How can I describe my emotions at this catastrophe? What a wretch! Great God! His yellow skin scarcely covered the work of muscles and arteries beneath. His hair was of black. His teeth were pearly white. But these luxuriances only formed a more horrid contrast with his watery eyes, his shrivelled complexion and straight black lips.

I worked hard for nearly two years. I wanted to infuse life into an inanimate body. For this I deprived myself of rest and health. But now the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart. I rushed out of the room. I threw myself on the bed in my clothes. But I was unable to sleep.

Then I slept, indeed, but I was disturbed by the wildest dreams. I saw Elizabeth. She walked in the streets of Ingolstadt. I embraced her. But as I imprinted the first kiss on her lips, they became livid with the hue of death. Her features changed, and I held the corpse of my dead mother in my arms. I saw the grave-worms in the folds of the flannel.

I woke up with horror. A cold dew covered my forehead. My teeth chattered, and every limb became convulsed. By the dim and yellow light of the moon, I beheld the wretch – the miserable monster whom I created. He looked at me. His jaws opened, and he muttered some inarticulate sounds. A grin wrinkled his cheeks. He spoke, but I did not hear.

I rushed downstairs. I took refuge in the courtyard, where I remained during the rest of the night, in the greatest agitation. Oh! No man could support the horror of that countenance. A mummy was not so hideous as that wretch.

I passed the night wretchedly. Sometimes my pulse beat so quickly that I felt the palpitation of every artery. Sometimes I nearly sank to the ground through languor and extreme weakness. I felt the bitterness of disappointment.

Morning, dismal and wet, at length dawned. The porter opened the gates of the court, and I issued into the streets. I did not dare return to the apartment which I inhabited.

I walked for some time. I traversed the streets without any clear conception of where I was or what I was doing. My heart palpitated in the sickness of fear.

I came at length^[11] to the inn. Here I paused. I saw a coach that was coming towards me from the other end of the street. It was the Swiss diligence. It stopped where I was, and on the door I perceived Henry Clerval. He saw me and exclaimed,

“My dear Frankenstein, how glad I am to see you! How fortunate that you are here!”

I was very happy to meet Clerval. His presence brought back to my thoughts my father, Elizabeth, and all scenes of sweet home. I grasped his hand, and in a moment forgot my horror and misfortune. I welcomed my friend, and we walked towards my college. Clerval talked for some time about our mutual friends and his own luck to come to Ingolstadt.

“You may easily believe,” said he, “how great was the difficulty to persuade my father that all necessary knowledge was not in the book-keeping^[12]. He said: ‘I have ten thousand florins a year without Greek, I eat heartily without Greek.’ But his affection for me overcame his dislike of university. So he permitted me to undertake this voyage to the land of knowledge.”

“It gives me the greatest delight to see you. But tell me: how are my father, brothers, and Elizabeth?”

“Very well, and very happy. But they hear from you so seldom. But, my dear Frankenstein,” continued he, “you look very ill; so thin and pale. You look as if you don’t sleep at all.”

“You are right. I have not allowed myself sufficient rest, as you see. But I hope, I sincerely hope, that all these employments are now at an end and that I am at length free.”

I trembled excessively. We soon arrived at my college. I then reflected, that the creature was still in my apartment. I dreaded to behold this monster, but I feared still more that Henry could see him. I asked Henry, therefore, to remain a few minutes at the bottom of the stairs. I went up towards my room. I then paused. I opened the door; but nothing appeared. I stepped fearfully in: the apartment was empty, and my bedroom was also free from its hideous guest. My enemy went away. I clapped my hands for joy and ran down to Clerval.

We ascended into my room, and the servant brought breakfast. Great joy possessed me. My pulse beat rapidly. I was unable to remain in the same place. I jumped over the chairs, clapped my hands, and laughed aloud. Clerval saw a wildness in my eyes, and my loud, unrestrained, heartless laughter frightened and astonished him.

“My dear Victor,” cried he, “what is the matter? Do not laugh in that manner. How ill you are! What is the cause of all this?”

“Do not ask me,” cried I. I put my hands before my eyes. I thought I saw the dreaded spectre. It glided into the room. “He can tell. Oh, save me! Save me!” I imagined that the monster seized me. I struggled furiously and fell down.

Poor Clerval! But I was not the witness of his grief, for I was lifeless and did not recover my senses^[13] for a long, long time.

