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Hello and welcome to Storytime for Grown Ups. I'm Faith Moore, and this season we're reading Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. Each episode I'll read a few chapters from the book, pausing from time to time to give brief explanations so it's easier to follow along. It's like an audiobook with built in notes. So brew a pot of tea, find a cozy chair and settle in. It's story time. Hi, everyone. Welcome back. Did you catch the trailer? I hope you did. If you didn't pause me right now, go into your podcast feed, find the trailer for the 2025 Christmas Spectacular Place, play it, and then come back. Okay. Did you do that? Great. Hopefully now we have all heard the trailer and I am so excited and thrilled to announce again, if you've listened to the trailer, that our Christmas book this year is going to be A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Now, some of you may be thinking, is that in fact a Christmas book? And the answer is kind of no. Although it is very, very, very Christmassy in atmosphere and vibe. And also Christmas does occur in the book. So I think counts. But really what we're going to do, and I said this a little in the trailer, and I will talk much more about it in our intro episode for the Christmas Spectacular. But just to get you prepared, really what we're doing on Storytime for Grown Ups this year is having a Victorian Christmas. And part of a Victorian Christmas was a shift toward children and family. It was really about family all of a sudden in a way that it hadn't been before. We talked about this a little bit when we were talking about A Christmas Carol. And I'll say a little bit more in our intro episode, but basically because there were more ways for people to connect with family members that were far away. Things like the railroad made it so that you could actually visit your family. But also a really improved mail system, like the postal system meant that you could write letters back and forth very quickly, send cards around the holidays, that kind of thing. So people were more conn to each other than they had been in the past. And that meant that Christmas time became, for a variety of reasons, including what I just said, a time to be with family or a time to check in with family. And so that's what I want this Christmas Spectacular to be. Because we also live in a world where we are much more connected than we've ever been. But in a lot of ways, I think we feel a lot less connected. So somehow the technologies that we have now for connecting ourselves with each other are actually drawing us apart. And it's a problem. So what I want us to do is to reconnect either in person, if you live with your family members, if you've got kids at home, or you live with your spouse or your parents or whatever it is, either listening together with people in real life or connecting via all the amazing technology that we have learned, like the phone, like the Internet, like video calls, whatever it is, however you want to connect, connect with people in your life around this show. Let's come together this holiday time, this Christmas time, and read this book together. And that's why I've chosen a book that can be enjoyed by young children. Now, I want to be very clear. This is also a book that is incredibly enjoyable for adults. We're not suddenly becoming story time for children. That's not happening. We're still story time for grownups. I have read this book many, many times, including many times in my adulthood, and I enjoy it more every single time. It's a wonderful, wonderful book. But it can also be enjoyed with the children in your life, if you have children in your life. And if you don't, don't worry, you can still listen on your own. You can listen with other adults that you know. But the idea is we are coming together. And if there are children in your life, they can be a part of this too. Too. I will be taking questions from anyone who's listening. So if your kids want to write in with questions about a little princess as we start reading, I will read those and we'll talk more about how that can work. But that's my hope here, is that we are going to have a Victorian style Christmas by coming all together in all of the ways that we can with our families, with our friends, with each other. So that's what's coming up here on Storytime for Grown Ups. And it begins November 3rd. Third, that will be our intro episode where I'll talk much more about this and a little bit of, you know, introductory material about the book. And it will take us all the way through till December 22. That will be our conclusion episode about a little princess. And then there'll be a short break for Christmas and New Year's and then we'll come back in January with another book. So that's what's going on here. Also, we're going to really be leaning into the Victorian Christmas vibe. And so we're going to be doing a lot of activities, events, giveaways, things like that on the show that have to do with Victorian Christmas traditions. So I'm really excited about that. Don't worry. It's not going to like take over the show or anything like that. It's still going to be what it always is, chapters of the book with notes along the way and your letters and comments. So that's, that's what's going to happen. So don't worry. We're not changing anything. But I think we're going to have a lot of fun and there's going to be a lot of opportunities for us to connect with each other because that's the idea. We're trying to connect with the people that we care about, about books, the this holiday season. So I hope that you will join for that. And before we get back into our spooky season of it all while we're still here in the Christmas season or the teaser to the Christmas season, I did tell you last time that I have an announcement and the announcement is this. So I have a novel called Christmas Carol, not A Christmas Carol that belongs to Dickens and he's a far better writer than I am. But I have Christmas Carol. Carol. It's Carol with a K because it is somebody's name. It's a book I wrote a couple of years ago. Those of you who have been listening for a while know about it. Last Christmas time we had a lot of giveaways and things that had to do with it and I read some of it on YouTube and all of that is still there. But this Christmas time a new copy of my novel, Christmas Carol is coming out. It's a paperback this time. It has always been a hardcover. This is a paperback edition and it has a beautiful new cover designed by our very own Cynthia Angulo, who designs all of our designs in the Merch store. She's amazing, but she has outdone herself this time, you guys. It's such a beautiful cover. I'm so excited about this and I'm telling you because it is now available for pre order. Now I know a lot of you have already got a copy of the hardcover and I'm so, so grateful for that. But I would absolutely love it. It would mean the world to me if you would pick up a copy of the paperback version of Christmas Carol. You can buy it as a gift for a friend. You can buy many of them and hand them out as gifts to friends. You can just get it for yourself. If you liked the book and you like the new cover, you can get that. There is a link in the show notes right now to the pre order page. Now, as part of the Christmas Spectacular, we're going to be doing lots of giveaways and things related to this book. I will do what I did last year, which is that if you buy it, I will send you a sticker that you can put in the book that's signed. I'll make it out to whoever you want it to be made out to so you can give it as a gift, or I can make it out to you so that you can have your own copy that is signed by me. And there will be lots of other perks that you can get for buying a copy of this book because. Because it means a lot to me. It's. It's a story that I really wanted to tell. It's a story that matters to me and I want to share it with you. And so I hope that you'll do that. I'm going to talk much more this. I'm not going to go on and on. Right now, we're talking about Frankenstein today, so I'm not going to keep going. But I will just say that if you buy a copy of the book, it would mean a lot to me and I will give you back all kinds of fun things which I will go over when we start the Christmas Spectacular. But it's there. I hope that you'll take a look at the new cover just because it's so beautiful. I hope you'll pre order and tell a friend about it and all of those good things. So that's the announcement. The paperback of Christmas Carol is available now for pre order. It comes out, by the way, November 6th. So if you pre order now, it