by Mary Shelley
“I now entered on a new state of being, and one of which I had formed no previous idea. I believed that the wish to please one who was dear to me, would render every task easy; that I did wrong merely from caprice and revenge, and that if I chose, I could with my finger stem and direct the tide of my passions. I was astonished to find that I could not even bend my mind to attention — and I was angry with myself, when I felt my breast boiling with tumultuous rage, when I promised myself to be meek, enduring and gentle. My endeavours to conquer these evil habits were indeed arduous. I forced myself by fits and starts to study sedulously — I yielded obedience to our school laws; I taxed myself to bear with patience the injustice and impertinence of the ushers, and the undisguised tyranny of the master. But I could not for ever string myself to this pitch. Meanness and falsehood, and injustice, again and again awoke the tiger in me. I am not going to narrate my boyhood’s wrongs; I was doomed. Sent to school with a bad character which at first I had taken pains to deserve; and afterwards doing right in my own way, and still holding myself aloof from all, scorning their praise, and untouched by their censure, I gained no approbation, and was deemed a dangerous savage — whose nails must be kept close pared — and whose limbs were still to be fettered, lest he should rend his keepers.
“From such a scene I turned, each Sunday morning, my willing steps to the cottage of Mrs. Rivers. There was something fascinating to me in the very peculiarities of her appearance. Ill health had brought premature age upon her person — but her mind was as active and young — her feelings as warm as ever. She could only stand for a few minutes, and could not unassisted walk across the room — she took hardly any nourishment, and looked as I have said more like a spirit than a woman. Thus deprived of every outward resource, her mind acquired, from habits of reflection and resignation, aided by judicious reading, a penetration and delicacy quite unequalled. There was a philosophical truth in all her remarks, adorned by a feminine tact and extreme warmth of heart, that rendered her as admirable as she was endearing. Sometimes she suffered great pain, but for the most part her malady, which was connected with the spine, had only the effect ofextreme weakness, and at the same time of rendering her sensations acute and delicate. The odour of flowers, the balmy air of morning, the evening breeze almost intoxicated her with delight; any dissonant sound appeared to shatter her — peace was within and she coveted peace around; and it was her dearest pleasure when we — I and her lovely daughter — were at her feet, she playing with the sunny ringlets of Alithea’s hair, and I listening, with a thirst for knowledge — and ardour to be taught; while she with eloquence mild and cheering, full of love and wisdom, charmed our attentive ears, and caused us to hang on all she said as on the oracles of a divinity.
“At times we left her, and Alithea and I wandered through the woods and over the hills; our talk was inexhaustible, now canvassing some observation of her mother, now pouring out our own youthful bright ideas, and enjoying the breezes and the waterfalls, and every sight of nature, with a rapture unspeakable. When we came to rugged uplands, or some swollen brook, I carried my young companion over in my arms; I sheltered her with my body from the storms that sometimes overtook us. I was her protector and her stay; and the very office filled me with pride and joy. When fatigued by our rambles, we returned home, bringing garlands of wild-flowers for the invalid, whose wisdom we revered, whose maternal tenderness was our joy; and yet, whose weakness made her, in some degree, dependent on us, and gave the form of a voluntary tribute to the attentions we delighted to pay her.
“Oh, had I never returned to school, this life had been a foretaste of heaven! but there I returned, and there again I found rebuke, injustice, my evil passions, and the fiends who tormented me. How my heart revolted from the contrast! with what inconceivable struggles I tried to subdue my hatred, to be as charitable and forgiving as Mrs. Rivers implored me to be; but my tormentors had the art of rousing the savage again, and despite good resolves, despite my very pride, which urged me merely to despise, I was again violent and rebellious; again punished, again vowing revenge, and longing to obtain it. I cannot imagine — even the wild passions of my after life do not disclose — more violent struggles than those I went through. I returned from my friends, my heart stored with affectionate sentiments and good intentions; my brow was smooth, my mind unruffled; my whole soul set upon at once commanding myself, and proving to my tyrants that they could not disturb the sort of heavenly calm with which I was penetrated.
