Chapter 23

von Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

It was eight o’clock when we finally touched down. We strolled along the shore for a bit, soaking in the fleeting light, before heading back to the inn. There, we gazed out at the beautiful scene of water, woods, and mountains, now shrouded in darkness but still revealing their shadowy outlines.

The wind, which had calmed in the south, suddenly picked up with fierce intensity from the west. The moon, now at its peak in the sky, began its descent, and clouds raced across it faster than a vulture in flight, dimming its glow. The lake mirrored the chaotic sky, made even more restless by the waves that were starting to rise. Then, without warning, a heavy rainstorm broke loose.

I had managed to stay calm throughout the day, but as night fell and the shapes around me faded into obscurity, a thousand fears flooded my mind. I felt anxious and alert, my right hand clutching a pistol hidden beneath my clothing. Every sound sent chills down my spine, but I was determined to fight fiercely, unwilling to back down until either I or my enemy lay defeated.

Elizabeth watched my growing agitation in fearful silence. There was something in my expression that communicated my terror to her, and trembling, she asked, “What’s wrong, my dear Victor? What are you afraid of?”

“Oh, just calm down, my love,” I replied. “Tonight, everything will be fine; but it’s a dreadful night, truly dreadful.”

I spent an hour in this state of turmoil when suddenly it struck me how terrifying the impending confrontation would be for my wife. I urged her to go to bed, promising not to join her until I had a better understanding of my enemy’s whereabouts.

She left, and I continued pacing the corridors of the inn, checking every corner that might offer a hiding place for my adversary. But I found no sign of him and began to hope that perhaps luck had intervened to thwart his plans. Just then, a piercing and horrifying scream shattered the silence. It came from the room where Elizabeth had gone. In that instant, the full truth hit me like a blow; my arms fell limp, and every muscle in my body froze. I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, tingling in my fingertips. This state lasted only a moment; the scream echoed again, and I bolted into the room.

Oh God! Why didn’t I just die then? Why am I here to recount the destruction of my greatest hope and the purest soul on earth? There she was, lifeless and still, sprawled across the bed, her head hanging down, her pale, twisted features half-hidden by her hair. Everywhere I looked, I saw the same image—her bloodless arms and limp body cast aside by the murderer on her bridal bed. How could I witness this and continue to live? Alas! Life clings stubbornly, especially where it is most despised. For a brief moment, I lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground.

When I came to, I found myself surrounded by the inn’s patrons. Their faces were etched with breathless terror, but their horror felt like a mere shadow compared to the anguish that consumed me. I broke free from their grasp and rushed back to the room where Elizabeth lay—my love, my wife, once so vibrant, now so still and precious. They had moved her from the position in which I first found her, and now, as she lay with her head resting on her arm and a handkerchief draped over her face and neck, I could almost believe she was merely asleep. I rushed to her, embracing her with fervor, but the chilling weight of her lifeless body told me that the Elizabeth I had loved and cherished was gone. The mark of the fiend’s grip was on her neck, and the breath had left her lips.

As I hovered over her in despair, I glanced up. The room, once dark, was now illuminated by the pale yellow light of the moon. Panic surged through me as I saw the shutters thrown open, and with a horror I cannot describe, I spotted a figure at the window—hideous and loathsome. A grin twisted across the monster’s face, and he seemed to mock me, pointing with his wicked finger at the corpse of my wife. I lunged toward the window, drawing my pistol and firing, but he dodged my shot, leaping away and disappearing into the lake like a flash of lightning.

The sound of the gunshot drew a crowd into the room. I pointed to the spot where he had vanished, and we searched the area with boats, casting nets, but it was all in vain. After several hours of fruitless searching, we returned, disheartened, most of my companions convinced it had all been a figment of my imagination. Once back on land, they scattered to search the countryside, heading off in different directions through the woods and vineyards.

I tried to follow them for a short distance from the house, but my head spun, and my steps felt unsteady, like I was drunk. Eventually, I collapsed in utter exhaustion. A haze clouded my vision, and my skin burned with fever. In this state, I was carried back and laid on a bed, barely aware of what was happening. My eyes drifted around the room, searching for something I had lost.

After a while, I managed to get up and, almost instinctively, crawled into the room where my beloved lay lifeless. Women surrounded the body, weeping. I leaned over and joined my tears with theirs. My mind was a jumble; no clear thoughts formed, just a chaotic mix of my misfortunes and their origins. I felt lost, enveloped in a fog of confusion and horror. William was dead, Justine had been executed, Clerval was murdered, and now my wife was gone. Even then, I didn’t know if my remaining friends were safe from the monster’s wrath. My father might be suffering, and Ernest could be dead. The thought sent a shiver through me and snapped me back to reality. I jumped up, determined to return to Geneva as quickly as possible.

There were no horses available, so I had to make my way back by the lake. The wind was against me, and the rain poured down. But it was still early, and I hoped to reach Geneva by nightfall. I hired some men to row, and I took an oar myself, as I had always found relief from my mental anguish in physical activity. But the overwhelming sorrow I felt and the intensity of my agitation left me unable to exert myself. I dropped the oar and rested my head in my hands, surrendering to the dark thoughts that flooded my mind.

