Frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus

In the latter end of September I quitted my native country. After some days spent in listless indolence, I arrived at Strasburgh, where Clerval joined me. He was alive to every new scene, joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting sun. “This is what it is to live,” he cried; “now I enjoy existence! But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding?”

We descended the Rhine from Strasburgh to Rotterdam, passing many willowy islands and beautiful towns. We stayed a day at Mannheim and arrived at Mainz. The river descends rapidly and winds between hills, not high, but steep, and of beautiful forms. We saw many ruined castles standing on the edges of precipices, surrounded by black woods. The spirit of elder days found a dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps.

We proceeded by sea to England. It was on a clear morning, in the latter days of December, that I first saw the white cliffs of Britain. At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St. Paul’s towering above all, and the Tower famed in English history.

Clerval desired the intercourse of the men of genius who flourished at this time, but I was principally occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the completion of my promise. 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.

We received a letter from a person in Scotland who mentioned the beauties of his native country. We determined to commence our journey towards the north at the expiration of another month, visiting Windsor, Oxford, Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes. We quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest.

From thence we proceeded to Oxford. The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost magnificent; and the lovely Isis flows beside it through meadows of exquisite verdure. I enjoyed this scene, yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the memory of the past and the anticipation of the future. I was formed for peaceful happiness. But I am a blasted tree; the bolt has entered my soul.

We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, then journeying northwards through Cumberland and Westmorland. The little patches of snow, 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. But I had now neglected my promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the daemon’s disappointment.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind, though its romantic castle and environs, Arthur’s Seat, St. Bernard’s Well, and the Pentland Hills, might have interested the most unfortunate being. I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland alone. Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot and finish my work in solitude.

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. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some furniture, and took possession.

In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but as I proceeded in it, 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. It was, indeed, a filthy process in which I was engaged, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands. My labour was already considerably advanced. I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager hope, intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken in my bosom.