Ch. 23: Chapter 19

Chapter 19

London was our present point of rest; we determined to remain several

months in this wonderful and celebrated city. Clerval desired the

intercourse of the men of genius and talent who flourished at this

time, but this was with me a secondary object; I was principally

occupied with the means of obtaining the information necessary for the

completion of my promise and quickly availed myself of the letters of

introduction that I had brought with me, addressed to the most

distinguished natural philosophers.

If this journey had taken place during my days of study and happiness,

it would have afforded me inexpressible pleasure. But a blight had

come over my existence, and I only visited these people for the sake of

the information they might give me on the subject in which my interest

was so terribly profound. Company was irksome to me; when alone, I

could fill my mind with the sights of heaven and earth; the voice of

Henry soothed me, and I could thus cheat myself into a transitory

peace. But busy, uninteresting, joyous faces brought back despair to

my heart. I saw an insurmountable barrier placed between me and my

fellow men; this barrier was sealed with the blood of William and

Justine, and to reflect on the events connected with those names filled

my soul with anguish.

But in Clerval 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. He was also pursuing an object he had long

had in view. His design was to visit India, in the belief that he had

in his knowledge of its various languages, and in the views he had

taken of its society, the means of materially assisting the progress of

European colonization and trade. In Britain only could he further the

execution of his plan. He was for ever busy, and the only check to his

enjoyments was my sorrowful and dejected mind. I tried to conceal this

as much as possible, that I might not debar him from the pleasures

natural to one who was entering on a new scene of life, undisturbed by

any care or bitter recollection. I often refused to accompany him,

alleging another engagement, that I might remain alone. 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. Every thought that was devoted to it was an extreme

anguish, and every word that I spoke in allusion to it caused my lips

to quiver, and my heart to palpitate.

After passing some months in London, we received a letter from a person in

Scotland who had formerly been our visitor at Geneva. He mentioned the

beauties of his native country and asked us if those were not sufficient

allurements to induce us to prolong our journey as far north as Perth,

where he resided. Clerval eagerly desired to accept this invitation, and I,

although I abhorred society, wished to view again mountains and streams and

all the wondrous works with which Nature adorns her chosen dwelling-places.

We had arrived in England at the beginning of October, and it was now

February. We accordingly determined to commence our journey towards the

north at the expiration of another month. In this expedition we did not

intend to follow the great road to Edinburgh, but to visit Windsor, Oxford,

Matlock, and the Cumberland lakes, resolving to arrive at the completion of

this tour about the end of July. I packed up my chemical instruments and

the materials I had collected, resolving to finish my labours in some

obscure nook in the northern highlands of Scotland.

We quitted London on the 27th of March and remained a few days at

Windsor, rambling in its beautiful forest. This was a new scene to us

mountaineers; the majestic oaks, the quantity of game, and the herds of

stately deer were all novelties to us.

From thence we proceeded to Oxford. As we entered this city, our minds

were filled with the remembrance of the events that had been transacted

there more than a century and a half before. It was here that Charles

I. Had collected his forces. This city had remained faithful to him,

after the whole nation had forsaken his cause to join the standard of

Parliament and liberty. The memory of that unfortunate king and his

companions, the amiable Falkland, the insolent Goring, his queen, and

son, gave a peculiar interest to every part of the city which they

might be supposed to have inhabited. The spirit of elder days found a

dwelling here, and we delighted to trace its footsteps. If these

feelings had not found an imaginary gratification, the appearance of

the city had yet in itself sufficient beauty to obtain our admiration.

The colleges are ancient and picturesque; the streets are almost

magnificent; and the lovely Isis, which flows beside it through meadows

of exquisite verdure, is spread forth into a placid expanse of waters,

which reflects its majestic assemblage of towers, and spires, and

domes, embosomed among aged trees.

I enjoyed this scene, and yet my enjoyment was embittered both by the

memory of the past and the anticipation of the future. I was formed

for peaceful happiness. During my youthful days discontent never

visited my mind, and if I was ever overcome by _ennui_, the 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.

We passed a considerable period at Oxford, rambling among its environs

and endeavouring to identify every spot which might relate to the most

animating epoch of English history. Our little voyages of discovery

were often prolonged by the successive objects that presented

themselves. We visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the

field on which that patriot fell. For a moment my soul was elevated

from its debasing and miserable fears to contemplate the divine ideas

of liberty and self-sacrifice of which these sights were the monuments

and the remembrancers. For an instant I dared to shake off my chains

and look around me with a free and lofty spirit, but the iron had eaten

into my flesh, and I sank again, trembling and hopeless, into my

miserable self.

We left Oxford with regret and proceeded to Matlock, which was our next

place of rest. The country in the neighbourhood of this village

resembled, to a greater degree, the scenery of Switzerland; but

everything is on a lower scale, and the green hills want the crown of

distant white Alps which always attend on the piny mountains of my

native country. We visited the wondrous cave and the little cabinets

of natural history, where the curiosities are disposed in the same

manner as in the collections at Servox and Chamounix. The latter name

made me tremble when pronounced by Henry, and I hastened to quit

Matlock, with which that terrible scene was thus associated.

From Derby, still journeying northwards, we passed two months in

Cumberland and Westmorland. I could now almost fancy myself among the

Swiss mountains. The little patches of snow which yet lingered on the

northern sides of the mountains, 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. The delight of Clerval was proportionably greater than

mine; his mind expanded in the company of men of talent, and he found

in his own nature greater capacities and resources than he could have

imagined himself to have possessed while he associated with his

inferiors. “I could pass my life here,” said he to me; “and among

these mountains I should scarcely regret Switzerland and the Rhine.”