will ship to you on that day, assuming that all goes well with shipping and all of that. So please pre order, consider it as a gift for a family member or for yourself. And we'll talk more about that. We'll talk more about A Little Princess and all of the wonderful Victorian Christmas things that we're going to be doing later on. And feel free to write in with questions and comments about the Christmas Spectacular. I cannot wait, you guys. I'm really, really excited to dive into that. We with you, but we are not there yet. Hold your horses. Rein back in the Christmas spirit. Turn off the Christmas music, because we are still very much in spooky season and things are kind of descending into chaos and horror, which is kind of how we should be here in the middle of October or almost the end of October, believe it or not. This is it. We've got two weeks left, basically, of Frankenstein. So we're getting down to the end of it here. So let's get back into the spookiness of it all. So last time we read chapters 19 and 20. Today we are going to be reading chapters 21 and 22. So we'll do the recap. I have some questions, we'll talk for a bit, and then we'll read. As you've noticed, this episode is kind of long. I'm sorry, I did take up a few minutes at the beginning talking about Christmas, but I wanted to make sure you kind of understood what was going on and I wanted to make that announcement. And the chapters are a little bit long, so you get a long episode. Hopefully that's a good thing. And it's not something that you're devastated to hear about. So it's a bit of a long episode, but let's get into it. Here is the recap. All right, so where we left off, Victor and Clairval arrive in London. Victor is totally haunted by what he has to do to make this creature. And he avoids people unless they can help him learn what he needs to do to complete his task. Clairval is the opposite. He's super excited to be there and he's having fun. He's meeting new people and making new friends. And eventually they travel to Scotland where they're supposed to stay with a friend. But Victor tells Clerval to go on without him. And he goes off to this super remote island where he sets up his lab and he begins to work on making the monster's female counterpart. So he works and works, and he's nearly done, but he suddenly realized that this monster might be able to have babies. And he worries that the two monsters will spawn a race of monsters. And then that he, Victor, will have been the cause of it all. Right. At that moment, he sees the monster, the first monster, grinning in at him at the window. And he's overwhelmed with hatred for him and he destroys what he's been making. So the monster is clearly very upset and he runs off into the night. Later, the monster comes back and vows revenge. He says that he will be with Victor on his wedding night, which Victor takes to mean that he will kill him on his wedding night. And he feels worried for Elizabeth that she will have to be a widow so soon after their wedding. Soon after this, a letter comes from Clerval begging Victor to come back and join him. So Victor rows out into the ocean and dumps all the evidence of what he's been working on. And he feels so relieved that he kind of lies back in the boat and he takes a nap. When he wakes up, he finds that he's drifted off to sea, and he's worried he's going to be stranded there. But eventually he makes his way to land. But when he arrives, he's met with this angry group of people who accuse him of a murder that's been committed in their village. And they send him to meet with the local judge. Okay, so I've got three comments today. The first one comes from Stacy Custer. Stacy writes, I am so over Victor. He is the most frustrating type of person, miserable and whiny, but unwilling to see or accept his own role in his misery. He even said he was guiltless, indicating that he feels he didn't do anything wrong to deserve his misery. But it has been his own actions and, at times, inaction that has brought all this upon him. This next one is from Sarah Coches, and she actually wrote this two episodes ago, but I think it's still relevant and I'm going to read it here. She writes, Victor's reminiscence of Henry clerval in chapter 18 seems to depict the perfect man. Henry is a loyal son and a faithful friend. He is selfless and honest, and he is so appreciative of all of the natural beauty that surrounds them on their journey. I think that maybe the monster could have been like Henry if only he had been nurtured and loved. Okay, and this last one comes from another Sarah. So this is Sarah again, but a different one. She says, in Victor's narration, he continues to paint himself as the victim and frame his problem and his solution as if he had no other choices. He did this in the situation with Justine, and then again when the monster asks him to create a female. When he encounters these crises, Victor never chooses the pathway of love. He continues to double down on his prideful endeavors. When the monster asks him for a female. Victor could have said no, but I will take on my role as your father and protector and teach you to become a man. Okay, so last time we were talking about the kind of impossible question of whether Victor should create a female monster or not, because it seems clear. Or it has seemed clear to us, according to your letters. And I agree, it has seemed clear that basically the answer to should Victor create a female monster? Is no and yes, kind of both. And obviously that's not a viable answer. You can't take action based on that. You can't do both of those things. And this time we get Victor basically playing out both of those answers. He begins with yes, Right. He starts creating this creature mostly out of selfishness, because he wants to get rid of the monster and save himself and his family, but also out of some kind of small inkling that maybe he owes the creature some something. So he starts out with, yes, but then as he begins to do this thing, right, to create again a being in a lab, this thing that totally shattered him, as he begins to do this, he suddenly realizes why he can't. And that's pretty much the long and short of it. He should do it, but also he shouldn't. Okay, but the reasons he comes up with for why he shouldn't do it are really interesting. Right? The first thing he realizes is that just like he had no idea what sort of being the first creature would be, he has no idea what sort of being this second creature would be. It won't be a carbon copy, so judging it based on the first one isn't going to work. It's another completely unknown entity. Here's what he I was now about to form another being of whose dispositions I was alike, ignorant. She might become 10,000 times more malignant than her mate and delight for its own sake in murder and wretchedness. Okay, but of course, like Stacey says in her letter, this is so frustrating. And what's frustrating here is that he's doing it again. He's stipulating that these creatures he creates are inherently evil, that there's nothing good in them, and that they come kind of preloaded with murder and malignancy or whatever. But we know that's not true. And the super annoying thing is that he knows it now, too. He has exactly the same information that we have about the creature's like, early sensations. Right? The creature told the story to him, so he knows what we know. And how do you know all that and still think, gee, these beings I'm making are just evil somehow they just come out evil. It's so weird. I mean, come on. Because like Sarah says this second Sarah letter, as she says, Victor could have acknowledged his fault in the creature's creation, that he neglected a really key part of the creature's fault formation. And he could do his best now to remedy that by accepting the creature, loving him, paving his way into society, whatever it is. He could say, as Sarah says, that creating the creature was wrong, it was a mistake, so he won't do it again, but that he recognizes the humanity of the creature he did create and will do what he can for him now that he's here. But Victor's total inability to accept Responsibility for this creature, part of the situation. That he should have raised the creature essentially, not just created him. His refusal to accept responsibility is causing him to make the same mistake again here and assume that the female will also be evil. So that's his first realization that if he creates this being, it might turn out to be another monster. Then he realizes what we figured out kind of weeks ago because we're smarter than Victor, which is that women make babies. Okay, here's what he says. One of the first results