Chapter 22

by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

The journey had come to an end. We landed and made our way to Paris. It quickly became clear to me that I had pushed myself too far and needed to rest before I could continue my travels. My father was tireless in his care and attention, but he didn’t understand the source of my suffering and sought misguided ways to alleviate my unhealable pain. He wanted me to find joy in socializing, but I couldn’t bear the thought of being around people.

It wasn’t that I hated them—far from it! They were my fellow beings, my brothers and sisters, and I felt a strange pull even toward those who seemed most unappealing. They were like celestial beings in a way. Yet, I felt unworthy of their company. I had unleashed a monster among them, one that thrived on their suffering and delighted in their pain. If they knew of my dark deeds, they would surely despise me and drive me from their midst.

Eventually, my father relented to my wish to avoid society and tried to lift my spirits with various arguments. He sometimes thought that I was tormented by the shame of being accused of murder and tried to convince me that pride was pointless.

“Oh, Father,” I said, “you have no idea who I am. Human beings and their emotions would truly be degraded if I felt pride. Justine, poor, innocent Justine, was just like me, and she suffered the same accusation. She died for it, and I am the reason— I killed her. William, Justine, and Henry—they all died because of me.”

My father had often heard me make these claims during my imprisonment. Sometimes he seemed to want an explanation, while other times he dismissed my words as the ramblings of a fevered mind, a product of my illness that lingered in my memory. I avoided giving him any details and kept silent about the monster I had created. I feared that if I spoke of it, he would think I was mad, and that fear alone was enough to keep me quiet. Besides, I couldn’t bring myself to reveal a secret that would fill him with dread and horror. I stifled my desperate need for sympathy and remained silent, even when I longed to share the burden of my tragic truth. Still, words like those I had just spoken would slip out uncontrollably. I couldn’t explain them, but their honesty offered a small relief from my heavy sorrow.

On this occasion, my father looked at me with a mix of confusion and concern. “My dear Victor, what madness is this? Please, never say such things again.”

“I’m not mad,” I insisted, my voice rising. “The sun and the heavens, which have witnessed my actions, can attest to my truth. I am the murderer of those innocent victims; they died because of me. A thousand times, I would have willingly shed my own blood to save their lives, but I couldn’t, Father, I truly couldn’t sacrifice the entire human race.”

My words convinced my father that I was losing my grip on reality, and he quickly shifted the conversation, trying to steer my thoughts away from the painful memories of Ireland. He wanted to erase any trace of those events from our minds and never allowed me to speak of my misfortunes.

As time passed, I found a measure of calm. Misery still resided in my heart, but I no longer spoke incoherently about my crimes. The awareness of them was enough for me. With great effort, I suppressed the overwhelming urge to reveal my anguish to the world, and my demeanor became steadier and more composed than it had been since my fateful journey to the icy sea.

A few days before we left Paris for Switzerland, I received a letter from Elizabeth:

“My dear Friend,

“I was overjoyed to receive a letter from my uncle while he was in Paris; you are no longer so far away, and I hope to see you in less than two weeks. My poor cousin, you must have suffered so much! I expect you’ll look even worse than when you left Geneva. This winter has been incredibly difficult for me, filled with anxious suspense, but I hope to see peace in your face and find that your heart isn’t completely devoid of comfort and calm.

“Yet, I fear that the same feelings that made you so miserable a year ago still linger, perhaps even intensified by time. I wouldn’t want to disturb you now, when so many misfortunes weigh on you, but a conversation I had with my uncle before his departure requires some explanation before we meet.”

You might wonder what Elizabeth has to explain. If you’re asking that, then my questions are answered, and my doubts are settled. But you’re far away from me, and it’s possible that you might feel both anxious and relieved about this explanation. Because of that, I can’t put off writing any longer what I’ve wanted to express during your absence but never had the courage to start.

“Victor, you know well that our families have wanted us to be together since we were children. We were told this when we were young and learned to look forward to it as something that would definitely happen. We were affectionate playmates in our childhood, and I believe we’ve grown to be dear friends as we got older. But just like siblings can have a strong bond without wanting anything more, could that be true for us too? Please, Victor, I beg you, answer me honestly for the sake of our happiness—do you love someone else?

“You’ve traveled and spent several years in Ingolstadt. I have to confess, my friend, that when I saw you last autumn, so unhappy and isolating yourself from everyone, I couldn’t help but think you might regret our connection. Perhaps you felt obligated to fulfill your parents’ wishes, even if they went against your own desires. But I know that’s not the right way to think. I confess that I love you, and in my dreams of the future, you have always been my constant companion. But I want your happiness as much as my own. I must tell you that our marriage would make me miserable unless it was truly your choice.

