the great monarchies that
surround it. Here there is less distinction between
the several classes of inhabitants, and the lower
refined: civilized, educated
C hap te r 6 71

orders, being neither so poor nor so despised, are

more refined and moral. Being a servant in Geneva
is not the same thing as being a servant in France
or England. Justine was received in our family
and learned the duties of a servant, a condition
which, in our fortunate country, does not include
the idea of ignorance and does not require a girl to
sacrifice her dignity as a human being.
“Justine was a great favorite of yours when
you were young. I remember you once said that if
you were in an ill humor, one cheerful glance from
her could cure it. My aunt was very fond of her
and, as a result, decided to give her an education
superior to that which she had at first intended.
This benefit was fully repaid. Justine was the most
grateful person in the world. She thought my aunt
the model of all excellence and tried to imitate her
speech and manners, so much so that she often
reminds me of her.
“When my dearest aunt died, everyone was
too much occupied in their own grief to notice
poor Justine, who had attended her during her
illness with the most anxious affection. One by
decline: a turn for the worse
demeanor: personality, way of acting
72 Frankenstein

one, her brothers and her sister died. At last she

was the only one of her mother’s children left alive.
Her mother’s conscience was troubled. She began
to think that the death of her favorite child was a
judgment from heaven to punish her for favoring
one child over the others. A few months after you
left for Ingolstadt, Justine was called home by her
repentant mother. Poor girl! She wept when she
left our house.
“Justine’s residence at her mother’s house
brought her little happiness. The poor woman was
torn between two urges. She sometimes begged
Justine to forgive her unkindness but much
oftener accused her of having caused the deaths
of her brothers and sister. Constant worrying at
length threw Madame Moritz into a decline. She
died at the beginning of this last winter.
Justine has just returned to us. I love her
tenderly. She is very clever and gentle, and
extremely pretty. As I mentioned before, her
demeanor and her expressions continually remind
me of my dear aunt.
“I must also say a few words to you, my dear
cousin, of little darling William. I wish you could
C hap te r 6 73

see him. He is very tall for his age. He has laughing

blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curly hair. When he
smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek.
“Well, I have written myself into better spirits,
dear cousin. However, my anxiety returns as I
conclude. Do write to us, Victor. Even a short
letter will be a great blessing to us. Ten thousand
thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection,
and his many letters. We are sincerely grateful.
Take care of yourself and, I beg you, write!
“Elizabeth Lavenza.
“Geneva, March 18th, 17—.”
“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed after
I finished reading this letter. I sat down right
away and wrote a letter to her and the rest of my
family. The exertion of writing tired me, but I was
beginning to recover my health.
Once I was feeling strong enough to go out,
one of my first duties was to introduce Henry
to the professors I knew at the university. This
was difficult for me. The sight of chemicals and
labs reminded me of the creature and renewed
all the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry
had noticed this and had packed up all of my
74 Frankenstein

own scientific equipment. He had also made

arrangements for me to move into a new room, for
he saw that I had acquired a dislike for the room
which had previously been my laboratory.
But the cares of Henry Clerval were of no
use to me when I visited my old professors. Dr.
Waldman caused me pain when he praised, with
kindness and warmth, the astonishing progress I
had made in the sciences. My visit to Dr. Krempe
was even worse. “What a fellow we have here!”
he cried. “Why, Mr. Clerval, I assure you young
Frankenstein there has done more than any of
us here!” When he saw that I was not smiling,
he added, “Mr. Frankenstein is also modest—an
excellent quality in a young man!” These were
difficult visits for me.
Henry had never shared my love for natural
science. He came to the university to study Asian
languages. While nursing me back to health, he
began to study Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit. I
joined in his program of study, for I had come
to hate my old studies. We spent several months
working on the Asian languages and went on
several hiking trips. The hiking trips helped me
C hap te r 6 75

regain my health, and they also cheered my spirits.

What an excellent friend Henry was to me
during those difficult months! His conversation
was full of imagination. At other times he repeated
my favorite poems or drew me into discussions.
He drove away sickness and gloom and restored
me to health and happiness!
 CHAPTER 7

A
t the end of spring term, I received
the following letter from my father:
“My dear Victor,
“I write with terrible news.
William is dead. That sweet child, whose smiles
delighted and warmed my heart. He was so gentle
and carefree! Oh, Victor. It is horrible to report—
he was murdered. I will tell you what we know.
“Last Thursday, Elizabeth, your two brothers,
and I went for a walk. The evening was warm and
serene, and we walked farther than usual. It was
already dusk when we decided to return, and that
was when we discovered that William and Ernest,
who had gone on before us, were nowhere to be
found. We sat on a bench and waited for them
to return. Ernest came back and asked if we had
seen his brother. He said that he and William had
been playing “hide and seek.” William had run off
to hide, and he had been looking for him but could
not find him.
“This account alarmed us, and we began to
search the area. We searched until nighttime but
C hap te r 7 77

could not find him. We hoped he had returned

to the house. We went back there, but he was
not there. Then we went back to search the area
again, this time with torches. I could not rest
when I thought that my sweet boy was lost and
exposed to the damps and dews of night. About
five in the morning I found him. My lovely boy,
whom the night before I had seen blooming and
active in health, was stretched on the grass, pale
and motionless. I could see the marks of the
murderer’s fingers on his neck!
“He was taken home, and the suffering that
was visible on my face betrayed the secret to
Elizabeth. She wanted to see the corpse. At first
I attempted to prevent her, but she persisted. At
last she entered the room where his body lay.
She hastily examined the neck of the victim, and
clasping her hands exclaimed, ‘O God! I have
murdered my darling child!’
“She wept and moaned. She told me that
William had borrowed a necklace from her earlier
in the day. He had wanted to wear around his
neck a small golden locket that contained a picture
locket: a small case, often worn on a necklace as a piece of jewelry
78 Frankenstein

of your mother. Elizabeth is convinced that it was

this piece of jewelry that attracted the murderer’s
attention, and she blames herself for William’s
death.
“Return to us, dearest Victor! You alone can
console Elizabeth. She weeps continually and
blames herself for causing his death. We are all
unhappy, but will not that be an additional reason
for you, my son, to return and be our comforter?
“Come, Victor; with thoughts of revenge
against the assassin, but with feelings of peace
and gentleness that will heal the wounds of our
minds. Enter the house of mourning. But I would
have you do so with kindness and affection for
those who love you, and not with hatred for your
enemies.
“Your affectionate and afflicted father,

“Alphonse Frankenstein.
“Geneva, May 12th, 17—.”
Henry watched me as I read this letter, and
saw my joy give way to despair.

assassin: murderer
C hap te r 7 79

“My dear friend,” he said, “what has

happened?”
I motioned at the letter, while I walked up and
down the room in terrible agitation. I was crying,
and Henry joined me after he read the letter.
“I am sorry, my friend,” he said. “This is
horrible! What do you intend to do?”
“I must go to Geneva.”
Henry did his best to comfort me. “Poor
William!” said he. “Dear lovely child! He now
sleeps with his angel mother! We have only one
consolation: he is at rest. His sufferings in this
world are at an end forever.”
I called for a carriage, and in a few minutes
one arrived. I said farewell to my old friend and
hurried away.
I was very gloomy during the whole trip. As I
approached Geneva and saw the dark mountains
rising up, I felt even more discouraged. The
picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and
I foresaw in a vague way that I was destined to
become the most wretched of human beings.
It was completely dark when I arrived in
Geneva. The gates of the town were already shut
80 Frankenstein

for the night. I was obliged to pass the night

at Secheron, a village not far from the city. I
was unable to rest, so I went out for a walk. A
storm was gathering in the mountains. Vivid
flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes. I walked on
unconcerned, thinking of my brother.
All of a sudden I perceived in the gloom a
figure lurking behind a clump of trees. I stood still
and gazed intently. A flash of lightning illuminated
the night—and I saw him! The creature! I knew at
once that it was the wretched beast to whom I had
given life. But what was he doing in that place?
Had he traveled to my hometown? And was it he
who had killed my brother? I shuddered at the
thought, but within seconds I was convinced that
it must be so. I felt weak in the legs and had to lean
against a tree for support. The gigantic creature
passed quickly in front of me. Then it disappeared
in the gloom. I felt certain that no human being
could have destroyed that wonderful child. It was
he who had done it. He was the murderer!
I remained motionless for a long time. The
thunder stopped, but the rain still continued. I
began to think about those events which I had until
C hap te r 7 81

“The gigantic creature passed quickly in front of me.”

82 Frankenstein

then attempted to forget. Almost two years had

passed since the night on which he first came to life.
Was this the first crime he had committed? Alas! I
had turned loose on the world a depraved wretch
who took delight in killing and causing misery!
You cannot imagine the anguish I suffered that
night. I spent it in the open air, cold and wet. But
I was not pained by the weather. Indeed, I hardly
noticed it. My imagination was busy with scenes
of evil and thoughts of despair. I thought of the
being I had created and cast among mankind, and
I thought of what he had done. It was horrible!
At last day dawned. I directed my steps
towards the town. The gates were open, and I
hurried to my father’s house. My first thought was
to tell my family what I knew of the murderer,
so that he might be pursued and perhaps caught.
But then I paused and reflected on the story that
I would have to tell: a being that I myself had
created and given life had traveled from Ingolstadt
to Geneva, killed my beloved brother and then met
me at midnight in a storm. I knew that if any other
person told me such a story, I would look upon it
depraved: corrupted, evil
C hap te r 7 83

as the crazy talk of a madman. And of course I had

only recently recovered from months of sickness
and delirium. After a few minutes of thinking, I
convinced myself that it would be better to remain
silent.
It was about five in the morning when I
entered my father’s house. I told the servants not
to disturb the family and went into the library to
wait for their usual hour of rising.
Six years had passed since I had left Geneva
for the university, but the library had changed only
a little. I gazed on a picture of my mother on the
mantel. Beside it was a miniature of William—and
my tears began to flow when I looked upon it. While
I was thus engaged, Ernest entered. He had heard
me arrive and had come down to welcome me.
“Victor!” he said. “Ah! I wish you had come
three months ago. Then you would have found
us all joyous and delighted. But you come to
us now to share a misery which nothing can
improve. And yet I hope your presence will help

delirium: confusion and visions that come with fever and illness
mantel: shelf above a fireplace.
miniature: small portrait
84 Frankenstein

revive our father, who seems to be sinking under

his misfortune. And perhaps you will be able to
convince poor Elizabeth to stop blaming herself
for what has happened. Poor William! He was our
darling and our pride!”
Tears fell from my brother’s eyes. I tried to
calm him and asked about my father and Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth, most of all, requires consolation.
She blames herself for having caused William’s
death. She is very wretched. However, since the
murderer has been discovered—”
“What? What’s that” I cried. “The murderer
has been found? Good God! How can that be?
Who could attempt to pursue him? One might as
well try to catch the wind!”
“I don’t know what you mean,” replied my
brother, in wonder, “but to us the discovery we
have made completes our misery. No one would
believe it at first, and even now Elizabeth will not
be convinced, in spite of all the evidence. Indeed,
who would believe that Justine Moritz, who was
so likeable and seemed to be so fond of all of us,
could be capable of such an awful crime!”
“Justine Moritz! Poor girl! Is she the accused?
C hap te r 7 85

But this is wrong! It’s not her! It can’t be. Surely

no one believes she is guilty, Ernest?”
“No one did at first, but several details have
come to light that have almost forced us to
believe it. Her behavior has been very strange and
confused. But she will be tried today, and you will
be able to hear all that has been learned.”
He then related that, the morning on which
the murder of poor William had been discovered,
Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her
bed for several days. During this time, one of
the servants, happening to examine the clothing
she had worn on the night of the murder, had
discovered in her pocket the picture of my mother,
which had been judged to be the temptation of
the murderer. The servant showed it to one of the
others, who, without saying a word to any of the
family, went to a judge. After the servant made
his deposition, Justine was arrested. When she
was charged, she seemed extremely upset and
confused, and this has made many people suspect
that she is guilty.
This was a strange tale, but it did not shake
deposition: official statement made to a court or judge
86 Frankenstein

my faith. I replied earnestly, “You are all mistaken.

I know the murderer. Poor Justine is innocent.”
At that instant my father entered. I saw
unhappiness deeply impressed on his face, but
he tried to welcome me cheerfully. I would have
introduced some other topic than that of our
disaster, but Ernest interrupted. “Good God,
papa! Victor says he knows who killed William!”
“We do also, unfortunately,” replied my father.
“And yet I wish I did not. It would be better to not
know than to discover so much evil and ingratitude
in one I valued so highly.”
“My dear father, you are mistaken. Justine is
innocent.”
“If she is, God forbid that she should suffer
as guilty. She is to be tried today, and I hope, I
sincerely hope, that she will be found not guilty.
This speech calmed me. I was firmly convinced
in my own mind that Justine, and indeed every
human being, was guiltless of this murder. I
had no fear, therefore, that any evidence could
be brought forward strong enough to convict
her. My tale was not one to announce publicly.
Its astounding horror would be looked upon as
C hap te r 7 87

madness by most people. Did anyone indeed exist,

except I, the creator, who would believe, unless
his senses convinced him, in the existence of the
living monument of presumption and unthinking
ignorance which I had let loose upon the world?
We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had
changed her since I last saw her. It had endowed
her with loveliness beyond the beauty of her
childish years. There was the same openness and
the same energy but it was combined with an
expression more full of sensibility and intellect. She
welcomed me with the greatest affection. “Your
arrival, my dear cousin,” said she, “fills me with
hope. You perhaps will find some means to prove
the innocence of my poor guiltless Justine. Alas! If
she can be convicted of crime, who is safe? I rely
on her innocence as certainly as I do upon my own.
Our misfortune is doubly hard to us. We have lost
that lovely darling boy. And, in addition, this poor
girl, whom I sincerely love, is to be torn away by
even a worse fate. If she is found guilty, I never
shall know joy again. But she will not be. I am sure
she will not—and then I shall be happy again, even
after the sad death of my little William.”
88 Frankenstein

“She is innocent, my Elizabeth,” said I, “and

that shall be proved. Do not be afraid! She will be
found not guilty.”
“How kind and generous you are! Everyone
else believes in her guilt, and that has made me
wretched, for I feel that it cannot be true.” She wept.
“Dearest niece,” said my father, “dry your
tears. If she is, as you believe, innocent, we can
rely on the justice of our laws.”
 CHAPTER 8

W
e passed a few sad hours until
the trial was to begin. My father
and the rest of the family had
to attend as witnesses, so I
accompanied them to the court.
The trial itself was like torture. I blamed
myself for the death of William, and I feared
I would also be responsible for the conviction
and death of Justine. I longed to confess myself
guilty of the crime, but I was absent when it was
committed, and such a confession would have
been considered as the ravings of a madman.
Justine seemed calm. She was dressed in
mourning, and her face, always engaging, was
rendered, by the seriousness of her feelings,
most beautiful. Although many were staring at
her with hostile eyes, she did not tremble. When
she entered the court, she scanned the room and
quickly discovered where we were seated. A tear
seemed to dim her eye when she saw us, but she
dressed in mourning: wearing black or dark clothes to honor a
dead person
90 Frankenstein

quickly recovered herself, and a look of sorrowful

affection seemed to serve as clear evidence of her
utter guiltlessness.
The trial began. The charge against her was
read out. Then several witnesses were called.
Several strange facts combined against her. She
was out all night on the night when the murder
had been committed. In addition, as morning
drew near, she had been spotted by a market-
woman not far from the spot where the body of
the murdered child had been found. The woman
asked her what she was doing, but Justine looked
very odd and gave a confused and unintelligible
answer. She returned to the house about eight
o’clock. When asked where she had passed the
night, she replied that she had been out looking
for the child and asked if anything had been heard
concerning him. When shown the body, she fell
into violent hysterics and then remained in bed for
several days. The picture was then produced—
the one that the servant had found in her pocket.
Elizabeth testified, in a shaky voice, that it was the
same one she had placed around William’s neck an
hysterics: uncontrolled crying
C hap te r 8 91

hour before he went missing. When the spectators

heard this, a murmur of horror and indignation
filled the court.
Next Justine was called to testify. As the
trial had proceeded, her appearance had altered.
Surprise, horror, and misery were strongly
expressed. Sometimes she struggled with her
tears, but when she was asked to plead innocent
or guilty, she collected her powers and spoke in an
audible although variable voice.
“God knows,” she said, “how entirely I am
innocent. But I must prove it to the court. I rest
my innocence on a plain and simple explanation
of the facts which have been cited as evidence
against me, and I hope the character I have
always borne will incline my judges to a favorable
interpretation where any circumstance appears
doubtful or suspicious.”
She then described her actions on the night
of the murder. With Elizabeth’s blessing, she
had passed the evening at the house of an aunt in
Chêne, a village about three miles from Geneva.
On her return, at about nine o’clock, she met a
audible: capable of being heard
92 Frankenstein

“Next Justine was called to testify.”

C hap te r 8 93

man who asked her if she had seen anything of

the child who was lost. She was concerned by this
account and passed several hours in looking for
him. Then the gates of Geneva were shut, and she
was forced to spend several hours in a barn. She
slept for a few minutes, shortly before dawn. Then
footsteps disturbed her, and she awoke. It was
dawn, and she left the barn so that she might begin
searching for my brother again. If she had gone
near the spot where his body lay, it was without
her knowledge. That she had been confused
when questioned by the market-woman was not
surprising, since she had passed a sleepless night
and the fate of poor William was still uncertain.
Concerning the picture she could give no account.
“I know,” Justine continued, “how heavily
this one detail weighs against me, but I am unable
to explain it. I cannot say who might have placed
it in my pocket, or why. I believe that I have no
enemy on earth, and none surely would have
been so wicked as to wish to destroy me. Did the
murderer place it there? I do not know how or
when he might have done so. Nor do I understand
why he who had just stolen it would be willing
94 Frankenstein

to part with it again so soon. I commit my cause

to my judges, yet I see no room for hope. I beg
permission to have a few witnesses examined
concerning my character. If their testimony is not
enough, I understand that I must be found guilty,
although I swear before God I am innocent.
Several witnesses were then called. All had
known Justine for many years, and all spoke well
of her. But they seemed cautious, frightened. Fear
and hatred of the crime of which they supposed
her guilty made them hesitant. Elizabeth sensed
that Justine was in trouble, and she asked for
permission to address the court.
“I am,” said she, “the cousin of the unhappy
child who was murdered, or rather his sister, for
I was educated by and have lived with his parents
since before he was born. It may therefore be
judged improper for me to come forward on this
occasion, but I wish to speak. I wish to say what
I know of the accused and her character. I have
lived in the same house with her for many years.
During all those years she appeared to me the
most amiable and benevolent of human creatures.
She nursed my aunt in her last illness, with the
C hap te r 8 95

greatest affection and care. She also attended to

her own mother during a long illness. After her
mother died, she lived in my uncle’s house, where
she was beloved by all the family. She was warmly
attached to the child who is now dead and acted
towards him like a most affectionate mother. For
my own part, I do not hesitate to say that, in spite
of all of the evidence produced against her, I
believe she is innocent. She had no temptation for
such an action. As to the locket, which has been
presented as the chief evidence against her, if she
had asked me for it, I would have willingly given
it to her. I esteem and value her so highly that I
would have given her almost anything.”
A murmur of approval followed Elizabeth’s
simple and powerful appeal, but it was excited
by her generous interference, and not in favor of
poor Justine. The spectators continued to look at
Justine with indignation, charging her with the
blackest ingratitude.
Justine wept as Elizabeth spoke, but she did
not speak.
My own suffering was extreme during the
whole trial. I was convinced that Justine was
96 Frankenstein

innocent. When I saw that the judges believed her

to be guilty, I could not bear it. I rushed out of
the court in agony. The trial was more upsetting
for me, I believe, than it was for Justine. She
knew she was innocent, but I felt guilty for having
created the monster who killed my brother.
I passed a night of pure wretchedness. In
the morning I went to the court to ask about the
verdict. I dared not ask the fatal question, but the
officer of the court recognized me and guessed the
cause of my visit. The votes had been cast, he told
me. Justine had been convicted.
I cannot pretend to describe what I felt at that
moment. Words cannot communicate the heart-
sickening despair I suffered. The man told me that
Justine had actually confessed her guilt. “That
evidence,” he observed, “was hardly required in
a case as clear as this one, but I am glad of it.
You know, none of our judges like to convict a
criminal upon circumstantial evidence, even if it is
decisive.”
This was strange! I wondered what it could
possibly mean. Had my eyes deceived me? Was I
verdict: decision (guilty or not guilty?)
C hap te r 8 97

really going crazy? I hurried home and spoke to

Elizabeth.
“My cousin,” I said, “it is decided as you may
have expected. Justine has been convicted. But
also . . . she has confessed.”
This was a terrible blow to poor Elizabeth.
She had been convinced of Justine’s innocence.
“Alas!” said she. “How shall I ever again believe
in human goodness? Justine, whom I loved and
valued as my sister! How could she put on those
smiles of innocence only to betray us? Her mild
eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and
yet she has committed a murder.”
Soon after, we were told that Justine had
expressed a desire to see my cousin. My father
urged Elizabeth not to go but left it to her own
judgment to decide. “Yes,” said Elizabeth, “I will
go, although she is guilty. You, Victor, must come
with me. I cannot go alone.” The idea of this visit
was torture to me, yet I felt I could not refuse.
We entered the gloomy prison cell and saw
Justine sitting on some straw at the far end. She
was handcuffed and her head rested on her knees.
guile: trickery, deception, dishonesty
98 Frankenstein

She rose on seeing us enter, and when we were

left alone with her, she threw herself at the feet of
Elizabeth, weeping bitterly. My cousin wept also.
“Oh, Justine!” said she. “Why did you rob
me of my last consolation? I had faith in your
innocence, and although I was then very wretched,
I was not so miserable as I am now.”
“And do you also believe that I am so very,
very wicked? Do you also join with my enemies
to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?” Her
voice was suffocated with sobs.
“Rise, my poor girl,” said Elizabeth. “Why do
you kneel, if you are innocent? I am not one of
your enemies. I believed you guiltless, in spite of
all the evidence, until I heard that you had yourself
declared your guilt. That report, you seem to say,
is false. Be assured, dear Justine, that nothing can
shake my confidence in you for a moment, but
your own confession.”
“I did confess, but my confession was a lie. I
confessed so that I might obtain forgiveness. But
now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than
all my other sins. May God forgive me! Ever
since I was convicted, the priest they assigned to
C hap te r 8 99

me has attacked me. He threatened me over and

over, until I almost began to think that I was the
monster he said I was. He threatened me with
excommunication and hell fire in my last moments
if I continued to speak of my innocence. At last I
gave in. In an evil hour I agreed to a lie, and now
only am I truly miserable.”
She paused, weeping, and then continued:
“I thought with horror, my sweet lady, that you
might believe your Justine, whom your blessed
aunt had honored, and whom you loved, was a
creature capable of such a horrible crime. It is a
crime that none but the devil himself could have
committed. Dear William! Dearest blessed child!
I shall see you again soon, in heaven, where we
shall all be happy, and that comforts me, going as
I am to suffer disgrace and death.”
“Oh, Justine!” cried Elizabeth. “Forgive me
for having for one moment distrusted you. Why
did you confess? But do not mourn, dear girl.
Do not fear. I will proclaim, I will prove your
innocence. I will soften the stony hearts of your
excommunication: the expulsion of a Christian from the Catholic
Church
proclaim: announce loudly
100 Frankenstein

enemies by my tears and prayers. You shall not

die! You, my playfellow, my companion, my sister,
perish on the scaffold! No! No! I never could
survive so horrible a misfortune.”
Justine shook her head sadly. “I am not
afraid of death,” she said. “God gives me courage
to endure the worst. I am resigned to the fate
awaiting me. Learn from me, dear lady, to accept
patiently the will of heaven!”
During this conversation I had retired to a
corner of the prison room, where I could conceal
my suffering. The poor victim, who on the next
morning was to pass the awful boundary between
life and death, felt not, as I did, such deep and
bitter pain. I gnashed my teeth and ground them
together, uttering a groan that came from my
inmost soul. Justine started. When she saw who it
was, she approached me and said, “Dear sir, you
are very kind to visit me. I hope you do not believe
that I am guilty?”
I could not answer. “No, Justine,” said
Elizabeth. “He is more convinced of your innocence
scaffold: a raised platform for executions
resigned: accepting of what may happen
started: made a sudden motion, as if startled
C hap te r 8 101

than I was. Even when he heard that you had

confessed, he did not believe it.”
“I truly thank him. In these last moments I
feel the sincerest gratitude towards those who
think of me with kindness. How sweet is the
affection of others to such a wretch as I am! I feel
as if I could die in peace now that my innocence is
acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin.”
I felt that I was the one responsible for William’s
death. Anguish and despair had penetrated into
the core of my heart. I bore a hell within me which
nothing could extinguish. We stayed several hours
with Justine, and it was only with great difficulty
that Elizabeth could tear herself away. “I wish,”
cried she, “that I were sentenced to die with you. I
cannot live in this world of misery.”
Justine embraced Elizabeth and said in a
voice of half-suppressed emotion, “Farewell,
dearest Elizabeth, my beloved and only friend!
May heaven bless and preserve you! May this be
the last misfortune you ever suffer! Live, and be
happy—and make others so!”
bore a hell within me: echoing Satan’s comments in Milton’s
Paradise Lost; he finds hell is not just a place but a state of
mind one carries around.
102 Frankenstein