of those sympathies for which the demon thirsted would be children. And a race of devils would be propagated upon the Earth who might make the very existence of the species of man a condition precarious and full of terror. Okay, so again, he's assuming that the female creature will be evil and that her children will be evil. Okay, this is Victor's, like, fatal mistake, right? It all kind of comes down to this, that he can't see the inherent worth or value in the being he created and therefore feels that all beings he creates will be abominations. And so now he's suddenly like, oh, right, babies. Actual human babies get made via reproduction. So if I give my male being a female being like him, they'll make babies like them. And that's a whole crazy can of worms that he doesn't want to open. And I mean, fair enough, that was one of our objections as well. That creating a woman creature isn't just creating a woman creature. It's potentially creat a whole new race, right? Just like Adam and Eve reproduced and populated the Earth. And that's his final realization, right? That like God, if he allows the creature to have a mate, then he, Victor, will have allowed an entire new race of beings to exist on the Earth. Here is what he says. But now, for the first time, the wickedness of my promise burst upon me. I shuddered to think that future ages might curse me as their pest, whose selfishness had not hesitated to buy its own piece at the price, perhaps, of the existence of the whole human race. Okay, if the creatures reproduce and their offspring is evil, then the human race will curse Victor as the God who created this race of unnatural beings. I mean, I won't go too much into this, but this has such direct parallels to AI Right? If this were really a class, I would totally approve that paper. Okay? But anyway, so Victor destroys the female being that he started to create because, like we did, he sees that it can only really end in tragedy. But unlike us, he doesn't see that all of this could have been prevented if he'd cared for the first being. Right? Like Sarah said, that being would be the only one of his race, but he would be loved and cared for and his life would have meaning. And then when he died of natural causes or whatever, that would be the end of that. He wouldn't continue his line. And Victor's other mistake, which was creating this being in the first place, would be undone. Right. But that won't happen because Victor can't take responsibility for his neglect of the creature. And this is what Stacey and Sarah pointed out, Right? He still feels that he, and not the creature, is the victim here. Here is what he says. 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. Okay? I felt as if I had committed a crime, but I was guiltless. Guiltless. I mean, really, that is some pretty serious narcissism right there, as far as I'm concerned. He's saying he had drawn down this curse upon his own head by creating the monster, but not that the creation itself was a crime, and certainly not that his neglect was. Was a crime. He just wishes that he had never made the creature because he didn't think at the time that the being would be evil. But that's really messed up. And it's exactly what you would say if you had no ability to take any kind of responsibility for what you've done. Okay, so Victor remains, to my mind at least. And I know some of you disagree, and that's okay. But to me, he remains an incurable narcissist. But that's the tragedy of it all, right? The inevitability, the but if only that we, the reader feels, but the narrator kind of doesn't. So is a tragedy. And now the thing really is descending into horror. Right? We have only two weeks of this book left. Like I was saying, we've got three more episodes of chapters and then a conclusion. So things are kind of drawing downward and downward into some kind of conclusion. And they really are kind of descending. One way you can see this is in the comparison between Victor and Henry that Sarah Kay pointed out in her letter. Victor feels that if not for his mistake in creating the creature, he would have been just like Clairval. Okay, here's what he says. But in Clairval, 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. Right. So I actually don't necessarily think that this is true. Because Clerval doesn't seem to me to be the sort of guy who would ever have enough self interest and enough ego to think that he could father a new race of beings in a lab. So I think this is Victor's victim complex again, right? That Henry is actually a much better man than Victor could ever have been. And I actually agree with Sarah Kay that it's more like who the monster could have been if things had been different. But Victor always thinks the best of himself, right? So he thinks he could have been just like Henry. Because Henry is this kind of perfect man, as Sarah said. And he is also this kind of weird breath of fresh air that wafts through the story sometimes. And he reminds us of how sordid everything has really become. He's the real world, basically. He's normaly and goodness and humanity. And it's really jarring, I think, when he shows up on the scene. Because it reminds us of how degraded Victor has become, how degraded the creature has become. I think Shelley is brilliant to reintroduce him into the story at this point because he stands as a comparison point that makes what's going on with Victor and the creature kind of all the more horrific. And the comparisons between the creature and Victor are continuing as well, Right. They are essentially both kind of drawing closer and closer together. As the creature becomes more and more monstrous, Victor also becomes more and more monstrous. Here's what he says. This is Victor. I was formed for peaceful happiness during my youthful days. Discontent never visited my mind. And if I was ever overcome by ennui, the spirit 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. Okay. A miserable spectacle of wrecked humanity, pitiable to others and intolerable to myself. He could be describing the creature, right? I mean, that could easily be a description of the creature. Except that Victor refuses to acknowledge that there is any spark of humanity in the creature. And what's really poignant, I think, is that after Victor destroys the female being, which, by the way, is a totally horrific scene when you think about it, because he's actually tearing apart a body and throwing pieces of it all over the place. So. Talk about monstrous, right? But what's so poignant is that once he's done this, he says, here's a quote. The remains of the half finished creature whom I had destroyed lay scattered on the floor. And I almost felt as if I had mangled the living flesh of a human being. I mean, don't you want to just scream at him like you did, Victor? You did mangle the living flesh of a human being. I mean, he didn't actually. But had he brought this being to life, it would have been just as human as the creature is. And the tragedy is that he sees it without seeing it. He feels like, oh, wow, this being is almost human. I feel weird ripping it apart. But he never once feels that the being he created is human or even almost human. It's like he's got this blind spot, okay? And the blind spot is the tragedy of the whole narrative. But the creature has also become more monstrous, right? He has gone from this kind of innocent, deeply feeling, loving, yearning, intellectual being to a being consumed with revenge. Here is what he tells Victor. He says, you are my creator, but I am your master. Obey. Okay? I mean, that is essentially the kind of mustache twirling villain of a comic book or something. He has become the monster that Victor always thought he was. And what's great here is that Shelley has the creature compare himself to Satan. He says, beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a sea snake that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict. Okay? You see? Remember after reading Paradise Lost, the monster felt torn between whether he was Adam or Satan, right? He felt that he could see himself in both. And it was kind of a matter of how his life played out, which one he would pick. He wanted to be Adam, right? He wanted to be a man, to be accepted into the human community and valued for himself. But he couldn't. It couldn't be right. It couldn't be done. So he has chosen Satan. And he calls Victor man, meaning that he, the creature is not a man, he's something else. And he compares himself to the snake, which, of course, is the most famous form that Satan takes in the Garden. So the creature has made his choice. He is not human. He is a monster. And he tells Victor that he will