Chapter 19

London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this time, but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the completion of my promise and quickly availed myself of the letters of introduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most distinguished natural philosophers.

London was our resting place for now. We decided to stay several months in this wonderful and famous city. Clerval wanted to meet the brilliant and talented men who were flourishing there at the time. But that was less important to me. I was mainly concerned with finding the information I needed to fulfill my promise. I quickly made use of the letters of introduction I had brought, addressed to the most distinguished natural philosophers.

If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness, it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest was so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory peace. But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought back despair to my heart. I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my fellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and Justine, and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled my soul with anguish.

If I had made this journey during my days of study and happiness, it would have given me indescribable pleasure. But a shadow had fallen over my life. I visited these people only for what they might tell me about the subject that interested me so deeply and terribly. I found company tiresome. When alone, I could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth. Henry’s voice soothed me, and so I could trick myself into feeling a brief peace. But busy, cheerful faces that held no interest for me filled my heart with despair again. I saw an impassable barrier between myself and my fellow human beings. This barrier was sealed with the blood of William and Justine. Thinking about the events connected with their names filled my soul with anguish.

But in Clerval I saw the image of my former self; he was inquisitive and anxious to gain experience and instruction. The difference of manners which he observed was to him an inexhaustible source of instruction and amusement. He was also pursuing an object he had long had in view. His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had in his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had taken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of European colonization and trade. In Britain only could he further the execution of his plan. He was for ever busy, and the only check to his enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him, alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone. I now also began to collect the materials necessary for my new creation, and this was to me like the torture of single drops of water continually falling on the head. Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips to quiver, and my heart to palpitate.

But in Clerval I saw my former self. He was curious and eager to gain experience and knowledge. The differences in customs he observed were an endless source of learning and amusement for him. He was also pursuing a goal he had long held. He planned to visit India. He believed that his knowledge of its languages and his understanding of its society would help him advance European colonization and trade. Only in Britain could he take his plan further. He was always busy, and only my sadness and despair cast a shadow over his enjoyment. I tried to hide my feelings as much as possible. I did not want to deprive him of the pleasures natural to someone entering a new stage of life, untroubled by worries or bitter memories. I often refused to go with him, claiming I had another engagement, so that I could be alone. I also began to gather the materials needed for my new creation. To me, the work was like the torture of single drops of water falling constantly on my head. Every thought I gave to it caused me extreme anguish. Whenever I spoke of it, my lips trembled and my heart pounded.

After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person in Scotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned the beauties of his native country and asked us if those were not sufficient allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth, where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation, and I, although I abhorred society, wished to view again mountains and streams and all the wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen dwelling-places.

After spending a few months in London, we received a letter from someone in Scotland who had once visited us in Geneva. He described the beauty of his native country. He asked whether it was enough to tempt us to travel farther north to Perth, where he lived. Clerval eagerly wanted to accept the invitation. Although I hated company, I wanted to see mountains and streams again, and all the wonders with which Nature adorns her chosen homes.

We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of this tour about the end of July. I packed up my chemical instruments and the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.

We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now February. So we decided to begin our journey north after another month. We did not intend to take the main road to Edinburgh. Instead, we planned to visit Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes. We hoped to complete this tour around the end of July. I packed my chemical instruments and the materials I had collected. I intended to finish my work in some secluded spot in the northern highlands of Scotland.

We quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of stately deer were all novelties to us.

We left London on March 27 and spent a few days at Windsor, walking through its beautiful forest. The forest was a new sight for us, coming from the mountains. The majestic oaks, the abundance of game, and the herds of stately deer were all new to us.

From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles I. had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him, after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of Parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king and his companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration. The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters, which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and domes, embosomed among aged trees.

From there we went to Oxford. As we entered the city, we remembered the events that had taken place there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles I had gathered his forces. Oxford had remained loyal to him after the whole nation had abandoned his cause to join Parliament and liberty. Memories of the unfortunate king and his companions lent a special interest to every part of the city they might have occupied. We thought of the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, and the king’s queen and son. The spirit of earlier days lived here, and we delighted in tracing its footsteps. Even if our imaginations had not found pleasure in these memories, the city itself was beautiful enough to win our admiration. The colleges are ancient and picturesque, and the streets are almost magnificent. The lovely Isis flows beside the city through lush green meadows. It spreads into a calm expanse of water, reflecting the majestic towers, spires, and domes nestled among old trees.

I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the memory of the past and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never visited my mind, and if I was ever overcome by ennui, the sight of what is beautiful in nature or the study of what is excellent and sublime in the productions of man could always interest my heart and communicate elasticity to my spirits. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul; and I felt then that I should survive to exhibit what I shall soon cease to be—a miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself.

