Chapter 5

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

It was a bleak November night when I finally saw the result of my relentless efforts. Anxiety gnawed at me, almost turning to agony, as I gathered the tools of life around me, ready to breathe existence into the lifeless figure lying at my feet. It was already past one in the morning; the rain tapped mournfully against the windows, and my candle flickered dangerously low. Then, in the dim light, I saw the creature’s dull yellow eye open. It gasped for air, and a spasm shook its limbs.

How can I even begin to express the turmoil inside me at that moment, or describe the wretch I had painstakingly tried to create? Its limbs were proportionate, and I had chosen its features to be beautiful. Beautiful! My God! Its yellow skin barely concealed the muscles and arteries beneath. Its hair was a glossy black, flowing down its head; its teeth gleamed white as pearls. But these striking features only highlighted the horror of its watery eyes, which matched the sickly color of the sunken sockets they rested in, its shriveled skin, and its straight black lips.

Life’s unpredictable twists are nothing compared to the shifting emotions of the human heart. I had labored for nearly two years, driven by the singular goal of bringing life to an inanimate body. I had sacrificed my rest and health for this. My desire had burned with an intensity that was far beyond reason. Yet now that I had succeeded, the beauty of my dream had evaporated, replaced by a suffocating horror and disgust. Unable to bear the sight of the being I had created, I fled the room and paced my bedroom for what felt like an eternity, unable to calm my racing mind enough to sleep.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook the chaos I had felt, and I collapsed onto my bed, still fully clothed, hoping for just a moment of forgetfulness. But it was futile; I fell asleep, only to be tormented by the wildest dreams. I thought I saw Elizabeth, vibrant and healthy, walking through the streets of Ingolstadt. Overjoyed, I rushed to embrace her, but as I pressed my lips to hers, they turned a ghastly shade of death. Her features twisted, and suddenly I was holding the corpse of my mother, wrapped in a shroud, with grave worms crawling through the folds of the fabric. I jolted awake in terror, cold sweat dripping down my forehead, my teeth chattering, and my body trembling.

Then, through the dim, yellow light of the moon filtering through the shutters, I saw it—the miserable creature I had brought to life. It stood there, pulling back the curtain of my bed, its eyes—if they could even be called that—fixed on me. Its jaw opened, and it muttered incoherent sounds, a grin stretching across its cheeks. It might have spoken, but I didn’t hear it. One hand reached out as if to stop me, but I broke free and dashed downstairs. I found refuge in the courtyard of the house where I lived, pacing back and forth in a frenzy, listening intently, dreading every sound as if it heralded the approach of the monstrous being I had so foolishly animated.

No human could withstand the horror of that face. A mummy brought back to life could not be as grotesque as that creature. I had seen it in its unfinished state; it was ugly then, but once those muscles and joints were capable of movement, it became something even Dante couldn’t have imagined.

I spent the night in misery. Sometimes my pulse raced so fast I could feel every beat in my veins; other times, I nearly collapsed from fatigue and weakness. Alongside this horror, I felt the bitter sting of disappointment; dreams that had once nourished me and provided comfort had turned into a living nightmare. The shift was so sudden, the fall so complete!

Finally, a dreary, wet morning broke, revealing the church of Ingolstadt, its white steeple and clock striking six. The porter opened the gates of the courtyard, my refuge for the night, and I stepped out into the streets, walking briskly as if I could outrun the creature I feared would appear around any corner. I couldn’t bring myself to return to my apartment, driven instead to keep moving, even as the rain poured down from a dark, unwelcoming sky.

I walked like this for a while, trying to ease the burden on my mind through physical exertion. I wandered the streets, lost in my thoughts, with no clear sense of where I was or what I was doing. My heart raced with fear, and I hurried on, my steps erratic, too terrified to look around.

As I walked along the lonely road, fear gripped me. I felt like someone who, after glancing back, hurried forward without daring to look again, knowing a terrifying presence lurked just behind.

Eventually, I found myself in front of the inn where the various coaches and carriages usually stopped. I paused, unsure why, my gaze fixed on a coach approaching from the other end of the street. As it drew closer, I recognized it as the Swiss diligence. It halted right in front of me, and when the door swung open, I saw Henry Clerval leap out.

“My dear Frankenstein!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up with joy. “How wonderful to see you! What luck that you’re here just as I arrive!”

Seeing Clerval filled me with an overwhelming delight. His presence brought back memories of my father, Elizabeth, and all the cherished moments of home. I grasped his hand tightly, and in that instant, I forgot my horror and misfortunes. For the first time in many months, I felt a wave of calm and genuine happiness wash over me. I welcomed him warmly, and we began walking toward my college.

