Ch. 27: Chapter 23

Chapter 23

It was eight o’clock when we landed; we walked for a short time on the

shore, enjoying the transitory light, and then retired to the inn and

contemplated the lovely scene of waters, woods, and mountains, obscured

in darkness, yet still displaying their black outlines.

The wind, which had fallen in the south, now rose with great violence

in the west. The moon had reached her summit in the heavens and was

beginning to descend; the clouds swept across it swifter than the

flight of the vulture and dimmed her rays, while the lake reflected the

scene of the busy heavens, rendered still busier by the restless waves

that were beginning to rise. Suddenly a heavy storm of rain descended.

I had been calm during the day, but so soon as night obscured the

shapes of objects, a thousand fears arose in my mind. I was anxious

and watchful, while my right hand grasped a pistol which was hidden in

my bosom; every sound terrified me, but I resolved that I would sell my

life dearly and not shrink from the conflict until my own life or that

of my adversary was extinguished.

Elizabeth observed my agitation for some time in timid and fearful silence,

but there was something in my glance which communicated terror to her, and

trembling, she asked, “What is it that agitates you, my dear Victor?

What is it you fear?”

“Oh! Peace, peace, my love,” replied I; “this night, and

all will be safe; but this night is dreadful, very dreadful.”

I passed an hour in this state of mind, when suddenly I reflected how

fearful the combat which I momentarily expected would be to my wife,

and I earnestly entreated her to retire, resolving not to join her

until I had obtained some knowledge as to the situation of my enemy.

She left me, and I continued some time walking up and down the passages

of the house and inspecting every corner that might afford a retreat to

my adversary. But I discovered no trace of him and was beginning to

conjecture that some fortunate chance had intervened to prevent the

execution of his menaces when suddenly I heard a shrill and dreadful

scream. It came from the room into which Elizabeth had retired. As I

heard it, the whole truth rushed into my mind, my arms dropped, the

motion of every muscle and fibre was suspended; I could feel the blood

trickling in my veins and tingling in the extremities of my limbs. This

state lasted but for an instant; the scream was repeated, and I rushed

into the room.

Great God! Why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the

destruction of the best hope and the purest creature on earth? She was

there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down

and her pale and distorted features half covered by her hair. Everywhere I

turn I see the same figure—her bloodless arms and relaxed form flung

by the murderer on its bridal bier. Could I behold this and live? Alas!

Life is obstinate and clings closest where it is most hated. For a moment

only did I lose recollection; I fell senseless on the ground.

When I recovered I found myself surrounded by the people of the inn; their

countenances expressed a breathless terror, but the horror of others

appeared only as a mockery, a shadow of the feelings that oppressed me. I

escaped from them to the room where lay the body of Elizabeth, my love, my

wife, so lately living, so dear, so worthy. She had been moved from the

posture in which I had first beheld her, and now, as she lay, her head upon

her arm and a handkerchief thrown across her face and neck, I might have

supposed her asleep. I rushed towards her and embraced her with ardour, but

the deadly languor and coldness of the limbs told me that what I now held

in my arms had ceased to be the Elizabeth whom I had loved and cherished.

The murderous mark of the fiend’s grasp was on her neck, and the

breath had ceased to issue from her lips.

While I still hung over her in the agony of despair, I happened to look up.

The windows of the room had before been darkened, and I felt a kind of

panic on seeing the pale yellow light of the moon illuminate the chamber.

The shutters had been thrown back, and with a sensation of horror not to be

described, I saw at the open window a figure the most hideous and abhorred.

A grin was on the face of the monster; he seemed to jeer, as with his

fiendish finger he pointed towards the corpse of my wife. I rushed towards

the window, and drawing a pistol from my bosom, fired; but he eluded me,

leaped from his station, and running with the swiftness of lightning,

plunged into the lake.