This was the commencement of a nervous fever which confined me for several months. During all that time Henry was my only nurse. He concealed the extent of my disorder from my father and Elizabeth.

But I was very ill. The form of the monster was before my eyes, and I talked about him. Doubtless my words surprised Henry. He understood that my disorder indeed owed its origin to some uncommon and terrible event.

I recovered very slowly. In spring I felt sentiments of joy and affection. Then I became as cheerful as before.

“Dearest Clerval,” exclaimed I, “how kind, how very good you are to me! You spent all this winter in my sick room. How shall I ever repay you?”

“You will repay me entirely if you do not discompose yourself. Get well as fast as you can. Then I want to speak to you on one subject.”

I trembled. One subject! What is it?

“Compose yourself,” said Clerval, who observed my change of colour, “I will not mention it if it agitates you. Your father and cousin will be very happy if they receive a letter from you. They hardly know how ill you have been and are uneasy at your long silence.”

“Is that all, my dear Henry?”

“And you will perhaps be glad to see a letter from your cousin, I believe.”

Chapter 6

Clerval then put the letter into my hands. It was from my Elizabeth:

“My dearest Cousin,

You have been ill, very ill, and even the constant letters of dear kind Henry are not sufficient to calm me. You can’t write, you can’t hold a pen. I have restrained my uncle from a journey to Ingolstadt. This long journey can be dangerous for him. Clerval writes that indeed you are getting better^[14]. I eagerly hope that you will confirm these words.

Get well and return to us. You will find a happy, cheerful home and friends who love you dearly. Your father’s health is vigorous, and he wants to see you. Our Ernest is now sixteen and full of activity. He wants to be a true Swiss and to enter into foreign service. My uncle does not like the idea of a military career in a distant country.

Since you left us, one change has taken place in our little household. Do you remember how Justine Moritz entered our family? Probably you do not. I will relate her history, in a few words. Madame Moritz, her mother, was a widow with four children, of whom Justine was the third. Her mother did not like her, and after the death of M. Moritz, treated her very ill^[15]. My aunt observed this, and when Justine was twelve, asked her mother to allow her to live at our house. In our family, Justine learned the duties of a servant. My aunt liked her very much and gave her an excellent education. Justine was the most grateful little creature in the world.

One by one, her brothers and sister died; and her mother became childless. So she began to think that the deaths of her children was a judgement from heaven. A few months after your departure for Ingolstadt, Justine’s repentant mother called her home. Poor girl! She wept when she quitted our house.

But her mother was very vacillating in her repentance. She sometimes begged Justine to forgive her unkindness, but much oftener accused her of the deaths of her brothers and sister. Madame Moritz died on the first approach of cold weather. Justine returned to us.

I must say also a few words to you, my dear cousin, of little darling William. He is very tall, with sweet blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and curling hair. When he smiles, two little dimples appear on each cheek, which are rosy.

Write, dearest Victor! One line, one word will be a blessing to us. Ten thousand thanks to Henry for his kindness, his affection, and his many letters; we are sincerely grateful.

Elizabeth Lavenza.

Geneva, March 18th, 17-.”

“Dear, dear Elizabeth!” I exclaimed. “I will write instantly!”

I wrote, and this exertion greatly fatigued me. In another fortnight I was able to leave my chamber.

One of my first duties on my recovery was to introduce Clerval to the several professors of the university. But I conceived a violent antipathy to the natural philosophy. The sight of a chemical instrument renewed the agony of my nervous symptoms. Henry saw this, and removed all my apparatus from my view. He also changed my apartment; for he perceived that I acquired a dislike for my laboratory. I thanked my friend, but I did not speak. I saw plainly that he was surprised. But he never attempted to draw my secret from me.

M. Krempe’s harsh blunt encomiums gave me even more pain than the benevolent approbation of M. Waldman.

Clerval came to the university to study the oriental languages. The Persian, Arabic, and Sanskrit languages engaged his attention, and I liked them too. I felt great relief with my friend, and found consolation in the works of the orientalists.

Summer passed away in these occupations, and I planned to return to Geneva in autumn. But winter and snow arrived, the roads were impassable, and I decided to travel in spring.

In May we made a pedestrian tour in the environs of Ingolstadt. My health was restored. I breathed salubrious air. The season was divine; the flowers of spring bloomed in the hedges.

Henry rejoiced in my gaiety, and sincerely sympathised in my feelings: he tried to amuse me.

We returned to our college on a Sunday afternoon.