Published Title: 

“An End to My Slavery”

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Telling his father that he wishes to visit England, where he plans to carry out his “unearthly occupation,” Frankenstein embarks on a year’s travel with his friend Clerval. His plan is that, after a year or so, he will return — expecting that “my promise fulfilled, the monster would depart for ever” — and, freed from being the “slave of my creature,” marry his beloved Elizabeth.

Clerval and Frankenstein travel down the Rhine and cross by sea to England, traveling from London to Oxford and Edinburgh, partaking of much scenery and history, before finally parting ways so Frankenstein can repair to “one of the remotest of the Orkneys as the scene of my labours.” Frankenstein’s work advances, yet he is plagued by foreboding, fearing that the female monster might be “ten thousand times more malignant than her mate,” and “a race of devils would be propagated upon the earth.”

One night Frankenstein looks up, and sees in the moonlight “the dæmon”: “I thought with a sensation of madness on my promise of creating another like to him, and trembling with passion, tore to pieces the thing on which I was engaged. The wretch saw me destroy the creature on whose future existence he depended for happiness, and, with a howl of devilish despair and revenge, withdrew.” Reminding Frankenstein “you are my creator, but I am your master,” the Creature vows revenge and that he will “be with you on your wedding-night.”

Clerval’s dead body washes ashore in Ireland and Frankenstein, also washing ashore there after a storm, is charged with the murder. His father rescues him and they return to Geneva. Having told Elizabeth he will share a dreadful secret with her the day after their marriage, Frankenstein weds her. He sends Elizabeth to bed first and is filled with dread. But the monster is not after him. Suddenly, Frankenstein hears “a shrill and dreadful scream”: “Great God! why did I not then expire! Why am I here to relate the destruction of the best hope, and the purest creature of 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. Every where 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?”