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1"After the murder of Clerval I returned to Switzerland, heart-broken and overcome. I pitied Frankenstein; my pity
2amounted to horror; I abhorred myself. But when I discovered that he, the author at once of my existence and of its
3unspeakable torments, dared to hope for happiness, that while he accumulated wretchedness and despair upon me he sought
4his own enjoyment in feelings and passions from the indulgence of which I was for ever barred, then impotent envy and
5bitter indignation filled me with an insatiable thirst for vengeance. I recollected my threat and resolved that it
6should be accomplished. I knew that I was preparing for myself a deadly torture, but I was the slave, not the master, of
7an impulse which I detested yet could not disobey. Yet when she died! Nay, then I was not miserable. I had cast off all
8feeling, subdued all anguish, to riot in the excess of my despair. Evil thenceforth became my good. Urged thus far, I
9had no choice but to adapt my nature to an element which I had willingly chosen. The completion of my demoniacal design
10became an insatiable passion. And now it is ended; there is my last victim!" I was at first touched by the expressions
11of his misery; yet, when I called to mind what Frankenstein had said of his powers of eloquence and persuasion, and when
12I again cast my eyes on the lifeless form of my friend, indignation was rekindled within me. "Wretch!" I said. "It is
13well that you come here to whine over the desolation that you have made. You throw a torch into a pile of buildings, and
14when they are consumed, you sit among the ruins and lament the fall. Hypocritical fiend! If he whom you mourn still
15lived, still would he be the object, again would he become the prey, of your accursed vengeance. It is not pity that you
16feel; you lament only because the victim of your malignity is withdrawn from your power." "Oh, it is not thus--not
17thus," interrupted the being. "Yet such must be the impression conveyed to you by what appears to be the purport of my
18actions. Yet I seek not a fellow feeling in my misery. No sympathy may I ever find. When I first sought it, it was the
19love of virtue, the feelings of happiness and affection with which my whole being overflowed, that I wished to be
20participated. But now that virtue has become to me a shadow, and that happiness and affection are turned into bitter and
21loathing despair, in what should I seek for sympathy? I am content to suffer alone while my sufferings shall endure;
22when I die, I am well satisfied that abhorrence and opprobrium should load my memory. Once my fancy was soothed with
23dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form,
24would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was nourished with high thoughts of honour
25and devotion. But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, no malignity, no misery,
26can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same
27creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of
28goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends
29and associates in his desolation; I am alone. "You, who call Frankenstein your friend, seem to have a knowledge of my
30crimes and his misfortunes. But in the detail which he gave you of them he could not sum up the hours and months of
31misery which I endured wasting in impotent passions. For while I destroyed his hopes, I did not satisfy my own desires.
32They were for ever ardent and craving; still I desired love and fellowship, and I was still spurned. Was there no
33injustice in this? Am I to be thought the only criminal, when all humankind sinned against me? Why do you not hate
34Felix, who drove his friend from his door with contumely? Why do you not execrate the rustic who sought to destroy the
35saviour of his child? Nay, these are virtuous and immaculate beings! I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion,
36to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on. Even now my blood boils at the recollection of this injustice. "But it is
37true that I am a wretch. I have murdered the lovely and the helpless; I have strangled the innocent as they slept and
38grasped to death his throat who never injured me or any other living thing. I have devoted my creator, the select
39specimen of all that is worthy of love and admiration among men, to misery; I have pursued him even to that irremediable
40ruin. There he lies, white and cold in death. You hate me, but your abhorrence cannot equal that with which I regard
41myself. I look on the hands which executed the deed; I think on the heart in which the imagination of it was conceived
42and long for the moment when these hands will meet my eyes, when that imagination will haunt my thoughts no more. "Fear
43not that I shall be the instrument of future mischief. My work is nearly complete. Neither yours nor any man's death is
44needed to consummate the series of my being and accomplish that which must be done, but it requires my own. Do not think
45that I shall be slow to perform this sacrifice. I shall quit your vessel on the ice raft which brought me thither and
46shall seek the most northern extremity of the globe; I shall collect my funeral pile and consume to ashes this miserable
47frame, that its remains may afford no light to any curious and unhallowed wretch who would create such another as I have
48been. I shall die. I shall no longer feel the agonies which now consume me or be the prey of feelings unsatisfied, yet
49unquenched. He is dead who called me into being; and when I shall be no more, the very remembrance of us both will
50speedily vanish. I shall no longer see the sun or stars or feel the winds play on my cheeks. Light, feeling, and sense
51will pass away; and in this condition must I find my happiness. Some years ago, when the images which this world affords
52first opened upon me, when I felt the cheering warmth of summer and heard the rustling of the leaves and the warbling of
53the birds, and these were all to me, I should have wept to die; now it is my only consolation. Polluted by crimes and
54torn by the bitterest remorse, where can I find rest but in death? "Farewell! I leave you, and in you the last of
55humankind whom these eyes will ever behold. Farewell, Frankenstein! If thou wert yet alive and yet cherished a desire of
56revenge against me, it would be better satiated in my life than in my destruction. But it was not so; thou didst seek my
57extinction, that I might not cause greater wretchedness; and if yet, in some mode unknown to me, thou hadst not ceased
58to think and feel, thou wouldst not desire against me a vengeance greater than that which I feel. Blasted as thou wert,
59my agony was still superior to thine, for the bitter sting of remorse will not cease to rankle in my wounds until death
60shall close them for ever. "But soon," he cried with sad and solemn enthusiasm, "I shall die, and what I now feel be no
61longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and exult in the
62agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by
63the winds. My spirit will sleep in peace, or if it thinks, it will not surely think thus. Farewell." He sprang from the
64cabin-window as he said this, upon the ice raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves and
65lost in darkness and distance.
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