Chapter 18
by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley
Days turned into weeks as I settled back in Geneva, and still, I couldnât muster the courage to dive back into my work. I was haunted by the wrath of the creature I had created, and the thought of what I needed to do filled me with dread. I realized that to create a female companion for him would require months of intense study and painstaking effort. I had heard about some groundbreaking discoveries made by an English philosopher that could be crucial to my success, and I considered asking my father for permission to travel to England to learn more. Yet, I found myself clinging to every excuse to delay, hesitant to take the first step toward a task that, while pressing, felt less urgent with each passing day.
A change had come over me. My health, which had been deteriorating, was now improving, and my spirits, when not overshadowed by the memory of my unfortunate promise, began to lift. My father noticed this shift with relief and began to think of ways to help me shake off the remnants of my melancholy, which would occasionally return, casting a shadow over my brighter moments. During those times, I sought solace in complete solitude, spending entire days alone on the lake in a small boat, watching the clouds drift by and listening to the gentle lapping of the waves. Though I often felt lost in thought, the fresh air and warm sun usually brought me back to a state of calm. When I returned home, I found myself greeting my friends with a more genuine smile and a lighter heart.
It was after one of these solitary outings that my father pulled me aside and spoke earnestly.
âIâm glad to see youâre starting to enjoy life again, my dear son. But I canât help but notice that you still seem unhappy and are avoiding our company. For a while, I pondered the reason behind this, but yesterday, a thought struck me. If Iâm right, I urge you to be honest with me. Keeping this to yourself would only bring more pain to us all.â
I felt a shiver run through me at his words, and he continued.
âI have always envisioned your marriage to our dear Elizabeth as the foundation of our familyâs happiness and a comfort in my old age. Youâve been close since childhood, studying together and sharing similar interests. Yet, I realize that what I thought would strengthen our bond may have complicated it. Perhaps you see her as a sister and have no desire for her to be your wife. Or maybe youâve found someone else to love, and the sense of obligation you feel toward Elizabeth is causing you deep distress.â
âFather, please donât worry. I love Elizabeth deeply and sincerely. Iâve never met anyone who inspires in me the same admiration and affection that she does. My hopes and dreams for the future are entirely tied to the idea of our union.â
Hearing those words brought me more joy than I had felt in a long time. âIf you truly feel this way, we will surely find happiness, no matter how dark things seem right now. But itâs this darkness that I wish to help you overcome. So tell me, do you have any objections to us marrying soon? Weâve faced misfortune, and recent events have disrupted the peace that should come with my age and frailty. Youâre still young, and I donât believe that a quick marriage would interfere with any honorable plans you might have for your future. Please donât think Iâm trying to dictate your happiness or that a delay would cause me serious distress. I ask you to interpret my words openly and respond with honesty.â
I listened in silence, struggling to find the right words. A whirlwind of thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to reach a conclusion. The idea of marrying Elizabeth immediately filled me with dread. I was bound by a solemn promise I had yet to fulfill, and I couldnât bear the thought of breaking it. What terrible consequences might await me and my family if I did? How could I celebrate such a union while carrying this heavy burden? I knew I had to honor my commitment and send the monster away with his mate before I could allow myself the joy of a union that I hoped would bring me peace.
I was acutely aware of the choice before me: I could either travel to England or engage in a lengthy correspondence with the philosophers there, whose insights were crucial for my current project. The thought of writing letters felt tedious and frustrating. Plus, I couldnât bear the idea of tackling my grim task in my fatherâs home, surrounded by the people I loved. I knew that countless terrifying accidents could happen, and even the smallest incident might reveal a horrifying secret that would shock everyone connected to me. I also recognized that I would struggle to maintain my composure, unable to hide the torment that would consume me as I worked on my unnatural endeavor. I had to distance myself from those I cherished while I was engaged in this work. Once I started, it would be over quickly, and I could return to my family in peace and happiness. I imagined that once I fulfilled my promise, the monster would vanish forever. Or perhaps, as I hoped, some unforeseen event would occur to destroy him and free me from my torment.