Clerval chatted animatedly about our mutual friends and his excitement at being allowed to come to Ingolstadt. “You can imagine how hard it was to convince my father that there’s more to life than just bookkeeping,” he said with a chuckle. “He remained skeptical until the end, always replying with the same line as the Dutch schoolmaster in *The Vicar of Wakefield*: ‘I have ten thousand florins a year without Greek; I eat heartily without Greek.’ But in the end, his love for me won out over his disdain for learning, and he let me embark on this journey of discovery.”

“I’m so glad to see you, but tell me how my father, my brothers, and Elizabeth are doing,” I urged.

“They’re all well and happy, though they worry about how rarely they hear from you. I plan to lecture you about that myself. But, Victor,” he said, suddenly stopping and looking closely at me, “I didn’t notice before how unwell you look. You’re so thin and pale. It seems like you’ve been awake for nights on end.”

“You’re right,” I admitted, feeling the weight of my exhaustion. “I’ve been so consumed by one task that I haven’t allowed myself any rest. But I hope, truly hope, that those days are behind me and that I’m finally free.”

A wave of anxiety washed over me. I couldn’t bear to think about, let alone mention, what had happened the night before. I quickened my pace, and soon we reached my college. But the thought that the creature I had left in my room might still be there sent a chill down my spine. I dreaded the idea of facing that monster, but I feared even more what would happen if Henry saw it.

I asked him to wait at the bottom of the stairs for a moment while I dashed up to my room. My hand was on the doorknob when I hesitated, a cold shiver running through me. I flung the door open, like a child expecting a ghost to be waiting on the other side, but nothing was there. I stepped inside cautiously; the room was empty, and my bedroom was free of its horrific occupant. I could hardly believe my luck. Once I was sure that my enemy had indeed fled, I clapped my hands in joy and rushed back down to Clerval.

We went up to my room, and soon the servant brought breakfast. But I was unable to contain myself. It wasn’t just joy that filled me; my skin tingled with heightened sensitivity, and my heart raced. I couldn’t stay still, jumping over chairs, clapping my hands, and laughing out loud. At first, Clerval thought my excitement was simply due to his arrival, but as he looked at me more closely, he noticed a wildness in my eyes that puzzled him. My loud, uncontrolled laughter startled and worried him.

“Victor, what on earth is wrong?” he exclaimed. “Don’t laugh like that. You’re not well! What’s going on?”

“Don’t ask me,” I cried, covering my eyes with my hands, convinced I saw the dreaded specter slip into the room. “He can tell. Oh, save me! Save me!” I imagined the monster grabbing me, and in a frenzy, I struggled against an invisible force before collapsing into a fit.

Poor Clerval! What must he have felt? A meeting he had looked forward to with such excitement had turned into something bitterly disappointing. But I wasn’t there to witness his sorrow; I was in a state of complete numbness, unable to regain my senses for what felt like an eternity.

This marked the beginning of a nervous fever that kept me bedridden for several months. Throughout that time, Henry was my only caregiver. I later learned that, knowing my father was too old and frail for such a long journey, and understanding how my illness would distress Elizabeth, he chose to spare them the pain by hiding the severity of my condition. He believed that no one could care for me better than he could, and with unwavering hope for my recovery, he thought he was doing the kindest thing for them.

But the truth was, I was very ill. It was only through Henry’s endless and devoted care that I managed to cling to life. The image of the creature I had brought to life haunted me day and night, and I raved about him constantly. At first, my words puzzled Henry; he thought they were just the ramblings of a fevered mind. But the way I kept returning to the same topic convinced him that my illness stemmed from something truly horrific.

Gradually, and with many setbacks that worried and saddened my friend, I began to recover. I remember the first moment I could look outside and take pleasure in what I saw. The fallen leaves had vanished, and fresh buds were sprouting from the trees outside my window. It was a beautiful spring, and the season played a big part in my healing. I also felt feelings of joy and love returning to my heart; my darkness lifted, and soon I was as cheerful as I had been before the terrible events that had overtaken me.

“Dearest Clerval,” I exclaimed, “how kind and good you are to me. This entire winter, instead of studying as you had planned, you’ve spent it in my sickroom. How will I ever repay you? I feel such guilt for the disappointment I’ve caused you, but I hope you can forgive me.”

“You will repay me completely if you just focus on getting better and don’t stress yourself out. And since you seem to be in good spirits, may I bring up one topic?”

I felt a rush of anxiety. One topic? What could it be? Could he be referring to something I dared not even think about?

“Calm yourself,” Clerval said, noticing the change in my expression. “I won’t bring it up if it disturbs you, but your father and cousin would be very happy to receive a letter from you. They hardly know how ill you’ve been and are worried about your long silence.”

“Is that all, my dear Henry? How could you think that my first thought wouldn’t be for those dear friends I love so much, who deserve my affection?”

“If that’s how you feel right now, you might be pleased to see a letter that’s been sitting here for a few days. I believe it’s from your cousin.”