The report of the pistol brought a crowd into the room. I pointed to

the spot where he had disappeared, and we followed the track with

boats; nets were cast, but in vain. After passing several hours, we

returned hopeless, most of my companions believing it to have been a

form conjured up by my fancy. After having landed, they proceeded to

search the country, parties going in different directions among the

woods and vines.

I attempted to accompany them and proceeded a short distance from the

house, but my head whirled round, my steps were like those of a drunken

man, I fell at last in a state of utter exhaustion; a film covered my

eyes, and my skin was parched with the heat of fever. In this state I

was carried back and placed on a bed, hardly conscious of what had

happened; my eyes wandered round the room as if to seek something that

I had lost.

After an interval I arose, and as if by instinct, crawled into the room

where the corpse of my beloved lay. There were women weeping around; I

hung over it and joined my sad tears to theirs; all this time no

distinct idea presented itself to my mind, but my thoughts rambled to

various subjects, reflecting confusedly on my misfortunes and their

cause. I was bewildered, in a cloud of wonder and horror. The death

of William, the execution of Justine, the murder of Clerval, and lastly

of my wife; even at that moment I knew not that my only remaining

friends were safe from the malignity of the fiend; my father even now

might be writhing under his grasp, and Ernest might be dead at his

feet. This idea made me shudder and recalled me to action. I started

up and resolved to return to Geneva with all possible speed.

There were no horses to be procured, and I must return by the lake; but the

wind was unfavourable, and the rain fell in torrents. However, it was

hardly morning, and I might reasonably hope to arrive by night. I hired men

to row and took an oar myself, for I had always experienced relief from

mental torment in bodily exercise. But the overflowing misery I now felt,

and the excess of agitation that I endured rendered me incapable of any

exertion. I threw down the oar, and leaning my head upon my hands, gave way

to every gloomy idea that arose. If I looked up, I saw scenes which were

familiar to me in my happier time and which I had contemplated but the day

before in the company of her who was now but a shadow and a recollection.

Tears streamed from my eyes. The rain had ceased for a moment, and I saw

the fish play in the waters as they had done a few hours before; they had

then been observed by Elizabeth. Nothing is so painful to the human mind as

a great and sudden change. The sun might shine or the clouds might lower,

but nothing could appear to me as it had done the day before. A fiend had

snatched from me every hope of future happiness; no creature had ever been

so miserable as I was; so frightful an event is single in the history of

man.

But why should I dwell upon the incidents that followed this last

overwhelming event? Mine has been a tale of horrors; I have reached their

_acme_, and what I must now relate can but be tedious to you. Know

that, one by one, my friends were snatched away; I was left desolate. My

own strength is exhausted, and I must tell, in a few words, what remains of

my hideous narration.

I arrived at Geneva. My father and Ernest yet lived, but the former sunk

under the tidings that I bore. I see him now, excellent and venerable old

man! His eyes wandered in vacancy, for they had lost their charm and their

delight—his Elizabeth, his more than daughter, whom he doted on with

all that affection which a man feels, who in the decline of life, having

few affections, clings more earnestly to those that remain. Cursed, cursed

be the fiend that brought misery on his grey hairs and doomed him to waste

in wretchedness! He could not live under the horrors that were accumulated

around him; the springs of existence suddenly gave way; he was unable to

rise from his bed, and in a few days he died in my arms.

What then became of me? I know not; I lost sensation, and chains and

darkness were the only objects that pressed upon me. Sometimes,

indeed, I dreamt that I wandered in flowery meadows and pleasant vales

with the friends of my youth, but I awoke and found myself in a

dungeon. Melancholy followed, but by degrees I gained a clear

conception of my miseries and situation and was then released from my

prison. For they had called me mad, and during many months, as I

understood, a solitary cell had been my habitation.

Liberty, however, had been a useless gift to me, had I not, as I

awakened to reason, at the same time awakened to revenge. As the

memory of past misfortunes pressed upon me, I began to reflect on their

cause—the monster whom I had created, the miserable dæmon whom I had

sent abroad into the world for my destruction. I was possessed by a

maddening rage when I thought of him, and desired and ardently prayed

that I might have him within my grasp to wreak a great and signal

revenge on his cursed head.