“On such a day, and feeling thus, I came back one evening from the cottage. I was met by one of the ushers, who, in a furious voice, demanded the key of my room, threatening me with punishment if I ever dared lock it again. This was a sore point; my little family of mice had their warm nest in my room, and I knew that they would be torn from me if the animal before me penetrated into my sanctuary before I could get in to hide them; but the fellow had learnt from the maids that I had some pets, and was resolute to discover them. I cannot dwell on the puerile, yet hideous, minutia of such a scene; the loud voice, the blow, the key torn from me, the roar of malice with which my pets were hailed, the call for the cat. My blood ran cold; some slave — among boys even there are slaves — threw into the room the tiger animal; the usher showed her her prey, but before she could spring, I caught her up, and whirled her out of window. The usher gave me a blow with a stick; I was a well-grown boy, and a match for him unarmed; he struck me on the head, and then drew out a knife, that he might himself commence the butcher’s work on my favourites: stunned by the blow, but casting aside all the cherished calm I had hitherto maintained, my blood boiling, my whole frame convulsed with passion, I sprung on him. We both fell on the ground, his knife was in hand, open; in our struggle I seized the weapon, and the fellow got cut in the head — of course I inflicted the wound; but had, neither before or at the time, the intention; our struggle was furious, we were both in a state of frenzy, and an open knife at such a moment can hardly fail to do injury; I saw the blood pouring from his temple, and his efforts slacken. I jumped up, called furiously for help, and when the servants and boys rushed into the room, I made my escape. I leaped from the window, high as it was, and alighting, almost by a miracle, unhurt on the turf below, I made my way with all speed across the fields. Methought the guilt of murder was on my soul, and yet I felt exultation that at last I, a boy, had brought upon the head of my foe some of the tortures he had so often inflicted upon me. By this desperate act, I believed that I had severed the cords that bound me to the vilest servitude. I knew not but that houseless want would be my reward, but I felt light as air, and free as a bird.
“Instinctively my steps took the direction of my beloved cottage; yet I dared not enter it. A few hours ago I had left it in a pure and generous frame of mind. I called to mind the conversation of the evening before, the gentle eloquence of Mrs. Rivers, inculcating those lessons of mild forbearance and lofty self-command, which had filled me with generous resolve; and how was I to return? — my hands dyed in blood.
“I hid myself in the thicket near her house, sometimes I stole near it; then, as I heard voices, I retreated further into the wild part of the wood. Night came on at last, and that night I slept under a tree, but at a short distance from the cottage.
“The cool morning air woke me; and I began seriously to consider my situation; destitute of friends and money, whither should I direct my steps? I was resolved never to return to my school. I was nearly sixteen; I was tall and athletic in my frame, though still a mere boy in my thoughts and pursuits; still, I told myself that, such as I, many a stripling was cast upon the world, and that I ought to summon courage, and to show my tyrants that I could exist independent of them. My determination was to enlist as a soldier; I believed that I should so distinguish myself by my valour, as speedily to become a great man. I saw myself singled out by the generals, applauded, honoured, and rewarded. I fancied my return, and how proudly I should present myself before Alithea, having carved out my own fortune, and become
all that her sweet mother entreated me to be — brave, generous, and true. But could I put my scheme in execution without seeing my young companion again? Oh, no! my heart, my whole soul led me to her side, to demand her sympathy, to ask her prayers, to bid her never forget me; at the same time that I dreaded seeing her mother, for I feared her lessons of wisdom. I felt sure, I knew not why, that she would wholly disapprove of my design.
“I tore a leaf from my pocket-book, and, with the pencil, implored Alithea to meet me in the wood, whence I resolved not to stir till I should see her. But how was I to convey my paper without the knowledge of her mother? or being seen by the servants? I hovered about all day; it was not till nightfall that I ventured near, and, knowing well the casement of her room, I wrapped my letter round a stone, and threw it in. Then I retreated speedily.