be with him on his wedding night, which Victor takes to mean that he will kill him on his wedding night, which is very apt, of course, right? Because it was a wife, essentially, that the creature wanted. And now he will deny Victor the same union that Victor has denied him. So that's where things stand. Right. Except that now, at the very end of the last chapter, Victor finds himself in this weird situation. He's in Ireland where he is being told that he has to answer to a magistrate for the death of some kind of man who was found there the night before. And we're told by Victor and that he needs a little break before he can tell the next part of this story to Walton. Right, so we are in for more tragedy and more horror here. And whatever it is, it will most likely be the lead up to whatever brought Victor to this frozen wasteland where he's been all of this time, telling his story to Walton. So we're in the home stretch, my friends. Let's go back to it. We're going to find out what is going to happen to next that is going to bring Victor out onto the frozen tundra near the North Pole. So please don't forget to write to me. It's Faith K. Moore dot com. You can click on Contact or you can scroll into the show notes and click the link that's there. And while you're there, I do encourage you, please, to take a look at the link to the paperback version of Christmas Carol. And you can hit pre order. And I would love it if you would do that. It would mean a lot to me. Thank you. And of course, write in about the COVID Write in about our Christmas spectacular. Write to me with all your reactions and thoughts. All right, let's get started with chapters 21 and 22 of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley. It's story time, chapter 21. I was soon introduced into the presence of the magistrate. An old benevolent man with calm and mild manners. He looked upon me, however, with some degree of severity. And then turning towards my conductors, he asked who appeared as witness on this occasion, about half a dozen men came forward and one being selected by the magistrate, he deposed that he had been out fishing the night before with his son and brother in law, Daniel Nugent, when about 10 o' clock they observed a strong northerly blast rising and they accordingly put in for port. So this guy saying he and his brother in law were out fishing the night before, but a big wind was coming in, so they came back. It was a very dark night, as the moon had not yet risen. They did not land at the harbor, but as they had been accustomed at a creek about two miles below. He walked on first carrying a part of the fishing tackle and his companions followed him at some distance. As he was proceeding along the sands, he struck his foot against something and fell at his length on the ground. His companions came up to assist him, and by the light of their lantern they found that he had fallen on the body of a man who was to all appearance, dead. Their first supposition was that it was the corpse of some person who had been drowned and was thrown on shore by the waves. But on examination they found that the clothes were not wet and even that the body was not then cold. They instantly carried it to the cottage of an old woman near the spot and endeavored to, but in vain, to restore it to life. It appeared to be a handsome young man, about 5 and 20 years of age. He had apparently been strangled, for there was no sign of any violence except the black mark of fingers on his neck. The first part of this deposition did not in the least interest me. But when the mark of the fingers was mentioned, I remembered the murder of my brother and felt myself extremely agitated. My limbs trembled and a mist came over my eyes which obliged me to lean on a chair for support. The magistrate observed me with a keen eye and of course drew an unfavorable augury from my manner. Meaning he thinks Victor's behavior implies that he's guilty, but really it just means that he now suspects that the monster is the murderer. The son confirmed his father's account. But when Daniel Nugent was called, he swore positively that just before the fall of his companion, he saw a boat with a single man in it at a short distance from the shore. And as far as he could judge by the light of a few stars. It was the same boat in which I had just landed. A woman deposed, that she lived near the beach and was standing at the door of her cottage waiting for the return of the fisherman. About an hour before she heard of the discovery of the body, when she saw a boat with only one man in it push off from that part of the shore where the corpse was afterwards found. Another woman confirmed the account of the fisherman having brought the body into her house. It was not cold. They put it into a bed and rubbed it. And Daniel went to the town for an apothecary. But life was quite gone. Several other men were examined concerning my landing, and they agreed that with the strong north wind that had arisen during the night, it was very probable that I had beaten about for many hours and had been obliged to return nearly to the same spot from which I had departed. Meaning they think it's Possible that he was on the beach, killed the man, set sail, but then was beaten back by the wind to the exact same spot. Besides, they observed that it appeared that I had brought the body from another place. And it was likely that, as I did not appear to know the shore, I might have put into the harbour, ignorant of the distance of the town of from the place where I had deposited the corpse. Mr. Curwen, on hearing this evidence, desired that I should be taken into the room where the body lay for interment, that it might be observed what effect the sight of it would produce upon me. This idea was probably suggested by the extreme agitation I had exhibited when the mode of the murder had been described. I was accordingly conducted by the magistrate and several other persons to the inn. I could not help being struck by the strange coincidences that had taken place during this eventful night. But knowing that I had been conversing with several persons in the island I had inhabited about the time that the body had been found, I was perfectly tranquil as to the consequences of the affair. So Victor is saying he has an alibi, which is that he was talking to someone on his island when the crime was committed. So he's not worried about actually being convicted of the crime. He's just worried that it was the monster that did it. I entered the room where the corpse lay and was led up to the coffin. How can I describe my sensations on beholding it? I feel yet parched with horror. Nor can I reflect on that terrible moment without shuddering and agony. The examination, the presence of the magistrate and witnesses passed like a dream from my memory. When I saw the lifeless form of Henry Clerval stretched before me, I gasped for breath, and throwing myself on the body, I exclaimed, have my murderous machinations destroyed you also, my dearest Henry of life? 2 I have already destroyed. Other victims await their destiny. But you, Clerval, my friend, my benefactor. The human frame could no longer support the agonies that I endured, and I was carried out of the room in strong convulsions. A fever succeeded to this I lay for two months on the point of death. My ravings, as I afterwards heard, were frightful. I called myself the murderer of William, of Justine, and of Clerval. Sometimes I entreated my attendants to assist me in the destruction of the fear fiend by whom I was tormented. And at others I felt the fingers of the monster already grasping my neck, and screamed aloud with agony and terror. Fortunately, as I spoke my native language, Mr. Curwen alone understood me. But my gestures and Bitter cries were sufficient to affright the other witnesses. Why did I not die more miserable than man ever was before? Why did I not see sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming children the only hopes of their doting parents. How many brides and youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope and the next a prey of worms and the decay of the tomb. Of what materials was I made that I could thus resist so many shocks which, like the turning of the wheel, continually renewed the torture? But I was doomed to live, and in two months found myself as awakening from a dream in a prison, stretched on a wretched bed, surrounded by jailers, turnkeys, bolts and all the miserable apparatus of a dungeon. It was morning, I remember, when I thus awoke to understanding. I had forgotten the particulars of what had happened and only felt as if some great misfortune had suddenly overwhelmed me. But