The next day Justine was put to death on

the scaffold. Elizabeth’s heart-rending eloquence
failed to move the judges from their settled belief.
My passionate and indignant appeals were lost
upon them. I had planned to tell them everything
that I knew. However, when I received their cold
answers and heard the harsh, unfeeling reasoning
of these men, I realized that my story would do
Justine no good. They would not listen to me.
They would only take me for a madman.
From the tortures of my own heart, I turned
to contemplate the deep grief of my Elizabeth.
This also was my doing! I was the cause of her
sorrow – and of my father’s as well!
I saw all the members of my family weeping.
I saw them pouring out their sorrow on the graves
of William and Justine. I was torn by remorse,
horror, and despair. I saw that these people, whom
I loved, had experienced more suffering than
anyone should experience in a lifetime, and I hoped
that they would not be exposed to further losses,
but something told me that this would not be the
case. Something told me that these would not be
the last tears the members of my family would shed.
heart-rending: emotional, touching, impassioned
 CHAPTER 9

N
othing is more painful to the human
mind than, after the feelings have
been worked up by a quick series
of events, the dead calmness of
inaction and certainty which follows and deprives
the soul both of hope and fear. Justine died.
She rested, and I was alive. The blood flowed
freely in my veins, but a weight of despair and
remorse pressed on my heart. I had begun life
with benevolent intentions. I had longed for the
moment when I should put those intentions into
practice and make myself useful to my fellow
beings. But now all was blasted. I could not look
back upon the past with calmness of conscience
and self-satisfaction, Instead, I was gripped by
remorse and a sense of guilt.
This state of mind preyed upon my health,
which had not entirely recovered from the first
shock it had sustained. I avoided the face of man.

inaction: lack of physical activity

deprives: takes away from
104 Frankenstein

All sounds of joy were torture to me. Solitude

was my only consolation—deep, dark, deathlike
solitude.
My father observed the change in my
disposition and habits. He was pained, and he
tried to drive away the dark clouds that brooded
over me. “Do you think, Victor,” said he, “that
I do not suffer also? No one could love a child
more than I loved your brother.” Tears came into
his eyes as he said this. “I did love him—very
much. However, it is our duty not to make other
people more miserable by persisting in our grief.
It is also a duty we owe to ourselves as well,
for excessive sorrow prevents improvement or
enjoyment and even keeps us from completing our
daily responsibilities.”
This advice, although it might have helped
others, was no help to me. I would have been the
first to hide my grief and console my friends if I
had been wrestling with sorrow and sorrow alone.
But remorse had mingled its bitterness, and terror
its alarm, with my other sensations. I could only
answer my father with a look of despair and try to
hide myself from his view.
C hap te r 9 105

About this time we retired to our house at

Belrive. This change was agreeable to me. Often,
after the rest of the family had retired for the night,
I took the boat and passed many hours on the lake.
Sometimes, with my sails set, I was driven onward
by the wind. Sometimes, after rowing out to the
middle of the lake, I left the boat to pursue its
own course and gave way to my own miserable
reflections.
The lake was very quiet and calm. All was at
peace around me. But I myself was not at peace. I
was the only unquiet thing that wandered restless
in a scene so beautiful and heavenly. I was often
tempted to dive into the silent lake, that the waters
might close over me and my disasters forever.
But I was held back when I thought of the heroic
and suffering Elizabeth, whom I tenderly loved,
and whose existence was connected with mine. I
thought also of my father and surviving brother.
How could I leave them alone, exposed to the
malice of the fiend whom I had let loose among
them?

malice: hatred, bad intentions

106 Frankenstein

Often I wept bitterly. I wished that peace would

revisit my mind, so that I might offer consolation
and happiness to those around me. But that could
not be. Remorse extinguished every hope. I had
been the author of unalterable evils, and I lived
in daily fear that the monster I had created might
perpetrate some new wickedness. I had an obscure
feeling that he was not finished with me and that
he would commit some even more horrible crime.
How I hated that fiend! When I thought of him I
passionately wished to extinguish that life which I
had so thoughtlessly created. I would have made a
pilgrimage to the highest peak of the Andes, could
I, when there, have thrown him from the heights
to his death. I longed to get revenge for the deaths
of William and Justine.
Our house was a house of mourning. My
father’s health had been shaken by recent events.
Elizabeth was sad and depressed. She was no
longer that happy creature who in her youth had
wandered with me on the banks of the lake and
talked with joy of our future prospects.
pilgrimage: a religious journey to a holy place, done to purify
oneself
C hap te r 9 107

“When I reflect, my dear cousin,” said she,

“on the miserable death of Justine Moritz, I
no longer see the world and its works as they
before appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the
accounts of evil doings and injustice that I read
in books or heard from others as tales of ancient
days or imaginary evils. But now men seem to me
like monsters thirsting for each other’s blood. But
perhaps I am unjust to say this. After all, everyone
believed she was guilty. And, if she had in fact
committed the crime for which she suffered, she
most certainly would have been the most depraved
of human creatures. I could not agree to the death
of any human being, but certainly I would have
thought such a creature unfit to remain in the
society of men. But she was innocent. I know, I
feel she was innocent. You are of the same opinion,
I know, and that confirms me. Alas! Victor, when
falsehood can look so much like the truth, who can
be sure of happiness? I feel as if I were walking
on the edge of a cliff, towards which thousands
are crowding and trying to plunge me into the
emptiness. William and Justine were assassinated,
and the murderer has escaped. He walks about
108 Frankenstein

the world free, and perhaps respected. If I were

condemned to suffer on the scaffold for the same
crimes, I would not change places with such a
wretch.”
These words made my heart ache. I felt that I
was the true murderer—not in deed, but in effect.
I was the ultimate cause of dear Elizabeth’s losses
and misery.
Elizabeth saw my pain and took up my hand.
“My dearest friend,” she said, “you must calm
yourself. These events have affected me—God
knows how deeply. But there is an expression
of despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your
countenance that makes me tremble. Dear Victor,
banish these dark passions. Remember the friends
around you! Have we lost the power of making you
happy? Can we not lift your spirits at least a little?”
As she spoke, I drew near her as if in terror, as
if I feared that the creature was nearby, threatening
to rob me of her. Even Elizabeth, whom I loved so
deeply, could not chase away the fiend that hid in
my heart. I was encompassed by a cloud which no
beneficial influence could penetrate. I was like a
wounded deer, dragging its fainting limbs to some
C hap te r 9 109

untrodden brake, there to gaze upon the arrow

which had pierced it, and to die.
Sometimes I could deal with the sullen despair
that overwhelmed me. But there were other times
when it was too much to endure. I would then
seek out some new place and try to distract myself
by going on a long journey in the Alpine valleys.
On one occasion I visited the valley of Chamonix.
I had explored it frequently during my boyhood.
Six years had passed since then. I was a wreck,
but the valley itself was unchanged.
I made the first part of my journey on
horseback. The weather was fine. It was the
middle of August, nearly two months after the
death of Justine. The weight upon my spirit was
sensibly lightened as I made my way into the
ravine of Arve. There were immense mountains
and precipices hanging over me on every side. I
could hear the river raging among the rocks and
the dashing of the waterfalls. These sounds lifted
my spirits. I ceased to be afraid of any being less
untrodden brake: area of shrubs (brake) that has not been
stepped upon or trod on
Alpine: adjective describing the Alps mountains
ravine: valley carved out by a river
110 Frankenstein

almighty than that which had created and ruled

the elements. As I climbed, the valley shone
below me. Ruined castles hung on the peaks of
piney mountains. The River Arve hurried onward.
Simple cottages peeped forth from among the
trees. All these images combined to make a scene
of great beauty. And above it all were the sublime
peaks of the mighty Alps. Those white and shining
pyramids towered above everything, as if they
belonged to another earth.
Soon I saw high and snowy mountains.
Immense glaciers were visible from the road. I
heard the rumbling thunder of a falling avalanche
and saw the smoke it left behind. Mont Blanc, the
supreme and magnificent mountain, rose up in the
distance.
A tingling, long-lost sense of pleasure often
came across me during this journey. A turn in
the road would remind me of days gone by. I
was carried back to the lighthearted gaiety of
boyhood. The very winds seemed to whisper to
me in soothing accents. Mother nature seemed
glaciers: fields of ice that move slowly and “carve” the earth
avalanche: a mass of snow falling down the side of a mountain
C hap te r 9 111

to be urging me to weep no more. Unfortunately,

these feelings were only temporary. After a few
moments of happiness, I would sink back into
grief and misery.
At length I arrived at the village of Chamonix
and paid for a room. I was exhausted. For a few
minutes I stood at the window, watching the pale
traces of lightning that played above Mont Blanc.
Then I placed my head upon my pillow and sleep
crept over me. I felt it as it came and welcomed it.
 CHAPTER 10

I
spent the next day hiking in the valley. The
steep sides of vast mountains towered all
around me. It was a sublime and magnificent
scene, and it afforded me some consolation.
My grief was not removed, but it was subdued. The
mountains distracted me from my darker thoughts.
That night I dreamed of the mountains. They
congregated round me. I saw the unstained snowy
mountain-top, the glittering pinnacle. I smelled
the pine woods and saw the eagle, soaring amidst
the clouds. These visions gathered round me and
comforted me.
In the morning, however, my miseries returned.
It was raining, and thick mists hid the summits of
the mountains. I decided to go out anyway. After
all, what were rain and storm to me? I resolved
to hike up to the top of Montanvert. I had hiked
it before, when young. I remembered the effect
that the view of the tremendous and ever-moving
glacier had produced upon my mind when I first
saw it. It had given wings to my soul and allowed
subdued: beaten down, beaten back
C hap te r 10 113

it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy.

Looking at sublime and majestic scenes in nature
had always been a help to me. It had helped me
forget the passing cares of life. I decided to go
without a guide, for I was well acquainted with the
path and I wanted to be alone.
The climb is steep. The path zigs and zags.
The landscape is terrifically desolate. In a thousand
spots the traces of winter avalanches may be seen.
Fallen trees lie broken on the ground. Some are
entirely destroyed. Others are bent, leaning upon
the jutting rocks of the mountain or on other trees.
The path, as you go up, passes through ravines
of snow. In these narrow ravines the hiker must
beware of rockslides. The slightest sound, even
speaking in a loud voice, can draw destruction on
one’s head.
I looked down on the valley beneath. Vast
mists were rising from the rivers which ran through
it. These mists curled in thick wreaths around the
mountains, whose summits were hidden in the
uniform clouds. Rain poured from the dark sky
and added to the melancholy. Alas! Why do we
majestic: impressive, glorious
114 Frankenstein

human beings boast of our ability to sense more

than the animals? By sensing more, we only come
to want more and need more! If our impulses were
confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be
nearly free. But we are moved by every wind that
blows and a chance word or scene that that word
may convey to us.

We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep.

We rise; one wand’ring thought pollutes the day.
We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep,
Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away;
It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow,
The path of its departure still is free.
Man’s yesterday may ne’er be like his morrow;
Nought may endure but mutability!

It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top.

For some time I sat upon the rock that overlooks
the glacier. After a while I made my way down to
the glacier. The surface of it was very uneven, like
the waves of a troubled sea. There are many cracks,
nought: nothing
mutability: change (These lines of poetry come from “Mutability,”
a poem by the author’s husband, Percy Bysshe Shelley.)
C hap te r 10 115

which make it hard to cross. I spent nearly two

hours making my way across it.
From where I stood, Montanvert was exactly
opposite, perhaps three or four miles away. Above
it rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty. I remained
here for some time, gazing on this wonderful and
stupendous scene. The glacier seemed to wind
among the mountains like a vast river of ice.
Some of the clouds cleared away, and the icy and
glittering peaks of the mountains began to shine in
the sunlight. For a few moments, my heart swelled
with something like joy.
Then, suddenly, I noticed the figure of a man,
He was at some distance but he was advancing
towards me with superhuman speed. He bounded
over the cracks in the ice, among which I had
walked with caution. He seemed larger than most
men. I was troubled. I felt faint. As the shape came
nearer, I realized that it was the wretch whom I
had created. I trembled with anger and horror. I
decided to engage him in mortal combat.
He came near. On his face I could see bitter
suffering, combined with disdain and intense
disdain: a dislike for someone based on the feeling you are
better than the other person
116 Frankenstein

hatred. The unearthly ugliness of that face rendered

it almost too horrible for human eyes. At first,
anger and hatred robbed me of speech, but I soon
recovered and addressed him with furious hatred.
“Devil!” I exclaimed, “Do you dare approach
me? Are you not afraid of what I might do to you?
Begone, disgusting insect! Or rather, stay, that I
may trample you to dust! And, oh! That I could,
with the wiping out of your miserable existence,
restore those victims whom you have so diabolically
murdered!”
“I expected this greeting,” said the horrible
creature. “All men hate the wretched. How, then,
must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living
things! You are my creator. I am your creation. You
are bound to me by ties that can only be broken by
the destruction of one of us. And yet you wish to
kill me. How dare you play thus with life? Do your
duty towards me, and I will do mine towards you
and the rest of mankind. If you will agree to my
conditions, I will leave them and you at peace. But
if you refuse, I will track down and kill all who are
dear to you!
diabolically: in the style of a devil
C hap te r 10 117

“Abhorred monster! Fiend! The tortures of

hell are too mild a punishment for your crimes!
Wretched devil! You blame me for your creation!
Come on, then! I will destroy you!” My rage was
without bounds. I sprang on him.
Unfortunately, he got away from me and
called out, “Be calm! I beg you to hear me before
you give way to your hatred. Have I not suffered
enough already? Life, although it may only be an
accumulation of suffering, is dear to me, and I will
defend it. Remember, you have made me more
powerful than yourself. I am taller than you—and
stronger. I will not be tempted to fight with you. I
am your creature, and I will be kind and affectionate
to you if you will also perform your part. And that
much you owe me! Oh, Frankenstein, do not be
just and equitable to every other being and trample
upon me alone, to whom your justice, your mercy,
and your affection are most due. Remember that I
am your creature. You created me. I ought to be
your Adam! But I am rather the fallen angel, whom
you drive from joy for no reason. Everywhere I see
joy. Everywhere I see happiness – but happiness
which I cannot have. I was benevolent and good
118 Frankenstein

at first. It is only the experience of misery that has

made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again
be virtuous!”
“Begone! I will not hear you. There can be no
community between you and me. We are enemies.
Begone, or let us try our strength in a fight, in
which one must fall.”
“How can I move you? Will no requests or
pleas cause you to turn a favorable eye on your
creature? Does it mean nothing to you that I appeal
to your goodness and compassion? Believe me,
Frankenstein, I was well meaning and kind. My
soul glowed with love and humanity. But now I am
alone—miserably alone! You, my creator, hate me.
What hope can I gather from your fellow creatures?
They reject and hate me. The deserted mountains
and dreary glaciers are the only place where I feel
safe. I have wandered here many days. The caves
of ice, which others fear, are not frightening to me.
These are my dwelling places—and they are the
only dwelling places men will leave me. These bleak
skies I greet with pleasure for they are kinder to me
than your fellow beings. If the masses of mankind
knew of my existence, they would do as you do, and
C hap te r 10 119

arm themselves for my destruction. Shall I not then

hate them who hate me? I am miserable, and they
shall share my wretchedness. Yet it is in your power
to help me and deliver them from an evil. If you will
not do this, then not only you and your family, but
thousands of others, shall be swallowed up in the
whirlwinds of rage. Let your compassion be moved,
and do not drive me away. Listen to my tale. When
you have heard it, you may abandon me or take pity
on me, as you shall judge that I deserve. But hear
me. The guilty are allowed, by human laws, bloody
as they are, to speak in their own defense before
they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein.
You accuse me of murder, and yet you would, with
a satisfied conscience, destroy your own creature.
Oh, praise the eternal justice of man! But I am
not asking you to spare me. I am only asking that
you listen to me. Then, if you can, and if you will,
destroy the work of your hands.”
“Why do you remind me,” I replied, “of
circumstances that I shudder to recall? Why do you
remind me that I created you? Cursed be the day,
disgusting devil, in which you first saw light! And
cursed be the hands that formed you! Cursed be
120 Frankenstein

those hands, even though they are my own hands!

You have made me wretched beyond expression.
You have left me no power to consider whether I
am just to you or not. Begone! Relieve me from the
sight of your detested form.”
“Thus I relieve you, my creator,” he said, and
placed his hated hands before my eyes. “Thus I take
from you a sight which you hate. And yet still you
can listen to me and grant me your compassion.
By the virtues that I once possessed, I demand this
from you. Hear my tale. It is long and strange, and
the temperature of this place will make you shiver.
Come therefore to my hut on the mountainside.
The sun is now high in the heavens. Before it
descends to hide itself behind those snowy cliffs
and illuminate another world, you will have heard
my story and can decide. You will decide whether
I leave behind forever the neighborhood of man
and lead a harmless life or become the source of
suffering of your fellow creatures and the author of
your own speedy ruin.”
As he said this, he led the way across the ice. I
followed. My heart was full, and I did not answer
him. However, as I went on, I weighed the various
C hap te r 10 121

arguments that he had used and determined at least

to listen to his tale. I was partly urged by curiosity,
and compassion confirmed my resolution. I believed
that he had murdered my brother, and I eagerly
sought a confirmation or denial of this opinion. For
the first time, also, I felt what the duties of a creator
towards his creature were. I felt that I ought at least
to listen to what he had to say before I complained
of his wickedness. These were the motives that
urged me to agree with his demand.
We crossed the ice, therefore, and made our
way up the opposite rock. The air was cold, and
the rain again began to fall. We entered the hut.
He went in with an air of joy, but I entered with a
heavy heart and depressed spirits. I had made up
my mind to listen, however. I sat down by the fire
which my repulsive companion had lit and listened
as he began his tale.

denial: rejection
 CHAPTER 11

“I
t is hard for me to remember the first
days of my existence. All the events of
those days appear confused and fuzzy.
A strange multiplicity of sensations
seized me, and I saw, felt, heard, and smelt at the
same time. A long time passed before I learned to
distinguish the operations of my various senses.
“By degrees, I remember, a strong light pressed
upon my nerves. It was so bright that I was obliged
to shut my eyes. Darkness then came over me and
troubled me, but hardly had I felt this when, by
opening my eyes, as I now suppose, the light poured
in upon me again. I walked. The light became more
and more annoying to me, and the heat wearied me
as I walked, so I sought a place where I could get
some shade. I found it in the forest near Ingolstadt.
And there I lay by the side of a brook, resting
from my fatigue, until I felt tormented by hunger
and thirst. This woke me from my nearly sleeping
state, and I ate some berries which I found hanging
on the trees or lying on the ground. I drank some
water from the brook and then lay down to sleep.
C hap te r 11 123

“It was dark when I awoke. I felt cold and

frightened, finding myself so all alone. Before
leaving your apartment, I had covered myself with
some clothes. Unfortunately, though, these were
not enough to protect me from the dews of night.
I was a poor, helpless, miserable wretch. I knew
nothing—only that I felt pain. I sat down and wept.
“Soon a gentle light stole over the heavens
and gave me a sensation of pleasure. I started up
and saw a radiant form rise from among the trees.
I know now it was the light you humans call the
moon. I gazed on it with a kind of wonder. It
moved slowly, but it lit up my path. I again went
out in search of berries. Under one of the trees I
found a huge cloak, with which I covered myself,
and sat down upon the ground. No distinct ideas
occupied my mind. All was confused. I felt light,
and hunger, and thirst, and darkness. Innumerable
sounds rang in my ears, and on all sides various
scents greeted me. The only object that I could
distinguish was the bright moon, and I fixed my
eyes on that with pleasure.
“Several changes of day and night passed,
innumerable: too many to be counted
124 Frankenstein

and the moon had worn away to a sliver, when

I began to distinguish my sensations from each
other. I gradually saw plainly the clear stream that
supplied me with drink and the trees that shaded
me with their foliage. I was delighted when I first
discovered that a pleasant sound, which I often
heard, came from the throats of the little winged
animals who had often blocked the light from my
eyes. I began also to observe, with greater accuracy,
the forms that surrounded me. I noticed the radiant
roof of light above me. Sometimes I tried to imitate
the pleasant songs of the birds but was unable.
Sometimes I wished to express my sensations in
my own way, but the awkward sounds which came
from me frightened me into silence again.
“The moon disappeared from the night, and
again, with a lessened form, showed itself. I still
remained in the forest. My sensations had by this
time become distinct, and my mind received every
day additional ideas. My eyes became accustomed
to the light and began to notice objects in their
right forms. I was able to distinguish an insect from
a plant, and by degrees, one plant from another.
I found that the sparrow uttered none but harsh
 C hap te r 11 125

“I was delighted when I first discovered that a pleasant sound,

which I often heard, came from the throats of the little
winged animals who had often blocked the light from my eyes.”
126 Frankenstein

notes, while the songs of the blackbird and thrush

were sweet and attractive.
“One day, when I was cold, I found a fire
which had been left by some wandering beggars.
Oh, what a discovery that was! I was overcome
with delight at the warmth I experienced from it.
In my joy I thrust my hand into the red-hot coals
but quickly drew it out again with a cry of pain.
How strange, I thought, that the same cause should
produce such opposite effects! I examined the
materials of the fire, and found it to be made of
wood. I quickly collected some branches, but they
were wet and would not burn. I was pained at this.
I sat still and studied the fire. The wet wood which
I had placed near the heat dried and caught fire.
I thought about this, and by touching the various
branches, I discovered the cause. I then busied
myself in collecting a great quantity of wood, that
I might dry it and have a plentiful supply of fire.
When night came and brought sleep with it, I
worried that my fire might burn out. I covered it
carefully with dry wood and leaves and placed wet
branches upon it. Then, spreading my cloak, I lay
on the ground and sank into sleep.
C hap te r 11 127

“The wet wood which i had placed near the heat dried and
caught fire.”

