Pitiless as you have been towards me, I
now see compassion in your eyes: let me seize the favourable moment, and
persuade you to promise what I so ardently desire.”

“You propose,” replied I, “to fly from the habitations of man, to dwell
in those wilds where the beasts of the field will be your only
companions. How can you, who long for the love and sympathy of man,
persevere in this exile? You will return, and again seek their kindness,
and you will meet with their detestation; your evil passions will be
renewed, and you will then have a companion to aid you in the task of
destruction. This may not be; cease to argue the point, for I cannot
consent.”

“How inconstant are your feelings! but a moment ago you were moved by my
representations, and why do you again harden yourself to my complaints? I swear to you, by the earth which I inhabit, and by you that made me,
that, with the companion you bestow, I will quit the neighbourhood of
man, and dwell, as it may chance, in the most savage of places. My evil
passions will have fled, for I shall meet with sympathy; my life will
flow quietly away, and, in my dying moments, I shall not curse my
maker.”

His words had a strange effect upon me. I compassionated him, and
sometimes felt a wish to console him; but when I looked upon him, when I
saw the filthy mass that moved and talked, my heart sickened, and my
feelings were altered to those of horror and hatred. I tried to stifle
these sensations; I thought, that as I could not sympathize with him, I
had no right to withhold from him the small portion of happiness which
was yet in my power to bestow. “You swear,” I said, “to be harmless; but have you not already shewn a
degree of malice that should reasonably make me distrust you? May not
even this be a feint that will increase your triumph by affording a
wider scope for your revenge?”

“How is this? I thought I had moved your compassion, and yet you still
refuse to bestow on me the only benefit that can soften my heart, and
render me harmless. If I have no ties and no affections, hatred and vice
must be my portion; the love of another will destroy the cause of my
crimes, and I shall become a thing, of whose existence every one will be
ignorant. My vices are the children of a forced solitude that I abhor;
and my virtues will necessarily arise when I live in communion with an
equal. I shall feel the affections of a sensitive being, and become
linked to the chain of existence and events, from which I am now
excluded.”

I paused some time to reflect on all he had related, and the various
arguments which he had employed. I thought of the promise of virtues
which he had displayed on the opening of his existence, and the
subsequent blight of all kindly feeling by the loathing and scorn which
his protectors had manifested towards him. His power and threats were
not omitted in my calculations: a creature who could exist in the ice
caves of the glaciers, and hide himself from pursuit among the ridges of
inaccessible precipices, was a being possessing faculties it would be
vain to cope with. After a long pause of reflection, I concluded, that
the justice due both to him and my fellow-creatures demanded of me that
I should comply with his request. Turning to him, therefore, I said—

“I consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe for ever,
and every other place in the neighbourhood of man, as soon as I shall
deliver into your hands a female who will accompany you in your exile.”

“I swear,” he cried, “by the sun, and by the blue sky of heaven, that if
you grant my prayer, while they exist you shall never behold me again. Depart to your home, and commence your labours: I shall watch their
progress with unutterable anxiety; and fear not but that when you are
ready I shall appear.”

Saying this, he suddenly quitted me, fearful, perhaps, of any change in
my sentiments. I saw him descend the mountain with greater speed than
the flight of an eagle, and quickly lost him among the undulations of
the sea of ice. His tale had occupied the whole day; and the sun was upon the verge of
the horizon when he departed. I knew that I ought to hasten my descent
towards the valley, as I should soon be encompassed in darkness; but my
heart was heavy, and my steps slow. The labour of winding among the
little paths of the mountains, and fixing my feet firmly as I advanced,
perplexed me, occupied as I was by the emotions which the occurrences of
the day had produced. Night was far advanced, when I came to the
half-way resting-place, and seated myself beside the fountain. The stars
shone at intervals, as the clouds passed from over them; the dark pines
rose before me, and every here and there a broken tree lay on the
ground: it was a scene of wonderful solemnity, and stirred strange
thoughts within me. I wept bitterly; and, clasping my hands in agony, I
exclaimed, “Oh! stars, and clouds, and winds, ye are all about to mock
me: if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as
nought; but if not, depart, depart and leave me in darkness.”

These were wild and miserable thoughts; but I cannot describe to you how
the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me, and how I listened
to every blast of wind, as if it were a dull ugly siroc on its way to
consume me. Morning dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamounix; but my
presence, so haggard and strange, hardly calmed the fears of my family,
who had waited the whole night in anxious expectation of my return. The following day we returned to Geneva. The intention of my father in
coming had been to divert my mind, and to restore me to my lost
tranquillity; but the medicine had been fatal. And, unable to account
for the excess of misery I appeared to suffer, he hastened to return
home, hoping the quiet and monotony of a domestic life would by degrees
alleviate my sufferings from whatsoever cause they might spring. For myself, I was passive in all their arrangements; and the gentle
affection of my beloved Elizabeth was inadequate to draw me from the
depth of my despair. The promise I had made to the dæmon weighed upon my
mind, like Dante’s iron cowl on the heads of the hellish hypocrites. All
pleasures of earth and sky passed before me like a dream, and that
thought only had to me the reality of life. Can you wonder, that
sometimes a kind of insanity possessed me, or that I saw continually
about me a multitude of filthy animals inflicting on me incessant
torture, that often extorted screams and bitter groans? By degrees, however, these feelings became calmed. I entered again into
the every-day scene of life, if not with interest, at least with some
degree of tranquillity. END OF VOL. II. FRANKENSTEIN;

OR,

THE MODERN PROMETHEUS. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. London:

    _PRINTED FOR_
    LACKINGTON, HUGHES, HARDING, MAVOR, & JONES,
    FINSBURY SQUARE. 1818. *       *       *       *       *

    Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay
    To mould me man?