when I looked around and saw the barred windows and the squalidness of the room in which I was, all flashed across my memory, and I groaned bitterly. This sound disturbed an old woman who was sleeping in a chair beside me. She was a hired nurse, the wife of one of the turnkeys, and her countenance expressed all those bad qualities which often characterize that class. The lines of her face were hard and rude, like that of persons accustomed to see without sympathizing in sights of misery. Her tone expressed her entire indifference. She addressed me in English, and the voice struck me as one that I had heard during my sufferings. Are you better now, sir? Said she. I replied in the same language with a feeble voice, I believe I am. But if it all be true, if indeed I did not dream, I am sorry that I am still alive to feel this misery and horror. For that matter, replied the old woman, if you mean about the gentleman you murdered, I believe that it were better for you if you were dead, for I fancy it will go hard with you. However, that's none of my business. I am sent to nurse you and get you well. I do my duty with a safe conscience. It were well if everybody did the same. I turned with loathing from the woman who could utter so unfeeling a speech to a person just saved on the very edge of death. But I felt languid and unable to reflect on all that had passed. The whole series of my life appeared to me as a dream. I sometimes doubted if indeed it were all true, for it never presented itself to my mind with the force of reality. So he's saying. This whole ordeal, from creating the monster to everything that's happened since feels kind of unreal to him. As the image that floated before me became more distinct, I grew feverish. A darkness pressed around me. No one was near me who soothed me with the gentle voice of love. No dear hand supported me. The physician came and prescribed medicines, and the old woman prepared them for me. But utter carelessness was visible in the first. And the expression of brutality was strongly marked in the visage of the second. Who could be interested in the fate of a murderer but the hangman who would gain his fee? These were my first reflections. But I soon learned that Mr. Curwen had shown me extreme kindness. He had caused the best room in the prison to be prepared for me. Wretched, indeed, was the best. And it was he who had provided a physician and nurse. It is true he seldom came to see me. For although he ardently desired to relieve the sufferings of every human creature, he did not wish to be present at the agonies and miserable ravings of a murderer. He came, therefore, sometimes to see that I was not neglected. But his visits were short and with long intervals. One day, while I was gradually recovering, I was seated in a chair, my eyes half open and my cheeks livid. Like those in death. I was overcome by gloom and misery, and often reflected I had better seek death than desire to remain in a world which to me was replete with wretchedness. At one time I considered whether I should not declare myself guilty and suffer the penalty of the law, less innocent than poor Justine had been. Such were my thoughts. When the door of my apartment was opened and Mr. Curwen entered. His countenance expressed sympathy and compassion. He drew a chair close to mine and addressed me in French. I fear that this place is very shocking to you. Can I do anything to make you more comfortable? I thank you, but all that you mention is nothing to me. On the whole earth there is no comfort which I am capable of receiving. I know that the sympathy of a stranger can be but of little relief to one borne down as you are by so strange a misfortune. But you will, I hope, soon quit this melancholy abode, for doubtless evidence can be easily brought to free you from the criminal charge. That is my least concern. I am, by a course of strange events, become the most miserable of mortals. Persecuted and tortured as I am and have been. Can death be an evil to me? Nothing indeed could be more unfortunate and agonizing than the strange chances that have lately occurred. You were thrown by some surprising Accident on this shore, renowned for its hospitality, seized immediately and charged with murder. The first sight that was presented to your eyes was the body of your friend, murdered in so unaccountable a manner and placed as it were by some fiend across your path. As Mr. Curwen said this notwithstanding the agitation I endured on this retrospect of my sufferings, and I also felt considerable surprise at the knowledge he seemed to possess concerning me. I suppose my astonishment was exhibited in my countenance, for Mr. Curwen hastened to say, immediately upon your being taken ill, all the papers that were on your person were brought me, and I examined them, that I might discover some trace by which I could send to your relations an account of your misfortune and illness. I found several letters, and among others, one which I discovered from its commencement to be from your father. I instantly rode to Geneva. Nearly two months have elapsed since the departure of my letter. But you are ill. Even now you tremble. You are unfit for agitation of any kind. This suspense is a thousand times worse than the most horrible event. Tell me, what new scene of death has been acted and whose murder I am now to lament. Your family is perfectly well, said Mr. Curwen with gentleness. And someone, a friend is come to visit you. I know not by what chain of thought the idea presented itself, but it instantly darted into my mind that the murderer had come to mock at my misery and taunt me with the death of Clerval as a new incitement for me to comply with his hellish desires. I put my hand before my eyes and cried out in agony, oh, take him away. I cannot see him. For God's sake, do not let him enter. Mr. Kirwin regarded me with a troubled countenance. He could not help regarding my exclamation as a presumption of my guilt, and said in rather a severe tone, I should have thought, young man, that the presence of your father would have been welcome instead of inspiring such violent repugnance. My father, cried I, while every feature and every muscle was relaxed from anguish to pleasure. Is my father indeed? Come? How kind. How very kind. But where is he? Why does he not hasten to me? My change of manner surprised and pleased the magistrate. Perhaps he thought that my former exclamation was a momentary return of delirium, and now he instantly resumed his former benevolence. He rose and quitted the room with my nurse, and in a moment, my father entered it. Nothing at this moment could have given me greater pleasure than the arrival of My father. I stretched out my hand to him and cried, are you then safe? And Elizabethand earnest. My father calmed me with assurances of their welfare, and endeavoured, by dwelling on these subjects so interesting to my heart, to raise my desponding spirits. But he soon felt that a prison cannot be the abode of cheerfulness. What a place this is you inhabit, my son, said he, looking mournfully at the barred windows and wretched appearance of the room. You travel to seek happiness, but a fatality seems to pursue you and poor Clerval. The name of my unfortunate and murdered friend was an agitation too great to be endured in my weak state. I shed tears. Alas. Yes, my father replied I, some destiny of the most horrible kind hangs over me, and I must live to fulfil it, or surely I should have died on the coffin of Henry. We were not allowed to converse for any length of time, for the precarious state of my health rendered every precaution necessary that could ensure tranquillity. Mr. Kirwin came in and insisted that my strength should not be exhausted by too much exertion. But the appearance of my father was to me like that of my good angel, and I gradually recovered my health. As my sickness quitted me, I was absorbed by a gloomy and black melancholy that nothing could dissipate. The image of Clerval was forever before me, ghastly and murdered more than once. The agitation into which these reflections threw me made my friends dread a dangerous relapse. Alas, why did they preserve so miserable and detested a life? It was surely that I might fulfil my destiny, which is now drawing to a close. Soon, oh, very soon will death extinguish these throbbings and relieve me from the mighty weight of anguish that bears me to the dust. And in executing the award of justice, I shall also sink to rest. Then the appearance of death was distant, although the wish was ever present to my thoughts, and I often sat for hours motionless and speechless, wishing for some mighty revolution that might bury me and my