“It was morning when I woke up. My first care

was to visit the fire. I uncovered it, and a gentle
breeze quickly fanned it into a flame. I observed
this also and made a fan out of some branches,
which roused the embers when they were nearly
extinguished. When night came again I found,
with pleasure, that the fire gave light as well as
heat. The discovery of fire was also useful to me
in another way, for I found some of the foods that
travelers had left behind had been roasted on a fire
and tasted much better than the berries I gathered
from the trees. I tried, therefore, to prepare my food
in the same way, placing it on the burning coals.
128 Frankenstein

I found that the berries were spoiled by the fire;

however, the nuts and roots were much improved.
“Food, however, was becoming harder to find.
I often spent the whole day searching in vain
for a few acorns to eat. Since food was scarce, I
resolved to leave the place where I had been living,
to seek one where my wants would be more easily
satisfied. Of course, this meant leaving behind the
fire. I had obtained the fire by accident, and I did
not know how to recreate it. I gave several hours
to the serious consideration of this difficulty, but I
could not think of any way to transport the fire. At
last I wrapped myself up in my cloak and struck
out across the woods, towards the setting sun. I
passed three days in these rambles and at length
discovered some open country. A great snowstorm
had taken place the night before, and the fields
were covered with snow. I found my feet chilled by
this cold, damp substance that covered the ground.
“It was early in the morning, and I longed to
find food and shelter. At length I spotted a small
hut. It stood on a rising ground and had doubtless
been built for the convenience of some shepherd.
This was a new sight to me, and I examined the
C hap te r 11 129

structure with great curiosity. Finding the door

open, I entered. An old man sat in it. He was
sitting near a fire, over which he was preparing
his breakfast. He turned on hearing a noise, and
seeing me, shrieked loudly. He exited the hut and
ran across the fields. His flight somewhat surprised
me. But I was filled with delight by the appearance
of the hut. Here the snow and rain could not enter.
The ground was dry. I greedily ate what was left
of the shepherd’s breakfast. It consisted of bread,
cheese, milk, and wine. I did not like the wine.
Then, overcome by fatigue, I lay down among some
straw and fell asleep.
“The sun was high in the sky when I awoke.
I decided to begin my travels again. I put what
was left of the peasant’s breakfast in a little bag I
found. Then I walked across the fields for several
hours, until at sunset I arrived at a village. How
amazing that village seemed to me! The huts, the
neater cottages, and the stately houses engaged
my admiration. The vegetables in the gardens, the
milk and cheese that I saw placed at the windows
of some of the cottages, stirred up my appetite. I
entered one of the cottages, but this did not turn
130 Frankenstein

out well. I had hardly placed my foot within the

door when the children shrieked, and one of the
women fainted. The whole village was stirred up.
Some of them fled. Some of them attacked me. I
was seriously bruised by rocks and stones but I
escaped. At length I took refuge in a hovel. This
hovel was located next to a cottage of a neat and
pleasant appearance. However, after my recent
experiences, I dared not enter it. My place of
shelter was constructed of wood, but the ceiling
was so low that I could barely sit up in it. It had a
dirt floor, but it was dry; and, although the wind
entered it by innumerable holes, I found it gave me
protection from the snow and rain.
“Here, then, I retreated and lay down. I was
happy to have found a shelter, however miserable,
from the bad weather of the season, and still more
from the cruelty of man. As soon as morning
dawned, I crept out of the hovel so I could view the
cottage next door. The hovel was situated against
the back of the cottage. It was surrounded on its
open sides by a pig sty and a clear pool of water.
There were some openings in the walls through
hovel: a small hut
C hap te r 11 131

which I might be seen. I covered these up with

stones and wood, yet in such a manner that I could
move some of them when I was ready to leave. It
was very dark, but it was good enough for me.
“Having thus arranged my dwelling and carpeted
it with clean straw, I retired, for I saw the figure of
a man at a distance, and I remembered too well my
treatment the night before. I had a loaf of coarse
bread, which I had stolen, and a cup with which I
could drink more conveniently than from my hand
of the pure water which flowed by my dwelling.
The floor of the hovel was a little raised, so that it
remained dry, and because it was not too far from
the chimney of the cottage it was tolerably warm.
“My little hovel was a paradise compared to my
former residence in the forest. I ate my breakfast
with pleasure and was about to remove a piece
of wood from the side of the hut to do get a little
water when I heard a step. Looking through a small
chink in the hovel, I saw a young creature, with a
pail on her head. The girl was young and of gentle
demeanor, unlike what I have since found cottagers
and farmhouse servants to be. Yet she was poorly
dressed. She wore a rough blue petticoat and a
132 Frankenstein

linen jacket. Her fair hair was braided but not

adorned. She looked patient but sad. I lost sight of
her, and in about a quarter of an hour she returned
with the pail, which was now partly filled with milk.
A young man met her, whose face expressed a deep
unhappiness. Uttering a few sounds with an air of
melancholy, he took the pail from her head and
carried it to the cottage himself. She followed, and
they disappeared. In a little while, I saw the young
man again, with some tools in his hand, cross the
field behind the cottage. The girl also kept busy,
sometimes in the house and sometimes in the yard.
“On examining my dwelling, I found that
one of the windows of the cottage had formerly
occupied a part of it, but the panes had been filled
up with wood. In one of these was a small and
almost imperceptible chink through which the eye
could just penetrate. Through this crack a small
room was visible, whitewashed and clean but very
bare of furniture. In one corner, near a small fire,
sat an old man, leaning his head on his hands in a
discouraged manner. The young girl was occupied
in arranging the cottage; but presently she took
something out of a drawer, which employed her
C hap te r 11 133

“In one of these was a small and almost imperceptible chink

through which the eye could just penetrate.”
134 Frankenstein

hands. She sat down beside the old man. He then

took up some instrument and began to play and
produce sounds sweeter than the voice of the thrush
or the nightingale. It was a lovely sight—even to
me, a poor wretch who had never beheld anything
beautiful before. The silver hair and benevolent
expression of the aged cottager won my respect,
while the gentle manners of the girl charmed me.
He played a sweet mournful tune which drew tears
from the eyes of his amiable companion. The old
man took no notice of her, until she sobbed audibly.
Then he pronounced a few sounds, and the girl,
leaving her work, knelt at his feet. He raised her to
her feet and smiled with such kindness and affection
that I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering
nature. They were a mixture of pain and pleasure,
such as I had never before experienced, either from
hunger or cold, warmth or food. I withdrew from
the window, unable to bear these emotions.
“Soon after this the young man returned with
a load of wood. The girl met him at the door and
helped to relieve him of his burden. She took some
of the wood into the cottage and placed it on the fire.
burden: load
C hap te r 11 135

Then she and the youth went apart into a corner of

the cottage, and he showed her a large loaf of bread
and a piece of cheese. She seemed pleased and went
into the garden for some roots and plants, which
she placed in water, and then upon the fire. She
afterwards continued her work, while the young
man went into the garden to dig up some more
roots. After about an hour, the young woman joined
him and they entered the cottage together.
“The old man had, in the meantime, been
pensive. However, when his companions returned,
he assumed a more cheerful air, and they sat down
to eat. The meal was quickly finished. The young
woman began to tidy up the cottage, while the old
man walked before the cottage in the sun for a few
minutes, leaning on the arm of the youth. Nothing
could exceed in beauty the contrast between these
two excellent creatures. One was old, with silver
hair and a facial expression beaming with kindness
and love; the other was slight and graceful in his
figure. His features were attractive, yet his eyes
expressed great sadness. The old man returned to

pensive: thoughtful
136 Frankenstein

the cottage, and the youth, with tools different from

those he had used in the morning, directed his steps
across the fields.
“Night came, but to my astonishment, I found
that the cottagers had a way of driving away
darkness by the use of candles. I was delighted to
find that the setting of the sun did not put an end to
the pleasure I experienced in watching my human
neighbors. In the evening the young girl and her
companion were employed in various occupations
which I did not understand. The old man again
took up the instrument which produced the divine
sounds that had delighted me in the morning.
As soon as he had finished, the youth began, not
to play, but to utter sounds that were repetitive,
neither resembling the harmony of the old man’s
instrument nor the songs of the birds. I found out
later that he was reading aloud, but at that time I
knew nothing of words or letters.
“The family, after having been thus occupied for
a short time, put out their candles and went to sleep.”
 CHAPTER 12

“I
lay on my straw, but I could not sleep.
I thought of the events of the day.
What chiefly struck me was the gentle
manners of these people. I longed to join
them, but I dared not. I remembered too well the
treatment I had suffered the night before from the
villagers. I decided that, for the time being, I would
remain quietly in my hovel, watching the family and
trying to understand the things they did.
“The cottagers got up the next morning before
the sun. The young woman arranged the cottage
and prepared the food. The youth went out after
the first meal.
“This day was was much like the previous
day. The young man was constantly busy out
of doors, and the girl inside. The old man, who
I soon realized was blind, spent his free time
playing his instrument or sitting quietly and
thinking. Nothing could be greater than the
love and respect which the younger cottagers
showed towards their older companion. They did
everything for him with affection and gentleness,
138 Frankenstein

and he rewarded them with kind smiles.

“They were not entirely happy, though. 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). They seemed to
have every luxury. They had a fire to warm them
and delicious food. They were dressed in excellent
clothes. They enjoyed one another’s company
and speech, exchanging looks of affection and
kindness. What did their tears mean? Did they
really express pain? I was at first unable to solve
these questions, but after watching them for a
while I was able to answer many of them.
“Many days passed before I discovered one of
the causes of the uneasiness of this amiable family.
They were poor, and they suffered a great deal
from their poverty. Their food consisted entirely
of vegetables from their garden and the milk of
solitary: single, unaccompanied
C hap te r 12 139

one cow, which gave very little during the winter.

They often, I believe, suffered terrible pangs of
hunger. The two younger cottagers seemed to
suffer the most, for several times they placed
food before the old man when they had none for
themselves.
“Their kindness moved me. I had been
accustomed, during the night, to stealing some
of their supplies for myself, but I found that by
doing this I was causing the cottagers pain. I
therefore stopped stealing food from them and
satisfied myself with berries, nuts, and roots which
I gathered from a nearby wood.
“I also discovered another way of helping
them. I found that the young man spent a great
part of each day collecting wood for the family
fire. During the night I often took his tools, the use
of which I quickly discovered, and brought home
enough wood to last them several days.
“I remember, the first time I did this. The
young woman, when she opened the door in the
morning, appeared greatly surprised on seeing a
great pile of wood on the outside. She spoke some
words in a loud voice. The young man joined her,
140 Frankenstein

and he also expressed surprise. I observed, with

pleasure, that he did not go to the forest that day.
Instead he spent the day repairing the cottage and
working in the garden.
“Eventually, I made another, more important
discovery. I found that these people had a way
of communicating their experience and feelings
to one another using sounds. I noticed that the
words they spoke sometimes produced pleasure
or pain, smiles or sadness, in the minds and
faces of the listeners. This was indeed a godlike
capability, and I wanted to understand how they
did it. But, at first, I was frustrated in my attempts
to understand. Their pronunciation was quick,
and the words they spoke seemed not to have
any apparent connection with visible objects.
For a long time, I was unable to discover any
clue by which I could unravel the mystery of
what they were saying. After watching for many
days, however, I discovered the names that were
given to some of the most familiar objects. I
learned and applied the words, fire, milk, bread,
and wood. I learned also the names of the cottagers
themselves. The young man and his companion
C hap te r 12 141

had each of them several names, but the old man

had only one, which was father. The girl was called
sister or Agatha. The young man was called Felix,
brother, or son. I cannot describe the delight I felt
when I learned the ideas connected with 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 way. The gentle
manners and beauty of the cottagers greatly
endeared them to me. When they were unhappy,
I felt depressed. When they rejoiced, I also felt
their happiness. I saw few other human beings
besides them, and I did not particularly like the
other humans who visited from time to time. The
old man, I noticed, often tried to encourage his
children (as I found that he called them) to cast off
their sadness. He would talk in a cheerful voice,
with an expression of goodness that pleased me.
Agatha listened with respect, her eyes sometimes
filled with tears, which she tried to wipe away
unnoticed. However, I generally found that she
was more cheerful after having listened to her
142 Frankenstein

father. It was not the same with Felix. He was

always the saddest of the group, and he seemed
to have suffered more deeply than his friends. But
if his facial expressions were more sorrowful, his
voice was more cheerful than that of his sister,
especially when he addressed the old man.
“It was clear that they loved one another. 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 had fallen on her path
to the milk-house, drew water from the well, and
brought in wood from the storage house. There, to
his astonishment, he found his supply of firewood
always replenished by an invisible hand. In the day,
I believe, he worked sometimes for a neighboring
farmer, because he often went out and did not
return until dinner, and then he brought no wood
with him. At other times he worked in the garden.
In the frosty season, he worked less and spent
more time reading to the old man and Agatha.
“This reading puzzled me at first. However,
replenished: filled up again
C hap te r 12 143

by degrees I discovered that he uttered many of

the same sounds when he read as when he talked.
I guessed, therefore, that he found on the paper
symbols for speech which he understood, and I
passionately longed to comprehend these also.
But how was that possible when I did not even
understand the sounds for which they stood as
symbols? My understanding of their language
did improve, however. For a long time I could
not follow any kind of conversation, although I
tried to do so. I wished to present myself to the
cottagers, but I was afraid of what might happen.
I felt I should not attempt this until I could use
their language.
“I had admired the appearance of my
cottagers—their grace, beauty, and delicate
complexions. But how was I terrified when, one
day, I caught sight of myself in a pool! At first
I started back. I could not believe that I was the
thing I saw. When I became fully convinced that I
was in reality the monster that I am, I was horrified
and depressed. Alas! I did not yet entirely know
the fatal effects of my deformity.
deformity: the condition of being misshaped
144 Frankenstein

“As the sun became warmer and the days grew

longer, the snow vanished. I beheld the bare trees
and the black earth. From this time forward, Felix
was busier. Several new kinds of plants sprang up
in the garden, and the cottagers began to eat some
of what they produced.
“The old man, leaning on his son, walked each
day at noon. But he did not walk when there was
rain—and that was another word I learned to
recognize and repeat: rain!
“My life in my hovel was repetitive. During the
morning I watched the activities of the cottagers,
and when they went out, I slept. When they
returned, I watched their evening activities. When
they had retired to rest, if there was any moonlight
or starlight, I went into the woods and collected
my own food, along with firewood for the cottage.
When I returned, as often as it was necessary, I
cleared their path of snow and performed those
tasks I had seen Felix doing. Later I found that
these tasks, performed by an invisible hand,
greatly astonished them. Once or twice I heard
them say the words good spirit or wonderful. But I
did not then understand the meaning of the terms.
C hap te r 12 145

“My thoughts now became more active. I

longed to discover the thoughts and feelings of
these lovely creatures. I wanted to understand why
Felix seemed so miserable and why Agatha seemed
so sad. I thought—foolish wretch!—that I might
be able to restore happiness to these deserving
people. I looked upon them as superior beings
who would decide my destiny. In my imagination
I pictured how I would present myself to them,
and how they would receive me. I expected that
they would be disgusted by my appearance at
first; however, I thought that I could win their
favor, and perhaps even their love, with my gentle
demeanor and some friendly words.
“These thoughts lifted my spirits and led me to
work even harder at learning the art of language.
My voice was very unlike the soft music they
produced, but I was able to learn more and more
words, and I pronounced the words I had learned
fairly well.
“The pleasant showers and warmth of spring
greatly altered the appearance of the earth. Men
who seemed to have been hidden in caves came
out and busied themselves planting and growing
146 Frankenstein

food. The birds sang in more cheerful notes, and

the leaves began to bud on the trees. My spirits
were elevated by the delightful appearance of
nature. The past was erased from my memory.
The present was peaceful and the future seemed
bright.”
 CHAPTER 13

“S
pring advanced rapidly. The
weather improved. It surprised me
that what before was empty and
gloomy should now bloom with the
most beautiful flowers. My senses were gratified
and refreshed by a thousand scents of delight and
a thousand sights of beauty.
“One day my cottagers rested early from
their work. The old man played his guitar, and
the children listened to him. I observed that
Felix seemed very moody. He sighed frequently,
and once when his father paused in his music,
and I guessed by his manner that he was asking
the cause of his son’s sorrow. Felix replied in a
cheerful accent, and the the old man was beginning
his song again when they heard the footsteps of a
horse outside. Felix and Agatha went out. There
was a lady on horseback. She was dressed in a
dark suit and a thick black veil covered her face.
Agatha asked a question, to which the stranger
only replied by pronouncing the name of Felix, in a
sweet accent. Her voice was musical but unlike that
148 Frankenstein

of either of my friends. On hearing this word, Felix

came up hastily to the lady. When she saw him, she
drew back her veil, and I beheld a face of angelic
beauty and expression. Her hair was shining,
raven black, and curiously braided. Her eyes were
dark, but gentle. Her features were attractive.
Her complexion was wondrously fair, each cheek
tinged with a lovely pink.
“Felix seemed to be seized with delight when
he saw her. Every trace of sorrow vanished from
his face. His eyes sparkled, and his cheek flushed
with pleasure. 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.
He kissed it and called her, as well as I could
distinguish, his sweet Arabian. She did not seem
to understand him, but she smiled. He helped
her get off her horse and, dismissing her guide,
led 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.
C hap te r 13 149

“There was a lady on horseback. She was dressed in a dark

suit and a thick black veil covered her face.”

“I soon realized that although the stranger

appeared to have a language of her own, she
was not understood by the cottagers. Nor could
she understand the things that they said. But I
saw that her presence made the others happy,
driving their sorrows away as the sun drives away
the morning mists. Felix seemed peculiarly happy
and with smiles of delight welcomed his Arabian.
Agatha kissed the hands of the lovely stranger.
Some hours passed in this way, while they, by
their facial expressions, expressed joy, the cause of
which I did not understand. Presently I found, by
150 Frankenstein

the frequent repetition of some sound which the

stranger repeated after them, that she was trying to
learn their language. The idea immediately occurred
to me that I should make use of their lessons too.
The stranger learned about twenty words at the
first lesson. Most of them were words I had learned
before, but I did learn a few new ones.
“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
Safie!’ He sat up much longer, speaking with his
father, and by the frequent repetition of her name
I guessed that their lovely guest was the subject of
their conversation. I tried to understand what they
were saying but found it completely impossible.
“The next morning Felix went out off to work.
After the usual duties of Agatha were finished, the
Arabian sat at the feet of the old man, and taking
his guitar, played some songs so beautiful that they
drew tears of sorrow and delight from my eyes. She
sang, and her voice flowed in a rich rhythm, swelling
or dying away like a nightingale of the woods.
“When she had finished, she gave the guitar
to Agatha. She played a simple tune, and her
C hap te r 13 151

voice accompanied it in sweet accents, but unlike

the wondrous song of the stranger. The old man
seemed to enjoy it very much. He said some words
which Agatha attempted to explain to Safie. He
seemed to be trying to tell her that he taken great
delight in her singing.
“The days now passed as peaceably as before;
the only change was that joy had taken place of
sadness in the cottage. Safie was always happy.
She and I improved rapidly in the knowledge
of language, so that in two months I began to
comprehend most of the words spoken by my
protectors.
“In the meantime also the ground was covered
with budding plants, and the green banks decorated
with innumerable flowers, sweet to the scent and
the eyes. The sun became warmer. The nights
grew clear and pleasantly warmer, and my nightly
rambles were a great pleasure to me, although
they were considerably shortened by the late
setting and early rising of the sun. I never went out
during daylight, for fear of meeting with the same
treatment I had experienced in the first village I
had entered.
152 Frankenstein

“My days were spent watching and listening.

I longed to master their language.
“While I improved in speech, I also learned
the science of written letters as it was taught to the
stranger, and this opened before me a wide field
for wonder and delight.
“The book that Felix used to teach Safie
was Volney’s Ruins of Empires. I would not have
understood it if Felix had not given very detailed
explanations of the sections he read aloud.
He had chosen this work, he said, because the
style reminded him of certain Eastern authors.
Through this work I obtained some knowledge
of history and a view of the several empires
that currently exist in the world. It gave me an
understanding of the manners, governments, and
religions of the different nations of the earth. I
heard of the amazing genius and mental activity
of the Greeks, of the wars and wonderful virtue
of the early Romans—and of the decline of that
mighty empire—, of chivalry, Christianity, and
kings. I heard of the discovery of the Americas

Ruins of Empires: published in 1791

C hap te r 13 153

and wept with Safie over the sad fate of its original
inhabitants.
“These wonderful stories inspired me with
strange feelings. It seemed that human beings
were powerful, well-behaved, and magnificent.
And yet, at the same time, it seemed that they were
often badly behaved. For a long time I could not
understand how a man could go forth to murder
one of his fellow men, or even why there were laws
and governments. When I heard details of crime
and bloodshed, I turned away with disgust and
loathing.
“Every conversation of the cottagers opened
new wonders to me. While I listened to the lessons
Felix gave the Arabian, the strange system of
human society was explained to me. I heard of
the division of property, of wealth and poverty, of
rank, descent, and noble blood.
“I learned that the possessions most valued
by your fellow creatures are an aristocratic name

sad fate of its original inhabitants: the native American people

were often pushed off their lands by settlers and died in large
numbers after exposure to European diseases
loathing: hatred
154 Frankenstein

and riches. A man may be respected with only

one of these advantages, but without either he
is considered, except in very rare instances, as a
vagabond and a slave, doomed to waste his powers
for the profits of the chosen few. And what was
I? Of my creation and creator I was absolutely
ignorant. I knew, however, that I possessed no
money, no friends, no property. I had, besides, a
figure hideously deformed and loathsome. I was
not even of the same physical nature as the men
I observed. I was more coordinated than any of
the cottagers and could survive on a coarser diet.
I could endure the extremes of heat and cold with
less injury to my body. I was much larger and much
taller than any of them. When I looked around I
saw and heard of no other beings like me. Was I,
then, a monster? Was I a hideous creature, from
whom all men fled and whom all men disowned?
“I cannot describe to you the suffering that
these reflections inflicted upon me. I tried to ignore
them, but sorrow only increased with knowledge.

vagabond: wanderer, homeless person

disowned: refused to recognize as like them
C hap te r 13 155

Oh, that I had forever remained in my native

wood, nor known nor felt beyond the sensations
of hunger, thirst, and heat!
“Knowledge is a strange sort of thing. It clings
to the mind when it has once seized on it like a
moss clinging to a rock. I wished sometimes to
shake off all thought and feeling, but I learned that
there was only one way to overcome the sensation
of pain, and that by dying—an outcome which I
feared yet did not understand. I admired virtue
and good feelings and loved the gentle manners
and amiable qualities of my cottagers, but I was
shut out from interaction with them. Oh, what a
miserable wretch I was!
“Other lessons were impressed upon me even
more deeply. I heard of the difference between the
two sexes, and the birth and growth of children. I
learned how the father doted on the smiles of the
infant, and the lively activities of the older child.
I learned how all the life and cares of the mother
were wrapped up in her child. I learned how the
mind of youth expanded and gained knowledge.

doted: showed a great liking for

156 Frankenstein

I learned about brothers and sisters, and all the

various relationships which bind one human being
to another.
“But where were my friends and relatives? No
father had watched my infant days. No mother
had blessed me with smiles and caresses. Or if
they had, I could not remember anything. All my
past life was now a blot, an empty space in which I
distinguished nothing. From my earliest memories
I had been the same in height and proportion. I
had never seen a being resembling me. What was
I? That question rose up again and again, but I
could only answer with groans.”

caresses: loving touches

 CHAPTER 14

“S
ome time elapsed before I learned
the history of my friends. It turned
out that the old man’s name was
De Lacey. He was descended from
a good family in France, where he had lived for
many years in wealth, 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 a large
and luxurious city called Paris. There they were
surrounded by friends and all the pleasures that a
small fortune could afford.
“The father of Safie had been the cause of
their ruin. He was a Turkish merchant and had
lived in Paris for many years. Eventually, for some
reason which I could not learn, he did something
that angered the government. He was seized and
cast into prison the very day that Safie arrived
from Constantinople to join him. He was tried
distinction: high social rank among the nobles
Constantinople: famous city in Turkey, now Istanbul
158 Frankenstein

and condemned to death. The injustice of his

sentence was obvious. People said that he had
been condemned for his religion and wealth rather
than the crime alleged against him.
“Felix had been present at the trial. He
was horrified and outraged when he heard the
decision of the court. He made, at that moment,
a promise to rescue the convicted man and then
looked around for a way to do so. After many
fruitless attempts to gain entrance to the prison,
he found a grated window in an unguarded part
of the building, which lighted the dungeon of the
unfortunate man. The Turk was inside, loaded
with chains and waiting to be executed. Felix
visited the grate at night and called out to the poor
man. He told him that he was determined to help
him escape. The Turk was amazed and delighted.
He promised Felix a great reward if he could free
him. At first, Felix refused the man’s offers, but
that changed when he saw Safie. She was allowed
to visit her father in jail, and she managed to
show her gratitude through smiles and gestures.
outraged: very upset
fruitless: unsuccessful
C hap te r 14 159

Although Felix had not set out to win a reward,

he had to admit that the prisoner was in possession
of a treasure that would fully reward him for his
efforts.
“The Turk saw that his daughter had made
an impression on Felix. He tried to encourage the
young man by promising him his daughter’s hand in
marriage as soon as he could be rescued. Felix was
too delicate to accept this offer, yet he hoped that
the promised marriage might someday take place.
“During the next few days, while the
preparations were going forward for the escape
of the merchant, Felix’s enthusiasm was warmed
by several letters that he received from this lovely
girl. She found ways to express her thoughts in the
language of a lover by the aid of an old man. He was
a servant of her father’s who understood French.
She thanked Felix in the most passionate terms for
his intended services towards her father, and at the
same time she gently deplored her own fate.
“I have copies of these letters. Before I go I
will give them to you. They will prove the truth of
too delicate: too sensitive to what is (and is not) proper
deplored: complained about
160 Frankenstein

my tale. At present, however, as the sun is already

low in the sky, I shall only have time to repeat the
substance of them to you.
“Safie related that her mother was a Christian
Arab, who had been seized and made a slave
by the Turks. She had won the heart of Safie’s
father, who married her. The young girl spoke in
high and enthusiastic terms of her mother, who,
born in freedom, rejected the slavery to which
she was now reduced. She taught her daughter
her religion and taught her to aspire to higher
powers of intellect and an independence of spirit
forbidden to the female followers of Muhammad.
Her mother died, but her lessons made a lasting
impression on the mind of Safie. She could not
bear the prospect of returning to Asia and being
walled up in a harem. The prospect of marrying
a Christian and remaining in a country where
women were allowed to take a rank in society was
very appealing to her.
“The day for the execution of the Turk was
set, but the night before he escaped from his

Muhammad: the prophet of Islam, founder of the Muslim faith

harem: a group of wives kept by a single man
C hap te r 14 161

prison and, before morning came, he was many

miles from Paris. Felix had acquired passports in
the name of his father, sister, and himself. He had
previously explained his plan to his father, who
aided the deceit by leaving his house, under the
pretense of a journey and hiding himself, with his
daughter, in a little-known part of Paris.
“Felix led the escapees through France to
Lyons and across the mountains to Leghorn, in
Italy, where the merchant had decided to wait for
an opportunity of passing into some part of the
Turkish territories.
“Safie decided to remain with her father until
the moment of his departure, before which time
the Turk renewed his promise that she should be
married to his rescuer. Felix remained with them in
expectation of that event, and in the meantime he
enjoyed the society of the Arabian. She exhibited
towards him the simplest and tenderest affection.
They conversed with one another through the
means of an interpreter, and sometimes by smiles
and looks. Safie sang to him the songs of her native
country.
deceit: trick
162 Frankenstein

“The Turk allowed all of this to take place

and encouraged the hopes of the young lovers, but
in his heart he had formed other plans. He was a
pious Muslim and he could not accept the idea that
his daughter might marry a Christian. However,
he knew that he needed Felix’s help, so he put on
a show of approval.
“The French were very upset that their prisoner
had escaped, and they spared no pains to track him
down. The plot of Felix was brought to light, and
De Lacey and Agatha were thrown into prison.
The news reached Felix and stirred him from his
pleasant dreams. His blind and aged father and his
gentle sister lay in a dungeon while he enjoyed the
free air and the company of the person he loved.
This idea was torture to him. He quickly made
arrangements for the Turk, telling him he should
look for an opportunity for escape. If he happened
to find one before Felix could finish his business
in France and return to Italy, he should leave
Safie as a boarder at a convent in Leghorn. After
making these plans, Felix said goodbye to Safie
pious: seriously religious
convent: a Christian religious house for females, who are called
nuns
C hap te r 14 163

and hurried to Paris. There he turned himself in.