But he found that a traveller’s life is one that includes much pain

amidst its enjoyments. His feelings are for ever on the stretch; and

when he begins to sink into repose, he finds himself obliged to quit

that on which he rests in pleasure for something new, which again

engages his attention, and which also he forsakes for other novelties.

We had scarcely visited the various lakes of Cumberland and Westmorland

and conceived an affection for some of the inhabitants when the period

of our appointment with our Scotch friend approached, and we left them

to travel on. For my own part I was not sorry. I had now neglected my

promise for some time, and I feared the effects of the dæmon’s

disappointment. He might remain in Switzerland and wreak his vengeance

on my relatives. This idea pursued me and tormented me at every moment

from which I might otherwise have snatched repose and peace. I waited

for my letters with feverish impatience; if they were delayed I was

miserable and overcome by a thousand fears; and when they arrived and I

saw the superscription of Elizabeth or my father, I hardly dared to

read and ascertain my fate. Sometimes I thought that the fiend

followed me and might expedite my remissness by murdering my companion.

When these thoughts possessed me, I would not quit Henry for a moment,

but followed him as his shadow, to protect him from the fancied rage of

his destroyer. 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.

I visited Edinburgh with languid eyes and mind; and yet that city might

have interested the most unfortunate being. Clerval did not like it so well

as Oxford, for the antiquity of the latter city was more pleasing to him.

But the beauty and regularity of the new town of Edinburgh, its romantic

castle and its environs, the most delightful in the world, Arthur’s

Seat, St. Bernard’s Well, and the Pentland Hills, compensated him for

the change and filled him with cheerfulness and admiration. But I was

impatient to arrive at the termination of my journey.

We left Edinburgh in a week, passing through Coupar, St. Andrew’s, and

along the banks of the Tay, to Perth, where our friend expected us.

But I was in no mood to laugh and talk with strangers or enter into

their feelings or plans with the good humour expected from a guest; and

accordingly I told Clerval that I wished to make the tour of Scotland

alone. “Do you,” said I, “enjoy yourself, and let this be our

rendezvous. I may be absent a month or two; but do not interfere with

my motions, I entreat you; leave me to peace and solitude for a short

time; and when I return, I hope it will be with a lighter heart, more

congenial to your own temper.”

Henry wished to dissuade me, but seeing me bent on this plan, ceased to

remonstrate. He entreated me to write often. “I had rather be with

you,” he said, “in your solitary rambles, than with these Scotch

people, whom I do not know; hasten, then, my dear friend, to return,

that I may again feel myself somewhat at home, which I cannot do in

your absence.”

Having parted from my friend, I determined to visit some remote spot of

Scotland and finish my work in solitude. I did not doubt but that the

monster followed me and would discover himself to me when I should have

finished, that he might receive his companion.

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. The soil was barren, scarcely

affording pasture for a few miserable cows, and oatmeal for its

inhabitants, which consisted of five persons, whose gaunt and scraggy limbs

gave tokens of their miserable fare. Vegetables and bread, when they

indulged in such luxuries, and even fresh water, was to be procured from

the mainland, which was about five miles distant.

On the whole island there were but three miserable huts, and one of

these was vacant when I arrived. This I hired. It contained but two

rooms, and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable

penury. The thatch had fallen in, the walls were unplastered, and the

door was off its hinges. I ordered it to be repaired, bought some

furniture, and took possession, an incident which would doubtless have

occasioned some surprise had not all the senses of the cottagers been

benumbed by want and squalid poverty. As it was, I lived ungazed at

and unmolested, hardly thanked for the pittance of food and clothes

which I gave, so much does suffering blunt even the coarsest sensations

of men.

In this retreat I devoted the morning to labour; but in the evening,

when the weather permitted, I walked on the stony beach of the sea to

listen to the waves as they roared and dashed at my feet. It was a

monotonous yet ever-changing scene. I thought of Switzerland; it was

far different from this desolate and appalling landscape. Its hills

are covered with vines, and its cottages are scattered thickly in the

plains. Its fair lakes reflect a blue and gentle sky, and when

troubled by the winds, their tumult is but as the play of a lively

infant when compared to the roarings of the giant ocean.

In this manner I distributed my occupations when I first arrived, but

as I proceeded in my labour, 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

in order to complete my work. It was, indeed, a filthy process in

which I was engaged. During my first experiment, a kind of

enthusiastic frenzy had blinded me to the horror of my employment; my

mind was intently fixed on the consummation of my labour, and my eyes

were shut to the horror of my proceedings. But now I went to it in

cold blood, and my heart often sickened at the work of my hands.

Thus situated, employed in the most detestable occupation, immersed in

a solitude where nothing could for an instant call my attention from

the actual scene in which I was engaged, my spirits became unequal; I

grew restless and nervous. Every moment I feared to meet my

persecutor. Sometimes I sat with my eyes fixed on the ground, fearing

to raise them lest they should encounter the object which I so much

dreaded to behold. I feared to wander from the sight of my fellow

creatures lest when alone he should come to claim his companion.

In the mean time I worked on, and my labour was already considerably

advanced. I looked towards its completion with a tremulous and eager

hope, which I dared not trust myself to question but which was

intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken

in my bosom.