destroyer in its ruins. The season of the assizes approached. An assize is a court which sat periodically. So it's time for Victor to be tried for the murder of Clerval. I had already been three months in prison, and although I was still weak and in continual danger of a relapse, I was obliged to travel nearly a hundred miles to the country town where the court was held. Mr. Kirwin charged himself with every care of collecting witnesses and arranging my defence. I was spared the disgrace of appearing publicly as a criminal as the case was not brought before the court that decides on life and death, the grand jury rejected the bill on its being proved that I was on the Orkney Islands at the hour the body of my friend was found, and a fortnight after my removal, I was liberated from prison. So his alibi checks out and now he's released. My father was enraptured on finding me freed from the vexations of a criminal charge that I was again allowed to breathe the fresh atmosphere and permitted to return to my native country. I did not participate in these feelings, for to me the walls of a dungeon or a palace were alike hateful. The cup of life was poisoned forever. And although the sun shone upon me as upon the happy and gay of heart, I saw around me nothing but a dense and frightful darkness, penetrated by no light but the glimmer of two eyes that glared upon me. Sometimes they were the expressive eyes of Henry languishing in death, the dark orbs nearly covered by the lids and the long black lashes that fringed them. Sometimes it was the watery, clouded eyes of the monster as I first saw them in my chamber at Ingolstadt. My father tried to awaken in me the feelings of affection. He talked of Geneva, which I should soon visit, and of Elizabeth and Ernest, but these words only drew deep groans from me. Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish for happiness and thought with melancholy delight of my beloved cousin, or longed with a devouring malady dupee, to see once more the blue lake and rapid Rhone that had been so dear to me in early childhood. But my general state of feeling was a torpor in which a prison was as welcome a residence as. As the divinest scene in nature. And these fits were seldom interrupted but by paroxysms of anguish and despair. At these moments I often endeavored to put an end to the existence I loathed. And it required unceasing attendance and vigilance to restrain me from committing some dreadful act of violence. Meaning he wants to kill himself, so people have to intervene to stop him. Yet one duty remained to me, the recollection of which finally triumphed over my selfish despair. It was necessary that I should return without delay to Geneva, there to watch over the lives of those I so fondly loved, and to lie in wait for the murderer that if any chance led me to the place of his concealment, or if he dared again to blast me by his presence, I might with unfailing aim put an end to the existence of the monstrous image which I had endued with the mockery of a soul still more monstrous. My father still desired to delay our departure, fearful that I could not sustain the fatigue of a journey, For I was a shattered wreck, the shadow of a human being. My strength was gone. I was a mere skeleton, and fever night and day preyed upon my wasted frame. Still, as I urged our leaving Ireland with such inquietude and impatience, my father thought it best to yield. We took our passage on board a vessel bound for Havre de Grasse and sailed with a fair wind from the Irish shores. It was midnight. I lay on the deck, looking at the stars and listening to the dashing of the waves. I hailed the darkness that shut Ireland from my sight, and my pulse beat with a feverish joy. When I reflected that I should soon see Geneva, the past appeared to me in the light of a frightful dream. Yet the vessel in which I was, the wind that blew me from the detested shore of Ireland and the sea which surrounded me, told me too forcibly that I was deceived by no vision and that Clerval, my friend and dearest companion, had fallen a victim to me and the monster of my creation I repassed in my memory my whole life, my quiet happiness. While residing with my family in Geneva, the death of my mother and my departure for Ingolstadt, I remembered, shuddering, the mad enthusiasm that hurried me on to the creation of my hideous enemy. And I called to mind the night in which he first lived. I was unable to pursue the train of thought. A thousand feelings pressed upon me, and I wept bitterly. Ever since my recovery from the fever, I had been, in the custom of taking every night a small quantity of laudanum. For it was by means of this drug only that I was enabled to gain the rest necessary for the preservation of life. Oppressed by the recollection of my various misfortunes, I now swallowed double my usual quantity and soon slept profoundly. But sleep did not afford me respite from thought and misery. My dreams presented a thousand objects that scared me. Towards morning I was possessed by a kind of nightmare. I felt the fiend's grasp in my neck and could not free myself from it. Groans and cries rang in my ears. My father, who was watching over me, perceiving my restlessness, awoke me. The dashing waves were around the cloudy sky above. The fiend was not here. A sense of security, a feeling that a truce was established between the present hour and the irresistible, disastrous future, imparted to me a kind of calm forgetfulness of which the human mind is by its structure peculiarly susceptible. Chapter 22. The voyage came to an end. We landed and proceeded to Paris. I soon found that I had overtaxed my strength and that I must repose before I could continue my journey. My father's care and attentions were indefatigable, meaning he never tired. But he did not know the origin of my sufferings and sought erroneous methods to remedy the incurable ill. He wished me to seek amusement in society. I abhorred the face of man. Oh, not abhorred. They were my brethren, my fellow beings, and I felt attracted even to the most repulsive among them, as to creatures of an angelic nature and celestial mechanism. But I felt that I had no right to share their intercourse. I had unchained an enemy among them whose joy it was to shed their blood and to revel in their groans. How they would each and all abhor me and hunt me from the world. Did they know my unhallowed acts and the crimes which had their source in me? My father yielded at length to my desire to avoid society and strove by various arguments to banish my despair. Sometimes he thought that I felt deeply the degradation of being obliged to answer a charge of murder, and he endeavoured to prove to me the futility of pride. Alas, my father said I, how little do you know me. Human beings, their feelings and passions would indeed be degraded if such a wretch as I felt pride. Justine, poor unhappy Justine, was as innocent as I, and she suffered the same charge. She died for it, and I am the cause of this. I murdered her. William, Justine and Henry. They all died by my hands. My father had often, during my imprisonment, heard me make the same assertion. When I thus accused myself, he sometimes seemed to desire an explanation, and at others he appeared to consider it as the offspring of delirium. And that during my illness some idea of this kind had presented itself to my imagination, the remembrance of which I preserved in my convalescence. I avoided explanation and maintained a continual silence concerning the wretch I had created. I had a persuasion that I should be supposed mad, and this in itself would for ever have chained my tongue. But besides, I could not bring myself to disclose a secret which would fill my hearer with consternation and make fear and unnatural horror the inmates of his breast. Okay, so Victor doesn't want to tell anyone about the monster because he doesn't want them to think that he's crazy, but also because he doesn't want them to know that he created this horrible monster of his own free will. I checked. Therefore my impatient thirst for sympathy, and was silent when I would have given the world to have confided the fatal secret. Yet still words like those I have recorded would burst uncontrollably from me. I could offer no explanation of them, but their truth in part relieved the burden of my mysterious woe. So, even though he won't tell, he can't help exclaiming sometimes that it's all his fault. Upon this occasion, my father said with an expression of unbounded wonderful. My dearest Victor, what infatuation is this? My dear son, I entreat you never to make such an assertion again. I am not mad. I cried energetically. The sun and the