He was hoping that the government would release
De Lacey and Agatha.
“His plan did not succeed. The whole family
remained in prison for five months before a trial
took place. He and his family members had their
fortune taken away and were sent into exile.
“They went to stay in the cottage in Germany,
where I discovered them. Felix soon learned that
the Turk, for whom he and his family had endured
so many difficulties, had betrayed him. When
the Turk learned that Felix had been reduced to
poverty and ruin, he had left Italy and taken Safie
with him.
“Such were the events that weighed on Felix’s
heart and made him, when I first saw him, the
most miserable of his family. He could have
endured poverty, but the ingratitude of the Turk
and the loss of his beloved Safie were misfortunes
more bitter and irreparable. It was only when
the Arabian arrived a little later that his mood
improved.

exile: banishment, forced absence from one’s home country

164 Frankenstein

“When the news reached Leghorn that Felix

was no longer wealthy, the Turkish merchant gave
his daughter orders. She was to think no more of
her lover. Instead, she was to prepare for a return
to her native country. Safie was outraged by these
orders. She tried to argue with her father, but he
left her angrily, repeating his cruel order.
“A few days later, the Turk entered his
daughter’s apartment. He told her that he had
reason to believe that their residence at Leghorn
had been discovered. He was in danger of being
taken captive and turned over to the French
government. As a result, he had hired a ship to
transport him to Constantinople. The ship would
sail in a few hours. He intended to leave his
daughter in the care of a servant. The servant had
been ordered to follow him to Constantinople on
another ship as soon as possible.
“When she was left alone, Safie considered her
options. She did not want to go back to Turkey.
She wanted to follow her lover into exile. Taking
with her some jewels that belonged to her and a
sum of money, she left Italy with a young female
friend. This friend was a native of Leghorn, but
C hap te r 14 165

she understood the language of Turkey. Together

the two young women departed for Germany.
“They made their way to a town about seventy
miles from the cottage of De Lacey. There her
traveling companion fell dangerously ill. Safie
cared for her with the most devoted affection,
but the poor woman died. Safie did not know
the language of the country and was completely
ignorant of the customs of the world. She fell,
however, into good hands. The woman of the
house where she was staying took care to see that
she arrived safely at the cottage of her lover.”
 CHAPTER 15

“S
uch was the history of my cottagers.
It made a deep impression on me.
I learned from it to admire their
virtues and condemn the vices of
mankind. But in giving this account, I must not
leave out an event that occurred in August of the
same year.
“One night I went into the woods to gather
food for myself and firewood for my protectors. On
a rock I found a leather suitcase containing several
articles of clothing and some books. Fortunately,
the books were written in the language I had been
learning. They included Milton’s Paradise Lost, a
volume of Plutarch’s Lives, and the Sorrows of Young
Werther. These books gave me great delight. I
began to study them whenever the cottagers were
busy with their work. They stirred up many new
ideas and feelings.
Paradise Lost: long poem about Adam and Eve, by the English
poet John Milton, 1667.
Plutarch’s Lives: a collection of “parallel lives” of ancient Greeks
and ancient Romans.
Sorrows of Young Werther: popular novel about a troubled and
sensitive youth, by the German author Johann Wolfgang von
Goethe, published in 1774.
C hap te r 15 167

“As I read the books, I applied many of the

details in them to my own life and feelings. I felt
that I was similar to the persons described in the
Sorrows of Young Werther and yet also strangely
unlike them. I sympathized with them and partly
understood them. But I was unformed in mind,
connected to no other being, and related to no
one. Who was I then? And what was I? Where
did I come from? And what was my purpose?
These questions continually came up again and
again, but I was unable to answer them.
“The volume of Plutarch’s Lives contained
the histories of the first founders of the ancient
republics. Plutarch taught me noble thoughts. He
elevated me above the wretched sphere of my own
reflections and taught me 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, mighty rivers,
and boundless seas, and I knew nothing about
towns. The cottage of my protectors was the only
school in which I had studied human nature. But
this book introduced me to new and mightier
scenes of action. I read of men involved in public
168 Frankenstein

affairs, governing or massacring their species.

I felt a passion for virtue rise within me, and a
hatred for vice, as far as I understood the meaning
of those terms.
“But Paradise Lost excited different and far
deeper emotions. I read with wonder and awe
the story of an omnipotent God warring with his
creatures. I often made connections between the
story in the book and my own life. Like Adam
in Milton’s poem, I was apparently united by
no link to any other being in existence. And yet
his state was very different from mine in every
other way. He had come forth from the hands
of God, and he was a perfect creature, happy
and prosperous, guarded by his Creator. He
was allowed to communicate with and acquire
knowledge from beings of a superior nature. But
I was wretched, helpless, and alone. My situation
was more like that of Milton’s Satan, for, like him,
I felt envy rising up within me.
“Another circumstance strengthened and
confirmed these feelings. Soon after my arrival in
the hovel I discovered some papers in the pocket of
massacring: killing in large numbers
C hap te r 15 169

the clothes that I had taken from your laboratory.

At first I had not paid attention to them, but
now that I was able to decipher the characters in
which they were written, I began to study them.
It was your journal of the four months before my
creation. You described, in detail, every step you
took in the progress of your work.
“I am sure you remember the pages. As I
read your words, I felt sick. ‘O hateful day when
I received life!’ I shouted in agony. ‘Accursed
creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous
that even you turned away from me in disgust?
God, in pity, made man beautiful and attractive,
after his own image. But I am deformed! Even
Satan had his companions. He had fellow devils
who admired and encouraged him, but I am
friendless and hated.’
“These were my thoughts when I thought of
myself. However, when I thought of the cottagers,
I began to feel better. They were so friendly and
kind! I looked forward to a time when I could
introduce myself to them, and I persuaded myself
that they would overlook my deformity and be
kind to me. If I came to their door to ask for their
170 Frankenstein

friendship, would they turn me away? I did not

think they would, however monstrous my body
might seem to them. I decided, at least, not to give
up hope. After a while I began to prepare for a
meeting with them.
“In the meantime, several changes took place
in the cottage. The presence of Safie made the
others happy. Felix and Agatha seemed contented.
Their feelings were serene and peaceful, while
mine became every day more tumultuous. The
more I learned, the more clearly I came to see
what a wretched outcast I was. I cherished hope, it
is true, but it vanished when I saw myself reflected
in water or caught sight of my shadow in the
moonlight.
“I tried to crush these fears and strengthen
myself for the upcoming meeting in a few months.
Sometimes I allowed my thoughts, unchecked
by reason, to ramble in the fields of Paradise. I
imagined that the cottagers would sympathize
with my feelings and cheer my gloom. But it
was all a dream. There was no Eve to soothe my
tumultuous: uneven, rough, stormy
outcast: person left alone or driven out by others
C hap te r 15 171

sorrows and share my thoughts. I was alone. I

remembered how Adam had asked his creator for
a companion. But where was my own creator? He
had abandoned me, and in the bitterness of my
heart I cursed him.
“Autumn passed and I saw, with surprise
and grief, the leaves decay and fall, and nature
again take on the lifeless and bleak appearance
it had worn when I first beheld the woods and
the lovely moon. But my cottagers did not seem
to be dismayed by these changes. They loved
and sympathized with one another in spite of the
changes. The more I saw of them, the more I longed
for their protection and kindness. I yearned to be
known to them—and loved by them. I longed to
see their sweet looks directed towards me. I dared
not think that they would turn from me with
disdain and horror. The poor people who stopped
at their door were never driven away. I would be
asking, it is true, for greater treasures than a little
food or rest. I would be asking for kindness and
sympathy. But I did not believe myself utterly
unworthy of it.
“As the winter advanced, I thought more and
172 Frankenstein

more about my plan to introduce myself to the

cottagers. I considered many different approaches.
At last, I decided to enter the dwelling when the
blind old man was there alone. I knew it was
the unnatural hideousness of my body that had
horrified others who had seen me. My voice,
although harsh, had nothing terrible in it. I
thought, therefore, that if I could speak to the old
man when he was by himself, I could gain his trust.
Then he might be my advocate with the others.
“One day, Safie, Agatha, and Felix went for a
walk, and the old man was left alone in the cottage.
He took up his guitar and played several lovely
songs. Then he laid aside the instrument and sat
there, absorbed in reflection.
“My heart began to race. This was moment
I had been waiting for. I approached the door of
their cottage and knocked.
“‘Who’s there?’ said the old man. ‘Come in.’
“I entered. ‘Pardon this interruption, I said.
‘I am a traveler in want of a little rest. Would you
allow me to stand for a few minutes before the fire?’
“‘Enter,’ said De Lacey. ‘Unfortunately, my
advocate: spokesman, defender
C hap te r 15 173

children have gone out, and I am blind. I am afraid

I will not be able to give you any food.’
“‘Do not trouble yourself, my kind host. I have
food. It is warmth and rest only that I need.’
“I sat down, and a few seconds of silence
followed. I knew that every minute was precious
to me, but I was unsure what to say. At last the old
man addressed me.
“‘By your language, stranger, I suppose you
are my countryman. Are you French?’
“‘No,’ I said. ‘But I was educated by a French
family and understand only that language. I am
now going to claim the protection of some friends,
whom I sincerely love, and of whose favor I have
some hopes.’
“‘Are they Germans?’
“‘No, they are French. But let us change the
subject. I am an unfortunate and lonely creature. I
look around and I have no relatives or friends on
earth. These amiable people to whom I go have
never seen me and know little of me. I am full of
fears, for if I fail there, I may end up an outcast in
the world for ever.’
“‘Do not worry. To be friendless is indeed to
174 Frankenstein

be unfortunate, but the hearts of men, when not

influenced by self-interest, are full of brotherly
love and generosity. Rely, therefore, on your
hopes. If these friends are good, you have no
reason to worry.’
“‘They are kind—they are the most excellent
creatures in the world. But unfortunately they are
prejudiced against me. I am good at heart. My life
has so far been harmless and I have even done a
few good deeds. But a fatal prejudice clouds their
eyes, and where they ought to see a kind friend,
they behold only a detestable monster.’
“‘That is indeed unfortunate. But if you are
really blameless, surely you can persuade them to
think well of you?’
“‘I am about to try—and that is why I am
so nervous. I tenderly love these friends. I have,
unknown to them, offered acts of daily kindness
towards them. But they believe that I wish to harm
them, and it is that prejudice I wish to overcome.’
“‘Where do these friends live?’
“‘Near this spot.’
“The old man paused and then continued, ‘If
you will tell me all the details of your tale, perhaps
C hap te r 15 175

I may be of use to you. I am blind and cannot

judge your appearance, but there is something
in your words which persuades me that you are
sincere. I am poor and living in exile, but it will
give me pleasure to help you.’
“‘Thank you, sir! I accept your generous
offer. From your lips first have I heard the voice
of kindness directed towards me, and I shall be
forever grateful to you.”
“‘May I know the names of your friends?’
“I paused. This, I thought, was the moment of
truth—the moment that would make me happy or
leave me miserable. I struggled to answer the old
man, but I was overcome with emotion. I sat down
on a chair and sobbed aloud.
“Just then I heard footsteps outside. I realized
that the others were returning. I had not a moment
to lose. I took the old man by the hand and cried,
‘Now is the time! Save and protect me! You and
your family are the friends whom I seek. Do not
you desert me!’
“‘Great God!’ exclaimed the old man. ‘Who
are you?’
“At that instant the cottage door opened,
176 Frankenstein

and Felix, Safie, and Agatha entered. Who can

describe their horror on seeing me? Agatha fainted
and Safie rushed out of the cottage. Felix darted
forward and forcefully tore me away from his
father. I clung to the old man’s knees until Felix
struck me with a large stick. I could have torn him
limb from limb, as the lion rends the antelope. But
my heart sank within me as with bitter sickness,
and I did not do it. He was about to hit me again
when, overcome by pain and anguish, I fled from
the cottage. In the confusion I was able to escape
unnoticed and went back to my hovel.”

rends: tears into pieces

 CHAPTER 16

“A
fter they drove me away, I burned
with rage. I could with pleasure
have destroyed the cottage and
its inhabitants. I could have
glutted myself on their shrieks and misery.
“When night came, I left the hovel and went
into the woods. There I was no longer afraid of
being discovered, and I expressed my pain by
howling. I howled like a wild beast. Oh, what a
miserable night I passed! Like the fallen angel in
Milton’s poem, I bore a hell within me. I longed to
tear up the trees and spread destruction around me.
“I was in despair! There were millions of
men in the world—but not one who would pity
or assist me! Why, then, should I feel kindness
towards men? Were they not my enemies? From
that moment, I declared everlasting war against
mankind—and, most of all, against the man
who had created me and sent me forth to this
unbearable misery.

despair: hopelessness
178 Frankenstein

“The sun rose. I heard the voices of men and

knew I could not return to my hovel during the
daytime. I hid myself in the woods.
“The pleasant sunshine and the pure air of
day restored me to some degree of tranquility.
I reviewed what had taken place in the cottage
and decided that I had been too quick in drawing
conclusions. It was clear that I had made some
progress with the old man before the others
returned. I decided to return to the cottage and try
to speak with him once more.
“That night I directed my steps towards the
cottage. All there was at peace. I crept into my
hovel and waited for the hour when the family
arose. That hour came and went. The sun rose
high in the heavens, but the cottagers did not
appear. I was very anxious. The inside of the
cottage was dark, and I heard no motion.
“Presently two men appeared. They stopped
near the cottage and entered into conversation,
using violent gestures. They spoke a language I
could not understand. Soon after, however, Felix
returned with another man.
“‘You understand,’ the man said to him, ‘that
C hap te r 16 179

you will have to pay three months’ rent—and lose

the produce of your garden? Perhaps you should
take a few days to reconsider?’
“‘My decision is final,’ replied Felix. ‘We can
never live here again. The life of my father is in
the greatest danger, owing to the dreadful events
that I have related. My wife and my sister will
never recover from their horror. I beg you not to
reason with me anymore. Take possession of your
dwelling and let us fly from this place.’
“Felix trembled violently as he said this. He
and his companion entered the cottage. They
remained inside for a few minutes and then
departed. I never saw any member of the De
Lacey family again.
“I spent the rest of the day in my hovel in a
state of utter despair. My protectors had departed
and had broken the only link that connected me to
the world. Feelings of revenge and hatred filled my
bosom, and I did not try to control them. Instead, I
allowed myself to be carried along by them. I bent
my mind towards injury and death.
“That night I tore up every plant in the garden
and piled sticks and wood around the cottage.
180 Frankenstein

There was a kind of craziness in my spirits that

burst all bounds of reason and reflection. I lighted
a dry branch of a tree and set the wood beside
the cottage on fire. It was a windy night, and the
wind fanned the fire. The cottage was quickly
swallowed up by flames.
“I sought safety in the woods but was unsure
where to go. I decided to go somewhere far, far
away from the scene of my misfortunes. But to
me, hated and despised, every country would be
equally horrible.
“At length the thought of you crossed my mind.
I had learned from your papers that you were my
father—my creator. Among the lessons that Felix
had given Safie, geography had not been omitted.
I had learned from his lessons the positions of the
different countries of the earth. You had mentioned
Geneva as the name of your native town, and
towards that town I decided to proceed.
“But how was I to direct myself? I knew that
I must travel in a southwesterly direction to reach
Geneva, but the sun was my only guide. I did not
know the names of the towns that I was to pass,
nor could I ask information from a single human
C hap te r 16 181

being. However, I did not despair.

“Towards you, I felt no sentiment but hatred.
Unfeeling, heartless creator! You had given me
sense and feelings and then thrown me out! But
you were the only person who could correct the
wrong, and from you I determined to seek justice.
“My travels were long and the sufferings I
endured painful. It was late autumn when I left
the district where I had so long resided. Fearful
of encountering human beings, I traveled only at
night. Nature decayed around me. The sun ceased
to give heat. Rain and snow poured down around
me. Mighty rivers froze. The surface of the earth
grew cold and hard and bare, and I found no
shelter. I had a map, but I often lost my way.
“The mildness of my nature had withered
away, and all within me was turned to bitterness.
As I made my way to you, I felt the fire of revenge
burning hotter in my heart.
“By the time I arrived in Switzerland, the sun
had recovered some of its warmth and the earth
again began to look green. I generally rested during
the day and travelled only at night. One morning,
however, finding that my path lay through a deep
182 Frankenstein

wood, I decided to continue my journey after the

sun had risen. It was one of the first days of spring.
The day was sunny and warm. It cheered me. I felt
emotions of gentleness and pleasure stir within me.
Half surprised by the newness of these sensations,
I allowed myself to be carried away by them, and
forgetting my loneliness and deformity, dared to
be happy. Soft tears again wetted my cheeks, and
I even raised my damp eyes with thankfulness
towards the blessed sun, which gave me such joy.
“I continued to wind among the paths of the
wood, until I came to the edge and to a deep and
rapid river. Here I paused, not knowing which
way to go. Then I heard the sound of voices and
hid myself behind a cypress tree. A young girl
came running towards the tree, laughing, as if
she ran from someone in sport. She continued her
course along the banks of the river, when suddenly
her foot slipped, and she fell into the rapid stream.
I rushed from my hiding-place and leaped into the
river. The current was strong, but I was able to
drag her back to the shore. She was senseless, and
I was trying to revive her, when I was interrupted
revive: bring back to life
C hap te r 16 183

by the approach of a man, who was probably the

person from whom she had playfully run away.
On seeing me, he rushed towards me and tore
the girl from my arms. He ran into the woods. I
followed speedily. I hardly knew why, but when
the man saw me drawing near, he aimed a gun at
my body and fired. I sank to the ground, and the
man escaped into the woods.
“This was the reward for my kindness! I had
saved a human being from destruction, and as a
reward I was left twisting and turning from the
pain of a wound which tore my flesh and shattered
my bone. The feelings of kindness and gentleness
which I had entertained a few moments before
gave place to hellish rage and gnashing of teeth.
Inflamed by pain, I swore eternal hatred and
vengeance to all mankind. But the pain of my
wound overcame me and I fainted.
“For some weeks I led a miserable life in the
woods, trying 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 way to remove it.
My sufferings were also increased by a sense of
184 Frankenstein

the injustice of the deed. I swore I would have

my revenge—a deep and deadly revenge, such as
would compensate for the outrages and suffering
I had endured.
“After some weeks my wound healed, and I
continued my journey. My labors were no longer
lightened by the bright sun or gentle breezes of
spring. I could no longer feel joy; I felt that I was
not made for the enjoyment of pleasure. But my
toils were drawing to a close, and in two months I
reached the outskirts of Geneva.
“It was evening when I arrived, and I retired to
a hiding-place among the fields to think about how I
should approach you. I was tired and hungry and far
too unhappy to enjoy the gentle breezes of evening or
the prospect of the sun setting behind the mountains.
“While I was thinking, I was disturbed by the
approach of a beautiful child, who came running
up to me with all the playfulness of infancy.
Suddenly, as I gazed on him, an idea seized me
that this little creature was unprejudiced: he had
lived too short a time to have acquired a horror
of deformity. If, therefore, I could seize him and
compensate: make up for
C hap te r 16 185

educate him as my companion and friend, I would

not be so horribly alone.
“Urged by this impulse, I seized on the boy as
he passed and drew him towards me. As soon as
he saw my form, he screamed.
“‘Child,’ I said, ‘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. My papa is an important man—
he is Mr. Frankenstein—he will punish you!’
“‘Frankenstein! You belong then to my
enemy—to him towards whom I have sworn
eternal revenge. You shall be my first victim.’
“The child still struggled and called me names.
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 joy and hellish triumph. Clapping my hands,
I exclaimed, ‘My enemy is not all-powerful. This
death will make him unhappy, and a thousand
other miseries will torment and destroy him!’
ogre: a kind of monster
186 Frankenstein

“Child,” I said, “what is the meaning of this? I do not intend

to hurt you.”

