Chapter 10

von Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

The next day, I wandered through the valley, standing beside the Arveiron's source, where the glacier slowly crept down from the mountain's peak, blocking the valley's path. Towering mountains loomed around me, their icy walls casting a shadow overhead. A few broken pines dotted the landscape, and the profound silence of this majestic realm was only interrupted by the rushing water or the distant rumble of an avalanche, the sound of ice cracking echoing through the mountains. This grand display of nature offered me the greatest comfort I could hope for. It lifted me above my petty worries, and while it didn’t erase my sorrow, it did calm and soothe it. In some way, it distracted me from the thoughts that had consumed me for the past month. That night, as I fell asleep, the images of the day’s grandeur surrounded me—the pristine snowy peaks, the shimmering spires, the pine forests, the rugged ravines, and the eagle soaring among the clouds. They enveloped me, urging me to find peace.

But where had they gone when I awoke the next morning? All the inspiration had vanished with sleep, leaving behind a dark cloud of melancholy that shadowed my every thought. Rain poured down in torrents, thick fog obscured the mountain tops, and I could barely see my mighty companions. Still, I was determined to push through the mist and seek them in their cloudy hideaways. What did rain and storm matter to me? My mule was brought to the door, and I resolved to climb to the summit of Montanvert. I recalled how the sight of that immense, ever-shifting glacier had filled me with a sublime ecstasy on my first visit, lifting my spirit from the gloom of the world into light and joy. The awe-inspiring beauty of nature had always had the power to solemnize my thoughts and help me forget the trivial worries of life. I decided to go without a guide; I knew the path well enough, and the presence of another would only diminish the solitary grandeur of the scene.

The ascent was steep, but the path wound in short, manageable turns, allowing me to navigate the mountain's vertical face. It was a scene of terrifying desolation. Evidence of winter avalanches was scattered everywhere—trees lay broken and strewn across the ground, some completely destroyed, others bent and leaning against the jutting rocks or other trees. As I climbed higher, the path crossed snow-filled ravines, where stones tumbled down from above. One particular spot was especially treacherous; even the slightest sound, like a loud voice, could trigger a cascade of destruction. The pines were not tall or lush, but their dark presence added a somber severity to the landscape. I gazed down at the valley below, where thick mists rose from the rivers, curling around the distant mountains, their peaks hidden in a blanket of clouds, while rain fell from the dark sky, deepening the melancholy that surrounded me.

Why do we, as humans, pride ourselves on having feelings that seem superior to those of animals? It only makes us more vulnerable. If our desires were limited to hunger, thirst, and basic needs, we might find some freedom. Instead, we are swayed by every gust of wind and every chance word or image that crosses our path.

We rest; a single dream can poison our sleep. We rise; a wandering thought can taint our day. We feel, we think, we reason; we laugh or cry, embrace our sorrows, or try to cast them aside. It’s all the same, for whether it’s joy or sorrow, the path to its departure remains open. A man’s yesterday can never be the same as his tomorrow; nothing endures but change.

It was almost noon when I reached the top of the climb. I settled onto a rock that overlooked the vast sea of ice below. A thick mist cloaked the glacier and the surrounding mountains. Just then, a breeze swept through, clearing the fog, and I made my way down onto the glacier itself. The surface was uneven, rising and falling like the waves of a restless sea, with deep rifts cutting through it. The ice field stretched nearly a league wide, and it took me almost two hours to cross it.

On the other side, a sheer rock face loomed. From where I stood, Montanvert was directly across from me, about a league away, and above it towered Mont Blanc, magnificent and imposing. I found a small recess in the rock and gazed at the breathtaking scene before me. The glacier wound its way through the surrounding mountains, their lofty peaks looming over the icy expanse. The sunlight glinted off the icy summits, casting a dazzling glow above the clouds. My heart, which had been heavy with sorrow, now swelled with a flicker of joy. I called out, “Wandering spirits, if you truly roam the earth and do not rest in your graves, grant me this small happiness, or take me with you, away from the joys of life.”

As I spoke, I suddenly spotted a figure in the distance, moving toward me with an unnatural speed. He leaped over the crevices in the ice, navigating the treacherous terrain with ease, and as he drew closer, his stature seemed to surpass that of any human. A wave of unease washed over me, and a mist blurred my vision. I felt faint, but the cold mountain air quickly revived me. As the figure approached, I realized with horror that it was the creature I had brought to life. Rage and terror coursed through me, and I steeled myself to confront him in a fight to the death.

He came closer, his face twisted in a mix of deep anguish and contempt, its grotesque appearance almost too horrifying to bear. But I barely registered this; my fury had stolen my voice, and when I finally found it, I unleashed a torrent of hatred and scorn.