heavens who have viewed my operations can bear witness of my truth. I am the assassin of those most innocent victims. They died by my machinations. A thousand times would I have shed my own blood, drop by drop, to have saved their lives. But I could not, my father. Indeed I could not sacrifice the whole human race. The conclusion of this speech convinced my father that my ideas were deranged, and he instantly changed the subject of our conversation and endeavoured to alter the course of my thoughts. He wished as much as possible to obliterate the memory of the scenes that had taken place in Ireland, and never alluded to them or suffered me to speak of my misfortunes. As time passed away, I became more calm. Misery had her dwelling in my heart, but I no longer talked in the same incoherent manner of my own crimes. Sufficient for me was the consciousness of them. By the utmost self violence I curbed the imperious voice of wretchedness which sometimes desired to declare itself to the whole world. And my manners were calmer and more composed than they had ever been since my journey to the sea of ice. A few days before we left Paris on our way to Switzerland, I received the following letter from my dear friend. It gave me the greatest pleasure to receive a letter from my uncle, dated at Paris. You are no longer at a formidable distance, and I may hope to see you in less than a fortnight. My poor cousin, how much you have suffered. I expect to see you looking even more ill than when you quitted Geneva. This winter has passed most miserably, tortured as I have been by anxious suspense. Yet I hope to see peace in your countenance and to find that your heart is not totally void of comfort and tranquillity. Yet I fear that the same feelings now exist that made you so miserable a year ago, even perhaps augmented by time. I would not disturb you at this period, when so many Misfortunes weigh upon you, but a conversation that I had with my uncle previous to his departure renders some explanation necessary before we meet. Explanation you may possibly say. What can Elizabeth have to explain? If you really say this, my questions are answered and all my doubts are satisfied. But you are distant from me, and it is possible that you may dread and yet be pleased with this explanation. And in all probability of this being the case, I dare not any longer postpone writing what during your absence I have often wished to express to you, but have never had the courage to begin. You well know, Victor, that our union has been the favourite plan of your parents ever since our infancy. We were told this when young, and taught to look forward to it as an event that would certainly take place. We were affectionate playfellows during childhood, and, I believe, dear and valued friends to one another as we grew older. But as brother and sister often entertain a lively affection towards each other without desiring a more intimate union, may not such also be our case? Tell me, dearest Victor. Answer me. I conjure you, by our mutual happiness with simple truth. Do you love another? You have travelled. You have spent several years of your life at Ingolstadt, and I confess to you, my friend, that when I saw you last autumn, so unhappy, flying to solitude from the society of every creature, I could not help supposing that you might regret our connection and believe yourself bound in honour to fulfil the wishes of your parents, although they opposed themselves to your inclinations. But this is false reasoning. I confess to you, my friend, that I love you, and that in my airy dreams of futurity you have been my constant friend and companion. But it is your happiness I desire, as well as my own, when I declare to you that our marriage would render me eternally miserable unless it were the dictionary dictate of your own free choice. Even now I weep to think that, borne down as you are by the cruelest misfortunes, you may stifle by the word honour all hope of that love and happiness which would alone restore you to yourself. I, who have so disinterested an affection for you, may increase your miseries tenfold by being an obstacle to your wishes. Ah, Victor. Be assured that your cousin and playmate has too sincere a love for you not to be made miserable by this supposition. Be happy, my friend, and if you obey me in this one request, remain satisfied that nothing on earth will have the power to interrupt my tranquillity. Do not let this letter disturb you. Do not answer tomorrow or the next Day, or even until you come, if it will give you pain, my uncle will send me news of your health. And if I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness. Elizabeth Lavenza. Geneva, 5-18-17. Blank. Okay, so Elizabeth is saying that she loves Victor and wants to marry him. But if he loves someone else and doesn't want to marry her, then she will let him him go, and would prefer that than that he marry her without loving her. This letter revived in my memory what I had before forgotten. The threat of the fiend. I will be with you on your wedding night. Such was my sentence. And on that night would the demon employ every art to destroy me and tear me from the glimpse of happiness which promised partly to console my suffering. On that night he had determined to consummate his crimes by my death. Well, be it so. A deadly struggle would then assuredly take place, in which, if he were victorious, I should be at peace and his power over me be at an end. If he were vanquished, I should be a free man. Alas. What freedom such as the peasant enjoys when his family have been massacred before his eyes, his cottage burnt, his lands laid waste, and he is turned adrift, homeless, penniless and alone. But free. Such would be my liberty, except that in my Elizabeth I possessed a treasure. Alas. Balanced by those horrors of remorse and guilt which would pursue me until death. Sweet and beloved Elizabeth. I read and re read her letter, and some softened feeling stole into my heart and dared to whisper paradisiacal dreams of love and joy. But the apple was already eaten and the angel's arm bared to drive me from all hope. Yet I would die to make her happy. If the monster executed his threat, death was inevitable. Yet again I considered whether my marriage would hasten my fate. My destruction might indeed arrive a few months sooner. But if my torturer should suspect that I postponed it, influenced by his menaces, he would surely find other and perhaps more dreadful means of revenge. He had vowed to be with me on my wedding night. Yet he did not consider that threat as binding him to peace in the meantime. For as if to show me that he was not yet satiated with blood, he had murdered Clerval immediately after the annunciation of his threats. I resolved, therefore, that if my immediate union with my cousin would conduce either to hers or my father's happiness, my adversary's designs against my life should not retard it a single hour meaning if the final showdown between him and the monster is going to happen on his wedding night, he might as well get married right away. In this state of mind, I wrote to Elizabeth. My letter was calm and affectionate. I fear, my beloved girl, I said, little happiness remains for us on earth, yet all that I may one day enjoy is centered in you. Chase away your idle fears. To you alone do I consecrate my life and my endeavors for contentment. I have one secret, Elizabeth, a dreadful one. When revealed to you, it will chill your frame with horror. And then, far from being surprised at my misery, you will only wonder that I survive what I have endured. I will confide this tale of misery and terror to you the day after our marriage shall take place. For my sweet cousin, there must be perfect confidence between us. But until then, I conjure you, do not mention or allude to it. This I most earnestly entreat, and I know you will comply. In about a week after the arrival of Elizabeth's letter, we returned to Geneva. The sweet girl welcomed me with warm affection, yet tears were in her eyes as she beheld my emaciated frame and feverish cheeks. I saw a change in her also. She was thinner and had lost much of that heavenly vivacity that had before charmed me. But her gentleness and soft looks of compassion made her a more fit companion for one. Blasted and miserable as I was, the tranquillity which I now enjoyed did not endure. Memory brought madness with it, and when I thought of what had passed, a real insanity possessed me. Sometimes I was furious and burnt with rage, sometimes low and despondent. I neither spoke nor looked at anyone, but sat motionless, bewildered by the multitude of miseries that overcame me. Elizabeth alone had the power