Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was
surprised to observe the despair that succeeded the joy I at first
expressed on receiving news from my friends. I threw the letter on the
table, and covered my face with my hands.
My dear Frankenstein, exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me
weep with bitterness, are you always to be unhappy? My dear friend,
what has happened?
I motioned him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the
room in the extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of
Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune.
I can offer you no consolation, my friend, said he;
your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to do?
To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses.
During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation;
he could only express his heartfelt sympathy. Poor William! said he,
dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had
seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his
untimely loss! To die so miserably; to feel the murderer s grasp! How
much more a murdered that could destroy radiant innocence! Poor little
fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but
he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever.
A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. He can no longer
be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable
survivors.
Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words
impressed themselves on my mind and I remembered them afterwards in
solitude. But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a
cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend.
My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed
to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; but when I
drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could hardly sustain
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