Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus
that my protestations should acquit me: I rest my innocence on a plain
and simple explanation of the facts which have been adduced against me;
and I hope the character I have always borne will incline my judges to a
favourable interpretation, where any circumstance appears doubtful or
suspicious."
She then related that, by the permission of Elizabeth, she had passed
the evening of the night on which the murder had been committed at the
house of an aunt at Chêne, a village situated at about a league from
Geneva. On her return, at about nine o'clock, she met a man, who asked
her if she had seen any thing of the child who was lost. She was alarmed
by this account, and passed several hours in looking for him, when the
gates of Geneva were shut, and she was forced to remain several hours of
the night in a barn belonging to a cottage, being unwilling to call up
the inhabitants, to whom she was well known. Most of the night she spent
here watching; towards morning she believed that she slept for a few
minutes; some steps disturbed her, and she awoke. It was dawn, and she
quitted her asylum, that she might again endeavour to find my brother.
If she had gone near the spot where his body lay, it was without her
knowledge. That she had been bewildered when questioned by the
market-woman was not surprising, since she had passed a sleepless night,
and the fate of poor William was yet uncertain. Concerning the picture
she could give no account.
"I know," continued the unhappy victim, "how heavily and fatally this
one circumstance weighs against me, but I have no power of explaining
it; and when I have expressed my utter ignorance, I am only left to
conjecture concerning the probabilities by which it might have been
placed in my pocket. But here also I am checked. I believe that I have
no enemy on earth, and none surely would have been so wicked as to
destroy me wantonly. Did the murderer place it there? I know of no
opportunity afforded him for so doing; or, if I had, why should he have
stolen the jewel, to part with it again so soon?
"I commit my cause to the justice of my judges, yet I see no room for
hope. I beg permission to have a few witnesses examined concerning my
character; and if their testimony shall not overweigh my supposed guilt,
I must be condemned, although I would pledge my salvation on my
innocence."
Several witnesses were called, who had known her for many years, and
they spoke well of her; but fear, and hatred of the crime of which they
supposed her guilty, rendered them timorous, and unwilling to come
forward. Elizabeth saw even this last resource, her excellent
dispositions and irreproachable conduct, about to fail the accused,
when, although violently agitated, she desired permission to address the
court.
"I am," said she, "the cousin of the unhappy child who was murdered, or
rather his sister, for I was educated by, and have lived with his
parents ever since and even long before, his birth. It may therefore be
judged indecent in me to come forward on this occasion; but when I see a
fellow-creature about to perish through the cowardice of her pretended
friends, I wish to be allowed to speak, that I may say what I know of
her character. I am well acquainted with the accused. I have lived in
the same house with her, at one time for five, and at another for nearly
two years. During all that period she appeared to me the most amiable
and benevolent of human creatures. She nursed Madame Frankenstein, my
aunt, in her last illness, with the greatest affection and care; and
afterwards attended her own mother during a tedious illness, in a manner
that excited the admiration of all who knew her; after which she again
lived in my uncle's house, where she was beloved by all the family. She
was warmly attached to the child who is now dead, and acted towards him
like a most affectionate mother. For my own part, I do not hesitate to
say, that, notwithstanding all the evidence produced against her, I
believe and rely on her perfect innocence. She had no temptation for
such an action: as to the bauble on which the chief proof rests, if she
had earnestly desired it, I should have willingly given it to her; so
much do I esteem and value her."
A murmur of approbation followed Elizabeth's simple and powerful appeal;
but it was excited by her generous interference, and not in favour of
poor Justine, on whom the public indignation was turned with renewed
violence, charging her with the blackest ingratitude. She herself wept
as Elizabeth spoke, but she did not answer. My own agitation and anguish
was extreme during the whole trial. I believed in her innocence; I knew
it. Could the dæmon, who had (I did not for a minute doubt) murdered my
brother, also in his hellish sport have betrayed the innocent to death
and ignominy? I could not sustain the horror of my situation; and when I
perceived that the popular voice, and the countenances of the judges,
had already condemned my unhappy victim, I rushed out of the court in
agony. The tortures of the accused did not equal mine; she was sustained
by innocence, but the fangs of remorse tore my bosom, and would not
forego their hold.
I passed a night of unmingled wretchedness. In the morning I went to the
court; my lips and throat were parched. I dared not ask the fatal
question; but I was known, and the officer guessed the cause of my
visit. The ballots had been thrown; they were all black, and Justine was
condemned.
I cannot pretend to describe what I then felt. I had before experienced
sensations of horror; and I have endeavoured to bestow upon them
adequate expressions, but words cannot convey an idea of the
heart-sickening despair that I then endured. The person to whom I
addressed myself added, that Justine had already confessed her guilt.
"That evidence," he observed, "was hardly required in so glaring a case,
but I am glad of it; and, indeed, none of our judges like to condemn a
criminal upon circumstantial evidence, be it ever so decisive."