Even now, it pains me to think that, burdened by your terrible misfortunes, you might suppress all hope of love and happiness that could restore you. My genuine affection for you could only add to your suffering if I became an obstacle to your wishes. Oh, Victor, please know that your cousin and childhood friend loves you too sincerely to be happy under such circumstances. Be happy, my friend. If you can grant me this one request, know that nothing on earth can disturb my peace.

“Don’t let this letter trouble you. You don’t need to respond tomorrow, or even the next day, or until you come back, if it will cause you pain. My uncle will keep me updated on your health, and if I see just one smile on your face when we meet, whether it’s because of this or anything else I’ve done, that will be enough for my happiness.

“Elizabeth Lavenza.

“Geneva, May 18th, 17—”

Reading her letter brought back memories I had tried to forget—the monster’s threat: “I will be with you on your wedding night!” That was my sentence, and on that night, the creature would use every trick to destroy me and rip away any chance of happiness that might ease my suffering. He had decided that night would be the culmination of his crimes against me.

If he succeeded, I would find peace, and his hold over me would end. But if I defeated him, I would be free. Yet what kind of freedom would that be? Like a peasant who has witnessed the massacre of his family, watched his home burn, and seen his land destroyed, only to be left homeless, broke, and alone—yet still free. That would be my freedom, except that I had Elizabeth, a treasure that was overshadowed by the horrors of guilt and remorse that would haunt me until my death.

Sweet, beloved Elizabeth! I read and reread her letter, and some tender feelings crept into my heart, daring to whisper dreams of love and joy. But the apple was already bitten, and the angel’s hand was raised to cast me out of hope. Still, I would die to make her happy. If the monster followed through on his threat, death was certain. But I wondered if marrying her would hasten my doom. My end might come a few months sooner, but if my tormentor suspected I was delaying because of his threats, he would surely find other, perhaps worse, ways to take revenge.

He had vowed to be with me on my wedding night, but he didn’t see that threat as a promise to leave me in peace until then. To prove he was still thirsty for blood, he had killed Clerval right after making his threats. Therefore, I resolved that if marrying my cousin would bring happiness to either her or my father, I wouldn’t let my enemy’s plans against my life delay it for even an hour.

In this state of mind, I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and affectionate. “I fear, my beloved girl,” I wrote, “that little happiness remains for us in this world; yet everything I might one day enjoy is centered in you. Please, cast aside your idle fears; to you alone do I dedicate my life and my efforts for happiness. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a dreadful one; when I reveal it to you, it will chill you with horror. You won’t be surprised by my misery; instead, you will wonder how I’ve managed to survive what I’ve endured. I will share this tale of misery and terror with you the day after our wedding, for, my sweet cousin, there must be perfect trust between us. Until then, I implore you, do not mention or hint at it. I earnestly ask this, and I know you will comply.”

About a week after Elizabeth’s letter arrived, we returned to Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, though tears filled her eyes as she took in my gaunt frame and feverish cheeks. I noticed a change in her as well. She was thinner and had lost much of the radiant vivacity that had once charmed me; yet her gentleness and soft looks of compassion made her a more fitting companion for someone as broken and miserable as I was.

The tranquility I briefly enjoyed didn’t last. Memories brought madness with them, and when I thought of what had happened, a real insanity took hold of me. Sometimes I was furious and burned with rage; other times, I sank into deep despair. I neither spoke nor looked at anyone, sitting motionless, overwhelmed by the multitude of miseries that consumed me.

Only Elizabeth had the power to pull me from these fits. Her gentle voice would soothe me when I was engulfed in passion and inspire human feelings when I was lost in numbness. She wept with me and for me. When reason returned, she would gently scold me and try to instill a sense of acceptance. Ah! It’s easy for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty, there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the fleeting luxury found in indulging grief.

Soon after my arrival, my father spoke of my immediate marriage to Elizabeth. I remained silent.

“Do you have another attachment?” he asked.

“None on earth. I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with joy. Let the day be set; on that day, I will dedicate myself, in life or death, to my cousin’s happiness.”

“My dear Victor, don’t speak like that. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us, but let us cling closer to what remains and transfer our love for those we’ve lost to those who are still here. Our circle may be small, but it will be tightly bound by affection and shared misfortune. And when time softens your despair, new and dear objects of care will emerge to replace those we have cruelly lost.”