“It was night again; I had not eaten for twenty-four hours; I knew not when Alithea could come to me, but I resolved not to move from the spot I had designated, till she came. I hunted for a few berries, and a turnip that had fallen from a cart was as the manna of the desert. For a short half hour it stilled the gnawings of my appetite, and then I lay down unable to sleep. Eyeing the stars through the leafy boughs above, thinking alternately of a prisoner deserted by his gaoler, and starved to death, while at each moment he fancied the far step approaching, and the key turning in the lock; and then, again, of feasts, of a paradise of fruits, of the simple, cheerful repasts at the cottage, which, for many a long year, I was destined never again to partake of.
“It was midnight; the air was still, not a leaf moved; sometimes I believed I dozed; but I had a sense of being awake, always present to my mind; the hours seemed changed to eternity. I began suddenly to think I was dying; I thought I never should see the morrow’s sun. Alithea would come, but her friend would not answer to her call; he would never speak to her more. At this moment, I heard a rustling; was there some animal about? it drew near, it was steps; a white figure appeared between the trunks of the trees; again, I thought it was a dream, till the dearest of all voices spoke my name, the loveliest and kindest face in the world bent over me; my cold, clammy hand was taken in hers, so soft and warm. I started up, I threw my arms around her, I pressed her to my bosom. She had found my note on retiring for the night; fearful of disobeying my injunctions of secresy, she had waited till all was at rest, before she stole out to me; and now, with all the thoughtfulness that characterized her, when another’s wants and sufferings were in question, she brought food with her, and a large cloak to wrap my shivering limbs. She sat beside me as I ate, smiling through her tears; no reproach fell from her lips, it was only joy to see me, and expressions of kind encouragement.
“I dwell too much on these days; my tale grows long, and I must abridge the dear recollections of those moments of innocence and happiness. Alithea easily persuaded me to see her mother, and Mrs. Rivers received me as a mother would a son, who has been in danger of death, and is recovering. I saw only smiles, I heard only congratulations. I wondered where the misery and despair which gathered so thickly round me had flown — no vestige remained; the sun shone unclouded on my soul.
“I asked no questions, I remained passive; I felt that something was being done for me, but I did not inquire what. Each day I spent several hours in study, so to reward the kindness of my indulgent friend. Each day I listened to her gentle converse, and wandered with Alithea over hill and dale, and poured into her ear my resolutions to become great and good. Surely in this world there are no aspirations so noble, pure, and godlike as those breathed by an enthusiastic boy, who dreams of love and virtue, and who is still guarded by childlike innocence.
“Mrs. Rivers, meanwhile, was in correspondence with my uncle, and, by a fortunate coincidence, a cadetship long sought by him was presented at this moment, and I was removed to the East Indian military college. Before I went, my maternal friend spoke with all the fervour of affection of my errors, my duties, the expectation she had that I should show myself worthy of the hopes she entertained of me. I promised to her and to her Alithea — I vowed to become all they wished; my bosom swelled with generous ambition and ardent gratitude; the drama of life, methought, was unrolling before me, the scene on which I was to act appeared resplendent in fairy and gorgeous colours; neither vanity, nor pride, swelled me up; but a desire to prove myself worthy of those adored beings who were all the world to me, who had saved me from myself, to restore me to the pure and happy shelter of their hearts. Can it be wondered that, from that day to the present hour, they have seemed to me portions of heaven incarnate upon earth; that I have prized the thought of them as a rich inheritance? And how did I repay? cold wan figure of the dead! reproach me not thus with your closed eyes, and the dank strings of your wet clinging hair. Give me space to breathe, that I may record your vindication, and my crime.
“I was placed at the military college. Had I gone there at once, it had been well; but first I spent a month at my uncle’s, where I was treated like a reprobate and a criminal. I tried to consider this but as a trial of my promises and good resolution to be gentle — to turn one cheek when the other was smitten. It is not for me to accuse others or defend myself; but yet I think that I had imbibed so much of the celestial virtues of my instructress, that, had I been treated with any kindness, my heart must have warmed towards my relatives; as it was, I left my uncle’s, having made a vow never to sleep beneath his roof again.