“As I fixed my eyes on the child, I saw

something glittering on his breast. I took it. It was
a portrait of a lovely woman. For a few moments
I gazed with delight on her dark eyes and her
lovely lips. Presently, however, my rage returned.
I remembered that I was forever deprived of the
C hap te r 16 187

delights that such beautiful creatures could give. I

thought also what the woman would say if she saw
me. Probably that look of divine kindness would
have changed to a look expressive of disgust and
fear. Can you wonder that such thoughts stirred
up rage in my heart?
“While I was overcome by these feelings, I
went to look for a better hiding-place. I entered
a barn. There I discovered a woman sleeping on
some straw. She was young—not as beautiful as
the woman in the portrait, but of an agreeable
appearance and blooming in the loveliness of
youth and health. Here, I thought, is one of those
whose joyful smiles are given to all but me. And
then I bent over her and whispered, ‘Awake,
fairest, your lover is near—he who would give his
life but to obtain one look of affection from thine
eyes / My beloved, awake!’
“The sleeper stirred. A thrill of terror ran
through me. I thought, what if she awakes, and sees
me, and curses me, and denounces the murderer? The
thought awakened the fiend within me. I swore
that I would not be the one to suffer. Thanks to the
lessons of Felix and the bloodthirsty laws of man, I
188 Frankenstein

had learned how to work mischief. I bent over her

and placed the portrait securely in one of the folds
of her dress. She moved again, and I fled.
“For some days I haunted the spot where these
scenes had taken place. Sometimes I wished to see
you. Sometimes I decided to quit the world and
its miseries forever. At length I wandered towards
these mountains. I have travelled back and forth
through their immense spaces, consumed by a
burning passion which you alone can satisfy. I will
not part from you until you have agreed to my
demand. I am alone and miserable. Humans will
have nothing to do with me, but a creature 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.”
 CHAPTER 17

H
e finished speaking and looked
at me, expecting a reply. But I
was confused and failed at first to
understand what he wanted. He
continued, “You must create a female for me with
whom I can exchange those sympathies necessary
for my being. This you alone can do, and I demand
that you do it!”
The latter part of his tale had angered me, and
I could no longer hold back the rage that burned
within me.
“I refuse to do it!” I replied. “And no torture
shall ever lead me to do it. Shall I create another
like yourself so the two of you can join forces and
wipe out the world? Go away! I have answered
you. You may torture me, but I will never agree!”
“You are in the wrong,” replied the fiend. But,
instead of threatening, I will reason with you. I
have done these things 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! Remember that, and tell me why
190 Frankenstein

I should pity man more than he pities me? You

would not call it murder if you could throw me off
this mountain and destroy the work of your own
hands. Shall I respect man when he condemns me?
I would live with him in peace, if he would accept
me. But that cannot be. The human senses are
insurmountable barriers to our union. Yet I will
not submit like an groveling slave. I will revenge
my injuries. If I cannot inspire love, I will cause
fear. And towards you, my creator, I swear never-
ending hatred. I will work at your destruction,
and I will not cease until I reduce you to misery
and make you curse the hour of your birth.”
A fiendish rage seemed to come over him as he
said this. His face was wrinkled into contortions
too horrible for human eyes to look at. Presently,
however, he calmed himself and proceeded—
“I intended to reason with you. This passion
is harmful to me, for you do not reflect that you
are the cause of it. If any being felt emotions
of kindness towards me, I would return those
feelings a hundred times. For that one creature’s
sake, I would make peace with all of mankind! But
I am indulging in dreams of happiness that can
C hap te r 17 191

never be realized. What I ask of you is reasonable.

I demand a creature of another sex, but as hideous
as myself. It is true, the two of us will be monsters,
cut off from all the world. But for that reason we
will 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 this gift! Let me see that I excite the sympathy
of some existing thing. Do not deny my request!”
I was moved. I shuddered when I thought of
the possible consequences of agreeing, but I felt
that there was some justice in his argument. His
tale and the feelings he had expressed proved him
to be a creature with feelings, and perhaps he was
right. Did I, as his maker, owe him the portion of
happiness that it was in my power to give? He saw
my change of feeling and continued, “If you agree,
neither you nor any other human being shall
ever see us again. We will go to the vast wilds of
South America and live on acorns and berries. My
companion will be of the same nature as myself
and will be content with the same food. We shall
make our bed of dried leaves. The sun will shine
192 Frankenstein

on us and will ripen our food. We will live in

peace, and you must feel that it would be cruel not
to allow us such a harmless existence. You have
been pitiless to me, but I now see compassion in
your eyes. Let me seize the favorable moment and
persuade you to promise what I desire.”
“You propose,” I replied, “to fly from the lands
of man, to live in wild places where the beasts of
the field will be your only companions. But how
can you, who long for the love and sympathy of
man, survive in this exile? You will return to seek
their kindness, and you will meet with their hatred.
Your evil passions will be renewed, and you will
then have a companion to aid you in the work
of destruction. No, I cannot allow that to occur.
Cease to argue the point, for I cannot agree.”
“How changeable are your feelings! A moment
ago you were moved by my situation. Why then 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
provide, I will quit the world of man and dwell
in the most savage of places. My evil passions
compassion: sympathy, fellow feeling
C hap te r 17 193

will vanish away, 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 felt
compassion for him and sometimes felt a wish to
comfort him. However, when I looked upon him,
when I saw the filthy mass that moved and talked,
my heart sickened and I felt horror and hatred. I
hated him for what he had done, and yet part of me
wondered if I should give him what he wanted to
keep him from doing things even worse. Perhaps
creating a second creature would be justified if it
served to prevent future violence.
“You swear,” I said, “to be harmless, but you
have already shown a willingness to do evil. Why,
then, should I trust you? Perhaps this request
of yours is nothing more than a trick that will
increase your ability to do harm.”
“What’s this?” he said. “I will not be trifled with.
I demand an answer. If I have no connections to
others and no affections, I can only feel hatred and
do evil. But the love of another will destroy the cause
of my crimes. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive
trifled: fooled, messed
194 Frankenstein

being and become linked to the chain of existence

and events from which I am now excluded.”
I paused some time to reflect. I considered
all he had said and the various arguments he had
employed. I thought of the promise of virtues
which he had displayed at first and the suffering
he had endured. But I thought also of what he had
done—and what he might do in the future. After
much reflection, I concluded that the justice due
both to him and my fellow creatures demanded of
me that I should agree with his request. Turning to
him, therefore, I said, “Very well. I agree to your
demand—on one condition. You must swear to
leave Europe forever—and every other residence of
mankind, as soon as I shall deliver into your hands a
female who will accompany you in your exile.”
“I swear!” he cried. “I swear by the sun, and
by the blue sky of heaven, and by the fire of love
that burns my heart. I swear that, if you grant my
prayer, neither you nor any other human being
shall ever see me again. Go home and begin your
work. I will watch your progress—and when the
time is right, I shall return.”
excluded: kept out
C hap te r 17 195

Saying this, he suddenly left me, fearful,

perhaps, that I might change my mind. I saw him
descend the mountain with great speed, and I
quickly lost sight of him.
His tale had occupied the whole day, and the
sun was on the horizon when he departed. I knew
that I ought to hurry home, before darkness fell,
but my heart was heavy, and my steps were slow.
I was distracted by the emotions which the events
of the day had produced.
The next morning I returned to Geneva and
presented myself to my family. My appearance
alarmed them, but I answered no questions. I felt
as if I had no right to claim their sympathies—as
if never more might I enjoy companionship with
them. Yet, even in this miserable state, I loved
them, and, to save them, I made up my mind to
dedicate myself to the task.

horizon: the spot in the distance where the sky meets the land
 CHAPTER 18

W
eeks passed. I found myself
unable to start working on my
assigned task. I had made a
promise, but I was unable to
overcome my repugnance for the task. In addition,
I found that I could not create a female without
once again devoting several months to profound
study. I had heard of some discoveries made by an
English philosopher that would be important for
my project, and I sometimes thought of obtaining
my father’s permission to visit England, but I took
no action. I made excuses of one sort or another to
keep from beginning on the project.
One day my father took me aside and spoke
to me.
“I wish to speak with you about Elizabeth. I
confess that I have always looked forward to your
marriage to her as a source of comfort in my old
age. The two of you were attached to each other
from your earliest infancy. You studied together
and appeared, in personalities and tastes, entirely
repugnance: strong dislike
C hap te r 18 197

suited to one another. But you may, perhaps,

regard her as your sister, without any wish that
she become your wife. You may have met with
another whom you love.”
“Father, set your mind at ease. I love my
cousin tenderly and sincerely. My future hopes and
prospects are entirely bound up in the expectation
of our marriage.”
“Ah, my dear Victor, it gives me great pleasure
to hear this! If you feel this way, we shall surely
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 of
late that I wish to drive away. Tell me, therefore,
whether you have any objection to an immediate
marriage.”
I listened to my father in silence and for
some time could not reply. To me the idea of
an immediate marriage with my Elizabeth was
upsetting. I was bound by a solemn promise I had
not yet fulfilled and yet dared not break. If I were
to break my promise, all sorts of miseries might
fall on me and those dear to me! Could I enter
into a marriage with this deadly weight hanging
198 Frankenstein

round my neck? I felt I could not. I felt that I must

keep my promise and let the monster depart with
his companion before I could allow myself to enter
into a marriage from which I expected peace.
I felt that I needed to separate myself from
my family and loved ones while working on the
project. Once I began, I told myself, I would
quickly complete the work. Then the monster
would leave me in peace and I could return to
my family—and to Elizabeth—in happiness. Or,
perhaps, some accident might occur to destroy him
and put an end to my slavery forever.
These feelings guided me in my answer to my
father. I expressed a wish to visit England, but I
did not tell him the true reasons for this request.
I had been unhappy for so long that he was glad
to find that I was capable of taking pleasure in the
idea of such a journey. He hoped that a change of
scene would restore me entirely to myself.
The length of my absence was left up to me. A
few months, or at most a year, was what I had in
mind. My father thought I should have a traveling
companion and made plans for Henry Clerval to
join me at Strasbourg.
C hap te r 18 199

It was understood that my marriage to

Elizabeth would take place as soon as I returned
from England. My father urged me not to delay my
trip. For myself, there was one reward I promised
myself from my detested work—one consolation
for my sufferings; it was the prospect of that day
when, freed from my miserable slavery, I might
claim Elizabeth, forget the past, and get married.
I began making plans for my journey, but I
was very anxious. During my absence I would be
leaving my family and friends alone and unguarded.
They knew nothing of their enemy and therefore
could do nothing to protect themselves if he
decided to attack them. But he had promised to
follow me wherever I might go. So I thought he
might follow me to England. That was dreadful in
itself, but it comforted me to think that it would
ensure the safety of my friends at home. What
really worried me was the possibility that he might
try to attack my family or my friends as a way of
punishing me for what I had done.
At the end of September I set off with my
chemical instruments and equipment. After several
days, I arrived at Strasbourg, where I waited
200 Frankenstein

for Henry. 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 even more happy when he saw
it rise and introduce a new day. He pointed out
to me the shifting colors of the landscape and the
appearances of the sky. “This is what it is to live!”
he cried. “Now I enjoy existence! But you, my
dear Frankenstein, why are you so sad!” In truth,
I was occupied by gloomy thoughts and neither
saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden
sunrise reflected in the Rhine. And you, my friend,
would be far more amused with the journal of
Henry, who observed the scenery with an eye of
feeling and delight, than in listening to my gloomy
thoughts. I was a miserable wretch, haunted by a
curse that seemed to close off every possibility of
enjoyment.
We had agreed to sail down the Rhine from
Strasbourg to Rotterdam and then take ship for
London. During this voyage we passed many
willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns.
We stayed a day at Mannheim, and on the fifth day
Rhine: river that flows past Strasbourg.
C hap te r 18 201

after our departure from Strasbourg, we arrived at

Mainz. We saw many ruined castles standing on
the edges of cliffs, surrounded by towering black
woods.
We travelled at harvest time and heard
laborers singing as they picked grapes in the
vineyards. Henry delighted in the journey, and
even I, depressed in mind and troubled by gloomy
feelings, was pleased. I gazed up at the cloudless
blue sky and 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 was a being formed to respond to the
poetry of nature.
Ah, Henry! Beloved friend! Even now it delights me
to think of you and to give you the praise you deserve!
Pardon me for these comments. They are only
words, but the words soothe my heart and help me
to cope with painful memories.
I will continue with my tale.
After Cologne we came to the lowlands of
Holland and arrived in a few days at Rotterdam.
From there we proceeded by sea to England. It
was on a clear morning, at the end of December,
202 Frankenstein

that I first saw the white cliffs of England. We

sailed up the river Thames and saw the Tower of
London and the steeple of St. Paul’s Cathedral.

Thames: river that flows through London, pronounced TEMZ.

 CHAPTER 19

W
e decided to spend several
months in this wonderful city.
During our time there, I was
busy obtaining the information
I needed to complete my promise. I made use of
some letters of introduction that I had brought with
me, which were addressed to several distinguished
natural philosophers.
If this journey had taken place during my
days of study and happiness, it would have given
me great pleasure. But I could no longer take any
pleasure in the work, and I only paid visits to gather
information I needed for my project. The company
of others was annoying to me. When I was alone,
I could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and
earth. The voice of Henry soothed me, and I could
thus cheat myself into a temporary peace.
In Henry I saw the image of my former self.
He was curious and eager to learn. The difference
of manners which he observed was to him a never-
ending source of instruction and amusement. He
was also pursuing an object he had long had in
204 Frankenstein

view. His design was to someday visit India, for

he believed that his knowledge of the various
languages of that country, and of its society,
would allow him to contribute to the progress of
European colonization and trade. He was always
busy, and the only check on his enjoyments was
my sad and sorrowful mind. I was busy collecting
the materials necessary for my new creation. This
was not pleasant work for me. On the contrary,
it was like the torture of single drops of water
continually falling on the head. Every thought
that was devoted to my project brought me pain,
and every word that I spoke concerning it caused
my lips to quiver and my heart to skip a beat.
After passing a few months in London, we
received a letter from a person in Scotland who
had formerly visited us in Geneva. He invited us
to visit him at his home in Perth. Henry wanted
to accept this invitation, and I agreed to make the
trip, to see the rugged natural scenes of Scotland.
We had arrived in England at the beginning
of October, and it was now February. We decided
to begin our journey to the north at the end of
check: restraint
C hap te r 19 205

the next month. We did not intend to follow the

highway to Edinburgh. Instead we planned to visit
Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland
lakes, and arrive in Scotland about the end of
July. I packed up my chemical instruments and
the materials I had collected, promising myself
that I would finish my work in some out-of-the-
way location in the north of Scotland.
We left London on the 27th of March and
spent a few days at Windsor. We rambled in its
beautiful forest and admired the majestic old oak
trees and the herds of stately deer that graze there.
From there we went on to Oxford. The
spirit of ancient times lives on in Oxford. The
colleges are ancient and picturesque. The streets
are magnificent, and the lovely River Isis, which
flows beside the city, reflects the majestic towers,
spires, and domes of Oxford.
I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment
was embittered both by the memory of the past
and by concerns about the future. I was formed
for peaceful happiness. During my youthful days
Windsor: home of Windsor Castle
Oxford: English town, home to Oxford University
picturesque: pretty, worthy of a picture
206 Frankenstein

unhappiness never visited my mind. But now I

am a blasted tree. It is as if a bolt of lightning has
blasted my soul. In that ancient city, I felt like a
miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable
to others and intolerable to myself.
We left Oxford and proceeded to Matlock.
The country around this village resembles the
scenery of our native Switzerland. But everything is
on a smaller scale. The green hills are not crowned
by distant white mountains, as they are in my native
country. We visited a wondrous cave and saw some
interesting examples of natural history.
Still journeying northwards, we passed two
months in Cumberland and Westmorland. Here
also we made some acquaintances, who almost
managed to make me happy. Henry’s delight was
much greater than mine. His mind expanded in
the company of men of talent. “I could pass my life
here,” he told me. However, we had to continue on
our travels.
I had now neglected my promise for some
time, and I began to worry what the monster

Matlock: English town further north

expanded: grew larger
C hap te r 19 207

might do. It occurred to me that he might still be in

Switzerland, taking out his anger on my relatives.
This idea tormented me in moments when I
might otherwise have had some peace. I waited
impatiently for letters from home. Sometimes I
thought that the fiend followed me and might
strike at me by murdering my companion. When
these thoughts came over me, I would not leave
Henry alone for a moment.
We visited Edinburgh. Henry did not like
it so well as Oxford, for the antiquity of Oxford
was more pleasing to him. But the beauty of
Edinburgh, with its romantic castle, compensated
him for the change. He also took great delight in the
Pentland Hills. They filled him with cheerfulness
and admiration. But I was impatient to arrive at
the end of my journey.
We left Edinburgh and passed through
Coupar and St. Andrew’s. We then traveled along
the banks of the River Tay, to Perth, where our
friend was expecting us. But I was in no mood for
socializing. I told Henry that I wished to make a
Edinburgh: city in southern Scotland
antiquity: great age, oldness
Perth: city in northeastern Scotland
208 Frankenstein

tour of Scotland alone.

“Enjoy yourself,” I told him. “I may be absent
a month or two, but do not interfere with my
travels. Leave me alone for a short time, and when
I return I hope it will be with a lighter heart, better
suited to your own temper.”
Henry tried to convince me not to go, but
seeing that I was determined, he eventually agreed.
He urged me to write often. “I would rather be
with you,” he said, “in your travels, than with these
Scotch people, whom I do not know. Hurry back
to me, then, my dear friend, so that I may again
feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do
in your absence.”
Having parted from my friend, I decided to go
to the northernmost part of Scotland and finish my
work in solitude. I thought that the monster was
probably following me and would turn up when I
finished, in order to receive his companion.
With this resolution I traveled across the
northern highlands and chose one of the remotest
of the Orkney Islands as the place for my work.
There were only five persons living on the island,
Orkney Islands: set of islands off the northern coast of Scotland
C hap te r 19 209

and their thin, scraggy limbs were evidence of the

poor diet on which they survived. Vegetables and
bread were luxuries they had to import from the
mainland, which was about five miles away. Even
fresh water had to be imported.
On the whole island there were only three
miserable huts, and one of these was empty when
I arrived. This I rented. It contained only two
rooms, both empty. The thatched roof had fallen
in, the walls were unplastered, and the door had
fallen off its hinges. I had the door repaired and
bought some furniture.
The residents of the island were too sunk
in poverty to pay much attention to me, and I
devoted every morning to my work. However, in
the evenings, when the weather permitted, I went
for a walk on the stony beach. I would listen to the
waves as they roared and dashed at my feet.
I worked hard at first, but as time went on I
found it more and more difficult to focus on the
work. Sometimes I could not persuade myself
to enter my laboratory for several days. Then I
would force myself to toil day and night in order
to complete some part of the project.
210 Frankenstein

During my first experiment, a kind of

enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horrors
of the project. My mind was focused on the work,
and my eyes were shut to the horror of what I was
doing. But now I went to it with cold blood, and
my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.
Every moment I feared to meet my persecutor.
Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground,
afraid that if I raised them they might encounter
the object which I so much dreaded to see. I only
rarely left my house.
In the meantime I continued with my work—
and made progress. I looked forward to the
completion of my task with hope. At the same
time, however, I had obscure forebodings of evil
that made my heart sicken in my bosom.

frenzy: wildness of spirit, crazy energy

persecutor: a person who torments or attacks another
forebodings: hints of something to come
 CHAPTER 20

I
sat one evening in my laboratory. The sun
had set, and the moon was just rising. It
was too dark to work, and, for whatever
reason, I began to consider the likely effects
of what I was doing. Three years before, I had
been engaged in the same manner. I had created
a fiend whose unparalleled barbarity had filled
my heart with bitter remorse. I was now about to
form another creature—and I had no idea what
sort of being she might turn out to be. She might
be a thousand times worse than her mate. She
might delight in murder for its own sake. He had
sworn to leave behind the world of men and hide
himself in deserts, but she had not. She might
refuse to comply with an agreement made before
her creation. The two beings might even hate
each other. The creature who already lived hated
his own deformity. He might find the new being
equally repulsive—or more repulsive. She also
might turn with disgust from him to the superior
beauty of man. She might leave him. Then he
unparalleled barbarity: badness of a sort never seen before
212 Frankenstein

would be alone again, rejected this time by one of

his own species.
Even if the two of them left Europe and settled
in some unpopulated part of the new world, there
might be trouble. They would, in all probability,
have children, and those children might produce
a race of devils who would torment and terrify
mankind. Did I have a right, for my own benefit,
to inflict this curse upon future generations? For
the first time, the wickedness of my promise burst
upon me. I trembled to think that future ages
might curse me. They might view me as a wretch
who purchased peace for himself by endangering
the whole human race.
As I trembled at these thoughts, I saw by the
light of the moon the creature at the window. A
ghastly grin wrinkled his lips as he peered in at
me. Yes, he had followed me in my travels, and
now he had come to observe my work and claim
the partner he had demanded.
As I looked on him, his face expressed the
most horrible cruelty and dishonesty. I could
not bear the thought of creating another like to
inflict: to cause something harmful
ghastly: ghost-like, horrifying
C hap te r 20 213

him; so, trembling with passion, I tore to pieces

the thing I was creating. The wretch saw me
destroy the creature on whose future existence
he depended for happiness, and with a howl of
devilish misery and revenge, he turned away.
I made a sincere promise never to return to my
work again. I then sat down, exhausted.
Several hours passed. I sat near the window,
gazing on the sea. It was peaceful, almost
motionless. All nature seemed to be resting under
the eye of the quiet moon. I sat in silence for a long
while. Then I heard the paddling of oars near the
shore and someone landing a boat and walking
towards my house.
A few moments later, I heard the creaking
of my door, as if someone was trying to open it
softly. I trembled from head to foot. I had a sense
who was at the door. I thought about running to
one of the peasants who lived nearby, but I was
overcome by a sense of helplessness and remained
rooted to the spot.
Presently I heard footsteps along the passage.
The door opened, and the wretch whom I dreaded
appeared. Shutting the door, he approached me
214 Frankenstein

and said, “You have destroyed the work which

you began. You have broken your promise! I
have followed you all this time. I crept along the
shores of the Rhine. I have lived many months
in the heaths of England and among the wilds of
Scotland. I have endured fatigue, and cold, and
hunger. How dare you destroy my hopes!”
“Get out of here!” I shouted. “I am breaking
my promise. I will never create another like
yourself! I will not! The hour of my indecision
is past, and your power over me is at an end.
Your threats cannot move me to do an act of
wickedness. They only serve to convince me that I
have made the right decision. I will not make the
same mistake twice. I will not set loose upon the
earth another demon that delights in killing. Go! I
am firm, and there is nothing you can say that will
make me change my mind.”
The monster saw determination in my face
and gnashed his teeth in anger. “Shall each man,”
he cried, “find a wife for his companion, and
each beast have his mate, while only I am left
alone? Man! You may hate me, but beware! Your
hours will pass in dread and misery, and soon the
C hap te r 20 215

lightning bolt will fall which must destroy your

happiness forever. Are you to be happy while I
suffer? You can defeat my other passions, but
revenge remains. Revenge! From this moment on,
I swear, revenge will be dearer to me than light
or food! I may die, but first you, my tyrant and
tormentor, shall curse the sun that gazes on your
misery. Beware, for I am fearless and therefore
powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a snake,
that I may sting with its venom. Man, you will live
to regret the injuries you have inflicted.”
“Devil, cease! Do not poison the air with these
wicked words. I have declared my decision and I
am no coward to bend beneath words. Leave me.
I have made up my mind!”
“Very well. I go. But remember: I will be with
you on your wedding-night.”
I started forward and exclaimed, “Villain!
Before you sign my death-warrant, be sure that
you yourself are safe!”
I would have seized him, but he sipped away.
In a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot
across the waters and was soon lost amidst the waves.
wiliness: cleverness, sneakiness
venom: poison
216 Frankenstein

All was again silent, but his words rang in

my ears. I burned with rage. I walked up and
down in my room, while my imagination brought
forth a thousand images to torture and sting me.
Why had I not followed him and attacked him?
Why had I allowed him to depart? I trembled to
think who might be his next victim. And then I
thought again of his words: “I will be with you on
your wedding-night.” That, then, was the moment
when my destiny would be revealed. At that
moment he intended to kill me and satisfy his
wickedness. The prospect did not move me to fear,
until I thought of Elizabeth. When I thought of
the endless sorrow she would feel when her lover
was snatched from her, I felt the tears well up in
my eyes. I determined not to fall before my enemy
without a bitter struggle.
That night I put my basket into a little boat
and sailed out about four miles from the shore.
I felt as if I were hiding the evidence from some
dreadful crime, but I went ahead. I threw my
basket into the sea and listened to the gurgling
sound as it sank.
C hap te r 20 217

“I threw my basket into the sea and listened to the

gurgling sound as it sank.”