This was strange and unexpected intelligence; what could it mean? Had my
eyes deceived me? and was I really as mad as the whole world would
believe me to be, if I disclosed the object of my suspicions? I hastened
to return home, and Elizabeth eagerly demanded the result.
"My cousin," replied I, "it is decided as you may have expected; all
judges had rather that ten innocent should suffer, than that one guilty
should escape. But she has confessed."
This was a dire blow to poor Elizabeth, who had relied with firmness
upon Justine's innocence. "Alas!" said she, "how shall I ever again
believe in human goodness? Justine, whom I loved and esteemed as my
sister, how could she put on those smiles of innocence only to betray?
her mild eyes seemed incapable of any severity or guile, and yet she has
committed a murder."
Soon after we heard that the poor victim had expressed a desire to see
my cousin. My father wished her not to go; but said, that he left it to
her own judgment and feelings to decide. "Yes," said Elizabeth, "I will
go, although she is guilty; and you, Victor, shall accompany me: I
cannot go alone." The idea of this visit was torture to me, yet I could
not refuse.
We entered the gloomy prison-chamber, and beheld Justine sitting on some
straw at the farther end; her hands were manacled, and her head rested
on her knees. She rose on seeing us enter; and when we were left alone
with her, she threw herself at the feet of Elizabeth, weeping bitterly.
My cousin wept also.
"Oh, Justine!" said she, "why did you rob me of my last consolation? I
relied on your innocence; and although I was then very wretched, I was
not so miserable as I am now."
"And do you also believe that I am so very, very wicked? Do you also
join with my enemies to crush me, to condemn me as a murderer?" Her
voice was suffocated with sobs.
"Rise, my poor girl," said Elizabeth, "why do you kneel, if you are
innocent? I am not one of your enemies; I believed you guiltless,
notwithstanding every evidence, until I heard that you had yourself
declared your guilt. That report, you say, is false; and be assured,
dear Justine, that nothing can shake my confidence in you for a moment,
but your own confession."
"I did confess; but I confessed a lie. I confessed, that I might obtain
absolution; but now that falsehood lies heavier at my heart than all my
other sins. The God of heaven forgive me! Ever since I was condemned, my
confessor has besieged me; he threatened and menaced, until I almost
began to think that I was the monster that he said I was. He threatened
excommunication and hell fire in my last moments, if I continued
obdurate. Dear lady, I had none to support me; all looked on me as a
wretch doomed to ignominy and perdition. What could I do? In an evil
hour I subscribed to a lie; and now only am I truly miserable."
She paused, weeping, and then continued--"I thought with horror, my
sweet lady, that you should believe your Justine, whom your blessed aunt
had so highly honoured, and whom you loved, was a creature capable of a
crime which none but the devil himself could have perpetrated. Dear
William! dearest blessed child! I soon shall see you again in heaven,
where we shall all be happy; and that consoles me, going as I am to
suffer ignominy and death."
"Oh, Justine! forgive me for having for one moment distrusted you. Why
did you confess? But do not mourn, dear girl. Do not fear. I will
proclaim, I will prove your innocence. I will melt the stony hearts of
your enemies by my tears and prayers. You shall not die!--You, my
play-fellow, my companion, my sister, perish on the scaffold! No! no! I
never could survive so horrible a misfortune."
Justine shook her head mournfully. "I do now not fear to die," she said;
"that pang is past. God raises my weakness, and gives me courage to
endure the worst. I leave a sad and bitter world; and if you remember
me, and think of me as of one unjustly condemned, I am resigned to the
fate awaiting me. Learn from me, dear lady, to submit in patience to the
will of Heaven!"
During this conversation I had retired to a corner of the prison-room,
where I could conceal the horrid anguish that possessed me. Despair! Who
dared talk of that? The poor victim, who on the morrow was to pass the
awful boundary between life and death, felt not as I did, such deep and
bitter agony. I gnashed my teeth, and ground them together, uttering a
groan that came from my inmost soul. Justine started. When she saw who
it was, she approached me, and said, "Dear sir, you are very kind to
visit me; you, I hope, do not believe that I am guilty?"
I could not answer. "No, Justine," said Elizabeth; "he is more convinced
of your innocence than I was; for even when he heard that you had
confessed, he did not credit it."
"I truly thank him. In these last moments I feel the sincerest gratitude
towards those who think of me with kindness. How sweet is the affection
of others to such a wretch as I am! It removes more than half my
misfortune; and I feel as if I could die in peace, now that my innocence
is acknowledged by you, dear lady, and your cousin."
Thus the poor sufferer tried to comfort others and herself. She indeed
gained the resignation she desired. But I, the true murderer, felt the
never-dying worm alive in my bosom, which allowed of no hope or
consolation. Elizabeth also wept, and was unhappy; but her's also was
the misery of innocence, which, like a cloud that passes over the fair
moon, for a while hides but cannot tarnish its brightness. Anguish and
despair had penetrated into the core of my heart; I bore a hell within
me, which nothing could extinguish. We stayed several hours with
Justine; and it was with great difficulty that Elizabeth could tear