“I reached the military college, and here I might fairly begin a new career. I exerted myself to study — to obey — to conciliate. The applause that followed my endeavours gave me a little pleasure; but when I wrote to Alithea and her mother, and felt no weight on my conscience, no drawback to my hope, that I was rendering myself worthy of them, then indeed my felicity was without alloy; and when my fiery temper kindled, when injustice and meanness caused my blood to boil, I thought of the mild appealing look of Mrs. Rivers, and the dearer smiles of her daughter, and I suppressed every outward sign of anger and scorn.
“For two whole years I did not see these dear, dear friends, while I lived upon the thought of them — alas! when have I ceased to do that? — I wrote constantly and received letters. Those dictated by Mrs. Rivers — traced by her sweet daughter’s hand — were full of all that generous benevolence, and enlightened sensibility, which rendered her the very being to instruct and rule me; while the playful phrases of Alithea — her mention of the spots we had visited together, and history of all the slight events of her innocent life, breathed so truly of the abode of peace from which they emanated, that they carried the charm of a soft repose even to my restless spirit. A year passed, and then tidings of misery came. Mrs. Rivers was dying. Alithea wrote in despair — she was alone — her father distant. She implored my assistance — my presence. I did not hesitate. Her appeal came during the period that preceded an examination; I believed that it would be useless to ask leave to absent myself, and I resolved at once to go without permission. I wrote a letter to the master, mentioning that the sickness of a friend forced me to this step; and then, almost moneyless and on foot, I set out to cross the country. I do not record trivialties — I will not mention the physical sufferings of that journey, they were so much less than the agony of suspense I suffered, the fear that I should not find my maternal friend alive. Life burnt low indeed — when I, at last, stepped within the threshold of her sick chamber; yet she smiled when she saw me, and tried to hold out her hand — one already clasped that of Alithea. For hours we thus watched her, exchanging looks, not speech. Alithea, naturally impetuous, and even vehement, now controlled all sign of grief, except the expression of woe, that took all colour from her face, and clouded her brow with anguish. She knelt beside her mother — her lips glued to her hand, as if to the last to feel her pulse of life, and assure herself that she still existed. The room was darkened; a broken ray tinged the head of the mourner, while her mother lay in shadow — a shadow that seemed to deepen as the hue of death crept over her face, now and then she opened her e
yes — now and then murmured inarticuately, and then she seemed to sleep. We neither moved — sometimes Alithea raised her head and looked on her mother’s countenance, and then seeing the change already operated, it drooped over the wan hand she held. Suddenly there was a slight sound — a slight convulsion in the fingers. I saw a shade darken over the face — something seemed to pass over, and then away — and all was marble still — and the lips, wreathed into a smile, became fixed and breathless. Alithea started up, uttered a shriek, and threw herself on her mother’s body — such name I give — the blameless soul was gone for ever.
“It was my task to console the miserable daughter; and such was the angelic softness of Alithea’s disposition, that when the first burst of grief was over, she yielded to be consoled. There was no hardness in her regrets. She collected every relic, surrounded herself with every object, that might keep alive the memory of her parent. She talked of her continually; and together we spoke of her virtues — her wisdom, her ardent affection — and felt a thrilling, trembling pleasure in recalling every act and word that most displayed her excellence. As we were thus employed, I could contemplate and remark the change the interval of my absence had operated in the beautiful girl — she had sprung into womanhood, her figure was surrounded by a thousand graces; a tender charm was diffused over each lineament and motion that intoxicated me with delight. Before I loved — now I revered her — her mother’s angelic essence seemed united to hers, forming two in one. The sentiments these beings had divided, were now concentrated in her; and added to this, a breathless adoration, a heart’s devotion — which still even now dwells beside her grave, and hallows every memory that remains.