I then sailed away from the spot. The sea was

calm, and I suddenly felt exhausted. I fixed the
rudder and stretched myself at the bottom of the
boat to take a short nap. Clouds hid the moon, and
I heard only the sound of the boat as it cut through
the waves. The murmur soothed me, and in a short
time I was sound asleep.
When I awoke I found that the sun had
already risen. The wind was blowing, and the
waves threatened the safety of my little boat.
I found that the wind had driven me far from
the coast from which I had embarked. I tried to
218 Frankenstein

change my course but quickly found the boat

was filling with water, blown in by the wind. My
only option was to allow the boat to be driven on
by the wind. I confess that I felt a few sensations
of terror. I had no compass with me and I knew
very little about the geography of this part of the
world. It occurred to me that I might be driven
out into the wide Atlantic and starve to death—
or I might be swallowed up by the waters that
roared around me. I had already been out many
hours and felt the pain of a burning thirst. I looked
up at the sky, which was covered by clouds; I
looked upon the sea and felt that it might be my
grave. “Fiend,” I exclaimed, “your task is already
fulfilled!” I thought of Elizabeth, of my father, and
of Henry—all left behind. The monster would be
free to take his revenge on them.
Several more hours passed. Suddenly I saw a
line of high land off in the distance. Tears of joy
gushed from my eyes.
How changeable are our feelings, and how
strange is that clinging love we have of life even
in the excess of misery! I constructed another sail
with some of my clothing and eagerly steered my
C hap te r 20 219
course towards the land. It had a wild and rocky
appearance. However, as I drew nearer I noticed
traces of cultivation. I even saw a few ships near
the shore. Since I was exhausted, I decided to sail
directly towards the town. I thought this would
be a place where I could find something to eat.
As I drew near I noticed a small town and a good
harbor, which I entered, my heart bounding with
joy at my unexpected escape.
As I was occupied in tying up the boat,
several people crowded around. They seemed
much surprised at my appearance, but instead
of offering me any assistance, they whispered
together with gestures that at any other time might
have produced in me a slight sensation of panic. As
it was, I merely remarked that they spoke English.
I therefore addressed them in that language. “My
good friends,” I said, “will you be so kind as to tell
me where I am?”
“You will know that soon enough,” replied a
man with a hoarse voice. “Maybe you are come to
a place that will not prove much to your taste, but
you will not be asked for your opinion as to your
quarters, I promise you.”
cultivation: planting and raising of crops
220 Frankenstein

“As I was occupied in tying up the boat, several people

crowded around.”
C hap te r 20 221

I was surprised to receive such a rude answer

from a stranger, and I was also concerned by
the frowning and angry faces of his companions.
“Why do you answer me so roughly?” I replied.
“Surely it is not the custom of Englishmen to
receive strangers so rudely?”
“I do not know,” said the man, “what the
custom of the English may be, but it is the custom
of the Irish to hate criminals.”
Then an unpleasant-looking man tapped me on
the shoulder and said, “Come, sir! You must follow
me to Mr. Kirwin’s to give an account of yourself.”
“Who is Mr. Kirwin? And why am I to give
an account of myself? Is this not a free country?”
“Ay, sir, free enough for honest folks. Mr.
Kirwin is a judge and you are to give an account of
the death of a gentleman who was found murdered
here last night.”
This answer startled me, but I presently
recovered myself. I was innocent. That could easily
be proved. I therefore followed the man in silence
and was led to one of the best houses in the town. I
was ready to pass out from fatigue and hunger, but
being surrounded by a crowd, I thought it wise to
222 Frankenstein

gather all my strength, so that my fatigue would

not be interpreted as nervousness or conscious
guilt. I did not anticipate the disaster that was
about to overwhelm me.
 CHAPTER 21

I
was soon introduced to the judge, an
old benevolent man with calm and mild
manners. He looked upon me with some
degree of severity. Then he spoke to the
men around me, asking them who appeared as
witnesses on this occasion.
About half a dozen men came forward. The
judge chose one of them, and he gave his testimony
about what had happened. He stated that he had
been out fishing the night before with his son and
brother-in-law, Daniel Nugent. About ten o’clock,
they observed a strong northerly blast rising, and
they steered back into port. It was a very dark
night, as the moon had not yet risen. They did
not land at the harbor, but, as they often did, at a
creek about two miles below. He walked on first,
carrying some of the fishing equipment, and his
companions followed him at some distance. As
he was proceeding along the sands, he struck his
foot against something and fell on the ground.
His companions came up to assist him, and by the
light of their lantern they found that he had fallen
224 Frankenstein

on the body of a man, who seemed to be dead.

Their first thought was that it was the corpse of
some person who had been drowned and thrown
on shore by the waves. However, on examination
they found that the clothes were not wet and the
body was still warm. They carried it to the cottage
of an old woman near the spot and tried to restore
it to life. But all their attempts were in vain. It
appeared to be a handsome young man, about
twenty-five years of age. He had apparently been
strangled, for there was no sign of violence except
the black marks of fingers on his neck.
The first part of this testimony did not in the
least interest me, but when the mark of the fingers
was mentioned I remembered the murder of my
brother and felt myself extremely nervous. My
limbs trembled, and a mist came over my eyes. I
was obliged to lean on a chair for support. The
judge studied me closely and seemed to think my
behavior was revealing.
The son confirmed his father’s account, but
when Daniel Nugent was called he added an
important detail. He swore that, just before the
in vain: unsuccessful
C hap te r 21 225

fall of his companion, he saw a boat, with a single

man in it, at a short distance from the shore—and,
as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars,
it was the same boat in which I had just landed.
Next a woman was asked to give a statement.
She stated that she lived near the beach and was
standing at the door of her cottage, waiting for
the return of the fishermen, about an hour before
she heard of the discovery of the body. She also
saw, at the same time, a boat with only one man in
it push off from that part of the shore where the
corpse was afterwards found.
Another woman stated that the fishermen had
brought the body into her house. It was not cold.
They put it into a bed and rubbed it, but life was
quite gone.
Several other men were questioned concerning
my landing. They agreed that, with the strong
north wind that had arisen during the night, it was
very likely that, due to the wind, I was unable to
travel far and had been obliged to return to almost
the same spot from which I had departed. Since
the dead man was a stranger, they concluded that
I had brought the body from some other place,
226 Frankenstein

deposited it, then sailed around in confusion in the

darkness and put into the harbor, thinking it was
a good deal farther from the place where I had
deposited the corpse than in fact it was.
Mr. Kirwin, after hearing this evidence,
desired that I should be taken into the room
where the body lay for burial so they could see
what effect the sight of it would produce upon me.
This idea was probably suggested by the extreme
nervousness I had exhibited when the mode of
the murder had been described. I was accordingly
led, by the judge and several other persons, to the
inn. I could not help being struck by the strange
coincidences that had taken place during this
eventful night. However, knowing that I had been
conversing with several persons on the island I
had inhabited about the time that the body had
been found, I was not worried about the outcome
of the investigation.
I entered the room where the corpse lay and
was led up to the coffin. How can I describe my
sensations on seeing it? I gasped with horror;
nor can I think about that terrible moment, even
today, without shuddering. The questioning, the
C hap te r 21 227

“I entered the room where the corpse lay and was led up to
the coffin.”
228 Frankenstein

presence of the judge and witnesses, all of it passed

like a dream from my memory when I saw the
lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched before
me. I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on
the body, I exclaimed, “Have I deprived you also,
my dearest Henry, of life? Two I have already
destroyed; other victims await their destiny; but
you, Henry, my friend—”
My body could no longer support the suffering
that I endured, and I was carried out of the room
in strong convulsions.
I fell into a fever and lay for two months on
the verge of death. My ravings, as I afterwards
heard, were frightful. I called myself the murderer
of William, of Justine, and of Henry. Sometimes I
begged my attendants to assist me in the destruction
of the fiend by whom I was tortured, and at others
I felt the fingers of the monster grasping my neck
and screamed aloud in terror. Fortunately, as
I spoke my native language, Mr. Kirwin alone
understood me, but my gestures and bitter cries
were sufficient to frighten the other witnesses.
Why did I not die? More miserable than
convulsions: fits, uncontrollable muscle spasms
C hap te r 21 229

man ever was before, why did I not sink into

forgetfulness and rest? Of what materials was I
made that I could resist so many shocks?
But I was doomed to live and in two months
found myself awaking as from a dream, in a
prison, stretched on a wretched bed, surrounded
by jailers and all the miserable equipment of a
dungeon. It was morning, I remember, when I
thus awoke to understanding. I had forgotten the
details of what had happened and only felt as if
some great misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed
me. However, when I looked around and saw the
barred windows and the filthiness of the room, it
all came back to me and I groaned bitterly.
My groans disturbed an old woman who was
sleeping in a chair beside me. She was a hired
nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys. Her face
was hard and rude. It was the face of a person who
is used to seeing misery without sympathizing.
Her tone expressed complete indifference. She
addressed me in English, and the voice struck me
as one that I had heard during my sufferings.
“Are you better now, sir?” she asked.
I replied in the same language, with a very
230 Frankenstein

weak voice: “I believe I am. But if it be all true, if

indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am still
alive to feel this misery and horror.”
“For that matter,” replied the old woman, “if
you mean about the gentleman you murdered,
I believe that it would be better for you if you
were dead, for I imagine it will go hard with you!
However, that’s none of my business. I am sent to
nurse you and get you well. I do my duty with a
safe conscience. It would be good if everybody did
the same.”
I turned with disgust from the woman, and my
mind began to wander.
As the images that floated before me became
more distinct, I grew feverish. There was no one
near me who could soothe me with the gentle voice
of love, no dear hand to support me. The physician
came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman
prepared them for me, but total carelessness was
visible in the first, and the expression of brutality
was strongly marked in the face of the second.
Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer
but the hangman who would gain his fee?
hangman: the executioner (who was paid a fee for killing
convicted persons)
C hap te r 21 231

These were my first reflections, but I soon

learned that Mr. Kirwin had shown me great
kindness. He had caused the best room in the
prison to be prepared for me, and it was he who
had provided a physician and a nurse. It is true, he
seldom came to see me, for although he desired to
relieve the sufferings of every human creature, he
did not wish to endure the sufferings and miserable
ravings of a murderer. He came, therefore, from
time to time to see that I was not neglected, but his
visits were short and infrequent.
One day, while I was gradually recovering, I
was seated in a chair, my eyes half open and my
cheeks red like those in death. I was overcome by
gloom and misery and felt that death would be
better than remaining in a world full of misery.
Then I considered whether I should just declare
myself guilty and suffer the penalty of the law.
After all, I was less innocent than poor Justine had
been. Such were my thoughts when the door of my
apartment was opened and Mr. Kirwin entered.
His face expressed sympathy and kindness. He
unaccountable: impossible to understand or explain
incitement: encouragement, temptation
232 Frankenstein

drew a chair close to mine and spoke to me in

French.
“I fear that this place is very shocking to you.
Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?”
“I thank you, but all that you mention is
nothing to me. On the whole earth there is no
comfort which I am capable of receiving.”
“I know that the sympathy of a stranger can
be but of little relief to one beaten down as you are
by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I hope,
soon be released, for I am confident that evidence
can easily be brought to free you from the criminal
charge.”
“That is my least concern. I have, as a result
of a series of strange events, become the most
miserable of human beings. Persecuted and
tortured as I am and have been, can death be any
evil to me?”
“Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate
and unbearable than the strange chances that
have lately occurred. You were thrown, by some
surprising accident, on this shore, known for its
hospitality, seized immediately, and charged with
murder. The first sight that was presented to your
C hap te r 21 233

eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so

unaccountable a manner and placed, as it were, by
some fiend across your path.”
As Mr. Kirwin said these things, I was surprised
at the knowledge he had concerning me. I suppose
some of my astonishment was visible on my face,
for he hurried to say, “As soon as you were taken ill,
all the papers you had with you were brought me. I
examined them so that I might discover some way to
contact your relatives and send them an account of
your misfortune and illness. I found several letters,
including one from your father. I wrote immediately
to Geneva. Nearly two months have passed since I
sent my letter. But you are ill: even now, you shake.
You are unfit for excitement of any kind.”
“This suspense is a thousand times worse than
the most horrible news. Tell me what new scene of
death has been acted! Let me know whose murder
I am now to mourn!”
“Your family is perfectly well,” said Mr.
Kirwin with gentleness, “and someone, a friend,
has come to visit you.”
I know not by what chain of thought the idea
unaccountable: impossible to understand or explain
234 Frankenstein

presented itself, but it darted into my mind that the

murderer had come to mock me in my misery and
taunt me with the death of Henry Clerval, as a way
of forcing me to comply with his hellish desires. I
put my hand before my eyes, and cried out in pain,
“Oh! Take him away! I cannot see him! For God’s
sake, do not let him enter!”
Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled
expression. He could not help regarding my
exclamation as a presumption of my guilt and said
in rather a severe tone, “I should have thought,
young man, that the presence of your father would
have been welcome instead of inspiring such
violent hatred.”
“My father!” I cried, while every feature and
every muscle relaxed from worry to pleasure.
“Has my father really come? Oh, how kind! How
very kind! But where is he? Why does he not
come to me?”
My change of mood surprised and pleased
the judge. Perhaps he thought that my initial
exclamation was a momentary return of delirium.
At any rate, he promptly resumed his former
kindness. He rose and left the room with my
C hap te r 21 235

nurse. A moment later my father entered.

Nothing, at that moment, could have given me
greater pleasure than the arrival of my father. I
stretched out my hand to him and cried, “Are you
safe then?—and Elizabeth?—and Ernest?”
My father calmed me with assurances of their
welfare. He did what he could to raise my spirits,
but he soon felt that a prison cannot be the place of
cheerfulness. “What a place is this that you inhabit,
my son!” he said, looking mournfully at the barred
windows and wretched appearance of the room.
“You travelled to seek happiness, but death seems
to pursue you. And poor Henry Clerval—”
The name of my friend was too much for me to
endure in my weak state. I began to cry.
“Alas! Yes,” I replied. “Some horrible fate
hangs over me.”
We were not allowed to talk for long. Mr.
Kirwin came in and insisted that my strength
should not be exhausted by too much exertion.
But the appearance of my father was to me like
that of my good angel, and I gradually recovered
my health.
As my sickness left me, I grew miserable. The
236 Frankenstein

image of Henry Clerval was constantly before

me, ghastly and murdered. More than once the
nervousness into which these memories threw me
made my friends fear a dangerous relapse. Alas!
Why did they preserve so miserable and detested a
life? It was surely so that I might fulfil my destiny,
which is now drawing to a close. Soon—oh, very
soon—death will extinguish these throbbing pains
that come and go and relieve me from the mighty
weight of suffering that crushes me.
After three months in prison, although I was
still weak and in danger of a relapse, I was obliged
to travel a hundred miles to the country town
where trials were held. Mr. Kirwin had collected
witnesses and arranged my defense. It was proved
that I was on the Orkney Islands at the hour the
body of my friend was found, and I was released
from prison.
My father was delighted that I was free and
able to return to my native country. I did not share
these feelings, for to me the walls of a dungeon or
a palace were equally hateful. The cup of life was
poisoned forever. Although the sun shone upon
me, I saw around me nothing but a thick and
C hap te r 21 237

frightful darkness, with no light but the glimmer of

two eyes that glared at me. Sometimes they were
the expressive eyes of Henry, frozen by death.
Sometimes they were the watery, clouded eyes
of the monster, as I first saw them in my room at
Ingolstadt.
My father talked of Geneva, and of Elizabeth
and Ernest. But his words only drew groans from
me. Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish for happiness
or a pang of homesickness. Most of the time,
though, I simply lay in bed, sinking deeper and
deeper into misery. In moments of despair I even
thought of putting an end to my life. My father
kept a close eye on me to make sure I did not try
to kill myself.
Yet one duty remained to me, and when I
remembered it I was able to overcome my selfish
misery. It was necessary that I return without delay
to Geneva in order to watch over the lives of those
I loved and lie and guard them from the murderer.
If any chance led me to him, or if he dared again to
confront me, I might be able to kill him.
My father wanted to delay our departure. He
worried that I was not healthy enough to make
238 Frankenstein

the journey. My strength was gone. I was a mere

skeleton, and fever took over my wasted body.
Still, I was eager to leave Ireland, and my
father eventually gave in. We boarded a ship
bound for the French port of Le Havre and sailed
with a fair wind from the Irish shores.
At midnight that night I lay on the ship’s deck.
I looked at the stars and listened to the dashing
of the waves. I greeted the darkness that shut
Ireland from my sight, and my pulse beat with a
feverish joy when I reflected that I should soon see
Geneva. The past seemed a frightful dream, yet I
knew it was no dream. Henry, my best friend, had
fallen victim to me and the monster I had created.
On that ship I ran through in my memory all the
events of my life. I thought of my quiet happiness
while residing with my family in Geneva, the death
of my mother, and my departure for Ingolstadt. I
remembered, shaking, the mad enthusiasm that
hurried me on to the creation of my hideous
enemy, and I called to mind the night when he
came to life. I was unable to pursue the train of
thought further. A thousand feelings pressed upon
me, and I wept bitterly.
C hap te r 21 239

Towards morning I had a terrible nightmare. I

felt the fiend’s grip on my neck and could not free
myself from it. Groans and cries rang in my ears.
My father was watching over me. He noticed my
restlessness and woke me up. Then I saw the waves
and the sky. The dashing waves were around me,
the cloudy sky above me. The fiend was nowhere
to be seen. A sense of forgetfulness came over me.
I felt that a truce had been established between the
present hour and the irresistible, disastrous future.
And so we voyaged on.

truce: an agreement in which two sides agree to stop fighting

 CHAPTER 22

T
he voyage came to an end. We landed at
Le Havre and made our way to Paris. I
soon found that I had worn myself out
and would need to rest before continuing
my journey. My father took care of me. However,
he did not know the real cause of my sufferings and
therefore was not able to cure me of my melancholy.
He encouraged me to go out and mingle with other
people. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, no. It was
not them that I abhorred! They were my brothers,
my fellow beings, and I felt attracted to them, as
to angelic creatures. But I felt that I had no right
to share in their pleasures and joys. After all, I had
unchained an enemy who stalked among them and
delighted to shed their blood. If they had known of
my unholy acts and crimes, they would have hated
me and hunted me down.
My father thought that I might be suffering
from wounded pride. He thought that I was still
burning with pride and resentment over being
brought to trial for murder, and he tried to prove
to me the uselessness of pride.
C hap te r 22 241

“Alas! My father,” I said, “that is not what

discourages me. Human beings would indeed be
degraded if a wretch like me felt pride. Justine,
poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I, and
she suffered the same charge. She died for it, and
I am the cause of this. I murdered her. William,
Justine, and Henry—they all died by my hands.”
My father had often, during my imprisonment,
heard me make the same statement. When I thus
accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an
explanation and sometimes seemed to consider my
words as the result of delirium. I never spoke to
him of the wretch I had created. I was sure that
I would be taken for a madman if I did, and this
in itself was reason enough to remain silent. But I
had another reason too: I could not bring myself to
reveal a secret which would fill him with worry and
fear. Therefore, although I longed to share the fatal
secret, I checked my desire to do so. Yet, from time
to time, words like those I have mentioned would
burst uncontrollably from me. I could offer no
explanation for them, but the truthfulness of these
confessions relieved some of my misery.
A few days before we left Paris for Switzerland,
242 Frankenstein

I received the following letter from Elizabeth:

“My dear Friend,
“It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a
letter from my uncle, sent from Paris. You are no
longer at a great distance, and I may hope to see
you in less than a fortnight. Oh, how much you
must have suffered! But I hope to see peace in
your countenance and to find that your heart is not
entirely a stranger to comfort and tranquility.
“Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that
made you so miserable a year ago. Perhaps, they
may even have been increased by time. I would not
disturb you at this time, when so many misfortunes
weigh upon you. However, a conversation that I
had with my uncle just before he left makes some
explanation necessary before we meet.
“Explanation! You may possibly say: What can
Elizabeth have to explain? If you really say this, my
questions are answered and all my doubts satisfied.
But you are distant from me, and I am not sure
what you are thinking. I must tell you in this letter
what, during your absence, I have often wished to
tell you but have never had the courage to begin.
fortnight: fourteen days and nights (two weeks)
C hap te r 22 243

“You know, Victor, that our marriage has been

the favorite plan of your parents ever since we
were children. We were told this when young and
taught to look forward to it as an event that would
certainly take place. We were playmates during
childhood, and, I believe, dear and valued friends
to one another as we grew older. But as brother
and sister often feel a lively affection for each other
without desiring a closer union, may not such also
be the case with us? Tell me, dearest Victor. Tell me
honestly, for the sake of our future happiness—Do
you not love someone else?
“You have travelled. You have spent several
years of your life at Ingolstadt, and I confess to
you, my friend, that when I saw you last autumn so
unhappy, seeking only to be left alone, I could not
help supposing that you might no longer enjoy my
company. I thought that you might believe yourself
bound in honor to fulfil the wishes of your parents,
even if those wishes went against your own desires.
I confess to you, my friend, that I love you and that
in my airy dreams about the future you have been
my constant friend and companion. But I desire
your happiness as well as my own. That is why I
244 Frankenstein

feel I must tell you that our marriage would make

me eternally miserable if it were unwelcome to
you. I wish that it may occur only if it is what you
wish. Even now I weep to think that, worn down
as you are by cruel misfortunes, you might feel the
need to give up, for the word honor, all hope of that
love and happiness which would alone return you
to yourself. I, who have such an affection for you,
might increase your miseries tenfold by being an
obstacle to your wishes. Ah! Victor, be assured
that I have too sincere a love for you not to be
made miserable by this supposition. Be happy, my
friend—and if you obey me in this one request,
know that nothing on earth will have the power to
interrupt my peacefulness.
“Do not let this letter disturb you. Do not
answer tomorrow, or the next day, or even until
you come, if it will give you pain. My uncle will
send me news of your health, and if I see but one
smile on your lips when we meet, I shall need no
other happiness.

tenfold: by a factor of ten, ten times over

supposition: possibility, idea, notion
C hap te r 22 245

“Elizabeth Lavenza.
“Geneva, May 18th, 17—”

This letter revived in my memory what I had

briefly forgotten—the threat of the fiend. “I will be
with you on your wedding-night!” That was his promise!
On that night he would employ every art to destroy
me and tear me from happiness. Well, let him do his
worst. If he attacked me, a deadly struggle would
take place. If he were victorious in that struggle, I
would be at peace and his power over me would
be at an end. If he were vanquished, I would be a
free man. But alas! What sort of freedom would
I enjoy? The freedom a peasant enjoys when his
family members have been massacred before his
eyes, his cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he
is turned out, homeless, penniless, and alone—but
free. Such would be my liberty—except that in my
Elizabeth I possessed a treasure, alas, balanced by
those horrors of remorse and guilt which would
pursue me until death.
Sweet and beloved Elizabeth! I read and
reread her letter, and some softened feelings stole
into my heart and stirred up dreams of love and joy.
246 Frankenstein

But the apple was already eaten, and the angel’s

arm raised to drive me from all hope. Yet I would
die to make her happy. If the monster made good
on his threat, death was unavoidable. Yet, again,
I considered whether my marriage would hasten
my fate. My destruction might indeed arrive a few
months sooner, but if my torturer should suspect
that I postponed it, influenced by his threats, he
would surely find other and perhaps more dreadful
means of revenge. He had vowed to be with me on
my wedding-night, yet he did not consider that threat
as binding him to peace in the meantime. This was
clear, for he had murdered poor Henry immediately
after the making this threat. I decided, therefore,
that if my immediate union with Elizabeth would
make her or my father happy, I would be married.
I would not allow my enemy’s plotting against my
life to delay it for even a single hour.
In this state of mind I wrote to Elizabeth.
My letter was calm and affectionate. “I fear, my
beloved girl,” I said, “little happiness remains for
us on earth. Yet all that I may one day enjoy is

apple: Frankenstein refers to the Biblical story: after Adam and Eve
eat the “forbidden” apple, they are expelled from Eden by an angel.
C hap te r 22 247

centered in you. Chase away your idle fears. To

you alone I dedicate my life and my energies. I
have only one secret, Elizabeth, but it is a dreadful
one. When I reveal it to you, it will horrify you.
Then, far from being surprised at my unhappiness,
you will only wonder that I have survived what I
have endured. I will share this tale of gloom and
terror with you the day after we are married, for
there must be no secrets between us. But until
then, please, do not mention it. This I ask of you,
and I know you will agree.”
About a week after the arrival of Elizabeth’s
letter we returned to Geneva. Elizabeth welcomed
me with warm affection. Yet tears flowed from her
eyes when she saw my wasted body and feverish
cheeks. I saw a change in her also. She was thinner
and had lost much of that heavenly vivacity that
had charmed me. However, her gentleness and soft
looks of compassion made her a more fit companion
for one blasted and miserable as I was.
The calm which I briefly enjoyed did not
last. Memory brought madness with it, and when
I thought of what had passed, a real insanity
possessed me. Sometimes I was furious and burned
248 Frankenstein

with rage. Sometimes I was low and depressed.

