Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the eighteenth chapter of Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

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Video welcome to Bite at a Time Books, where we read you your favorite classics one byte at a time.

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Wherever you listen to podcasts today, we'll be continuing Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

Chapter 18 Day after day, week after week, passed away on my return to Geneva, and I could not collect the courage to recommence my work.

I feared the vengeance of the disappointed fiend, yet I was unable to overcome my repugnance to the task which was enjoined me.

I found that I could not compose a female without again devoting several months to profound study and laborious disquisition.

I had heard of some discoveries having been made by an English philosopher, the knowledge of which was material to my success, and I sometimes thought of obtaining my father's consent to visit England for this purpose.

But I clung to every pretense of delay and shrank from taking the first steps in an undertaking whose immediate necessity began to appear less absolute to me.

A change indeed had taken place in me.

My health, which had hitherto declined, was now much restored, and my spirits, when unchecked by the memory of my unhappy promise, rose proportionably.

My father saw this change with pleasure, and he turned his thoughts towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my melancholy, which every now and then would return.

By Fitz and with a devouring blackness overcast the approaching sunshine, at these moments I took refuge in the most perfect solitude.

I passed whole days on the lake, alone in a little boat, watching the clouds and listening to the rippling of the waves, silent and listless but the fresh air and bright sun seldom failed to restore me to some degree of composure, and on my return I met the salutations of my friends with a readier smile and a more cheerful heart.

It was after my return from one of these rambles that my father, calling me aside, thus addressed me.

I'm happy to remark, my dear son, that you've resumed your former pleasures, and seem to be returning to yourself, and yet you are still unhappy and still avoid our society.

For some time I was lost in conjecture as to the cause of this, but yesterday an idea struck me, and if it is well founded, I conjure you to avow it.

Reserve on such a point would be not only useless, but draw down trouble misery on us all.

I trembled violently at his exhortium, and my father continued.

I confess, my son, that I have always looked forward to your marriage with our dear Elizabeth, as the tie of our domestic comfort and the stay of my declining years.

You were attached to each other from your earliest infancy.

You studied together, and appeared in dispositions and tastes entirely suited to one another, but so blind is the experience of man, that what I conceived to be the best assistance to my plan may have entirely destroyed it.

You perhaps regard her as your sister, without any wish that she might become your wife.

Nay, you may have met with another whom you may love, and considering yourself as bound in honor to Elizabeth, this struggle may occasion the poignant misery which you appear to feel.

My dear father, reassure yourself.

I love my cousin tenderly and sincerely.

I never saw any woman who excited, as Elizabeth does, my warmest admiration and affection.

My future hopes and prospects are entirely bound up in the expectation of our union.

The expression of your sentiments of this subject, my dear Victor, gives me more pleasure than I have for some time experienced.

If you feel thus, we shall assuredly be happy.

However present events may cast a gloom over us.

But it is this gloom which appears to have taken so strong a hold of your mind that I wish to dissipate.

Tell me, therefore, whether you object to an immediate solemnization of the marriage.

We have been unfortunate, and recent events have drawn us from that everyday tranquillity befitting my years and infirmities.

You are younger yet.

I do not suppose, possessed as you are of a competent fortune, that an early marriage would at all interfere with any future plans of honor and utility that you may have formed.

Do not suppose, however, that I wish to dictate happiness to you, or that a delay on your part would cause me any serious uneasiness.

Interpret my words with candor, and answer me.

I conjure you with confidence and sincerity.

I listened to my father in silence, and remained for some time incapable of offering any reply.

I revolved rapidly in my mind a multitude of thoughts and endeavoured to arrive at some conclusion.

Alas, to me, the idea of an immediate union with Elizabeth was one of horror and dismay.

I was bound by a solemn promise which I had not yet fulfilled and dared not break.

Or if I did, what manifold miseries might not impend over me and my devoted family?

Could I enter into a festival with this deadly weight yet hanging round my neck and bowing me to the ground?

I must perform my engagement and let the monster depart with his mate before I allowed myself to enjoy the delight of a union from which I expected peace.

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to England or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers of that country whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present undertaking.

The latter method of obtaining the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory.

Besides, I had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my loathstone task in my father's house, while inhabits the familiar intercourse with those I loved.