to draw me from these fits. Her gentle voice would soothe me when transported by passion and inspire me with human feelings. When sunk in torpor, she wept with me and for me. When reason returned, she would remonstrate and endeavour to inspire me with resignation. Ah. It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty, there is no peace. The agonies of remorse poison the luxury there is otherwise sometimes found in indulging the excess of grief. Soon after my arrival, my father spoke of my immediate marriage with Elizabeth. Elizabeth. I remained silent. Have you then some other attachment? None on earth. I love Elizabeth and look forward to our union with delight. Let the day therefore be fixed, and on it I will consecrate myself in life or death, to the happiness of my cousin. My dear Victor, do not speak thus. Heavy misfortunes have befallen us. But let us only cling closer to what remains and transfer our love for those whom we have lost. Lost to those who yet live. Our circle will be small, but bound close by the ties of affection and mutual misfortune. And when time shall have softened your despair, new and dear objects of care will be born to replace those of whom we have been so cruelly deprived. Meaning, you'll have children, and that will give you more people to love, after all the people that you've lost. Such were the lessons of my father, but to me the remembrance of the threat returned. Nor can you wonder that, omnipotent as the fiend had yet been in his deeds of blood, I should almost regard him as invincible, and that when he had pronounced the words, I shall be with you on your wedding night, I should regard the threatened fate as unavoidable. But death was no evil to me if the loss of Elizabeth were balanced with it. Meaning, if Elizabeth is saved, then he's willing to die. And I therefore, with a contented and even cheerful countenance, agreed with my father that, if my cousin would consent, the ceremony should take place in 10 days. And thus put, as I imagined, the seal to my fate. Great God. If for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself forever from my native country and wandered a friendless outcast over the earth, than have consented to this miserable marriage. But as if possessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to his real intentions. And when I thought that I had prepared only my own death, I hastened that of a far dearer victim. As the period fixed for our marriage drew nearer, whether from cowardice or a prophetic feeling, I felt my heart sink within me. But I concealed my feelings by an appearance of hilarity that brought smiles and joy to the countenance of my father, but hardly deceived the ever watchful and nicer eye of Elizabeth. She looked forward to our union with placid contentment, not unmingled with a little fear which past misfortunes had impressed, that what now appeared certain and tangible happiness might soon dissipate into an airy dream and leave no trace but deep and everlasting regret. Preparations were made for the event, congratulatory visits were received, and all wore a smiling appearance. I shut up as well as I could in my own heart the anxiety that preyed there and entered with seeming earnestness into the plans of my father, although they might only serve as the Decorations of my tragedy. Through my father's exertions, A part of the inheritance of Elizabeth had been restored to her by the Austrian government. A small possession on the shores of Como belonged to her. So Elizabeth now owns a small estate in Italy. It was agreed that immediately upon our union we should proceed to Villa Lavenza and spend our first days of happiness beside the beautiful lake near which it stood. In the meantime, I took every precaution to defend my person in case the fiend should openly attack me. I carried pistols and a dagger constantly about me and was ever on the watch to prevent artifice, and by these means gained a greater degree of tranquillity. Indeed, as the period approached, the threat appeared more a delusion, not to be regarded as worthy to disturb my peace, While the happiness I hoped for in my marriage wore a greater appearance of certainty. As the day fixed for its solemnization drew nearer, and I heard it continually spoken of as an occurrence which no accident could possibly prevent. Elizabeth seemed happy. My tranquil demeanor contributed greatly to calm her mind. But on the day that was to fulfil my wishes and my destiny, she was melancholy, and a presentiment of evil pervaded her. And perhaps also she thought of the dreadful secret which I had promised to reveal to her on the following day. My father was in the meantime overjoyed, and in the bustle of preparation only recognized in the melancholy of his niece the diffidence of a bride. So diffidence means shyness. So the father thinks that Elizabeth is just nervous for her wedding and probably her wedding night. After the ceremony was performed, a large party assembled at my father's. But it was agreed that Elizabeth and I should commence our journey by water, Sleeping that night at Evian and continuing our voyage on the following day. The day was fair, the wind favourable, all smiled on our nuptial embarkation. Those were the last moments of my life during which I enjoyed the feeling of. Of happiness. We passed rapidly along. The sun was hot, but we were sheltered from its rays by a kind of canopy while we enjoyed the beauty of the scene. Sometimes on one side of the lake, where we saw Mont Saleve, the pleasant banks of Montalangere, and at a distance, surmounting all the beautiful Mont Blanc and the assemblage of snowy mountains that in vain endeavor to emulate her, sometimes coasting the opposite banks, we saw the mighty Jura, opposing its dark side to the ambition that would quit its native country and an almost insurmountable barrier to the invader who should wish to enslave it. I took the hand of Elizabeth. You are sorrowful, my love. Ah. If you knew what I have suffered and what I may yet endure, you would endeavour to let me taste the quiet and freedom from despair that this one day at least permits me to enjoy. Be happy, my dear Victor, replied Elizabeth. There is, I hope, nothing to distress you. And be assured that if a lively joy is not painted in my face, my heart is contented. Something whispers to me not to depend too much on the prospect that is opened before us, but I will not listen to such a sinister voice. Observe how fast we move along, and how the clouds which sometimes obscure and sometimes rise above the dome of Mont Blanc, render this scene of beauty still more interesting. Look also at the innumerable fish that are swimming in the clear waters, where we can distinguish every pebble that lies at the bottom. What a divine day. How happy and serene all nature appears. Thus Elizabeth endeavored to divert her thoughts and mine from all reflection upon melancholy subjects, but her temper was fluctuating. Joy, for a few instants shone in her eyes, but it continually gave place to distraction and reverie. The sun sank lower in the heavens. We passed the river Drance and observed its path through the chasms of the higher and the glens of the lower hills. The Alps here come closer to the lake, and we approached the amphitheatre of mountains which forms its eastern boundary. The spire of Evian shone under the woods that surrounded it, and the range of mountain above mountain by which it was overhung. The wind, which had hitherto carried us along with amazing rapidity, sank at sunset to a light breeze. The soft air just ruffled the water and caused a pleasant motion among the trees as we approached the shore, from which it wafted the most delightful scent of flowers and hay. The sun sank beneath the horizon as we landed, and as I touched the shore, I felt those cares and fears revive which soon were to clasp me and cling to me forever. Thank you so much for listening. I'd love to know what you thought of the chapters. Is there anything you'd like me to clarify? Did something particularly interest you? Please go to my website, faithkmoore.com click on contact and send me your questions and thoughts. Or you can click on the link in the show Notes to contact me. I'll feature one or two of your entries at the start of the next episode. Speaking of links, don't forget to take a look at the other links in the show notes. You can learn more about me. Check out our merch store or become a member of the Storytime for Grown Ups online community. Before I go, I'd like to ask a quick favor. This is an independent podcast. It's produced, recorded, and marketed by me, so I need your help. 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