I enjoyed the scene, but memories of the past and fears for the future made my enjoyment bitter. I was made for peaceful happiness. When I was young, I was never discontented. If I ever felt bored, the beauty of nature could always stir my heart and lift my spirits. So could studying the finest and most inspiring works of humanity. But I am a shattered tree. A lightning bolt has struck my soul. Even then, I felt I would live on long enough to show what I would soon no longer be: a miserable picture of a ruined human being, pitied by others and unbearable to myself.

We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery were often prolonged by the successive objects that presented themselves. We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the field on which that patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated from its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas of liberty and self-sacrifice of which these sights were the monuments and the remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my miserable self.

We spent a long time at Oxford, wandering through the surrounding area. We tried to identify every place connected with the most inspiring period of English history. Our little voyages of discovery often grew longer as we came upon one sight after another. We visited the tomb of the great Hampden and the field where that patriot fell. For a moment, my spirit rose above its degrading and miserable fears. I thought of the divine ideals of liberty and self-sacrifice that these sights honored and brought to mind. For an instant, I dared to shake off my chains and look around me with a free and noble spirit. But the iron had sunk into my flesh, and I fell back into my miserable self, trembling and hopeless.

We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but everything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of distant white Alps which always attend on the piny mountains of my native country. We visited the wondrous cave and the little cabinets of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name made me tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated.

We left Oxford with regret and went on to Matlock, our next resting place. The countryside around the village looked more like the scenery of Switzerland. But everything was on a smaller scale. The green hills lacked the crown of distant white Alps that always rise behind the pine-covered mountains of my native country. We visited the wonderful cave and the small natural history collections. The curiosities were arranged just as they were in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. When Henry spoke the name Chamounix, I trembled. I hurried to leave Matlock, which had now become associated with that terrible scene.

From Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in Cumberland and Westmorland. I could now almost fancy myself among the Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the northern sides of the mountains, the lakes, and the dashing of the rocky streams were all familiar and dear sights to me. Here also we made some acquaintances, who almost contrived to cheat me into happiness. The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his inferiors. “I could pass my life here,” said he to me; “and among these mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine.”

From Derby, we continued north and spent two months in Cumberland and Westmorland. I could almost imagine myself among the Swiss mountains again. The small patches of snow still lingering on the northern slopes, the lakes, and the rushing rocky streams were all familiar and dear to me. We also met some people there who almost managed to make me forget my troubles and feel happy. Clerval was even more delighted than I was. His mind grew in the company of talented men. With them, he discovered greater abilities and resources in himself than he could have imagined while spending time with people less talented than he was. “I could spend my life here,” he said to me. “Among these mountains, I would hardly miss Switzerland and the Rhine.”

But he found that a traveller’s life is one that includes much pain amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.

But he found that a traveler’s life brings much pain along with its pleasures. His feelings are always under strain. Just as he begins to relax, he must leave behind whatever has given him pleasure. Something new then captures his attention, but he leaves that too for other novelties.

We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants when the period of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached, and we left them to travel on. For my own part I was not sorry. I had now neglected my promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the dæmon’s disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland and wreak his vengeance on my relatives. This idea pursued me and tormented me at every moment from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace. I waited for my letters with feverish impatience; if they were delayed I was miserable and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrived and I saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to read and ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the fiend followed me and might expedite my remissness by murdering my companion. When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for a moment, but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the fancied rage of his destroyer. I felt as if I had committed some great crime, the consciousness of which haunted me. I was guiltless, but I had indeed drawn down a horrible curse upon my head, as mortal as that of crime.

We had only just visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland and grown fond of some of the inhabitants. Then the time came to meet our Scottish friend, and we left the inhabitants to continue our journey. For my part, I was not sorry to leave. I had neglected my promise for some time, and I feared what the dæmon might do in his disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland and take his revenge on my relatives. This thought pursued and tormented me whenever I might otherwise have found rest and peace. I waited for my letters with feverish impatience. If they were delayed, I was miserable and overwhelmed by a thousand fears. When they arrived, I saw Elizabeth’s or my father’s handwriting on the envelope. Then I hardly dared read the letters and learn my fate. Sometimes I thought the fiend was following me. He might murder my companion to make me act on my neglected promise. When these thoughts took hold of me, I would not leave Henry for a moment. I followed him like a shadow, hoping to protect him from the imagined rage of his destroyer. I felt as if I had committed a great crime, and the thought haunted me. I was innocent, but I had indeed brought a horrible curse upon myself, one as deadly as the curse of a crime.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so well as Oxford, for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing to him. But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its romantic castle and its environs, the most delightful in the world, Arthur’s Seat, St. Bernard’s Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated him for the change and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But I was impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.

I visited Edinburgh with weary eyes and a weary mind, though the city could have interested even the most unfortunate person. Clerval did not like Edinburgh as much as Oxford, because he preferred Oxford’s ancient character. But Edinburgh’s beautiful, orderly new town and its romantic castle made up for the change. So did the surrounding countryside, the most delightful in the world, including Arthur’s Seat, St. Bernard’s Well, and the Pentland Hills. These sights filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But I was impatient to reach the end of my journey.

