Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1883-10-20
FRANK ENSTEIN
Or
THE MODERN PRoMETHEUs
BY MRS. M. w. SHELLEY.
CHAPTER XXI.

IillO PL
cipally because / dreaded again t,
see those places in which / had en-
ioyed few moments of tranquility
with my beloved Clerval. Though
with horror of seeing again thos'
persons whom we had been accus
toned to visit together, and wht
might make inquiries concerning
an event, the very remembrance o
which made me again feel the pang
/ endured when | gazed on his
lifelesS form in the inn at -.
AS for my father, his desires and
eXertions were bounded to the agair
seeing me restored to health anC
peace of mind. His tenderness and
attentions were unremitting; my
grief and gloom were obstinate, but
he would not despair. Sometimes
he thought that l felt deeply the
degradation of being obliged to an
swer a charge of murder, and he
endeavored to prove to me the fu'
tility of pride.
"Alas! my father" said 1, show
little do you know me! Human
beings, their feelings and passions,
would indeed be degraded, if such a
wretch as 1 felt pride. Justine,
poor unhappy Justine, was as inno-
cent as l, and she suffered the same
charge; she died for it; and | am
the cause of this: murdered her.
William, Justine, and Henry
they all died by my hands"
My father had often, during my
imnriSonment. heard me make the
same assertion; when | thus ac-
cused myself. he sometimes seemed
to desire an explanation, and at 9TH
ers he appeared to consider it as
caused by delirium, and that, dur
ing my illness, some idea of this
kind had presented itself to my i'm
agination, the remembrance of
which 1 preserved in my GONZALES
cence. / avoided explanation, and
maintained continual silence con-
cerning the wretch | had created.
/ had a feeling that l should be sup
posed mad, and this forever chain
ed my tongue, when | would have
given the whole world to have con-
fided the fatal secret.
Upon this occasion, my father
said, with an expression of unbOun-
ded wonder, "What do you mean,
Victor? are you mad? My dear
son, | entreat you never to make
such an assertion"
81 am not mad" / cried energet-
ically; "the sun and the heavens,
who have viewed my operations,
can bear witness of my truth. l
am the assassin of those most innO-
cent victims; they died by my
A Thousand times
would have shed my own blood,
drop by drop, to have saved their
lives; but l could not, my father,
indeed / could not sacrifice the
whole human race"
The conclusion of this speech con-
vinced my father that my ideas
were deranged, and he instantly
changed the subject of our conver
sation, and endeavored 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 Ire
land, and never alluded to them, or
suffered me to speak of my misfor-
tunes.
AS time passed away, l became
more calm my misery had her
dwelling in my heart, but l no lon
ger talked in the same incoherent
manner of my own crimes suffi-
cient for me was the consciousness
of them. BY the utmost self-viO-
lence / curbed the imperious voice
of wretchedness, which sometimes
desired to declare itself to the whole
world and my manners were calm
er and more composed than they
had ever been since my journey to
the sea of ice.
We arrived at Havre on the 8th
of May, and instantly proceeded TO
Paris, where my father had some
business, which detained us few
weeks. In this city, | received the
following letter from Elizabeth -
"To VICTOR FRANKENsTBIN."
"MY DEAREST FKIEND.-It gave
me the greatest pleasure to receive
a letter from my uncle, dated at
Paris; you are no longer at for
distance, and | may hope
to see you in less than a fortnight.
My poor cousin, how much you
must have suffered! [ expect to
see you looking even more i'll than
when you quilted Geneva. This
winter has been passed most miser-
ably, tortured as / have been by
anxious suspense; yet hope to see
peace in your countenance, and to
find that your heart is not totally
devoid of comfort and tranquil
ty.
"Yet / fear that the same feelings
now exist that made you so misera-
BILE a year ago, even perhaps aug
by time. / would not dis
turb you at this period, when SO
many misfortunes weigh upon you;
but a conversation that l 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
If you really say this,
my questions are answered, and l
have no more to do than to sign my
self your affcectionate cousin. But
you are distant from me, and it is
pOcotDlC tlob yO0 AhpJ d1OoNA, dhAA
yet be pleased with this explana-
ton; and, in a probability of this
being the case, dare not any Ion
ger postpone writing what, during
your absence, 1 have often wished
to express to you, but have never
had the courage to begin.
"You well know, Victor, that our
union had been the favorite 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 play
fellows during childhood. and, 1
believe. dear and valued friends to
one another as we grew older. But
as brother and sister often enter
tain lively affection toward each
other, without desiring a more inti-
mate union, may not such also be
our case? Tell me, dearest Victor.
Answer me, ] conjure you, by our
happiness, with simple
truth,-Do you not love another
"You have travelled; you have
spent several years of your life at
and / confess to you,
my friend, that, when / saw you
a