Such were my father’s lessons. But for me, the memory of the threat returned. You can’t blame me for feeling that, as powerful as the fiend had been in his bloody deeds, I should regard him as nearly invincible. When he had uttered the words, “I shall be with you on your wedding night,” I saw that fate as unavoidable. But death held no fear for me if it meant losing Elizabeth, so with a resigned and even cheerful demeanor, I agreed with my father that if my cousin consented, the ceremony would take place in ten days, sealing what I believed to be my fate.

Great God! If I had for one moment considered the hellish intentions of my monstrous adversary, I would have chosen to banish myself forever from my homeland and wander the earth as a friendless outcast rather than consent to this wretched marriage. Yet, as if under a spell, the monster had blinded me to his true intentions; while I thought I was preparing only for my own death, I hastened the demise of a far dearer victim.

As the wedding date approached, whether from cowardice or a sense of foreboding, I felt my heart sink. I masked my feelings with a facade of cheerfulness that brought smiles and joy to my father’s face, but hardly fooled the ever-watchful and perceptive gaze of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with calm contentment, tinged with a little fear—an echo of past misfortunes—that what now seemed certain and tangible happiness might soon dissolve into a fleeting dream, leaving only deep and lasting regret.

Preparations were in full swing for the big day, and everyone was offering their congratulations, wearing smiles that masked their true feelings. I tried my best to keep my anxiety hidden, throwing myself into my father’s plans, even if they felt like mere decorations for the tragedy that loomed over me. Thanks to my father’s efforts, a portion of Elizabeth’s inheritance had been restored by the Austrian government. She had a small property by the shores of Lake Como, and we agreed that right after our wedding, we would head to Villa Lavenza to spend our first days of happiness by that beautiful lake.

In the meantime, I took every precaution to protect myself in case the creature decided to strike. I carried pistols and a dagger with me at all times, always on guard against any trickery. This vigilance brought me some peace. As the wedding day approached, the threat felt more like a delusion, something not worth disturbing my happiness. The joy I anticipated from my marriage seemed more certain as the date drew nearer, and I heard it discussed as if nothing could possibly prevent it.

Elizabeth appeared happy; my calm demeanor helped soothe her worries. But on the day that was meant to fulfill our dreams, she seemed melancholic, a sense of foreboding hanging over her. Perhaps she was also thinking about the terrible secret I had promised to share with her the next day. Meanwhile, my father was overjoyed, and in the midst of all the preparations, he mistook Elizabeth’s sadness for the typical nerves of a bride.

After the ceremony, a large gathering took place at my father’s house, but we had decided that Elizabeth and I would start our journey by boat, spending the night in Evian and continuing our voyage the next day. The weather was perfect, the wind was on our side; everything seemed to smile upon our wedding adventure.

Those were the last moments of my life when I truly felt happiness. We glided swiftly across the lake; the sun was hot, but we were sheltered under a canopy, enjoying the stunning scenery. On one side, we admired Mont Salêve and the lovely banks of Montalègre, with the majestic Mont Blanc rising in the distance, surrounded by a range of snowy peaks that seemed to strive to match her beauty. On the other side, the dark Jura mountains loomed, a formidable barrier against anyone who might wish to invade.

I took Elizabeth’s hand. “You seem troubled, my love. If only you knew what I’ve endured and what I might still face, you would want me to savor the peace and freedom from despair that this day allows.”

“Be happy, my dear Victor,” Elizabeth replied. “I hope there’s nothing to trouble you. Even if my face doesn’t show it, my heart is content. Something tells me not to rely too much on the future we’re stepping into, but I refuse to listen to that dark voice. Look how swiftly we’re moving! The clouds that sometimes obscure and sometimes reveal Mont Blanc only make this beautiful scene more captivating. And look at all the fish swimming in the clear waters, where we can see every pebble on the bottom. What a glorious day! Nature seems so happy and serene!”

Elizabeth tried to distract both of us from any dark thoughts. Her mood fluctuated; joy sparkled in her eyes for a moment before giving way to distraction and contemplation.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, we passed the river Drance, watching its path through the rugged hills. The Alps drew closer to the lake, and we approached the amphitheater of mountains that formed its eastern edge. The spire of Evian glimmered beneath the trees that surrounded it, overshadowed by the towering peaks above.

The wind, which had carried us swiftly, calmed to a gentle breeze at sunset. The soft air ruffled the water and stirred the trees as we neared the shore, bringing with it the delightful scent of flowers and freshly cut hay. As the sun disappeared below the horizon and we landed, I felt the familiar worries and fears return, ready to grip me and never let go.