I knew that a thousand fearful accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to thrill all connected with me with horror.

I was aware also that I should often lose all selfcommand, all capacity of hiding the harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my unearthly occupation.

I must absent myself from all I loved while thus employed.

Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved and I might be restored to my family in peace and happiness.

My promise fulfilled, the monster would depart forever, or so my fond fancy imagined.

Some accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him and put an end to my slavery forever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father.

I expressed a wish to visit England, but concealing the true reasons of this request.

I clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I urged my desire with an earnestness that easily induced my father to comply.

After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy that resembled madness and its intensity and effects, he was glad to find that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey, and he hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my return, have restored me entirely to myself.

The duration of my absence was left to my own choice.

A few months, or at most a year, was the period contemplated.

One paternal kind precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion without previously communicating with me.

He had, in concert with Elizabeth, arranged that cleverville should join me at Strasbourg.

This interfered with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task.

Yet at the commencement of my journey, the presence of my friend could in no way be an impediment.

And truly I rejoice that thus I should be saved many hours of lonely, maddening reflection nay, Henry might stand between me and the intrusion of my foe if I were alone.

Would he not at times force his a poured presence on me to remind me of my task, or to contemplate its progress to England?

Therefore I was bound, and it was understood that my union with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return.

My father's age rendered him extremely averse to delay.

For myself, there was one reward I promised myself for my detest toils one consolation for my unparalleled sufferings.

It was the prospect of that day when, enfranchised for my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth and forget the past.

In my union with her, I now made arrangements for my journey.

But one feeling haunted me, which filled me with fear and agitation.

During my absence, I should leave my friends unconscious of the existence of their enemy, and unprotected from his attacks, exasperated as he might be by my departure.

But he had promised to follow me wherever I might go, and would he not accompany me to England?

This imagination was dreadful in itself, but soothing inasmuch as it supposed the safety of my friends.

I was agonized with the idea of the possibility that the reverse of this might happen.

But through the whole period, during which I was the slave of my creature, I allowed myself to be governed by the impulses of the moment, and my present sensation strongly intimated that the fiend would follow me and exempt my family from the dangers of his machinations.

It was in the latter end of September that I again quitted my native country.

My journey had been my own suggestion, and Elizabeth therefore acquiesced.

But she was filled with disquiet at the idea of my suffering.

Away from her the inroads of misery and grief.

It had been her care which provided me a companion in Clerval.

And yet a man is blind to a thousand minute circumstances which call forth a woman sedulicious attention.

She longed to bid me hasten my return.

A thousand conflicting emotions rendered her mute.

As she bade me a tearful silent farewell, I threw myself into the carriage that was to convey me away, hardly knowing whether I was going, and careless of what was passing around, I remembered only, and it was with a bitter anguish that I reflected on it to order that my chemical instrument should be packed to go with me.

Filled with dreary imaginations, I passed through many beautiful and majestic scenes, but my eyes were fixed and unobserving.

I could only think of the born of my travels, and the work which was to occupy me whilst they endured.

After some days spent in listless indolence, during which I traversed many leagues, I arrived at Strasbourg, where I waited two days for Clerville.

He came.

Alas.

How great was the contrast between us.

He was alive to every new scene, joyful when he saw the beauties of the setting sun, and more happy when he beheld it rise and recommends a new day.

He pointed out to me the shifting colors of the landscape and the appearances of the sky.

That is what it is to live.

He cried.

Now I enjoy existence.

But you, my dear Frankenstein, wherefore are you desponding and sorrowful?

In truth, I was occupied by gloomy thoughts, and neither saw the descent of the evening star nor the golden sunrise reflected in the Rhine.

And you, my friend, would be far more amused with the journal of Clerval, who observed the scenery with an eye of feeling and delight than in listening to my reflections.

I, a miserable wretch, haunted by a curse that shut up every avenue to enjoyment.

We had agreed to descend the Rhine in a boat from Strasbourg to Rotterdam, whence we might take shipping for London.

During this voyage we passed many willowy islands and saw several beautiful towns.

We stayed a day at Manheim, and on the fifth from our departure from Strasbourg, arrived at Maines.

The course of the Rhine below Maines becomes much more picturesque.

The river descends rapidly and winds between hills not high, but steep and of beautiful forms.