“Monster!” I shouted. “How dare you come near me? Don’t you fear the wrath I could unleash upon you? Get lost, you wretched insect! Or stay, so I can crush you into dust! Oh, how I wish that by ending your miserable existence, I could bring back those you’ve so cruelly murdered!”

“I expected this kind of welcome,” the creature replied. “All men despise the wretched; how much more must I be hated, being the most miserable of all? Yet you, my creator, reject and scorn me, your own creation, bound to you by ties that can only be severed by the destruction of one of us. You plan to kill me. How dare you toy with life like this? Fulfill your duty to me, and I will fulfill mine to you and to humanity. If you agree to my terms, I will leave you and your loved ones in peace; but if you refuse, I will unleash death upon your remaining friends until I am satisfied.”

“Abominable creature! You wretched fiend! The torments of hell are too lenient a punishment for your crimes. You dare blame me for your existence? Come on, then, so I can snuff out the spark I carelessly gave you.”

My rage knew no bounds. I lunged at him, driven by every emotion that could fuel one being against another.

He easily dodged my attack and said, “Please, calm down! Hear me out before you unleash your fury on me. Haven’t I suffered enough? Why do you want to add to my misery? Life, even if it’s just a collection of pain, is precious to me, and I will fight for it. Remember, you’ve made me stronger than you; I’m taller, and my joints are more flexible. But I won’t oppose you. I am your creature, and I will be gentle and obedient to you, my rightful master, if you fulfill your part of the bargain. Don’t be fair to everyone else and trample on me alone, the one who deserves your justice, your mercy, and your affection the most. Remember, I am your creature; I should be your Adam, but instead, I am the fallen angel, cast out from happiness for no fault of my own. I see joy everywhere, but I am forever excluded from it. I was good and kind; it was misery that turned me into a monster. Make me happy, and I will be virtuous again.”

“Get out of my sight! I refuse to listen to you. There can be no connection between us; we are enemies. Leave, or let’s settle this with a fight, where only one of us will survive.”

“How can I reach you? Will no amount of pleading make you look upon me with kindness, the creature who begs for your mercy? Believe me, Frankenstein, I was once filled with love and compassion. But now, I am utterly alone—miserably alone. You, my creator, despise me; what hope can I find among your fellow humans, who owe me nothing? They reject and loathe me. The barren mountains and desolate glaciers have become my refuge. I’ve wandered here for days; the icy caves, which I fear not, are my only home—the only place where humanity does not scorn me. I welcome these bleak skies, for they are kinder to me than your kind. If the masses knew of my existence, they would react just as you have, arming themselves for my destruction. Should I not then hate those who hate me? I will not make peace with my enemies. I am miserable, and I will make them share in my suffering. Yet you have the power to change this, to save them from a fate that you alone can make so terrible that not just you and your family, but countless others, will be caught in its fury. Let your compassion stir, and do not turn away from me. Listen to my story; once you’ve heard it, you can choose to abandon me or feel pity for me, as you see fit. But please, hear me out. Even the guilty are allowed to speak in their defense before they are condemned. Listen to me, Frankenstein. You accuse me of murder, yet you would destroy your own creation with a clear conscience. Oh, the irony of human justice! But I do not ask for mercy; I ask for you to listen, and then, if you must, destroy what you have made.”

“Why do you remind me,” I replied, “of the circumstances that make me shudder, the fact that I am the miserable origin and creator of this horror? Cursed be the day, cursed be the moment, when you first came into existence! Cursed be the hands that formed you! You have made me wretched beyond words. You’ve taken away my ability to judge whether I owe you justice or not. Leave me! Spare me the sight of your loathsome form.”

“Then I will relieve you, my creator,” he said, placing his hated hands before my eyes, which I pushed away violently. “This way, I take from you the sight you despise. But you can still listen to me and show me compassion. By the virtues I once possessed, I demand this from you. Hear my story; it is long and strange, and this cold place is not suitable for your refined sensibilities. Come to the hut on the mountain. The sun is still high in the sky; before it sets behind your snowy peaks and lights another world, you will have heard my tale and can decide. It is up to you whether I leave the company of man forever and live a harmless life, or become the scourge of your fellow beings and bring about your own swift ruin.”

As he spoke, he led the way across the ice; I followed him. My heart was heavy, and I didn’t respond, but as I walked, I considered the various arguments he had made and decided that I would at least listen to his story. Curiosity drove me, and compassion solidified my resolve. Until now, I had believed him to be the murderer of my brother, and I was eager to confirm or deny that belief. For the first time, I also understood the responsibilities of a creator toward his creature, realizing that I should strive to make him happy before I complained about his wickedness. These thoughts compelled me to comply with his request.

So we crossed the ice and climbed the opposite rock. The air was cold, and the rain began to fall again. We entered the hut, he with an air of triumph, and I with a heavy heart and a sense of dread. But I had agreed to listen, and as I settled by the fire that my detestable companion had kindled, he began his tale.