In my low moods, I did not speak to anyone or
even look at anyone. Instead, I sat motionless,
overwhelmed by miseries.
Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from
these fits. Her gentle voice would soothe me when
I was transported by passion and inspire me with
human feelings when I was sunk in inactivity. She
wept with me and for me. When reason returned,
she would speak with me and urge me to accept
my fate. Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to accept
one’s fate, but for the guilty there is no peace. The
pain of guilt poisons even the pleasures of grief.
Soon after my arrival, my father spoke of my
immediate marriage with Elizabeth. I remained silent.
“Have you, then, some other attachment?”
“None on earth. I love Elizabeth and look
forward to our marriage with delight. Let the day
therefore be set. On that day I will dedicate myself,
in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin.”
“My dear Victor, be cheerful! Heavy
misfortunes have befallen us, but let us respond by
clinging closely to what remains. Let us transfer our
attachment: romantic connection, relationship
C hap te r 22 249

love for those we have lost to those who yet live.

Our circle will be small, but it will be bound close
by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And
in time new and dear objects of care will replace
those we have lost.”
Such were the lessons of my father. But I
could not forget about the creature and his threat.
He had pronounced the words “I will be with you
on your wedding-night,” and I regarded my fate as
unavoidable. But death was no evil to me if the loss
of Elizabeth were set in the other scale. I therefore,
with a contented and even cheerful appearance,
agreed with my father that, if my cousin would
consent, the ceremony should take place in ten
days. In this way I put, as I imagined, the seal to
my fate.
Great God! If for one instant I had thought
what might be the hellish intention of my fiendish
enemy, I would never have agreed to marry. I
would have banished myself for ever from my
native country and wandered over the earth, a
friendless outcast. But it was as if my enemy had
magic powers and blinded me to his real intentions.
I thought that I had set the stage for my own death
250 Frankenstein

and only that. In fact, however, I had hurried the

death of a far dearer victim.
As the day of our marriage drew nearer, I
felt my heart sink within me. I do not know why.
Perhaps it was fear—or perhaps I had a prophetic
feeling. In any case, I concealed my feelings and
pretended to be cheerful. This brought smiles and
joy to the face of my father, but it did not fool
Elizabeth. She looked forward to our marriage
with happiness, but also with a little fear. She knew
from past misfortunes that what seemed certain and
tangible happiness might suddenly disappear and
leave no trace but deep and everlasting regret.
Preparations were made for the wedding.
Congratulatory visits were paid, and everyone
seemed happy. I shut up, as well as I could, in
my own heart the worries that haunted me and
entered with seeming earnestness into the plans
of my father. Through my father’s efforts a part of
the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored to
her by the Austrian government. A small house on
prophetic: predicting the future, as prophets do
tangible: real, able to be touched and felt
inheritance: money or goods passed down to a person from
parents or relatives who have died
C hap te r 22 251

the shores of Lake Como belonged to her. It was

agreed that, immediately after our marriage, we
should proceed to the Villa Lavenza and spend our
first days of happiness on the shores of Lake Como.
In the meantime I prepared myself, in case
the fiend should attack me. I carried pistols and
a dagger and was constantly on guard. These
precautions made me feel safer. Indeed, as our
wedding day approached, the threat began to seem
more like a delusion, not worthy to disturb my
peace. I began to think of the happiness I hoped
for in my marriage as something no accident could
prevent.
Elizabeth was generally happy in the weeks
preceding our wedding, but on the day of the
wedding, she suddenly felt depressed. She seemed
to have a presentiment of evil. Perhaps she was
thinking of the dreadful secret I had promised to
reveal to her the day after our wedding. My father
did not notice the change in her. He was overjoyed,
and, in the bustle of preparation, only recognized in
the sadness of his niece the shyness of a bride.

delusion: something not real, a fantasy

presentiment: a feeling of concern before something happens
252 Frankenstein

After the ceremony was performed, a large

party was held at my father’s, but Elizabeth and I
did not attend. It had been agreed that we would
begin our journey by water, sleeping that night at
Evian and continuing our voyage on the next day.
The day was fair, the wind favorable. All smiled as
we set off on our own.
Those were the last moments of my life in
which I enjoyed happiness. We passed rapidly
along. I took Elizabeth’s hand and spoke to her:
“You seem sad, my love.”
“Oh, my dear Victor,” Elizabeth replied. “My
heart is contented, but something whispers to me
not to depend too much on the happy prospect that
is opened before us. I know not why I feel this way!
It is such a divine day! How happy and peaceful
everything in nature appears!”
The wind, which had carried us rapidly along,
sank at sunset to a light breeze. The soft air just
ruffled the water and caused a pleasant motion
among the trees as our boat approached the shore.
From the land wafted the most delightful scent of
flowers and hay. The sun sank beneath the horizon
wafted: drifted
C hap te r 22 253

as we landed, and as I set foot on the shore I felt

those cares and fears come back which soon were
to clasp me and cling to me forever.
 CHAPTER 23

I
t was eight o’clock when we landed. We
walked for a short time on the shore,
enjoying the fading light. Then we made our
way to the inn.
The wind now began to blow with great
violence. The clouds swept across the sky swiftly.
Suddenly a heavy storm of rain swept in.
I had been calm during the day, but as soon
as night came, a thousand fears arose in my mind.
I was worried and watchful. With my right hand
I kept hold of the pistol which was hidden in my
coat. Every sound terrified me, but I resolved that
I would not shrink from the conflict until either I
destroyed him or he destroyed me.
Elizabeth observed my nervousness for some
time in timid and fearful silence, but there was
something in my glance which communicated
terror to her.
“What is it that worries you, my dear Victor?
What is it you fear?”
Suddenly I thought about how fearful the
shrink from: avoid, run away from something in a cowardly way
C hap te r 23 255

combat which I expected at any moment would be

to my wife, and I urged her to go back to the room.
I decided I would not join her until I had obtained
some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.
She left me, and I passed some time walking
up and down the hallways of the house and
inspecting every corner that might provide a
hiding place to my enemy. But I found no trace
of him. I was beginning to think that some stroke
of good luck had occurred and prevented the
monster from keeping his promise when suddenly
I heard a high-pitched and dreadful scream. It
came from our bedroom. The second I heard
it, the whole truth rushed into my mind. My
arms dropped. The motion of every muscle was
suspended. I could feel the blood pulsing in my
veins and tingling in my fingertips and toes. This
lasted only an instant. The scream was repeated,
and I rushed to our room.
Great God! Why did I not die on the very spot!
Why am I still here to describe the destruction of
the best and purest creature on earth? Elizabeth
was there, lifeless and still, thrown across the bed.
Her head was hanging down and her pale and
256 Frankenstein

distorted features were half covered by her hair.

Everywhere I turn I see the same figure—
her bloodless arms and lifeless form flung by the
murderer on the bed. Could I look at this and
continue to live? Alas! Life is stubborn and clings
closest where it is most hated. For a moment I lost
consciousness. I fell senseless on the ground.
When I recovered, I found myself surrounded
by the people of the inn. They were afraid, but I
was in despair. 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 position in which I had seen
her. She lay with her head upon her arm and a
handkerchief laid across her face and neck. One
might have guessed she was asleep. I rushed to
her and embraced her, but the 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 visible on her neck, and the breath had
ceased to come from her lips.

distorted: twisted out of shape

C hap te r 23 257

“She lay with her head upon her arm and a handkerchief
laid across her face and neck.”

While I still hung over her in an agony of

despair, I happened to look up. The shutters had
been thrown back, and with a sensation of horror
not to be described, I saw at the open window
a hideous figure. It was the monster! He had a
horrible grin on his face. He seemed to be laughing
at me. With his fiendish finger he pointed towards
the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards the window
and drew my pistol. I fired at him, but he escaped
from me. He leaped down and, running with the
swiftness of lightning, plunged into the lake.
258 Frankenstein

The sound of the pistol shot brought a crowd

into the room. I pointed to the spot where he
had disappeared, and we tried to follow him with
boats, but in vain. After an hour, we returned.
Back on land, my head whirled round, and my
steps were like those of a drunken man. I fell down
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 to the inn
and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had
happened. My eyes wandered around the room as
if looking for something that had been lost.
After a while 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 the body and joined my sad tears to
theirs. I reflected confusedly on my misfortunes.
The death of William, the execution of Justine,
the murder of Henry, and lastly of my wife. And I
could not say that my remaining friends were safe
from the fiend. My father might be writhing under
his grasp, and Ernest might be lying dead at his
feet. These thoughts made me shudder and recalled
me to action. I decided to return to Geneva at once.
C hap te r 23 259

There were no horses available. I would have

to return by boat. The wind was unfavorable, and
the rain fell in torrents. But speed was essential. It
was early morning, and I thought I might be able
to arrive by night. I hired men to row and took
an oar myself, for I had always found relief from
worries in bodily exercise. But the sadness I felt
was too much for me. The stress I had endured
left me with no energy. I put down the oar, and
leaning my head upon my hands, gave way to
every gloomy idea that arose. Tears streamed from
my eyes. The sun might shine, but nothing could
appear to me as it had the day before. A fiend had
snatched from me every hope of future happiness.
No creature had ever been as miserable as I was.
So frightful an outcome must be unique in the
history of man.
But why should I continue to explain all of
these details? I will only say that, one by one, my
friends were snatched away from me. I was left
alone in the world. My own strength is exhausted,
and I must tell, in a few words, what remains of
my hideous story.
unique: one of a kind
260 Frankenstein

I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest

were still alive, but the former sank under the news
that I brought. His eyes wandered in vacancy, for
they had lost their charm and their delight. He
had lost Elizabeth, whom he loved and doted on.
Cursed, cursed be the fiend that brought such
sadness on his grey hairs and doomed him to waste
away in wretchedness! He could not go on living
with the horrors that had piled up 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
consciousness, and chains and darkness were the
only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes
I dreamed that I wandered in flowery meadows
with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and
found myself in a dungeon. Depression followed,
but by degrees I gained a clear understanding of
my miseries and situation and was then released
from my prison. For they had called me mad, and
for many months, as I understood, a single cell had
been my home.
C hap te r 23 261

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 think
about their cause. The cause of my miseries was
the monster I had created, the miserable creature
I had sent out into the world. I was possessed
by a maddening rage when I thought of him. I
desired—and passionately prayed—that I might
have him within my grasp to wreak my revenge on
his cursed head.
I began to reflect on the best means of
capturing him, and for this purpose, about a
month after my release, I went to see to a judge in
the town. I told him that I knew who had killed my
family membes, and that I demanded that he arrest
the murderer. He listened to me with attention
and kindness. “Be assured, sir,” said he, “I will do
everything in my power to find the villain.”
“I thank you,” I replied. “Listen, therefore, to
the statement I have to make. It is a very strange
tale—so strange, indeed, that I would be afraid
you would not believe it were there not something
possessed: controlled, taken over by
262 Frankenstein

in the truth that leads people to believe. The story

is too connected to be mistaken for a dream, and
I have no reason to lie.” My manner as I thus
addressed him was impressive but calm. I had
decided to pursue my destroyer to death, and this
purpose eased my suffering and for a while made
life more tolerable. I told him my history briefly
but with firmness and precision, marking the dates
with accuracy and never ranting or shouting.
The magistrate appeared at first perfectly
incredulous, but as I continued he became more
attentive and interested. I saw him sometimes
shudder with horror. In other moments a lively
surprise was visible on his countenance.
When I had finished, I said, “This then is the
being whom I accuse. This is the creature I ask you
to pursue and arrest. It is your duty as a judge.”
These final sentences caused a noticeable
change in my listener. He had heard my story
with that sort of half-belief that is given to tales of
ghosts and supernatural events. However, when
he was called upon to take official action on the
matter, his disbelief returned.
incredulous: unwilling to believe in something
C hap te r 23 263

“I would willingly aid you in your pursuit,”

he said, “but the creature of whom you speak
appears to have powers that would defeat all of
my attempts. Who can follow an animal that can
travel rapidly over snow and ice and survive in
caves? Besides, several months have passed since
he committed the crimes you have described, and
it is impossible to say where he might be now.”
“I have no doubt that he is near me—or, if he
has taken shelter in the mountains, he may still be
hunted, as men hunt for antelope. But I can see
what you are thinking. You do not believe what I
have said is true and do not intend to pursue my
enemy.”
As I spoke, anger sparkled in my eyes. The
judge was intimidated. “You are mistaken,” he
said. “I will do what I can for you, and if it is in
my power to capture the monster, I assure you
that he will be punished for his crimes. But I fear,
from what you yourself have told me, that this will
prove impossible. Every proper measure will be
pursued, I assure you. But you must be prepared
for disappointment.”
intimidated: feeling timid, or pressured
264 Frankenstein

“That is the one thing I cannot accept. And

yet it is clear that nothing I might say here would
be likely to change your mind. My revenge is of
no importance to you. It is of great importance to
me, however. I grant that the pursuit of revenge
is evil. And yet I must I confess that revenge
is, at the moment, the great passion of my soul.
It angers me that this murderer, whom I have
turned loose upon society, still exists. You refuse
my just demand. I must therefore rely on my own
powers. I will devote my remaining energies to his
destruction.”
I trembled as I said this. There was a frenzy in
my manner. I felt some of that haughty fierceness
which the martyrs of old possessed. But to a
Genevan judge, whose mind was occupied with
ideas very different than those of devotion and
heroism, my fierceness looked like madness. It
was clear that he regarded my accusations as the
ravings of a delirious man, and he tried to soothe
me as a nurse does a child. I stormed out of his
office in furious anger.
haughty: arrogant, disdainful
martyrs: people who suffer and/or die for a cause
 CHAPTER 24

M
y situation was one in which
all voluntary thought was
swallowed up and lost. I was
hurried along by intense anger.
Revenge alone provided me with strength and
self-control. It shaped my feelings and allowed me
to be clever and calm at times when delirium or
death would otherwise have been my fate.
The first decision I made was to leave Geneva
forever. My country, which I had loved, had
become a hateful place. I gathered up some
money, along with a few jewels that had belonged
to my mother, and departed.
I have been wandering ever since. I have
crossed a vast portion of the earth and have
endured many hardships. How I have lived I
hardly know. Many times have I stretched my
failing arms and legs upon the sandy plain and
prayed for death. But revenge has kept me alive.
I dared not die and leave my enemy among the
living.
266 Frankenstein

The night I left Geneva, I passed the cemetery

where William, Elizabeth, and my father were
buried. I entered and found it silent, except for
the leaves of the trees, which were gently stirred
by the wind. At first I grieved, but in a short while
my grief gave way to rage. My family members
were dead, but their murderer still lived. To
destroy him I felt I must drag out my own weary
existence. I knelt on the grass and swore an oath:
“By the sacred earth on which I kneel, by the deep
and eternal grief that I feel, I swear to pursue the
demon who has caused this misery, until he or I
shall die in mortal conflict. For this purpose I will
preserve my life. To execute this dear revenge I
will continue to walk the earth, which otherwise
is of no interest to me. And I call on you, spirits
of the dead, and on you, wandering ministers of
revenge, to aid and guide me in my work! Let
the cursed and hellish monster feel the misery
that now torments me!” I had begun speaking
solemnly and calmly. However, as I went on I
grew more and more furious until I was almost
choking with rage.
C hap te r 24 267

I was answered through the stillness of night

by a loud and fiendish laugh. It rang in my ears.
The mountains re-echoed it, and I felt as if all the
inhabitants of hell stood around me, mocking and
laughing. The laughter died away. Then a well-
known and hated voice, apparently close to my
ear, addressed me in an audible whisper, “I am
satisfied, miserable wretch! You have decided to
live, and I am satisfied.”
I darted towards the spot from which the
sound seemed to come, but the devil escaped my
grasp. The broad disk of the moon shone full upon
his ghastly and distorted shape as he ran away
with more than human speed.
I pursued him, and for many months this has
been my task. Guided by a slight clue, I followed
the windings of the Rhone, but in vain. The blue
Mediterranean appeared, and by a strange chance,
I saw the fiend hide himself in a ship bound for the
Black Sea. I took passage in the same ship, but he
escaped, I know not how.

the Rhone: a river that flows through France

268 Frankenstein

Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia,

although he still evaded me, I have followed in
his tracks. Sometimes the peasants, scared by
this horrible creature, informed me of his path.
Sometimes he himself left some mark to guide me.
The snows descended on my head, and I saw his
huge footprints on the white plain. You who are
just entering into life, you to whom care is new and
misery unknown, how can you understand what I
have felt and still feel? Cold, want, and fatigue—
these were the least of the pains which I was
destined to endure. I was cursed by some devil
and I carried about with me my own eternal hell.
Yet still a spirit of good followed and directed my
steps and, when things seemed most hopeless, this
spirit would find some surprising way to save me.
Sometimes, when my body, overcome by hunger,
sank in exhaustion, a meal was prepared for me in
the desert that restored me and lifted my spirits.
The meal was a simple one, such as the peasants
of the country ate, but I do not doubt that it was
set there by the spirits that I had called on to aid
me. Often, when all was dry and I was parched by
Tartary: land of the Tatar people, roughly between India and
Russia
C hap te r 24 269

“Amidst the wilds of Tartary and Russia, although he still

evaded me, I have followed in his tracks.”
270 Frankenstein

thirst, a slight cloud would darken the sky, shed a

few drops to revive me, and then vanish.
I followed, when I could, the courses of the
rivers, but the creature generally avoided these,
as it was there that people chiefly collected. In
other places human beings were seldom seen, and
I had to survive on the wild animals that crossed
my path. I had money with me and gained the
friendship of the villagers by giving much of it
away. Sometimes I bought food and shared it with
those who had provided me with fire and utensils
for cooking.
This way of living was hateful to me, and it
was during sleep alone that I could taste joy. O
blessed sleep! Often, when most miserable, I fell
asleep and was relieved by happy dreams. The
spirits that guarded me sent me these dreams so
that I could retain the strength needed to fulfill my
purposes. Without these periods of rest, I would
have sunk under my hardships. During the day I
was sustained and inspired by the hope of night,
for in my dreams I saw my friends, my wife, and

want: the condition of lacking things that one desires or needs

C hap te r 24 271

my beloved country. I saw the kind face of my

father, heard the silver tones of my Elizabeth’s
voice, and saw Henry enjoying health and youth.
At such moments revenge died in my heart, and I
pursued the demon more as a task given to me by
heaven than as the passionate desire of my soul.
What his feelings were whom I pursued I
cannot know. Sometimes he left marks in writing
on the bark of trees that stirred up my anger. “My
reign is not yet over” he wrote on one tree. “Follow
me,” he wrote on another. “I seek the everlasting
ices of the north, where you will feel the misery
of cold and frost, which do not bother me. You
will find near this place, if you are not to slow, a
dead rabbit. Eat and be refreshed. Come on, my
enemy! Someday we will wrestle for our lives, but
you must endure many hard and miserable hours
before that can happen!”
Scoffing devil! I will be revenged! Never will
I give up my search until you or I die! Then with
what joy shall I join my Elizabeth and my departed
friends, in the life to come!

scoffing: making fun of, taunting

272 Frankenstein

As I made my way north, the snows thickened

and the temperature dropped. The peasants were
shut up in their hovels, and only a few of the most
hardy came out to hunt. The rivers were covered
with ice, so no fish could be obtained.
Whatever made my life more difficult or
painful gave pleasure to my enemy. One message
that he left for me read, “Prepare! Your suffering
has only just only begun! Wrap yourself in furs
and gather supplies, for we shall soon begin a
journey to a land where your suffering may be
great enough to satisfy my hatred.”
These scoffing words only made me more
angry and more determined. I swore that I would
not fail in my purpose and called on Heaven to
support me. I continued to travel across deserted
lands. I purchased a sledge and a team of dogs
and learned to drive my sledge across the snows
at great speed.
Eventually I arrived at a wretched little town
on the seashore. I asked if the fiend had been there
and gained some information. A gigantic monster,

hardy: sturdy, healthy

C hap te r 24 273

they said, had arrived the night before, armed

with a rifle and many pistols. Those who had seen
him had run away in fear. He had then carried off
their food and placed it in a sledge. The next day
he harnessed his dogs and continued his journey,
passing onto the frozen sea. He was traveling,
however, in a direction that led to no land. They
were therefore sure that he would speedily be
destroyed by the breaking of the ice or frozen by
the eternal frosts.
On hearing this, I suffered a brief period of
despair. The creature had escaped me on land, and
I would have to chase him across the frozen ocean.
As the native of a sunny climate, I could not hope
to survive for many weeks in such frigid weather.
Yet I could not bear to think that my enemy might
live and be triumphant. Soon my rage and my
desire for revenge returned, and like a mighty
tide, overwhelmed every other feeling. After a
short pause, during which the spirits of the dead
seemed to hover round and call on me to pursue
my revenge, I prepared for my journey.

hover: float above

274 Frankenstein

I exchanged my land-sledge for one equipped

for traveling on the rougher surface of the frozen
ocean and purchased supplies. Then I turned my
back on the land and drove my sledge out onto the
frozen ocean.

Since then I have endured terrible misery,

and only my desire for revenge has kept me from
giving up.
For three weeks I saw nothing but snow and
ice. Then one day I caught sight of a dark speck
upon the icy plain. I squinted to see what it could
be. I made out a sledge and the misshapen body
of my enemy. I uttered a wild cry of joy. Warm
tears filled my eyes, which I hastily wiped away,
that they might not block the view I had of the
demon. I drove the dogs onward. The creature’s
C hap te r 24 275

sledge was still visible in the distance, and I began

to gain on it little by little. After a few hours of
chase, I was less than a mile behind him, and my
heart bounded within me.
Just when I seemed to be on the verge of
catching up with my enemy, my hopes were
suddenly extinguished. Unfrozen waters rolled and
swelled beneath the ice, and, with a terrible roar,
the sheet of ice on which I was traveling cracked
and split. A ribbon of open water appeared, first in
front of me and then beside me. In a few minutes a
wild sea was rolling between me and my enemy. I
was left drifting on a piece of ice. I was trapped—
and I could see that the piece of ice on which I
was floating was being gradually worn away on all
sides, threatening me with a hideous death.
In this manner many dreadful hours passed.
Several of my dogs died, and I myself was about to
give up all hope when I caught sight of your ship.
This gave me hope. I had no idea that ships ever
sailed so far north and was amazed at the sight. I
destroyed part of my sledge and used the wood to
construct oars. I then used the oars to move my ice
raft in the direction of your ship.
276 Frankenstein

I had decided, if you were heading south, still

to trust myself to the mercy of the seas rather than
abandon my purpose. I hoped to persuade you
to give me a boat with which I could pursue my
enemy. But you were headed north—and you took
me on board when my energy was exhausted. Had
you not done so, I would soon have sunk under my
hardships into a death which I still dread, for my
task is unfulfilled.
Oh! When will the guiding spirit that leads me
to the demon allow me the rest I need? Or must
I die while he yet lives? If I do die, swear to me,
Walton, that you will do what you can to see that
he does not escape. I will not ask you to chase him
and endure the hardships that I have undergone.
No; I am not so selfish. Yet, when I am dead, if he
should appear, if the ministers of revenge should
bring him to you, swear that he shall not live—
swear that he shall not triumph over my many
sorrows and survive to add to the list of his dark
crimes. He is eloquent and persuasive, and once
his words even had power over my heart, but do
not trust him. His soul is as hellish as his form, full
of trickery and hatred. Hear him not! Call on the
C hap te r 24 277

names of William, Justine, Henry, Elizabeth, my

father, and of the wretched Victor Frankenstein,
and thrust your sword into his heart.