Nor did my hate long confine itself to useless wishes; I began to

reflect on the best means of securing him; and for this purpose, about

a month after my release, I repaired to a criminal judge in the town

and told him that I had an accusation to make, that I knew the

destroyer of my family, and that I required him to exert his whole

authority for the apprehension of the murderer.

The magistrate listened to me with attention and kindness. “Be

assured, sir,” said he, “no pains or exertions on my part shall

be spared to discover the villain.”

“I thank you,” replied I; “listen, therefore, to the

deposition that I have to make. It is indeed a tale so strange that I

should fear you would not credit it were there not something in truth

which, however wonderful, forces conviction. The story is too connected to

be mistaken for a dream, and I have no motive for falsehood.” My

manner as I thus addressed him was impressive but calm; I had formed in my

own heart a resolution to pursue my destroyer to death, and this purpose

quieted my agony and for an interval reconciled me to life. I now related

my history briefly but with firmness and precision, marking the dates with

accuracy and never deviating into invective or exclamation.

The magistrate appeared at first perfectly incredulous, but as I continued

he became more attentive and interested; I saw him sometimes shudder with

horror; at others a lively surprise, unmingled with disbelief, was painted

on his countenance.

When I had concluded my narration, I said, “This is the being whom I

accuse and for whose seizure and punishment I call upon you to exert your

whole power. It is your duty as a magistrate, and I believe and hope that

your feelings as a man will not revolt from the execution of those

functions on this occasion.”

This address caused a considerable change in the physiognomy of my own

auditor. He had heard my story with that half kind of belief that is given

to a tale of spirits and supernatural events; but when he was called upon

to act officially in consequence, the whole tide of his incredulity

returned. He, however, answered mildly, “I would willingly afford you

every aid in your pursuit, but the creature of whom you speak appears to

have powers which would put all my exertions to defiance. Who can follow an

animal which can traverse the sea of ice and inhabit caves and dens where

no man would venture to intrude? Besides, some months have elapsed since

the commission of his crimes, and no one can conjecture to what place he

has wandered or what region he may now inhabit.”

“I do not doubt that he hovers near the spot which I inhabit, and if

he has indeed taken refuge in the Alps, he may be hunted like the chamois

and destroyed as a beast of prey. But I perceive your thoughts; you do not

credit my narrative and do not intend to pursue my enemy with the

punishment which is his desert.”

As I spoke, rage sparkled in my eyes; the magistrate was intimidated.

“You are mistaken,” said he. “I will exert myself, and if

it is in my power to seize the monster, be assured that he shall suffer

punishment proportionate to his crimes. But I fear, from what you have

yourself described to be his properties, that this will prove

impracticable; and thus, while every proper measure is pursued, you should

make up your mind to disappointment.”

“That cannot be; but all that I can say will be of little avail. My

revenge is of no moment to you; yet, while I allow it to be a vice, I

confess that it is the devouring and only passion of my soul. My rage

is unspeakable when I reflect that the murderer, whom I have turned

loose upon society, still exists. You refuse my just demand; I have

but one resource, and I devote myself, either in my life or death, to

his destruction.”

I trembled with excess of agitation as I said this; there was a frenzy

in my manner, and something, I doubt not, of that haughty fierceness

which the martyrs of old are said to have possessed. But to a Genevan

magistrate, whose mind was occupied by far other ideas than those of

devotion and heroism, this elevation of mind had much the appearance of

madness. He endeavoured to soothe me as a nurse does a child and

reverted to my tale as the effects of delirium.

“Man,” I cried, “how ignorant art thou in thy pride of

wisdom! Cease; you know not what it is you say.”

I broke from the house angry and disturbed and retired to meditate on

some other mode of action.