We saw many ruined castles standing on the edge of precipices, surrounded by black woods, high and inaccessible.

This part of the Rhine indeed presents a singularly variegated landscape.

In one spot you view rugged hills, ruined castles overlooking tremendous precipices, with the dark Rhine rushing beneath, and on the sudden turn of a promontory, flourishing vineyards with green sloping banks and a meandering river and populous towns occupy the scene.

We traveled at the time of the vintage and heard the song of the laborers as we glided down the stream.

Even I, depressed in my mind and my spirits continually agitated by gloomy feelings, even I was pleased.

I lay at the bottom of the boat, and as I gazed on the cloudless blue sky, I seemed to drink in a tranquility to which I had long been a stranger.

And if these were my sensations, who can describe those of Henry?

He felt as if he had been transported to Fairyland, and enjoyed a happiness seldom tasted by man.

I have seen, he said, the most beautiful scenes of my own country.

I have visited the lakes of Lucerne and Jury, where the snowy mountains descend almost perpendicularly to the water, casting black and impenetrable shades which would cause a gloomy and mournful appearance were it not for the most verdant islands that relieve the eye by their gay appearance.

I have seen this lake agitated by a tempest.

When the wind tore up whirlwinds of water and gave you an idea of what the water spout must be on the great ocean.

And the waves dashed with fury at the base of the mountain.

Where the priest and his mistress were overwhelmed by an avalanche.

And where their dying voices are still said to be heard amid the pauses of the nightly wind.

I have seen the mountains of La Valis and the Pais that defaude.

But this country victor pleases me more than all those wonders.

The mountains of Switzerland are more majestic and strange.

But there is a charm in the banks of this divine river that I never before saw equalled.

Look at that castle which overhangs yon precipice and that also on the island almost concealed amongst the foliage of those lovely trees.

And now that group of laborers coming from among their vines and that village hath hid in the recess of the mountain.

Oh, surely the spirit that inhabits and guards this place has a soul more in harmony with man than those who pile the glacier or retire to the inaccessible peaks of the mountains of our own country.

Beloved friend, even now it delights me to record your words and to dwell on the praise of which you are so eminently deserving.

He was a being formed in the very poetry of nature.

His wild and enthusiastic imagination was chastened by the sensibility of his heart.

His soul overflowed with ardent affections and his friendship was of that devoted and wondrous nature that the worldly minded teach us to look for only in the imagination.

But even human sympathies were not sufficient to satisfy his eager mind.

The scenery of external nature, which others regard only with admiration, he loved with arger.

The sounding cataract haunted him like a passion.

The tall rock, the mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, their colors and their forms were then to him an appetite, a feeling and a love that had no need of a remote or charm by thought supplied or any interest unborrowed from the eye.

Wordsworth's tent, turn, abbey.

And where does he now exist, this gentle and lovely being lost forever?

Has this mind so replete with ideas, imaginations, fanciful and magnificent which formed a world whose existence depended on the life of its creator?

Has this mind perished?

Does it now only exist in my memory?

No, it is not thus.

Your form, so divinely wrought and beaming with beauty, has decayed but your spirit still visits and consoles your unhappy friend.

Pardon this gush of sorrow.

These ineffectual words are but a slight tribute to the unexampled worth of Henry but they soothe my heart overflowing with the anguish which his remembrance creates.

I will proceed with my tale.

Beyond Cologne we descended to the plains of Holland and we resolved to post the remainder of our way.

For the wind was contrary and the stream of the river was too gentle to aid us.

Our journey here lost the interest arising from beautiful scenery.

But we arrived in a few days at Rotterdam.

Once we proceeded by sea to England.

It was on a clear morning in the latter days of December that I first saw the white cliffs of Britain.

The banks of the themes presented a new scene.

They were flat but fertile, and almost every town was marked by the remembrance of some story.

They saw Tilbury Fort and remembered the Spanish Armada, Gravesend, Woolwich and Greenwich, places which I had heard of even in my country.

At length we saw the numerous steeples of London, St.

Paul's towering above all, and the tower famed in English history.

Thank you for joining Byte at a Time Books today while we read a bite of one of your favorite classics.

Again, my name is Brie Carlyle, and I hope you come back tomorrow for the next bite of Frankenstein.

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