We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew’s, and along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us. But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into their feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland alone. “Do you,” said I, “enjoy yourself, and let this be our rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more congenial to your own temper.”

We left Edinburgh after a week. We passed through Coupar and St. Andrew’s, then followed the banks of the Tay to Perth, where our friend expected us. But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers. Nor could I take an interest in their feelings or plans with the good humor expected of a guest. So I told Clerval that I wanted to tour Scotland alone. “Enjoy yourself,” I said, “and let us meet here again. I may be away for a month or two, but please do not interfere with my plans. Leave me in peace and solitude for a short time. When I return, I hope my heart will be lighter and my mood more like yours.”

Henry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. “I had rather be with you,” he said, “in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch people, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear friend, to return, that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in your absence.”

Henry wanted to talk me out of it, but when he saw I was determined to go, he stopped arguing. He begged me to write often. “I would rather be with you on your solitary walks,” he said, “than with these Scotch people I don't know. So please hurry back, my dear friend, so I can feel somewhat at home again. I cannot feel that way when you are away.”

Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of Scotland and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the monster followed me and would discover himself to me when I should have finished, that he might receive his companion.

After leaving my friend, I decided to visit a remote part of Scotland and finish my work alone. I had no doubt that the monster was following me. I knew he would reveal himself when I had finished, so he could receive his companion.

With this resolution I traversed the northern highlands and fixed on one of the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene of my labours. It was a place fitted for such a work, being hardly more than a rock whose high sides were continually beaten upon by the waves. The soil was barren, scarcely affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured from the mainland, which was about five miles distant.

With this resolution, I traveled through the northern highlands and chose one of the most remote Orkneys for my work. It was suited to such work, being hardly more than a rock with high sides constantly battered by waves. The soil was barren, providing barely enough pasture for a few miserable cows and oatmeal for its inhabitants. There were five inhabitants, whose thin, bony limbs showed how poorly they ate. When they indulged in luxuries such as vegetables and bread, they had to get them from the mainland. Even fresh water had to come from there, about five miles away.

On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable penury. The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some furniture, and took possession, an incident which would doubtless have occasioned some surprise had not all the senses of the cottagers been benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at and unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes which I gave, so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations of men.

There were only three miserable huts on the whole island, and one was empty when I arrived. I rented it. It had only two rooms, both as filthy and run-down as the worst poverty could make them. The thatched roof had fallen in, the walls were bare, and the door was off its hinges. I ordered repairs, bought some furniture, and moved in. This would surely have surprised the other villagers if hardship and filthy poverty had not dulled all their senses. As it was, I lived there without being stared at or bothered. They hardly thanked me for the small amounts of food and clothing I gave them. Suffering can dull even the most basic human feelings.

In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening, when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet. It was a monotonous yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively infant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.

In this retreat, I spent the morning working. But in the evening, if the weather allowed, I walked along the stony seashore. I listened to the waves roar and crash at my feet. The scene was monotonous, yet always changing. I thought of Switzerland, so different from this desolate and frightening landscape. Its hills are covered with vines, and cottages are scattered thickly across its plains. Its beautiful lakes reflect a blue, gentle sky. Even when the wind stirs them up, their turmoil is like a lively baby playing compared to the roaring giant ocean.

In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but as I proceeded in my labour, it became every day more horrible and irksome to me. Sometimes I could not prevail on myself to enter my laboratory for several days, and at other times I toiled day and night in order to complete my work. It was, indeed, a filthy process in which I was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my mind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes were shut to the horror of my proceedings. But now I went to it in cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.

This was how I divided my time when I first arrived. But as I continued, the work became more horrible and burdensome every day. Sometimes I could not bring myself to enter my laboratory for days. At other times, I worked day and night to finish. The process was filthy. During my first experiment, a kind of excited frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my work. My mind had been fixed on finishing it, and my eyes had been closed to the horror of what I was doing. But now I approached the work in cold blood, and what I was making often sickened me.

Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in a solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from the actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I grew restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my persecutor. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much dreaded to behold. I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow creatures lest when alone he should come to claim his companion.

In these circumstances, I was engaged in a hateful task, completely alone. Nothing could distract me for even a moment from the work before me. My moods became unstable, and I grew restless and nervous. Every moment, I feared I would meet my persecutor. Sometimes I sat staring at the ground, afraid to look up and see the figure I so dreaded. I feared straying out of sight of other people, lest he come to claim his companion while I was alone.

In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably advanced. I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager hope, which I dared not trust myself to question but which was intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken in my bosom.

Meanwhile, I kept working, and my work was already well advanced. I looked forward to finishing it with trembling, eager hope. I did not dare question that hope. But it was mixed with vague fears of evil that made my heart grow sick.