These thoughts shaped my response to my father. I expressed a desire to visit England, masking my true motivations with a facade that raised no suspicions. I pleaded my case with such sincerity that my father readily agreed. After enduring a long period of deep melancholy that felt almost like madness, he was relieved to see me take an interest in the idea of travel. He hoped that a change of scenery and new experiences would help restore me before I returned.
The length of my absence was left to my discretion; I could be gone for a few months or, at most, a year. One precaution my father took was to ensure I wouldnât be alone. Without consulting me first, he had arranged for Clerval to join me in Strasbourg, alongside Elizabeth. While this disrupted the solitude I craved for my work, I found comfort in the fact that having my friend with me at the start of my journey wouldnât hinder my progress. In truth, I was grateful for the distraction; it would save me from hours of lonely, maddening thoughts. Besides, Henry might shield me from the unwelcome presence of my foe. If I were alone, wouldnât the monster sometimes force his way into my mind, reminding me of my grim task or taunting me about its progress?
So, I was set on going to England, with the understanding that my marriage to Elizabeth would take place as soon as I returned. My father, being older, was particularly averse to any delays. For me, there was one reward I anticipated from my dreaded laborsâone solace for my unparalleled suffering: the day when I would be free from my miserable bondage and could claim Elizabeth, leaving the past behind in our union.
I began to prepare for my journey, but a nagging feeling filled me with dread. While I was away, my friends would remain unaware of the danger lurking nearby, unprotected from his potential attacks, especially if he were angered by my departure. He had vowed to follow me wherever I wentâwouldnât he come to England with me? This thought was terrifying, yet it also offered a small comfort, as it implied my friends would be safe. The possibility of the opposite was agonizing. Yet, throughout the time I had been enslaved by my creation, I had allowed my impulses to guide me, and my current feelings strongly suggested that the fiend would follow me, sparing my family from his schemes.
It was late September when I left my homeland once more. The journey had been my own idea, and Elizabeth reluctantly accepted it, though she was deeply troubled by the thought of me suffering away from her, grappling with misery and grief. She had been the one to ensure I had a companion in Clerval, but a man often overlooks the countless small details that a womanâs careful attention catches. She wished I could hurry back; a whirlwind of conflicting emotions rendered her speechless as she tearfully bid me farewell.
I climbed into the carriage that would take me away, hardly aware of where I was headed, indifferent to the world around me. The only thing I could focus on, with a bitter sense of anguish, was ensuring that my chemical instruments were packed to accompany me. Lost in dark thoughts, I traveled through many beautiful and grand landscapes, yet my gaze remained fixed and unseeing. All I could think about was the destination of my journey and the work that awaited me there.
After a few days of aimless wandering, during which I covered many miles, I finally reached Strasbourg, where I waited two days for Clerval. When he arrived, the difference between us was striking. He was alive to every new sight, filled with joy at the beauty of the sunset and even happier to witness the sunrise heralding a new day. He pointed out the changing colors of the landscape and the sky.
âThis is what it means to live!â he exclaimed. âNow I truly enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, why are you so downcast and sorrowful?â
In truth, I was lost in dark thoughts, unable to appreciate the evening star or the golden sunrise reflecting off the Rhine. My friend, you would find Clervalâs journal far more entertaining, as he observed the scenery with such feeling and delight, while I felt like a miserable wretch, cursed and shut off from any joy.