Walton, in continuation.
August 26th, 17—.
Well, you have read this strange and terrifying
story, Margaret, and do you not feel your blood
freeze with horror? I was terrified to hear it.
Sometimes, seized with sudden agony, Frankenstein
could not continue his tale. Sometimes his voice
sounded broken, yet it could also be piercing. His
fine and lovely eyes sometimes shone with anger,
but at other times they seemed sad and sorrowful.
Sometimes he managed to keep control of himself
and related the most horrible incidents with a
calm, controlled voice. But then, like a volcano
bursting forth, his face would suddenly change to
an expression of the wildest rage as he called down
curses on his enemy.
His tale seemed to me to be true when he told
it, but I will admit that the letters of Felix and
Safie, which he showed me, and the sighting of the
monster by men on our ship, convinced me of the
278 Frankenstein

truth of his story more than his claims alone could

have. It seems, then, that such a monster really
exists! I cannot doubt it, yet I am lost in surprise
and astonishment. Sometimes I tried to get from
Frankenstein some details about what the creature
looked like and what materials he was made of,
but he would never give me any.
“Are you mad, my friend?” he said. “Or where
does your senseless curiosity lead you? Would you
also create for yourself and the world a terrible
enemy? Peace, peace! Learn from my miseries and
do not seek to increase your own.”
Frankenstein discovered that I had made
notes concerning his history. He asked to see them
and then corrected and added to them in many
places, but mainly in giving life and spirit to the
conversations he had with his enemy. “Since you
have preserved my story,” he said, “I should look
it over. I would not want to leave the world with
an incorrect version of events.”
A week had passed while I listened to
Frankenstein’s tale—the strangest tale I have ever
heard. I am fascinated by Frankenstein himself. I
wish to soothe his troubled spirits, but I am not
C hap te r 24 279

sure it will be possible to do this. Can I comfort a

man so miserable and so hopeless? I don’t think I
can. The only joy that he can achieve now will be
when he composes his shattered spirit to accept
death and the peace that comes with death. And
yet there is one thing that comforts him still. In his
dreams he sometimes talks with his friends, and he
believes that the spirits with whom he speaks are
not merely the creations of his imagination, but
real beings who visit him from the regions of some
remote world. This faith gives a seriousness to his
dreams and makes them almost as interesting to
me as truth.
Our conversations are not always confined to
his own history and misfortunes. We sometimes
discuss books and literature. On those subjects he
displays remarkable knowledge. His eloquence is
forcible and touching, and his stories often leave
me with tears in my eyes. What a glorious creature
he must have been earlier in life, if he is so noble
and godlike in ruin! He seems to feel his own
worth—and the greatness of his fall.
“When I was younger,” he told me, “I believed
myself destined for some great achievement. My
280 Frankenstein

feelings are deep, but I possessed a coolness of

judgment that fitted me for great achievements.
This sense of my own powers supported me when
others would have been discouraged, for I deemed
it criminal to throw away in useless grief talents
that might be useful to my fellow creatures. When
I thought about the work I had completed, I
could not rank myself with the herd of common
schemers. After all, I had created a sensitive and
rational animal. But this thought, which supported
me in the early part of my career, now serves only
to plunge me lower in the dust.
“My imagination was vivid, and my powers
of analysis were considerable. In addition, I was
very dedicated to my studies. By the union of
these qualities I not only came up with the idea
but also executed the creation of a living creature.
While I was at work on the project, I was inspired
by dreams. I delighted in my powers. From my
infancy I was full of high hopes and lofty ambition.
But how I have sunk! Oh! My friend, if you had
known me as I once was, you would not recognize
me in my current condition. In those days, I was
almost never discouraged or depressed. A high
C hap te r 24 281

destiny seemed to drive me on—until I fell, never

again to rise.”
Must I then lose this admirable being? I have
longed for a friend. I have looked for someone
who would sympathize with and love me. On
these empty seas I have found such a one, but I
fear I have gained him only to know his value and
lose him. I have tried to convince him of the value
of living, but I do not think I have succeeded.
“I thank you, Walton,” he said the other day,
“for your kind intentions towards so miserable a
wretch. But when you speak of new ties and fresh
affections, do you think that any can replace those
who are gone? Can any man be to me what Henry
Clerval was? Can any woman be to me another
Elizabeth? The companions of our childhood
always possess a certain power over our minds,
which hardly any later friend can obtain. They
know us. They understand us. I had wonderful
friends, and they are with me still. Wherever
I am, the soothing voice of my Elizabeth and
the conversation of Henry Clerval will be ever
whispered in my ear. They are dead, and I have
only remained among the living for one reason. I
282 Frankenstein

must pursue and destroy the being to whom I gave

existence. Then my purpose will be fulfilled and I
may die.”

My beloved Sister,
September 2nd.
We are in great danger. I do not know whether
I will ever see England again. I am surrounded by
great mountains of ice which leave us no way to
escape and threaten every moment to crush the
ship. The brave fellows whom I have persuaded
to be my companions look towards me for help,
but I have none to give them. There is something
terrible about our situation. It is terrible to reflect
that the lives of all these men are endangered
because of me. If we are lost, my mad schemes are
the cause.
And what, Margaret, will be the state of
your mind? If I am lost, you will not hear of my
destruction, and you will nervously await my
return. Years will pass, and you will experience
periods of hopelessness. Oh! My beloved sister,
the thought of you suffering in this way is more
terrible to me than the possibility of my own death.
C hap te r 24 283

But you have a husband and lovely children. You

may be happy. Heaven bless you and make you so!
My unfortunate guest regards me with the
tenderest compassion. He tries to fill me with hope
and talks as if life were a possession he valued. He
reminds me how often the same accidents have
happened to others who have explored this sea,
and in spite of myself, he fills me with cheerful
thoughts. Even the sailors feel the power of his
words. When he speaks, they no longer despair.
He rouses their energies, and while they hear his
voice they believe these vast mountains of ice are
mole-hills which will vanish before the
determination of man. But these feelings are short-
lived. Each new day fills them with new fears, and
I almost dread a mutiny caused by this misery.

September 5th.
A scene has just passed of such unusual
interest that I cannot keep from recording it here.
I do so even though it is likely that these papers
will never reach you.

mutiny: a rebellion of sailors against their captain

284 Frankenstein

We are still surrounded by mountains of ice,

and still in danger of being crushed by them. The
cold is excessive, and many of my unfortunate
comrades have already died. Frankenstein has daily
declined in health. A feverish fire still glimmers in
his eyes, but he is exhausted. We are able to wake
him up, but he speedily sinks back into apparent
lifelessness.
I mentioned in my last letter the fears I
entertained of a mutiny. This morning, as I sat
watching the pale face of my friend—his eyes half
closed and his limbs hanging listlessly—I was visited
by half a dozen of the sailors, who demanded I let
them into the cabin. They entered and their leader
addressed me. He told me that he and the men with
him had been chosen by the other sailors to make
a request which, in justice, I could not refuse. We
were surrounded by ice and would probably never
escape. But the men were worried about what
might happen if the ice broke up and released the
ship. They feared that if this occurred, I would be
reckless enough to continue my voyage and lead
them into fresh dangers. They insisted, therefore,
listlessly: without energy
C hap te r 24 285

that I promise them that if the ship should be freed

I would turn it around and sail south.
This speech troubled me. I had not given
up, nor had I yet considered the possibility of
returning if set free. Yet could I, in justice, refuse
this demand? I hesitated before I answered, and
Frankenstein surprised me by speaking up. He
had been silent, and indeed appeared hardly to
have the energy to pay attention. But now he
stirred himself. His eyes sparkled, and his cheeks
flushed with temporary energy. Turning towards
the men, he said, “What do you mean? What do
you demand of your captain? Are you, then, so
easily turned from your design? Did you not call
this a glorious voyage? And why was it glorious?
Because it was full of dangers and terror. It was a
glorious voyage because with each new incident
your strength was to be called forth and your
courage exhibited. It was glorious because danger
and death surrounded it, and these you were
to brave and overcome. These are the reasons
why it was a glorious undertaking. If successful,
you would be praised as brave men who risked
death for honor and for the benefit of mankind.
286 Frankenstein

And now, at the first hint of danger, in the first

trial of your courage, you shrink away. Now you
are content to be remembered as men who had
not strength enough to endure cold and danger—
and so, poor souls, they were chilly and returned to
their warm firesides! You need not have come this
far and dragged your captain to the shame of a
defeat merely to prove yourselves cowards. Oh!
be men! Or be more than men! Be steady to your
purposes. Be firm as a rock. This ice is changeable
and cannot withstand you if you say that it shall
not. Do not return to your families with the sign of
disgrace marked on your brows. Return as heroes
who have fought and won and who know not what
it is to turn their backs on the enemy.”
He spoke so powerfully that the men were
moved. They looked at one another and were
unable to reply. At last I spoke. I told them to
retire and think about what had been said. I told
them that I would not lead them farther north if
they were strongly opposed, but I hoped that they
would once again show the bravery for which I
had chosen them.
They retired and I turned towards my friend,
C hap te r 24 287

but he seemed exhausted.

How all this will end, I know not. For myself,
however, I’d rather die than return shamefully,
with my purpose unfulfilled. Yet I fear such will
be my fate. The men, unsupported by ideas of
glory and honor, are unlikely to continue.

September 7th.
The die is cast. I have agreed to return if we are
not destroyed by the ice. Thus are my hopes blasted
by fear and indecision. I will return ignorant and
disappointed. It requires more philosophy than I
possess to bear this injustice with patience.
September 12th.
It is past. I am returning to England. I have
lost my hopes of reaching the pole—and I have
also lost my friend. But I will explain all of this to
you, my dear sister, and while I am blown towards
England and towards you, I will not despair.
On September 9th, the ice began to move,
and roarings like thunder were heard at a distance
as the ice split and cracked in every direction.
We were in great danger, but as we could only
wait and see what happened, my attention was
288 Frankenstein

occupied by my unfortunate guest. His illness had

worsened to such a degree that he was entirely
confined to his bed. The ice cracked around us
and was driven towards the north. A breeze
sprang from the west, and on the 11th the passage
towards the south opened up. When the sailors
saw this, they felt that their return to their native
country was certain. A shout of joy broke from
them. Frankenstein, who was dozing, awoke and
asked what had caused the uproar. “They shout,”
I said, “because they will soon return to England.”
“Do you, then, really return?”
“Alas, yes. I cannot refuse their demands.
I cannot lead them into danger if they are not
willing. So I must return.”
“Do so, if you will,” he replied, “but I will
not. You may give up your purpose, but mine is
assigned to me by Heaven, and I dare not. I am
weak, but surely the spirits who assist my revenge
will give me the strength I need.” Saying this, he
tried to get up from the bed, but the effort was too
much for him. He fell back and fainted.
It was long before he recovered, and I briefly
thought that he had died. At length he opened his
C hap te r 24 289

eyes. He breathed with difficulty and was unable

to speak. The surgeon gave him some medicine
and ordered me to leave him undisturbed. In the
meantime he told me that my friend had certainly
not many hours to live.
I could only grieve and be patient. I sat by
his bed, watching him. His eyes were closed, and
I thought he slept. But presently he called to me
in a weak voice and asked me to come near. I did
so, and he said, “Alas! The strength I relied on
is gone. I feel that I shall soon die, and he, my
enemy, may still be alive. Think not, Walton, that
in the last moments of my existence I feel that
burning hatred and strong desire of revenge I once
expressed. I do not. But I do feel that I am justified
in desiring the death of my enemy. During these
last days I have been occupied in examining my
past behavior. I do not find it blamable. In a fit of
madness I created a creature capable of thinking.
I had a duty to promote his happiness and well-
being, but there was another duty even more
important than that one. I mean my duty to beings
of my own species. Urged by this view, I refused
to create a companion for the first creature—and
290 Frankenstein

I feel I was right to refuse. He was cruel and

selfish. He destroyed my friends. Nor do I know
where his thirst for revenge may end. Although
he is miserable himself, he ought to die; if he is
allowed to live he may well make others wretched.
It was my mission to destroy him, but I have
failed. When I was inspired by selfish and vicious
motives, I asked you to undertake my unfinished
work. I renew this request now, when I am only
led on by reason and virtue.
“Yet I cannot ask you to leave your country and
friends to take on this task, and now that you are
returning to England, you will have little chance of
meeting with him. I leave the matter to you. I can
no longer rely on my own judgment. My thoughts
are already disturbed by the near approach of
death. I dare not ask you to do what I think right,
for I may still be misled by my emotions.
“That he should live on, capable of doing more
harm, disturbs me. In other respects, however,
this hour, when I live in the expectation of being
released, is a happy one. It is, in fact, the only
happy moment I have enjoyed for several years.
The forms of the beloved dead hover before my
C hap te r 24 291

eyes, and I hasten to their arms. Farewell, Walton!

Seek happiness in peaceful activities and avoid
ambition, even if it be only the apparently harmless
one of distinguishing yourself in science and
discoveries. Yet why do I say this? I have failed to
achieve my hopes, yet another may succeed.”
His voice became fainter as he spoke, and
at length, exhausted by his effort, he sank into
silence. About half an hour later he tried again
to speak but was unable. He pressed my hand
weakly and his eyes closed for ever, while a gentle
smile passed away from his lips.
Margaret, what can I say about the untimely
death of this glorious spirit? What can I say that
will enable you to understand the depth of my
sorrow? Words cannot make you feel it. My tears
flow. My mind is clouded by disappointment. But
I journey towards England, and perhaps I may
find comfort there.
I am interrupted. What are those sounds I
hear? It is midnight. The breeze blows fairly,
and all is quiet on deck. Again there is a sound.
It sounds like a human voice, but hoarser. It
is coming from the cabin where the remains of
292 Frankenstein

Frankenstein still lie. I must go and see what is

happening. Good night, my sister.
Great God! What a scene has just taken
place! I am yet dizzy with the memory of it. I
hardly know whether I shall have the power to
describe it. Yet the tale I have recorded would
be incomplete without this final and astonishing
catastrophe.
I entered the cabin where lay the remains of
my ill-fated and admirable friend. Over him hung
a form which I cannot find words to describe. It
was gigantic in size, yet misshapen in its form.
As this being hung over the coffin, his face was
hidden by long locks of ragged hair. But one vast
hand was extended. It looked—both in its color
and its texture—like the hand of a mummy. When
he heard me approaching, he stopped howling
and took a step towards the window. Never did
I behold a vision so horrible as his face. It was
disgusting. It was hideous. I shut my eyes, but
then I called to him to stay.
He paused, looking on me with wonder. Then he
turned again towards the lifeless form of his creator
and seemed to forget my presence. He seemed to be
C hap te r 24 293

in the grip of some uncontrollable emotion.

“This too is my victim!” he exclaimed. “In his
murder my crimes are consummated! ”
Then his voice seemed to change: “Oh,
Frankenstein! Generous and self-devoted being!
What good does it do for me to ask for your pardon
now? I, who destroyed you by destroying all that
you love. Alas! He is cold; he cannot answer me.”
His voice seemed choked, and I was unsure
what to do. My first impulse had been to obey
my friend’s dying request by destroying his
enemy. But I now felt a mixture of curiosity and
sympathy. I approached this tremendous being.
I dared not again raise my eyes to his face: there
was something so frightening and unearthly in his
ugliness. I attempted to speak, but the words died
away on my lips. The monster continued to speak
to the dead man. At length I decided I would
speak to him.
“The sorrow you are expressing,” I said, “is
now pointless. If you had listened to the voice of
conscience earlier, Frankenstein would still be alive.”

consummated: brought to a state of perfection

294 Frankenstein

“And do you dream?” said the creature. “Do

you think that I felt no pain and no regret? I assure
you I did! A frightful selfishness hurried me on,
but my heart was poisoned with sorrow. Do you
think that the groans of Henry Clerval were music
to my ears? I assure you they were not. My heart
was made to feel love and sympathy. It was then
twisted by misery to evil and hatred, and the change
brought me pain of a sort you cannot even imagine.
“After the murder of Henry Clerval I returned
to Switzerland, with a broken heart. I pitied
Frankenstein and I hated myself for what I had
done. But that changed when I discovered that he,
the author of my existence and of my unspeakable
sufferings, dared to hope for happiness. When
I discovered that he who forced wretchedness
and despair upon me sought his own enjoyment
in feelings from which I was forever forbidden,
then envy and bitter indignation filled me with a
thirst for revenge. I remembered my threat and
resolved to keep my promise. I knew that I would
be torturing myself as well as my creator, but I
envy: longing for what someone else has, jealousy
indignation: anger over something that seems unfair
C hap te r 24 295

was the slave, not the master, of a desire. It was a

desire which I hated but could not disobey. When
the woman died, it was different. By that point, I
was not miserable. I had cast off all feeling. Evil
thenceforth became my good. Urged thus far, I
had no choice but to adapt to the new conditions.
I dedicated myself completely to getting revenge.
But now it is ended: there lies my last victim!”
I was at first touched by his expressions of
misery, but then I recalled what Frankenstein had
said of his powers of persuasion. I cast my eyes
on the lifeless form of my friend, and anger was
rekindled within me. “Wretch!” I said. “You are
moaning over destruction you have caused! You
throw a torch into a cluster of buildings and, when
they have burned to the ground, you sit among
the ruins and cry about the damage. Hypocritical
fiend! If he whom you mourn still lived, he would
be the object of your revenge. It is not pity that
you feel. You are only sad because the victim of
your cruelty is now placed beyond your reach!”

my good: here the creature again echoes the words of the fallen
angel Satan from Paradise Lost.
rekindled: lit on fire once again
296 Frankenstein

“Oh, you are wrong!” replied the being. “I

am sure that is how it looks to you. But I am no
longer searching for fellow feeling in my misery.
Nor do I deserve to find any sympathy. There
was a time when I sought sympathy. Then my
whole being overflowed with the love of virtue,
and with feelings of happiness and affection. But
it is different now. Now virtue has become to
me a shadow, and happiness and affection have
turned into bitter despair. Why then should I seek
sympathy? I am content to suffer alone. When I
die, I am content to be remembered with hatred.
Once I hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning
my outward form, would love me for my excellent
qualities. I was nourished with high thoughts of
honor and devotion. But now crime has degraded
me to a condition beneath the meanest animal.
No guilt, no mischief, no misery, can be found
comparable to mine. When I run over the frightful
catalog of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the
same creature whose thoughts were once filled
with visions of the beauty and the majesty of
goodness. But it is so. The fallen angel becomes
the fallen angel: Another reference to Satan in Paradise Lost
C hap te r 24 297

a malignant devil. Yet even the great enemy of

God and man had friends and companions in his
sorrow. I am alone.
“You call Frankenstein your friend, and you
seem to have some knowledge of my crimes and his
misfortunes. But in the details he gave you of them
he could not possibly sum up the hours and months
of misery I endured. For while I destroyed his hopes,
I did not satisfy my own desires. I desired love and
fellowship, but I was constantly rejected. Was there
no injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only
criminal, when all humankind sinned against me?
Why do you not hate Felix, who drove me from his
door? Why do you not curse that man who sought
to destroy me after I saved his child from drowning?
Nay, these are virtuous and immaculate beings! I,
on the other hand am miserable and evil. I am to be
rejected, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now
my blood boils at the recollection of this injustice.
“But it is true that I am a wretch. I have murdered
the lovely and the helpless. I have strangled the
innocent as they slept and killed humans who never
injured me or any other living thing. I have tortured
my creator. I have pursued him and driven him to
298 Frankenstein

ruin. There he lies, white and cold in death. You hate

me, but your hatred cannot equal that with which I
regard myself. I look on the hands which did these
deeds, I think on the imagination where they were
first thought of, and I long for the moment when
imagination will be no more.
“Fear not that I shall be the instrument of
more evil. My work is nearly done, and neither
yours nor any other man’s death is needed to bring
it to completion. But my own death is required.
And do not think that I shall be slow to perform
this sacrifice. I shall leave your ship on the ice
raft which brought me here and seek the most
northern extremity of the globe. There I shall
build a funeral pile and burn this miserable body
to ashes. Then I shall no longer feel the agonies
which now consume me. I shall no longer suffer
from feelings left unsatisfied. He who called me
into being is now dead, and, when I shall be no
more, the memory of us both will speedily vanish.
I shall no longer see the sun or stars or feel the
winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense
sacrifice: a ritual killing in which a body of a person or animal is
offered to a god
C hap te r 24 299

will pass away, and in this condition must I find

my happiness. Some years ago, when the images
which this world affords first opened upon me, I
would have wept at the prospect of death. Now,
however, death is my only comfort. Polluted by
crimes and torn by the bitterest regret, where can
I find rest but in death?
“Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last
human being these eyes will ever see. Farewell,
Frankenstein! You sought my death, that I might
not cause greater wretchedness. Now I seek that
as well. Soon I shall die—and what I now feel I
shall feel no longer. I shall climb my funeral pile
triumphantly and take pleasure in the torturing
flames. The light of that blaze will fade away.
My ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds.
My spirit will sleep in peace—or if it continues to
think, it will not surely think thus. Farewell!”
After saying this, he sprang out of the cabin
window and onto an ice raft, which lay close to the
ship. He was soon carried away by the waves and
lost in darkness and distance.
300 Frankenstein

“He sprang out of the cabin window and onto an ice raft.”
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mary Shelley

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, née Mary

Wollstonecraft Godwin, (born August 30, 1797,
London, England—died February 1, 1851, London),
English Romantic novelist best known as the author
of Frankenstein.
The only daughter of William Godwin and
Mary Wollstonecraft, she met the young poet Percy
Bysshe Shelley in 1812 and eloped with him to
France in July 1814. The couple were married in
1816, after Shelley’s first wife had committed suicide.
302 Frankenstein

After her husband’s death in 1822, she returned to

England and devoted herself to publicizing Shelley’s
writings and to educating their only surviving child,
Percy Florence Shelley. She published her late
husband’s Posthumous Poems (1824); she also edited
his Poetical Works (1839), with long and invaluable
notes, and his prose works. Her journal is a rich
source of Shelley biography, and her letters are an
indispensable adjunct.
Mary Shelley’s best-known book is Frankenstein;
or, The Modern Prometheus (1818, revised 1831), a
text that is part Gothic novel and part philosophical
novel; it is also often considered an early example of
science fiction. It narrates the dreadful consequences
that arise after a scientist has artificially created a
human being. (The man-made monster in this novel
inspired a similar creature in numerous American
horror films.) She wrote several other novels,
including Valperga (1823), The Fortunes of Perkin
Warbeck (1830), Lodore (1835), and Falkner (1837);
The Last Man (1826), an account of the future
destruction of the human race by a plague, is often
ranked as her best work. Her travel book History of
a Six Weeks’ Tour (1817) recounts the continental
A b ou t the Au t hor 303

tour she and Shelley took in 1814 following their

elopement and then recounts their summer near
Geneva in 1816.
Late 20th-century publications of her casual
writings include The Journals of Mary Shelley, 1814–
1844 (1987), edited by Paula R. Feldman and Diana
Scott-Kilvert, and Selected Letters of Mary Wollstonecraft
Shelley (1995), edited by Betty T. Bennett.

https://www.britannica.com/biography/Mary-
Wollstonecraft-Shelley
 Cover and Title Page Illustration by
Ivan Pesic

Text Illustrations by
Everett Collection Historical / Alamy Stock Photo / 301

Ivan Pesic / 15, 18, 30, 46, 59, 81, 92, 125, 127,
133, 149, 186, 217, 220, 227, 257, 269, 274, 300
 What to do when it’s too rainy to go outside? That was the question Mary
Shelley and her friends faced during the very rainy Summer of 1816. The
poet Lord Byron suggested that they all write ghost stories and share them.
At first Mary Shelley struggled to come up with a story. Then something
amazing came to her . . . in the night. It was a story about a bold scientist
who sets out to form a human-like body — and then dares to give it life!

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