Whenever I looked up, I saw familiar scenes from happier times, places I had just visited the day before with Elizabeth, who was now nothing but a memory. Tears streamed down my face. The rain paused for a moment, and I watched the fish swim in the water, just as they had hours earlier when Elizabeth had been there to see them. Nothing is more painful than a sudden and drastic change. The sun could shine or the clouds could gather, but nothing felt the same as it had the day before. A monster had stolen every hope of happiness from me; no one had ever been as miserable as I was. Such a horrific event is unparalleled in the history of mankind.

But why should I linger on the events that followed this last devastating blow? My life has been a series of horrors; I have reached the peak of despair, and what I must share now will only bore you. Know that one by one, my friends were taken from me, leaving me utterly alone. My strength was spent, and I can only briefly recount the remaining horrors of my tale.

I arrived in Geneva. My father and Ernest were still alive, but the news I brought crushed my father. I can still see him now, that noble and venerable old man. His eyes were vacant, having lost their spark and joy—his Elizabeth, his beloved daughter, whom he cherished with all the love a man can muster in the twilight of his life, clinging desperately to the few affections he had left. Cursed be the monster that brought such misery to his grey hairs and condemned him to a life of suffering! He couldn’t bear the weight of the horrors surrounding him; the very essence of his life crumbled. He could not rise from his bed, and within days, he died in my arms.

What happened to me after that? I don’t know. I lost all sensation; all I felt were chains and darkness pressing down on me. Sometimes, I dreamed I was wandering through flowery meadows and beautiful valleys with my childhood friends, but I would wake to find myself in a dungeon. Melancholy followed me, but gradually, I began to understand my miseries and my situation, and eventually, I was released from my prison. They had deemed me mad, and for many months, I had lived in solitary confinement.

However, freedom felt meaningless to me until I regained my sanity and my desire for revenge. As memories of my past misfortunes flooded back, I began to reflect on their source—the creature I had created, the wretched demon I had unleashed upon the world to destroy me. A maddening rage consumed me at the thought of him, and I fervently wished to have him within my grasp so I could exact a terrible revenge on his cursed head.

My hatred didn’t stay confined to mere thoughts; I started to think about how to catch him. About a month after I was released, I went to a criminal judge in town and told him I had an accusation to make. I knew who had destroyed my family, and I needed him to use his full authority to apprehend the murderer.

The magistrate listened to me with kindness. “Rest assured, sir,” he said, “I will spare no effort to find this villain.”

“Thank you,” I replied. “Now, please listen to what I have to say. It’s such a strange story that I worry you might not believe it, but there’s a truth in it that, no matter how unbelievable, compels conviction. The details are too connected to be mistaken for a dream, and I have no reason to lie.” As I spoke, I was calm but intense; I had resolved in my heart to pursue my destroyer to the end, and this purpose eased my pain and, for a moment, made me feel at peace with life. I recounted my story briefly but with clarity, carefully marking the dates and avoiding any outbursts or emotional outcries.

At first, the magistrate seemed skeptical, but as I continued, he became more engaged and interested. I noticed him shudder with horror at times, while at other moments, surprise—free from disbelief—was evident on his face.

When I finished my account, I said, “This is the person I accuse, and I urge you to use all your power to capture and punish him. It’s your duty as a magistrate, and I hope your humanity will not shy away from fulfilling it in this case.”

This plea visibly changed the magistrate’s expression. He had listened with a half-belief, as if I were recounting a ghost story, but when I called on him to act, his skepticism returned. He replied gently, “I would gladly help you in your pursuit, but the creature you describe seems to possess abilities that would render all my efforts futile. Who can track a being that can cross the icy seas and hide in caves where no one dares to go? Moreover, months have passed since his crimes, and no one can guess where he might have gone or what region he now inhabits.”

“I have no doubt he is lurking near where I live. If he has taken refuge in the Alps, he can be hunted like a chamois and killed like a wild animal. But I see your thoughts; you don’t believe my story and have no intention of pursuing my enemy as he deserves.”

As I spoke, rage ignited in my eyes, and the magistrate looked intimidated. “You’re mistaken,” he said. “I will do my best, and if I can catch this monster, he will face punishment fitting his crimes. But I fear, based on your own description of his abilities, that this may prove impossible. While I will take every appropriate measure, you should prepare yourself for disappointment.”

“That can’t be. But I know that what I say won’t matter much to you. My desire for revenge may seem trivial, yet I admit it is the all-consuming passion of my soul. My rage is indescribable when I think that the murderer I’ve set loose on society still exists. You refuse my rightful request; I have only one option left, and I am committed to his destruction, whether in life or death.”

I trembled with agitation as I spoke; there was a frenzy in my demeanor, and I likely displayed the fierce determination that martyrs of old were said to possess. But to a Genevan magistrate, whose mind was occupied with far different thoughts than those of devotion and heroism, my elevated state appeared to be madness. He tried to soothe me like a nurse calming a child and dismissed my tale as the effects of delirium.

“Man,” I cried, “how ignorant you are in your pride of wisdom! Stop; you don’t understand what you’re saying.”

I stormed out of the house, angry and disturbed, retreating to consider another course of action.