We had decided to travel down the Rhine by boat from Strasbourg to Rotterdam, where we could catch a ship to London. During our journey, we passed many willow-lined islands and beautiful towns. We spent a day in Mannheim, and on the fifth day after leaving Strasbourg, we arrived at Mainz. Below Mainz, the Rhine becomes much more picturesque. The river rushes down rapidly, winding between steep hills that, while not very high, have beautiful shapes. We saw many ruined castles perched on the edges of cliffs, surrounded by dark, inaccessible woods. This stretch of the Rhine offers a uniquely varied landscape. In one moment, you gaze upon rugged hills and crumbling castles overlooking sheer drops, with the dark waters of the Rhine rushing below; then, just around a bend, you find flourishing vineyards, gentle green slopes, and bustling towns.
We traveled during the vintage season, listening to the songs of the laborers as we glided along the river. Even I, weighed down by my troubled mind and gloomy feelings, found some pleasure in it. I lay at the bottom of the boat, gazing up at the clear blue sky, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace wash over me. If I could feel this way, imagine how Henry must have felt. He seemed to be transported to a fairyland, experiencing a happiness rarely felt by anyone.
âI have seen,â he said, âthe most beautiful scenes in my own country. Iâve visited the lakes of Lucerne and Uri, where the snowy mountains drop almost straight down into the water, casting dark, impenetrable shadows that would seem mournful if not for the vibrant islands that brighten the view. Iâve witnessed that lake in a storm, with the wind whipping up whirlwinds of water, giving a glimpse of what a waterspout must be like on the ocean. The waves crash violently against the base of the mountain, where a priest and his lover were buried by an avalanche, and their dying voices are said to echo in the stillness of the night wind. Iâve seen the mountains of La Valais and the Pays de Vaud, but this country, Victor, captivates me more than all those wonders. The mountains of Switzerland are more majestic and strange, but thereâs a charm in the banks of this divine river that Iâve never seen matched. Look at that castle perched on the cliff, and that one on the island, almost hidden among those lovely trees; and see that group of laborers coming from their vines, and that village tucked away in the mountainâs embrace. Surely, the spirit that dwells here is more in tune with humanity than those who scale glaciers or retreat to the remote peaks of our homeland.â
Clerval! My dear friend! Even now, it brings me joy to recount your words and to celebrate the praise you so richly deserve. You were a being shaped by the very essence of nature. Your wild and enthusiastic imagination was tempered by the sensitivity of your heart. Your soul overflowed with passionate affection, and your friendship was of such a devoted and extraordinary nature that the worldly-minded would have us believe it exists only in our dreams. Yet even human connections were not enough to satisfy your eager spirit. The beauty of the natural world, which others admired from a distance, you loved with fervor:
The roaring waterfall haunted him like a passion; the tall rock, the mountain, and the deep, dark woodâtheir colors and shapes were to him an appetite, a feeling, a love that needed no further charm, no thought to supply it, nor any interest borrowed from the eye.
Where is he now? Is this gentle and beautiful soul lost to us forever? Has this brilliant mind, filled with extraordinary ideas and magnificent imaginations that created a world dependent on its creator's lifeâhas this mind truly perished? Does it now exist only in my memory? No, itâs not like that; your form, so beautifully crafted and radiant, may have decayed, but your spirit still visits and comforts your sorrowful friend.
Forgive this outpouring of grief; these inadequate words are just a small tribute to the unparalleled worth of Henry, yet they bring some solace to my heart, which is heavy with the pain his memory brings. Now, let me continue my story.
After leaving Cologne, we descended into the plains of Holland. We decided to take a coach for the rest of our journey since the wind was against us and the river's current was too gentle to help us along.
Our journey here lost the charm of beautiful scenery, but a few days later, we arrived in Rotterdam, from where we took a boat to England. It was a clear morning in late December when I first caught sight of the white cliffs of Britain. The banks of the Thames presented a new landscape; they were flat yet fertile, and almost every town was steeped in history. We passed Tilbury Fort and recalled the tale of the Spanish Armada, then Gravesend, Woolwich, and Greenwichâplaces I had heard of even back in my own country.
Finally, we saw the many steeples of London, with St. Paulâs towering above them all and the Tower, renowned in English history.