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He
paused
,
looking
on
me
with
wonder
,
and
again
turning
towards
the
lifeless
form
of
his
creator
,
he
seemed
to
forget
my
presence
,
and
every
feature
and
gesture
seemed
instigated
by
the
wildest
rage
of
some
uncontrollable
passion
.
"
That
is
also
my
victim
!
"
he
exclaimed
.
"
In
his
murder
my
crimes
are
consummated
;
the
miserable
series
of
my
being
is
wound
to
its
close
!
Oh
,
Frankenstein
!
Generous
and
self-devoted
being
!
What
does
it
avail
that
I
now
ask
thee
to
pardon
me
?
I
,
who
irretrievably
destroyed
thee
by
destroying
all
thou
lovedst
.
Alas
!
He
is
cold
,
he
can
not
answer
me
.
"
His
voice
seemed
suffocated
,
and
my
first
impulses
,
which
had
suggested
to
me
the
duty
of
obeying
the
dying
request
of
my
friend
in
destroying
his
enemy
,
were
now
suspended
by
a
mixture
of
curiosity
and
compassion
.
I
approached
this
tremendous
being
;
I
dared
not
again
raise
my
eyes
to
his
face
,
there
was
something
so
scaring
and
unearthly
in
his
ugliness
.
I
attempted
to
speak
,
but
the
words
died
away
on
my
lips
.
The
monster
continued
to
utter
wild
and
incoherent
self-reproaches
.
At
length
I
gathered
resolution
to
address
him
in
a
pause
of
the
tempest
of
his
passion
.
"
Your
repentance
,
"
I
said
,
"
is
now
superfluous
.
If
you
had
listened
to
the
voice
of
conscience
and
heeded
the
stings
of
remorse
before
you
had
urged
your
diabolical
vengeance
to
this
extremity
,
Frankenstein
would
yet
have
lived
.
"
"
And
do
you
dream
?
"
said
the
daemon
.
"
Do
you
think
that
I
was
then
dead
to
agony
and
remorse
?
He
,
"
he
continued
,
pointing
to
the
corpse
,
"
he
suffered
not
in
the
consummation
of
the
deed
.
Oh
!
Not
the
ten-thousandth
portion
of
the
anguish
that
was
mine
during
the
lingering
detail
of
its
execution
.
A
frightful
selfishness
hurried
me
on
,
while
my
heart
was
poisoned
with
remorse
.
Think
you
that
the
groans
of
Clerval
were
music
to
my
ears
?
My
heart
was
fashioned
to
be
susceptible
of
love
and
sympathy
,
and
when
wrenched
by
misery
to
vice
and
hatred
,
it
did
not
endure
the
violence
of
the
change
without
torture
such
as
you
can
not
even
imagine
.
"
After
the
murder
of
Clerval
I
returned
to
Switzerland
,
heart-broken
and
overcome
.
I
pitied
Frankenstein
;
my
pity
amounted
to
horror
;
I
abhorred
myself
.
But
when
I
discovered
that
he
,
the
author
at
once
of
my
existence
and
of
its
unspeakable
torments
,
dared
to
hope
for
happiness
,
that
while
he
accumulated
wretchedness
and
despair
upon
me
he
sought
his
own
enjoyment
in
feelings
and
passions
from
the
indulgence
of
which
I
was
forever
barred
,
then
impotent
envy
and
bitter
indignation
filled
me
with
an
insatiable
thirst
for
vengeance
.
I
recollected
my
threat
and
resolved
that
it
should
be
accomplished
.
I
knew
that
I
was
preparing
for
myself
a
deadly
torture
,
but
I
was
the
slave
,
not
the
master
,
of
an
impulse
which
I
detested
yet
could
not
disobey
.
Yet
when
she
died
!
Nay
,
then
I
was
not
miserable
.
I
had
cast
off
all
feeling
,
subdued
all
anguish
,
to
riot
in
the
excess
of
my
despair
.
Evil
thenceforth
became
my
good
.
Urged
thus
far
,
I
had
no
choice
but
to
adapt
my
nature
to
an
element
which
I
had
willingly
chosen
.
The
completion
of
my
demoniacal
design
became
an
insatiable
passion
.
And
now
it
is
ended
;
there
is
my
last
victim
!
"
I
was
at
first
touched
by
the
expressions
of
his
misery
;
yet
,
when
I
called
to
mind
what
Frankenstein
had
said
of
his
powers
of
eloquence
and
persuasion
,
and
when
I
again
cast
my
eyes
on
the
lifeless
form
of
my
friend
,
indignation
was
rekindled
within
me
.
"
Wretch
!
"
I
said
.
"
It
is
well
that
you
come
here
to
whine
over
the
desolation
that
you
have
made
.
You
throw
a
torch
into
a
pile
of
buildings
,
and
when
they
are
consumed
,
you
sit
among
the
ruins
and
lament
the
fall
.
Hypocritical
fiend
!
If
he
whom
you
mourn
still
lived
,
still
would
he
be
the
object
,
again
would
he
become
the
prey
,
of
your
accursed
vengeance
.
It
is
not
pity
that
you
feel
;
you
lament
only
because
the
victim
of
your
malignity
is
withdrawn
from
your
power
.
"
"
Oh
,
it
is
not
thus
--
not
thus
,
"
interrupted
the
being
.
"
Yet
such
must
be
the
impression
conveyed
to
you
by
what
appears
to
be
the
purport
of
my
actions
.
Yet
I
seek
not
a
fellow
feeling
in
my
misery
.
No
sympathy
may
I
ever
find
.
When
I
first
sought
it
,
it
was
the
love
of
virtue
,
the
feelings
of
happiness
and
affection
with
which
my
whole
being
overflowed
,
that
I
wished
to
be
participated
.
But
now
that
virtue
has
become
to
me
a
shadow
,
and
that
happiness
and
affection
are
turned
into
bitter
and
loathing
despair
,
in
what
should
I
seek
for
sympathy
?
I
am
content
to
suffer
alone
while
my
sufferings
shall
endure
;
when
I
die
,
I
am
well
satisfied
that
abhorrence
and
opprobrium
should
load
my
memory
.
Once
my
fancy
was
soothed
with
dreams
of
virtue
,
of
fame
,
and
of
enjoyment
.
Once
I
falsely
hoped
to
meet
with
beings
who
,
pardoning
my
outward
form
,
would
love
me
for
the
excellent
qualities
which
I
was
capable
of
unfolding
.
I
was
nourished
with
high
thoughts
of
honour
and
devotion
.
But
now
crime
has
degraded
me
beneath
the
meanest
animal
.
No
guilt
,
no
mischief
,
no
malignity
,
no
misery
,
can
be
found
comparable
to
mine
.
When
I
run
over
the
frightful
catalogue
of
my
sins
,
I
can
not
believe
that
I
am
the
same
creature
whose
thoughts
were
once
filled
with
sublime
and
transcendent
visions
of
the
beauty
and
the
majesty
of
goodness
.
But
it
is
even
so
;
the
fallen
angel
becomes
a
malignant
devil
.
Yet
even
that
enemy
of
God
and
man
had
friends
and
associates
in
his
desolation
;
I
am
alone
.
